el.angeleyes-第16部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


time　you　think　you've　caught　it　by　the　tail；　it　turns　around　and　bites　you　on　the　ass。〃
　Tori　laughed；　but　she　knew　he　was　serious。
　As　the　gray　end　of　the　night　became　the　pearl…blue　beginning　of　a　new　day；　Tori　and　Bernard　Godwin　strolled　through　a　Tokyo　filled　with　the　last　rumblings　of　delivery　trucks。　The　bridges　were　filled　with　them。　From　the　Sumida　River　horns　sounded　as　fishing　boats　neared　the　Taikiji　wholesale　fish　market。
　Tori　found　herself　recalling　how　Bernard　had　done　nothing；　not　even　twitch；　when　Godzilla　had　lifted　him　off　the　floor。　Now　she　wondered　what　would　have　happened　if　she　had　not　intervened。　She　was　not　at　all　certain　that　she　would　have　put　money　on　Godzilla。　She　thought　she　would　give　anything　to　see　Bernard　Godwin　at　work。
　〃I　guess　now's　as　good　a　time　as　any　to　present　your　proposition；〃　Tori　said。　The　sky　above　Tokyo　looked　clean　this　early　in　the　morning；　and　the　city　seemed　immense；　a　world　unto　itself。
　〃I　want　you　to　work　for　me；〃　Bernard　Godwin　said。
　〃Is　the　work　legal？〃
　''I　take　it　as　a　good　sign　that　you　asked。''　Bernard　took　a　last　swallow　of　beer；　gave　a　little　belch。　〃Pardon　me。〃
　Tori　smiled。
　''What　I　do…and　what　you　will　do　should　you　decide　to　join　me…is　legal　in　the　broadest　sense　of　the　word。''
　〃Meaning？〃
　〃Meaning　that　no　matter　what　we　bee　involved　in；　we　would　never　be　brought　before　a　court　of　law。''
　〃But。　。　。　？〃
　〃What　we　do　is；　in　another　sense；　amoral。　We　are　beyond　the　laws　man　constructs。　This　does　not　mean　that　we　are　lawless。　Far　from　it。　Much　like　the　Japanese；　whom　you　obviously　love　and　admire　so　much；　we　create　and　define　our　own　set　of　laws。〃　Bernard's　eyes　seemed　to　have　closed；　as　if　he　were　on　the　verge　of　sleep。　〃Interested？〃
　Tori　almost　said；　God；　yes；　how　soon　can　I　start？　Instead　she　drank　half　her　Kirin；　looked　up　at　the　forest　of　monstrous　towers　through　which　they　were　walking；　and　said；　〃I'll　give　it　some　thought。〃
　Three　days　later　Tori　gave　Bernard　Godwin　the　answer　she　knew　she　would　give　him　from　the　first。　The　trouble　was；　she　did　not　want　to　go　home。　He　understood　this；　just　as　he　seemed　to　understand　the　rest　of　her　character；　carefully　hidden　from　all　others　like　an　enigma　in　the　center　of　a　stone　pyramid。
　〃I　want　you　here　in　Japan；〃　Bernard　told　her。　〃We　have　no　one　with　your　expertise　in　this　quarter　of　the　globe。　We've　found　it　impossible　to　infiltrate　anyone　of　substance　into　the　Japanese　underworld。　But　you're　already　in　it。　You're　already　respected；　and　more　importantly；　feared。''
　Tori　said；　〃I　think　you've　got　that　the　wrong　way　around。〃
　〃We'll　see；〃　Bernard　said　。。。
　We'II　see。
　〃Oh；　God；〃　Tori　moaned　softly。　〃Oh；　God。〃　And　with　Bernard　Godwin's　voice　still　echoing　in　her　mind；　she　stumbled　to　the　phone；　dialed　a　number　she　had　long　ago　mitted　to　memory。
　There　was　a　great　deal　of　waiting　while　the　switching　was　acplished。　But　when　at　last　she　heard　Russell　Slade's　voice；　crackly　with　mobile　phone　interference；　she　said；　〃A　bientot。　You　were　right。　I'm　ing。〃
　
　
TWO
TOKYO/MOSCOW

　No　one　knew　in　advance　that　Kunio　Michita's　nakodo…his　go…between…was　going　to　mit　ritual　suicide；　save　Honno　Kansei。　Honno　worked　for　Kunio　Michita。　As　personal　secretary　to　Tokyo's　most　prominent　businessman；　Honno　was　privy　to　many　secrets：　impending　deals；　mergers；　acquisitions。　She　could　easily　have　put　this　knowledge　to　work　on　the　Tokyo　stock　market；　but　she　didn't。　Honno　was　adept　at　keeping　secrets。　She　had　made　herself　that　way　out　of　necessity。　She　carried　a　secret　buried　deep　inside　her：　the　horrific　knowledge　that　she　had　been　born　during　the　year　of　hinoeuma。　It　had　been　a　mistake；　of　course。　Her　father　had　never　forgiven　her　mother；　believing；　of　course；　that　the　pregnancy　was　her　fault。　If　he　had　e　to　love　Honno；　he　had　never　showed　it。　He　always　made　her　feel　soto；　an　outsider　in　her　own　family。
　Why？　According　to　the　ancient　Chinese　zodiac；　hinoeuma　was　a　year　of　the　horse　that　appeared　every　sixty　years。　Legend　had　it　that　women　born　in　hinoeuma　became　husband　killers。　Consequently；　there　were　far　fewer　births　in　Japan　in　the　year　of　hinoeuma　than　during　any　other　year。
　Because　of　her　keen　intuition　and　empathetic　powers；　Honno　was　almost　destroyed　by　superstition。　Leaving　her　family　had　both　strengthened　and　weakened　her。　The　constant　proximity　to　their　fear　and　anguish　had　been　like　a　knife　cutting　through　her　belly；　and　she　had　believed　her　sensitivity　to　be　a　curse。　But　years　later　it　had　also　inadvertently　exposed　her　to　many　more　deeply　buried　secrets。
　Such　as　the　impending　death　of　Kakuei　Sakata；　Kunio　Michita's　go…between。
　Sakata；　too；　had　been　privy　to　many　secrets。　He　had　borne　this　burden；　if　not　easily；　then　well；　for　the　past　four　years。　What　had　changed　now　to　cause　him　to　snap？　If　he　had　been　a　member　of　a　different；　more　Western　culture；　Sakata　would　simply　have　resigned　his　position　in　the　face　of　a　scandal　cracked　open。　He　would　have　turned　state's　evidence　against　his　boss；　acquiring　immunity；　as　well　as　vast　wealth　from　the　best…selling　book　he　would　then　write　about　the　affair。　A　film　or　television　miniseries　would　merely　be　the　icing　on　the　cake。
　But　Sakata　was　Japanese；　living　in　Japan；　where　the　worth　of　a　personal　relationship　created　one's　definition　of　what　it　meant　to　be　a　human　being。　His　death；　like　Yukio　Mishima's　years　before；　was　a　means　of　munication；　a　statement；　a　symbol　even　of　his　own　personal　beliefs　which　would　now　be　stamped　for　all　time　upon　the　collective　consciousness　of　the　nation。
　All　these　ramifications；　like　ripples　upon　a　pond；　were　on　Honno's　mind　when　she　heard　Sakata　tell　his　assistant；　〃Your　time　has　e。　I　wish　you　luck；　though　I　doubt　that　in　the　ing　maelstrom　it　will　matter。〃
　What　maelstrom？
　As　she　looked　upon　Sakata's　calm　face；　Honno　wondered　what　must　be　in　his　mind。　What　were　the　secrets　that　would　unleash　the　maelstrom？　Had　he　just　unearthed　them　or　had　they　at　last　bee　too　difficult　to　bear？
　He　had　e　to　Sengakuji　to　the；　Honno　was　certain　of　it。　This　was　the　place　one　came　to　honor　the　memory　of　the　forty…seven　ronin　who；　in　feudal　times；　had　avenged　themselves　upon　those　who　had　wrongly　put　to　death　their　lord。　They　had　died　in　that　pursuit；　nobly；　honorably；　so　that　their　deaths　were　as　meaningful　as　their　lives　had　been。
　This；　too；　was　Sakata's　purpose。　He　could　no　longer　live　with　what　he　knew　or　had　done；　yet　he　could　not　divulge　these　secrets。　A　betrayal　of　his　lifelong　friendship　with　Kunio　Michita　was　unthinkable；　the　shame　would　be　unbearable　not　only　for　him；　but　for　the　family　he　was　leaving　behind。　Ritual　suicide　was　the　only　honorable　way　out　for　him。　Honno　knew　this　and；　therefore；　did　nothing　to　interfere。　It　would　not　have　occurred　to　her　to　mit　so　dishonorable　and　disrespectful　an　act。
　She　had　always　revered　this　man　who　handled　the　fund…raising　from　Tokyo's　plex　bureaucratic　and　political　arenas　that　backed　Michita；　but　never　more　so　than　now。
　On　this　very　warm　spring　day　the　graves　of　the　forty…seven　ronin　were　covered　in　flowers。　Incense　rose　in　the　still　air。　The　bination　of　heady　scents　was　almost　overpowering；　and　for　the　rest　of　her　life；　Honno　would　equate　this　particular　amalgam　of　odors…sweet　and　musky…with　death。
　What　were　the　secrets　Kakuei　Sakata　could　no　longer　live　with？　As　far　as　Honno　knew；　there　was　not　even　a　breath　of　scandal。　Connected　as　she　was　with　Tokyo　District's　feared　Tokuso…the　Special　Prosecutor's　Office…surely　she　would　have　heard　if　an　investigation　file　had　been　opened　on　Michita　or　Sakata。
　It　was　a　long　road　from　Kasumigaseki；　the　district　in　central　Tokyo　where　Sakata　and　Honno　worked；　to　the　ancient　graves　at　Sengakuji。　Sakata　had　chosen　a　time　late　in　the　day　when　the　shrine　was　deserted。
　He　was　dressed　in　white；　the　color　of　death。　Honno　saw　him　limned　in　the　setting　sun　against　the　field　of　flowers　covering　the　graves。　A　wind　whipped　his　baggy　cotton　trousers　about　his　legs。　The　contrast　between　the　vivid　color　of　the　blossoms　and　the　purity　of　the　white　material　was　striking；　another　memory　that　Honno　would　not　forget。
　She　watched　as　Sakata　knelt　with　his　back　to　her。　He　withdrew　from　his　waist　a　ceremonial　knife。　The　blade；　slightly　curved；　shot　the　sun's　rays　into　Honno's　eyes；　so　that　for　a　moment　she　saw　nothing。　Then　the　glare　was　gone　and　Honno　saw　Sakata　hunched　over。　She　could　see　the　acute　angles　his　arms　made；　and　knew　that　his　hands；　grasped　around　the　knife's　hilt；　were　already　thrust　against　his　lower　abdomen。
　All　at　once　his　head　shot　up。　She　could　see　his　shoulders　trembling　as　he　sought　to　bring　the　blade；　buried　deep　inside　him；　from　left　to　right；　in　the　ritual　samurai's　disemboweling　cut。
　Sakata's　spirit　was　being　purified；　disentangled　from　the　sins　he　had　mitted　during　the　course　of　his　duty。　But　even　the　strongest　hand　could　falter。　The　mind's　determination　did　not　fail；　but　the　body　in　trauma　could　betray　the　spirit；　and　this　was　what　was　happening　now　to　Sakata。
　Honno　could　see　that；　on　the　verge　of　death；　his　body　lacked　the　strength　to　finish　the　cut。　He　tried　again；　but　to　no　avail。
　Honno　could　watch　no　longer。　She　stepped　from　behind　the　huge　cryptomeria　tree　that　had　hidden　her　from　Sakata　and；　hurriedly；　she　knelt　by　his　side。
　The　lower　half　of　his　clothes　were　stained　crimson。　The　veins　at　the　sides　of　his　neck　were　standing　out　like　ropes；　and　his　eyes　seemed　to　be　bugging　out　of　his　head　with　the　massive　effort。
　Honno　leaned　over　him　and；　placing　her　hands　over　his　on　the　silk…wrapped　hilt　of　his　ceremonial　knife；　added　her　strength　to　his。　She　heard　a　terrible　ripping　sound　like　thunder　as　the　blade　crossed　fully　from　left　to　right。
　Sakata's　red…rimmed　eyes　rolled　toward　her；　locking　on　her。　For　one　split　instant　his　face　registered　gratitude。　Then　he　toppled　face　first　into　the　bed　of　fragrant　flowers；　placed　there　to　honor　the　sacred　memory　of　the　dead。
　Irina　Viktorovna　Ponomareva　awoke　not　knowing　where　she　was：　Mars's　large；　dark　apartment　in　Vosstaniya　Square　or　Valeri's　brighter　but　more　spartan　one　in　Kirov　Street。　She　sat　up　in　bed；　looked　out　the　window。　There　was　narrow　Telegraph　Street　behind　the　Ministry　of　Education；　where　she　worked；　and　there　was　the　Church　of　the