Stones: Experiment (Stones #3) (12 page)

M
iyazawa stands before a long table of elderly Shinto priests. Each of them wears the same starchy white vestments, and like him, each of them has a tall black hat riding on the top of their mostly bald heads like a ship sailing on the high seas.

Cedar incense burns on a raised wooden platform to the left of the table, thin ribbons of smoke climbing to the ceiling.

With effort, one of the elderly men stands, putting both palms on the table for support. His face rises until his eyes are focused squarely on Miyazawa. He speaks in a halting voice, pausing often.

“In my opinion, the course of action you are suggesting is not advisable. China is one thing. Much in our culture is shared with the Chinese. The close relations we have make it a natural extension of Shinto. You have been successful there, and each of us applauds your efforts.” General nods at the table. “But India, not to mention the rest of the world, is an entirely different matter. Under a calm exterior, India is on the brink of war with our allies. It is a foolish move.”

“I understand your concern. And that is exactly why we must do this. To bring peace to our planet.” Miyazawa keeps his arms stiff at his side and bows in the direction of the old man. “You had deep concerns before we embarked on our mission to China. But by the will of the Kami gods, the path was opened and the way of Shinto is firmly established in that country.” He takes a step forward. “And now a new path has opened before us. The path to world peace. Is it not the will of the Kami that we move forward?”

General nods of approval across the table. The old man’s body is stiff except for the slight tremble of his head. His eyelids droop at the corners, giving him a perpetual look of fatigue.

“It is far too easy for our own ambition to blind us to the true will of the Kami.” The old man stares directly at Miyazawa. “Do not forget what happened to Naganuma-
san
.”

Miyazawa’s back stiffens. “Naganuma-
san
never wavered in his commitment to the will of the Kami. I hold his memory in sacred regard.”

“As do we all.” The old man lifts a trembling finger from the table and points it at Miyazawa. “But do not forget he died while in the company of the man who now pushes so aggressively for the spread of Shinto. Is this not reason enough to move slowly?”

“If we move slowly, the moment of opportunity will be lost. Shinto will remain forever in obscurity. Is that what you choose?” Miyazawa spreads his legs apart in a stance of defiance.

The old man drops his hand to the table. “Have you considered that the one who provides you with unlimited resources may have a darker purpose? That he may not be doing it out of love for the way of the Kami? Where much is given now, much may be required at a later time.”

“You speak of Mr. Ryzaard and MX Global. What gives you reason to doubt his motives?” Miyazawa’s eyebrows form an arch. “We have had much discussion on this point. He has told me himself that he and I have similar goals.”

A painful smile appears on the old priest’s face. “What he says and what he thinks may not agree. I fear this will take us down a dangerous road.” He looks to his right and left at the other elderly priests at the table. “But I leave it to the voice of this council to choose.” The old man sits.

“As do I.” Miyazawa bows and turns to leave the room.

“Miyazawa-
kun
.”

It is the voice of an elderly priest at the far end of the table. Miyazawa knows it well. No one else would have addressed him in such an informal way. He stops, turns and faces the table.

“Yes, Father.”

“Are you sure you will accept the decision of the council?”

As Miyazawa looks up, his eyes move from left to right, following the two massive beams supporting the rafters. They come together at the apex of a triangle directly above the table. At that point, they pass through each other and continue out through the roof, each pointing in an opposite direction.

“If the council chooses to proceed, I will be grateful to move forward with your support and blessing.” Miyazawa forms a deep and respectful bow.

“And what if the council chooses
not
to proceed?”

Miyazawa betrays no hint of emotion. “If that is the decision of the council, I will obey the will of the Kami and move forward on my own.” He turns without bowing and leaves the room.

“D
id he take anything else?” Alexa walks behind Ryzaard.

“Just the one implant.” Ryzaard sits at the desk and stares at the floor. “I have other prototypes, so it’s no great loss. Without the technology that backs it up, it will be of no use to him. But the fact that he found it is a worry. I wonder what else he knows about our plans.”

Alexa sets her hands on Ryzaard’s bare shoulders. “Not much, I’d say. I got the distinct impression that he had no idea what to do next, that he was simply winging it, as they say.”

“A man without a plan is as good as dead.”

“Let’s hope so.” Alexa’s fingers begin to knead Ryzaard’s back, spreading out from his spine.

Ryzaard eyes the holo globe floating in mid-air like an exquisite blue marble above the jax in his hand. The familiar brown-green shapes of North America and South America, Africa and Eurasia stand out against a background of blue water. For an instant, he sees a world at war. A world begging for what only he can offer it. Peace. Freedom from suffering. Wisps and streaks of clouds float in the thin atmosphere. His gaze glosses over the clouds, oceans and geographic features, focusing instead on five crisp red dots scattered among the continents.

“So you’ve decided to go after the Stones? I thought you were going to wait for the kid to make a move.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m tired of waiting. Jerek just finished his new killing machine. I’m going to try it out.”

“Which one of the Stones will be first?” Alexa stands behind and above him, working the muscles under his shoulder blades.

“Good question,” Ryzaard says. “Except for the one in Greece, I know each of them so well. They’re almost like in-laws.”

Alexa’s thumbs dig into the muscle at the top of Ryzaard’s spine. “We
should
know them pretty well by now. Our spies have been watching them for months.” She pushes hard on either side of the vertebra beneath her fingers, slowing working her way down the bare back. “We know their names, where they live, where they work, their habits, what they like to eat, what they do in their free time.”

Turning to the side, Ryzaard lays his jax on the desk and picks up a slate, touching its surface with a finger. A name appears across the top.

Sergi Yolapilonav: Druzhba, Peoples Republic of Russia.

Below the name, Ryzaard stares at a video of a walrus-sized man sitting in an overstuffed chair, his left hand inserting a steady stream of potato chips between a set of thin pasty lips. Like a machine, the lips part, revealing two perfect rows of ultra-white teeth. The tip of a purple tongue moves out like a slug, receiving the offered chips and disappears back into the mouth. The lips hang open while the jaw moves up and down with slow mechanical motion.

A grey Stone lies on a small table to the man’s right, next to a tall bottle of Velikopol Vodka and an open tin of Beluga Caviar.

First a smile, and then a wide grin spreads across the broad face. The eyes dart from side to side. The eyebrows lift. Then the man bursts into a loud laugh.

“And this is all he does all day, every day?” Ryzaard shakes his head in disgust. “A worthless human being.”

“We’ve got three dozen micro-cams plastered throughout his house and on his clothes, with just as many observers watching.” Alexa pauses. “He’s the laziest of the lot. Can’t really blame him. Ever since the Great Shenyang War twenty years ago, Russia has practically been a Chinese colony. Wealth and jobs are syphoned away. A dismal existence.”

“Go on,” Ryzaard says. “Tell me more about Sergi.”

Alexa works her way up the muscles wrapping the spine below her fingertips. “He has a fairly steady routine. Wakes in the late afternoon and spends the next eight hours eating, drinking and watching Meshvids. That’s what he’s doing right now. Then he uses his Stone to jump into stores at night and steal expensive food and gadgets, some of which he sells to a reliable black market source for money. Doesn’t even need to get out of his chair.” Alexa spreads the palms of her hands and presses fingertips into the flesh of Ryzaard’s back above the scapula. “We’ve taken bio samples, and he’s healthy. And at least a hundred and twenty years old. If anyone starts to get curious, he gives them stage IV metastatic cancer. Every week or so, he’ll find a random victim, man or woman, bring them to his apartment and have some fun. The results aren’t pretty.” Her fingers reach the base of Ryzaard’s neck and spread out along his shoulders and arms.

“Unfortunately, a perfect specimen of the decay of modern society.” Ryzaard arches his back and rolls his neck from side to side. “Even with cosmic power in the palm of his hand, he’s got zero ambition. Any idea where he got the Stone? Naganuma’s little leather book is a bit unclear on that point.”

Alexa’s fingertips massage Ryzaard’s scalp. “He’s a distant descendant of Joseph Stalin. We think the Stone came through that line.”

“Makes sense.” Ryzaard stands up from his chair and stretches again. “Stalin would turn over in his grave if he saw what had become of his Stone.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a fan of his.”

“A fan? Not really.” Ryzaard picks the jax off his desk and drops it into his pocket. “He started out with the right ideas. But with only one Stone and no way to get more, not to mention his limited intelligence, there was only so much he could do.”

Alexa stands back and stretches. “So, have you decided?” She walks to Ryzaard’s desk and pours herself a tall glass of champagne.

Ryzaard nods. “Within a few hours, there’ll be one less parasitic bastard in the world and one more Stone on my chest.”

“H
ow can we talk to her?” Leo nudges eggs and bacon in a frying pan over an open fire. Dew glistens on the grass in the cool morning air.

Yarah sits on the log beside him. “My fairy godmother?”

“Yeah. You said last night that she could help me.”

A bluebird swoops and lands on Yarah’s finger. She brings the bird close to her face.

“All I have to do is call her, and she’ll come.”

“What’s she like?” Leo pulls the frying pan off the fire and reaches for a plate.

“She’s beautiful and nice and wears a wonderful dress.”

Leo hands a plate to Yarah. “Does she have a Stone?”

“Lots of them.” Yarah picks a slice of bacon up with dirty fingers, throws her head back and drops it into her mouth. Her eyes close and her mouth moves into a smile as she slowly chews.

“Are you sure she’s good?” Leo puts the frying pan back over the fire. He likes his yolks to be firm, not runny like Yarah. “Have you seen inside her mind?”

Yarah swallows and cocks her head to the side. “She’s not like other people.”

“What do you mean?”

“Going inside her mind is like walking through a long hallway with lots of doors. Most of them are locked. When I look inside the open ones, all I see are good things. All the people she’s helped. All the people that love her.”

Leo tests the yolks with the tip of a fork. “I wonder what she’s hiding?”

“She said she has to keep secrets for all the people she helps. That’s why she can’t let me see everything.”

Leo slides the eggs and bacon out of the frying pan and onto another plate, putting it on his lap and taking a fork and knife out of his pocket. He begins to cut everything into bite-sized pieces. “How did you find her?” he says.

Reaching to her plate, Yarah picks up another piece of bacon and lays a fried egg on it.

“One night, I looked up into the sky and wished on a star, just like in the fairy-tale books.” She folds the ham and egg like a sandwich and takes a bite. Orange yolk runs down the corners of her mouth. “And then she came to me in a ball of light.” Yarah wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Whenever I want to see her, I just wish on the same star and she comes to me.”