The Kaisho (6 page)

Akshara and Kshira, the Way of Light and the Path of Darkness, were the two main branches of Tau-tau. Nicholas, who had only recently been trained in the basics of Akshara, had nevertheless some experience as well battling those versed in the deadly path of shadows. He was perhaps the only man on earth who had faced and defeated two Kshira adepts. This he had done partly by utilizing the gift So-Peng had passed down to him, the mystic emeralds of the
tanjian.
They had become a kind of psychic weapon that had penetrated even Kansatsu’s Kshira and, at Nicholas’s bidding, had destroyed him.

Kansatsu had instructed Nicholas in Akshara, but all the while he was also secretly an adept in Kshira, and it was Kshira that had almost destroyed Nicholas. In a very real way, it was Kshira that had destroyed Kansatsu. He had believed himself capable of containing the two separate disciplines inside himself; he had believed himself powerful enough to keep Kshira harnessed, using it only when required, but he was wrong. Its pollutant had seeped out, and, so slowly that he had not been able to recognize it, it had poisoned him, turning him from good to evil.

The more Nicholas studied Akshara the more he understood Kansatsu’s temptation, for it was becoming clear to him that the Way of Light was in some aspects an incomplete discipline. No records existed that far back in time, but he suspected that in the first days of Tau-tau the two disciplines were part of one whole. At what point they were riven in two—or why—he could not say. Perhaps at some date now long forgotten the mind of man—even a
tanjian
mind—could no longer be trusted to use the knowledge of Kshira in a prudent fashion; perhaps the lure of massive power became too great even for these ancient mages of the mind.

In any event, what was once one was now forever separated by such a profound philosophical abyss that proponents of Akshara were forbidden to plunge into the dark mysteries of Kshira.

Once, Kansatsu had spoken of
koryoku
—the Illuminating Power—with the kind of reverence he reserved only for gods. If there had ever been a focal point—real or imagined—between Akshara and Kshira, Kansatsu had been convinced
koryoku
was it. His anguish that for all his expertise in Tau-tau he could not achieve the Illuminating Power must have been a crushing blow to him—one so deeply felt that he had not allowed anyone to suspect.

In his studies after Kansatsu’s death Nicholas had come to believe that
koryoku
might be the Path, the needlelike fulcrum from which the whole would open up like a flower.

He had named this whole Shuken—the Dominion: where one mind could contain Akshara and Kshira, both hemispheres of Tau-tau, without being destroyed by the dark side.

But
koryoku
was not like other states of deep meditation. Though little was known about it, it seemed clear that one needed to be born with a kind of psychic trigger that would access the doorway. Without that trigger, no amount of study, concentration, or incantation at
kokoro
would prove useful.

Nicholas had never encountered anyone with
koryoku
and so had never been able to test his theories. He did not even know whether he himself possessed the trigger that would access the doorway. Only another so gifted could tell him.

Sometimes, lying in the shallows of night, Nicholas started awake to discover that he had been dreaming. In his dream world, he existed in Shuken, as he believed his forebears had once done, open to the full limits of Tau-tau—the full sphere of Akshara and Kshira at his command. And he knew with the certainty that comes in dreams that
koryoku
was the sole path to Shuken.

As he rose out of theta, parted from his dream, he could almost reach out and touch
koryoku,
the doorway, just another second and...

But when he would become fully awake, the knowledge was lost to him, and he could not help but feel an acute sense of loss that brought tears to his eyes.

Still, he knew he had an entire new world to explore. This reason perhaps more than any other had compelled him to remain in Japan, even though this was a source of increasing friction between him and his wife, Justine, who longed to return to America.

The thought of Justine’s unhappiness was as painful as the sight of a stunned sparrow. He put his hand across his eyes as he closed them. Even this far from her he could feel her distress like a child’s cry in the night. And yet there was a kind of abyss between them, dark and unfathomable. How long had it been there? Nicholas, beginning to slide into Tau-tau, tasted it, found it as familiar as an old jacket. With a start, he realized that it had begun to form at the time he had discovered he was
tanjian.
Was he slipping further away from the world most people knew? Were his explorations of the Tau-tau universe giving rise to a form of anomie from which he could not extricate himself? He did not think so, and yet there was that abyss yawning between him and Justine.

Sometimes, his anger at Justine was palpable. She had been in Japan for years now, yet she had failed to make the requisite effort in joining in. She had no Japanese friends of her own—save Nangi, and that was at his instigation and continuing effort. She still exhibited the Westerner’s typical bewilderment at the complex net of customs, courtesies, and expressions of respect that defined Japanese society. And worst of all, she was beginning to exhibit that kind of blind impatience and outright resentment toward the Japanese that Nicholas had witnessed in a number of American business contacts.

As Kansatsu had taught him, he began the journey inward, until he reached
kokoro,
the heart of all things. Then he selected the proper rhythm, began to beat at the membrane of
kokoro,
creating the psychic resonance that would transform thought into deed.

Sinking deeper into Akshara, the reverberations of
kokoro
filling the space around him, Nicholas’s consciousness expanded until it filled the entire gym, then burst beyond the confining walls. In his mind he saw the city stretched out before him, and then, as if he were gathering enormous speed, the image of its bustling sprawl blurred. That familiar sensation of confinement fell away as, with a burst of psychic energy, he broke through the womb of time.

Outside in the spangled darkness, past, present, and future existed only as meaningless definitions of concepts that did not exist. He did not yet know his way through this space or how to utilize most effectively its infinite horizons. That would take many years of trial and error. Instruction would have been preferable, of course, but the only other
tanjian
who had been qualified to teach him was now dead at his own hands and the inexorable forces of Tau-tau.

How long Nicholas spent in exploration of his new world it was difficult to say because time as humans knew it did not correspond in that state. They had a taste of what it was like to be Outside in the midst of dreams when hours, even days, could seemingly be compressed into the space of microseconds.

When he again opened his eyes, he felt refreshed and invigorated; the ghost of Justine’s unhappiness was a scent in the air soon dissipated.

During his workout, the cordless phone at one end of the gym rang several times, and even though he knew the calls must be for him, he ignored them. His staff was used to his eccentric schedules, and they understood that if he did not answer, he should only be disturbed in case of a full-scale emergency.

He stood beneath a cold shower, took a steam, then showered again and dressed in new clothes. Even the terrible image of his infant daughter as she took her last gasping breath had been expunged for a time.

Seiko was waiting for him outside the gymnasium. True to her work ethic, she had taken several folders of paperwork, and while she sat on a low rung of the spiral stairs, she industriously made notes, corrections, and scheduling rearrangements for her boss.

“Seiko,” Nicholas said.

She jumped up, slammed her folders shut, and bowed deeply, then pulled her gleaming hair back from her neck. Her beauty, seeming so fragile because of her translucent skin, actually appeared to have deepened during the time she had worked as his assistant.

“Linnear-san,” she said, “I have received faxes of the litigation our New York lawyers have prepared against Hyrotech-inc. I think you should review them before you leave.”

“Have you looked at them?” Nicholas asked as they mounted the stairs toward his offices.

“Yes, sir. I have questions on clauses six-a and thirteen-c.”

“Seiko, I don’t know how long I’m going to be away,” he said as they reached the landing. “You’ve got to get used to relying on your own good judgment. Just remember I trust you.” He smiled at her as he led the way to his office. “Now tell me your concerns on how the lawsuit is worded.”

She answered him in clear, concise phrases, and he saw immediately that she had a facility for cutting through the mind-numbing legalese.

“I agree,” he told her when she had finished. “Let me see how you would solve the problems in a revised draft before I leave the office this afternoon. If I agree with you, we’ll run it by the legal department in New York.” Before she left, he added, “And tell Nangi-san that I need to see him as soon as possible.”

Here I am in a sleazy motel off Highway 95,
Margarite Goldoni thought.
What am I doing here? I must have lost my mind. No, not your mind,
she reminded herself.
Your freedom.

They were ten miles from Marine on St. Croix, Minnesota. This small town was where WITSEC, in their infinite wisdom, had chosen to transport Dominic Goldoni. They had given him new identity documents, a house, two cars, a consultancy job that fit in with his background as a construction engineer, the whole nine yards.

Robert had insisted she bring Francine with them, which had quite naturally terrified her, but she could see his point. Holding her and Francine hostage would keep Tony quiet.

Of course Dominic’s first reaction was to kill Tony.
Slowly,
he had said to her.
I’ll kill the sonuvabitch so slowly his eyeballs will pop out with pain.
A very Venetian response. But then she had said,
We both need Tony, Dom,
and he had gone quiet, ruminating she was quite certain on hatred and ambition. And when she had suggested they meet alone, he had agreed. Under the circumstances, it made sense, and he knew it.

All the way out to Minnesota she had begged Robert to let Francine go. Robert had merely turned to her, smiling into her face as if he were her lover instead of her captor.

If it had been just the two of them, they could have taken a plane, she supposed, but there was Francine to think of—so he had her drive them in her BMW. Besides, she came to see that any other means of transportation would have left a more distinct trail. In the car, Robert could see a tail and take evasive measures. On the other hand, he had had her write out a message to her husband. In it, she had written that if her captor even suspected that Tony had posted surveillance, he would kill Francine. She thought that was a directive Tony the Sicilian could take to heart.

To be truthful, she didn’t really mind the driving; the endless miles of the interstates lulled her into a false sense of security. Here on the American roads they seemed unbound by time, lost in a wilderness of strip malls, convenience stores, and used-car lots, and it seemed to her that she almost forgot that they had a destination, could push it into the furthest reaches of her mind as if it only existed in some nightmare realm that had lost the immediacy of reality. Besides, there was a relief, vivid as hunger pangs, at being away from Tony.

Then they entered Minnesota and the future became inescapable. She wept bitter tears in the mean motel by the side of the highway. The inconstant hum of the passing cars took the place of the drone of insects. It no longer mattered whether she was in the city or the country because she existed in a twilight world, a fly trapped in amber, consumed by what was about to take place.

Francine, who was drugged throughout the entire trip, lay on the cot provided by the motel owner. Robert sat on his side of the bed reading an issue of
Forbes
magazine just as if he were her husband, Tony. He appeared unmoved by her tears, but as she dragged herself beneath the sheets, he had put away the magazine and said, “Tomorrow we’ll see your brother and it will all be over.”

Margarite, shivering so much that she drew the covers up to her chin, said, “What will happen?”

For a long time Robert did not answer. She could feel him, his heat, hear his slow tidal breathing, smell his peculiar though not unpleasant scent, but she could not look at him. To give him such reality, she knew, would be too much for her to bear.

“Go to sleep.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, so that in the end she felt compelled to turn her head, look at him.

His face was handsome in the light endemic to motels at night—a pallid violet-blue from the neons and bug zappers that seeped through the flyblown curtains like ash. In another, all too imaginable reality he might have been her lover tenderly turning to her as she extinguished the lights.

She closed her eyes, trying in vain to imagine such a reality, as if by that mental effort she might be able to conjure it up and escape the terrible trap that had been laid for her.

On that last night of their journey to the nexus point that would forever alter her, she thought again about the vicissitudes of escape. Of course, Dom had insisted that Francine come to see him, but now Margarite saw what Robert had known all along: that escape with a drugged girl was impossible.

He knew what she was thinking.

Margarite was left with this one unalterable fact: in order to escape, she would have to kill him.

She did not know whether she had it in her—not whether she had the courage to put a bullet into his brain or a knife into his heart, but whether she was smart enough to get the opportunity to do it.