The Miko - 02 (4 page)

She paused as she held the back door open for them. “I am Miss Yoshida, Mr. Sato’s administrative assistant,” she said. “Please forgive the discourtesy of my not introducing myself earlier but I felt it prudent to remove all of us from that tumult most expeditiously.”

Nicholas smiled inwardly at the endearing awkwardness of her English. He watched her as she bowed again, returning her gesture automatically, murmuring, “There was no discourtesy, Miss Yoshida. Both Mr. Tomkin and I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” in idiomatic Japanese.

If she was at all startled by his use of her language she gave no outward sign of it. Her eyes were like glass, set in her oval, seamless face. In any other country she might have made millions putting that countenance on display before the camera. But not here. Sato Petrochemicals was her second family, and she owed it all the loyalty she devoted to her blood family, Nicholas knew. What it asked of her she performed flawlessly and without question. This, too, was tradition handed down from the time of the Tokugawa Shōgunate.

“Won’t you please take advantage of the car’s comforts?”

“Jesus, I could use some real comfort,” Tomkin growled as he ducked his head and entered the black gleaming limo. “That trip’s a ball breaker.”

Nicholas laughed, pretending it was a mysterious
gaijin
jest, relieving Miss Yoshida of her embarrassment. She laughed lightly in concert with him, her voice musical. She wore a rather severely cut business suit of raw silk, its forest green contrasting nicely with the toffee-colored blouse with its deep maroon string tie at the tiny rounded collar. On one lapel she wore a discreet gold and lacquer pin emblazoned with the feudal design of Sato Petrochemicals. On the lobes of her ears were gleaming emerald studs.

“It must feel good to be home again, Linnear-san,” she said, pronouncing it “Rinnearu.”

It would not have been good manners for Nicholas to have acknowledged her oblique reference: she had cleverly told him that she had been briefed on his background without ever having said it outright.

He smiled. “The years have melted away,” he said. “Now that I am back it seems only moments since I left.”

Miss Yoshida turned her beautiful face away from him. Junior was emerging from the terminal, loaded down with their luggage. Her eyes returned to his and her voice lowered, became less formal for an instant. “There will be a car for your use,” she said, “should you desire to light joss sticks.”

Nicholas struggled to hide his surprise. He now knew the extent of the briefing Miss Yoshida had been given on him. Not only had she said that Sato would provide transportation for him if he chose to visit his parents’ graves but also that he would want to light joss sticks on his mother’s stone. It was not widely known that Cheong had been at least half Chinese; “joss stick” was a peculiarly Chinese term, though the Japanese, being also Buddhist, lit incense at the graves of family and friends.

Miss Yoshida’s eyes lowered. “I know I have no right to offer, but if it will be easier for you to be accompanied on such a journey I would make myself available.”

“That is terribly kind,” Nicholas said, watching Junior approach out of the corner of his eye, “but I could not ask such an enormous inconvenience of you.”

“It is no bother,” she said. “I have a husband and a child buried not far away. I would go in any case.”

Her eyes met his but he could not say whether she was telling the truth or simply employing a Japanese lie in order to make him feel more comfortable with her offer. In either case he determined he would take her up on it when a lull in the negotiations permitted it.

“I would be honored, Miss Yoshida.”

Inside the car, as Junior hurled them into the stifling traffic on the outskirts of the city, Tomkin leaned forward, staring out the gray-tinted windows at the growing expanse of the steel and glass forest rising from the borders of the farmers’ green fields. “Jesus,” he said, “it’s just like New York. When the hell’re they gonna stop building? I come twelve thousand miles and I feel like I never left home.” He sat back with a sudden lurch, a smirk on his face. “Except, of course, that you and I’re the tallest creatures for a thousand miles, eh, Nick?”

Nicholas gave his employer the semblance of a nod and in the same motion said to Miss Yoshida in the front of the car, “
Gaijin
are often rude without meaning to be, eh?” He shrugged his shoulders. “What else can you expect from ill-bred children.”

Miss Yoshida covered her bowlike lips with the palm of her hand, but her mirth was obvious in her sparkling eyes.

“What the hell’re you two chattering about?” Tomkin growled, feeling left out.

“Just informing the natives that it isn’t only height that’s out-sized on foreign devils,” Nicholas lied.

But he’d struck the right chord. “Hah!” Tomkin guffawed. “You’re damn straight! Very good, Nicky.”

Just over an hour later, the three of them stepped off the high speed elevator at the summit on the triangular Shinjuku Suiryu Building. All of Tokyo lay shimmering like a dusky multifaceted jewel beneath them. Suspended six hundred and sixty feet—fifty-two stories—in the air, Nicholas was amazed at the profusion of ultra-modern skyscrapers that had sprung up in his absence. They shot from the bedrock pavement like a Mandarin’s glittering fingernails, lifting the Shinjuku District of downtown Tokyo into the dome of the heavens.

Tomkin grimaced as he stopped them and, pulling Nicholas close beside him, whispered, “Coming here always reminds me of cod liver oil. When I was a kid my father insisted I take two spoonfuls every morning. He kept telling me it was for my own good, just like he did when he beat me if he found me dumping the stuff down the toilet. Then I’d have to gag on that vile stuff anyway.” He grunted heavily. “Huh, you can eat your raw fish with these barbarians, Nick. I’ve still got the taste of cod liver oil in my mouth.”

Miss Yoshida led them through a set of wood-paneled doors, the oversized knobs carved into the Sato crest. Down a corridor softly lit by indirect lighting. Edo period
ukiyo-e
prints by Hiroshige, the master of rain, Hokusai, the master of the countryside, and Kuniyoshi, the master of Japanese myth, hung on the walls. A dove gray carpet was beneath their feet, acting as a damper for the bustle of work going on all around them, drifting out from a multitude of office doorways. Teletypes chattered softly, and in another section a battery of electronic typewriters were going full speed.

Miss Yoshida stopped them before another set of doors. These were of thick slabs of ash burl fitted together with wide wooden pegs in the traditional Japanese manner. The handles were of roughly worked black wrought iron, reminding Nicholas of the
riakon
—the inns of the countryside—he had stayed in.

“Mr. Sato knew you would have a strenuous trip,” Miss Yoshida said. “Such a journey is fatiguing even to the strongest of constitutions. That is why Junior has gone on to the Okura with your luggage. He will see to your rooms.” Her arm raised, her hand held palm upward. It was a simple gesture, yet elegant for all that. “Here you may relax without concern or worry.” Now her cherry blossom lips pursed in a smile. “If you will be so kind as to follow me.”

Tomkin’s angry voice checked her. “What the hell’s going on here?” His eyes were belligerent. “I didn’t come halfway round the world to scorch my flesh in some sitz bath while the big man goes about his business.” He tapped his black crocodile attach case. “I’ve got a merger to consummate.” He snorted. “This other stuff can wait as far as I’m concerned.”

Miss Yoshida’s face showed nothing of what she must be feeling. The smile was still on her face and to her credit it had not frozen there. “Mr. Tomkin.” she began, “let me assure you that—”

“Sato!” Tomkin’s strident voice overrode her quiet controlled tones. “I want to see Sato now. He can’t keep me cooling my heels like some goddamned functionary. Raphael Tomkin waits for no one!”

“I assure you, Mr. Tomkin, no disrespect is intended,” Miss Yoshida pressed on, struggling to contend with this irrational outburst. “My task is to serve you, to help you relax, to put your mind into the proper frame of—”

“I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what my frame of mind is!” Tomkin thundered, taking a step toward her. “Now you get Sato in here or—”

Nicholas stepped forward, coming between them. He could see that despite herself Miss Yoshida’s face had gone ashen beneath the artful cosmetics. Her hands were shaking.

“What d’you think you’re doing, Nick?”

Nicholas ignored Tomkin, using his own powerful frame to move his employer back. At the same time he composed his face, smiling easily, projecting his own relaxation in order to short-circuit the woman’s obvious alarm.

“Please excuse the
gaijin
,” he said in Japanese, not wanting to use Tomkin’s name. “He’s had a long, uncomfortable trip.” He lowered his voice and went on, keeping the pressure on Tomkin as he did so. “The truth is, Miss Yoshida, his piles are bothering him and he’s like a dog who’s sat on a warrior anthill. He snaps at anyone and everyone.” He grinned. “And he hasn’t the sense to be cordial to so dutiful a blossom but in his pain seeks out to blindly crush the beauty before him.”

Miss Yoshida gave Tomkin a wary look before she bowed, thanking Nicholas. “Sato-san will be with you shortly,” she said. “His wish is only for your comfort and ease before the rigors of negotiations begin.”

“I understand completely, Yoshida-san,” Nicholas said kindly. “It is most thoughtful of Sato-san to be concerned with our total well-being. Please be so kind as to extend our compliments to him.” He bumped his muscular shoulder against Tomkin’s struggling form. “And as for the
gaijin,
leave him to me.”

Miss Yoshida bowed again, relief flooding her face; this time she made no attempt to mask her feelings. “Thank you, Linnear-san. I cannot think what Sato-san would say to me if he knew I had not performed as he had anticipated.” Half running, she squeezed by them both and hurried back down the corridor.

Tomkin felt a lessening of the awesome pressure brought to bear on him and broke away. His face flushed. He raised a sausagelike finger. “You owe me an explanation, Nick, and it goddamned well better be a good one or—”

“Shut up.”

It was not said particularly loudly, but some hidden tone seemed to strike Tomkin’s nervous system. His mouth snapped shut.

“You’ve done enough damage to us already,” Nicholas said, struggling as Miss Yoshida had to keep his emotions under control.

“Damage? What are you—”

“You lost us incalculable face with that woman. We’ll both count ourselves lucky if she hasn’t gone straight to Sato with the affront.” The last was a lie. Miss Yoshida was so frightened of offending the guests she’d do no such thing. But Tomkin would never know that, and some fear was good for him right now.

Nicholas pushed by him. He found himself in a rather small, dimly lighted room with a cedar slat-boarded floor. Along one wall was a row of spacious metal lockers. He went over to one and opened it. Inside he found not only a terry-cloth robe but comb and brush, an entire array of toiletry items. Off to the right an open archway led into a mirrored bathroom with sinks, urinals, and a row of toilet stalls.

Nicholas could hear the muffled sounds of water dripping, as if within the walls. To the left of the row of lockers was a plain wooden door. The baths, he surmised, must be beyond. The air was moist and warm, decidedly inviting. He began to disrobe.

Tomkin came in behind him. He stood rigidly in the middle of the room, glaring at him, willing Nicholas to face him. Nicholas went methodically on with what he was doing, his long, lean muscles rippling, consciously letting Tomkin steam.

After a time, Tomkin said, “Listen, you bastard, don’t you ever do that to me again.” His voice was thick with pent-up fury. “Are you listening to me?” he said finally.

“Get your clothes off.” Nicholas folded his trousers, hung them over the metal hanger. He was naked now, stripped of the layers that civilization dictated he must wear. It was clear he possessed an innate animal quality that was almost frightening. Justine had felt it the first moment she had seen him moving naked across the room like a wraith, a dancer, a nocturnal predator. Even when he made so mundane a move as putting one foot in front of the other, he used his body as an instrument, achieving a confluence of grace and power.

“Answer me civilly, dammit!” Tomkin’s voice had risen, a function of not only his anger but his abrupt fear of the man standing in front of him. He was nonplussed. In his world of corporate business, nakedness was a state of vulnerability. Yet looking at Nicholas Linnear now, Tomkin felt only his own vulnerability, so acutely that he was aware of the thunder of his heart pumping, his accelerated pulse.

Nicholas turned to face Tomkin. “You hired me for a specific purpose. Kindly allow me to do my job without interference.” There was no anger in his voice now; he had that under control.

“Your job is not to insult me,” Tomkin said in a more normal tone of voice as he struggled to control his runaway pulse.

“You’re in Japan now,” Nicholas said simply. “I’m here to help you stop thinking like a Westerner.”

“You mean loss of face again.” Tomkin snorted and hooked a spatulate thumb at the closed door. “That was just a girl. What the fuck do I care what she thinks of me.”

“She is, in fact, Seiichi Sato’s personal representative,” Nicholas said in a calming tone. “That makes her important.” This lie was essential now to keep Tomkin under control. If he should even suspect the slight that had been dealt them, there would be no stopping him. “As such, here, she is part of Sato himself and therefore no less important.”

“You mean I should bow and scrape to her? After Sato didn’t even have the courtesy to meet us himself.”

“You have been over here many times,” Nicholas said evenly. “It astonishes me that you have learned nothing at all about Japanese customs.” He gestured. “This treatment is accorded to only the highest dignitaries. Do you have any idea what this setup—the Japanese bath—must cost with space at such a high premium in Tokyo.” Nicholas sighed. “Stop thinking with your Western ego and try a little acceptance. That will go a long way here.” He reached into his locker, brought out a fluffy white towel embroidered with a dark blue triple wheel, the emblem of Sato Petrochemicals.