Flashback

“We are landing, gentlemen,” said the child-faced flight attendant. Her kimono made small rustling sounds as she cleared the last of their glasses and glided into the aft cabin.

Sato was awake and had been looking at Nick as he’d slept. Nick rubbed his eyes and face, feeling the stubble on his cheeks and chin.

The A310/360 landed gently at Denver International Airport and taxied to the Nakamura private hangar.

Nick grabbed what few things he’d brought aboard. He left the nylon bag of flashback vials on the floor.

Sato raised one eyebrow as he waved Nick to go down the stairway first. “I have a vehicle waiting. Can I drop you at your condominium, Bottom-san?”

“I’ll phone a cab.”

“Very good. I shall notify the hangar manager that you can wait inside until your cab arrives,” said Sato. A long, black, hydrogen-powered Lexus hummed to a stop on the tarmac and two of Sato’s men stepped out. One held the rear door for Sato while the other watched the perimeter with a professional bodyguard’s quick flicks of glances. Another samurai, whom Nick also recognized from the trip to Santa Fe, was at the wheel of the Lexus.

“Oh,” said Nick, “Omura-sama sends you his greetings, Sato-san. He told me to say to you, as one old chess opponent says to the other, In this world there is a tree without any roots; / Its yellow leaves send back the wind. I think that’s the phrase.”

Nick had expected something from Sato—surprise, irritation—at hearing that he’d met with the California Advisor, but the big man showed no reaction whatsoever. “Good night, Bottom-san,” said the security chief. “We shall see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” said Nick.

2.04 Denver—Saturday, Sept. 25

Stupid shithead.

Val was furious at himself.

He should have just walked out the front door of the condominium building. But he hadn’t been sure that the big man with marine tats who’d shown them in would allow him to leave. The last thing on earth that Val wanted right now was to be sitting in detention somewhere in that building, waiting for the Old Man to arrive home.

So he’d stalked back and forth on the mezzanine with the mass of climbing rope thrown over his shoulder until he found a side corridor and a door that had to open to a stairway to the roof, but of course it was locked with a numeric access pad. So much for that.

He went back to the mezzanine and continued pacing, knowing that there had to be some way out of the goddamned building, but also knowing that Gunny and the other security people would be on his ass soon if he didn’t find that exit.

Then he saw the dried-up fountain below and the steel cables dangling from a ceiling seventy feet above the marble floors and patches of dirt with their crude gardens. There were skylights up there and someone had opened two of them a foot or so to allow a little fresh air in. From the mezzanine, it was only thirty or forty feet up to those skylights. One of the cables was secured by the weight of a bronze goose hanging fifteen or twenty feet below, a goose that once must have appeared to be landing on water back when the fountain had held water.

Making sure that the climbing rope and carabiners were secure over his shoulder, not giving himself time to think about it, Val took a run at the railing, jumped high to catch the railing as a jumping-off step under his right boot, and threw himself far out into empty air forty feet above the fountain and floor. He caught the cable in both hands, swung wide, almost let go, and then got his legs and ankles around the steel rope.

He’d given no thought as to whether the cable would hold his added weight—the Old Man had taught him that engineers always built in a wide safety factor for such things—but this cable and its bolts above were old, so Val was surprised when the whole setup creaked and sagged at least a few inches. The cable swung with his weight and the heavy bronze goose below flew back and forth in a six-or seven-foot arc, seemed to bank left, and then began spinning.

The leap hadn’t created much noise and no one stepped out of their cubie. Val grinned despite the surge of terror that suddenly gripped him and then he began to climb, the coils of Perlon-3 and dangling steel ’biners over his shoulder weighing him down.

At the top he was still six feet below and to one side of the open skylights with no way of getting up to them. I guess I didn’t really think this out, thought Val as he hung there seventy feet above the hard floor, his forearms beginning to shake with the tension of holding himself on the cable. Nothing new there.

Holding on with his upper arm, legs, and ankles, Val freed his hands long enough to pull the end of the climbing rope free and to attach one of the carabiners to the end. When he was done, he had about an eight-or nine-foot free bit of rope with the steel clip on the end.