"Van Lustbader, Eric - Zero(eng)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Lustbader Eric)

had an emblem that signified his presence in the land. Yakuza were not samuraiЧthey were not of noble blood. Yet Wataro Taki had had the temerity to design his own family emblemЧ and thus, in an important psychological way, had elevated his clan above all other Yakuza clans.
Joji was a painfully thin man. He, too, had inherited his late father's lean, lupine look. But while in Masashi it manifested itself in the power of the wolf, Joji merely appeared unhealthy. True, he had been a sickly child, doted over by his mother. True, he had been a weak adolescent, lacking stamina. But the fact was that now he was never ill, rarely grew tired and was known as an indefatigable worker. His late father had employed him as the clan bookkeeper. It was said that Joji knew all the family's secrets; it was also said that nothing could ever cause him to betray those secrets.
Joji's black eyes, set deep in his skull, focused on Masashi as the younger man made his way like an emperor-general triumphantly returning home. It was a fact that though Masashi had openly disagreed with many of his father's policies, especially in recent years, he was nevertheless the brother with the charisma. It was logical to assume that the lieutenantsЧnervous about the present, concerned about the futureЧwould gravitate toward him.
Joji waited until his brother reached the dais before raising his arms for silence. "Our oyabun is dead," Joji said simply. "And now Hiroshi, my beloved brother, the man designated to become the new oyabun of the Taki-gumi, has been taken in untimely fashion from the bosom of his family. Now I, as next in line, will do what I can to keep Wataro Taki's dream alive." He bowed his head for a moment before withdrawing.
He was surprised to see Masashi come forward to take up a stance to address the throng.
"When my father, the revered Wataro Taki, died, the entire nation grieved," Masashi began. "Thousands attended his funeral. Heads of state, presidents of corporations, bureaucratic leaders, paid their respects. An emissary from the Emperor himself was present." Masashi looked about the hall, catching the eye of a lieutenant here, a kobun there. "Why did this occur? Because my father was an extraordinary man. He was a tower of strength to whom all within the Taki-gumi could turn for support and protection. He was a fierce lion. All the Taki-gumi enemies feared him beyond even death.
"Now that he is gone, I ask you to think. What will become of us now? Who will you turn to in these increasingly troubled times? Who will ensure that our enemies will remain at their respectful distance?
"I am talking about not only the other clans. Historically, the Taki-gumi has been in the forefront of Japanese defense against Russian infiltration. We are less than one hundred miles from the Soviet Union. The Soviets look upon us with distrust and apprehension. They, like the Americans have done, would seek to subjugate us. This, my father fought against all his life. We must continue that tradition now."
Masashi's gaze continued to range around the hall. And, like all of the best and most charismatic leaders, his voice became intimate and pursuasive even as it increased in oratory strength. "Can the Taki-gumi keep its preeminent status among the Yakuza clans? Or will its many enemies circle closer and closer, biting off a piece here, a piece there, until nothing is left of this once-proud family?
"The answer, I submit, is already only too clear. Hiroshi, my beloved brother, would have provided fine, strong leadership in the tradition of Wataro Taki. But Hiroshi is dead. Murdered by an assassin known to us as Zero. Which one of our enemies hired Zero? Which one stands to gain the most from the Taki-gumi's sudden lack of a central presence?
"I say that our most pressing problemЧour only problemЧ is in denning the future of the Taki-gumi. We can either weaken, be ripped apart by our enemies and eventually die. Or we can strengthen our hold, we can become more aggressive, we can seek to dominate those who would dominate us.
"The crisis is now. These are desperate times. Both for the Yakuza and for Japan. As proud Yakuza, we must seek our rightful place in the world of international business. As citizens of Japan, we must actively fight for the kind of equality we, as natives of these tiny islands, have always been denied. I ask you to join me in seeking a future, glorious and filled with prosperity!
"There can be only one oyabun of the Taki-gumi! It is I, Masashi Taki!"
Joji, stunned and gray-faced, heard the tumultuous roar of applause from the assembled clan members. He had listened to his brother's words with a sense of mounting disbelief mingled with dread. Now he watched with a kind of paralyzed awe as the men of the Taki-gumi rose to their feet like an army of foot soldiers about to do battle. Then, humiliated and ashamed, Joji hurried from the hall.
Jonas Sammartin was not, strictly speaking, Michael Doss's uncle. At least, not by blood. But the lifelong friendship he had had with Michael's father made him seem more a member of the family than blood relatives from whom Michael's father had drifted away.
Philip Doss had loved Jonas Sammartin like a brother. He had trusted the older man with the safety of his family, with his own life. That was why it had been Uncle Sammy who had made the call to Michael, and not Michael's mother or sister. Or perhaps it was because Jonas was Phih'p Doss's boss.
In any case, the Doss family loved Uncle Sammy.
Philip Doss had rarely been home, and so it had been left to Jonas Sammartin to become a surrogate father to the family. Though Philip Doss, on his sporadic and unannounced homecomings, never failed to bring presents for his children from wherever he happened to have traveled, it was Jonas who had attended Michael's graduations. And since Michael always came home at least once a year when he was studying in Japan, it was Jonas who also had made it a point to be with Michael on his birthday. It was Jonas, too, who had played cowboys and Indians with Michael when Michael was a child. They spent hours tracking one another down, having shoot-outs, and powwows.
It had been that way as far back as Michael could remember. Often, Michael wondered what it was like to have a father who was really there. A father who played ball with you, whom you could talk to.
Now, Michael realized, he would never know.
Washington was gray when Michael arrived at Dulles International. From the air, the public monuments looked soot-encrusted and somehow smaller than he had remembered them. He had not been back here in ten years. It seemed like a lifetime.
He passed through Customs and Immigration, retrieved his luggage and picked up his rental car.
Driving again through Washington, he was amazed that its inner geography was still fresh in his mind. He had no trouble finding his way to his parents' house. Not home, he realized, as Uncle Sammy had said. Just his parents' house.
Dulles was a long way from town. Michael opted for the airport-access highway rather than the more southerlyЧand directЧLittle River Turnpike because that would have taken him directly through Fairfax. That was where his father had worked, where Uncle Sammy sat in his seat of power at the head of a government agency known as BITE, the Bureau of International Trade Exports.
Besides, he told himself, this way he was able to drive along the Potomac, to see the cherry trees in blossom, to think of the countryside of Japan, where he had trained in swordsmanship and in painting.
The Doss family's house was a white clapboard just outside Bellehaven, on the western shore of the Potomac, south of Alexandria. It was typical of Uncle Sammy that he had said, Yes, home. To Washington. Not Bellehaven, but Washington. To him, Washington was the power word.
The house had been far too big for the family, even when both children had been at home. Now its great wraparound porch, supported by Doric-style columns, seemed to echo with sounds from the past, mocking the silence of the present.
The house overlooked the Potomac past a long, sloping back lawn dotted with birch, alder and the enormous pair of weeping willows that Michael had loved to climb when he was young.
The massed azaleas in the front were coming up, but it was too early for the mock orange and honeysuckle to be in bloom.
As Michael walked down the red-brick path, the front door opened and he saw his mother. The wan light struck her face, and he could see how pale she was. She wore a three-piece black linen suit which was, as usual, in impeccable taste. A diamond brooch was at her throat.
Just behind her, Michael could make out the tall, powerful figure of Uncle Sammy, wreathed in shadows. Uncle Sammy stepped into the light, and Michael could see the shock of white hair catch the light. Uncle Sammy's hair had been white ever since Michael could remember.
"Michael," Lillian Doss said. When he bent over to kiss her, she embraced him with a fierceness that surprised him. Before they broke apart, he felt her tears on his face.
"Good of you to come, son," Uncle Sammy said, extending his hand. He had the firm, dry grip of a politician. His leathery, sunburned face had always reminded Michael of Gary Cooper's.
Inside, the vast house was as quiet, as somber, as a funeral parlor. That, too, had not changed since the days of Michael's youth. Even as he began to walk with them into the parlor, Michael felt himself shrink in size and age. This was an adult's abode; it always had been. He felt out of place, disconnected. Home, Michael thought. This is not home. It never has been.
Home was the rolling hills of Nara prefecture in Japan. Home was Nepal and Thailand. Home was Paris or Provence. Not Bellehaven.
"Drink?" Jonas Sammartin asked at the mahogany wet bar.
"Stolichnaya, if you have it." Michael saw that Jonas was already preparing two martinis. He gave one to Lillian, kept one for himself. He poured Michael's vodka, then held his glass aloft.
"Your father liked a good, stiff drink," Uncle Sammy observed. " 'Fortification,' he used to say, 'cleanses the system.' Here's to him. He was a helluva man."
Uncle Sammy still looked every inch the patriarch. But that was natural, of course. This was his family, even if by proxy, since he had none of his own. His personality was tailor-made for sailing through emotionally difficult situations. Uncle Sammy was the rock upon which weaker souls, drowning in emotion, could throw themselves with absolute assurance. Michael was glad he was here.
"Lunch will be ready momentarily," Lillian Doss said. She had never been a person of many words, and now, with the death of her husband, her thoughts seemed more recondite than ever. "We're having roast beef hash and eggs."
"Your father's favorite," Uncle Sammy said with a sigh. "A fitting meal, now that the family is back together again."
As if on cue, Audrey appeared through the gap in the french doors. Michael had not seen his sister in nearly six years. On that occasion, she had appeared at his doorstep, bruised and two months' pregnant. The German she had been living with for six months in Nice had not reacted well to the news that she was pregnant. He had had no interest in beginning a family and had shown the depth of his displeasure at what he termed Audrey's "stupidity." Against her sister's wishes, Michael had found her former boyfriend and had dispatched his own form of retribution. Oddly, Audrey had hated her brother for it. They had not spoken since the day he had brought her into the clinic to have the abortion. When he had returned to fetch her, she was gone.
Lillian went to her daughter, and Michael took the opportunity to speak to Uncle Sammy.
"You told me that my father died in an automobile accident," he said softly. "What exactly happened?"
"Not now, son," Uncle Sammy said gently. "This isn't the time or the place. Let's respect your mother's peace of mind, hm?" He extracted a small notepad, wrote on it with a slim gold pen. He pressed the slip of paper into Michael's hand. "Meet me at this address at nine tomorrow morning. I'll tell you everything I know." He gave Michael a sad smile. "This has been very difficult on your mother."
"It's a shock to all of us," Michael said tightly.
Uncle Sammy nodded. Then he turned toward the women, his voice warm and rich. "Audrey, my little darling, how are you?"
Lillian Doss was slender, almost willowy, and Audrey was cut from the same mold. Seeing the daughter, one could imagine how striking the mother had once been. However, there was more than a touch of Philip's solid determination in Audrey's face, and this gave her a proud bearing that contrasted sharply with the sadness that seemed to hold her in its spell. Her hair, now cut short for the first time in Michael's memory, was redder than Lillian's golden brown.
As Michael's younger sisterЧraised in a household where feminine traits were, by and large, shunnedЧshe had done all in her power to compete with him on equal terms. Of course that had been impossibleЧit was Michael who had gone to Japan, not Audrey, As a consequence, she had become somewhat withdrawn.
Audrey's cool blue eyes regarded him now from across the sparely furnished room, a room that bore Philip Doss's indelible mark. In the study, Japanese screens, futon couches that Lillian complained were uncomfortable, contrasted with a futuristic Japanese black lacquer desk. Translucent rice-paper shoji across the windows brought intricate patterns of light and shadow into the room, making it appear larger than it was.