The Seventh Samurai Read online

  Then a storm in full fury hit the raft. For hours they struggled, bailing, working with the sea anchor, re-rigging their cover, trying desperately to stay on board. They tied themselves to the raft with short lines. Finally, the sea anchor parted, the raft breached to in the trough of giant rollers, and then flipped over. Coughing salt water and struggling, they clung to their lines and bobbed in their life jackets in the boiling water. When the storm eased up, they were exhausted and crawled onto the overturned raft, panting.

  The sea became flat, flat as a tennis court that extended into infinity to all points of the compass. The sun was a fiery devil that found them on the exposed flat surface of the raft bottom and seemed to single them out for a special searing. They knew thirst. Nat knew they could not survive there and he forced the protesting boy to join him in the water to get the raft upright once more. It took hours, diving under, pushing the thwarts, almost succeeding, only to have it flop back.

  Finally it was turned. There had been no sharks, but they had been bumped by the large blue fish, some of them must have weighed twenty-five or thirty pounds. Once again in the raft, Sam dropped in a crumpled ball of sleep. Nat took inventory and found most of their supplies were gone. Most of the water, provisions, the turtle meat, implements, the first aid kit - gone.

  The voyage changed from almost a honeymoon trip to a journey through hell. The raft was a prison that was haunted by dragons from above and below. Both of them got salt-water boils. During the day they dumped buckets of salt water over their heads to keep their brains from exploding in the sun. At night they shivered. And always the large blue fish bumping the bottom of the raft. And sometimes the sharks came, circling grimly, playing the waiting game. The glint of light coming from the water was blinding and the sun a tormentor.

  Nat set the raft to rights and prepared for survival, while Sam lay across a thwart, staring at the ocean, wondering why he of all people had been selected for this ordeal.

  CHAPTER 21: Watanabe's Tokyo Evening

  After the sometimes tense session in Finance Minister Akira Yoshimoto's office, Watanabe and Shibata were permitted to refresh themselves before the promised - or rather mandated - dinner.

  "You know, Watanabe-san," the old cop smiled as he splashed water over his face in a rest room, "I congratulate you for pulling off that trick with your girlfriend. I've got a feeling that if those press releases were not distributed that something less pleasant than dinner might have been planned for us."

  Watanabe pointed to the ceiling and the old man nodded. Certainly there might be bugs. But everyone now knew what the stakes were and Watanabe and his boss were reasonably certain that the finance minister knew all about the Fuurin Kazan. Both of them were waiting for the second shoe to drop.

  Dinner was served, not in a restaurant, but on low tables on the floor of a tatami room in Yoshimoto's large suite of offices. Young ladies clad in kimono discreetly carried in one course after another.

  "Shibata-san," Yoshimoto's cousin Suzuki said to the old policeman during the meal, "You would have made a good samurai. Do you ever long for the old days?"

  "I suppose I do, Suzuki-san," he replied. "Those would have been interesting days, but as for myself being a samurai, I think I lack the temperament. I have always been too fond of food, drink and pleasures of the flesh."

  "Must a samurai sacrifice these things?" Yoshimoto asked.

  The leathery-faced old man drained his sake cup and set it down where it was immediately refilled by a shy young lady, or at least a young lady who pretended to be shy. "The true samurai, the one I would be if I could be a samurai, leads an aesthetic life. This higher appreciation of beauty in our culture is achieved in various ways. Certainly bushido, the way of the warrior, which many consider the heart and soul of Japan, is important. Honor, constant attention to the martial arts plus study and concentration are needed. Then there are such things as the tea ceremony, which the true samurai must know, which teaches humility, contemplation and regard for simple beauty. This is all basic to wabi sabi, the two words that embody the life of the samurai more than any other. Of course they mean a taste for the simple and quiet. Simple meals and a simple place to rest one's head. There is no place in that world for the vain, the abusive, the coarse, the greedy, or for one who lusts after power."

  "We love our samurai dramas on TV, but who could live such a role?" Suzuki asked.

  "Perhaps there is a spirit of samurai, an essence that can be forever captured as the spirit of the Japanese people. The Japanese see things differently than the rest of the world," the finance minister said. "Foreigners will never understand that our wants and needs have to do with the tranquility and peace of wabi sabi, that the things we want for Japan, we would like to share with the world as well." Yoshimoto smiled at the others, then turned to his cousin. "Kyoko, I would like to show Watanabe-san some things in my office. Perhaps you could escort Shibata-san around the building?"

  As Yoshimoto led Watanabe out of the room, Shibata was telling Suzuki that in the old days he would have preferred to be a ninja. "But again, discipline is needed and I grow too heavy. And to master the art of ninjutsu one must almost be born into a ninja family. You see, training begins at the age of five or six with daily work on at least four skills: balance, agility, strength and stamina. There are others. As you know, it is an art of invisibility, dark clothing; the ninja spy or assassin strikes at night. Skill in the use of all weapons. Frustrating and confusing the enemy, starting rumors, character assassination -- it takes years."

  "Almost like a graduate degree," the woman said.

  Shibata fixed Kyoko with a friendly eye: "Deception, stealth, changing shape and form, pretending one is something they are not, then striking like a snake. Would that kind of life appeal to you, Suzuki-san?"

  "I am but a woman, a member of the weaker sex, surely not fit for the ninjutsu line of work."

  "To the contrary. Some of the finest ninjas were women who had no conscience and would show no mercy."

  "Fascinating. Perhaps we can share another sake cup before I lead you on the grand tour." She added wistfully, "If we were both but young, perhaps we would choose different paths for this journey through life."

  By this time Watanabe had followed Yoshimoto into the inner office and watched the older man open a cabinet and lift out a bottle of sake. When he gave it a shake it seemed to contain a blizzard of gold!

  "It's dazzling," Watanabe said with a laugh. They had had several sake cups during the long meal, but Yoshimoto poured two more, the clear rice wine and the glittering flakes making opulent snowstorms in the tiny cups. "Is it gold?"

  "Yes," Yoshimoto grinned. "As pure as it can be. Our doctors tell us a little gold will do us no harm. Here, drink!" They lifted their cups.

  "This is not the wabi sabi Shibata-san spoke of, the love of the serene and humble," Watanabe said. He could taste no difference in the sake because of the gold. It warmed him and was of excellent quality.

  "We Japanese have always thought of gold during auspicious events," the finance minister said. "Now that we have achieved our economic miracle and are moving ahead on a steady keel, if not advancing the way many would like, we have even a stronger appetite for the metal. You can get it in coffee made with French mineral water, in sushi, even sprinkled on noodles. It is a symbol of success."

  "But everyone in Japan is not rich," Watanabe reminded. "The economic miracle crested some years ago. Many families are struggling. We have homeless on the streets."

  "Every great civilization has a few drop outs," Yoshimoto said. "But today the Japanese people are enjoying a life of plenty. Just look at the throngs crowding the shopping streets. We have captured a certain spirit of success. Such times come only now and then." He poured more sake and took a seat and motioned for Watanabe to sit down. "We must capture the moment. I know, my career has moved from the shambles of war to this peak of power were you find me now." Watanabe thought Yoshimoto might be slightly drunk, but the suave older
man seemed totally in control. "In different times, say I was a Buddhist, or a Shinto priest, or even a Christian, I could have become a great spiritual leader with a large following. Instead I took a different path through the chairs of government, and through persistence and attention to detail have risen to the top." Yoshimoto paused for a moment, then asked, "And what does one do at the top?"

  The question puzzled Watanabe. "Rest, enjoy the fruits of your labor? Play golf? I really don't know."

  "I have a dream of Japan as an even greater nation than it is at present. Before the war, when I was a child, the Japanese goal was to bring order to a chaotic Asia. We did not set out to dominate the world, and we were tricked into the war with America. Perhaps our politicians did lose patience in negotiating with the Americans, but we were nevertheless tricked into that war and, in hindsight, certain defeat."

  "I've heard similar arguments," Watanabe said. In fact it was a right-wing mantra.

  "Of course you have. I don't mean to labor the point, but what I'm saying is the Japanese goals remain the same. In some way because of our harmonious way of life, our dedication to order and the continuity of the family, we as a nation can bring order to the world. This simple thing is my dream."

  "To bring order and harmony to the world?" Watanabe asked. It seemed an incredible goal.

  "Exactly. And I need good people to help me. You've shown great initiative in uncovering this tunnel thing, whatever it is. Probably someone has stolen a lot of money from that project. We'll get the facts. But aside from that, I could use you on my staff, Watanabe-san. You've seen my people, two of them today. They lack initiative. I hope you'll consider coming to work for my office. You wouldn't be stuck here; your limits would be somewhere up in the heavens." He sipped sake and waited for a response.

  "Your offer, if it is that, is very flattering. But my old mother and father in Osaka need my attention. Duty to one's parents."

  "That's no problem," Yoshimoto said. "Many of our Tokyo people live in Osaka. The Bullet Train, the Shinkansen, brings them here every Monday morning and carries them home every Friday night. It is the best of two worlds. You can have your home in Osaka, your parents, your wife, your girlfriend, and another set of social arrangements in Tokyo during the week. Just think about it and let me know in a day or two. I can arrange your transfer at any time. I see something in you I like, Watanabe-san."

  "Thank you," Watanabe replied. "Of course I'll consider it." He was beginning to develop a true respect for Yoshimoto as a dangerous man, something lurking just under the urbane surface vibrated danger. There was a snakelike glint to his eyes, devoid of conscience, or compassion. He thought to change the subject. "It's interesting that you could have been a religious leader." Watanabe then reached over and refilled the cups.

  "Twice in my life I have had deeply moving religious experiences. The first in a cave on Okinawa as a young soldier. I witnessed the death of a fine old Japanese colonel who had a profound influence on my life. The second experience? oddly enough, I too am from the Osaka area. When I returned from the war, just a ragged youngster, I was befriended by an American army sergeant." Yoshimoto sipped his drink and thought of Sergeant Burt Chalk for a long time before he continued. "I feel this man had some divinity in him, just as our Emperor has divinity, although the Emperor's comes directly from the sun goddess. I felt this man, this gaijin soldier, carried a message for me."

  On impulse, Yoshimoto turned and pointed to what looked like a small plaque on the wall. "He gave me a token, that watch. I felt it meant more than just a small gift. I've kept it with me ever since."

  Watanabe strained his eyes in the muted light of the office. It was an old watch with a tarnished gold band and a pinkish face. He couldn't make out the brand name on the face. He wondered if Yoshimoto was putting him on with these stories, or if the man was some sort of fanatic. Certainly he seemed dedicated to whatever force was driving him. Watanabe finished his drink and stood up. It was late.

  Kyoko Suzuki and Yoshimoto bid goodbye to Watanabe and his boss at the elevator, but did not leave them alone. The two Osaka policemen were escorted to their hotel and installed in a grand suite by a couple of polite young men who offered to provide them anything they needed - anything.

  Shibata laughed and Watanabe shrugged. Evidently the two meant female companionship. When Watanabe had entered into his affair with Nana he promised to tell her in advance if he planned to be unfaithful, so they could call it off. She had made a similar pledge. During the early days of their relationship, Watanabe had difficulty keeping the agreement, but on this night, after the grueling day and the food and the sake, plus the surprising offer from Yoshimoto, he was ready for a deep, steaming Japanese bath and his bed.

  Suzuki and the finance minister returned to his office for a brief consultation.

  "We have them now and we should dispatch them," Suzuki insisted. "And we should send someone to silence the girl. These are dangerous people, the only people through the years that we have been unable to control."

  "I think you are unduly alarmed, Kyoko," Yoshimoto said quietly. "I have offered Watanabe-san a job. We can string these two along. I even like the pair of them. They could serve us."

  "Or, more likely, they could bring us down. This press release is explosive. Too much has gone on at the tunnel over the years. Someone will talk, word will get out."

  "But not in time, Kyoko. The Israeli ship is probably somewhere near Indonesia by now. We will have the warheads. The missiles are ready to be wheeled onto the seabed. The Israeli and Japanese technical crews are in the tunnel. Computers have been programmed and reprogrammed. The supplies are in place. There is no stopping us now."

  "I hope you're right. There are enough variables in the plan to distract Buddha himself."

  "I've worked it out over the years. I identified the Israelis as having the brains, the guts and the need to be our cohorts. I managed to identify those who insisted a third temple must be built and those realists who knew Israel's days were numbered, as well as technical adventurers. And with their help they were joined into dark union. Remember, just after the war we started together. It's been a long road. But the end is in sight. Overnight Japan will become the world power."

  "There's Israel, remember," Suzuki said. "Our friends there are in this too."

  "Of course," Yoshimoto agreed. "And they shall have what they want. The Arab world will be brought to its knees. And Israel will have considerable influence in the world. But Japan is situated in such a way and its people have the will and economic power to become dominant. Incidentally, the Mossad, the Israeli secret service, is also poking around. They know their warheads are missing, but are at a loss to know what to do. The Israeli government is in a state of paralysis, afraid to tell even its closest allies that it had nuclear weapons and that they have been stolen. It is a delicious joke."

  "There are also many people in the Japanese government who will be alarmed by this press release. Things could go bad fast."

  "I have things in hand," Yoshimoto announced. I'll sleep in the office tonight."

  "Again?" Suzuki questioned. "You should come home and have your bath."

  "I have much to think of," he insisted.

  "I hope it's not Yoko Kaji," Suzuki snapped.

  "And who might that be?" Yoshimoto asked imperiously.

  "The young lady I see so much in your office, the granddaughter of one of your friends. She was also one of the serving girls tonight and paid you special attention. Yoko Kaji - I have checked on her background. I hope at your age, after a lifetime of fidelity to your work and to me, that you are not about to make a fool of yourself."

  "Don't chide me, Kyoko. I am my own person and I care little for young ladies. My job has a thousand details. I cannot lead the life of a normal man."

  "Let it be so. Goodnight, Akira."

  CHAPTER 22: Survival

  For two days Nat had been fooling with the solar still that was part of the raft's equipment. It consist
ed mainly of a balloon, but he couldn't get it to function properly. He had been hard put to keep Sam from drinking seawater. The sodium in the water would draw fluid from the body and shut down the organs one after the other, leading to death. As it was, neither of them had had a bowel movement since the second day and, to add to their pain and parched skin, both had developed hemorrhoids.

  After two days without water, their first break came. A flying fish fell into the raft. Nat divided it and urged Sam to eat his share. There was liquid in the flesh. The following day they caught another sea turtle and after a half-hour scrap managed to flop it upside down in the bottom of the raft. Both suffered cuts and scratches from the flippers and sharp shell. Nat cut himself several more times as he butchered the shellback. He was careful to catch the blood after cutting the throat and they both drank deeply of the dark fluid, which they found to their joy was not too salty.

  They ate what meat they could, and Nat cut the remainder into strips and strung it about the raft to dry. The turtle seemed to be the turning point. It gave them both strength and hope. That night they had a sudden shower and caught a supply of fresh water in their sail and the waterproof cloth they used to cover the raft.

  The following day Nat mended a broken gaff with some twine and set out to catch one of the large blue fish that regularly wove in flitting patterns beneath the raft, occasionally bumping the vessel. After a few unsuccessful tries, holding the gaff deep in the water for minutes at a time, he hooked a fifteen-pounder just under the gills and flopped it on board. Again, the fish surrendered both liquid and food. Nat ate one of the large, flat eyes and offered the other to Sam who refused it in disgust.

  But they were learning to live with the sea. They found a tangle of sea grass and ship's debris. They pulled it on board. In the debris were tiny shrimp and crabs that they shook and plopped live into their mouths, noisily crunching the small crustaceans.