man, hurtling through the night once more.
“What the hell …?” she said weakly, struggling. She was wrapped in her bedspread, her arms at her sides, the seat belt strapped around her, and the man driving didn’t even glance at her.
“You had some unwanted visitors. I figured you were better off with me than the holy brothers.”
She tried to speak, coughing instead, the spasms racking her body. “They must have tried to kill me,” she managed to choke out. “How did you know?”
“I was keeping an eye on things. I didn’t think they’d give up that easily.”
She was silent for a moment. “How many of them did you kill?”
He glanced over at her. “You think I’m a cold-blooded killer?”
“I have no idea who or what you are.”
“Takashi O’Brien. I work for the Japanese Department of Antiquities. We’ve been looking for the Hayashi Urn for a long, long time.”
She blinked. He didn’t exactly fit her idea of a Japanese bureaucrat, but then, nothing was fitting her preconceived notions today. “Why didn’t you just come to the Sansone and ask if we knew anything?”
“We had no interest in drawing the attention of the True Realization Fellowship. We needed to secure it before they could get their hands on it.”
“Why?” Her teeth were chattering. He reached over and switched on the heat, and she glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just after 1:00 a.m. It had been less than three hours since she’d left the museum. Three hours to change a lifetime.
“You can worry about that later. In the meantime we need to get you someplace safe and warm.”
“And dry,” she said. “And dressed,” she added in sudden horror. “I’m not wearing anything under this, am I?”
“Since you don’t make it a habit to bathe in your clothes, then yes, you’re naked. I grabbed some clothes for you when I got you out of there—they’re tucked somewhere between you and the bedspread.”
She wasn’t cold now, she was hot. For reasons she didn’t want to think about she tended to be extremely inhibited, more so since her mother had always made it a practice to prance her perfect body around the house in various stages of undress, particularly if there happened to be men around. And the thought of this exquisite, enigmatic man hauling her own wet, naked body around was enough to make Summer wish those monsters had ended up drowning her, after all.
Except then she would have been naked and floating in her tub. Please, God, if I’m going to die, could I at least do it with my clothes on? she begged. Particularly if the oddly named Takashi O’Brien was going to be there.
Though if he were around, chances were she wasn’t going to die. He’d saved her twice. Whether he admitted it or not, he was her guardian angel, and she was going to have to get over the fact that he’d seen her naked.
“Okay,” she said in a hollow voice. He was once more driving like a bat out of hell, and she had no choice but to hang on. “Where are we going?”
“My hotel.”
He was protecting her, she reminded herself, squashing down the needless additional panic. “And I’m supposed to walk in wearing only a bedspread?” she said.
“I told you, I brought some clothes. You can get dressed while I drive.”
She glanced behind her, but there was no back seat in this tiny sports car. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Take me outside the city and I’ll go change in the bushes.”
“I’ve already seen you, Summer,” he said in a bored voice. Unfortunately, that didn’t help.
“Then you know you’re not being deprived of anything spectacular. Find me a darkened street and some bushes and I’ll be fine.”
He glanced over at her, and for a moment she thought he was about to argue. She was going to forestall him when she started coughing again, finally leaning back against the leather seat, exhausted.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll find you some bushes.” She must have imagined the odd note of guilt in his soft, emotionless voice.
What did he have to feel guilty about? He’d saved her, again.
Hadn’t he?
4
His holiness, the Shirosama of the True Realization Fellowship, sat in meditation, considering his options. His practice was a far cry from the traditional forms. When he freed his mind the visions would come, the plans would form and true enlightenment would beckon like a bright white light.
He knew what he had to do to attain that permanent state, and the thousands of faithful were well trained, well organized to follow in his ways. He had the best scientists, the best doctors, the best soldiers, and the supplies were stockpiled, ready to be used. Awaiting his signal.
The blindness was increasing, a sure sign that all would soon be ready. His eyes were a milky brown—he still needed the contact lenses, but not for long. His colorless skin had needed no ritual treatment, and he hadn’t had to bleach his hair for months. It had stopped growing, and what remained was the pure white he’d managed to achieve. His transformation was almost complete.
It was really all very clear to him. A simple matter of various forces coming into play, and he had learned to be patient over the years.
He knew his destiny. Karma had brought him to this place and time. It was his task to reunite people with their lost souls, reintegrate them into a new life past pain, suffering and need. He would bring them all to that place of white-light purity, leading the way, a beacon of truth and retribution. The more they suffered in the task of being set free, the greater the reward, and flinching from what needed to be done was unacceptable.
Pain and death were merely transitory states, to be moved through with as little fuss as possible, and those who weren’t willing to embrace the change would be helped along by his army of followers. The gift he offered was of immeasurable value—the gift of a cleansed soul and a new life in a new world.
His needs were simple, and had been met by divine providence. He needed followers, true believers who never questioned. He needed the strong and the young, the old and the wise. He needed disciples of unflinching character who would do what he asked, and never consider it morally repugnant. There were times when delivering death was the greatest gift of all, helping someone past his or her current state of greed and passion, into the next life of pure thought.
The Shirosama had the disciples. He had the tools, the toxins and the gases that would render the subway systems and train stations in every part of this world into instruments of disease and death. This method had been tried before and failed, due to the weakness of the followers, the lack of vision.
Or perhaps it would simply be his time. The others had tried, for all the wrong reasons, the wrong faith.
The hour was almost right. The Lunar New Year was fast approaching, and he knew that time was finally right. Year after year had passed, but now things were finally
