Floating City by Eric Van Lustbader Read Free Book Online Page B

strangle on bitter emotion.
    “It’s the Americans we’re in bed with who make you sick,” Chosa said, moving into the kitchen to prepare tea.
    “That we need them at all is galling.” Ushiba lit a cigarette as he followed Chosa. “I wonder that you don’t feel it.”
    “Oh, I do feel it.” Chosa put water on to boil, taking cups from a cabinet, measuring out tea. “But, unlike you, I’ve learned to live with it.”
    This suite, part of a triplex Chosa owned in the building, was reserved only for him and his occasional guests. Bodyguards and servants lived in the rooms below. He was one public figure who cherished his privacy. Midnight might seem an odd time to meet with the chief minister of MITI, but after all, Chosa was Yakuza, and such direct links between the underworld and the bureaucracy required absolute security. That the Daijin Ushiba was an adviser to the former Kaisho’s three-member inner council was a secret no one involved wanted known. Since Tomoo Kozo’s death late last year, the inner council consisted of Chosa, Tetsuo Akinaga, and Tachi Shidare, a young man elevated to Kozo’s position of oyabun of the Yamauchi clan. With the exception of Shidare, who was as yet too young, these men—along with Ushiba—were reigning members of the Godaishu who had become discontented with Mikio Okami’s power as Kaisho. After months of bitter debate, they had agreed to oust him, but somehow, someone unknown had transformed that decision into a death sentence for Okami.
    “It’s humiliating,’’
    “No.” Chosa turned on the Daijin abruptly. “It’s humiliating being privy to your weakness.” He poured tea into two cups, and they sat at the kitchen table, staring into one another’s face.
    “Yes.” Ushiba blew out a cloud of smoke. “My doctor tells me my ulcer is worse. The Americans are making it bleed; don’t you think I have reason enough to despise them?”
    Chosa handed Ushiba the tea. As he did so, he gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, yes. But you delimited the Americans. Just like you helped us delimit the Kaisho.”
    “Murdering Mikio Okami. Is that what you term delimiting?”
    Chosa raised his eyebrows. “Okami is dead? Do you know something I do not, Naohiro?”
    “Well, no, of course not.” Ushiba made a grimace of pain, wrapped his fine fingers tightly around the earthenware cup. “I was merely assuming his demise.”
    “With Okami that would be a mistake.” Chosa drained his cup, ran his fingertip around the bottom, picking up the limp tea leaves. He deliberately ignored the Daijin’s pain; to do otherwise would make Naohiro lose face.
    “But surely if Okami were alive, we would have heard some word of him by now.”
    Chosa sucked his fingertip into his mouth, chewed meditatively on the bitter leaves. “True, I have heard no word of Okami. But his would-be assassin is now dead, so firsthand verification is impossible.” He smiled, putting his hand over Ushiba’s. “Don’t worry about the Kaisho. His power has been destroyed. It is as my grandfather said, ‘Count as friends only those who have the ability to destroy you.’“ Chosa cherished these moments because they were the only time when he could confront Ushiba honestly.
    “If you truly thought Mikio Okami was alive, you would do something about it,” Ushiba continued as he tapped ash off the end of his cigarette. “He was your problem.”
    “Yes. The Kaisho.” Chosa’s face was thoughtful. “A latter-day shogun. What a disaster he was for us! So much power concentrated in one man. Disgraceful!”
    “Disgraceful only because he managed to put himself beyond the scope of even your power. I, myself, could admire him for that.”
    “Pah!” Chosa appeared disgusted. “With all your spies, don’t tell me you didn’t know I was the one who ordered his death.”
    Ushiba’s beautiful face turned hard. “Your habit of making fun of me will be the death of you, one day. I assure you I knew nothing of that