the British had sent an agent disguised as a butler to spy on him â and all because he could read the future of foreign exchange and stock charts like others read words on a page. Predicting the future performance of financial instruments seemed to many like something they could learn, a puzzle to crack and get good at, like a crossword. Predicting the market from charts was just another great way of making money, if you could master it. In reality, it was impossible â just as you couldnât know for certain the winner of tomorrowâs three thirty at Doncaster until horse and jockey passed the post.
While hundreds of books every year professed to teach you how to predict the future of markets, the reality was that, if you could, youâd be able to suck the financial world dry. A savant who could predict the movement of markets from charts could grow their wealth exponentially, for ever increasing the size of their bets. Pretty soon no one would be prepared to play against him and the market would die. It would be a skill as powerful and as dangerous as a time machine. The ability to see even seconds into the future of the dollar would ensure that the viewer made fortunes beyond even the avarice of billionaires. So, it was fortunate that these books did not unlock the secrets of trading the market, and that it was impossible to stare at the chart of Microsoft and see how it was going to trade. The consequences of being able to do so would be disastrous.
Until one day, in a bank in Londonâs Docklands, a trainee who brought the coffee and fruit to the noisy traders had pointed out that the German Bund was about to go up. It had done so. His name was Jim Evans. For Jim, it had been the start of a crazy ride that, as he sat now, watching the tide roll up the Thames, seemed never-ending.
âProfessor Nakabashi, Iâm honoured you could see me so quickly.â
Akira smiled. âSit down, old friend, and show me what you have found. I am most excited.â
Shinjitai-san sat down slowly. While some men in their eighties seemed agile and untroubled by age, his advanced years had taken their toll. âI can hardly believe it myself,â he said, pulling a handkerchief from the top pocket of his suit jacket. âBut here it is.â He unfolded the woollen cloth, a subtle tartan pattern made of finest thread.
A gold lozenge twinkled.
âOooh,â groaned Akira. He picked it up. âIt is a treasure,â he said, placing it under a lens, a cross between a magnifying glass and a microscope. The coin grew to the size of a chickenâs egg. âThis is unrecorded. It is from the fourteenth century, an almost unprecedented find. It is pristine.â He looked at Shinjitai-san. âHow much did you pay for it?â
âSensei, I paid only three hundred mahn for it, but it was from an American and I could hardly believe that it was genuine. Three million yen was all I had to hand and I feared it was not genuine and that I would lose the money.â
Akira nodded. âI understand. What would you have me pay for it?â
Shinjitai-san bowed his head. âTen million yen.â
âThat is not enough, but I will accept your offer.â
âThank you, Sensei. I am grateful that you will accept it into the Imperial Collection.â
âSee here,â said Akira, opening a drawer. He put down a small velvet tray in front of Shinjitai-san.
The old man gasped: it was another exquisite rarity. He looked at Akira. âCan it be?â
Akira flexed the fingers on his short hand. âOf course not, Shinjitai-san, but it is delightful to imagine.â
âSurely?â
âWe should not torture ourselves, my friend.â
  11 Â
Brandon could not relax till they had cleared the harbour. When the gentle swell lifted the boat as they left the protection of the walls, he felt a surge of relief. The Japanese had fussed over the craft and gone to