Dragon - Cussler Clive (книги хорошем качестве бесплатно без регистрации .TXT) 📗

There was a hushed quiet. Giordino gave Kamatori a dark look, then turned to Pitt expectantly.

Pitt’s face was quite composed. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to read around here?” He spoke boredly. “Maybe a guide to the local restaurants.”

Kamatori looked at Pitt with pure antagonism in his eyes. After a lapse of nearly a minute he stepped forward until he was almost leaning over Pitt.

“Do you like to hunt game, Mr. Pitt?” he asked abruptly.

“Not really. It’s no sport if the prey can’t shoot back.”

“You abhor the sight of blood and death then?”

“Don’t most well-adjusted people?”

“Perhaps you prefer to identify with the hunted.”

“You know Americans,” Pitt said conversationally. “We’re suckers for the underdog.”

Kamatori stared at Pitt murderously. Then he shrugged. “Mr. Suma has honored you with an invitation for dinner. You will be escorted to the dining room at seven o’clock. Kimonos can be found in the closet. Please dress appropriately.” Then he spun about briskly and strode from the room.

Giordino stared after him curiously. “What was all that doubletalk about hunting?”

Pitt closed his eyes in preparation to doze. “I do believe he intends to hunt us down like rabbits and lop off our heads.”

It was the kind of dining room the most palatial castles of Europe still have to entertain royal and celebrity guests. It was of vast proportions, with an open heavy-beamed ceiling twelve meters high. The floor was covered by a bamboo carpet interwoven with red silk, and the walls were paneled in highly polished rosewood.

Authentic paintings by Japanese masters hung precisely spaced as though each was in harmony with the other. The room was lit entirely with candles inside paper lanterns.

Loren had never seen anything to match its beauty. She stood like a statue as she admired the startling effect. Mike Diaz walked around her. He also came to a halt as he gazed about the richly adorned walls.

The only thing that seemed oddly out of place, that was not distinctly Japanese, was the long ceramic dining table that curled halfway across the room in a series of curves and appeared to have been fired in one giant piece. The matching chairs and place settings were spaced so that guests were not elbow-to-elbow but sitting partially in front of or in back of one another.

Toshie, dressed in a traditional blue silk kimono, came forward and bowed. “Mr. Suma begs your forgiveness for being late, but he will join you shortly. While you wait, may I fix you a drink?”

“You speak very good English,” Loren complimented her.

“I can also converse in French, Spanish, German, and Russian,” Toshie said with eyes lowered as if embarrassed to tout her knowledge.

Loren wore one of several kimonos she found in the closet of her guarded cottage. It beautifully draped her tall lithe body, and the silk was dyed a deep burgundy that complemented the light bronze of her fading summer tan. She smiled warmly at Toshie and said, “I envy you. I can barely order a meal in French.”

“So we’re to meet the great yellow peril at last,” muttered Diaz. He was in no mood to be polite and went out of his way to be rude. As a symbol of his defiance he had refused the offered Japanese-style clothing and stood in the rumpled fishing togs he wore when abducted. “Now maybe we’ll find out what crazy scheme is going on around here.”

“Can you mix a Maiden’s Blush?” Loren asked Toshie.

“Yes,” Toshie acknowledged. “Gin, curacao, grenadine, and lemon juice.” She turned to Diaz. “Senator?”

“Nothing,” he said flatly. “I want to keep my mind straight.”

Loren saw that the table was set for six. “Who will be joining us besides Mr. Suma?” she asked Toshie.

“Mr. Suma’s right-hand man, Mr. Kamatori, and two Americans.

“Fellow hostages, no doubt,” muttered Diaz.

Toshie did not answer but stepped lightly behind a polished ebony bar inlaid with gold tile and began mixing Loren’s drink.

Diaz moved over to one wall and studied a large painting of a narrative scene drawn in ink that showed a bird’s-eye view onto several houses in a village, revealing the people and their daily lives inside. “I wonder what something like this is worth?”

“Six million Yankee dollars.”

It was a quiet Japanese voice in halting English with a trace of a British accent, courtesy of a British tutor.

Loren and Diaz turned and looked at Hideki Suma with no small feeling of nervousness. They identified him immediately from pictures in hundreds of magazine and newspaper articles.

Suma moved slowly into the cavernous room, followed by Kamatori. He stared at them benignly for a few moments with a slight inscrutable smile on his lips. ” ‘The Legend of Prince Genji,’ painted by Toyama in fourteen eighty-five. You have excellent commercial taste, Senator Diaz. You chose to admire the most expensive piece of art in the room.”

Because of Suma’s awesome reputation, Loren expected a giant of a man. Not, most certainly, a man who was slightly shorter than she.

He approached, gave a brief bow to both of them, and shook hands. “Hideki Suma.” His hands were soft but the grip firm. “And I believe you’ve met my chief aide, Moro Kamatori.”

“Our jailer,” Diaz replied acidly.

“A rather disgusting individual,” said Loren.

“But most efficient,” Suma came back with a sardonic inflection. He turned to Kamatori. “We seem to be missing two of our guests.”

Suma had no sooner spoken when he felt a movement behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Pitt and Giordino were being hustled through the dining-room entrance by two security robots. They were still clad in their flying suits, both with huge garish neckties knotted around their necks that were obviously cut from the sashes of kimonos they’d declined to wear.

“They do not show respect for you,” Kamatori growled. He made a move toward them, but Suma held out a hand and stopped him.

“Dirk!” Loren gasped. “Al!” She rushed over and literally leaped into Pitt’s arms, kissing him madly over his face. “Oh, God, I’ve never been so happy to see anyone.” Then she hugged and kissed Giordino. “Where did you come from? How did you get here?”

“We flew in from a cruise ship,” Pitt said cheerfully, hugging Loren like the father of a kidnapped child who had been returned. “We heard this place was a four-star establishment and thought we’d drop in for some golf and tennis.”

Giordino grinned. “Is it true the aerobics instructors are built like goddesses?”

“You crazy nuts,” she blurted happily.

“Well, Mr. Pitt, Mr. Giordino,” said Suma. “I’m delighted to meet the men who have created an international legend through their underwater exploits.”

“We’re hardly the stuff legends are made of,” Pitt said modestly.

“I am Hideki Suma. Welcome to Soseki Island.”

“I can’t say I’m thrilled to meet you, Mr. Suma. It’s difficult not to admire your entrepreneurial talents, but your methods of operation fall somewhere between Al Capone and Freddie from Elm Street.”

Suma was not used to insults. He paused, staring at Pitt in puzzled suspicion.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” said Giordino, boldly appraising Toshie as he edged toward the bar.

For the first time, Diaz smiled broadly as he shook Pitt’s hand. “You’ve just made my day.”

“Senator Diaz,” Pitt said, greeting the legislator. “Nice to see you again.”

“I’d have preferred meeting you with a Delta team at your back.”

“They’re being held in reserve for the finale.”

Suma ignored the remark and lowered himself into a low bamboo chair. “Drinks, gentlemen?”

“A tequila martini,” ordered Pitt.

“Tequila and dry vermouth,” answered Toshie. “With orange or lemon peel?”

“Lime, thank you.”

“And you, Mr. Giordino?”