Temple of the Gods - Andy McDermott [28]
Tokyo
It was Nina’s first visit to Japan, and she looked out at the sprawling city from the limo that had collected her from Narita Airport with great interest. As a New Yorker she was no stranger to tall buildings, but the differences between those of her home and Tokyo intrigued her, not least the way that some rooftops were home to so many garish billboards and advertising banners that they resembled clipper ships, about to set sail across the urban sea.
One building stood out – not because it was festooned with hoardings, but instead because several wind turbines rose gracefully above its roof. She guessed it to be around fifty storeys tall; nothing remarkable by New York standards, but enough to put it in the upper ranks of this earthquake-prone country’s structures. An illuminated logo stood out near its summit. A stylised T, the letter drawn with the flowing strokes of Japanese calligraphy.
The same logo appeared on the letter the bowing limo driver had presented to her at the airport. A greeting from Takashi Seiji, apologising for not meeting her in person. Instead, the industrialist had written to humbly request – the exact words of the letter – that she meet him at his penthouse.
To her surprise, it turned out that the penthouse was above the corporate headquarters. Takashi was apparently so dedicated to his work he literally lived at the office.
The skyscraper was set back from the streets, surrounded by an expanse of perfectly manicured lawn. Knowing Tokyo real estate was among the most expensive in the world, Nina recognised that something as simple as a patch of grass was making a subtle yet powerful statement: yes, we can afford this. Having done a little research during the flight, she knew that Penrose was right about the company’s being a major force in Japan. Takashi himself was the third-generation leader of the business, and in the forty years he had been in charge he had taken it to heights of which even his successful father and grandfather could not have dreamed.
The limo pulled up at one of the building’s entrances, the driver opening the door for Nina and bowing again as she got out. A young Japanese man in a crisp Italian suit came to meet her, bowing even lower before extending his hand. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Wilde,’ he said. There was a faint West Coast accent to his English. ‘I’m Kojima Kenichi, Takashi-san’s secretary. I hope you had a pleasant journey.’
‘A little short notice, but yes, thank you.’ She’d had an extremely nice surprise at JFK when she discovered she had been upgraded to first class, courtesy of Takashi.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Please, follow me – don’t worry about your bags, you’ll be taken to your hotel after the meeting.’ Another bow, then he started for the entrance. Nina followed.
Kojima led her to a marble reception desk in the lobby – where she was startled to discover that the figure behind it was not human. The receptionist was actually a robot, designed to look like a young and pretty Japanese woman. The illusion was convincing enough for Nina to have reached the desk before noticing something was amiss, but now that she knew, she found the replicant’s slightly stiff movements and glassy eyes unsettling. The robot turned towards her and spoke Japanese in a high, girly voice.
‘Uh . . . what do I do?’ she asked Kojima, who appeared amused by her discomfiture.
The robot bowed its head and spoke again, this time in a distinctly lower register. ‘My apologies, madam. I did not know you spoke English. May I take your name, please?’
‘Nina Wilde?’ Nina offered hesitantly.
The robot’s mouth pulled into a smile. ‘Thank you, you are expected. Mr Takashi is waiting for you. If you will please take your visitor’s pass, and wear it at all times while you are in the building?’ Its hand gestured towards a slot set into the marble desktop, from which emerged a laminated card bearing Nina’s name and photograph – which, she realised with unease, must have been taken just moments before by a camera in one