Spiral

Dunne had stepped through a sliding glass door. The weather that fall day was cool but sunny. On a teak table next to Kitano were two glasses and a bottle of scotch, along with a plate of pâté. Dunne recognized the scotch. It was Macallan, Special Reserve, 1945. A ten-thousand-dollar bottle.

“Please,” Kitano said.

Dunne poured a glass. Kitano tossed the pigeon upward. “Watch,” he said.

The bird flew in a tight circle, then performed what amounted to a backflip in the air. The bird did the aerial somersault twice more before returning to Kitano’s arm. “No good for racing, but they are a pleasure nonetheless, no?”

“Is it a new breed?”

“Heavens, no. This is an English short-faced tumbler. They’ve been around for centuries. Charles Darwin wrote about them.” Kitano headed toward the coop, and Dunne followed. Coop didn’t capture the sense of the place. It was a miniature pigeon palace. Seated on glass shelves were nests, each like a little apartment, with separate food and water. Kitano returned the English short-faced tumbler to its home, then went back outside, another pigeon in tow. “This is a racer. There is a red string on that tree, the large one at the end of the field. Watch.”

Kitano tossed the pigeon upward, and it shot off in the direction of the tree.

Kitano said, “Try the matsutake and hazelnut pâté. It is the perfect season in the pine forests of Japan. My chef has a special preparation. He marinates them in blood.” Kitano used a small metal spoon to scoop the mushroom pâté onto a cracker. He took a bite, then prepared one for Dunne. Dunne found its sharp taste seductive. Many of his sophisticated, expensive tastes could be traced to this man. Kitano had opened up new worlds.

Dunne noticed Kitano watching the sky.

Dunne followed his gaze, spotting a large bird circling high above. “Is that a hawk?” Dunne asked.

“Falcon. I also keep birds of prey.”

The pigeon flew toward them, the red string in its beak, oblivious to the danger. The falcon hung in the air high above the pigeon, practically motionless. Neither man spoke.

Finally, Kitano said, “We had plans.”

Dunne kept his face neutral, taking another bracing sip of the alcohol. “That was a long time ago.”

“Time has not diminished the necessity of action.”

Kitano appeared calm, placid, but Dunne knew better. “Hitoshi-”

“You and I were going to change the world. Instead you are sending me to jail.”

“That was your own fault.”

“Don’t insult me. You had those charges brought against me. You can stop this at any time.”

“Hitoshi, you left me no choice.”

Kitano kept his eyes on Dunne. “How close are you to a cure?” “We don’t have it. Let it go. It’s over.”

Kitano turned his gaze back to the falcon. “It can dive at one hundred eighty miles an hour. It comes down so fast that its prey cannot see it, cannot respond.”

Dunne watched as the falcon pulled in its wings and plummeted downward, picking up speed as it neared its prey. It was over in a fraction of a second. The falcon struck, and the pigeon almost exploded in midair.

Kitano said, “Make these charges go away. Or I will kill you.”

Dunne had put down his scotch carefully, looked Kitano directly in the eyes. “You think this impresses me? A falcon killing a goddamn pigeon?” He shook his head. “If you can beat these tax evasion charges, do it. But the Uzumaki is a national security issue. You say one wrong word, and I’ll have you locked up without a trial so quick your head will spin.” Dunne paused. “Another option would be to turn you over to the Chinese for prosecution of war crimes.”

Dunne had laid it out in detail.

“You need me,” Kitano said. “Once I have the Uzumaki-”

“But I don’t need you, Hitoshi, not anymore. I have the President now. And once Detrick develops the cure, we can take down China anytime we want.”

“You’ve discussed this with him. The President of the United States.”

“When the time is right, I can bring him along.”

Kitano changed direction. “Japan will oppose any unlawful-”

“We’ve already spoken to the Japanese government. They will be best pleased if we make you disappear. You are an embarrassment, a relic that they’d prefer to forget. Listen closely. I’m the falcon here, not you.”

And that had been the end of it. Kitano had kept his mouth shut. He had lost his case, gone to jail. SunAgra was shuttered.

Kitano had become nothing more than an old man in a cage. Soon he would be dead. No matter what happened to Orchid, Kitano would not survive-on that, the President had clearly agreed with Dunne.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, THEY WERE OUTSIDE KITANO’S cell. The old man stood stiffly in the small room’s center, head held high and clearly angry. From behind Dunne, they wheeled in the cart with the pigeon cage. Kitano barely glanced at them, keeping his focus on Dunne.

“Leave us,” Dunne said to the warden.

When they were alone, Kitano pointed to the pigeons. “I expected to go to my estate. To see them fly again.”