Alpha Adventures: First Three Novels Page 2

  Travis cut her off, his hangover exacerbating his indignation, “Tough? Yeah, I don’t like getting shot, funny how that is. I don’t know about you, but that wasn’t what I expected at all when I signed up for this. I wanted to see some places and solve some problems and make a bit of extra cash, not find myself having a shoulder like Swiss cheese after what would be described as a bad day in Chechnya, and a really fucking awful day anywhere else. Savannah, I’m not sure I want to do this again, ok? I’m an anthropologist. I’m not cut out for it.”

  He slumped back on the desk. Savannah let it slide.

  “Alright, no need to take that tone. I know it was hard, but look at this case. It looks like a paper trail! Purely investigatory, we get to see Japan, I get to brush up on my Japanese, you get to eat some sushi and maybe drink a little sake. It’ll be administrative work when we’re out there, which I’ll be doing seeing as you don’t read Japanese. It’ll be like a holiday!”

  That didn’t sound so bad to Travis, but he still didn’t feel like doing anything that involved not being drunk.

  “What about Angelo? I can’t leave him on his own.” He knew he was stretching.

  “Already arranged. Alice from Student Support at the University is going hiking; she said she’d love to take him with her. And he could really do with not hanging out with you in an office for the rest of his life.”

  Travis looked at Angelo. He realized that the dog could definitely use some country air. He had not been on a proper walk in weeks, and after all, Japan was one of the safest societies in the world. Still, there was no way he was going to let Savannah know he’d caved so easily.

  “Fine, fine. What’s the job?” Savannah scrolled the page on the screen.

  “Something about the deed to an amethyst mine. The mine itself apparently doesn’t exist, but the prospective client says here that it’s a well-known family story that their Japanese ancestors owned an amethyst mine and were cheated out of it in the post-war period. She’s in Atlanta, lives here, apparently. I’ll email her, and set up a meeting, ok?”

  Travis nodded, noncommittally, but at least it was something to do. Savannah left shortly afterwards, taking Angelo with her. The Jack Russell seemed excited to be going somewhere, unlike his master. Once they had gone, Travis decided his hangover wasn’t so bad after all. From the draw in the antique desk he withdrew an as yet unopened bottle of wine. The meeting probably wouldn’t take place for a day or two at the very least, and he was parched from actually talking to another human being instead of his silent telepathic communication with his canine friend.

  He poured a glass, put on some Led Zeppelin, and lay back in the chair with his eyes closed, the departed perfume of Savannah and Angelo’s doggy aroma still clinging to his mind.

  Chapter Three

  Travis actually managed to get himself together reasonably successfully despite his alcohol induced impairment. After a slightly inebriated cab ride back to his apartment, eleven o’clock saw him showered, shaved and having actual coffee in his system to flush out the freeze dried rubbish from the office. The shaving was necessary, but it also served to highlight to Travis how gaunt he had become. Half of the bristles in the sink were silver, a far larger proportion than was usual, and, not that he was the sort of person to pay attention to it usually the hairs at his temples were getting decidedly salt and pepper. The motivation for this activity was spurred, obviously, by Savannah. As much as Travis gave himself credit for getting himself human, realistically it would not have happened if Savannah hadn’t called him to say the meeting with the prospective client, a Mrs. Minami Richards of Atlanta, was set for later that day and that he should at least attempt to appear like a human being. Hearing his groans of discontent, she had proceeded to meanly ask him if he thought that looking like a respectable anthropology professor was too much to ask. Travis was well versed in the art of rapidly sobering himself up, having spent a decade associating with a social group made up exclusively of students and other lecturers like himself. His particular no-fail method involved plenty of bacon, maple syrup and enough Tylenol to take down a Kentucky Derby winner; but as he had not done any shopping for weeks, he had to settle for the second, less reliable option of Tylenol, caffeine, and taking a long enough shower in freezing cold water.

  Within an hour, Travis was walking to Grant Park to meet Savannah and Mrs. Richards. He already missed Angelo, who always liked park days, and in happier times the two of them had often taken the short trip from their house on Hill Street so Angelo could meet other dogs and Travis could meet their hopefully attractive female owners. Savannah had not told him anything about the prospective client. One of the many things Travis admired about her was her absolute disdain for repeating herself when one conversation between multiple people would convey all the required information. He knew from his own experiences in the lecture hall that there were few things considered more annoying to the profession of lecturer than the unending stream of freshmen who were apparently incapable of either retaining information or taking adequate notes to remind themselves of things that Travis had discussed not minutes before. There was “therefore” a certain perverse appreciation amongst lecturers who, as a species, were dependant on their speaking voices for their careers, for the subtle art of not engaging in spurious verbosity. Now that he thought about it, perhaps that was the root of why he had never taken to Alpha Adventures’ currently incarcerated ecologist, Fiona. The woman was more at home with a megaphone than a pen, not that she was stupid, just verbose to the point of belligerence.

  “Monahan! Are you blind?”

  His last name brought him out of his reverie on tautology, and he spun slowly to face the direction of the speaker. Savannah was behind him, sitting at a table under an awning attached to a food van bearing the legend ‘Kyoto-2-Go’. He had walked right past her.

  “Hi Travis, I ordered you some teriyaki beef. Mrs. Richards will be here any- ah, I think I see her now.”

  Savannah waved at a short woman who was approaching from across the park. Travis couldn’t make out her facial features yet, which was yet another reminder that he really should get his eyes tested.

  “Japanese food, to meet a Japanese-American client? Isn’t that a little…”

  Travis trailed off in favor of making a you-know-what-I-mean raised eyebrow at Savannah.

  “Relax,” Savannah said, “this was her idea. Apparently Kyoto-2-Go is the best and judging by the sushi “I’m inclined to agree.”

  Travis shrugged, and opted to dive into his box of noodles and beef. He wasn’t much of a fan of Asian cuisine, but he had to admit that this was at least as good as pizza, and undoubtedly better for him. He could not quite remember when he had last eaten something that was not ‘a la microwave’ and consequently had to swallow uncomfortably when he realized Mrs. Richards had joined them and he still had a huge mouthful of rich sauce and beef. Savannah saved his blushes by making brief introductions and he was further reprieved as Mrs. Richards ordered her food. Now that Travis could see the client, he found it hard to read her emotional state, which was usually one of his strengths in interpersonal relations. Minami Richards stood at a shade over five feet in height, slim, and could have been anywhere from her late-twenties to early forties in age and her expression seemed to him utterly inscrutable.

  Cold fish, Travis reasoned.

  “Mrs. Richards, good to meet you.” He said, dabbing his lip with a napkin to eradicate some stray teriyaki. “Let’s get to it. What do you require Alpha Adventures to do?”

  Mrs. Richards spoke with a distinct Bostonian accent.

  “Please, call me Miya, Mr. Monahan. I like your ‘get-to-it’ attitude; since I don’t have any more time to waste on getting this investigation started either. I’ve been researching the history of my family following the death of my grandmother. While she was alive, she told me a lot of stories about our family. Now I would like to find out if any of it is really true.”

  “About this missing amethyst
mine, right?” Savannah said.

  Miya nodded, “Yes, I have looked on the internet, and there are no records of it existing, but my Grandmother insisted it was there. My ancestor, Akira Namarisawa was a farmer before the beginning of the 20th Century, and a successful one. The way the story goes, he found a great depository of amethysts while walking in the mountains. The land was quite rocky so it was useless for farming and therefore very cheap to obtain as nobody knew the wealth that sat on it. Look, I have a piece here that I inherited.”

  Miya removed a silver ring from her finger. The gem set in it was an incredibly huge, very deep purple and spectacularly clear amethyst. Travis had no idea that amethyst could be so pure.

  “Do you mind if I take a photo of this? I’d like to send it to our resident antiques expert,” Travis said.

  Adam would be able to give them at least some idea of what they were dealing with. Miya nodded her assent, and Travis snapped a couple of pictures on his Smartphone and quickly emailed them to Adam. He checked his watch. It was midday in Atlanta, so it must be early evening in the UK. Adam would most likely be just finishing up filming his TV show.

  “Thanks,” he said, “Please, continue.”

  “Yes, so for a while the Namarisawa family grew quite rich from the amethyst mine as Japan was expanding its overseas interests and trading more openly with foreign countries. As a rule, minerals do not leave Japan, so my family traded domestically, amethyst for goods, properties, and investment opportunities. According to my Grandmother, during the war there was great upheaval in social structure- the Emperor was still considered to be divine, and nouveau riche families like ours were not well thought of, even though my great-grandfather did much to help the poor. When Tochigo was bombed with incendiaries by the United States, they lost most of their businesses in the fires, and a man named Kinagawa, who was influential in the political spheres, accused my family of corruption and treason against the Emperor. Kinagawa seized our remaining assets, my great-grandfather was executed, and my grandmother had to escape to Utsunomiya in secret to work in the geisha district as a pleasure girl to support herself and her infant brother. When the war ended, the man who would become my grandfather was stationed there with the U.S. Navy. They married, and he brought them to his home in Boston, where we have lived ever since.”

  Savannah was taking notes.

  “Hmm. Not much to go on, Mrs. Richards. If there’s no paper trail that shows the mine to exist, and the Namarisawa family itself no longer live in Japan, I’m not sure of our chances of finding much” She said.

  Travis was a little taken aback at this, he had not considered the possibility that Savannah might reject the job; when Thyri gave instructions for them to take a job, he had figured on anything being acceptable. He saw the flaw in Savannah’s criticism quickly.

  “Sav, we don’t need to follow the Namarisawa trail at all. We need to find the descendants of this Kinagawa guy, or at least what happened to him. If he had used his wealth wisely, his family could have become quite wealthy from the rebuilding of post-war Japan. That’s where we should start.”

  Internally, he cursed himself a little, despite his genuine intrigue in the case. Picking apart arguments when he actually agreed with them was a long standing personality quirk that he could not quite shed himself of. Savannah smiled broadly, not at all put out by his analysis, and Travis had the distinct impression that he had been hoodwinked into stepping in on the client’s behalf. Yet another flaw in his character, it would appear, would be a propensity to assume that he was the smartest person in the room, especially when one of those people was Savannah Summers.

  Mrs. Richards had an uncertain expression.

  “Does that mean you will investigate my case? Even if it’s just a family story, I will be more than able to cover your expenses. “

  Travis let out a slightly resigned sigh and covered it by taking another chopstick load of beef. Best let Savannah handle the diplomacy. As they finalized the arrangement; something to do with recovering the property deed if it still existed, or the location of the mine, or anything to corroborate the Namarisawa legend. Travis thumbed through his wallet. The black plastic credit card, his one memento from the Baikal trip, apart from the lead injection to his shoulder, connected to Thyri’s credit account. Looks like she’d be getting a call to have the million dollar limit re-activated, if there were going to be flights to Japan to book at short notice.

  Chapter Four

  With the contract with Miya Richards arranged, it felt to Travis that Savannah didn’t want to let him out of her sight. It wasn’t like he was going to go straight to a bar, the Tylenol was still in his system and kidney disease was something he’d rather acquire through his regular, garden variety alcohol abuse rather than fast tracking it by mixing in acetaminophen. Savannah had decided their first order of business was to go back to the office to read up on Tochigi, amethyst mining, and the mysterious man named Kinagawa. Travis was sure this person must be dead by now if he was influential enough during the war to have someone executed, but it felt like a loop that would need to be closed before they arrived in Japan. Savannah spoke passable Japanese, but using a keyboard based on kanji was something else entirely. Pouring through page after page of browser translated- web copy was a frustrating task for the two lecturers, as much of the grammar was not conveyed in a literal translation and they found that Kinagawa was far too common a name to allow specific individuals to be identified as being connected to Miya’s story.

  Savannah had struck upon the idea of checking for companies named Kinagawa, but there was no joy to be had there either; Tochigi was a fairly major city in Japan, and there were, naturally, hundreds of companies trading there. They would just have to go and ask people, the old-fashioned way. Travis wondered how people would react. Maybe this was going to be Baikal all over again, despite Savannah’s reassurance to the contrary, the Kinagawa family could be anything by now, seventy years after the war, and the possibility they were walking into a ‘Kill Bill’ type fight armed only with a Japanese phrase book and a smile did not fill Travis with any confidence whatsoever.

  In their research they discovered that Japan was undertaking a policy of reduced exports of all minerals, including amethyst, in a concerted effort to reduce their national dependence on resources from China; there were some artifacts for sale, but raw amethyst was rare, and in the quality seen in Miya’s ring it was non-existent. As Savannah and Travis were wrestling over their complete lack of information, Adam called from England in a state of some agitation.

  “Deep Russian!” he said, almost out of breath with excitement. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

  Travis was perplexed.

  “The amethyst is Russian? But Adam, it was dug up in Japan, I hardly th—”

  “Not Russia as the source, you fool,” Adam said, “Deep Russian amethyst, otherwise known as the highest grade, best quality amethyst in the world. I’m sure you’ve found out by now that since the discovery of huge quantities of amethyst in Brazil the bottom of the market has basically dropped out, the stuff has lost its value across the board, but the Deep Russian…”

  Adam whistled through his teeth to illustrate his point. The Brazilian deposits were news to Travis, but it felt the wrong time to remind Adam that not all of them had been antiques dealers since birth.

  “So, Adam, Savannah interjected, “What value are we looking at for this ring alone?”

  “Well, without knowing the carat it’s hard to tell, but it looks to be four or five, which would put it between one hundred and fifty thousand and two hundred thousand dollars. And if there’s more where that came from, our client there is likely to become an incredibly rich woman.”

  “So there’s a good chance that the mine is real, then?” Travis asked. “Assuming the rest of Miya’s story about the land deed, the war and Kinagawa are fact. Somehow, I can’t imagine a pleasure girl living in exile would easily get her hands on something like this.”

&n
bsp; “So, she either had no idea of its true value, or was so sentimentally attached to it that she wouldn’t part with it under the direct circumstance,” said Savannah. “Thanks, Adam.”

  Adam said his goodbyes, and hung up the phone. His information galvanized the atmosphere in the office as the investigative parts of Travis and Savannah’s brains lit up with ideas, theories and possible new avenues of information. Every last thought they had on the topic was followed, stymied, and eventually rejected due to lack of evidence. The scent of the trail that had seemed so obvious had fallen cold and stillborn.

  “We’re just going to have to go and see for ourselves. Research is getting us nowhere,” Savannah said, glumly.

  “Agreed.”

  Travis had set aside his reservations about the investigation in favor of curiosity. Now that he was sure that the amethyst mine was real, the true task was to find out why it had been hidden, where it really was, and who was still profiting from it. That there was a ‘who’ behind this was to Travis’ mind absolutely clear.

  “Sav, think of it this way—we know that this amethyst ring had to come from somewhere, so, we have a few possibilities. Either Miya’s grandmother came across this ring some other way, and invented a story about it to tell her children and grandchildren—which is certainly possible, or, that the ring is from the amethyst mine and she was telling the truth. If she was lying, there will be no mine, and no evidence of this man Kinagawa. If she was telling the truth then the mine will exist and that means someone is keeping it hidden, which would imply that Kinagawa is also real, or someone very like him. If someone is keeping the mine a secret, then that means they’re hiding it from somebody, which means they don’t actually have the right to it and are profiting illegally. All we have to do is find out who is telling the truth and we start that by going to Tochigi and looking for ourselves.”