“John?” Kanezaki said. “Grimble’s phone is still in the residence’s main building—the bedroom. What do you think?”
Rain realized they’d been waiting for him. Lost in thought in the middle of an op . . . He was too old for this shit. And too sick of it. Delilah was right, he needed to get out. And stay out. While it was still up to him.
He looked at the various buildings, at the pond sparkling behind them. He had of course tried to imagine Grimble’s movements when they were back at the office, but that was when he’d been looking at schematics rather than the actual terrain.
Midafternoon. Unless Grimble was an exceptionally late sleeper or just enjoyed lounging in bed—which wouldn’t fit the profile of an entrepreneur—he’d be elsewhere now. Out of the bedroom, at least.
A lot of people kept their phones with them, even when moving around inside a house. But a recluse, or near-recluse, obsessed with a hobby, wouldn’t be like that. On top of which, Kanezaki had already confirmed that Grimble didn’t get many calls.
So where would a non-late riser, who didn’t make or get many calls, be if he were on the premises but not near his phone?
“Maya,” Rain said. “I think you were right. He’s got his Battle of Sekigahara setup in the northernmost building, right?”
Maya nodded. “As best as I could tell from the way the interviewer described it—the size and the view. Again, there were no pictures.”
“Okay,” Rain said. “Let’s start there.”
They walked to the northern end of the residential compound, scanning as they moved, until they came to the last of the four buildings there, a rectangle about a quarter the size of a football field, the length of it running south to north along the pond. They cut in along a gravel trail among a copse of black and white pine trees and came to a wooden door halfway along the eastern length. Rain knew from schematics that, like the other doors throughout the compound, this one was more solidly constructed than it looked. Maybe they could kick it open. A breach charge would be the surer bet, albeit noisier. But . . .
Rain took hold of the handle. It turned smoothly. The door opened a crack. And why not? The guy lived on twenty-three gated acres, with multiple cameras and a private security force. Why would he bother locking doors?
His heart kicked up a notch. “Dox,” he said quietly into his lapel mic. “You still with us?”
“Of course. You didn’t hear me zeroing the HK?”
“We didn’t hear anything.”
“Hah, these OSS suppressors are the best. About the only sound is the action of the bolt. Anyway, you’re good to go. Lost you when you were on the other side of the trees, but I can see you again.”
“Okay. Let’s see if Grimble is in here.”
chapter
seventy-two
RAIN
Rain went in first, followed by Larison, with Livia bringing up the rear, all with guns drawn. Rain didn’t like leaving the rest of them, but Delilah was a competent shooter, and as for Manus, Dox wasn’t in the habit of handing out praise like “solid” and “force of nature” without good reason. It would be okay. Depending on how things went, the rest could come in after, with Manus staying behind as sentry and, if it came to that, trip wire.
He saw it immediately. It was impossible to miss—both because the space was enormous and because every inch of it was subsumed by a vast yet shrunken world. There were mountains and forests and rivers, the colors and textures utterly convincing. Grass and mud and rock. Hundreds of figurines, each perhaps three inches tall, fighting dozens—no, scores—of separate battles, with every manner of weapon: swords and spears and pikes, long bows, crossbows, and muskets. There were ashigaru foot soldiers and bajutsu mounted cavalry, battle flags, helmeted samurai in Azuchi-Momoyama armor of extraordinary detail. Bombs captured midexplosion, clouds of dirt erupting above the earth. Wounded men, the ground beneath them stained red, their bodies contorted so realistically Rain had to blink to be sure they weren’t writhing in agony. The room was quiet—in fact, so silent it hummed with a slight cavernous echo—and yet the scene was so comprehensive that he felt sure he could hear the din of muskets firing and swords clashing and shouts of rage and cries of pain. Bathed in natural light from a long wall of glass on the eastern length of the room and overlooking the pond, in no respect did it feel like a diorama, or like any other artificial thing. Instead, the overall effect was of an actual climactic day that had somehow been sliced from the distant past, to be reduced and reanimated here in this room.