Four Sacred Treasures Read online

  Four Sacred Treasures

  (Matt Drake #22)

  By

  David Leadbeater

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  The Matt Drake Series

  A constantly evolving, action-packed romp based in the escapist action-adventure genre:

  The Bones of Odin (Matt Drake #1)

  The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake #2)

  The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3)

  The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake #4)

  Brothers in Arms (Matt Drake #5)

  The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake #6)

  Blood Vengeance (Matt Drake #7)

  Last Man Standing (Matt Drake #8)

  The Plagues of Pandora (Matt Drake #9)

  The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake #10)

  The Ghost Ships of Arizona (Matt Drake #11)

  The Last Bazaar (Matt Drake #12)

  The Edge of Armageddon (Matt Drake #13)

  The Treasures of Saint Germain (Matt Drake #14)

  Inca Kings (Matt Drake #15)

  The Four Corners of the Earth (Matt Drake #16)

  The Seven Seals of Egypt (Matt Drake #17)

  Weapons of the Gods (Matt Drake #18)

  The Blood King Legacy (Matt Drake #19)

  Devil’s Island (Matt Drake #20)

  The Fabergé Heist (Matt Drake #21)

  The Alicia Myles Series

  Aztec Gold (Alicia Myles #1)

  Crusader’s Gold (Alicia Myles #2)

  Caribbean Gold (Alicia Myles #3)

  Chasing Gold (Alecia Myles #4)

  The Torsten Dahl Thriller Series

  Stand Your Ground (Dahl Thriller #1)

  The Relic Hunters Series

  The Relic Hunters (Relic Hunters #1)

  The Atlantis Cipher (Relic Hunters #2)

  The Amber Secret (Relic Hunters #3)

  The Rogue Series

  Rogue (Book One)

  The Disavowed Series:

  The Razor’s Edge (Disavowed #1)

  In Harm’s Way (Disavowed #2)

  Threat Level: Red (Disavowed #3)

  The Chosen Few Series

  Chosen (The Chosen Trilogy #1)

  Guardians (The Chosen Tribology #2)

  Short Stories

  Walking with Ghosts (A short story)

  A Whispering of Ghosts (A short story)

  All genuine comments are very welcome at:

  [email protected]

  Twitter: @dleadbeater2011

  Visit David’s website for the latest news and information:

  davidleadbeater.com

  Contents

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  When Zuki Chiyome first heard that an ancient ninja clan still operated in Japan, she was a young girl. The knowledge evoked fanciful notions and dreams of noble quests. She spent hours and days imagining herself a member of what her friends called the shinobi; conjuring up missions where her tight-knit group of fellow warriors were sent in to rescue one of the Japanese royal family’s princesses or a kidnapped son. And then another mission where they embarked upon an epic journey to Mount Fuji and then on into China, to seek out lost relics.

  But the purpose and deeds of the ninja class had long become tarnished. All but one—the Tsugarai Clan—had faded into history. And Zuki had lost her innocent childhood dreams as she grew older and learned the responsibilities of adulthood.

  When she turned thirty-five—more than two decades after she forgot all about her childhood dreams—she overheard one of her bodyguards talking about the fabled Masamune—the greatest swordmaker that ever existed. His most famous sword, the Honjo Masamune, had a rich history—it was crafted in competition with his own master. But there was another sword—called Kusanagi—this one as infamous as any sword throughout history.

  It included shavings from the first ever meteorite to strike the earth, a rock millions of years old. The sword became a national treasure and was then lost to Japan after the Second World War. It was considered the most principal of the Three Sacred Treasures of Japan.

  But it wasn’t this information that raised Zuki’s attention. That was information she’d discarded long ago. It was what she heard after this, as her bodyguard continued casually: “It is said the Tsugarai know the whereabouts of that sword.”

  She’d frozen in shadow, in darkness, listening to their chatter with interest.

  “The ninja clan?” another man asked. “I’ve heard they are the oldest clan of their kind.”

  “They know where one of the Sacred Treasures is. Finding that would lead to the others. The knowledge is a . . . campfire legend.”

  “So it may be untrue.”

  “The Tsugarai hail from ancient times. They are the oldest ninja clan, founded I believe around 1200, which was when these low-life mercenaries started emerging. It is possible that one of the treasures passed to them.”

  “Then what Three Sacred Treasures hang in the National Museum?”

  “Fakes. All the Sacred Treasures are fakes.”

  “Don’t be a fool. They would never deceive us that way.”

  “Are you joking? Everything is a fake. The Mona Lisa. The dinosaurs in London. Van Goghs. Diamonds. The real things are collecting dust in the basements.”

  Before their conversation strayed any further, Zuki stepped out, confronted the guard, ordered him stripped and chained, then dragged down to the dungeons of her royal abode. Down there, she tortured her loyal guard with needles and fire until she was confident that he’d told her everything he knew.

  That was two weeks ago.

  Since then, she’d reflected day and night on the information. If the Three Sacred Treasures were fakes and, privately, many knew about it, then where were the real ones?

  Five years ago, she wouldn’t have cared. Five years ago her royal family bloodline was prospering, probably the wealthiest noble clan in the world. Today, it was floundering, being overcome due to several rash decisions in the stock markets, scandals that crippled their influence and severe infighting.

  The other two principal royal family bloodlines had
now surpassed hers, gloating and chirping their derision almost daily in one way or another. Four others were chipping away at her heels, eager to become one of the top three—because the top three were the highest regarded, most powerful and ultimate ruling entities of all Japan.

  She was losing everything she, her father, and their ancestors had ever worked for. But she would not let that happen. She would see all of Japan in flames before that ever happened. She would tear the royal blood lines apart with her own bare hands if she had to.

  The information about the sword interested her because it intertwined with the history of the Tsugarai, an ancient warrior clan that, Zuki knew, now worked purely for money. They were the world’s deadliest and most capable mercenaries. They recruited young boys and girls in their early years, often finding destitute families with too many children and offering to buy at least one. Frequently, they were successful. That new purchase was then trained in savage conditions until they attained the rank of shinobi. Any that did not achieve that rank were murdered, their bodies hung around the Tsugarai compound as examples and never taken down.

  If the Tsugarai once held the sacred sword, Kusanagi, maybe they still knew where it had been taken. Maybe they had information about the other two Sacred Treasures.

  It was impossible to underestimate the significance of these three imperial heirlooms. They were legendary, their locations always unconfirmed, but it hadn’t occurred to Zuki before now that, on the odd occasion they were brought out—at a new Emperor’s coronation for example—they were fakes. It hadn’t occurred to her that the ones on display were fakes. It simply wasn’t mentioned; no doubt those that spoke about them were forbidden to disparage them. Since the seventh century the presentation of the sword, the mirror and the jewel at enthronement ceremonies had been a central element. The treasures defined and fortified the royal family. They were so sacred, no known photographs or even drawings existed.

  If Zuki was instrumental in finding the lost treasures, her power would be restored, her wealth would be limitless, and she and her family would rule Japan for a thousand years. The relics were that important.

  And she would be able to continue to order the sniveling emperor and his puppet government what to do, working from behind the scenes as the most powerful shadow family in the world, as she had up to just a year ago.

  That honor was now undertaken by the Sulaimans, the shadow family of Brunei. The sultans had always trodden close on the heels of the Chiyome family. Now, they were ahead and grinding out that knowledge every chance they got.

  But she could handle it. Zuki had been the head of her household ever since her parents and younger brother died in a car accident almost fifteen years ago. She was also supposed to have been in that car but stayed at home after contracting a nasty bout of flu. It had never been proved that the crash was anything other than an accident in a tunnel but Zuki knew—she knew there were many powerful shadow elements at work in the world and one of them had killed the people closest to her in the entire world. Whether it be entities working for the sultans of Brunei, the Chakri family of Thailand or one of the upstart royal bloodlines, she had vowed to avenge her parents and her brother.

  It had never happened. Now, she wondered if it had been the most vicious of the upstart families—the Shingen Clan of Tokyo. They were pure-bred samurai and eternally infuriated that they were not one of the top three royal bloodlines.

  But Zuki had rallied her family, rallied it well. With the help of clever advisors, she had seen off the bloodbath that had ensued after her father died; eliminated all that sought to overthrow or depose her, and come out known as a shrewd and ruthless leader. It had never been an image she’d courted.

  But it was an image she’d been forced to uphold ever since.

  Her enemies, her advisors, her guards and even the odd friend she still had, lived in perpetual fear. Over the years, Zuki had lost most of her empathy; she had become the thing her enemies thought she was. And now, faced with her family’s latest difficulties, she knew she was going to have to embrace that image.

  She believed her family had the best claim to the shadow throne, the ultimate seat of power in all of Asia. She was a descendant of the legendry female ninja warrior that built her own clan—Mochizuki Chiyome—and even bore her name. Chiyome had become the first woman in history to head a warrior class, and the first female ninja. Zuki was proud to bear that name.

  After two weeks of deliberations, Zuki had a plan. The other two principal royal families and the upstarts never stopped hounding her, attacking her territories, her men, her business dealings and long-term agreements with many countries. The intrigue involved was wide and often several layers deep. She found that if she didn’t follow it without rest, she couldn’t keep up.

  New gangs appeared in Tokyo; offshoots of the Yakuza sprang up, taking out those she controlled. Her warehouses and office buildings were torched; things the world at large blamed on bad workmanship or faulty cladding but was in fact part of a shadow-war that had existed for thousands of years and would never end.

  Zuki made her plans then fine-tuned them. She told nobody. She locked herself away, researching the Sacred Treasures and the Tsugarai, devouring every morsel of information she could find. It was true, she learned, that the Tsugarai were the most ancient shinobi clan, hailing from around 1200. She sent men out to find a way of getting in touch with them. Those men turned up in boxes eight inches square until she finally found out the honorable way to contact them. She didn’t like it, but there was no going forward without the Tsugarai.

  A meeting had to be arranged.

  A meeting where Zuki would fear for her life.

  She balked. She knew she was safe in the large, modern, palace-like home where she lived, surrounded by guards and gang members, protected by paid policemen and politicians. She could live out the rest of her days—and so could any children she might one day have—in absolute luxury.

  But second and third place wasn’t in her. Zuki wanted to win, to be first, to look down on all that opposed her. It most likely derived from the day her family had been killed—or murdered—and she’d been forced to step up to the mantle, to lead her men into battle.

  She would do it again. Against the royal family, the sultans or any horde the samurai could put on the field—she would do it again and she would be at the head of her men, fighting for the Chiyome dynasty. Her legacy.

  Her family’s legacy.

  All she needed was the Tsugarai and the Three Sacred Treasures.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Zuki sat upright in the back seat of her blacked-out SUV limousine, studying her own pale reflection in the side window. Her long black hair fell below her shoulders and to the middle of her back, and always needed tying. She had wide, deep black eyes that she searched now for any outward signs of fear.

  There were none.

  Which belied everything she felt inside. In all her thirty-five years she couldn’t recall feeling this nervous. She looked entirely normal: elegant, tall, wealthy. She carried what the guards called a “pocket pistol” in her handbag, a tiny Beretta that packed a punch despite its size. She carried the pistol everywhere, from bed to the shower to the boardroom it was never more than a foot from her right hand. She had a reputation for being po-faced, never betraying emotion, a quality that would serve her well now.

  One of the three bodyguards that surrounded her put a finger to his ear. “Lead car says we’re five minutes out.”

  She nodded without speaking. She’d long ago told her subjects to drop the boring honorifics every time they addressed her. A knot of tension roiled in her gut.

  “Rear car reports all clear.”

  Again, she nodded. It wasn’t the journey that was bothering her. It was the fact that the Tsugarai had insisted she meet them alone, in a most unsavory place, to discuss her requirements. Right now, they had no idea what she was going to ask them. They didn’t know she knew they’d once owned a Sacred Treasure. She gripped h
er handbag, taking solace in the shape of the Beretta that nestled inside.

  Against them, it will be useless.

  Nevertheless.

  Her driver slowed and pulled into the curb. Her bodyguard listened to chatter through his earpiece then nodded at her.

  “It’s all clear. We cannot go any further, but you must enter through that yellow door.”

  Zuki peered out of the window. The night was lashed by an almost horizontal rain and was barely lit. There were no streetlamps in this part of town.

  “Are you sure we can’t accompany you?” another bodyguard asked.

  “No. The Tsugarai expressly forbid it. I must go alone. You will wait right here for me.”

  “Don’t forget your pocket pistol,” another guard said into the darkness inside the rapidly cooling car.

  “I never do.”

  Zuki cracked open the door and felt the cold air rush in, biting at her face. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, drawing her thick black coat around her shoulders. Her handbag was slung over her shoulder, its zipped top within easy reach of her right hand. She rested that hand atop it now, peering left and right through the rain. Nothing moved. Lurid, dilapidated signs shone from the roofs of nearby establishments, bright yellows and reds, and deep blues. She’d never visited the more dangerous and run-down parts of Tokyo before. She knew they existed but seeing really was believing.

  The yellow door stood in front of her. When she pushed, it opened easily. With a final glance back at the car and its cocoon of safety she braced herself, thought of her family’s welfare and her plan to restore its glory, and moved on.

  A narrow corridor opened out into a large room. It was dimly lit and extended to left and right and ahead far beyond what she could see. The stench hit her first. Human waste and body odor, blood and decay. Her eyes watered with the disgusting smell, and then were forced closed as a particularly acidic smell wafted past her. She heard many sounds—groaning and snoring; weeping and some subdued laughter, but most of all she heard the hysterical—those that were no longer a part of this world.