Agent Matt

Chapter 14: Miner Problem

Matt walked through Port Omaezaki, past the Fisherman's Anchor tavern and up the cobbled street toward the library. It was the middle of the afternoon, but the village seemed to be asleep, the boats bobbing in the harbour, the streets and pavements empty. A few seagulls wheeled lazily over the rooftops, uttering the usual mournful cries. The air smelled of salt and dead fish. The library was redbrick, Victorian, sitting self-importantly at the top of a hill. Matt pushed open the heavy swing door and went into a room with a tiled chessboard floor and about fifty shelves fanning out from a central reception area. Six or seven people were sitting at tables, working. A man in a thickly knitted jersey was reading Fisherman's Week. Matt went over to the reception. There was the inevitable sign-SILENCE PLEASE. Beneath it an elderly, round-faced woman sat reading Crime and Punishment.

"Can I help you, deary?" Despite the sign, she had such a loud voice that everyone looked up when she spoke.

"Yes ..." he whispered. Matt had come here because of a chance remark made by Darren Warren. He had been talking about Mahon Ishida.

"Spent half his time in the village. In the port, the post office, the library." Matt had already seen the post office, another old-fashioned building near the port. He didn't think he'd learn anything there. But the library? Maybe his dad had come here looking for information. Maybe the librarian would remember him.

"I had a friend staying in the village," he said. "I was wondering if he came here. His name's Mahon Ishida."

"Ishida...Ishida? I don't think we have any Ishida's at all." The woman tapped a few keys on her computer, then shook her head. "No . . ."

"He was staying at Warren Enterprises," Matt said. "He was about forty, thin, fair haired. Probably wearing a security uniform..."

"Oh yes." The librarian smiled. "He did come here a couple of times. A nice man. Very polite. I knew he didn't come from around here. He was looking for a book. . ."

"Do you remember what book?"

"Of course I do. I can't always remember faces, but I never forget a book. He was interested in viruses."

"Viruses?"

"Yes. That's what I said. He wanted information. . ." A computer virus! This might change everything. A computer virus was the perfect piece of sabotage: invisible and instantaneous. A single blip written into the software and every single piece of information in the V Tech software could be destroyed at any time. But Darren Warren couldn't possibly want to damage his own creation. That would make no sense at all. So maybe Matt had been wrong about him from the very start. Maybe Warren had no idea what was really going on.

"I'm afraid I couldn't help him," the librarian continued. "This is only a small library and our grant's been cut for the third year running." She sighed. "Anyway, he said he'd get some books sent down from Tomoeda. He told me he had a box at the post office . . ."That made sense too. Mahon Ishida wouldn't want information sent to Warren Enterprises, where it could be intercepted.

"Was that the last time you saw him?" Matt asked.

"No. He came back about a week later. He must have gotten what he wanted because this time he wasn't looking for books about viruses. He was interested in local affairs."

"What sort of local affairs?"

"Omaezaki local history. Section C." She pointed. "He spent an afternoon looking in one of the books and then he left. He hasn't been back since then, which is a shame. I was rather hoping he'd join the library. Would you like to?"

"Not today, thanks," Matt said. Local history. That wasn't going to help him. Matt nodded at the librarian and made for the door. His hand was just reaching out for the handle when he remembered: the address outside was 54 TomBion Way. He reached into his pocket and took out the Game Boy, pulled off the back, and unfolded the square of paper he had found in his bedroom. Sure enough, the letters and numbers were the same. 54 TBW. They weren't referring to a grid reference. 54 TBW was the address for his first clue! Matt went over to the shelf that the librarian had shown him. Books grow old faster when they're not being read and the ones gathered here were long past retirement, leaning tiredly against one another for support. SC stood for Section C, the next clue of where to look. As he looked upon the shelves he saw a number was printed on a spine of worn out book - 49.1- the book was called Shinozuoka: The Story of Omaezaki's Oldest Mine. He carried it over to a table, opened it, and quickly skimmed through it, wondering why a history of a tin mine should have been of interest to Mahon Ishida. The story it told was a familiar one. The mine had been owned by the Shinozuoka family for eleven generations. In the nineteenth century there had many mines for minerals in the whole of Japan. By the 1990s there were only three. Shinozuoka was still one of them. The price of tin had collapsed and the mine itself' was almost exhausted, but there was no other work in the area and the family had continued running it even though the mine was quickly exhausting them. In 1991, Sir Kotaro Shinozuoka, the last owner, had quietly slipped away outside his own mine and blown his brains out. He was buried in the local churchyard in a coffin, it was said, made of tin. His children had closed down the mine, selling the land above it to Warren Enterprises. The mine itself was sealed off with several of the tunnels now underwater. The book contained a number of old black-and-white photographs: pit ponies and canaries in cages. Groups of figures standing with axes and lanterns. Now all of them would be under the ground themselves. Flicking through the pages, Matt came to a page where a piece of paper was left as a bookmark, and on that page it was showing the layout of the tunnels at the time when the mine was closed: It was hard to be sure of the scale, but there was a labyrinth of shafts, tunnels, and railway lines running for miles underground. Go down into the utter blackness of the underground and you'd be lost instantly. Had Mahon Ishida made his way into Shinozuoka ? If so, what had he found? Matt remembered the corridor at the foot of the metal staircase. The dark brown unfinished walls and the light bulbs hanging on their wires had reminded him of something, and suddenly he knew what it was. The corridor must be nothing more than one of the shafts from the old mine! Suppose Mahon Ishida had also gone down the staircase. Like Matt, he had been confronted with the locked metal door and had been determined to find his way past it. But he had recognized the corridor for what it was-and that was why he had come back to the library. He had found a book on the Shinozuoka Mine-this book. The map had shown him a way to the other side of the door. And he a made a note of it! Matt took out the piece of paper, tore it half and tracing the map that Mahon Ishida had left for him. Before matt left he read the message his dad left behind. It read:

"Dear matt, if you're reading this, then I have probably failed and you have been sent in my place. I know you being my son you've probably figured out what your old man was up too. I didn't train you to be a spy like me, I wanted to prepare you for the truth. Anyways I was going to tell you when you were older and able to understand, providing if your new step mum would allow it. I'm sorry if I have lied to you but in this business it was a job requirement. Good luck matt. Stop Darren Warren for me, sport." Matt nearly cried at the dead man's message, not of grief but of anger, he knew he would fail and knew matt would take his place. His whole life was a lie, Matt was certain of it. He was almost tempted to call Mrs. Jensen about Ivan but for now that didn't matter. If he could find the entrance to Shinozuoka mine, he could follow the map through to the other side of the metal door. Ten minutes later he left the library with a photocopy of the page. He went down to the harbour and found one of those maritime stores that seem to sell anything and everything. Here he bought himself a powerful flashlight, a jersey, a length of rope, and a box of chalk and a birthday card for sakura, he would send it later, if he had a later. Then he climbed back into the hills.

Back on the quad, Matt raced across the cliff tops with the sun already sinking in the west. Ahead of him he could see the single chimney and crumbling tower that he hoped would mark the entrance to the Shrandian Shaft ... it took its name from the wife of the original owner of the Shinozuoka mine. According to the map, this was where he should begin. At least the quad had made his life easier. It would have taken him an hour to reach it on foot.

He was running out of time and he knew it. The first V Tech's would have already begun leaving the plant, and in less than twenty-four hours the prime minister would be activating them. If the software really had been bugged with some sort of virus, what would happen? Some sort of humiliation for both Warren and the Japanese government? Or worse? And how did a computer bug tie in with what he had seen the night before? Whatever the submarine had been delivering on the jetty, it hadn't been computer software. The silver boxes had been too large. And you don't shoot a man for dropping a diskette. Matt parked the quad next to the tower and went in through an arched doorway. At first he thought he must have made some sort of mistake. The building looked more like a ruined church than the entrance to a mine. Other people had been here before him. There were a few crumpled beer cans and old potato chip packets on the floor and the usual graffiti on the wall. DMZ WAS HERE. JOE LUVS NIKKI. Visitors leaving the worst parts of themselves behind in fluorescent paint.

His foot came down on something that clanged and he saw that he was standing on a metal trapdoor. Grass and weeds were sprouting around the edges, but putting his hand against the crack, he could feel a draft of air rising from below. This must be the entrance to the shaft.

The trapdoor was bolted down with a heavy padlock, several inches thick. Matt swore silently. He had left the zit cream back in his room. The cream would have eaten through the bolts in seconds, but he didn't have the time to go all the way back to Warren Enterprises to get it. He knelt down and shook the padlock in frustration. To his surprise, it sprang open. Somebody had been here before him. Mahon Ishida-it had to be. He must have managed to unlock it and hadn't fully closed it again so that it would be open when he came back. Matt pulled the padlock out and grabbed the trapdoor. It took all his strength to lift it, and as he did so, a blast of cold air hit him in the face. The trapdoor clanged back and he found himself looking into a black hole that stretched farther than the daylight could reach. Matt shone his flashlight into the hole. The beam went about fifty feet, but the shaft went farther. He found a pebble and dropped it in. At least ten seconds passed before the pebble rattled against something far below. A rusty ladder ran down the side of the shaft Matt checked that the quad was out of sight, then looped the rope over his shoulder and shoved the flashlight into his belt. He didn't enjoy climbing into the hole.

The metal rungs were ice cold against his hands, and his shoulders had barely sunk beneath the level of the ground before the sun was blotted out and he felt himself being sucked into a darkness so total that he couldn't even be sure he had eyes. But he couldn't climb and hold on to the flashlight at the same time. He had to feel his way, a hand then a foot, descending farther until at last his heel struck the ground and he knew he had reached the bottom of the Shrandian Shaft. He looked up. He could just make out the entrance he had climbed through: small, round, as distant as the moon. He was breathing heavily. The air was thin and smelled faintly metallic. Trying to fight off the sense of claustrophobia, he pulled out the flashlight and flicked it on. The beam leaped out of his hand, pointing the way ahead and throwing pure white light onto his immediate surroundings. Matt was at the start of a long tunnel, the uneven walls and ceiling held back by wooden beams. The floor was already damp, and a sheen of salt water hung in the air. It was cold in the mine. He had known it would be, and before he moved, he pulled on the jersey he had bought, then chalked a large X on the wall. That had been a good idea too. Whatever happened down here, he wanted to be sure he could find the way back. At last he was ready. He took two steps forward, away from the vertical shaft and into the start of the tunnel, and immediately felt the weight of the solid rock, the soil, and the remaining streaks of tin bearing down on him. It was horrible here, like being buried alive, and it took all his strength to force himself on. After about fifty paces he came to a second tunnel, branching off to the left. He took out the photocopied map and examined it. According to Mahon Ishida, this was where he had to turn off. He swung the flashlight around and followed the tunnel, which slanted downward, taking him deeper and deeper into the earth. There was absolutely no sound in the mine apart from his own rasping breath, the crunch of his footsteps, and the quickening thud of his heart. It was as if the blackness was wiping out sound as well as vision. Matt opened his mouth and called out, just to hear something. But his voice sounded small and only reminded him of the huge weight above his head. This tunnel was in bad repair. Some of the beams had snapped and fallen in, and as he passed underneath a broken beam, a trickle of gravel hit his neck and shoulders, reminding him that the Shinozuoka Mine had been kept locked for a reason. It was a hellish place. It could collapse at any time. The path took him ever deeper. He could feel the pressure pounding in his ears as the darkness grew thicker and more oppressive. He came to a tangle of iron and wire: some sort of machine, long ago buried and forgotten. He climbed over it too quickly, cutting his leg on a piece of jagged metal. He stood still for a few seconds forcing himself to slow down. He knew he mustn't panic. He forced himself to think. If you panic, you'll get lost. Think what you're doing. Be careful. One step at a time...

"Okay. Okay..." He whispered the words to reassure himself, then continued forward.

Now he emerged into a sort of wide circular chamber, formed by the meeting of six different tunnels, all coming together in a star shape. The widest of these slanted in from the left with the remains of a railway track. He swung the flashlight and saw a couple of wooden wagons that must have been used to carry equipment down or tin back up to the surface. Checking the map, he was tempted to follow the railway, which seemed to offer a shortcut across the route that Mahon Ishida had left for him to draw. But he decided against it. The map told him to turn the corner and go back on himself. There had to be a reason. Matt made another two chalk crosses, one for the tunnel he had left, another for the one he was entering. He went on. This new tunnel quickly became lower and narrower until Matt couldn't walk unless he crouched. The floor was very wet here, with pools of water rising up to his ankles. He remembered how near he was to the sea and that brought another unpleasant thought. What time was high tide? And when the water rose, what would happen inside the mine? Matt suddenly had a vision of himself trapped in blackness with water rising up to his chest, his neck, over his face. He stopped and forced himself to think of something else. Down here, on his own, far beneath the surface of the earth, he couldn't make an enemy of his imagination. The tunnel curved then joined a second railway line, this one bent and broken, covered here and there in rubble, which must have fallen from above. But the metallic tracks made it easier to move forward, picking up the reflection of the flashlight. Matt followed them all the way to a junction with the main railway. It had taken him thirty minutes and he was almost back where he had started, but shining the flashlight around him, he saw why Mahon Ishida had sent him the long way around. The shorter route had been blocked by a tunnel collapse. About thirty yards up the line, the main railway came to a dead end. He crossed the track, still following the map, and stopped. He looked at the paper, then again at the way ahead. It was impossible. And yet there was no mistake. He had come to a small, round tunnel dipping steeply down. But after a brief stretch, the tunnel simply stopped with what looked like a sheet of metal barring the way. Matt picked up a stone and threw it. There was a splash. Now he understood. The tunnel was completely submerged in water . As black as ink. The water had risen up to the ceiling of the tunnel, so even assuming he could swim in temperatures that must be close to freezing, he would be unable to breathe. After all his hard work, after all the time he had spent underground, there was no way forward.

Matt turned in frustration. He was about to leave, but even as he swung the flashlight around, the beam picked up something lying in a heap on the ground. He went over to it and leaned down. It was a diver's dry suit and it looked brand-new. Matt walked back to the water's edge and examined it with the flashlight. This time he saw something else. A rope had been tied to a rock. It slanted diagonally into the water and disappeared. Matt knew what it meant.

Mahon Ishida had swum through the submerged tunnel. He had worn a dry suit and he had managed to fix a rope to guide him through. Obviously he had planned to come back. That was why he had left the dry suit there. And why he had left the padlock open. Matt picked up the dry suit. It was too big for him, although it would probably keep out the worst of the chill.

But the cold wasn't the only problem. The tunnel might run for ten yards. It might even run for a Hundred miles. How could he be sure that Mahon hadn't used scuba equipment to swim through? If Matt went down there, into the water, and ran out of breath halfway, he would drown. Again his imagination got the better of him. He could see himself, pinned underneath the rock in the freezing blackness. He couldn't imagine a worse way to die. He stood for a moment, holding the suit in his hands. Suddenly everything seemed unfair. He had never asked to be here. He had been forced into this by JIN 7 and he'd already done more than enough. There was nothing on earth that would make him enter the blackness of the water. It was simply too much to ask. But Mahon Ishida had swum through. Mahon Ishida had done it all, on his own, and he had never stopped ... not until the day they had killed him. And Matt had always assumed he was nothing more than a financial reporter! He felt his resolve give way to anger. These people- Warren, Ivan, whoever-had snuffed out his father's life simply because it had suited them. Well, he didn't die for nothing. Matt would see to that.

He pulled on the dry suit. It was cold, clammy, and uncomfortable. He zipped it up at the front. He hadn't taken off his street clothes and that had perhaps helped. The suit was loose in places, but he was sure it would keep the water out. Moving quickly now, afraid that if he hesitated he would change his mind, Matt approached the water's edge. He reached out and took the rope in one hand. It would be faster swimming with both hands, but he didn't dare risk it. Getting lost in the underwater tunnel would be as bad as running out of air. The result would be exactly the same. He had to keep hold of the rope to allow it to guide him through. Matt took several deep breaths, hyperventilating and oxygenating his blood, knowing it would give him a few precious extra seconds. Then he plunged in. The cold was ferocious, a hammer blow that nearly forced the air out of his lungs. The water pounded at his head, swirling around his nose and eyes. His fingers were instantly numb. His whole system felt the shock but the dry suit was holding, sealing in at least some of his body warmth. Clinging to the rope, he kicked forward. He had committed himself. There could be no going back. Pull, kick. Pull, kick. Matt had been underwater for less than a minute, but already his lungs were feeling the strain. The roof of the tunnel was scraping his shoulders and he was afraid that it would tear through the dry suit and gouge into his skin as well. But he didn't dare slow down. Pull, kick. Pull, kick. The freezing cold was sucking the strength out of him. How long had he been under? Ninety seconds? A hundred? His eyes were shut tight, but if he opened them there would be no difference. He was in a black, swirling, freezing version of hell. And his breath was running out. He pulled himself forward along the rope, scratching the skin off the palms of his hands. He had been swimming for almost two minutes, but it felt closer to ten. He had to open his mouth and breathe ... even if it was water, and not air, that rushed into his throat. A silent scream exploded inside him. Pull, kick. Pull, kick. And then the rope tilted upward and he felt his shoulders come clear and his mouth was wrenched open in a great gasp as he breathed air and knew that he had just made it. But made it to where? Matt couldn't see anything. He was floating in utter darkness, unable to see even where the water ended. He had left the flashlight on the other side, and he knew that even if he wanted to, he didn't have the strength to go back. He had followed the trail left by a dead man. It was only now that he realized it might lead only to a grave. His grave.