Floating City Read Online Free

night.
    Every official in Vietnam was on the take; it was simply a way of life. But Van Kiet had demurred. Why? Fear was the only emotion strong enough to overcome avarice. There was, then, the ominous threat of corrupt power in very high places, pulling strings that made even the chief inspector of the Saigon police jump. That had put the investigation on a whole new and dangerous plane, which was why Nicholas was here now, and why Shindo resented him.
    Shindo continued to smoke and did not look at Nicholas. He was slim, of average height with the closed, set face of an old man. It was a face quickly forgotten, even if seen at length; it had no distinguishing feature. This was a distinct asset in his line of business; others in his profession had to work at being invisible. He wore a white shirt, gray polyester slacks, and a dark patternless tie as narrow as a knife.
    Nicholas, languidly drinking his beer, watched the cockroach, which was surely more at home in this third-world tomb than he would ever be. Dark light spun off its pale carapace, deforming it. He looked upon the insect benevolently, as a kind of compatriot from whom he could better learn to survive in this steaming jungle of a city. His visits to Saigon had been infrequent, unlike Shindo, who came here often. Shindo had many Vietnamese friends, acquaintances, and contacts.
    From an adjacent room Nicholas heard the heavy rhythmic thuds of bodies on a bed, the animal grunts, the liquid sucking sounds of fierce coupling.
    Shindo removed a gun from a holster at the base of his spine. It was an army .45 of American manufacture, nine years old, maybe more, and must have cost a small fortune, but he was right not to trust his life to any of the cheaper Soviet- or Chinese-manufactured handguns for sale in the back alleys of Cholon.
    “I have bought a gun for you,” Shindo said unkindly. “Do you know how to fire one?”
    “I do. But I never use firearms.”
    Shindo grunted, ground the butt of his cigarette beneath his heel, lit another. “This is Saigon. It’s not like Japan, it’s not safe at all. Even a baby in diapers can have a gun.” He was clearly disgusted. “What will you do when one is aimed at you?”
    Nicholas was a ninja, but he was also tanjian, a hereditary member of a syncretic psychic discipline far older than any martial art. The essence of Tau-tau was kokoro, the membrane of all life. Just as in the physical world the excitation of the atom was the basis for all movement—not only human, but light, heat, and percussion—so, too, did the excitation of kokoro give rise to psychic energy. Thought into action was at the core of the tanjian ’s training.
    Akshara and Kshira, the Way of Light and the Path of Darkness, formed the two primary teachings of Tau-tau. Nicholas had been trained in Akshara, but all the while Kansatsu, his sensei, was secretly embedding within him certain principles of the dark side. Some believed that it was possible for one highly disciplined mind to contain both Akshara and Kshira, but invariably, over the centuries, the dark side proved too powerful, overwhelming those adepts who sought to embrace it, corrupting them without their being aware of it, and so it was rarely taught.
    However, as he delved deeper into Akshara, Nicholas began to understand the lure of Kshira, because it became clear to him that the Way of Light was somehow incomplete. This was how he had formed his theory that in the beginning of time Tau-tau was fully integrated, the light and dark hemispheres one far more powerful discipline. Somewhere during the centuries, the ability to harness Kshira had been lost.
    For uncounted centuries the goal of tanjian adepts was to form Shuken, the Dominion. Shuken was the whole, the perfect integration of Akshara and Kshira. Without Shuken, which was the one key, adepts who attempted to study both paths of Tau-tau were invariably destroyed by the dark side. Thus had Kansatsu met his fate, overwhelmed by the