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わあ、これはすごい展開でしたね…。青いチューリップという一見小さな謎から、古代のシダ植物と陸棲ワニの共生関係、そしてカルト教団の真実まで、すべてが有機的に繋がっていく構成が圧巻でした。特に「神罰」を掲げる教祖が自らの「守護神」に食い尽くされる皮肉な結末には背筋が凍りました。科学考証の緻密さとサスペンスのバランスが絶妙で、読み進める手が止まりませんでした。Watari Labのチームワークも素敵でしたね。
It was nearly midday on a hot, humid day — though still early summer — and a parliamentary election campaign was underway at a major intersection in Tokyo.
Standing atop a wooden crate about twenty centimeters high, placed beside a campaign vehicle, the local candidate began to speak.
“Voters, I am running as the official candidate of the ruling party. To ensure the realization of our nation’s peace and economic revitalization …”
Just as a crowd of passersby began to stop and listen, a campaign worker whispered something to the candidate from below. The candidate’s face lit up instantly; turning back to the audience, he spoke with palpable excitement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Abukuma — the former Speaker of the House of Representatives — has just arrived to show his support for me. I would like to invite Mr. Abukuma to say a few words.”
Abukuma, an elderly man with a full head of jet-black hair, stepped up onto the campaign vehicle and took the microphone.
“Voters, I am Abukuma. I have come today to ask you to cast your precious votes for this young candidate, who is poised to shoulder the future of our party. He is not like the run-of-the-mill politicians who are all talk and no action. In every situation, rather than looking for reasons not to do something …”
Just then, a woman in her thirties, dressed in casual attire, walked briskly right up to the campaign vehicle and held up a large bouquet of flowers toward Abukuma. Noticing this, Abukuma feigned surprise, widening his eyes theatrically, and leaned down with a beaming smile.
“Oh, thank you. What a wonderful gift.”
The next moment, however, Abukuma’s expression clouded over. He had spotted something in the center of the bouquet that looked like a slender iron pipe.
The woman, who had been holding the base of the bouquet with her right hand, touched a small, switch-like device dangling from the newspaper wrapping with her left hand.
There was a sharp click, and the next instant, a dull, low boom — the sound of an explosion — echoed through the area as white smoke billowed up around Abukuma.
Abukuma fell backward onto his buttocks, then slumped sideways. A thin stream of blood trickled from the area near his left chest.
The candidate, who had been too stunned to immediately grasp what was happening, finally snapped back to reality and shouted.
“Mr. Abukuma!”
The campaign announcer, who had stepped down from the campaign car, let out a high-pitched scream. Four plainclothes officers providing security rushed over and surrounded the woman, who was still clutching the remains of the bouquet.
A metal pipe was visible at the center of the wreckage where the flowers had been blown away; with the newspaper wrapping torn off, the device’s mechanism was fully exposed, revealing what looked like a hand-carved wooden pistol grip and a tangle of electrical cords.
Without offering any resistance to the officers, the woman tossed the gun-like object onto the asphalt; she looked up at the platform atop the campaign car and let out a dry, hollow laugh, then shouted at the top of her lungs:
“Justice for the traitor! Ahaha, ahahahaha, hahaha!”
Three police officers worked together to pin the woman to the ground. Beside the campaign vehicle, a male staff member shouted to the surrounding crowd in a trembling voice:
“Is there a medical professional here? And an AED — someone bring an AED!”
Abukuma, who had been lowered from the vehicle and laid on the ground, appeared to have already lost consciousness; the candidate and other staff members were frantically performing chest compressions.
The candidate shouted out to no one in particular:
“He’s been shot! An ambulance — get an ambulance here, fast!”
As the crowd, finally grasping the situation, began to murmur in agitation, the loud, manic laughter of the woman who had fired the gun rang out from where she was being pinned to the street.
“Hahaha! Hahaha! Hahahahaha!”
Footage of the shooting played on a loop on the television in the Watari Lab.
It was lunchtime, so all the members were present, staring intently at the bizarre scene unfolding on screen. Toyama muttered in a rare, serious tone:
“They’ve got to be kidding me. This is Japan. A shooting on the street in broad daylight …”
Leaning forward to watch the screen, Tsutsui added:
“And it’s an incumbent Diet member — a former Speaker of the House of Representatives, no less. This is an act of terrorism against a politician. It’s been decades since something like this happened in Japan, hasn’t it?”
A caption repeatedly flashed across the screen stating that Abukuma was in a state of “cardiopulmonary arrest.”
“That means he’s already dead.”
Miyashita muttered something. Hearing this, Matsuda tilted his head and asked, “What do you mean? The announcer hasn’t said a word about a death yet.”
“Legally, only a doctor can pronounce someone dead. So, until an official death certificate is issued by a physician, the police can only describe the condition as ‘cardiopulmonary arrest.’”
Tsutsui nodded as she spoke.
“That’s the standard phrase for situations like this, Mr. Matsuda. Even we in the media have to report it that way, even when we know the person is already dead.”
Watari stroked his beard more hurriedly than usual and muttered in a tone tinged with anger.
“Still, that was clearly a homemade weapon. No matter how strict Japan’s gun control laws are, if people can just build something like that, there’s no way for the police to prevent it. What kind of times have we come to?”
The smartphone sitting on Miyashita’s desk rang. Checking the caller’s name, Miyashita quickly ran to the corner of the room and spoke in a low voice, trying not to let the other team members hear.
When the call ended, Miyashita walked over to Watari’s desk.
“Prof. Watari, I’ve been summoned by Headquarters. May I take my leave for the day?”
Watari nodded broadly and replied, “Ah, right — you’re a detective in the counter-terrorism unit, aren’t you? Of course. Go ahead and head over there right away.”
The next morning, Miyashita arrived at the Watari Lab at the usual time. She gathered everyone in front of Watari’s desk and broached the subject.
“The Metropolitan Police Department has asked the Watari Lab to assist with an investigation — specifically regarding the shooting of Diet member Abukuma yesterday.”
A newspaper lay spread out on Watari’s desk; the front page featured a large headline reporting that Abukuma had been pronounced dead at the hospital the previous evening, accompanied by a photograph taken at the moment of the shooting.
Watari raised his eyebrows and asked Miyashita:
“I could understand if they were asking the Medical School’s Department of Forensic Medicine for an autopsy, but why us?”
Miyashita took a small, clear plastic bag from her briefcase, glanced at Toyama, and continued:
“This is a fragment of a bouquet recovered during the police crime scene investigation. Something about it couldn’t be explained, which is why they brought it to us.”
Toyama stared at the plastic bag and said: “It looks like a piece of a flower petal. What about it?”
Inside the bag were several fragments of blue petals. Miyashita handed the bag to Toyama as he spoke:
“There were tulips in the bouquet, and the petals were blue — specifically, the entire petal was a solid blue.”
Tsutsui asked, looking puzzled: “Huh? But we can buy blue tulips at any florist, can’t we?”
Toyama made a knowing sound — “Aha” — and said to Miyashita: “So, it wasn’t dyed? Is that it?”
Miyashita nodded.
“Yes. Police testing has already confirmed that the petals weren’t dyed with blue pigment.”
Toyama murmured, giving a slight nod:
“Blue tulips, eh? I see — that explains why the Watari Lab is needed.”
Tsutsui still looked bewildered.
“Huh? Um, Dr. Toyama … aren’t blue tulips actually not that rare?”
Toyama grinned, held up his index finger in front of his face, and wagged it from side to side.
“The blue tulips you’ve seen at flower shops? Those are just ones where the petals were dyed blue later. Blue-petaled tulips don’t exist in nature.”
“Really? Is that so?”
“It was a while ago now, but do you remember when a famous food manufacturer’s research lab succeeded in creating a blue rose through genetic engineering and it made the news? It’s the same thing. Roses with solid blue petals don’t exist in the natural world.”
Watari chimed in.
“Since blue roses never existed, in the West they became a metaphor for things not of this world. They were treated as products of the spirit realm or the demon world — at least in fantasy novels.”
Tsutsui’s eyes went wide.
“Is that right? I had no idea.”
Toyama held up the plastic bag and gazed at it.
“It’s the same story with blue tulips. And as for tulips, there hasn’t been any news yet about a blue variety being developed. If we can figure out where this one came from, it might lead us to the culprit’s background. Is that the idea, Assistant Inspector Miyashita?”
Miyashita crossed her arms and replied.
“That’s right. The culprit seems to be claiming that she meted out ‘divine punishment’ to Diet member Abukuma — who was pushing for the restart of nuclear power plants — or something to that effect. However, her statements regarding how she managed to hand-make a gun like that have been vague. The Metropolitan Police Department suspects there might be some kind of organization backing him.”
Watari asks Miyashita:
“So, you’re saying it wasn’t the work of a lone wolf? That the culprit belongs to a terrorist organization or something similar?”
“We don’t know yet. In fact, there are so many unknowns that my boss told me to come here and enlist the Watari Lab’s help — desperate enough to clutch at straws, you could say.”
“Hey now, are we just a ‘straw’ to you?”
“Oh — no, I’m sorry. That’s not at all what I meant …”
“Hahaha, I’m just kidding. So, have you figured out the structure of that homemade gun? What kind of propellant did they use? I doubt it was standard gunpowder, judging by the sheer volume of white smoke.”
“It appears she packed propellant and ball bearings into the bottom of an iron pipe and detonated it using an electric ignition. Forensic analysis indicates the propellant used was nitroglycerin.”
“Nitroglycerin? That implies a significant quantity — the kind of amount an amateur couldn’t easily get their hands on in Japan these days. Alright, Toyama, I’ll speak to the university president myself. I want you to investigate this thoroughly.”
On the afternoon of the day after next, the entire team gathered in Watari Lab. They sat on the long sofas facing each other in the reception area and compared the information each of them had gathered.
“So, what have we learned about the suspect’s background?”
As Watari broached the subject, Miyashita was the first to raise a hand.
“The suspect’s name is Kanako Sato. During questioning by the local police, she admitted to the crime itself — well, she was caught red-handed, after all. As for her motive, she claims she was passing judgment on a ‘traitor to the nation’ who was trying to destroy Japan by restarting nuclear power plants.”
Watari furrowed his brow and asked:
“Is she an evacuee from the nuclear accident or something?”
Tsutsui answered this while consulting her notebook.
“No, the suspect herself suffered no direct harm from the Fukushima nuclear accident. It appears she never even lived in Fukushima Prefecture. However, she was affiliated with an NPO that provides support to evacuees from the accident — up until just a month ago.”
Watari’s scowl deepened.
“So she decided to exact revenge — or mete out punishment — on their behalf? You’d think the very people who would suffer the most from such an act are the evacuees themselves.”
Next, Matsuda spoke up while showing the screen of his tablet.
“Regarding that weapon — there’s plenty of information online about how to manufacture it. It operates on a principle similar to an old matchlock gun; theoretically, even an ordinary person could build one if they had the right materials. That said, actually constructing it would still require a fair amount of time and effort.”
Watari spread his stack of documents out on the table and spoke.
“They said nitroglycerin was used in that homemade gun; it is indeed possible to obtain small quantities legally in Japan. Even now, it is still manufactured and imported — albeit to a limited extent — as a treatment for angina.”
Matsuda’s eyes widened as he asked, “Gunpowder can be used as medicine?”
“Nowadays, drugs containing nitrate-based nitro groups have become the standard. But in the past, people with chronic heart conditions used to carry it around in capsules. Of course, additives are mixed into the pharmaceutical version to prevent it from exploding. Ms. Miyashita, what did the suspect say about where he got the nitro?”
Miyashita answered while glancing at the notes in her police notebook.
“She stated that she obtained it by gradually extracting and stockpiling nitroglycerin from pharmaceutical products she had personally imported via online shopping from overseas.”
Watari pursed his lips and said, “It adds up, but something still bothers me. Is this really something a Japanese person in her thirties — an ordinary citizen with no academic or professional background in the sciences — could pull off entirely on her own?”
Toyama spoke while operating his tablet.
“Well, it looks like it’s my turn. Regarding that blue tulip …”
Rows of letters representing genetic base sequences were displayed across the screen of Toyama’s tablet.
“To cut to the chase, it doesn’t appear to be one of the horticultural varieties circulating in the market. In fact, it exhibits characteristics more typical of a wild species. The blue color of the petals is due to the activation of a pigment called delphinidin.”
Watari stroked his beard as he asked, “Does that mean tulips don’t naturally possess that pigment?”
“No, they do. Certain plant species — roses, for example — lack the gene to produce delphinidin entirely; that’s why blue roses couldn’t be created without genetic engineering. Tulips do possess the gene for producing delphinidin. However, they lack the ability to produce the specific enzyme required to actually express it.”
Tsutsui twirled her ballpoint pen between her fingers as she spoke.
“So, biologically speaking, creating a blue tulip is possible?”
Toyama rested his fingers against his forehead and answered hesitantly.
“That is the case, but the problem lies in how to equip the tulip with that other enzyme. Horticulturalists around the world have been researching the creation of blue tulips for years. If someone had actually succeeded, what do you think the situation would be like now?”
Tsutsui answered Toyama’s question immediately.
“It would have been announced with great fanfare and made the news ages ago. As far as my company’s research shows, no such announcement has reached any news outlet anywhere in the world.”
Watari sank deep into the back of the sofa and spoke.
“If there’s one thing that doesn’t quite add up about this case, it’s the origin of that blue tulip. I want everyone to take another look and see if there’s any connection between the suspect and any companies, organizations, or research institutes involved in plant breeding.”
The four others immediately rose from their seats and left the lab. Outside the window, the air hung heavy and stifling, as if being scorched by the setting sun.
The following evening, Tsutsui was walking through a residential neighborhood, wiping away sweat with her trouser-suit jacket draped over her arm.
Even though the sun was sinking, the temperature remained well above 30 degrees Celsius; the heat rising from the asphalt pavement made her sweat even more profusely. Occasional gusts of wind felt just like the hot blast from a hair dryer.
Tsutsui was making the rounds, visiting the acquaintances of Kanako Sato — the perpetrator of the recent shooting — one by one. She hoped that by learning about Sato’s recent life from those close to her, she might uncover a clue.
While waiting near a certain apartment complex, Tsutsui spotted the person she was looking for: a middle-aged woman who served as a board member for the NPO where Sato had worked.
Tsutsui had identified the woman’s address after looking up the NPO’s corporate registration records at the municipal office; now, she slowly approached the board member as she headed home and called out to her.
“Excuse me … could I have a moment of your time?”
“Huh? Who are you?”
The board member narrowed her eyes in suspicion, though she didn’t seem overly guarded — perhaps because Tsutsui was a young woman. Tsutsui took a newspaper reporter’s business card from her bag and handed it over.
“I’m with this organization.”
“Oh, a reporter. You’re here about Kanako Sato, then?”
“Yes, that’s right. Had you noticed anything unusual about Kanako Sato lately?”
The female board member answered with an air of annoyance, fanning her face with a handkerchief.
“As for what happened … well, she actually left our organization a month ago. It’s a good thing she left before causing an incident like that. It makes me shudder just thinking about what might have happened if she’d still been on our staff.”
“She left? Do you happen to know the reason?”
“How should I put it? Her views were just too extreme; she became completely alienated from everyone around her. I mean, technically it was her own decision to leave, but ‘forced out’ would probably be a more accurate description.”
“What do you mean by ‘extreme,’ exactly?”
“Our organization is currently providing support to evacuees from the nuclear accident. You’re aware of that, right?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard about that.”
“She started saying things like nuclear power wasn’t needed anymore — that we should receive new energy resources from ‘Great Nature’ instead.”
“New energy resources?”
“I don’t know what exactly she meant by that. Apparently, she’d joined some religious group. A cult, I suppose you’d call it.”
Tsutsui, who had been taking notes in her notebook with a ballpoint pen, looked up instinctively.
“A cult?”
“Probably. I don’t know the details of the religion itself, but she started pestering other staff members to attend their gatherings, and I was getting frequent complaints about it.”
“Do you happen to remember the name of the group?”
“Let’s see … I mostly just half-listened when she talked about it. Oh! That reminds me. She once foisted a pamphlet on me. I might still have it at home. Could you wait here a moment?”
“Yes, please.”
The board member went inside the apartment building and returned to Tsutsui fifteen minutes later, holding a single sheet of paper.
“Here it is — this is the one. It looks like a recruitment flyer for that religious group. You can take it; I was planning to throw it out anyway.”
Tsutsui accepted the flyer and bowed to the female board member.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Is that all, then? That’s everything I know.”
“Yes. I apologize for taking up your time.”
“Making inquiries in this heat — being a newspaper reporter must be tough work. Well then …”
The woman headed back into the apartment building; Tsutsui bowed once more and started walking toward the nearest station. Before tucking the flyer into her bag, she glanced at it.
It featured sensational slogans printed in bold, flashy type.
“The Day of Judgment is near. Now is the time for humanity to return to the natural order. We convey the will of Great Nature to save mankind.”
Tsutsui looked for the name of the organization. She found it in the bottom right corner.
“World Solidarity Miroku Sect”
The next morning, once everyone had gathered in the Watari Lab, Tsutsui reported on the flyer. After reading through its contents, Watari spoke with a scowl.
“That’s a name I saw at a faculty meeting a while back. We were warned that, every spring, certain groups would sneak onto campus to try and recruit new students.”
Watari slid the flyer across the table in the reception area toward Miyashita.
“Had the police been keeping an eye on it?”
Miyashita glanced at the flyer as she replied.
“It seems Public Security hadn’t flagged them at all prior to this incident. They were just another run-of-the-mill new religious movement, and there hadn’t been any reports of harm caused by them.”
Toyama pulled the flyer closer and remarked, “Judging by the name, it looks like a Buddhist-style cult. But the writing is amateurish. It’s just a rip-off of apocalyptic theories from various established religions.”
Matsuda crossed his arms and asked, “Is it really possible for a new religious group to pull off something as audacious as shooting a politician with a homemade gun?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out,”
Tsutsui said, looking at her tablet screen.
“Back in the nineties, a cult group caused a major incident by releasing poison gas in the Tokyo subway system. That said, hardly any reporters at my company knew about this ‘World Solidarity Miroku Sect.’ They only formed as a religious group about five years ago, so they don’t seem to be very well-known to the general public.”
Watari asks Miyashita: “Have you figured out how the nitroglycerin was obtained?”
Miyashita shook her head.
“We haven’t found any record of an online purchase, as the suspect claimed. Even if it was procured domestically, there’s no way a private individual — someone with no medical background — could buy that kind of quantity. At this point, we simply don’t know.”
Tsutsui leaned across the table toward Watari.
“Prof. Watari, in a situation like this, the direct approach is best.”
“The direct approach?”
“I’ll go speak to the leader of that religious group myself. If I drop the name of my newspaper, they won’t be able to turn me away flat — not in the current climate, anyway.”
“Hold on, are you sure? That could be a genuinely dangerous organization.”
“If the worst happens, I’ve got a police detective and a Self-Defense Force officer right here with me. I’m counting on both of you.”
With that, Tsutsui showed a playful blowing kiss toward Miyashita and Matsuda.
Three days later, having received interview clearance from the Public Relations Department of the World Solidarity Miroku Sect, Tsutsui headed to the group’s headquarters.
She rode in a car driven by Matsuda, with Miyashita accompanying them as a precaution. They traveled to a depopulated village nestled in the mountains at the southern edge of Gunma Prefecture. The sect’s headquarters stood on a mountainside, far removed from the village itself.
Situated in an area where no other homes could be found for kilometers around, the building — resembling an ancient Indian palace — looked strikingly out of place against the backdrop of endless forest.
A young, long-haired, and gaunt-looking follower greeted Tsutsui at the entrance and instructed her to enter alone. While Matsuda and Miyashita waited in the car in the parking area, Tsutsui — carrying her shoulder bag — followed the man inside the building.
The ground floor was a vast hall, lined with rows of seats like a movie theater or auditorium, with a pulpit at the far end. She was led up the stairs to a room on the second floor.
The walls and stair railings along the way were adorned with bizarre, psychedelic decorations and carvings.
She was shown to a chair in a room — apparently a reception area — measuring about ten tatami mats in size and told to wait. A cup of something resembling tea was placed on the side table — the cup itself featuring a garish pattern — but Tsutsui did not drink it, as the liquid gave off a peculiar aroma.
After being kept waiting for a full ten minutes, a representative of the religious group entered the room, accompanied by several followers.
The followers wore simple garments resembling monastic work clothes, while the representative was clad in a full-body robe — reminiscent of those worn by Buddhist monks in Southeast Asia — that completely enveloped him.
It was a flamboyant robe, made of orange fabric and covered entirely in intricate gold-thread embroidery. The representative — a portly man in his forties with a wild, unkempt mane of salt-and-pepper hair — was addressed by his followers as “Venerable Master.”
The Venerable Master sat in a luxurious armchair opposite Tsutsui and invited her to speak.
“Thank you for making the long journey here. I am the representative of the World Solidarity Miroku Sect. Please, feel free to ask whatever you wish.”
Tsutsui stood up, bowed deeply, and then sat back down. Her instincts as a newspaper reporter told her it would be best to adopt a humble, deferential attitude.
“The pleasure is mine; I apologize for the intrusion. Let me begin, then.”
As soon as Tsutsui mentioned the shooting incident involving former Lower House Speaker Abukuma, the leader thrust his palm forward to cut her off.
“I am already aware of that incident. It is true that the woman, Kanako Sato, had joined our sect three months prior.”
Tsutsui took notes in her notebook while listening intently for any shifts in the man’s tone or inflection. She decided to probe a little further.
“So, are you admitting to a connection with the shooting?”
“Certainly not! The two matters are entirely separate. If anything, we are the ones who have been inconvenienced. Our doctrine centers on the salvation of all humanity through the power of Saint Miroku. It just so happened that one of our followers committed such a violent act. That is all there is to it.”
“I hear your group is opposed to nuclear power; what is your stance on that?”
“We do not deny it. However, let me be clear: it is not merely nuclear power that we oppose, but the abuse of any artificial energy resource. We believe that so-called fossil fuels — such as coal and oil — should also be phased out in the long run.”
“It is reported that the suspect, Kanako Sato, claimed she carried out the shooting to embody your group’s ideals …”
“That is her own personal interpretation. We possess an abundance of energy resources provided by the bounty of nature — something the people of the secular world fail to realize. Our goal is to make this fact known to the world and thereby eliminate futile wars and conflicts.”
“What exactly are these energy resources? Solar power? Geothermal power?”
“They are things that already exist within Mother Nature. As for further details — that is a matter of our doctrine, so I cannot discuss it with non-believers.”
Tsutsui pressed on with more questions, but the Master spoke only in terms of his abstruse “doctrine,” and she realized it would be impossible to elicit any further information.
Tsutsui announced the end of the interview and rose from her chair. The Master ordered his followers to escort her to the entrance, then called out to her as she turned to leave.
“When you write your article, please take care to ensure the public does not misunderstand our group. We reject violence; we certainly do not advocate for it.”
Flanked by three believers, Tsutsui descended the staircase she had just come up. For a moment, her gaze was drawn to a dais at the far end of the ground-floor hall.
Pointing toward the altar at the back, Tsutsui asked the men accompanying her:
“Is that your principal object of worship? Might I take a look at it before I leave?”
The men hesitated for a moment, but the one who appeared to be the eldest replied:
“Yes, by all means, please take a look. Oh, though we do ask that you refrain from taking photographs.”
They walked to a raised stage-like area at the back of the hall, where a bronze statue of a Buddha stood, surrounded by an array of flowers.
The statue, roughly life-sized, was seated with its right leg resting across its left thigh and its right hand raised toward its chin.
“This is our principal object of worship, Saint Miroku,” the believers said, pressing their palms together before their chests.
“He is the savior who descends to this world during the Age of Dharma Decline to rescue us lost souls.”
Tsutsui studied the profusion of flowers surrounding the statue. Among them, she noticed a few tulips with brilliant blue petals.
Maintaining an air of casual interest, Tsutsui asked the believers: “They are beautiful flowers. Do you grow them yourselves?”
“No,” replied the eldest believer.
“We receive seasonal flowers as offerings from our lay believers. We are truly grateful for them.”
Tsutsui offered her thanks and stepped outside the building. Just as she closed the door, the leader — called “Master” — came running up from behind and spoke sharply to his followers:
“The arrangements are all set, I assume?”
One of the followers replied in a low voice:
“Yes, we’ll have the younger members tail her. So, Master, what was your impression? Did you find her suspicious?”
“No, I think it’s just the curiosity of a newspaper reporter, but to be absolutely safe, track down where she lives. Still, that woman … she’s done something truly outrageous. Making off with the Order’s secrets and then shooting a politician dead!”
When Tsutsui returned to the lab and reported what had happened at the cult’s headquarters, Watari pressed his forehead with his right hand and spoke in a low, groaning tone.
“The detail about the blue tulips is certainly intriguing, but that alone isn’t enough to go on.”
Miyashita nodded in agreement.
“We lack the hard evidence needed to get the police involved. We need to uncover something more concrete.”
Toyama’s eyes lit up as he spoke.
“Why not investigate the mountain behind the complex? If they’re cultivating those blue tulips themselves, there might be a clue up there.”
Watari slapped his knee.
“Good point. Let’s try climbing it from the other side.”
Toyama said with a beaming smile, “That sounds great. Good luck with that.”
“Why are you talking as if this doesn’t concern you? You’re coming along, too.”
“Huh? Well, you see … I’m not exactly great at mountain climbing.”
“We can’t conduct a proper survey without a biologist like you there! Besides, what kind of biologist isn’t good at fieldwork?”
“Do I really have to?”
“That’s an order from the lab director. Toyama, you’re coming along!”
“Oh, man …”
Afterward, Tsutsui stopped by her newspaper office to file a routine report, then took the subway to an apartment in the suburbs.
She picked up a bento meal box and a drink at a convenience store along the way and entered the fourth-floor unit. Inside the sparse one-bedroom apartment — empty save for the running air conditioner — Matsuda was waiting for her.
“Say, Mr. Matsuda … aren’t we overthinking this? We didn’t really need to go to the trouble of renting a place just for a cover story. Though, I suppose it doesn’t matter since the Metropolitan Police Department is footing the bill through Assistant Inspector Miyashita.”
Matsuda replied while crouching on the floor, careful not to let his shadow fall on the curtains.
“There’s a high probability we were being tailed on the way back from that cult’s headquarters. It pays to be cautious.”
A moment later, the doorbell rang. As Tsutsui approached the door, she heard a rhythmic knocking: knock-knock-knock-knock.
“That’s the signal we agreed on. It’s Ms. Miyashita. Open the door, Ms. Tsutsui,” Matsuda said.
Miyashita entered the room carrying a large tote bag. Tsutsui gave a wry smile.
“It all feels a bit over-the-top, doesn’t it? Like a spy movie. But we weren’t actually being followed, right?”
Miyashita smiled mischievously as she pulled a digital camera with a telephoto lens from her bag.
“Oh, but we were definitely being followed. Look.”
She displayed a series of images on the camera’s monitor. They showed the back of a man dressed in monk work clothes, with Tsutsui visible in the background.
The photos tracked the subject all the way to the entrance of the very apartment building where they were currently standing. Tsutsui went pale.
“Yikes! If this had been my actual apartment, I’d have been done for.”
Miyashita moved along the wall toward the window and gently shifted the edge of the drawn curtain to peek outside.
“They’ve probably pinpointed our room number by now. We’d better start the climb sooner rather than later.”
Upon receiving Miyashita’s report about being tailed, Watari had announced that they would survey the mountain early the next morning.
Amidst the scorching heat of a blazing sun, they drove to the far side of the mountain — where the cult’s headquarters were located — changed into hiking gear, and began ascending the wooded slope.
As they made their way through the forest, the canopy blocked the direct sunlight, making it feel somewhat cooler; however, the air remained stiflingly humid, and the five members of the Watari Lab wiped away sweat as they pressed on toward the summit.
The uphill path was lined with sparse trees and felt largely untouched by human hands; there was nothing particularly unusual to be seen.
Since the mountain wasn’t very high, they reached the summit in about two hours. After taking a short break, they began descending the slope in the direction of the cult’s headquarters.
When they had descended about halfway down the slope, Toyama noticed something.
“Oh, that area over there is strangely open.”
The spot Toyama pointed to was indeed a wide, open space where the trees had been cleared away. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a circular clearing with a radius of roughly one hundred meters.
Standing solitary in the center was a single, peculiar tree, soaring about ten meters high.
A dark, bluish-black trunk rose straight up from the ground, with thick branches spreading horizontally only at the very top, forming an umbrella-like shape.
What had appeared from a distance to be a single leaf was actually a cluster of foliage, consisting of tiny, slender, deep-green leaves densely arranged along both sides of a central stalk.
Many blue-black, rugby-ball-shaped fruits hung from the branches. On the ground surrounding this strange tree, blue tulips bloomed in such profusion that they seemed ready to fill the entire circular clearing.
Watari asked Toyama, “Toyama, what kind of tree is that? I’ve never seen a species like it.”
Toyama let out a low, thoughtful sound as he scanned the tree bit by bit through his binoculars.
“It appears to be a tree fern.”
“A fern?” Watari asked, sounding puzzled. “Aren’t ferns supposed to be herbaceous plants? That thing looks like a tree no matter how I look at it.”
Toyama kept his eyes pressed to the binoculars and replied in a tone of disbelief, “That’s true for extant species. However, it is known that in ancient times, there existed fern-like plants that took the form of massive trees.”
Tsutsui shielded her eyes with her hand to look at the tree and asked, “How long ago was that?”
Toyama gave a slight shake of his head.
“That’s an unknown species. For starters, plants lack bones, so they don’t fossilize easily. Most so-called plant fossils are just leaf outlines left behind after being pressed into the soil surface. It’s actually the norm for the ecology of the plant itself to remain a mystery.”
Matsuda pointed toward the circular clearing.
“Why on earth is a plant like that here in Japan?”
Toyama finally lowered his binoculars and said.
“It was clearly planted by human hands. That’s why all the other trees in that immediate area have been neatly cleared away. Let’s go take a closer look. The fact that it’s surrounded by blue tulips is intriguing, too.”
They continued down the slope until they reached the edge of a circular clearing.
Miyashita pointed to a spot beneath the tree branches and said, “Look there — it looks like the ground has been gouged out. The soil is exposed. It looks just like the aftermath of an explosion.”
Just as Watari was wondering whether they should move closer to the trees, a rustling sound signaled something approaching from the grassy area of the forest to their left.
The five of them hurriedly crouched down in a slight depression in the ground nearby.
What emerged from the grass was a wild boar. Watari spoke in a tone of relief: “Oh, it’s just a wild boar. A pretty big one, too.”
The boar seemed unaware of their presence; it sauntered up to a massive tree-fern and began rooting around in the earth with its tusks. It appeared to have found something to eat, as it thrust its snout deep into the soil.
At that moment, a fruit hanging from the tree-fern’s fronds suddenly detached and fell, landing right beside the boar.
The instant it hit the ground, the fruit detonated with a thunderous bang. The boar was blown several meters away, and blood began to drip from its flank.
Miyashita cried out in shock at the sight.
“An explosion! What on earth is going on here?”
Neither Watari nor Toyama could answer immediately. The wounded wild boar staggered to its feet and began to lumber away from the spot.
Then, the sound of something running through the grass nearby reached their ears. The distinct, dry clatter of hooves rang out as the creature emerged into the clearing.
The five members of the Watari Lab gasped in unison. It looked like a crocodile — slender-bodied with a long jaw, and featuring three longitudinal rows of raised scales along its back that resembled dorsal fins.
Most bizarre of all was the way its limbs extended almost straight down from its body. It moved nimbly across the ground on legs roughly a meter long, its total length spanning some seven meters.
The upright crocodile charged straight at the wounded boar, snapped its massive jaws shut around the animal’s head, and — as the boar struggled desperately — crushed its neck, leaving it twitching in the throes of death.
Clamping its jaws around the boar’s body, the giant crocodile dragged the carcass away and vanished beyond the grassy area.
Once the upright crocodile was completely out of sight, the five team members rose from the hollow where they had been hiding.
“Toyama, what was that?”
Even before Watari asked, Toyama had already pulled a tablet from his backpack and begun a search. After a moment, he stopped and showed the screen to the group.
“This is likely it.”
The screen displayed an illustration of a crocodile standing on the ground with its four legs extending straight down — identical to the creature they had just witnessed.
The only difference was the absence of the rows of fin-like protrusions along its back. Toyama began to explain.
“That would be Pristichampsus, a land-dwelling crocodilian thought to be extinct. It appears to be considerably larger than the size estimated from fossils, though.”
Tsutsui asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Aren’t crocodiles creatures that live near the water?”
“Extant species are, yes. But historically, there were quite a few crocodiles adapted to life on land. If this is Pristichampsus, it’s a species that flourished during the Paleogene period of the Cenozoic Era — spanning from 66 million to 23 million years ago.”
Miyashita asked Toyama in an excited tone.
“Does that plant with the bomb-like fruit belong to that era, too?”
Toyama tilted his head, giving a vague answer.
“I’m not sure about that. However, it is possible that giant tree-like ferns flourished during that same era. Depending on the specific timeframe, the Paleogene is considered a period when the Earth was generally warmer. It’s possible that current global warming has allowed tree ferns — which had barely survived in isolated pockets — to expand their range again, and that those land crocodiles are increasing in number alongside them.”
Watari stroked his beard and spoke in a low voice.
“Let’s collect samples from the area of the ground where the explosion just occurred. This looks like it could be a crucial lead.”
Leaving Tsutsui and Miyashita to keep watch on the surroundings as a precaution, Watari and Toyama carefully approached the patch of ground the wild boar had been digging up, moving silently to avoid making a sound.
Matsuda followed close behind them — ready for any emergency — and kept a watchful eye on the branches of the giant fern trees overhead.
As they used a small shovel to scoop away the soil the boar had churned up, they spotted a rhizome that appeared to extend from the massive fern. It looked as though the boar had torn it loose; it was now severed from the main root system.
The rhizome was also wrapped around the bulb of a nearby blue tulip. Watari and Toyama dug up both the fern rhizome and the entire blue tulip plant, placing them into a large plastic storage case.
The moment they pulled the specimens from the ground, all three — Watari, Toyama, and Matsuda — instinctively dropped flat against the earth. Matsuda then raised himself up and, gazing at the branches above, spoke to the other two:
“It’s safe. Nothing looks like it’s about to fall.”
They returned to the edge of the circular clearing where Tsutsui and Miyashita were waiting and packed the case into Watari’s backpack. Watari said to Toyama:
“I need you to analyze this the moment we get back. Blue tulips and exploding fruits — it would be absurd to call this a mere coincidence.”
Toyama replied with a confident, daring smile:
“Leave it to me. It’s been a while since I’ve had a job that really lets me show what I can do.”
Tsutsui spoke to Miyashita, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Ms. Miyashita, this means we can start investigating that cult now, right?”
But Miyashita shook her head, a grim look on her face.
“It’s not possible yet. We haven’t established a definite link to the cult.”
“Why not? We’ve got that suspicious plant and even a monster-like crocodile. You saw them with your own eyes, didn’t you?”
“There’s no proof connecting that giant creature to the cult, is there? We wouldn’t get a warrant for a search or anything like that at this stage.”
As they made their way down the mountain, they spotted several figures heading toward them from below. Realizing the men were dressed in monk-like work clothes — Miyashita pulled a wide-brimmed straw hat and a pair of large sunglasses from her backpack and told Tsutsui to put them on.
“What’s this about? All of a sudden?”
Miyashita answered Tsutsui’s question in a sharp tone.
“Hide your face with these. The cult members already know what you look like, don’t they?”
Watari and his group encountered four members of the religious group on the slope. One of the members, who had positioned himself to block their path, spoke to Watari; he was the older man who had dealt with Tsutsui during her earlier reporting visit.
The man asked Watari, “What are you doing here? This is private property.”
Watari responded with an exaggeratedly cheerful tone.
“Oh, thank goodness! You see, I was hiking in the mountains for a geological survey and got lost. Could you tell me the way back to civilization?”
Noticing their attire, the man’s expression softened slightly.
“I see; that must have been difficult. We’ll guide you down to the foot of the mountain. By the way …”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he asked: “Did you hear a loud noise? Something like a ‘bang’?”
Watari looked up the slope and answered in a calm voice.
“Now that you mention it, I think I did hear the sound of a hunting rifle. Are there many hunters around here?”
All traces of wariness vanished from the man’s face, replaced by a faint smile.
“A bear appeared. We were worried, so we came to check on the situation.”
“A—a bear?”
Watari feigned an expression of utter astonishment.
“Do bears appear around here?”
“Yes, so it’s best not to wander the mountains here without a guide. Come this way — I’ll take you to the bus stop.”
After descending the slope for about an hour with the male followers, they reached a prefectural road from which the sect’s headquarters was visible in the distance.
One of the men spoke to Watari and the others: “Perfect timing. The bus will be here in five minutes. That’s the stop right there.”
Watari smiled and thanked him.
“That’s a huge help. Thank you so much for everything.”
The man pressed his palms together in front of his chest and smiled.
“Not at all. It is our duty to help those in need. Well then, take care.”
Just as the followers were turning to leave, Tsutsui suddenly removed her hat and sunglasses and called out loudly to the older man among them.
“Oh, aren’t you that follower from before? Thank you for your help the other day.”
The older man started, turned around, and his face stiffened when he saw Tsutsui.
“That newspaper reporter … What are you doing here?”
Tsutsui replied with an innocent smile.
“I’m here today to cover some research by professors from this university. What a coincidence to run into you again.”
The man’s cheek twitched, but he maintained a forced smile as he spoke.
“I see. This must be the guidance of the Buddha. Well then, have a safe trip home.”
The male followers quickened their pace and headed toward the cult’s headquarters. Once they reached the bus stop and the followers were completely out of sight, Miyashita grabbed Tsutsui by the shoulder and spoke in an angry tone.
“What were you thinking? Showing your face like that …”
“You mean, thinking I might get attacked?”
Miyashita’s tone grew even sharper at Tsutsui’s nonchalant reply.
“Exactly! What if they came to kidnap you …?”
“If that happened, the police could step in, right?”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“If they broke into that apartment to kidnap me, you could arrest them in the act. That’s when you’d get your moment to shine, Assistant Inspector.”
Miyashita was left speechless, dumbfounded. Seeing a bus approaching, Watari spoke up.
“Let’s save that discussion for when we get back to the lab. For now, we’re heading back to our car.”
Over the next two days, Toyama immersed himself in analyzing the samples collected from the mountain, while Tsutsui remained confined in the apartment provided by the Metropolitan Police Department.
Miyashita and Matsuda took turns keeping watch around the apartment where Tsutsui was staying. Nothing untoward happened to her, and on the afternoon of the third day — which was as sweltering as ever — the members of the Watari Lab gathered at the laboratory.
Toyama projected the analysis results onto the large screen on the wall. Standing before the members, who were seated at their respective desks gazing at the display, Toyama began his explanation.
“Let’s get straight to the heart of the matter. A small amount of nitroglycerin was detected in fragments of the fruit from that fern.”
Miyashita gasped in surprise.
“Are you saying the plant synthesizes nitroglycerin?”
“That’s what it amounts to. It’s not impossible. Since plants can’t move on their own, they produce various chemical substances within their bodies to protect themselves from herbivores. A prime example is the group of substances known as alkaloids. Originally, these were likely toxins to animals; plants evolved to produce them internally to avoid being eaten.”
Watari spoke up.
“And humans are the odd creatures who actually enjoy consuming those toxins. Isn’t that right, Dr. Toyama?”
“Yes. For instance, the nicotine in tobacco and the caffeine in coffee and tea are alkaloids produced by plants. It’s often said that the line between poison and medicine is a fine one. Now, various herbivore species have evolved a tolerance to alkaloids. It stands to reason, then, that a species of tree-like fern emerged that evolved to synthesize nitroglycerin internally, using it to repel herbivores that physically approached it.”
Tsutsui raised a hand and asked Toyama. “What is the connection to the blue tulips?”
Toyama switched the image on the screen and replied:
“Tulips lack the enzyme that produces the blue pigment delphinidin — I mentioned this before, remember? We were able to extract that very enzyme from the tulip cells collected at that site. And that same enzyme was also found in the roots of those tree-like ferns. The giant fern and the blue tulips exist in a symbiotic relationship.”
Matsuda scratches his head as he asks Toyama a question.
“That’s not really my area of expertise. What exactly is symbiosis?”
“It’s when completely different types of plants or animals live together for the sake of survival. In this case, that tree-like fern seems to have weak photosynthetic activity. It likely intertwines its roots with the surrounding tulip bulbs to absorb nutrients derived from photosynthesis. Meanwhile, the tulips absorb enzymes from the fern’s roots — enzymes needed to produce delphinidin.”
Matsuda asks further, “Does having blue flowers offer any survival advantage for the tulips?”
“Perhaps there was some reason for it back in the Cenozoic Era, when those ferns flourished. There is a theory that different flower colors attract different insect species for pollination, but to be honest, the exact reason remains unclear.”
Watari stroked his beard as he speaks to Toyama.
“How do you explain that land-dwelling crocodile?”
“It is merely a hypothesis, but …”
With that preface, Toyama continues his explanation.
“For the tree-like fern, simply driving off herbivores with an explosion is enough. Land-dwelling crocodiles would constantly inhabit the area, making easy prey of the large herbivores injured in those blasts. If there’s a high probability of those crocodiles being nearby, large herbivores are too afraid to approach. This benefits the giant ferns as well. A symbiotic relationship involving all three parties is established.”
Miyashita spoke while glancing at her notebook.
“The leader of that cult has traveled to South America with his followers on numerous occasions. It is possible they brought back that giant fern and the crocodile from the depths of the Amazon.”
Tsutsui chimed in.
“That ‘natural energy resource’ the cult leader spoke of — could it have been nitroglycerin? Prof. Watari, could nitroglycerin serve as that kind of resource?”
Watari grimaced as he replied.
“It would be impossible to replace all current fossil fuels and nuclear power with it. To even attempt such a thing, we’d need to cover every mountain in Japan with those ancient ferns just to meet the demand. It’s nothing more than a delusion harbored by people getting carried away over the discovery of an unknown energy source.”
That night — or rather, in the dead of night after the date had changed — four young cult members dressed in monk-like work clothes were creeping toward the apartment building where Tsutsui was staying.
Blending into the darkness of the deserted night, they slipped through the entrance — which lacked an automatic lock — rushed up the emergency stairs, and lined up outside the door to Tsutsui’s room.
One of them pulled a set of lock-picking tools from a cloth pouch at his waist, inserted a thin metal rod into the keyhole, and skillfully disengaged the lock.
They gently opened the door and stepped inside without removing their shoes, moving silently. A cot stood at the far end of the room, and the sleeping figure of a person — covered head-to-toe in a towel blanket — was visible upon it.
Another member drew a stun gun from his pocket and approached the bedside. He activated the device; as an electric current crackled at the tip, he pressed it against the neck of the figure on the bed.
When they all tore off the towel blanket, what lay beneath was a mannequin. Just as everyone recoiled in shock, the door to the unit bathroom opened, and the room’s lights flicked on.
Matsuda emerged from the bathroom into the illuminated room, a short, specialized metal baton held at the ready in his right hand.
The male cultists remained surprisingly composed. They moved to rush Matsuda all at once, but he was faster. One man, whose stun gun had been knocked from his hand by Matsuda’s baton, barked a brief command to the other three:
“Fall back!”
Glaring at Matsuda, the men slipped past him and dashed out into the hallway one after another. As they exited, Matsuda gave chase.
The men raced down the emergency stairs and burst through the exit door, only to find Miyashita standing there, a pistol aimed steadily in her right hand.
As the men faltered in confusion, Miyashita held up her open police badge in her left hand and declared:
“You are under arrest for trespassing and attempted kidnapping. Hands up — nobody move!”
Clicking their tongues in frustration, the men meekly raised their hands above their shoulders. Two patrol cars glided smoothly to a stop behind Miyashita; uniformed officers stepped out and surrounded the men.
At dawn, a joint task force from the Metropolitan Police Department and the Gunma Prefectural Police surrounded the headquarters of the World Solidarity Miroku Sect.
When police demanded the leader surrender, the followers barricaded inside opened fire with homemade guns fashioned from iron pipes and electric detonators.
The police decided to send in riot squads. Rattled as officers smashed through the windows to storm the building, some followers surrendered on the spot and were taken into custody.
The “Venerable Master” and several senior followers fled out the back of the building toward the mountains, occasionally firing their homemade guns at the pursuing riot police.
Having run out of ammunition and been cornered against a mountain slope, the group found a land-dwelling crocodile lumbering into view from behind them.
The riot police backed away. Standing his ground with a triumphant look and tone, the Venerable Master addressed the crocodile:
“Oh, our guardian deity! Please scatter those dogs of worldly authority! Hahahaha! Who dares lay a hand on us?”
The massive land crocodile slowly approached the group from behind and, in a single motion, swallowed the Venerable Master’s upper body into its jaws.
As the jaws snapped shut, the sound of crunching bone echoed out, and blood dripped onto the ground, running down the legs of the Venerable Master — whose lower half now dangled uselessly from the beast’s mouth.
The surrounding followers screamed in panic.
“Impossible! Why would our guardian deity attack the Venerable Master?”
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go! We were promised protection!”
“We’re going to be eaten — we’re next! Aaaargh!”
The land-dwelling crocodile, having swallowed the cult leader whole, vanished into the mountain thicket, while the remaining followers clung to riot police officers, begging for help.
By that evening, all individuals associated with the cult had been either detained or taken into protective custody by the police.
The members gathered at the Watari Lab were informed of the situation, and Watari received a request for cooperation from the Ministry of Defense, relayed through Matsuda.
Sitting at his desk and hanging up the landline receiver, Watari announced loudly to the other four:
“Right, time for the final phase. The Ground Self-Defense Force is mobilizing for a disaster relief operation — under the guise of pest control. We’re going to help them exterminate that fern-tree and that monster crocodile.”
Early the next morning, the Watari Lab members arrived by car near the cult’s headquarters building on the mountain, the base of which had been completely cordoned off.
Self-Defense Force units were already deployed, and their commander came over to greet Watari.
Dressed in camouflage field fatigues, the commander saluted crisply and outlined the operation:
“First, we’ll destroy the problematic fern-tree with artillery fire. Ah, it looks like the gun has just arrived.”
A vehicle could be seen turning off the prefectural road toward the headquarters complex, approaching with a roar along the unpaved track. Watari’s eyes widened as he asked the commander:
“Is that a tank?”
The commander gave a light chuckle before replying:
“Well, to the average person they might look the same, but that isn’t a tank. That’s nicknamed ‘Long Nose,’ though officially it is known as the Type 99 155mm Self-Propelled Howitzer.”
Toyama squinted at the vehicle and asked the captain, “How is it different from a tank?”
“A tank’s mission is close-quarters combat; it’s an armored fighting vehicle designed to charge head-on into areas where enemy troops are concentrated. Its main gun — commonly called a ‘tank gun’ but essentially a short-range armor-piercing cannon — fires shells horizontally at high speed, with a maximum range of only about one to three kilometers.”
The captain continued, pointing to the self-propelled gun parked in front of the headquarters building.
“That piece of artillery is a long-range howitzer; it fires shells in a high, arching trajectory to destroy distant targets over a wide area. Upon impact, the internal explosive detonates, shattering the shell casing and scattering fragments in a spherical pattern that devastates everything within a radius of several dozen meters.”
Tsutsui spoke up.
“Wait, isn’t that dangerous? I hear that mountain has multiple owners — what if it starts a forest fire?”
The captain nodded and replied, “Yes, that’s why we need a direct hit on the first shot. So, for this mission, we’re using laser-guided glide shells.”
“W-what exactly are those?”
“Normally, once a shell is fired, its trajectory cannot be altered at all. However, there are shells capable of deploying small wings in flight; they ride the air currents like a glider to adjust their landing point. We guide them to the target using a laser beam. This allows us to strike a specific point with pinpoint accuracy.”
“Wow! So, how far can they fly?”
“In the case of the Type 99, the maximum range is around 30 kilometers. We can easily reach the target from right here without having to climb the mountain slope.”
Watari asked the captain again, looking impressed.
“How exactly is that laser guidance carried out?”
The captain turned toward Matsuda and answered.
“That is precisely why we asked the members of the Watari Lab to go to the trouble of coming here. You are Second Lieutenant Matsuda, correct?”
Matsuda snapped to attention, straightening his back, and saluted.
“Yes, sir! Matsuda of the Amphibious Rapid Deployment Brigade! I am currently on detached duty at the Watari Lab.”
“You hold a drone pilot’s license, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir! I do.”
“I want you to return to active duty temporarily to pilot a drone. Your mission will be to emit the laser beam from the drone to guide the glide bomb I just mentioned. Prof. Watari, is that acceptable?”
After confirming Watari’s nod, the captain issued the order to Matsuda.
“Field gear has been prepared for you in that truck over there. Take a helicopter to a location where the fern tree is visible. A master sergeant accompanying you will provide the details.”
As Matsuda ran toward the transport truck, a medium-sized personnel transport helicopter was descending on the other side of the prefectural road.
Watari asked the captain again.
“What about that giant land-dwelling crocodile? If we attack the fern, it’s bound to show itself.”
Pointing to a spot in the sky, the captain said: “That thing will take out the monster crocodile.”
In the distance, another helicopter could be seen, small against the sky, heading toward the summit.
Watari gazed in that direction and asked, “Is that … an attack helicopter?”
The squad leader replied, “Yes, an AH-64D — the Apache Longbow. We’ll take it out with the Hellfire missiles it carries.”
Matsuda and the sergeant arrived over the summit by helicopter and rappelled down to the ground. Carrying a drone equipped with six rotors — small enough to be held in both hands — along with its control unit, Matsuda sprinted down the slope.
He reached a spot where the circular clearing was visible to the naked eye; stopping there, he launched the drone. Watching the live feed from the drone’s camera on his laptop, Matsuda manipulated the control sticks with his fingers.
The sergeant switched the radio to speaker mode and held it close to Matsuda’s ear. Toyama’s voice came through from the base of the mountain.
“Matsuda? Can you hear me? This is Toyama.”
“I hear you loud and clear, Dr. Toyama. Where should I aim for a sure hit?”
“We’re watching the drone feed here, too. Can you position it directly above the fern? Get as high up as possible.”
“Understood.”
Matsuda raised the drone’s altitude, positioning it directly above the fern tree. Seconds later, Toyama’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Matsuda, aim vertically at the center of the tree from directly overhead. That way, there shouldn’t be any collateral damage to the surrounding area. I’ve already notified the self-propelled artillery crew.”
Matsuda pressed a switch on his controller, firing a laser beam. A red beam — resembling that of a laser pointer used in large conferences — struck the crown of the fern-like plant.
The sergeant pressed the radio against his cheek and spoke to Matsuda.
“Second Lieutenant, please hold that aim. I’m giving the order to the gunner.”
“Copy. Whenever you’re ready.”
The sergeant called out to the self-propelled artillery unit at the foot of the mountain.
“Execute fire mission!”
A dull thud echoed faintly from the base of the mountain. The shell fired from the Type 99 self-propelled howitzer initially arced upward; as it passed the apex of its trajectory and began to descend, a total of eight small fins — previously folded against its midsection and tail — deployed in rapid succession, transforming the projectile into a shape resembling a stubby missile.
As the fins caught the air and subtly adjusted the descent path, a sensor housed within the shell’s transparent nose cone detected the laser beam.
The shell struck the exact spot illuminated by Matsuda’s laser with pinpoint accuracy, piercing vertically through the trunk of the fern tree like an arrow.
With a loud bang, the trunk of the fern tree bulged momentarily before bursting apart. Numerous nitroglycerin-filled fruits hanging from its branches tumbled to the ground, detonating in a chain reaction.
The stems and petals of blue tulips were blasted away, scattering through the air. Fortunately, no fire broke out. The colossal fern tree collapsed to the ground, billowing white smoke as if struck by lightning.
Seconds later, accompanied by a low, guttural roar, a massive land-dwelling crocodile charged out from the nearby grassland.
An attack helicopter, hovering overhead, spotted the beast and descended.
Noticing the helicopter, the crocodile kicked off the ground with its tail, launching itself twenty meters straight up. Its jaws — lined with razor-sharp fangs — came within mere meters of the aircraft.
The helicopter climbed briefly, then slowly descended again. The crocodile opened its massive maw wide, aiming upward.
A flash of light, dazzling even in the daylight, streaked from beneath the helicopter. An anti-tank Hellfire missile flew straight into the crocodile’s open mouth.
The creature’s massive body shuddered violently from throat to tail-base; a dull, muffled explosion followed, and a wisp of white smoke vented from its underbelly toward the ground.
Losing its footing, the giant crocodile crashed face-down; it convulsed for a moment before finally going still.
The captain’s voice crackled over the radios held by Matsuda and the sergeant.
“Situation resolved. All units, return to base.”
The following Monday, in the Watari Lab, Tsutsui startled the other members by raising her voice while talking on her smartphone.
“Huh? What do you mean by that?”
Watari grimaced, while Toyama, Miyashita, and Matsuda looked toward Tsutsui, wondering what was going on.
“A press agreement? Then what about the articles I sent in? Oh, no way!”
Tsutsui hung up and slumped her shoulders dejectedly. Miyashita, at the desk next to hers, spoke up hesitantly.
“Ms. Tsutsui, is something wrong?”
Tsutsui clung to Miyashita’s left shoulder, her voice sounding on the verge of tears.
“It turns out all the news outlets have agreed to report the story on this incident simultaneously. And to think I was the one who got the scoop first …”
Watari asked Tsutsui, looking intrigued.
“You mentioned a press agreement? What does that entail?”
Tsutsui replied, fighting back tears.
“Because the incident is so critical, they’ve signed an agreement to prevent speculation and rumors from spreading; all the outlets have to report it at the same time, only after the authorities make an official announcement. Thanks to that, the articles I wrote are on hold.”
Pressing her face against Miyashita’s arm, Tsutsui spoke in a tearful voice.
“I had finally landed a scoop and was hoping to make a comeback at headquarters …”
Miyashita gave a wry smile and patted Tsutsui’s head with her free hand.
“Oh dear, that’s a shame. In a way, you were the one who really shone this time around.”
Matsuda, who had been distributing tea-filled cups to everyone’s desks, placed a cup on Tsutsui’s desk with a look of sympathy and said,
“Here, have this and try to relax. It’s herbal tea, so it should help soothe your nerves.”
As he sipped the herbal tea, Watari spoke as if to himself:
“That said, we still haven’t figured out the supply route for that fern, have we?”
Once Tsutsui had finally managed to pull herself together, Miyashita spoke in a serious tone:
“Professor, about that … several of the arrested cult members stated that they obtained the plant’s — well, not seeds, but … what was the word?”
Toyama chimed in:
“Spores, perhaps? Ferns don’t produce seeds, you know.”
Miyashita nodded vigorously and continued:
“Yes, exactly. It seems they testified to obtaining those spores on the black market.”
Toyama frowned and asked: “So, it wasn’t something they acquired independently?”
“It appears the cult’s leader handled everything, so there’s no way to investigate further details right now. After all, the leader is dead.”
“There might be others out there who have already obtained the same thing — or who plan to get it soon.”
Tsutsui stood up from her desk and raised her voice.
“What? Then we need to find that person — whoever it is — fast. Ms. Miyashita, what’s the situation on that front?”
Miyashita sighed and gave a slight shake of her head.
“That’s impossible. The police can’t identify and stop someone before they’ve even set out to commit the act.”
“B-but even so, another incident like this is bound to happen, isn’t it?”
Watari suddenly interjected.
“No, Ms. Miyashita is right. In this day and age, you can find people all over Japan driven by a sense of justice or mission that defies comprehension — people capable of committing outrageous, barbaric acts.”
Watari stood up, teacup in hand, and gazed out the window at the Tokyo skyline as he spoke in a low, murmuring tone.
“Japan’s population exceeds 120 million. Tokyo alone has 14 million. How on earth are we supposed to track down that ‘next person’ — someone whose identity and whereabouts are completely unknown?”
