Collector of Secrets Read Online Free PDF

a tray of antique pocket watches. He selected a shiny silver timepiece and lifted it tenderly from its resting place before handing it over.
    “Like my grandpa’s . . . ” Max examined it carefully. The script on the back was similar to the calligraphy used throughout Japan. The difference was the extensive use of circles in many of the symbols. “I don’t recognize the writing. What language is it?”
    “Set that one down on the cloth. Here is a beautiful one.”
    Together they reviewed the contents of each tray in the box, and soon more than twenty timepieces covered the table. Finally, Mr. Murayama lifted out the last tray, revealing the lowest level in the box. “Here is the most special one. Notice the pearl dragon behind the hands.”
    The fine gold metalwork was stunning, and the inlaid design was vibrant with colors and intricate detail. Max took the antique in both hands. The mysterious language etched into the gold back appeared similar to many of the other watches on the table. He looked up to address his unanswered question and was surprised to see the old man wiping tears from his eyes. “Are you all right?”
    Mr. Murayama nodded but seemed choked with emotion. He struggled to retrieve the handkerchief from his pocket. “I have something to tell you.” Pausing, he blew his nose. “I received these during the war. They are Filipino or Korean, some Chinese.”
    A distinct feeling of unease settled over Max and he squirmed in his seat, praying that the moment would fade quickly.
    Mr. Murayama’s shaky voice continued. “I thought it was important to have them.” His drooping eyes appeared to transport him backward in time. “Many years ago, I served in Manila . . . the Philippines, during World War Two. Many terrible things happened―it was war.” He paused again, lost in thought.
    The mantelpiece clock ticked steadily on the nearby desk, seeming to grow louder with each passing second. “When people wanted things done, they gave me gifts—I could get papers signed by the Admiral’s Office. I don’t know where the gifts came from. But I’m sure they weren’t purchased. Do you understand what I mean?”
    Shifting restlessly and nodding his head, Max dared to speak. “So, why are you telling me?”
    “I won’t be around forever, and these watches should go back to the families they were stolen from. Everything I have spent my life gathering will be passed to museums when I die, but this one task must be done sooner than that, by someone I trust. I need some peace of mind before I go.” An uncomfortable silence descended on them, blanketing the room.
    Mr. Murayama’s pleading eyes flicked upward, drilling into Max. “I want you to return them.”

IN THE darkness, retired diplomat Kazue Saito ran across the open stone courtyard of the Yasukuni Shrine. A sliver of moonlight cut the sky. Passing beneath the Torii Gate, he could make out the broad open doors of the Great Gate just ahead. The late hour meant that the lone guard was asleep at his post. Saito and his attacker were the only two awake in the shrine’s compound.
    Glancing backward as he fled, Saito tore the white medical mask from his face and wiped the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. Behind him, illuminated, he could see the white exterior curtain of the Hall of Worship skirting the arching rooftop jutting into the black sky. Below its wooden eaves, facing the open hall, stood his attacker —revealed only as Jun— in silhouette with head bowed as if in silent prayer.
    Drawing closer to the Great Gate, Saito chanced another glimpse backward. What a terrible mistake, he thought as his burning lungs urged him to rest. I should never have tried to sell the diary to the mafia. To his horror, he saw that the attacker was now striding in pursuit. At sixty-eight, he was no match for the speed of the shadowy figure approaching.
    The man was right behind him now. He was broad-shouldered with a shaved head, and his deep