Vulcan's Forge Read Online Free PDF

the daughter of a Hong Kong Chinese banker and a Japanese interpreter.
    She eased her car into gear and approached the wrought iron gates of Ohnishi’s principal American residence. The house, twenty miles northwest of Honolulu, was isolated by acres of sugarcane fields and pineapple plantations.
    Once, asked why he remained so secluded, Ohnishi responded honestly, “Everyone I need is brought to me; why should I scurry around?”
    A lean guard approached her car. Jill lowered the window, getting a delightful mixture of cool auto air-conditioning and hot lush air.
    The first thing she noticed was the automatic pistol slung from the guard’s hip and the quality and cut of his uniform. This was no simple rent-a-cop.
    “Yes?” he said courteously.
    “Jill Tzu from KHNA; I’m here to interview Mr. Ohnishi.”
    “Of course,” the guard replied. He pressed a button on one of the pillars supporting the gates and they slid open silently.
    Jill accelerated, surprised that she hadn’t been asked for identification.
    The crushed limestone drive leading to the house was a pristine white trail through a vast emerald lawn. The drive curved around stands of trees and shrubs, artfully placed so the house was hidden until she rounded the last bend. When she saw the building, she was stunned.
    Jill had expected traditional Japanese architecture on a grand scale, yet what was before her was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Takahiro Ohnishi lived in a glass house, modeled somewhat like the entrance to the Louvre designed by I. M. Pei, but much, much larger. Tubular steel struts supported small panels of glass in a framework that could only be described as obtuse. Spheres, cones, and slab-sided rectangles melded together in a multisided building that was not displeasing to view. Jill could see completely through the home to the shallow valley which stretched beyond.
    Still not over her initial shock, Jill drove up to the porte-cochere and slid out. Her heels clicked against the white inlaid marble as she walked toward the glass front doors. Just as she reached them, they were opened by a servant.
    “Miss Tzu, Mr. Ohnishi is waiting for you in the breakfast garden. Would you please follow me?” The butler was Japanese, of course, wearing a somber black livery reminiscent of the early part of the century.
    “Thank you,” she replied, slinging her purse over her shoulder.
    The interior spaces of the house were broken by stark geometrical walls. The structures were not bound by any normal parameters of construction. Some hung ten feet or more in the air, and others were mere ripples across the floor. The foyer was a massive open space, domed by a delicate lattice of steel and glass that cast a spiderweb shadow on the white marble floor. Stairs, landings, and balconies cantilevered into the foyer as if defying gravity. Having no basis of comparison, Jill simply assumed that the decidedly Oriental watercolors and paintings on the walls were priceless.
    The butler led her through several rooms, some traditional Japanese and some Western in style. At the open doors of an elevator, the butler indicated that Jill was to proceed alone.
    “Mr. Ohnishi is waiting to the right as you exit the elevator.”
    There was a discreet chime and the doors slid closed.
    Feeling like an ant in the bottom of a kitchen sink, Jill smoothed her cream skirt against her legs as the brushed stainless steel elevator sedately ascended. When it stopped, Jill stepped onto a breezy loggia, forty feet above the ground. She turned to her right and saw a table set for two people, the silver glinting in the early Pacific light.
    “I am delighted to be able to share my breakfast with you, Miss Tzu,” Takahiro Ohnishi said as he stood.
    “I am delighted that you invited me,” Jill replied, walking toward the table.
    She extended her hand, which Ohnishi ignored. Pissed at herself, Jill remembered whom she was dealing with and bowed deeply. Ohnishi replied with