Warrior Spirit

6

“It does sound as though I woke you. My apologies,” Garin said.

Annja stretched out in the bed. Her toes touched the footboard. Still, she enjoyed the lengthening of her body. She exhaled in a rush and let herself go slack.

“It’s late. I was headed off to dreamland when you called. What can I do for you? How did you—?”

“Please, Annja, let’s not waste time on such trivialities. Technology being what it is today, and money always the most powerful enabler, it was no obstacle to uncover your whereabouts on your supposed vacation.”

“So much for anonymity.” Annja frowned. She was going to splurge and invest in a fake passport and credit cards one of these days.

“You feeling better after your competition?” Garin asked.

Annja sat up. “You know about that, too?”

“Certainly. Nice side kick, by the way.”

Annja glanced around her room. “You’re starting to annoy me now, Garin. I don’t like the thought of people poking into my personal affairs. In fact, if it keeps up, I’m liable to be pretty damned cranky the next time we meet. I don’t need to tell you what that would entail.”

“I can guess.” Garin chuckled on the phone. “Which brings me precisely to that very point. We need to meet.”

“Why? Last I heard you were on an extended journey to reclaim some degree of secrecy so Roux doesn’t track you down and kill you for trying to kill him while he was trying to kill you for…whatever. I don’t even know how you two keep score of that silliness.”

“Yes, well, certain matters preclude me from worrying about my personal safety at this point.” He paused. “It’s important that I see you.”

Annja shook her head. The darkness of the room embraced her. She felt a little cold and pulled the covers up higher. “I’m not leaving Japan yet. Possibly not for a while yet, in fact.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I’m involved in something here. Something that interests me a great deal. Not that such things are any of your business.”

“Something? Or is it someone , Annja?”

“Mind your own business, Garin. I won’t tell you again.”

“As I recall, you owe me your life. That’s not exactly the kind of grateful attitude I’d expect from someone like yourself.”

“This conversation is boring me. I’m in Japan. You want to meet up, come and find me. Otherwise don’t bother. I’m busy.”

Annja hung up the phone and then unplugged it from the jack in the wall. That would at least guarantee that she’d be able to sleep through the night without Garin ruining her rest.

Unless he called her cell phone, too.

Annja groaned and clambered out of bed, padded to the small stand by the door and shut off her cell phone. Now she was cut off. Completely.

Unless Garin happened to knock on her door.

Annja stopped. Was it possible that Garin was the one who’d been in her room earlier? Had he sneaked in when she was bathing? But she knew Garin was enough of a jerk that he would pick the perfect time to do whatever he wanted to do and still grab an eyeful of Annja soaking naked in the tub.

“Bastard.”

She climbed back into bed and pulled up the covers. In moments, she was fast asleep. And not once did she dream about Garin.

T HE FIRST THING SHE SAW in the morning was the folded slip of paper someone had slid under her door during the night. How had she not heard that?

She sighed and got out of bed. Perhaps her run-in with Nezuma yesterday had dampened her senses as much as it had her body.

Unfolding the slip of paper, she read:

“Come down for breakfast in the lobby. G.”

“So much for being halfway across the world from him,” Annja said. “Figures.”

Twenty minutes later she’d showered and applied the minimal makeup she normally wore. Dressed in jeans and a white blouse, she chose a pair of black flats rather than heels. Somehow, time spent with Garin always contained the potential for gunfire, car chases, explosions, bodies and lots of running.

Annja rode the elevator down to the lobby and when the doors parted, she could look right across into the restaurant. Garin was immediately noticeable. And not just because he stood a foot above anyone else in the area. Garin was damned good-looking. As she entered the eatery, he looked up and smiled.

He stood as she approached and kissed her on the cheek. “How is my favorite historical descendant?”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Annja sat and ordered a cup of black coffee. “I would have thought you had other names for me.”

Garin shrugged. “There are some, but I wouldn’t use them in mixed company. You know, I’m nothing but a complete gentleman.”

“How nice.” Annja sat back and crossed her arms. “You look good for dodging Roux’s repeated attempts on your life.”

Garin waved his hands. “That gets rather mundane after all the time I’ve been alive. We’ve been after each other for so long it almost gets routine. Then we have our cease-fires and our détentes, and then something happens and we go at it again. Blah, blah, blah. Silliness.”

“Yeah, those bullets are really overrated.”

Garin leaned forward. “And not at all the reason I wanted to see you, my dear.”

The waitress brought coffee and Annja ordered two eggs, toast, orange juice and melon slices. Garin ordered an aged Scotch whisky.

Annja grinned. “That’s some breakfast you’re getting.”

He shrugged. “I’m on another time zone. And where I’m at, it’s perfectly acceptable to have a drink to take the edge off.”

“You just got in, then,” Annja said.

“Something like that.” He spread his arms. “Besides, I’m in phenomenal shape. For five hundred years old? You wish you’d look this good when it happens to you.”

“I have no desire to live that long.”

Garin frowned. “I said the same thing. Funny how fate just flips you the bird any time she feels like it.”

“Such talk. Where were you before this?” Annja asked.

“I’m a man of many places and locales. I don’t distinguish between them if I can help it.”

Annja took a sip of her coffee. “I love the fact that my conversations with you usually entail a great deal of frustration on my part because you don’t ever give me anything concrete to go on. You answer questions with questions and never confirm or deny anything. You’re like a politician without an office.”

Garin bowed his head. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Annja laughed.

“The man you met last night.” Garin smiled at her. “What is his name—Kennichi?”

Here we go, Annja thought. No middle ground, just right into it. “What about him?”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No, I liked the idea that he was a complete stranger. It made the unsafe sex all the better.” She shook her head. “He told me his story.”

“And you believe him.”

Annja sighed. “I haven’t really known him long enough to say one way or the other, Garin. We met, had dinner, he beat the crap out of some gangsters and that was it.”

“Let’s not forget what he asked you to help him do.”

Annja narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

Garin laughed. “You’re not going to sit there and lie to me. Really now, after all we’ve been through, you’re not going to feign ignorance to that question, are you?”

“My ignorance, as you put it, is genuine,” Annja said, immediately regretting the poor choice of words.

Garin sniffed as if he’d caught wind of a skunk. “Your ability to lie convincingly needs much improvement, Annja. But if that’s how you want to play this, fine. I’ll do the talking and you can sit there and listen.”

“That would be a refreshing change,” she replied sarcastically. Annja leaned back and crossed her arms, waiting for Garin to begin.

His whisky arrived and he took it with a word of thanks in Japanese to the waitress who stared at him in awe. Garin waved her away as if she were a pesky fly, but Annja could already see that the waitress was enthralled. If the big man knew it, he showed no signs of being interested.

Garin sipped from the glass and seemed to savor it for just a moment before swallowing, and then looked right at Annja. “Ninja are very very dangerous people, my dear.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You haven’t heard the half of it. Yes, there are still families in existence. Anyone telling you different is a moron. But along with the overt families who teach the system to anyone who shows an interest, there are also more covert families who still engage in many shady things.”

“Like what?”

“Remnants from the ultranationalistic groups like the Black Dragon Society that dominated the political scene in the latter part of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Their subtle and terrifying manipulation of government affairs earned them lethal reputations that were well-deserved.”

Annja cocked an eyebrow. “And they employed ninja?”

“Absolutely. Not the do-gooders that you read about today, but mercenaries who hired themselves out to the highest bidder. In this case, some of the ninja families had goals in line with their employers. The result was a marriage of sorts that cemented relationships and expanded empires. Much of what occurred in the last twenty years in Japan is due to the groundwork laid by these families immediately after World War II.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Annja asked.

Garin took another sip of his whisky. “You may be inadvertently helping the wrong side regain that artifact. If you’re not completely certain of this man’s identity, then by helping him, you could be undermining the rightful owner.”

Annja looked up as her food arrived. She bit into the eggs and drank down some of the juice. “So, you’re saying Ken may not be who he says he is.”

“So, it’s ‘Ken’ now, is it?”

Annja smiled. “Jealous?”

Garin ignored her. “I’m suggesting you make sure he is the rightful heir before you engage your rather impressive abilities toward helping him, possibly doing more harm than good.”

Annja leaned back again. “What does this have to do with you, anyway? I mean, why are you even concerned about this? Aren’t you the guy who likes to let chaos unfold wherever it may be?”

Garin set his glass down and leveled a hard stare at Annja. “Don’t ever simplify my personal philosophies like that, Annja. They aren’t nearly as neatly labeled as you’d make them out to be.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Garin finished his Scotch and the waitress immediately appeared with a fresh one. If she’d hoped to impress Garin, she was disappointed. Garin took notice of the fresh drink as if he had expected it all along.

He’s so pompous, Annja thought around a mouthful of egg and toast. Still, she had to admit that what he suggested at least made some degree of sense.

“Why would anyone care about the relic anyway? It’s just an antique.”

Garin frowned. “With supposed magical abilities.”

“ Supposed being the key word,” Annja said.

Garin smiled. “You don’t believe it.”

“I don’t know what to believe. I mean, magic? Come on.” Annja shrugged. “I just don’t know if I can buy into that.”

Garin shook his head. “Annja, there are times when that mind of yours truly does amaze me. Equally so, and regrettable even, are the times when your obstinacy nearly numbs me cold.”

Annja set her fork down. “If you’re going to insult me, I’ll ask you to sit elsewhere.”

“It’s my table.” Garin grinned.

Annja stood. “Fine, then I’ll move.”

Garin sighed. “Sit down, Annja.” He paused. “Please.”

Annja sat and resumed eating. If nothing else, she’d take pleasure in stiffing Garin for the bill. Not that he’d even blink. He had more money than he knew what to do with.

“I know the subject of magic is a touchy one. But honestly, the sword—”

“Is not connected to this at all and I’d appreciate you leaving it out of the conversation,” Annja snapped and then stared at Garin. “Please.”

“Very well. But you can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.” Garin took a deep breath. “It’s a part of who you are now.”

“I don’t pretend anything. But neither do I believe everything people say. You and Ken think this thing is magic. Fine. That’s got no bearing on the fact that it’s missing. I also don’t expect it will matter when I locate it. Magic or not, the thing is lost and needs to be found.”

“It does need to be found.” Garin nodded. “As long as it’s found by the right people.”

“So you said.”

Garin finished his second drink. The waitress reappeared. Now Garin looked her over. He spoke a few words to her and she blushed immediately.

Good lord, Annja thought. Tell me I’m not witnessing a seduction here.

Garin stood. “Be careful, Annja. That’s all I’m saying.” He strode out of the restaurant toward the elevator bank. The waitress dutifully followed behind him.

Annja gulped down the rest of her orange juice and then looked down at the table at the tiny slip of paper that had somehow materialized when she wasn’t looking.

Garin hadn’t paid the bill.

7

Annja spent the rest of the day exploring the small shops that surrounded the hotel. While the majority of Tokyo seemed encased in steel and glass, Annja was glad to see that there were still some small stores that carried all sorts of gifts ranging from handmade wooden combs to antique books and scrolls and everything in between. The toughest part of the day was trying to make use of the little bit of the language she knew to make herself understood. As it was, she still came away from her excursion laden with several bags full of unusual souvenirs.

As she jostled the bags and tried to maneuver the crowded streets, Annja couldn’t help feeling that someone was watching her. Twice, she felt the feeling strongly enough to actually turn around and search the crowd for a familiar face. But doing so proved futile. The sea of faces that greeted her held no one she recognized.

“It’s probably Garin,” she told herself. Once he’d finished with the waitress, he’d probably decided it might be amusing to stalk Annja for a while.

Annja frowned and continued her journey.

She grabbed a quick lunch at a noodle stand located by the train station. She’d heard that these small four-seat eateries could serve some of the best buckwheat-noodle soups in Japan and she wasn’t disappointed. Fortunately, she had no trouble explaining what she wanted because the proprietor had taken the time to have an illustrated menu printed up. Annja merely pointed at the appropriate pictures and said thank-you when she was done. The piping-hot soup was served with a cold Asahi beer, which complimented the dish wonderfully.

When she arrived back at the hotel, the ever polite desk clerk bowed and then informed her that she had a message. Annja expected a piece of paper but was instead directed to a small phone in the lobby and told to press several buttons. Ken’s voice purred in her ear.

“Please be in the lobby at six o’clock. Bring your training clothes.”

Annja saw the large clock on the wall behind the reception desk read 5:40. She hung up the phone, raced upstairs and got changed. She hoped that Ken was taking her to see some authentic ninjitsu training.

At 5:58 she strolled off the elevator with her small carry bag. The hotel laundry had cleaned Annja’s sweaty gear. Annja reminded herself to leave a decent tip for the maid service.

Ken leaned against one side of the lobby doors when she exited the elevator. He was dressed simply in jeans and a thin black nylon windbreaker with a T-shirt underneath. He smiled when Annja approached. “Good evening.”

Annja smiled. “Hi.”

“I trust you’ve had a nice day?”

Annja’s eyes narrowed. Had Ken been the one following her? Was that what she’d felt? It would have been relatively easy for him to do so, especially in light of what he’d told her last night.

“Very nice,” she said. No sense confronting him early on and ruining her chance to see the ninjitsu training. She noticed Ken’s small bag at his feet and pointed. “Is that your stuff?”

He glanced down. “Hmm? Oh, yes. It will come in handy for where we’re going.”

Annja grinned. “Which is where?”

His eyes bounced back to hers. “Exactly where you think we’re going. Please follow me.”

He led her outside the hotel. The evening commute was still in full effect. Office workers streamed past while schoolgirls in uniforms that seemed to include microminiskirts hiked too far north to be anything but obscene giggled into cell phones and tossed their dyed hair in the direction of anyone who might notice.

Ken seemed to melt into the flow of people and Annja felt him take her hand, pulling her through the turbulent sea. His hand felt smooth but hard, like polished cool white marble, she decided. When they finally reached the train station, Ken let her hand go and Annja found herself wishing that he had held on to it.

Ken stood in front of the ticket machine and plunked several coins into it. The machine spit out two tickets and he handed one to Annja. “Come with me. Our train is downstairs and should be leaving soon.”

They descended the stairs, passing more people. Ken led them onto an almost deserted train car. Two boys in their school uniforms and hair tousled into rat’s nests slept in their seats.

Ken nodded at them. “They’ve been in school for many more hours than in America. After regular classes, they go to special after classes that are designed to help them get into college. Maybe they’ve been going for the better part of sixteen hours.”

Annja frowned. “That must take a toll on them.”

“It’s all about getting into college over here. High school is the real grind. Once they get into college, they can relax somewhat. College is for making contacts that will help them the rest of their lives. But the competition to get in is fierce. Some kids, they don’t make it. Every year there are a few suicides over it.”

“Suicide?”

Ken shrugged. “It’s not as bad as when I was growing up, but it can still get pretty crazy.”

Annja shook her head. “But I saw schoolgirls earlier who looked like they didn’t have a care in the world.”

Ken smiled. “You saw some schoolgirls. There are plenty who stress just like these guys. But there are also plenty of other schoolgirls who don’t. Some are actually prostitutes—some just don’t care. Even the ones who graduate high school, if they’ve got the looks, can go get jobs with the airlines or marry a rich guy.”

“Nice bit of equality over here.” Annja frowned at the thought of wasting her life like that.

“Japan doesn’t claim to be equal. Japan just is. That’s what screws up so many foreigners who come here. They think they know what Japan is, what the society defines itself as. They take great steps to try to become Japanese, but it can never be.”

“Why not?” Annja asked.

“Because Japan simply doesn’t care. Our society is such that it take no pains to explain itself. It’s as if the culture is one massive ball of who-cares-what-other-people-think. Japan couldn’t care less if foreigners understand what makes us tick. We are enigmas unto ourselves. And Japan hides its true nature even from itself. The best way to survive in such a place is not to try to figure it out, but to simply accept. And if possible, manipulate that acceptance so you prosper.”

“Manipulate it?” Annja shook her head trying to imagine how that might even be possible. “How?”

But Ken only smiled some more. “Well, that takes a bit of practice. But if you look at how we emerged from the ashes of World War II saddled with the strict regulations imposed by the Allies, and rose to become an economic powerhouse, that’s one glimpse into how our leaders were able to do it.”

“I thought Japan’s economy was in trouble,” Annja said.

“It is,” Ken replied. “I think someone tried to figure us out and ruined what we had. But I’m not concerned. Something will happen to bring us around again.”

The train chimed twice and the doors slid shut. Annja looked at Ken. “Where are we headed?”

“Out of the city. We’re going to a small town about twenty minutes outside of Kashiwa.”

The train streamed out of the station, and Annja marveled at the smoothness of the ride. She felt a curious sensation; her buttocks were warm. She shifted once and then looked at Ken who smiled.

“They heat the seat here,” he said.

Annja raised her eyebrows. “No wonder those guys are asleep.”

Ken nodded. “It does seem to promote that, doesn’t it?”

“I might fall asleep myself if I’m not careful.”

“I’ll wake you if you do. Don’t worry.”

But Annja had no intention of falling asleep. The city disappeared and an urbanized sort of suburb followed. Open fields clogged with rusted bits of farm machinery shot past her window. Smaller wooden homes replaced the high-rise apartment buildings.

Eventually, Ken nudged Annja, who jolted. “Huh?”

“You started to doze. Come on, this is our stop.”

Annja followed Ken off the train, and her nostrils were immediately assaulted by a strange scent that seemed somehow familiar. “What is this smell?”

“Soy sauce. There’s a big factory—one of the world’s biggest companies—just on the other side of town. The air here is forever stained by it. You get used to it pretty quick, but I’ve been kind of turned off to soy sauce ever since I started coming here.”

They ducked out of the station and turned left. Ken crossed the train tracks they just rode across and then turned left again. Annja saw a sea of bicycles parked in neat lines.

“Is this common?”

“Sure. People park them here all the time and ride the train into Tokyo proper.”

Annja pointed. “But none of them are locked up.”

Ken shook his head. “No one’s going to steal them. There’s no point to it.”

Ken threaded his way through the small passage between the bike wheels and Annja twisted to do the same. She spotted some pimped-out bicycles and couldn’t help but think that in America, these would have been stolen in no time flat.

They cleared the bicycle labyrinth and walked on. Ken smiled at Annja. “Tonight is likely to be very busy.”

“Busy?”

“The dojo is small. Real estate prices being what they are, it was almost impossible for the grandmaster to find anything affordable that would still serve well as a dojo. Some of his senior students pitched in to help him buy this place. But it’s still small by Western standards. Ordinarily, the size wouldn’t be an issue but people journey here from all over the world. Numbers add up.”

An open field that had recently been mowed sat on their left. Ken nodded at it. “This used to be full of tall reeds. We had a saying that we’d dump the bodies of annoying Americans into the swamp and let them rot there.”

Annja didn’t know if he was serious or not. “Did you ever really do that?”

“Of course not.” Ken chuckled but then stopped. “Well, actually, there was this obnoxious fool named Pritchard Magoof. For him, we made an exception. He came over here as the student of a very accomplished teacher in America. And of course, he promptly let his ego explode and became rank hungry without having one ounce of technical skill. Now he mostly hangs around the dojo looking like a little puppy dog. We humor him, but he’ll never amount to anything.”