Stephen Hunter - The 47th samurai

“What?”

“He picked the lock. I heard it lock yet in seconds he had penetrated it. He was an experienced man. I sat there, trying to remember whether or not we had locked it. Now I know we had.”

“So he deceived you.”

“With the drunk act, completely. It was brilliant. If he had announced himself at the door, he would have greeted six men, blades out, hearts strong. Instead he got close with his absurd drunken act. Then, in a flash, he was sober and deadly. He cut down the first two in one stroke, expertly delivered. His best cut of the fight, I think, though the cut he made on Kamiizumi was also excellent. Anyway, they were gone and lost in the first second, Johnny Hanzo in the next. Johnny Hanzo lost his head and charged and the gaijin quietly let him come, then pierced him in the second before Johnny could unleash a cut, and Johnny was gone. In less than three seconds three men were out of the fight.”

Through the narration, Kondo sat quietly, in rapt concentration, as if he were working on serious visualization skills. He was seeing all this in the dark space before him.

“So then there were three?”

“Yes. And all three could not get around the old man on his platform. So Kashima and I went one way, and Kamiizumi the other.”

“Kamiizumi was the best of you six. The oldest, the most experienced. He’d been in fights before.”

“He was magnificent. I thought for certain he would achieve victory or cut the man so bad the victory would fall to us. But the gaijin anticipated his cut, took it, and used it to propel himself into flowing block, threw it off, then came through with something I’d never seen before, a kind of one-handed drive, amazingly fast. He had to anticipate which way Kamiizumi, blocked, would break. Perhaps it was just luck, but he hit Kamiizumi in the throat. Unbelievable. Such blood. It was-”

“Did he watch him fall?”

“No, Oyabun. Instead he turned immediately to face us as we came around the old man. He went under Kashima and cut him through the leg. He sundered it. That’s when I had him. His blade was momentarily trapped in Kashima’s second leg, because he didn’t anticipate getting through so easily and had lost a firm grip on the sword as it bit into the second leg. It was a blown cut, trapped, tying him up. But then Kashima toppled and his blade came free.”

“You had him.”

“I did. Him below, sword down, myself above, driving full strength toward my target, his neck. If you try for speed, you do not achieve speed.”

“It must be no-try. Always, no-try.”

“It was try. Too much try, Oyabun. I slipped, lost my footing, and when I was back in timing, he was ready; he took it, slipped it, and drove his hilt into my face.”

“It wasn’t pretty.”

“It wasn’t. The last was sheer improvisation on his part. Very sloppy. I think he was running out of energy.”

“How old was he?”

“Advanced. Not ancient. Oldish. Late forties, maybe early fifties, maybe older. Very brown from a lot of sun, as if permanently tanned. Thinning hair. His face never got passionate, except the last time he hit me. I think he enjoyed that.”

“What a man. This is so wonderful. I can’t begin to tell you. I have never fought six. What were his strengths?”

“Spirit. He was very hard of resolve. He was not scared, excited, scattered, angry, or anything. He was empty of everything except his professionalism.”

“I like that.”

“He was fast. He was very fast. His hands particularly. I will say, however, that he fought much better against one than against two. He easily defeated every single man he fought, he vanquished the first two with nukitsuke. He only faltered when the two of us moved in, where he made a mistake and I almost had him.”

“Excellent.”

“Oyabun, may I be permitted to commit seppuku now?”

“No, no, no. There’s too much to do. I have nobody to spare as your second. We don’t have time now.”

“I am so ashamed. I cannot face my parents’ ghosts, my friends, our other Shinsengumi. I can hardly face you.”

“Don’t be an idiot. It would accomplish nothing. Plus, I’ve seen it and it hurts. It’s very messy. You may have to die, Nii, but at least let it mean something. Now look at Kamiizumi and the others. Their deaths were helpful. They exposed the strengths and the weaknesses of the man. They died well. You conveyed the information that they unearthed to me. It’s valuable information. If you had cut yourself after the fight and killed yourself, that information never would have reached me. What good would have been accomplished?”

“I survive only to serve. When no longer needed, I will express my shame and try to get my honor back with the tanto.”

“Yes, yes, if that’s what you want. You could also go off and get laid, and maybe that would be enough for you. Anyhow, Nii, listen to me. I am going to get a police artist. I want you to describe this gaijin to him very carefully. We will spread a net to catch this fresh fellow and get our sword back. We have to get him before the night of the exchange because if he controls the exchange, we’re at a great disadvantage. We don’t know who he represents, what his goal is. I can’t believe it’s simple kataki-uchi. Westerners don’t understand the concept of vendetta. Maybe Sicilians, but no others, not really. He’s playing an angle, and he could have snipers on the roofs, a team of fellow professionals. It’s too big a risk to run. I’d hate to go into that blindly.”

Nii nodded solemnly. He tried to remember details, to assemble them in his mind so that he could assist, but he was aware that something wasn’t adding up. Then he saw what it was.

“Oyabun?”

“Yes, Nii,” said Kondo, who was already striding out to make his arrangements, even as he debated whether to tell the Shogun of this disturbing yet provocative development.

“I’m sorry. I regret. I did not recognize.”

“What?”

“I realize now: I know who this gaijin is.”

“You do?”

“Yes, Oyabun. I regret that I did not recognize him at the shop, but it was so out of context that I-”

“Stick to the message, Nii.”

“Yes, Oyabun. I once sat two seats behind him on the JR Narita express. I followed him from the Yanos’ to Narita the night we-”

“That gaijin?”

“Yes, Oyabun.”

“That would be the gaijin who brought the sword in.”

“Yes.”

“He was with the Yanos.”

“He stayed at their house for several days.”

“He was close to them?”

“Yes, now I recall. I watched from just across the street that last night. He hugged them all. I followed him to Narita and watched him check into the flight. I watched him pass security. That’s when I left to join you and we went to the Yanos’. With Kamiizumi, Johnny Hanzo, Kashima, and the others.”

“He knew the Yanos,” Kondo said again, deliciously. “Then it is kataki-uchi! Oh, splendid.”

“I suppose we could contact the inspector. He would know the name.”

“We don’t need the name. Now I know how to catch the gaijin. I’ll reel him in and cut him down.”

“And when it’s over, I can have my seppuku?”

“Nii, you shouldn’t be so selfish. Think of your oyabun, not yourself. Find dignity and worth in service. Then, if you’ve been good, I’ll let you kill yourself. But as a treat, Nii, first I’m going to get you a nice little girl.”

With your typical order of yakitori, you got four edible, even delicious skewers of meat and one so repugnant it was almost kind of funny. The smell of chicken cooked on an open fire filled the place. No Popeye’s ever smelled so good. At other tables men and women were lustily gobbling their food. Bob had eaten the hearts, he’d eaten the meat, he’d eaten the gizzards, he’d eaten the other strange things, but he was left with the knees.