F. Paul Wilson - By the Sword

Naka glanced at it and nodded. "Yes. The two characters separately mean 'outside' and 'person.' Together they mean 'foreigner.' "

That tripped a memory.

"Oh. Gaijin ."

Naka blinked. "You know this word?"

"I know a few words. Arigato and all that."

In truth he'd picked up "gaijin" reading Clavell's Shogun, but no need to let this guy know.

Naka pointed to the engraving and looked at him directly for the first time. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Jack shrugged. "Only that I'd be a gaijin in your country just as you are in mine."

"Yes." Naka sounded relieved and averted his gaze again. "That is what it should mean."

What's that all about? Jack wondered.

He decided to push a little.

"So if I want to get this sword back for you, all I have to do is go around asking about a rotted-out blade with gaijin written on the hasp."

Naka's seat jump was almost comical.

"No-no-no! You must not. Such inquiries could reach wrong ears."

"So it is valuable."

"No. It is not. As I tell you, original owner might hear. It would want back."

"It?"

"A museum in Japan."

Good. He could handle a museum. Jack didn't want some kind of Zatichi coming after him.

The food arrived then. The burger came open-face style. Jack assembled it and took a big chomp—heaven—while Naka started to poke at his salad.

After a couple of bites, Jack forced himself to speak. He would much rather have wallowed in the ground sirloin until it was gone.

"And why would this sword have been in a museum?"

"Because it is old. It was but minor part of much larger collection, but if museum hear, it will want back."

"Gotcha."

Naka looked at him again, a plea in his eyes. "You can do this?"

"I can only promise to try."

"No. You must succeed! Moki's consort said—"

"I don't know who this lady is, but if she said I could guarantee success, she's wrong. No guarantees in this business."

Naka was silent a moment, then nodded. "That is fair, I suppose. I am glad you are being honest with me." Another pause, then, "What is your fee?"

Jack was tempted to pull a Gary: Write down the dollar amount and hand it to him. But he didn't have cards, so he pulled out a pen and wrote it on the white butcher paper that served as a tablecloth here.

Naka blinked. "That is very much money for no guarantee."

Yeah, it was stiff. Jack had upped his price since the Dawn Pickering job. His intention was to cut back. One way to do that was to be very choosy about the fix-its he took on. The other was to price himself out of certain markets.

This Naka guy owned a plantation on Maui. He could afford Jack's price, no sweat.

"Didn't your artist friend Moki's 'consort' tell you that?"

"I asked but she did not know."

Not know? That meant she wasn't a former customer. A puzzlement.

"Well, it's not as bad as it sounds. Half up front, and the rest when I deliver the goods."

"And if you do not? What happen to first half?"

"That stays with me."

"But how am I to know you have not simply taken my money and done nothing?"

Instead of answering, Jack took another bite of the burger and chewed at a slow, deliberate pace. Something about this guy bugged him. Maybe because he sensed Naka was giving him only part of the story. Then again, he couldn't expect full disclosure from someone who wanted him to steal back a stolen object.

As for the job itself, it could prove relatively easy if the thief was trying to sell the sword, but damn near impossible if he intended to keep it for himself.

Jack had set the photos on the table. He took another bite and studied the close-up of the ruined blade.

Who'd pay for a piece of junk like that?

Finally he swallowed and said, "It's called trust. You have a reference—granted, it's from a woman neither of us knows, but you trusted the source enough to get in touch with me."

"Yes, but—"

Jack held up a hand. "No buts. You either trust me or you don't. You know my price, so you either come across or you don't. I don't bargain, haggle, dicker. Make up your mind."

Naka sighed. "I do not see that I have much choice."

"Of course you do. You're dealing with maybe the last vestige of the free market, which means you can walk out the door you came in with no hard feelings—at least on my part."

Jack expected some lengthy rumination on Naka's part. Instead he surprised him by giving a curt nod and saying, "Yes, it shall be done. I shall pay you cash."

"Yes, you will. Although we accept Krugerrands as well."

"When can you start looking?"

"As soon as I have the money."

Jack had learned over the years that certain customers had to believe they were dealing with a no-nonsense, hard-ass mercenary. He sensed Naka-whatever Slater was one of those.

"I shall make call and someone shall deliver it to you within hour. Where—?"

"Right here will do fine."

No sense in burning another meeting place.

"One last thing," Jack added. "How did the break-in occur?"

Naka frowned. "I do not understand."

"Was a door pried open or its lock picked? Was an alarm system bypassed? How did he gain entry?"

"Through bedroom window."

"With you there?"

"No. Out to dinner."

"No alarm?"

"Yes, for rest of house, but my wife like to sleep with open window. Our system bypass those windows."

"No motion detectors?"

"In rest of house, yes, but he turn off alarm system from bedroom. I do not know how."

Jack did. Inside info: a cleaning girl, or maybe even someone at the alarm company.

Good. This gave him an idea of the burglar's skill set, always useful in tracking someone.

Naka rose and reached into his pocket. Jack waved him off.

"On me. I'll be running a tab." He pointed to the photos. "Got anything better than these?"

Naka shook his head. "Sorry. Those are best. My father never felt need of taking picture. He had sword in place of honor where he could see every day. Why take many picture?"

Made sense.

Naka put on his hat, bowed, and hustled out the door. Jack settled into finishing his burger, considering ordering another Hoegaarden and maybe even another burger, and thinking how this was the kind of fix-it Gia liked him to take.

Retrieving a decrepit old sword… really… how risky could that be?

Toru Akechi was sitting with his favorite student, Shiro Kobayashi, the fourth son of a fisherman in the Ishikawa prefecture, in one of the few rooms in the Order's temple that had remained a classroom. Most others had been converted into dormitory-like quarters for the monks, acolytes, and guards. A few of the larger rooms had been renovated for Sightings and for surgery.

Tadasu burst in. Toru sensed restrained excitement in the man as he bowed.

"The mercenary has agreed to search for the katana, sensei ."

Toru regarded him through the eyeholes of his mask. Tadasu Fumihiro was forty-two, a former student. He had watched Tadasu grow since his teen years, mentoring him through the levels of the Kakureta Kao as it struggled back from extinction. He had earned the position of temple guard but showed promise of so much more, which was why Toru had selected him for a mission so critical to the future of the Order.

"You must stay close to this. The Order is depending on you to guarantee its future. If this man finds it… you know what must be done."

"I do, sensei . I shall not fail."

"I have faith in you. And good news for you. Shiro has located the final ingredient for the ekisu ."

After regaining the sacred scrolls, Toru had sent out the Order's acolytes and any guards who could be spared—and who could show their faces—to scour the city for the ingredients to make the elixir that would create the Kuroikaze—the Black Wind.