When the gleaming ax finally emerged, the blade double-headed and the handle inlaid with fine gold wire, Kei Namaka gave a gasp of admiration and then being unable to restrain himself any longer, gave a shout and stood up, ax in hand, and whirled it about his head.
Kei, despite his handmade shirt and silk tie and Savile Row suit, did not look in any way incongruous as he whirled the weapon. On the contrary, he looked magnificent — every inch the Eternal Warrior, in Chifune's opinion, or a spoiled child with yet another lethal toy. It depended on your particular point of view.
"I heard, Namaka-san," said Fitzduane, "that you had an unsurpassed collection of edged weapons, so I wanted to find something that you would not already possess. Unfortunately, Ireland's troubled history is such that almost all our early medieval weaponry has been destroyed, but what you have there is a precise reproduction of a thirteenth-century Irish fighting ax. It was a weapon used to great effect against the Norman invader because it could cleave through armor."
Kei whirled the ax once again, then brought it back and laid it on its leather carrying case on the table. It was then that he noticed the Namaka crest etched into the blade. He looked up at Fitzduane .
"You have gone to a great deal of trouble, Fitzduane-san," he said. "My brother and I deeply appreciate this gift. We must now make arrangements for you to visit the steel plant in which, through Yoshokawa-san, you have already expressed an interest. It is an awesome sight to see the hardest steels handled like putty. Also, I have a dojo there and most of my weapons collection. I think you'll find it fascinating."
Fumio found it hard to take his eyes off the ax. Kei and this gaijin were getting along like old friends, and yet he could not shake the feeling of dread that gripped him. The weapon on the table reminded him forcibly of an executioner's ax. It was an ingenious gift, and perfect for the effect it was intended to achieve, but the sight of it made Fumio feel ill.
He tore his eyes away from the ax and looked across at Fitzduane and then at Chifune. The woman was every inch the well-mannered interpreter, but there was something about her that gave him pause.
"Fitzduane-san," said Fumio, with a slight smile. "We greatly look forward to your visit to Namaka Steel, but you will now realize that since we both speak English, you will not need an interpreter during your visit. Tanabu-san's service will not be required."
Fitzduane played it very well, thought Chifune. He gave a dismissive gesture, as if to indicate that his interpreter was of no consequence, and the conversation moved on to other matters. The Namakas had taken the bait, but Chifune was now convinced they had every intention of keeping it. They had something in mind, she was sure of it, but what?
As Kei Namaka and Fitzduane joked and chatted in the relaxed and easy manner of old friends, united in their common interest in antique weapons, Chifune started to worry.
* * * * *
That evening, Fitzduane had dinner with Chifune, an enjoyable if sexually disturbing experience, and returned to the bows of the night porter near midnight feeling pleasantly mellow but sexually aroused — an quaint combination.
He endeavored to balance things out under a cold shower, a traditional remedy for such a conjunction, but his erection would not be subdued. Chifune had that kind of effect. Nothing explicit had either been said or done, but the sexual electricity had become strong enough, he felt, to make both of them glow in the dark like Russian sailors on the nuclear subs of the Northern fleet. It seemed a pity, he reflected, that for the balance of the night they would have to glow apart.
Women were damn confusing. There was Etan, whom he loved but who did not want to settle down just when he did. There was Kathleen, of whom he was becoming increasingly fond, who evidently did want to settle down, just when he was beginning to think perhaps he didn't. And there was Chifune, where the chemistry was just plain sexual and who had Adachi-san hidden in the wings, if he read the signs right. He liked Adachi, and anyway it really would not be a good idea to confuse business and pleasure. He needed, and was getting, Adachi's cooperation, so sleeping with the superintendent's woman would not be tactful. Still, life was rarely about being sensible.
Since the cold water did not seem to be having the desired effect, and he saw no point in giving the Namakas the satisfaction of dying of hypothermia, Fitzduane turned up the hot. He was endeavoring to have a pleasantly mindless soak when the phone rang. Evidently, his mind was not fooled. When he wrapped a towel around his waist, there remained a noticeable protrusion.
"I'm asleep," said Fitzduane, "more or less. The earth is round and Japan is a long way from where you are and it's after midnight around here. Nobody civilized calls that late."
"Well, ain't that nice," said Kilmara. "That leaves me in the clear. Listen, my good friend, this is a global village these days, and the ether has been hyperactive since you visited with Bergin. Somebody wants to talk to you to make sure you don't step into something you shouldn't. ‘There are things afoot we don't want to fuck up,’ he says. ‘We need our friends,’ he says."
"Who is the somebody?" said Fitzduane, who already knew.
"Our friend, the unlovable Paul Schwanberg," said Kilmara. "Head off to the New Otani tomorrow after breakfast if you have nothing doing, and ask for him at reception. He's got offices there. Something called the Japan-World Research Federation. Well, it's better than Acme Import-Export, but not much. Anyway, everyone knows who they are. It's just that it's more fun operating from a cover than out of the embassy, though they do that too. They have a proprietorial feeling about Japan. There is nothing like dropping a couple of nuclear bombs on a country to start a special relationship."
As if on cue, the room started to shake, not violently but steadily. After about ten seconds, the movement stopped. Kilmara was still talking, but Fitzduane had not been listening. It had been frightening.
"Hell," he said, "they really do have earthquakes here. It's scary."
"They are due a big one soon," said Kilmara, "or so I hear. Something to take your mind off all this blood and guts you seem to attract. Just remember to stay away from reinforced concrete buildings and stuff like that. They do you no good at all if they fall on you — especially at your age."
"I feel pretty young tonight," said Fitzduane, eyeing the obstinate bulge which had come unscathed through the earth tremor, "but unfortunately there is no one around to share this insight with."
"Yeah, hotel rooms are like that sometimes," said Kilmara. "But not always. I remember when you and I were in..."
Fitzduane laughed. He was asleep minutes later.
* * * * *
The New Otani, Tokyo, Japan
June 20
The New Otani complex was a fitting monument to the new superrich, self-confident Japan, and Fitzduane, having learned something about Japanese property prices, shuddered at what it might be worth.
It was part luxury hotel and part office complex, and doubtless there were expensive apartments hidden away there also. The atrium was spectacular and looked high enough to have its own microclimate. Certainly you could jump off one of the internal balconies and hang-glide inside it if you were so inclined — provided you were well-tailored and wore polished Gucci loafers. There was an implied dress code.