"You are a brave man," Kei said, "and I like you, so I had better explain." He talked for several minutes, describing with immense satisfaction the operation to snatch Fitzduane.
"So you blew up three of your own people to snatch me," said Fitzduane.
Kei made a dismissive gesture with something he was holding in his right hand. Fitzduane looked closer, and realized with incredulity that it was a folded fan. The man was really getting into his role.
"So what is on the agenda now, Namaka-san?" said Fitzduane. "You certainly get an A for effort for grabbing me, and I'm flattered, of course, but I imagine you have something more in mind — a bottom line to this exercise, if I may borrow some financial terminology."
Kei beamed expansively. "Fitzduane-san," he said. "I am looking forward to being your host without the constraints that have limited our relationship up to now. At last we can speak freely. Complications like the police are no longer something we have to worry about, and I can tell you everything you want to know. We shall enjoy each other's company, and I can promise you that you will be fascinated. We shall start with a tour of a place you expressed particular interest in, Namaka Special Steels."
"I tour factories better when I'm vertical," said Fitzduane. "Can I get up without someone kicking me in the balls?"
Kei barked an order and two yakuza rushed forward and helped Fitzduane to his feet. Then Kei spoke again and another man came forward. He also wore traditional samurai clothing, but somewhat awkwardly, as if slightly embarrassed.
"My name is Goto," he said. "I am the new security chief of the Namaka Corporation. The chairman has asked me to explain a few points. Unfortunately, there have to be some restrictions on your freedom."
Fitzduane felt his arms being seized, and seconds later his arms were handcuffed in front of him and secured to a chain around his waist. Leg restraints were then placed around his ankles.
Goto pointed to a corner of the dojo and Fitzduane saw his Calico and throwing knives on a small table, together with the other contents of his pockets. They had left him his shirt and trousers, but everything else, including his shoes, had been removed.
"Shortly after you were shot with the tranquilizer dart, we found a miniature transmitter attached to your belt, Fitzduane-san," said Goto. "It was immediately deactivated, so please do not expect any help from that source. You are outnumbered, physically constrained, and have no weapons, and your friends think you are dead. You would be wise to accept your fate and cause us no trouble. Frankly, you can do nothing."
Fitzduane shrugged, and his chains clanked. He had been brought up to look on the brighter side of things, but was having a hard time finding any positive element in his present situation. "Goto-san," he said, "it is not considered polite, in my part of the world at least, to belabor the obvious."
Goto blushed. Fitzduane grinned. "Let's go and see a steel mill," he said. Inside, he was fighting hard to keep control. There had to be something he could do, but he could not imagine what. Hope had taken a serious knock with the discovery of the belt transmitter.
"You should know, Fitzduane-san," said Goto, indicating three unfriendly-looking thugs glowering at Fitzduane, "that your yakuza guards are members of the Insuji-gumi — the very organization that you humiliated outside the Fairmont upon your arrival. They feel they have a score to settle."
"And is that on the agenda?" said Fitzduane.
"Oh, yes, Fitzduane-san," said Goto, smiling unpleasantly. Fitzduane stayed silent, but he made a mental note to remove Goto permanently from circulation if ever a suitable opportunity should arise. Unfortunately, it did not seem likely.
* * * * *
The dojo, Fitzduane judged, as he shuffled across the floor, legs hobbled between two yakuza guards, was about the size of a Western school gymnasium.
The décor was understated simplicity, but the room was quite magnificently finished and appointed. Japanese craftsmanship at its best was truly something to see. The floor, made of planks of some richly hued hardwood, was seamless, ever plank impeccably aligned. The roof was arched and paneled with the same wood. The walls were plastered and racked with an extraordinary selection of medieval pikes, swords and fighting knives from all over the world. Glancing across, Fitzduane noticed everything from Spanish rapiers to Malayan fighting knives.
Firearms were conspicuous by their absence. Kei Namaka's orientation was more toward fantasy than fact, though that did not make him any less dangerous.
The small procession made its way through two sets of double doors, donning shoes in the lobby in the middle. As they passed through the second set of doors, which were double-glazed and of heavy industrial quality, the noise level rose and Fitzduane could see the highly specialized equipment of a modern steel plant spread out ahead of them.
So the dojo was actually in the plant. Now he was beginning to understand things better. The NamakaTower was the symbol of the brothers' joint success. The steel plant was Kei's personal baby. Costing billions, it was a grown-up box of toys.
They were standing on a railed catwalk of perforated metal. The cat-walk, in turn, led to metal stairs which would bring them to the factory floor, but instead of continuing, Kei Namaka held up his hand to indicate they should halt and turned to Fitzduane.
"Steel, Fitzduane-san," he said, "is my passion and joy. It is at the same time so elemental and yet so extraordinarily sophisticated. It is a manifestation of man's superiority and the supreme link between man and nature. It is the very stuff of legend. It is the raw material of the sword, the very symbol of Japan. It is strong, beautiful, infinitely malleable, supremely versatile, and technologically elegant. It is the principal material of war and one of the major blocks of peace. Ships, aircraft, and all wheeled communication depends on it. Nations have been built with it. We cut our very food with it." He paused. "And the creation of steel products on the scale we operate at here is a process of unsurpassed excitement. It is physically exciting — indeed, sexually arousing in its power and drama and beauty."
After he had finished speaking, Kei Namaka stared at Fitzduane with an extraordinary intensity, as if he were trying to communicate his enthusiasm for steel telepathically.
The scene was quite bizarre. Kei, in the foreground in full samurai armor including an ornate horned helmet, looking like something out of the Middle Ages, and over his shoulder the vast machines, ovens. And other devices symbolic of advanced late-twentieth-century metals technology. Yet curiously, Kei did not really look out of place. The relationship of steel and the warrior was ever valid.
Steel, for so much of history, was indeed at the cutting edge of power.
Fitzduane held up his hands as far as the handcuffs and the restraining chain permitted. "I am bound by steel, Namaka-san," he said quietly. "It tempers my enthusiasm."
Kei's face flushed with rage, and for a moment it looked as if he was going to strike Fitzduane. Then he started to laugh. "‘Tempers my enthusiasm’ indeed, Fitzduane-san. A clever pun. You have a good sense of humor for a gaijin."
He gave an order, and one of the yakuza placed safety glasses on Fitzduane. The incongruity of following safety regulations while escorting their prisoner around in chains caused him to give a wry smile.