Fitzduane looked at each man in turn. Two yakuza stood against the dojo wall near where his personal belongings, including the Calico, lay. The other two stood on either side of Kei Namaka. Goto stood several paces behind him.
Fitzduane was about to remark on the insanity of the whole ghastly business, but then realized the futility of saying anything. Kei was following a different agenda. From his and the yakuza's perspective, Fitzduane was an obstacle that must be cleared away. It was not personal; it was business. And so, if you accepted this warped logic, killing him in the most interesting and entertaining way also made sense.
"Fitzduane-san," said Kei. "You and I are both members of the Medieval Warrior's Society. We both share an interest in medieval weapons. We are both expert swordsmen. Accordingly, it seems appropriate to use this opportunity to resolve an old debate — the merits of the Japanese sword, the katana, against a Western equivalent. Katana versus rapier is what I have in mind, but I am open to suggestions."
Fitzduane went through the options. The obvious alternative to the rapier was the sabre, but that would be no contest. Katana and sabre were both primarily designed for cutting, but in this respect, in his opinion, the katana was incomparable. It was lighter, better balanced, could be manipulated faster, and had a vastly superior cutting edge.
No, any chance he had lay in the rapier. The rapier was designed to kill with the point. It was the type of weapon he had trained with. It was where he had the maximum advantage, and Kei must know this. The man was a murderer and a criminal, but he was not without some honor. Or perhaps honor was to the motivator but merely simple curiosity. Either way, it was academic. Motivation was no longer an issue. It was now down to the fundamentals: who would live, who would die.
"I also thought," said Kei, "that this would be an excellent opportunity to try out the ax you so kindly gave me. It is not an original medieval weapon, of course, but the workmanship is outstanding, so I am giving it honorary status."
He hefted the glittering weapon as he spoke and then swung it around in a circle. "If anyone is seriously wounded, they will be dispatched with this ax. If you kill my two champions, I shall fight you with the katana, but finish you with the ax. One way or another, this weapon will be blooded today. We shall field-test the quality of Irish workmanship."
In more ways than you know, if I have half a chance, thought Fitzduane. A great deal of effort by the Ranger Operations Research people had gone into preparing the presentation ax for Kei, but Fitzduane's own decapitation was not one of the results that Fitzduane had in mind. Instead, the objectives had been twofold: to intrigue Kei Namaka — and this had certainly succeeded — and to kill Kei, if an opportunity arose.
Under a thin coat of hardened steel, and lined with lead to resist X rays, in case Namaka security people were as routinely paranoid as most of their breed, the thick center of the double-edged ax head contained a pound of plastic explosive surrounded by five hundred miniature ball bearings. The device was totally sealed in and could not be detected by a chemical sniffer or even by removing the head from the shaft. The decorative wire binding the shaft made an excellent radio aerial. The effect when detonated would be roughly the same as two Claymore directional mines placed back-to-back.
Unfortunately, the radio detonator — Fitzduane's watch — had been removed from him and lay across the room with his other belongings, beside the two yakuza in the corner. Well, a British Army friend of his liked to say, plans had a habit of turning to ratshit. Like it or not, he was going to have to fight with a sword. Close to the end of the twentieth century, it seemed like a ridiculous weapon to have to use, but at close quarters it would kill just as surely as a firearm.
"Fitzduane-san," said Kei. "I do not wish to cause you unnecessary anguish by raising false hopes by not making your situation quite clear. You may be harboring thoughts of escaping from this dojo. Forget them. Your efforts would be futile. The door to the helicopter landing pad on the roof is locked, and outside is guarded by a special team of a dozen men loyal only to my clan. Frankly, your situation is hopeless. Your only recourse is to die with dignity. I am sure you will not disappoint me."
He bowed as he finished speaking. "The first, and I expect the last, man you will fight is Hitai-sensei. He is the instructor of the Insuji-gumi."
Fitzduane took his time replying. Hitai was a muscular yakuza of medium height with intelligent eyes and a peacock's-head tattoo showing at his throat. He looked to be in his mid-forties. His sword was still in its scabbard in his sash. The suffix sensei was not the best of news. This was not a thug with a blade, but a master with probably a quarter of a century's experience behind him. Experience with Japanese swords, though. European techniques were very different.
Fitzduane looked across to Kei and bowed back slightly. "Thank you for the morale-raising speech, Namaka-san," he said dryly. "I shall endeavor to meet my obligations in the appropriate way."
Another yakuza came forward and laid a rapier on the polished floor several yards in front of Fitzduane, then backed away hastily. Fitzduane moved forward almost casually, keeping his eye on Hitai, and dropped to one knee and picked it up. Hitai did not move. He just gazed impassively at this gaijin.
Fitzduane had learned not only to sword-fight from his father, but also something of the history of swordplay. It was Fitzduane Senior's belief that skill with a blade should be instinctive rather than consciously premeditated, so he used to talk to his young pupil while fighting, trying to both teach and distract. The result, after many years, was that Fitzduane, while fencing, fought almost entirely on instinct and by reflex, and before a major bout actually found it helpful to clear his mind and think of something other than the minutiae of tactics.
"The first recorded sword, as far as I know, Hugo," his father had said, "was an Egyptian weapon made of bronze from the nineteenth century B.C. called a khopesh, with a long grip and a sickle-shaped blade. Actually, it was more of a knife than a sword, but it was interesting metallurgically in that it was made from one piece.
"Around fifteen hundred B.C., longer bronze swords were produced, and these were narrow thrusting weapons up to three feet long and only half an inch wide. The thinking was right, but not the technology. Bronze is a soft metal and such a narrow length would bend, so eventually a shorter, leaf-shaped blade evolved."
Fitzduane, rapier in hand, slowly backed away from Hitai. The yakuza looked at Kei Namaka in surprise, then advanced toward the gaijin. Hitai's katana was still in its sheath.
"Slowly, around a thousand B.C., iron replaced bronze and the leaf shape became a little narrower and the short, broad-bladed weapon carried by the Roman legionaries, the Spanish sword, emerged. This was about two feet long and two inches wide, and it was state of the art at the time. It was designed primarily for thrusting. It was long enough to allow close-in work when carrying a shield, but no so long it bent or got in the way of your neighbor. It was worn on the right side for a quick draw unencumbered by the shield, and it was light, compact, and deadly. In contrast, the Gauls had long, slashing swords. Throughout the history of sword fighting, there has been a debate about whether the sword is primarily a thrusting or cutting weapon. Well, the Romans liked the point, and their empire lasted longer than most. They had a saying: Duas uncias in puncta mortalis est, which is worth remembering even today. ‘Two inches in the right spot is fatal.’ The thrust, in my opinion, expressed over two thousand years after the Romans came to the same conclusion, is still the most deadly technique for a sword."