by Alex Archer
Annja shook her head. “You’re an interesting guy, Ken. Anyone ever tell you that before?”
“Just beautiful archaeologists.”
“You’ve known many?”
Ken finished his beer. “You’re the first.”
Annja smiled in spite of the rising tension in the room. She saw the waitress start to approach their table, but Ken glanced at her and barely lifted his index finger from the tabletop. The waitress immediately stopped and retreated.
“Well, before we begin, let me just say that you’ve been a most enjoyable companion for dinner this evening,” Ken said.
Annja frowned. “Begin?”
Ken smiled. “Everything in the universe unfolds itself at the appropriate time. This situation is no different.”
Annja wasn’t sure exactly which situation Ken referred to, but she didn’t have time to think about it. The thugs had finally made a decision and were sliding out of their booths, making their way toward Ken, who still seemed entirely unfazed by the thought of what might happen next.
The young man Annja had picked as the leader swaggered toward their booth. Ken kept his eyes on Annja and his hand on his beer glass.
The thug glanced at Annja and then at Ken. He barked out a quick sentence to Ken, who simply sighed. “My companion doesn’t speak Japanese. Why don’t you be polite and use English? I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”
The thug frowned and glanced at Annja again before looking back at Ken. “You don’t give me orders,” he said in English.
Annja almost chuckled. Despite the thug’s insistence he was in charge, he had already obeyed Ken without even realizing it.
Ken’s eyebrows waggled once at Annja. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“You’re sitting in our booth,” the young man said.
“Really? That’s fascinating. How come you weren’t sitting in it when we walked in? After all, you’ve been here far longer than we have,” Ken replied.
“You’re in our booth.” The thug put both hands on the table and leaned over Ken. Annja could see his shirtsleeves inch up, exposing a twisting snake tattoo that wound its way from the edge of his wrist well up the forearm.
Ken glanced at the snake and then at the thug. “You didn’t use bamboo to get that tattoo, did you?”
“What?”
“Bamboo,” Ken said. “You see, in the old days, truly tough Yakuza would insist that their tattoos be applied using slivers of bamboo dipped in ink. It was an excruciating process, by which the Yakuza would prove themselves as impervious to pain and able to withstand anything in their loyalty to their oyabun.”
The thug sniffed. “Old days. Yeah, right.”
Ken nodded. “That, however, looks like it was done using an electric pen like the kind they use in cheap parlors down by Jimbocho.”
“What if it was?”
Ken shrugged. “Probably nothing at all, but it could mean that you have less tolerance for pain than you like to think. It could also mean that you’re not the tough guy you like to project. And furthermore, it might very well mean you aren’t Yakuza at all, but simply a poser.”
Annja’s eyes widened. If the tension hadn’t been palpable before, it was now at the point where she could have used her sword to cut through it. The thug backed up almost in total shock that Ken would say something like that to him in front of his group of followers. The loss of face was immense.
If we had a chance at walking out of here before, thought Annja, it’s gone now.
The thug recoiled just enough to draw his right arm back, reach into his pocket and draw a slim stiletto. He stabbed it straight at Ken’s heart.
Ken simply leaned back and let the knife go past him. Then he grabbed the thug’s wrist with his right hand and tugged him forward. It happened so quickly the thug stumbled and lost his balance. As his face came toward the tabletop, Ken lifted his left hand and slammed the beer glass into the thug’s face.
Glass shattered. Ken had slammed the glass bottom into the thug’s nose. Annja heard the cartilage break. Blood flowed, staining the air with the smell of copper.
Ken let the young tough slump to the floor, but as he did so, he tweaked the stiletto out of his hand.
There was a moment of stunned silence as the gang looked from Ken to the floor where their leader lay. Then one of them gave a mighty cry, and all hell broke loose.
Annja blinked and almost missed Ken kick at the next-closest target, catching the young gun in the crotch. Ken used the kick to cover his slide out of the booth. Annja wanted to help him, but was unsure about what she was getting herself into. The last thing she needed was to land on the wanted list of every Yakuza member in Tokyo.
Ken seemed to have no compunction about doing so, however. Annja watched as he deftly evaded every strike and kick aimed at him by the gang members. One moment they would seem locked on to him, and the next, their strikes would pass through empty air. Ken would have somehow managed to get behind them or to their side and simply apply a few key strikes to take them down.
Annja watched one of them sneak up from behind and try to stab Ken in the back. She was about to shout a warning but as the stab came in, Ken sidestepped and the blade passed through air where Ken’s kidneys had been a second before. Ken moved back and effected some sort of strange arm lock Annja had never seen before. In an instant, the thug was airborne, crashing into a group of other thugs, sending them sprawling across several booths and tables.
Ken had also somehow managed to contain the mayhem to their corner of the restaurant. Annja was aware that the rest of the crowd sat riveted by the action. In America, Annja theorized that the other eaters would have tried to get the hell out of there. Or at least recorded the entire fight on their cell phone cameras.
But in Japan, things were different.
Ken surveyed the scene. A quiet hush broken only by the low moans of the thugs he’d trashed fell over the restaurant. Ken stepped over to the thug leader he’d dispatched first and rolled back his sleeve some more. The supposedly elaborate snake tattoo ended halfway up the forearm.
Ken sniffed. “Just as I thought.”
He stood and looked at Annja. “Well, now I suppose we should leave. While I’m not at fault for this, I do so hate police interaction. Japanese cops tend to be nothing if not ensconced in paperwork and bureaucracy. I have little time to waste on either.”
Annja shook her head, trying to clear the images that had played out before her. “Are they dead?”
Ken chuckled. “Nope. But I imagine they’ll be sore for a good few weeks.”
The waitress skated up and presented Ken with a bill. He glanced at it and then frowned. “Fifty thousand yen for a table?” He sighed, but took out his wallet and removed a sheaf of paper notes. “Only here would the management take the time to calculate the cost of repairing all of this while the fight was going on so they could have the bill ready when it was done. Crazy.”
He handed the waitress the pile of money and then nodded toward the door. “I think I’m more concerned about another itemized bill than these clowns. We’d better get going before the owner decides to charge me double for the glasses.”
Annja took a breath and followed Ken outside. The cool air felt good on her skin. For some reason, she’d felt amazingly energized by watching the fight transpire. She’d wanted to join in but had held herself back out of fear of jeopardizing Ken. Somehow that sentiment seemed crazy now. Ken had handled himself unlike any fighter Annja had ever known.
“You’re awfully quiet, Annja. I hope that didn’t upset you too much. You seem somewhat accustomed to violence, though, so I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
Annja stopped short of Ken’s Mercedes. “Just who the hell are you exactly?”
Ken grinned. “Hop in and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. And probably plenty that you don’t.”
4
The interior of the Mercedes sat in darkness except for the lime-green luminescence of the d
ashboard lights. They cast a strange pallor over Annja’s skin. Ken glanced at her, trying his best to determine if he’d already scared her off or not.
“That was some fight,” she said finally.
Ken smiled. “I suppose so.”
She looked at him, her eyes full of suspicion. “I’ve been in a lot of bad situations. Had people shoot at me. Been almost run over a number of times. Mountain climbing near misses.”
“Perhaps I should be careful around you,” Ken said, grinning. “If you’re in the business of attracting danger, I mean.”
Annja seemed to ignore him. “I’ve never seen anyone handle themselves like you just did.”
“I’m nothing special,” Ken said.
He could feel Annja’s eyes on him, gauging and trying to determine if he was being falsely modest. The intense scrutiny lasted the better part of a minute. Ken felt himself shift under her gaze. She was certainly more intense than she had seemed on the television show he’d seen.
He finally took a second to look her deep in the eyes. “I’m not joking. My skills are nowhere near what they could be. I’ve been somewhat lazy in recent months.”
Annja shook her head. “They certainly seemed more than adequate to get you out of trouble back at the restaurant.”
He slid the Mercedes out in traffic. “Maybe. But I’d be a fool to grow complacent and believe they’d get me out of every situation.”
“Why is that?”
Ken shrugged. “I tend to think that’s what separates a true warrior from a wanna-be. A warrior will never stop learning. They’ll quest ever on in search of perfection of technique even while knowing that perfection can never be attained.”
“So it’s the pursuit of perfection that defines rather than the goal?”
“Exactly.” Ken braked at a traffic light. The night sky glowed with a thousand points of neon braced against the Tokyo superscrapers. Flashes of light, music and the sounds of traffic and people filled his ears.
“You’re a ninja,” Annja said quietly.
Ken shrugged. “I’d prefer to say I study ninjitsu. Ninja, you know it’s got that certain stigma attached to it.”
Annja shifted in her seat, adjusting the seat belt as she did so. “I’ve got a question. You told me that the Yumegakure-ryu was almost extinct.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, if you’re the last one left, how did you learn what you know—what I’m assuming is ninjitsu?”
“It’s a fair question,” Ken said. “The truth is, there are other ninjitsu ryuha still in existence. Very few. But there are some. And the man I study with is the grandmaster of three of the only remaining systems to date.”
“He’s here in Tokyo?”
“No. Outside of Tokyo, actually. There’s a small industrial town to the northwest called Chiba-ken. He teaches there.”
Ken could feel Annja’s excitement rise a notch. It felt as if the car had filled with electricity. Annja looked at him, her eyes widening. Ken felt himself drawn into them, as if he could get lost in the secrets they contained. He shook himself slightly, trying to keep himself composed.
Annja touched him on the arm. “I’d like to meet this man.”
Ken had known she would. He had studied enough about Annja to know that she would never turn down the chance to learn something new or at least explore something that supposedly didn’t exist anymore.
“He teaches tomorrow night.” He smiled. “If you like, we can go to his class then.”
Annja leaned back in her seat and nodded. “So, I’ll meet the last grandmaster of ninjitsu. Cool.”
Ken chuckled. “Well, others claim they are, in fact, also grandmasters, but it’s mostly false.”
“How so?” Annja asked.
“The man you’ll meet tomorrow night is the only one recognized by the Japanese government as being legitimate. He’s been labeled a national living treasure, as well, since he helps maintain a piece of Japan’s past and its traditions—even one as controversial as ninjitsu.”
Annja grinned. “I’ve recovered a lot of treasures before. I don’t think I’ve ever met a living treasure, though.”
“He’ll like you.”
“How do you know?”
Ken looked at her. “Because you’re beautiful. And he happens to love beautiful women.”
Annja frowned. “Give me a break.”
The light finally changed and Ken pressed the accelerator. “I didn’t mean to upset you with that comment.”
Annja shrugged. “Sorry. It’s just I get tired of hearing that people either like or dislike based entirely on whether a person is attractive or not.”
“I meant it only as a compliment.”
“I know.” Annja ran a hand through her hair. “Sometimes I think I hear it too often.”
“Most people, they wouldn’t mind hearing that said about them,” Ken said.
Annja shook her head. “I don’t hear it said about me often. Mostly I hear it said about other women.”
Ken smiled. “That other anchor on Chasing History’s
Monsters. What was her name? The one with the sexy wardrobe malfunction.”
“Kristie Chatham.” Annja sighed. “She and I have differing views on how best to present a story to our audience.”
Ken made a left turn, checking his rearview mirror. He didn’t see anything there that concerned him. “In her defense, there’s nothing wrong with being beautiful.”
“But when it obscures the topic at hand, when the audience downloads a video to see a top pop off rather than the story, then that’s a problem. At least it is in my book. I think I’m in the minority of opinion, though,” Annja said.
Ken laughed. “Probably so. But I find your journalistic integrity refreshing.”
“Yeah?”
Ken nodded. “Yes. I can assure you there will be no time for the wearing of bikini tops on this trip to find the artifact. I think, therefore, you are reasonably safe.”
“Great.”
Ken wheeled the Mercedes down another side street. “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?” Annja glanced out the window. Ken could see she had no idea where they were. He knew trying to gauge location at night in a foreign city was a daunting task.
“Your hotel, of course.”
Annja frowned again. “You know where I’m staying?”
“Of course.”
She turned and Ken could see her hands bunched up, almost as if she thought he might attack her. He held up his hands for a brief moment, risking taking them off the steering wheel for effect.
“I’m not stalking you, Annja. If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I might be.” She kept her hands bunched up.
“You’re cautious. I can certainly appreciate that. I try to be that way myself. Especially when I travel.”
“So you understand why I’m about two seconds away from getting out of this car and never seeing you again.”
Ken pulled over to the side of the road and unlocked the doors. “You’re more than welcome to leave. Although honestly, I hope you don’t.”
She looked at the door and then back at Ken. “Why do you know where I’m staying?”
“Because I’m careful about who I approach and entrust with confidential information.” He looked in the rearview mirror again. “I like making sure people are who they claim to be.”
“I don’t claim to be anyone but an archaeologist. That’s it.” Annja pursed her lips. “If you’ve heard otherwise, you were misled.”
Ken braced his hands on the steering wheel and stretched his back, relieving some of the tension he felt creeping into his muscles. “It’s a force of habit. I’ve been dealing with people throughout my entire life who were often not operating in my best interests. Ulterior motives are a nasty business.”
“Agreed,” Annja said. She seemed to relax slightly.
Ken tilted his head. “But you are without guile. I can talk to you about the nature of my
family’s troubles. I can ask for your help and guidance and I feel quite comfortable doing so.”
Annja waggled her eyebrows. “You never know, Ken. I might just be a plant.”
Ken shook his head. “And there you have the reason I know where you are staying.”
Annja sniffed. “You’ve had me staked out since I landed?”
Ken took a breath. “If we’re being honest about things…it has actually been a bit longer than that.”
Annja frowned again. “Just how long have you been around?”
“Would you believe three months?” Ken hoped his smile was disarming enough to distract her from the length of time.
Annja’s eyes went wide. “Three months? You’ve been following me all over the world for the past twelve weeks?”
Ken smirked. “And you thought you were exhausted. I could do with a healthy spell of sleep myself.”
Annja crossed her arms. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know what you’re thinking. How could this Japanese dude actually follow me around the world without me noticing him? After all, I’m pretty aware. I can sense things to some extent.”
Annja whipped her head around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Had he just touched a nerve? Ken filed it away for the moment. “Only that you are, for the most part, an extremely aware woman. But even those who think they are aware usually have gaps in their defenses. Those gaps can be exploited. In this case, it enabled me to remain invisible despite your attentiveness.”
“How?”
Ken shrugged. “Let’s take your recent trip to Marrakech.”
“You were there, too?” Annja shook her head. “I don’t believe this.”
“You stopped at a stall in the market to buy a mango. Do you remember?”
He watched her eyes track to the lower left. He could see her recalling the moment in her head. Vaguely, she nodded.
“It was pretty hot that day. The sun blazed overhead like a blast furnace. I thought I might melt under my robes. But luckily, you didn’t stay that long and I was able to shed my garb and move inside to cooler environs.”
“But where were you?”
