Kusanagi

by Clem Chambers

  Jim touched the necklace under his shirt. He always felt a little sad taking it off. The stones felt warm against his skin, even though they weren’t. ‘I’ll leave it on,’ he said. He picked up his raincoat and put it on. He straightened it on his shoulders, feeling the mirror wedged deep in its left pocket. He opened the coat and slotted the sword into the inside pocket. Kusanagi slid down into the lining snugly. Stafford had made it with a needle and thread, sewing as expertly as Jim’s nan had when she’d darned his socks all those years ago.

  ‘As soon as Smith calls, we will go,’ said Stafford, sitting down with the briefcase. He adjusted the handcuff on his wrist and set his face to a determined frown.

  Jim felt Jane kiss his cheek. ‘Never a dull moment around you,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Likewise,’ he responded.

  38

  Jim suddenly appreciated the broad plate-glass windows of the bank. They gave him a clear view of the street ahead. No one alarming was standing on the pavement outside. Stafford got into the revolving door and pushed ahead as Jim entered the next compartment. No sooner was he halfway round than he realised Stafford was pushing hard on the door to get out and saw, from the corner of his eye, figures rushing from the left towards them.

  A door of their car, a Mercedes people carrier, was opening, and Stafford was now squeezing out of the revolving door in an attempt to sprint for it. He was a couple of strides across the pavement when the figures were on him. One tried to rip the case from his grasp but managed only to have the briefcase suspended between him and Stafford’s outstretched arm. Another held Stafford fast.

  Jim was out of the revolving door, shouting at the top of his voice: ‘Hey!’ There were four men as far as he could see. There was a flash of metal as one of the men pulled a sword, and another as Jim drew Kusanagi. The bulky Japanese standing side on to him was raising the blade to cut Stafford’s arm off.

  Jim didn’t hesitate: he slashed Stafford’s attacker. As the blow struck Jim felt resistance in his sword. The bulky figure fell, cut in two.

  There was a flash to Jim’s right, which he instinctively blocked with Kusanagi. The attacker’s sword shattered, fragments striking Jim’s head. His eyes focused on his opponent, whose arm was outstretched, his hand still clutching the broken blade. Jim thrust forwards and skewered him.

  He turned. Jane was landing a punch to the throat of the man still pulling on Stafford’s briefcase. He focused on the man holding Stafford’s other arm. He could see the shot, a diagonal blow through the base of the neck to the hip. He could just sweep his arm around and down and swat the man like a fly. It was the right blow, the perfect cut. He would touch him with the finger of death. There was terror in the man’s eyes. Jim could see his fingers loosening on Stafford, could sense his enemy’s realisation that he was about to die. He could see everything clearly in the cold bright light.

  He blinked. The Japanese let go of Stafford and Jim waved the sword at him. The guy turned and fled across the road.

  Jane was bundling Stafford into the people carrier, and Jim realised he was splattered with blood. Horrified faces lined the windows of the bank and the pavement was covered with gore. He slipped the sword into its scabbard and jumped into the vehicle. He slammed the sliding door and Smith drove away.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ shouted Smith, before calling in the incident over his radio.

  Stafford’s wrist was bleeding and he cursed quietly to himself as he tried to take the handcuff off.

  ‘First aid?’ called Jane.

  ‘In the boot.’

  ‘Going to need it fast.’

  ‘Need to get clear of the scene first,’ called back Smith.

  ‘Got a gun?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Pass it back and stop the car.’

  Jane took the pistol from Smith and as the people carrier stopped, she jumped out and opened the boot, retrieved the kit and sprinted back into the vehicle. ‘Go.’

  Jim was looking at Stafford’s bleeding wrist. It didn’t seem as bad as Jane reckoned it was.

  ‘Hold still,’ said Jane. She pressed a wad of bandage onto Jim’s head. ‘Hold that there.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just press firmly and hold still.’ She wrapped another bandage around his head and under his chin and fastened it with a large plaster.

  Stafford had freed himself of the handcuff and was staring fixedly at Jim’s head.

  ‘What?’ said Jim, angrily.

  ‘You have a large gash in your scalp, which is rather hanging off,’ said Stafford.

  Jim looked at Jane, then back at Stafford. ‘Doesn’t seem to be bleeding,’ he said, ‘and it doesn’t hurt.’

  ‘Give it time,’ said Jane. ‘Smith, we’ve got to get these guys to a hospital.’

  ‘Not me,’ said Stafford. ‘I’ve got to get these somewhere safe.’ He started to bandage his wrist.

  Smith had put a magnetic blue light out of the window and it was now flashing.

  Jim lifted the necklace over his head and put it into the other pocket. He slid out of the raincoat. ‘You’d better take this,’ he said, as he handed it to Stafford. Now there was a shooting pain in his head.

  Jane slipped off her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt. She folded the blouse quickly into a square. She added it to the bandages, which were sodden with blood. ‘Press on this, Jim – you’ll be OK.’

  ‘Let me out here,’ said Stafford. He looked at Jim, blood trickling down from beneath the bandages. ‘I’ll see you all later.’

  Jane buckled Jim in. All he could hear was thunder in his ears.

  Akira was sitting next to the little table by his hotel bedroom window. He glanced out through the grubby net curtains onto the grimy wall of the building’s inner well, put his mobile down and sighed.

  ‘Samurai Carnage,’ said the newspaper’s website.

  He had seen the black suited men on the pavement as the people carrier containing himself and the living treasures had pulled away.

  Why hadn’t the butler, Stafford, answered his call? Why did people never seem to have their mobile phones switched on anymore?

  His eyes closed and he saw the fox in front of him again, its pink tongue pulsating with each breath. The image was the only thing that gave him strength. He had begged the head of Imperial Security for help but the response had been stony. He was piling disgrace on himself and his family.

  He dwelt on the tramp and the fox.

  39

  Smith was reading a copy of New Scientist as he sat in the waiting room at the private clinic. Jane was motionless, her face blank. He put down the magazine. ‘So, what’s this all about?’ he asked finally.

  ‘Hell knows.’

  ‘May I be frank?’

  ‘You can be whoever you like,’ she replied, with a trace of a glare.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me, but I do have to say that Jim and you have managed to put me in a rather tricky situation.’

  ‘I can see that. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Nothing – at least, not immediately.’

  ‘That’s good of you,’ she said.

  ‘Remind me. Do you have diplomatic immunity?’

  ‘Most certainly.’

  ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Funnily enough, this is right up my alley. SO13, et cetera.’

  ‘So you’re working there now?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Now, you did tell me you were moving some valuables and I did agree to help, and I was looking forward to dinner with you both, but I do have to ask, what exactly were you moving?’

  ‘Antiques.’

  ‘You told me that.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What sort of antiques?’

  ‘Japanese antiques.’

  ‘And were you expecting to be bushwhacked by a posse of ninjas?’

  ‘There was a very small possibility, hence our request.’

  ‘How small a possibility?’

  ‘Infinitesimal.’

&nbs
p; ‘What kind of antiques are they?’

  ‘Old ones.’ She sounded irritated.

  ‘How old?’

  ‘I’m no expert in antiques.’ Jane glared at him.

  ‘Do you know who attacked you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you did know, who would it be?’

  ‘Look, John, don’t try to interrogate me. We worked together long enough for you to know better than to try that.’

  ‘OK,’ said Smith. ‘One more question, though.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘You saw Jim use that sword.’

  ‘I was a bit occupied but, roughly speaking, yes.’

  ‘You saw what he did?’

  ‘I saw the aftermath.’

  ‘Since when did he learn how to use a sword like that?’

  A flicker of doubt flashed over her face. It reddened. ‘I don’t know.’

  Smith had been through a lot of shit with Jane, and she had practically been his best friend for three whole years. He missed working with her. ‘I’ll try to smooth the way,’ he said, sitting back, ‘but I can’t promise I won’t have to arrest Jim. I’ve had all the CCTV seized.’

  She knew as much. Her phone had intercepted the texts between him and his unit and she had read the traffic as it went back and forth. Smith had taken charge of the incident and branded it a matter of national security on the basis Jane was involved. He was a clever operator but not as smooth as she was. She didn’t allow herself a smile. ‘So I guess dinner’s off,’ she said.

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Smith. ‘I was really looking forward to it.’

  Stafford unwrapped the replica samurai sword. He honed it in the knife sharpener until the machine started to overheat. Eventually it cut out. He washed the sword several times, then put it in the cupboard with the Hoover and the mops. He imagined the police would certainly pay a visit and want to take away the sword involved in the incident. He prepared Kusanagi’s stand-in accordingly. He was once again perverting the course of injustice and it pleased him deeply.

  His phone was vibrating again. It was the professor for the umpteenth time. He huffed and answered. ‘Yes,’ he said, extending the word to three syllables.

  ‘Stafford-san,’ asked Akira, ‘is everybody OK?’

  ‘No,’ replied Stafford, stretching the negative for three seconds.

  ‘Is someone hurt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Akira. ‘I don’t know what happened. I saw men on the street and tried to call you.’

  Stafford had noted that he had received a call around the time of the attack. ‘That was good of you.’

  ‘I must see Evans-san. I must explain to him personally I had nothing to do with it. Is he all right?’

  ‘I will pass on the message,’ said Stafford, somewhat tersely.

  ‘And you and the lady, are you all right?’

  ‘Thank you for calling.’ Stafford hung up, feeling he had perhaps given out too much information. He nursed his shoulder. It was starting to stiffen even with all the painkillers coursing through his veins.

  A people carrier pulled up outside the front door and, at a glance, he recognised it as Smith’s vehicle. He made his way up the stairs to the door. Jim was fumbling with his keys when it swung open. ‘Thanks, Stafford,’ he said, walking quickly but unsteadily inside. Jane followed him.

  ‘How’s your hand?’ she asked Stafford, as he closed the door.

  ‘Intact,’ he replied.

  She touched his shoulder and gave him a smile. ‘I’ll take a look at your injuries in five.’

  ‘I’m quite all right.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

  Jim was slumped on the sofa in the lounge. Jane sat next to him, ‘You want to talk?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You did well.’

  ‘What a disaster.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Fucked.’

  ‘You’re going to have the mother of all headaches tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Jim.

  She took his hand. ‘It’s going to be OK.’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ he said, squeezing her hand.

  They sat in silence until Stafford came in, holding a tray rather awkwardly. Jane sprang up. ‘I thought tea was called for,’ he said, as Jane relieved him of his load.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jim, blearily.

  ‘Professor Nakabashi called,’ said Stafford.

  ‘I hope you told him to go fuck himself,’ said Jim, his head rolling back.

  ‘Not in those exact words,’ replied Stafford.

  ‘You get the first aid pack out and I’ll be down in two minutes,’ said Jane, putting the tray in front of Jim.

  Jim looked down at the tea. ‘You go ahead. I’m all set up here.’ He smiled a little.

  ‘OK,’ said Jane, taking her mug. ‘You just take it easy.’

  Jim lay down on the sofa and tried to arrange his head on the arm so there was no pressure on his scalp wound. It was tricky, but as soon as he found a comfortable position he was asleep.

  It was a crushing feeling in his head that brought him around. His skull seemed to be in the tight grasp of a huge hand. He opened his eyes. They didn’t focus to begin with but from the pale light it looked like early morning. He felt stiff all over and his body was reluctant to move. His head was throbbing to his pulse. He levered himself up with difficulty, the duvet that covered him falling to one side.

  Jane was asleep on the facing sofa.

  There was a glass of water on the table and a pot of painkillers, with two laid out by it waiting for him. He reached for the pills and swallowed them, then drank the water. He got up groggily and went to his computer. Yesterday was all over the news.

  He squinted at it. ‘North Korean terrorists attack tourists.’ He wondered if he was dreaming. Mystery have-a-go hero fights back. He noticed Jane standing behind him. ‘Smith must have done a cover up,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ said Jane, ‘Maybe they were North Koreans.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s plenty of bad blood between North Korea and Japan. Imagine what stunts they could pull if they got hold of the regalia.’

  Jim’s head was pounding. ‘I think I’ll go upstairs and get some more kip.’

  ‘Good plan.’

  It was eleven o’clock. Jim was watching the FTSE 100 trade. His head was still hurting badly and the painkillers didn’t seem to be working. It was a grey, overcast morning, the cloud hanging low over the river, which was rising to high tide.

  Jane was reading a book on Burma. He got up and sat beside her. ‘I feel awful,’ he said.

  She put the book down. ‘You’re in shock.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he said.

  ‘Denial is normal,’ she said gently.

  ‘I’m not in denial.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not in denial,’ he insisted grumpily.

  ‘Don’t be angry. It’s absolutely fine.’

  ‘I’m not angry,’ he said, standing up. His head rewarded him for the sudden jolt with a shooting pain. He held it in both hands. ‘Argh.’

  She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.

  ‘OK. I might be angry, but not with you.’

  The front door buzzed. ‘Who the fuck is that?’ he snapped, and stormed off towards the hall.

  ‘I’ll deal with this,’ said Stafford, as they met by the door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘The professor.’

  ‘What?’ Jim exploded.

  ‘I’ll send him away. Please – leave it to me.’

  ‘No,’ said Jim. ‘I want to tell him personally to take a long fucking walk off a short fucking pier.’

  Stafford turned to let him pass, looking down at the CCTV feed from the front door. Their unexpected caller was alone.

  Jim swung the door open. Akira reeled back, clearly horrified to see Jim’s head swathed in bandag
es.

  ‘What do you want?’ snapped Jim, slightly disarmed by the professor’s expression.

  ‘Evans-san, I’m so very sorry to trouble you. Can I come in?’

  ‘No.’

  Akira’s head dropped. ‘I understand. This was not my doing.’

  ‘Really? Do you expect me to believe you didn’t send those Koreans?’

  ‘They were not Koreans.’

  Jim’s mind went temporarily blank. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I saw them as I left. They were Japanese. I tried to call.’

  ‘How do you know they were Japanese?’

  ‘They did not look like North Koreans, they looked like Japanese. Forgive me to know the difference.’

  ‘Who were they, then?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Jim struggled to think over the pulsating pain in his head. ‘I’ll tell you what. Until things get back to normal I’m doing nothing. This fucking nonsense has got to stop. If I get one more problem, I’ll throw the fucking regalia into the sea and that will be an end to it.’

  ‘Or donate them to the British Museum,’ came Stafford’s voice from inside.

  ‘No,’ said Jim. ‘I’ll fucking chuck them in the North Sea.’

  ‘Please believe me,’ said Akira, stooping as if he was carrying a hefty weight, ‘I only want to recover the regalia. I mean you no harm. I’m so sorry for what has happened. I understand you can’t forgive but please believe me.’

  ‘Just make sure nothing else happens. When I’m ready I’ll get in touch,’ said Jim.

  ‘But I can’t ensure that. What is happening is out of my hands. Too many people must know now. I cannot calm the tempest. It is out of control.’

  ‘That’s your problem.’

  ‘No,’ said Akira. ‘It is our problem.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’ Jim closed the door with what was almost a slam.

  Stafford watched the professor turn away. He looked bereft. Stafford stroked his chin.

  Jane cut off the patch into Jim’s CCTV and put her mobile down. Jim walked in. ‘What was that?’ she asked innocently.