Giri (43 page)

Decker touched his nose and his ear. No blood. There was a sharp pain in his ribs, an injury he had forgotten about. He put it out of his mind, and circled his foot to loosen his bound ankle.

The referee motioned him and Robbie to their tape marks, facing each other four feet apart. The
karatekas
held each other’s gaze. Neither man would look away. Decker saw Michi, heard her voice, heard her say his name.

“
Rei!
” They bowed, eyes still on each other.

Decker touched the
hachimaki. I am already dead.

He bit down on his mouthpiece. Robbie did the same.

Sutemi.

“
Hajime!
”

Decker sidestepped to his left, stopped, then began circling to his right Robbie shifted stance, left foot forward, hands protecting his face in a boxer’s high guard. Decker wore the red sash.

Robbie struck first. Inching forward, he suddenly jabbed with his left fist, followed by a quick right cross, both of which fell short, as they were meant to. The spinning back kick was his weapon. That’s what he used. He threw it hard and fast, striking Decker’s sore ribs.

Four white flags went up.

“
Ippon!
” One point. Robbie.

It took all of Decker’s self-control not to touch the damaged area. He must not show Robbie that he was hurt.

The referee signaled both men to their marks, signaled them to bow, then, “
Hajime!
”

Decker attacked low, using his left foot to attempt a sweep, then spun around and aimed a backfist at Robbie’s head. Robbie took one step back, ducked and countered with a right hook aimed at Decker’s liver. The detective leaned out of range, men shot the fastest side-thrust kick he could at Robbie’s stomach. Robbie, on his toes, danced out of range. Decker pursued, bringing up his right knee to kick at Robbie’s stomach. But before the kick could be extended Robbie jammed the ankle, Decker’s sore ankle.

Limping, Decker backed off and Robbie circled, stopped, changed directions, stopped again. Waited. The two men stared as 12,000 people silently watched. Suddenly Robbie hopped-skipped toward Decker, and lashed out with a side-thrust kick again to the sore rib. The pain clawed its way to Decker’s eyes, then down again to his chest.

“
Ippon!
” Four white flags. Second point Robbie.

And that’s when Decker knew what Robbie was doing. In a four-point match he would first have to prove his superiority. He would score three times. The fourth point would be Decker’s death.

I am already dead.

With nothing to lose, Decker gambled. Throwing his right hand at Robbie’s face as a distraction, he swung his right leg low, a hard sweep at Robbie’s left ankle. Quickly, Robbie lifted the left leg high and out of danger. But instead of backing away, he dropped the left leg to the floor and with his right leg kicked twice at Decker’s left side, the ball of his right foot smashing hard into Decker’s left forearm. Thigh and hips went into the kicks, making them strong, deadly. The kicks sent Decker to the floor. The roaring crowd was on its feet.

Decker’s left arm was on fire. He didn’t bother to use it to help himself from the floor. The severe pain racing up and down his left side told him the left arm was now useless. Cradling it with his right hand he attempted to rise but fell back.

“No point!” barked the referee, who also signaled for a time out.

Robbie calmly walked to his mark, dropped to one knee and removed his dripping mouthpiece. He wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. His eyes were on the floor in front of him and he seemed indifferent, almost bored. No need for concern or worry. He knew how the fight would end. It would end as all his fights did, with one exception. Decker would not just be defeated. He would die.

Dizzy with pain, Decker needed the referee’s help to make it to his feet and leave the platform. His left arm throbbed. He could barely close the fingers of that hand. The fist he made with it was useless.

As the audience watched, a French doctor examined the arm, then said, “It is broken, monsieur. I am afraid there can be no more fighting for you.”

A seated Decker, the arm resting on his thigh, shook his head.

As the doctor and two nurses conversed rapidly in French, the referee and several of the Japanese officials came over to Decker. Decker eased himself from the chair and stood up. His knee was worse. It would give way under him. The metal brace would not be able to prevent that from happening.

“Tape my arm to my stomach,” he said.

“I cannot allow that,” said the doctor. He was small, bearded, imperious and used to being obeyed. “That is not a game anymore, monsieur. With one arm you will surely be hurt, perhaps killed. No, I cannot allow that to happen.”

Ushiro Kanai stepped from the group of officials. He and Decker held each other’s gaze, then Kanai said, “This is, after all, a championship match. Its purpose is to remind the world of samurai spirit. Such a spirit does not accept defeat If Mr. Decker feels he can continue, we must respect his wishes.”

Giri.
Kanai had paid Decker what he owed.

“
Fou
,” snapped the doctor. Crazy.

The damaged arm was placed inside Decker’s
gi
and taped against his stomach, first at the wrist, then at the forearm. He refused medication. Drugs would only dull his reflexes.

When he climbed back onto the platform, a limping, one-armed fighter in a blood-spotted
gi,
the arena rose in a standing ovation. Sparrowhawk got to his feet. A solemn LeClair stood. The building expanded with cheers and soon the cheers became an ongoing explosion. Robbie looked around, then across the platform at Decker and this time the security guard did not look away in contempt. This time he eyed him thoughtfully.

The referee walked over to Robbie. A warning against further roughness. Only the fact that this was the final bout coupled with Robbie’s record of clean fighting and sportsmanship in the tournament prevented him from being disqualified. Robbie bowed. Then he walked across the platform and extended his hand to Decker. The detective took it without a word. The applause and cheers continued. Not even the announcer’s pleas for quiet could stop the clamor.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated. Please allow us to continue. One minute remains in the match. Only sixty seconds. Mr. Ambrose leads Mr. Decker three points to none.”

One minute. Sixty seconds in which to kill Robbie. Or lose him forever. Decker called on his
kami,
on Michi. Help me, help me …

“
Rei!
”

“
Hajime!
”

Robbie charged, then stopped. Something in Decker’s face bothered him. And in that instant
Hachiman
spoke to Robbie.
You cannot kill a man who is already dead. There is nothing that can destroy a man who has accepted the way of the samurai. He is also protected by a most powerful god, one stronger than I, the god that was once Michi, the woman. A god of love, a god that not even war and death have been able to defeat.

Robbie felt fear.
Hachiman
had always been the strongest of gods. Defeat was unknown to him. There was no god but
Hachiman.
But even as the words flashed across Robbie’s mind he felt the god of war pulling away from him. Pulling away …

Kill Decker quickly. Yes, that was it. Kill him before
Hachiman
disappeared. Kill the last of the Saigon ghosts and be the
bushi
of all time.

Using his right leg Robbie threw a power front-thrust kick, then withdrew the leg and with all of his strength swung a right cross at Decker’s head and cried out, “
Hachimannnnnn!
”

For Decker, all fear was gone. He would meet Michi once more, meet her at Yasakuni, at the sacred Tokyo shrine.
Hai,
it would be good to die.

When two tigers fight, one hurts, one dies.

Decker attacked. And never knew that he attacked. His body did not belong to him anymore; his mind no longer existed. He willed no action, made no decision. Later he could only say that he had no memory of those last few seconds.

He ducked under Robbie’s right cross, leaned closer and in a vicious counterpunch of his own, drove a right uppercut deep into Robbie’s throat. The blow smashed his larynx, crushed all of the cartilage. Instantly, Decker opened his fist, turned his hand palm up and struck again, attacking the throat once more, this time with the thumb side of his palm.

Robbie, eyes bulging and hands at his throat, staggered backward. Decker’s
kiai
was hair-raising, and came from so deep within him that it stunned the audience into silence and as Decker yelled he swept both of Robbie’s feet from under him. For a second, Robbie, face discolored, hung in midair, drowning in his own blood, then he dropped to the floor with a sickening thud.

Four white flags went up and a cheering audience was on its feet.

The chant began. “
Decker, Decker
.” Young Frenchmen tucked their left arms in their jackets or shirtfronts as Decker had done and imitated his uppercut and foot sweep. The applause would not end. It changed into a rhythmic hand-clapping, accompanied by stamping feet. Only those officials climbing onto the platform, along with the little French doctor, even suspected that Robbie Ambrose was dead.

M
ARCH

Decker walked into the bathroom, opened the clothing hamper and placed Michi’s towel-wrapped
kai-ken
at the bottom. Then, picking soiled sheets and shirts from the floor, he piled them on top of the weapon, filling the hamper to the top. He was about to clean his teeth and go to bed when the telephone rang. Quickly jogging to the living room, he picked up the receiver on the second ring. “Yes?”

“How was your trip?”

“Gave me a chance to rest. She did all the work. She had research to do at the Smithsonian, the Folger Shakespeare Library and the Library of Congress. It meant I was left on my own part of the time, but I didn’t mind. We spent a pleasant ten days together.”

“I’m glad,” Raphael said. “God knows you needed the rest after what you’d been through. Well, have you decided?”

“I’ll take the job.”

“All right! Hey, I’m really pleased. Number-two man at MSC. Hey, I’m excited.”

Decker looked at the bedroom. “Sparrowhawk won’t like it, but I guess that can’t be helped:”

“Sparrowhawk’s not heading the task force,” Raphael said. “I am. By the way, LeClair’s out of a job again. His law firm is letting him go. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll get the word sometime this week.”

“Why?” Decker didn’t care, but he was curious.

“Robbie Ambrose, what else? The wives of two very important clients refuse to have him into their homes because of the way he handled the Ambrose thing.”

“Cover-up, you mean.”

Raphael said, “Whatever. He really tied the can to his own tail with that one. And speaking of doing it to yourself, Sparrowhawk’s getting worse. Heavy, heavy drinking and the powers that be don’t like it.”

“That’s why they offered me the number-two spot.”

“Something else Sparrowhawk’s not going to like. We just got the news today. His friend Ruttencutter.”

Decker sat down and began to twist the telephone cord around his still-sore left wrist “What about him?”

“Found his body this morning. He’d been missing for a couple days. Wife hadn’t heard from him, his office was getting antsy. He’s got this country home in Maryland and I guess he went there to open it up for the spring or something. It’s not far from Washington. Anyway, they found him there with his throat cut. Looks like B and E, but nothing’s missing. Nothing to go on. Sparrowhawk and Ruttencutter were in Saigon at the same time.”

Decker said, “I know.” He looked at the origami wildlife figures on his desk.

Raphael said, “You know Longman and Davison, the agents we had guarding Robbie, they’re still talking about that fight. Said they’d never seen anything like it. Place was in an uproar. Longman’s taking karate lessons himself now. They said that fight between you two guys was the best they’d ever seen, including any boxing match in the past ten years.”

“Got me disqualified,” Decker said. “Almost got me jailed. Took some fast talking by the Japanese to convince the French it was an accident”

Raphael hesitated. Then, “Well, we won’t go into that. Look, I have to be upfront with you. We’re happy to have a man inside MSC, but your life is on the line. You ought to know that going in. If Gran Sasso ever learns you’re still working with the task force, he’ll burn you.”

“I know.”

“Frankly, I don’t know why you want to get back in this rat race. You’re out of it. Any security outfit would pay a small fortune to have a guy like you on the team. Why do you want to get back in?”

Decker thought of Michi. And of Sparrowhawk.

“
Giri
,” he said. “And don’t call me on this line anymore. Gran Sasso will probably be watching me closely, at least at the beginning. From now on, I’ll call you and only you. Nobody is to call me and that includes you. If I have anything I’ll make the first move. That’s the only condition I have for this job.”

“You got it, soldier. By the way, what’s this
giri
stuff?”

Decker sighed. “We had a long drive back from Washington today. I’m tired. Think I’m coming down with a cold. March was never my favorite month of the year. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up.

He returned to the bathroom, cleaned his teeth, then walked to his bedroom. After he had stripped he slipped into bed beside Valerie Sparrowhawk.
Hai.
He would take the job. And she could be used against her father. Decker would find a way. He always had.

He lay in the darkness, his back to her. When he listened carefully there were times when he was almost certain that he heard the sound of the elegant
koto
in the March wind beating against the bedroom window.

My mother, Courtenaye Olden, and my agents, Arthur Pine and Richard Pine, for their unwavering belief; Dick Martin and Harry Batchelder, Jr., for sharing their expertise; Joe Q. for data and a point of view that’s never ceased to be of help.