Rules of the Hunt (61 page)
The combination of elements added up to the most vicious personal weapon
he had yet encountered, and it did not look like the kind of thing you would
carry on a routine investigation.
He leaned across the tiny cabin and spoke to Tanabu-
san
.
The intercom would have
been an easier way of overcoming the engine noise, but the fewer people who
heard their discussion the better.
"Shouldn't we do this through channels, Tanabu-
san
?" he said.
"This is really a job for a large force of
kidotai
.
My men are not
really trained for this sort of thing."
Chifune bent forward to meet him halfway.
Supremely feminine as she was, and dressed in a tan linen suit with
skirt ending well above the knee-line, she should, thought Oga, have appeared
slightly ridiculous with all this firepower; but that was not the case.
She handled her weapons system as if nothing
were more natural.
He could smell her perfume as she moved close.
Her complexion was flawless, her deep-brown
eyes, flecked with gold, compelling.
She
was going to be a hard woman to resist.
In fact, she had already proved that she was a hard woman to resist, or
he would not be in this helicopter.
"Oga-
san
," Chifune
said, "time is critical, and we do not have the evidence to get a large
raid approved without hacking through the bureaucracy.
We're following a suspicion based upon my
knowledge of how the Namakas work and the one slim fact that Fitzduane-
san
's beeper continued to function for
five minutes after the explosion.
Further, where we are going is a defense installation.
To get approval to raid that would mean going
right to the top, which would take forever and blow security.
The Namakas, you must know, have friends in
the highest places.
At a certain level
in the power structure, it is hard to know where loyalties lie.
That is the reality of money politics in
There are those who will be very
happy to see Fitzduane-
san
dead and
the status quo preserved."
Oga gulped.
The woman was making
it worse.
If this thing went wrong, he
was risking not just his life but his career.
He could imagine what his wife, a thoroughly practical woman, would
say.
Still, she was not here, and Tanabu-
san
very much was.
"As to your competence for this kind of operation, Sergeant-
san
," said Chifune, "I know
you are very highly thought of and that you were in the paratroops, just like
Adachi-
san
, before you joined the
police."
Oga nodded.
"And as to your men," continued Chifune, "I have the
greatest confidence in the Tokyo MPD and I have no doubt they will do their
duty with distinction."
Oga sighed.
He had no change
against this woman.
Without being aware
of the transition, he mentally switched from his police role to his previous
airborne training.
They were going in
and they would do what had to be done, and that was that.
The pieces could be picked up afterward.
He turned to his two detectives.
He had had to leave his other men behind because of space limitations in
the helicopter, but the men he had kept, Detectives Renako and Sakado, were
rock-solid.
"Check your weapons, lads," he said.
"Where we're going may be hot."
The sprawling industrial mass that was the Namaka Steel
empire
showed up on the skyline, and Chifune spoke an
instruction to the pilot.
Seconds later,
the helicopter was speeding along at only a few feet above wave-top height, and
Sergeant Oga was totally back into airborne mode and wondering why he had ever
left.
He loved this kind of shit.
"AIRBORNE!" he shouted.
"AIRBORNE!" repeated his men.
Neither had seen military service, but if it was appropriate for the
redoubtable Sergeant Oga, it was appropriate for them.
Group solidarity was all important.
And somehow it sounded just right.
Chifune smiled and made a punching gesture with her right hand.
"All the way," she said.
*
*
*
*
*
"Fitzduane-
san
," said
Kei, "I must tell you I regret you have to die."
"You are a brave man and an honorable man — but you must understand
that I have no choice.
We have an
obligation to kill you.
It is a matter
of
giri
.
And now it is also a matter of
self-preservation.
You know too
much."
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.
