Linnear 01 - The Ninja (73 page)

It had been that second cut. Left to right. Justine was right-handed and would have cut from right to left. It was not Justine who wielded the blade. In any event, she would not have been able to handle the katana so well. ‘

Saiminjutsu - the art of ninja hypnotism - was just one of the sub-specialties he had learned years ago. He worked over her for more than four hours - to undo was far more difficult than to do - using everything he had been taught, to exorcize the demon that had been planted in her.

Sweat dripped off them both like rain, mingling on the wooden floor, as he worked on and on until, at last, her body shuddered in his arms and she gave a fierce, startled cry.

Within moments, she was in a sound sleep. But he would not give her up, even then, and held her, cradled protectively in his arms and lap, leaving her only once during the long, heating day to relieve himself and to wet a towel with cool water so that he could place it over her forehead.

For almost all of the time, he stared down into her face, his features somehow different from what they had been earlier. Once, the sound of the quiet bubbling of the fish tank intruded upon his thoughts and he looked briefly over at the denizens of the deep at play among the tall green columns of vegetation and the spiny backs of coloured rocks. They regarded him impassively from beyond the glass, from another world entirely.

By the third day she had recovered fully. Before that, she slept on and off most of the time as one does when fighting off an evil disease.

During that time, Nicholas fed her and washed her, not minding at all. He would sit on the porch for long hours at a time, staring out at the sea, past the bathers and the sun worshippers as if they did not exist, but he did not go onto the beach nor near the water. He would not go that far away from her.

And when that day dawned when she opened her eyes and they were perfectly clear, the tiny scarlet motes in the left one as brilliant as fires on a plain, he put his arms around her and kissed her.

It was not until he had made them breakfast and she had taken in the paper that he told her what had happened. He told her everything because this was something she must know, to understand that she had had the strength and the courage to pull through. Because he never could have accomplished it on his own. She had fought the Kobudera from the beginning.

‘I am strong now.’ She laughed. ‘As strong as you.’

‘In a way,’ he said, more seriously than she, ‘yes.’ ^She shuddered. ‘Such power needs getting used to.’

She read the paper while he cleaned up and the soft clatter of the dishes in the sink as he washed them made her feel cozy and warm.

‘Afterwards,’ she said, ‘let’s go out on the beach.’

‘We should. Summer’s almost gone. We should make the most of these last days out here. Anyway’ - he wiped his hands - ‘there are a couple of people in the city I want you to get to know -‘

‘Nick -‘ She looked up from the paper.

He came over to where she was sitting. ‘Why the look?’ He kissed her.

‘Look at this.’ She pushed the folded paper towards him.

He took it, dropped his gaze from her worried face.

‘I ought to call Gelda,” she said as if from a distance.

Local Policeman Dead in Crash (he read). The dateline was Key West, Florida. ‘Detective Lieutenant Lewis J. Croaker was found dead late yesterday in a rented car, a spokesman for the Monroe County Police Department reported. The car had apparently left the highway at high speed six miles east of Key West, rolled down an embankment and caught fire. Heavy rains and high winds, which have plagued this area for a day and a half, may have contributed to the accident, the spokesman said.

‘Detective Lieutenant Croaker, 43, was apparently in Key West on vacation. Contacted at his office at One Police Plaza, Captain Michael C. Finnigan, Detective Lieutenant Croaker’s immediate superior, commented…’

But Nicholas had already stopped reading. There was a pounding in his chest, a hollow kind of thudding, echoing away as if he stood inside an empty shrine. His vision blurred and he seemed unaware that the paper was shredding through his clenched fingers.

‘Nicholas…’ Justine stood beside him, arms crossed, hands clasping her elbows impotently, the physical for the moment put precariously at bay by the emotional. ‘I can’t believe it.’

But he could, with that typically Asian perspective of the acceptance of events as they evolve. Karma, he thought savagely. But Croaker’s death was like a knife thrust into his bowels, a kind of seething pain that would not dissipate.

Then he recalled why Croaker had gone to Key West. He read the article again, this time from first sentence to last. On vacation, indeed. As if Croaker’s T{ami hovered in close asylum at his right hand, he heard again, He’s a murderer, Nick. If I had any lingering doubts as to Tomkin’s complicity in the Angela Didion case, they went bye-bye with that order to officially shut down. He’s a shark, man. You’d better face up to it. A hot wind from the cemetery, out from the shade elms, assailed him as he began to see past events in a chill new light. The confrontations between Tomkin and Croaker had been deliberate. Croaker had wanted to needle Tomkin, perhaps provoking him into making some precipitous move, like an attempt to silence Croaker. Now it had come, the whisper of the gibbet. And Frank, Tomkin’s chief bodyguard, had been gone several days, who knew where?

I’ve gotta nail him on this. It’s a matter of honour. Every remembered word a knife twist. If I don’t do it, nobody’s gonna be able to.

He got up and went to the phone, his mind abruptly quite clear, and dialled a number. His whole body seemed to ache as if he had been recently beaten. He did not think it fair that this should have happened to them; friendship as special as this was meant to be savoured, not snatched away by a thief in the night. He felt strongly as if they had both been cheated. This, he knew, was Western thinking and he set it aside, compartmentalizing it, as he had been taught, just as someone places a treasured item on a high shelf, out of harm’s way. Still, for the briefest moment, he could picture the four of them on a long sleek sloop, wet from the salt spray, laughing and carefree, the sun in their eyes. Then he banished the vision, letting it part from him as if it were the last ray of the sun slipping below the dark horizon. But did that change anything? Not at all, as he had already seen. Love and friendship were inextricably entwined in Japan and he was, after all the time in the West, the clothes, the new veneers, an Easterner, now and forever. He knew this with an abrupt and wrenching conviction that both thrilled and calmed him. He had a sense of place now, as well as a sense of time.

Arid-sacrifice, revenge, the cornerstones of Japanese history, were both a part of him, too. This had been Itami’s last message to him, though, at the time, he had not fully understood.

Croaker’s death made it all too plain.

Now a quote attributed to leyasu Tokugawa flew through his head like a bird of prey, circling in the sky of his mind. He knew what to do.

‘What is it?’ Justine asked him. Her voice was thick as if she were still in shock.

He put his finger to his lips, said into the phone, ‘Is he in? It’s Nicholas Linnear.’ He waited a moment. Justine came up behind him, entwining her arms around him.

Frank answered. So he had returned. Bastard. But his voice was controlled as he said, ‘Had a good vacation? Yeah. Too bad you missed all the excitement.’ He felt the press of her breasts against his back. He put one arm around behind him, holding her. ‘Sure. Next time I see you, I’ll tell you all about it.’ And thought: It might be a lot sooner than you think. Frank said to hold on a minute.

He closed his eyes briefly, saw the sea at that time of day when the sun, having left the sky, turns it into the brightest piece of topography; in twilight, the water shines like a carpet of light.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’ve thought about your offer. Yes. ,Yes, I know what I said then.’ His eyes snapped open and Justine, so close against him, felt the tension flooding through him and wondered at the disparity between his words and his feelings. ‘But things have - changed a bit. I’ve reconsidered. Yes. I thought you might be.’ Oh, leyasu! How right I shall prove you 1 ‘Any time you say.’ His knuckles went white as they gripped the receiver. ‘Yes. I just read about it in the paper. Sure. A friend. I got to know him a bit.’ Justine, sensing his mounting anger, pressed herself more tightly to him as if her presence might mollify him in some way. Nicholas, feeling her warmth seep into him, knew that quite soon - certainly before they went down to the beach - he would want to make love to her, need to even as he grieved for his friend. Perhaps because of it. He was returning to life now and so was she.

‘In a week?’ he said. ‘No, I don’t think there will be a problem. You’ll just need to fill me in on all the details. But even that … Well, we can go over it on the plane, can’t we? Yes. Yes.’ He listened for a moment more, his mind far away. ‘I’ll see you, then. Soon. Very soon.’

He was one now with leyasu, with his words: To come to \now your enemy, first you must become his friend. He drew all the warmth he could from Justine, now. Because he had gone cold with the realization that Tomkin had sent Frank out to find the woman in Key West. And then Croaker had been killed in Key West. Murder. The word rang like a heavy bell in his mind. If not for you - he thought into the phone as he cradled it.

And once you become his friend, all his defences come down. Then can you choose the most fitting method for his demise.

Afterword

There are, in Japanese martial philosophy - which incorporates many elements of both the Buddhist and Shinto religions - five cardinal signs: Ground, Water, Wind, Fire and the Void.

Miyamoto Musashi’s Go Rin No.Sho exists to this day. It is, literally, A Book of Five Rings.

The Ninja, too, is a book of five rings.

A Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi, translated by Victor Harris, is published by The Overlook Press, Woodstock, NewYork.

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