Warrior Spirit Read online

  Annja whistled. “Nice ride.”

  Kennichi nodded. “I have a bit of a weakness for nice cars. As much as I try to wean myself, every year there seems to be something new that grabs my gut.”

  Annja slid into the leather interior. “Any other weaknesses I should know about?” She couldn’t help but feel intrigued by this man.

  Kennichi eyed her for just a moment. “Maybe later. Right now, let’s get something to eat. You must be famished after that grueling session you just logged.”

  “I could definitely eat.” Annja rested her head back against the cushion. “It has been some kind of day.”

  He slid the car into gear and they moved off into the traffic. At a traffic light, Kennichi turned and smiled again. “First things first. Please call me Ken. It’s easier than the mouthful that my name really is. And I’d hate for that to ever be a burden for someone.”

  “Okay. Where are we going, Ken? Steak and lobster? McDonald’s?”

  “There’s a coffee shop in Kanda we can hit. They’ve got a very diverse range of food. I’m not sure what you normally eat after you fight your way through a horde of foes, so I thought it might be best to give you a smorgasbord of options. That way you can best decide what will replace the nutrients you lost earlier.”

  “Considerate of you,” Annja said. “I appreciate that. Why don’t you tell me about the object you’re trying to locate?”

  Ken held up his hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather we wait until we eat first. Your attention right now is somewhat diffused. I need you a bit more…concentrated.”

  “I’m focused on you, Ken,” Annja said.

  Ken grinned. “I don’t doubt it. But I think a meal in your stomach will do you some good before I unleash my family’s woes on you.”

  “Family?” Annja frowned. “You’re married?”

  “I meant family in the lineage sense. Ancestors, descendants, that kind of thing.” He glanced at her. “And no, I’m not married.”

  God, that must have come out like a schoolgirl crush, Annja thought. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s no problem.” He pointed. “We’re here.”

  Ken parked the Mercedes in the tiniest parking lot Annja had ever seen. They both got out of the car. The front of the coffee bar proclaimed that it served pizza, Buffalo wings, hamburgers and an assortment of other American food items, all written in English. Annja’s mouth watered at the thought of some wings. But she thought it might be better to stick to something a little less messy. Nothing said impressive on a first date than hot sauce smeared all over your face.

  A line of Honda motorcycles that had been decked out with detailing and every latest gizmo available dominated the area immediately outside the coffee shop. At least ten of them vied for space in what should have only accommodated half their number.

  Annja whistled. “Nice bikes.”

  Ken looked at them and shook his head. “If only their owners were that quiet. But come on, let’s eat.”

  The hostess inside greeted them with a bow, and as Annja looked the place over, she couldn’t help but marvel at how things in Japan could be so foreign and so familiar at the same time. Rock music blasted from the speakers, but not so loud you had to shout to be heard. Movie posters and surfboards were plastered on the walls. Diner-style booths with bright red naugahyde cushions and laminate tables reminded Annja of the 1950s-style joints she’d seen back home.

  The hostess led them past a bunch of tables packed with Japanese teens adorned with body piercings and colorful spiked red hair. She felt their eyes roam over her body and now wished she’d worn something less clinging than what she had on.

  More than the way they looked at her, though, she was alarmed by the way they checked Ken out. Several of them shifted in their seats, and Annja felt her own instincts buzz. Were they going to jump them? And if so, why?

  “Annja.”

  Ken’s voice brought her back to reality. He smiled at her and Annja smiled back. “Sorry.”

  “Forget about them. They’re just teppo.”

  Annja frowned. “I’ve heard that word before—”

  Ken nodded. “It means ‘bullet’. It’s what they call the kids who have just joined a Yakuza gang. They’re low-level thugs who are used for intimidation. They extort money. Some of them run small-time prostitution rings or sell drugs on the side. And tragically, most of them are dead before they’re twenty years old.”

  “That’s horrible,” Annja said. She’d seen enough of youth involved in crime to know the statistics could be devastatingly similar in the States, if not worse.

  “Stupid, more likely,” Ken said. “None of these kids have come from the lower class. They’ve all been recruited from the middle class. They have all their options open to them, but they choose instead to forsake the sacrifices their parents made simply because they think it’s cool to be in a gang. It’s very different in America, where the economics of poverty breed new generations of criminals. Here, it’s a fad to be involved. And a stupid one at that.”

  A waitress on roller skates glided up to their table. Annja cracked the menu and ordered a hamburger.

  The waitress smiled. “Would you like corn on that?”

  Annja blanched. “Excuse me?”

  Ken chuckled. “We put corn on a lot of things. Pizza, too.”

  Annja shook her head. “Just lots of cheese, lettuce, ketchup and mayonnaise. No corn. Oh, and I’d like a large glass of water.”

  Ken ordered a plate of Buffalo wings and a beer. “I miss the States and come here for my wing fix. If I could get Sam Adams beer here, I’d be really happy.”

  “Where did you go to school? That is why you were there, right?”

  Ken nodded. “Georgetown for undergrad. Harvard for my master’s.”

  “In what?”

  “Partying, most likely. I was something of a nut in school.” He smiled but then corrected himself. “My degree is in languages. Sanskrit, Tibetan and Nepali.”

  Annja leaned back. “Impressive.”

  “I had an ulterior motive for it. One we’ll discuss shortly.”

  Their food arrived faster than Annja would have thought. After carefully checking her cheeseburger for any sign of corn, she took a huge bite. Tasting the juices and melted cheese run into her mouth, she moaned. “This is incredible.”

  “It’s better with the corn,” Ken said around a mouthful of wings.

  “You’ve got sauce on your face, champ.” Annja washed down her bite with a long sip from her water.

  Ken wiped his mouth. “So that’s what was stinging.” He took a healthy pull on his beer and then tore into the rest of his plate as if he hadn’t eaten in a long while.

  Annja devoured her burger and found the fries just as tasty. She and Ken ate in relative silence for the next few minutes until at last, Annja leaned back, wiped her mouth and sighed. “That was a great meal.”

  Ken finished his beer and gestured to the waitress. He glanced at Annja. “How about a beer?”

  “Sure.” Annja normally didn’t drink alcohol after a fight, but she was full and relaxed and eating with a handsome man. One drink wouldn’t be a bad idea.

  Ken held up two fingers and then turned back to Annja, with a serious expression. “My family line is very old. Over one thousand years in fact. I’m descended from a long line of warriors. One of my ancestors was presented with a relic far back in Japan’s history.”

  Annja glanced around the restaurant. “How far are we talking here?”

  “A.D. 560.”

  Annja blinked. “You weren’t kidding about a long family line. I never knew the name Ogawa stretched back that far.”

  “Ogawa is nothing so special. It’s more the lineage itself that is important. But martial-arts lineages aren’t normally named after people. They’re instead named after an idea, concept or even a geographical location.” He smiled. “Forgive me, I’m sure you know all of this already.”

  “Actually, my knowled
ge of Japanese martial arts is fairly rudimentary.”

  Ken nodded. “My family’s lineage is known as the Yumegakure-ryu. It means ‘hidden dream.’ We were employed by the Regent Prince Shotoku Taishi during his reign and by almost every ruler since then.”

  Annja frowned. “That’s a lot longer than most historians would argue records have been kept.”

  “Most historians are a bunch of academics who have little common sense about the very things they claim expertise in. They sit in dusty offices, using only books to make their sometimes ridiculous claims,” Ken said.

  Annja grinned. She knew more than a few people who fit that description exactly. “I’m something of a historian myself, though. You think I fit the same mold as they do?”

  The waitress brought their beer and Ken hoisted his in Annja’s direction. “I don’t know too many academics who would have the courage to fight for three hours in the budokan. Kempai.”

  “Kempai,” Annja said.

  They drank together and then Ken rested his glass on the tabletop and leaned forward. “Besides, you’re an archaeologist. And you do your best work in the field. That’s your real value to me. I need you to help me find something that was stolen from my family a long time ago.”

  “What is it?” Annja asked, feeling the excitement that always accompanied a new challenge.

  Ken leaned back. “My ancestors, for their service to Prince Shotoku, were awarded a very special relic known as a vajra. It means ‘thunderbolt’. Prince Shotoku had the small sceptre made specially for my ancestors, and legend has it that it was also endowed with certain, shall we say, mystical qualities.”

  “What kind of mystical qualities?” Annja grinned as she thought about how just a few years ago she would have scoffed at the idea of mystical properties in relics. How times had changed.

  Ken shrugged. “Probably nothing. After all, have you ever seen anything that defied rational thought in all your travels?”

  Annja felt a twinge in her stomach. How would Ken react if she said, “Well, sure, I’ve got this magical sword that I can pull out of thin air if I get into trouble.”

  Instead she only smiled. “Go on.”

  “I suppose it might have been more a matter of what it represented—that it was given by a powerful ruler to my family so that we would continue to be a force for good and balanced thought against those who might use their power to prevail in an opposite direction. But its loss led to the eventual downfall of my family. Gradually, over many years, the Yumegakure-ryu began to die out. I am, in fact, the last descendant.”

  “Only you? There’s no one else?” Annja asked.

  “None. And now I have this incredible feat in front of me. I must find that which was stolen from my family and try to restore the Yumegakure-ryu to its former glory. It’s a daunting task, which is why I came to you seeking help. I believe you can help me locate the vajra.”

  “But it could be anywhere,” Annja said.

  Ken shook his head. “I think it’s still here in Japan. When it was stolen, Japan was still a very closed society. I doubt the thieves would have tried to escape the country with it.”

  “But since that time, Japan has certainly opened up.” Annja shook her head. “It could be anywhere by now.”

  Ken shrugged again and took another sip of his beer. “Call it a hunch, but I think it’s here.”

  Annja sighed. “All right. I’ll help you.”

  Ken hoisted his beer again. “Excellent!”

  Annja took a sip of her beer and then put her glass down. “Tell me something. I don’t recall ever hearing the name of the Yumegakure-ryu in any of the various lineages that I do know about. If you were so well-known, shouldn’t there be more written about your lineage?”

  Ken shook his head. “We were well-known. Respected even. But history is written only by those who hold power when it is written. And the nature of my lineage was such that historians felt we did not belong in the annals of history. That we were, by nature, not honorable enough to be included.”

  “But other samurai lineages—even those that were less good than others—were included,” Annja pointed out.

  Ken smiled. “We weren’t samurai, Annja.”

  “You weren’t?” Annja frowned. “Then what—?”

  “We were ninja.”

  3

  Annja leaned back in the booth, feeling the cushions on her back. “Ninja? You’re kidding, right?”

  Ken’s eyes never blinked. “Not at all.”

  “You were hired killers? Assassins? Those crazy dudes who wore black pajamas and disappeared in puffs of smoke?”

  Ken simply grinned and took a swallow of his beer. “History has never been kind to ninjitsu. Hollywood has done even less for our reputation. We like to say we’ve suffered from a thousand years of bad press.”

  Annja frowned. Getting mixed up with a cult of bloodthirsty murderers didn’t exactly thrill her. “So, you’re denying that ninja were assassins?”

  “I’m not denying anything,” Ken said. “I’m merely asking you to reserve judgment until you know more about what ninjitsu truly entails. In this case, I’m asking you to not believe what history books say about my kind. Tough as that may be to discount.”

  “I’ve got an open mind,” Annja said, although she didn’t necessarily feel particularly open-minded just then.

  Ken eyed her for a moment and then spread his hands in front of her. “Ninjitsu developed out of a need for specialists who understood unconventional warfare. The samurai code of honor—Bushido—explicitly forbade certain tactics for use in times of unrest. But the various warlords of feudal Japan also understood that these supposedly unorthodox techniques could help ensure their continued prosperity and success. So they would secretly employ ninja to help them achieve their aims.”

  “And murder people,” Annja said.

  Ken sighed. “Annja, the truth is there were certainly some ninja families who did hire themselves out to the highest bidder with little regard to the universal scheme of totality. In that case, yes, you could say they were thugs.”

  Annja could tell she was beginning to annoy Ken. “But not other families?”

  “No.” He glanced around for the waitress and caught her eyes. He spoke to her in Japanese.

  The waitress bowed, a feat Annja admired considering she was on roller skates. I would fall on my butt if I tried that, she thought. She shook her head and refocused on Ken. “So tell me more.”

  “Ninjitsu is a fascinating system of martial arts. As you know, samurai who lost in battle were supposed to follow their daimyo—their lord—into death by committing seppuku, ritual suicide. Not all of them would do that. Some of them would wander on a self-imposed exile. They would set themselves up in small villages in the mountains of western Japan—Iga and Koga Provinces—and there they set about trying to live peacefully with the flow of nature.”

  “They’d become hermits?”

  “Well, somewhat. Inevitably, the policies of the neighboring regions would impact their existence. Many of these villages developed into ninja clans as a way of preserving their way of life. They would carefully attempt to influence events such that their own lifestyle and that of their children would remain as unscathed as possible.”

  “Interesting.” Annja could certainly understand wanting to protect and provide for future generations.

  “Let me ask you this,” Ken said. “If you could pinpoint one person whose death would save the lives of thousands of men, women and children, would you take the step and remove him or her?”

  Annja frowned. “I don’t know that I would ever want to make that decision. It seems like playing God to me.” And yet, Annja was fully aware she had been forced to make such a decision many times since coming into possession of Joan of Arc’s mystical sword.

  Ken nodded. “I don’t disagree with you. I would find it difficult to do, as well. But those were the types of decisions that ninja jonin—leaders of the clan—had to face if they wer
e to survive.”

  “So, they would assassinate someone if it meant saving others?” Annja was suddenly sympathetic.

  “Certainly. More often than not, however, they would take elaborate pains to set up networks of intelligence operatives who would keep their ears attuned to news and information. The ultimate goal was to be able to influence events as far ahead of time as possible to avoid war and destruction. This meant ninja had to be highly skilled at infiltrating enemy provinces, setting themselves up as regular people, reporting intelligence and, if the situation warranted it, sabotaging or assassinating key troops.”

  Annja leaned back, suddenly aware that the young thugs across the room had gone quiet. “Sounds like they might have been better than samurai to have on your side.”

  “A lot of people would foam at the mouth if they heard me say this, but many ninja were, in fact, samurai. There are plenty of crossover techniques and warrior ryu that include elements of ninjitsu and counter ninjitsu. It’s quite fascinating.”

  “Well, this has been nothing if not enlightening.” Annja leaned forward. “But I think we’ve attracted the attention of the young guns over there.”

  Ken looked up as the waitress brought over two new glasses of beer. “You think so?”

  Annja could see the huddled conversation. One of the teppo, as Ken had labeled them, seemed more intent than the others. Annja figured him for the leader judging by the elaborate piercings, tattoos and amount of hair dye. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Ken grinned. “In that case, I’d better drink my beer.”

  Annja glanced at her own beer, but her stomach twinged. She’d already fought for three hours tonight. She wasn’t sure she was ready for another bout right at this instant. “Shouldn’t we get out of here?”

  Ken shrugged. “Fact of the matter is if we leave, they’ll follow us. If they’re determined to cause trouble, it doesn’t matter where we go.”

  “But we’ll be outside.”

  “Yes, but I’m much more comfortable sitting here drinking my beer.”