Warrior Spirit. Alex Archer
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tonight.” He waved his hand. “This is not my usual scene, I’m afraid.”
“Not a martial-arts junkie?”
Kennichi shrugged. “There’s a difference between sport tournaments and real martial arts. Most people confuse the two, but there are profound differences.” He eyed her closely. “As I’m sure you know.”
“Rules. In the tournaments there are always rules, even if the venue claims that anything goes,” Annja said.
“Exactly.” Kennichi nodded. “But on the street…”
“Anything really does go. Eye gouging, groin shots, knee breaks. Whatever it takes to survive.”
He smiled. “You do know. And the mental perspective is also different. Fighting for survival can never be understood by those who have never struggled for their own life.”
Annja gathered her towel and bag. “So, you took time out of your schedule to come here and meet me?”
“Yes, I did.”
Annja mopped her brow. “Do you make it a habit to pick women up at martial-arts tournaments?”
Kennichi’s eyes widened. “Does this look like a pickup?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Annja slapped the towel over her shoulder. “I might need some time to think about it.”
“Perhaps I might be interested in you for professional reasons.”
Annja smiled. “Professional reasons.”
“To be perfectly blunt, I’d like you to find something for me. Something old and quite priceless. Are you interested?”
“Do you need it found just this minute?”
He grinned. “Not quite this moment. No.”
Annja nodded. “In that case, I’ll head for the showers now. And after that, you can take me out for dinner. Then we can discuss your professional reasons and I’ll decide then if I’m interested in your priceless artifact. Okay?”
“Uh…okay,” he said.
Annja turned and walked away, aware that Kennichi Ogawa was standing stock-still behind her, very much surprised by the conversation that had just transpired.
2
The Spartan showers at the Tokyo Budokan weren’t the kind of luxurious bath Annja would have preferred if she’d been home in New York City, but the scalding waters were good for relieving the tenderness of her sore muscles. She soaped herself up using the fragrance bar she carried with her, ridding herself of the body-odor stench that seemed a fixture in gyms all over the world.
Aside from her bruised ego and the purplish welts already covering parts of her battered body, Annja felt refreshed when she emerged from the changing area dressed in a gray turtleneck and black slacks.
Kennichi lounged by the front of the budokan , now almost entirely deserted except for the various ushers and cleaning crew. He seemed uninterested in the scenery around him. Annja could see his breathing was relaxed and deep, and every minute or so, his head scanned the immediate vicinity.
Despite his lackadaisical demeanor, Annja knew he was completely aware of everything happening around him. She’d seen the same relaxed attentiveness before in some of the intelligence operatives she’d met during her various adventures. Still, she didn’t figure Kennichi for a spy.
He looked up as she approached, his eyes giving her a lingering once-over. “You certainly clean up well.”
“Thanks. Are you always so blunt?”
Kennichi smiled, showing a mouth full of polished teeth. “Are you wondering why I tend to be at odds with the relative obliqueness that most of my countrymen embrace?”
“I would have said it differently, but yeah, something like that,” Annja said with a smile.
Kennichi led them outside, holding the door open for Annja. She felt the cool breeze wash over her and was glad she’d opted for the turtleneck. Kennichi guided her toward the parking lot.
“I was educated abroad. And personally, I’ve never really liked having to pry honesty out of people. I find it easier to simply say what I think or feel—within reason and tact, of course—and see where it leads.”
“Interesting,” Annja said. “Is that likely to catch on here?”
“I doubt it will ever be so. Japan’s ways are ingrained deep into her psyche. Change is a very difficult thing to produce here.” He pointed at the black Mercedes S550 parked alone under a street lamp. “This is me.”
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