The Nicholas Linnear Novels (56 page)

Back at the hotel, he left Yukio to go to her room alone.

“Won’t you tell me anything?”

“In a while,” he said, still half distracted. “Take a bath or something. I’ll be in in a little while.”

“You’re not going out again,” she said worriedly. “I don’t want to be here alone.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just be next door.”

Once inside, he crossed to the window. The darkness seemed absolute. But still, perhaps only because the proprietor had mentioned it, he thought he could see the white plume of pumice belching from Nakadake, Mount Aso’s fifth column.

There was no doubt in his mind now why Saigō had traveled such a distance to become a part of this particular
ryu
, for there were none such as this in the Tokyo area. Kansatsu’s words haunted him now with an intensity impossible to ignore:
There are many
ryu
in Japan, Nicholas. Among these, the variety of disciplines taught is virtually limitless. Good and evil are sometimes propounded indiscriminately.

No wonder Saigō has been so furtive in his movements: so careful to backtrack.

It would be a natural precaution for a ninja.

For that is precisely what he had become. This Kumamoto
ryu
was no regional offshoot but a center.
The
center, to be more accurate.

The ninja are not bound by the Way
, Kansatsu had said, and that was correct. Yet ninjutsu was more complex than that and, as in bujutsu itself, there were many types propounded and taught. Good and evil. The black and the red. Kansatsu himself had shown it to Nicholas before he had left Tokyo. Of the red, he had said, far and away the most dangerous, the most virulent
ryu
is the Kuji-kiri. “It is the Chinese word for the ‘nine-hands cutting,’ the basis for much of the ninja’s real or imagined power. It is said by many that these hand signs are the last remaining vestiges of magic in this world. As for me, I cannot say, but as you yourself have come to understand, there are times when the dividing line between imagination and existence can disappear.” That was when Kansatsu had shown him the symbol of the Kuji-kiri
ryu.
It was the one he had seen on the warehouse door just moments ago.

He heard the water running in the bath next door; Yukio disrobing.

A suspicion was forming in his mind now and the more he thought about it the more certain he became. Had Kansatsu known what it was he would find here? How? Perhaps he had only suspected. But why was Kansatsu involved at all?

Abruptly, Nicholas had the cold sensation of being manipulated by forces he had not even suspected of existing. It was certain that Kansatsu knew quite a bit more about this situation than he had told Nicholas. Why hold back?

Outside, the moon had slipped its cloud mooring and now rode, unbridled, in the sky. The world was tinged with a blue light, cold and harsh and monochromatic. Far on the horizon—he was certain now—he could make out the rising oblique volcanic cone, its pale umbrella billowing like the aftermath of an explosion seen in slow motion. The still air held the pumice dust in languid suspension like a decadent sprawled across his silk-covered settee.

It seemed to him now that the lines of his life had already been drawn by some other hand at a time when he had been looking elsewhere. As he had said to Yukio this afternoon, he was committed. They had been set against one another, he and Saigō, from the moment they had first met. For what reason he could not yet say, yet it was a reality with which he must now deal.

What to do now?

He knew. He knew. And it terrified him.

The bathwater had drained some time ago. He got up from where he had been sitting in the windowbox and opened the connecting door into Yukio’s room.

He paused on the threshold. The lights were extinguished and all seemed still.

He called her name softly.

Blue moonlight was a wash along part of the floor interlaced with the oblique bars of shadow from the casement.

“Yukio?”

He went silently into the room.

And immediately stopped.
Haragei.
Someone else was in the room. He turned his head without moving his body. Saw Yukio lying on the bed, a last bit of light limning the bridge of her nose. She was atop the covers. The other side of the double bed had blanket and sheets drawn down. An impression had been made there, as if by another body. She was naked. Her breasts and belly rose and fell in even breathing.

“Welcome, Nicholas.” He turned his head. The chair in the far corner, facing into the room. Moonlight fell partway along its back; its face was in shadow. “So nice of you to join us.”

“Saigō. How did you get in here?”

“How do you think, Nicholas? How do you think?”

“I imagine there are many ways—for a ninja.”

He seemed unperturbed. “Quite so, oh yes. But, you see, I didn’t need any of them.” He waited a beat. “Yukio let me in herself.”

“Yukio…” He took two steps toward her.

“It won’t do any good, Nicholas. She can’t hear you.”

“She—”

“Oh no no no, nothing like that. She’s merely sleeping. That’s a waste of time. You won’t be able to wake her. But don’t fret, she’s perfectly safe.”

“Wake her up,” Nicholas said. He was sitting on the bed. Her flesh felt cold, raised in goosebumps, but she seemed to be breathing normally.

“I don’t think so. At least not yet, anyway.” At last Saigō stood up. He was dressed in a black raw silk suit, rather old-fashioned, somewhat like the ones Chinese mandarins used to wear on formal occasions. His hair had been cut so short that he looked almost bald; the black stubble seemed somehow far more ominous. “The obvious thing to say now is that I’m sorry to be proved right. About you, I mean. But that would be a lie. I’m not in the least sorry. In fact, I’m delighted. I was right about you all the time. So was my father.” He went into the center of the room and Nicholas followed him with his eyes.

Saigō shook his head. “How you ever found out I cannot imagine. I have to give you credit for that.”

“What,” said Nicholas, “are you talking about?”

Saigō’s eyes flashed and his lips curled in a snarl just as if Nicholas had struck him. He flew across the room, grabbed Nicholas by his shirtfront. “All right,” he whispered savagely, “I’m through being courteous to you. I see there’s no point. Did you really think I didn’t know that you were following me? Do you think you could have if I hadn’t wanted you to? You really
are
a fool!”

Nicholas reached up, slammed Saigō’s fists from him. They stood, a little apart, eyeing each other, controlling their breathing, like two titans about to do battle over dominion of the world.

“What do you think you’re doing to yourself?”

“I’m saving myself,” Saigō said. “I would have thought it was obvious. I have been accepted into the elite. Beyond
bushi
, Nicholas. Way beyond.” He took a step forward. “And you can join me.”

“What?”

“Why did you think I asked you down here? This is no vacation spot. And then you show up with
her.
Idiot!”

“I love her.”

“Forget about her. She’s nothing. Less than nothing. A whore. Fucking—”

“Shut your
bloody
—!”

“Yes, I forget about your English heritage. So chivalrous!” He took another step forward so their chests almost touched. “So. Whatever she is or isn’t. She no longer exists for you or for me. I am offering you the world, Nicholas. You have no idea. None at all. Ninjutsu is—”

“But why the Kuji-kiri? Why black?”

“Oh, I see. I see how it is now. That scum Kansatsu has been talking to you. Yes, it’s black ninjutsu, but that is as it should be. We are the strongest, the most potent. With Kuji-kiri you become invincible. In all the world, there will be no one to stop you. Think of it, man, unlimited power!”

“There is nothing in that that appeals to me,” and he was spinning down obliquely across the bed, away from Yukio, using the wrist blocks against the darting eye-strikes Saigō drove at him with monstrous swiftness. He retaliated with sword-strikes, three in rapid succession. Thwarted, but that was all right because they had served their purpose and the adrenalin was surging through him like a tidal wave.

He rolled over, Saigō atop him and his immediate concern became the elbow-strike feint followed by a sword-strike aimed at his larynx. He worked his way out of that, found his left arm pinioned beneath the full weight of Saigō’s right shoulder. He was in trouble, he knew. Inside, Saigō, with the ninjutsu training, had an enormous advantage. His only hope was to break away, get some reasonable distance between them.

He began a knee-strike, twisting away at the same time, but Saigō was not fooled and a blow caught the ridge of his collarbone; his frame flexed involuntarily. Still, he was fortunate that the strike was a near-miss.

They were locked now on the floor, part of the counterpane drawn under their straining bodies. There was very little real movement for long minutes as they struggled, fingers grasping wrists, elbows against sternums, a kind of perverse engine, stifling on its own energy output.

It became time to try something else and he slashed upward with his kneecap, heard Saigō’s grunt and, almost simultaneously, a soft metallic click in front of his face. Saw a small blade, glinting in the moonlight, standing out like a deadly toothpick from between Saigō’s first and second finger knuckles. A conjurer’s trick. But it was no illusion. He turned his head away as the blade moved infinitesimally toward his eye. There was a peculiar odor and his nostrils flared briefly. Then it was gone and he was concentrating on stepping up the pressure of his forearm against the hand with the blade. He pushed upward, using all the available leverage. Sweat had broken out along the line of his hair and now it drooled with cruel slowness down his forehead, threatening to blur his vision.

But the deadlock was breaking as, bit by bit, he brought the hand backward, away from him. Then he was free and on his feet. His chest heaved with the intense exertion of the past few moments. He staggered a little, waiting for Saigō to stand. When he did, Nicholas attacked, but perhaps the blow to his collarbone had affected him more than he had thought because he was just a little off balance and, as Saigō countered his thrust, he seemed to take an inordinately long time to react.

Now Saigō was at him, seeming faster than ever before. Barely he was able to deflect a fork-strike, but he failed to counter a sword-strike to his neck.

He went down then in a heap. Coughing and gasping, he could not seem to fill his lungs with air. On his back, he saw Saigō standing over him, grinning, as if he knew there would be no more resistance.

Tried to stand up but he had no legs. He used his hands, raised them. Or thought he did; no feeling there, either. He blinked several times, unbelieving. Trapped within a useless body. He glanced down. His hands lay like pale flowers, part of another world. He felt the pounding of his heart unnaturally loud in his inner ear. But that was all.

Saigō bent over him, a sardonic smile on his face. “Did you think I came unprepared this time?” he said, almost amiable, as one friend to another. “No, it has all been planned from the very beginning. Yes, Nicholas, even down to Yukio’s involvement. She knew about it all. In fact, some of this was her idea. Surprised?”

Nicholas could only open and close his mouth soundlessly like a fish dying of the air. His tongue worked like an idiot’s. No, he thought wildly. No no no. It’s a lie. It
must
be.

“Well, you shouldn’t be. Didn’t I tell you she was a whore? Surely she told you we were lovers. Yes, I thought so.”

He turned away and in the half-light Nicholas saw him reach over toward the bed. He grasped Yukio’s sleeping form, dragged her across the counterpane. A lamp in front of Nicholas went on and he blinked slowly while his eyes adjusted to the glare. Like having the sun in his eyes.

Yukio! he cried out silently. Yukio!

Saigō had her sitting up now. He had a small capsule in his hand. He broke it in half, waved it under her nose. Her head went back and he followed with the capsule. She shook her head from side to side as if wanting to get away from the expelled contents.

Her eyes came open and her features arranged themselves in a slow sensual slavish smile. Her arms came up around Saigō’s shoulders. He kissed her roughly and her lips opened like a flower.

Yukio!

Careful to continually stay within Nicholas’ line of sight, Saigō caressed her. He rubbed her breasts so that her nipples stood out hard and quivering. He spread her legs, rubbed her there. Yukio began to pant. His fingers came away wet.

He turned her over, bending her across the bed. Her buttocks were pale, globes in the harsh light. He dropped his black silk pants. They puddled around his ankles. Spreading her thighs, he rummaged again, anointing his phallus. Then he rammed himself into her anus.

Yukio cried out as he moved on her flesh. From his vantage point Nicholas could see the reddened member sliding in and out. He tried to close his eyes but the gruntings and pantings overwhelmed him, pummeling his brain until his eyes flew open in self-preservation.

Yukio’s arms were flung out over her head, her fingers clutching convulsively at the counterpane, drawing it up into bunched sweaty hillocks. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her thighs writhed against the bed, pressing her mound down in time to Saigō’s thrusts.

All at once, she gave a cry. The counterpane shredded between her frenzied fingers and her thighs drew up convulsively and she shuddered powerfully.

At that moment, Saigō withdrew and a tiny moan of disappointment escaped her lips. His reddened member flicked upward at every pulse.

Saigō bent over Nicholas, flipped him over. It was only then that Nicholas understood the true nature of what was happening.

He felt the first burning penetration, heard Saigō’s heavy grunt, felt the great weight of him upon his shoulders and buttocks, coming into him again and again like the tide.

The Colonel returned home quite late.

He sat for a long time behind the wheel of his car smoking his pipe, thinking of nothing. It seemed like days since he had smoked it last and he savored the mellow bite of the dark tobacco on the back of his tongue and against the roof of his mouth. He thought he might want a drink in a little while.