Redemption (21 page)

“The winner: Kamilia Stone!” he cried.

The crowd applauded loudly and Kamilia saluted her unconscious opponent, who was being busied over by medics and was in the process of being transported out of the ring. Namara had been watching attentively and shook his head at seeing Guerra's bulky form being hauled around by the medics.
The women will have been right about James.
He had been thrown by her beauty at the beginning, Namara could see it, and this is where it got him. He decided it was, at least, a good lesson for his rakish friend.

“Our next competitors: Kamilia Stone versus Ming Mei Li. Please take position behind your respective lines.”

Kamilia again took position and watched the light step of her opponent as she arrived. Ming Mei was wearing a white version of her own outfit. The silk fluttered in the air with her long black hair. They saluted.

“
Hajime
!”

Kamilia advanced rapidly and aggressively, determined to win this fight as quickly as the first. She sent a round kick to her side, but Ming Mei deflected it with barely a glance and slammed her shoulder into Kamilia's chest. The fa-jing impact was devastating - it swept Kamilia off her feet, and she landed a distance away on her back. The impact was audible and Kamilia was too disoriented to get up.

The referee stepped in front of Ming Mei.

“Point to Ming Mei!” he cried. “Are you able to continue?” he asked.

Kamilia nodded and clambered to her feet.

“
Hajime
!”

Kamilia reset herself and kicked at Ming Mei's inner thigh, which was blocked. Without hesitating, she used her momentum to punch at Ming Mei's face, which Ming Mei swept aside with two arms before hopping forward to mount her own attack. With only a few inches of distance between them, she threw her elbow upwards, striking Kamilia under the chin, sending her reeling with confusion. She brought her arm down hard like a hammer on Kamilia’s deltoid, directly between the neck and shoulder. The pain, like several tons of weight, brought her to her knees. Ming Mei arched her back and delivered her final hit: two open palms, toward Kamilia’s chest, flinging her backwards several feet, where she came to rest on the ground, only half-conscious. The referee caught Ming Mei and, seeing that Kamilia was completely done, cried:

“Ming Mei, Winner!”

The crowd roared. Ming Mei saluted Kamilia and floated out of the ring.

*     *     *

Somewhere in the crowd, Maki was observing everything. From the beginning, he'd been on the lookout for new recruits. He'd observed every fighter attentively, from their technique to their attitude. He knew exactly what he was looking for: warriors who would become assassins, the most merciless. As a ninja, Maki had been designated by the brotherhood to recruit potential warriors who deserved the secret, ancestral knowledge. He had an eye for spotting warriors who had a sufficiently black soul and the necessary affinity for violence. He'd spotted his elusive targets from the beginning; a glance was enough. He'd watched to make sure he was right, and was very pleased with himself when his five choices rose to the finals. There was no doubt of Maki’s near-psychic recruiting instinct.

That they had impressed the crowd was an understatement, but Maki saw everything from a different angle. Their violence and talents put together with the most secret knowledge of the ninja way would make them human wrecking balls, capable of enormous damage. They matched exactly what the fraternity had ordered. Maki was a cold, black-eyed Japanese man with no knowledge of pity. The only thing he respected was his ninja family to which he belonged, and for which he was ready to die. He had no sense of morality or emotion. He could kill without batting an eye, which he’d done, many times. He had reflected constantly in these last days and the fighter who had impressed him the most was Danny Namara.

Maki had taken pains to decide, but from the beginning he was clearly different from everyone else. There was something about him he couldn't describe. He wasn't the most skilled or agile fighter in this tournament, but his mind-set was the one of a predator. He was bringing his adversary on his territory like a dragon leading the prey to its cavern to be burned alive. Maki knew that he had won the fight before even starting. Yes, there was something about him... something. The salute Namara used at the end of his fights perplexed him a little. The general salute consisted of a left hand encircling a right fist, yin and yang, peace and war, equilibrium. Namara reversed it: his right hand was on top of his left fist, a symbol of Pak Mei. Maki knew that Pak Mei was an obscure and secret style, the Chinese equivalent of Japan’s ninjutsu. He knew little about Pak Mei, apart from its legendary reputation. He’d thought the style extinct for years. He was surprised to see its aggressiveness and efficiency first hand.

To have studied this much debated art, Namara would have no doubt had good reason to have had access to it. Because of this, he was Maki’s first choice from the outset. He’d watched all of Namara’s fights with fascination and in Maki’s opinion, he would take the whole thing. Satisfied with his instinct, he adjusted his tie and concentrated on the following fights that would surely provide nothing but validation to his pride.

CHAPTER 27

“
Hajime
!”

Ming Mei advanced toward Shinsaku to strike at his face, but he tracked her arm movement and trapped it solidly. He jerked her in a half-circle, throwing her onto the ground with a cry. He let go of her arm just before the bone broke and kicked her face. The referee stopped Shinsaku and he returned to his line, his
hakkama
fluttering behind him.

“Can you continue?”

“Yes, yes,” she cried angrily, licking blood from her lip.

“
Hajime
!”

Shinsaku advanced to finish her off with a hit to the chest, but she blocked his hit early and got her revenge with a punch to his crotch. In the same motion, she caught his chin and smashed her knee right between his legs. It was too much; Shinsaku lost consciousness. She swept his legs out from under him and he went down, hard. The referee ran in before Ming Mei could further punish his unconscious body.

“The winner, Ming Mei!”

Namara looked his future competitor over. He’d seen her fight. She was terrifyingly efficient and ferociously mild. She glued herself to her opponents and had them do her bidding. He wouldn’t be taken so easily. He began to unwind himself, waiting for the presenter to announce the final combat. In his black silk Mao-collared shirt and pants, he stayed calm and unruffled, saving his energy for the fight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment has come for the final combat. The title of champion will be disputed by Danny Namara and Ming Mei Li. Take your positions!”

Danny advanced calmly to his line and rolled up his sleeves.

“Salute your opponent!”

They did, and prepared for the most ferocious fight yet.

“
Hajime
!”

Namara knew that Ming Mei’s instinct was nearly supernatural. He threw her a direct hit and she blocked it, like he’d expected. He followed through, as though he would continue the motion, and then explosively reversed his motion – that, she hadn’t predicted. She lost control of Namara’s arm. He twisted and punched upward under her chin, the force of his exhale rendering the impact devastating. Her head whipped back and she blacked out. Her feet flew out from under her and she landed directly on her back. It had been a few seconds. Namara saluted her limp form as the referee gestured wildly toward him.

“The winner and grand champion: Danny Namara!”

The crowd roared. The presenter offered him his $100,000 cheque. The officials snapped photos with the champion and the tournament ended.

*     *     *

“And what exactly do you plan to do with that purse?” asked Guerra, who was smoking a cigarillo next the window of their hotel room. Below, the Shibuya district and its thousands of neon lights claimed victory over the night.

“I don’t know. Save it for a rainy day, probably,” said Namara around a mouthful of noodles, reclining in an armchair.

“Yeah, I’d do the same. We don’t know anything in our line of work… Putting something off to the side, always a good thing,” he said, puffing on his cigar and watching Tokyo from the twenty-eighth floor.

Guerra had ended up with a black eye and a messed up nose. By some miracle, it wasn’t broken. After he’d come around following the fight, he’d remembered bit-by-bit what had happened. His nose bled for a while and his face was pretty bashed up.

“How’s your face?” Namara asked.

“It’s fine. A bit sensitive, but I’ve seen worse!”

“She’s pretty, eh?” said Namara bitingly between mouthfuls.

“Damn straight. But that bitch got lucky,” he muttered, watching the wind-blown rain slap against the windowpane, smashing into tiny droplets.

“Don’t be such a loser. You were slaughtered out there but you held on!”

“I already told you that I would go out.”

“Yeah,” said Namara.

“What did you think of the others?”

“They’re all solid fighters in their disciplines.”

“Yeah, the tai chi was impressive. I always thought tai chi was relaxation for old people.”

“And clearly, you were wrong. The Japanese guy was good as well, but the hits he took were his own fault. I wonder if he’ll be able to have kids – jeez, his nuts must be the size of beach balls by now.”

“If he has any left,” Guerra sniggered.

“Honestly… Shinsaku and Kamilia were at a serious disadvantage. Give him a sword or her a knife…”

“Well... same thing for me... just give me a gun!”

“I know... you’re the best marksman I’ve met.” said Namara.

“I’ve never seen so much
light
! It’s like we’re in outer space!” said Guerra, eyes still glued to the view. “You know, there’s a hundred more people milling about down there than there is in New York, and it’s a hundred times cleaner. It looks like you could lick the asphalt, it’s incredible!”

“Just about.”

Their banter was interrupted when an envelope slid in from under the door with the barest
swish
. They looked at it for a few seconds like it might explode. Guerra moved first; he ran to the door and threw it open, but the corridor was utterly empty – no sign of the messenger.

“What the…” He peered down both sides like he refused to believe his eyes. Then he knelt to take the envelope, letting the door swing shut behind him. Namara watched him pull out a card and begin to read.

“What’s it say?”

“Apparently we’ve been chosen to receive a… ‘unique ancestral training’,” said Guerra dryly.

“What kind of training?” asked Namara, who was not exactly new to clandestine instruction.

“Dunno. Doesn’t say. It’s an address and a time – twenty-hundred, if we’re interested – and it says to ask for ‘Maki’.”

“Alright.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think that I am curious even if curiosity is a bad habit!”

CHAPTER 28

The address led them to a little restaurant in a Shibuya side street. Namara and Guerra walked there in the mass of people circulating through the neighborhood and its thousands of lights. Japanese characters in all colors burned themselves into their eyeballs. They veered off into a miniscule alley where you could fit two people across. Raised white lanterns lit the street at intervals of two hundred meters. The address sat atop a huge wooden door, which Namara opened, and together they strode into the dimly lit restaurant. A hostess greeted them with a smile.

“For two?”

“Uhhh… actually, I think our friend is already here… he’s called Maki?” said Guerra hesitantly.

“Follow me.”

The hostess led them to the back of the restaurant into a little private salon, closed off by paper screens. The central table was lit with little candles and surrounded, to their surprise, by the other three finalists of the
Shiai
. At the head of the table sat a little Japanese man with black eyes that scrutinized them the minute they stepped into the room.

“Welcome, gentlemen, I’m glad you’ve accepted my invitation. Be seated, I pray you. My name is Maki.”

James and Danny joined the others kneeling at the table and everyone stared at each other in silence.

“Now that we’re all here, we can begin,” said Maki. “Welcome, and thank you for responding. You are here because you have been chosen out of everyone to receive a training belonging to my fraternity. It is an honor for me to be in the company of martial artists of your caliber and a privilege for our family to bestow upon you our ancestral heritage, should you agree to accept it,” said Maki in a tone that made it impossible for them to tell whether the honor was his or theirs.

“What training are you talking about?” Kamilia demanded.

“It is an art that has existed since time immemorial in our country and which is obscured in secrecy. Our reputation is legendary and our accomplishments are the stuff of history. If you accept, my dear brothers and sisters in arms, you will become the best assassins and spies the world has ever known. You will become something
other
. In fact, you will become ninjas!”

“Why us?” demanded Shinsaku, his gaze nearly as cold as Maki’s.

“Our family rests in the shadows, as ninjas do. We have existed for centuries and we have survived until now, despite the majority of Japanese who believe that the true ninjas are a myth of the past. Our exploits are embedded within popular folklore and they have come to believe that we are fiction, a myth. Not so. It is we who have mystified our existence by opening ninjutsu dojos, teaching a style of self-defense that has little to do with our true art. Ninjutsu is more than a simple martial art. It is training to be an unstoppable assassin in the shadow, a doctrine, an order, a business. We are merchants of death and the demand for that product is on the rise these days. We observe, we reign in silence and we seek worthy pupils to receive the knowledge of our brotherhood so that the art survives and journeys through time, as it has done so far. Our family has chosen you!”