Bamboo Bloodbath and Ninja's Revenge

  "Have you a map?" he inquired.

  "At home."

  "Excellent! I shall also need one of your metal coat hangers."

  "A map and a coat hanger?" I asked blankly.

  He nodded. "To locate the diamonds and identify our enemy."

  I shrugged mentally. Everything Hiroshi did made sense, eventually. He had strategies and perceptions and ways of thinking that fell outside any conventional scheme. In time it would come clear, I hoped.

  At my apartment he took my map of Manhattan and laid it out flat on the table. Then he took the coat hanger, cut off the

  hook, and twisted the remainder into something like a slingshot. He held it up. "Does that suffice?" he inquired, for all the world like a harmless nut.

  "I think you need a rubber band," I said, making a gesture as of a slingshot being loosed.

  He smiled. He took the ends of the Y in the fingers of each hand and held the point over the map. He reminded me of nothing so much as a charlatan dowsing for water.

  Dowsing? Oh, no! "Hiroshi, you aren't seriously trying to...?"

  He ignored me. The point moved back and forth over the map, as though questing. Hiroshi's eyes were closed, his face serene. I suspected he had gone into a light trance.

  Emanations from an object—that I could understand, cynical though I might be about a person's ability to perceive them. But to locate such an object by dowsing over a map!

  Hiroshi looked up. "Nothing. Have you another map?"

  "There are other sections of the city and suburbs. What do you want?"

  "Evidently the diamonds have been removed from the immediate vicinity. They should show up on a map of Greater New York."

  "That figures," I said. "Only eight million people to choose from."

  I dug out the map, and he spread it out as before, weighting it down with knives and spoons to flatten the creases. He resumed his dowsing.

  The point dipped. Hiroshi's eyes opened. "There." I looked at the map. The clothes hanger pointed to Long Island. "You have a map of Long Island?"

  I rummaged in my collection and produced a tattered map. Again Hiroshi dowsed. Again the stick dipped. This time it pointed to an area I remembered as a classy suburban neighborhood where I knew there were a number of wealthy estates.

  "One of these people would hardly need to steal," I remarked dubiously. Was this dowsing real, or merely random? And if real, was it because of his sensitivity to the diamonds, or did he actually have a notion where they might be? If he had a prime suspect, why didn't he just say so?

  "It is not for the money for them," he said. "It is to take the money from us. So that the ninjas cannot move equipment to the Amazon."

  "Oh." I should have seen it for myself. "Then you do have some idea who is behind this theft."

  "Yes. But there are several possibilities. We must be sure before we act."

  A good policy anytime. But it left me still in doubt whether he was sure, or guessing, or trusting to magic. If he proposed to make demands on some wealthy New York person simply because his dowsing rod had dipped over that spot of the map...

  "How do you propose to act?" I inquired suspiciously.

  He turned innocent eyes upon me. "Why, you and I shall go there tonight and recover the diamonds."

  "Just like that," I said. "We just knock on the door and say 'Please give back the ice,' and hold out a hand?"

  "No, I think we shall not ask. We shall take."

  "One theft doesn't justify another!"

  He ignored this point. "It must be done swiftly and privately. We do not want your newspapers to exploit the matter."

  I sighed. My certainty that Hiroshi would never commit a crime was taking a beating. And what about me? I was in it with him. The thing was impossible, but what could I do?

  It was no private estate. It was the Brazilian embassy. Or consulate, or residence for the staff thereof; I wasn't clear on that. But I did know it was the property of a foreign nation, and that hardly eased my concern. Were we about to be involved in an international incident?

  Horrified, I tried again to talk Hiroshi out of it, but he was unshakable. His dowsing had shown the way and identified the opposition, he claimed; now he wanted the diamonds back. If I didn't go with him, he would do it alone.

  It was a big old house surrounded by a garden. The main domicile was hardly visible from the streets because of the high stone wall, theoretically decorative, but with little pieces of colored glass embedded in the top to prevent ready access.

  We decided the best approach was through the garden. I boosted Hiroshi up so he could peer over the top; he was amazingly light, hardly a hundred pounds.

  But inside, we discovered, were vicious attack dogs. I could hear their swift, businesslike approach; there seemed to be four of them. It would be possible for us to subdue them, but it would be an ugly, noisy business that would rouse the neighborhood, defeating our purpose. Even a harmless lapdog can be excellent protection because of the noise it makes, alerting its owner to intrusion. Robbers don't like dogs.

  I didn't like dogs much either, at the moment. Which showed the current state of my conscience.

  Well, we had come prepared, in ninja fashion. Hiroshi tossed doped meat over the wall to them; one mouthful would put the canines to sleep for hours. That was one reason this approach through the garden was best; the people inside would not pay undue attention to noise, assuming it was the dogs. We might even have to bark a bit.

  No joke! In medieval Japan the ninjas used to carry tame crickets with them, so that when the wild crickets were silenced by the surreptitious approach of the spy, in this way warning an alert guard, the tame ones would take up the musical slack. Thus there was no interruption in the background noise of the night, and no one suspected the presence of the ninja. We could do the same by imitating the sounds of the dogs.

  Alas, not so easy. These dogs were well-trained and well-fed; they would not touch the meat. So Hiroshi produced his second trick, a tiny vial containing a milky liquid.

  "They won't go for poison," I said dubiously.

  He unstoppered the vial. I didn't smell anything special, but suddenly the attitude of the dogs changed. They leaped at the wall where Hiroshi poured the fluid, whining. "Essence of bitch-in-heat," he explained.

  Clever! For a male dog, that was the ultimate perfume. Human beings are to a large extent eye-oriented. Dogs are nose-oriented. They could no more ignore this smell than I could ignore a shapely nude belly dancer performing in the street. Certain matters require immediate attention.

  We did not, after all, try to scale the garden wall on this side; our presence just might distract the dogs from their futile romantic quest. I wondered fleetingly what Hiroshi would have come up with if they had turned out to be bitches. How much of his technique was skill and how much luck, I could not guess.

  We moved around to the rear, following the wall. At intervals there were small iron spikes set vertically in the top. Presumably these were intended to further discourage intrusions, while beautifying the premises. As it happened, those sharp spikes had the opposite effect on us.

  I had a kyoketsu-shogi, a double-bladed knife attached to a genuine woman's-hair cord with a ring on the end. Another handy little ninja item.

  I threw the ring at a spike, as though I were playing horseshoes. I missed. I tried again, and missed again. Then Hiroshi took it from me, skimmed it up once, and the ring settled neatly over the spike.

  I donned tegaki, the spiked brass knuckles, took the cord in both hands and walked up the wall. The broad iron bands around my hands protected my palms from the glass as I seized the top of the wall. This ninja equipment was actually pretty good. They had really known how to infiltrate, those Japanese agents; their tools were simple yet sophisticated.

  I pulled the knife up after me, unhooked the ring, and jumped down inside the garden. I crossed quickly to the rear wall of the house, concerned lest the dogs discover me after all. Now I had a harder ascent: up th
e rough wall like a human fly, no rope this time. For a true ninja this might be child's play; for me it was horrendous.

  Now I donned some more of the artifacts Hiroshi had provided, tabi, Japanese socks with metal spikes to give my feet purchase. They actually worked; I scaled the wall as though I were climbing a tree.

  Hiroshi had told me where to look for the diamonds. I still hardly believed his dowsing, but he seemed so certain that it was easier simply to go along. I squatted on the broad sill, feeling terribly exposed; one shot from inside the room would finish me. But Hiroshi had assured me that the man guarding the diamonds was asleep.

  I brought out the little glass cutter and stroked it along the pane. The cutter had a diamond blade, and theoretically would do the job. Nothing seemed to happen, so I stroked again, bearing down harder. Unsatisfied, I ran my finger across the cut, and lo! a channel was forming. Hiroshi had instructed me in its use during the day, but that's not the same as doing it while perching insecurely on a window ledge.

  I never really fancied myself as a second-story man, but I did feel a certain responsibility for the diamonds I had lost, so I suppressed my misgivings and continued with the job. First I made a horizontal cut and covered it with sticky tape. Then I made a vertical cut from each end, and finally a bottom cut. The tape hinge held the severed panel in place. When the cuts had been completed, I drew out the panel with a small suction-cup device so that it would not fall. I freed it from the tape and set it carefully aside. Now I could enter.

  Inside the room was a bed with a cabinet beside it. Obviously the diamonds were in the cabinet. Sure enough, the guard was asleep. Evidently he didn't believe there'd be any trouble, especially in the early evening. How could we know where the diamonds were, let alone recover them?

  I stood indecisively. Maybe we didn't know. All we had to go on was Hiroshi's dowsing. If we were wrong—well, no wonder the man was asleep. He had nothing to guard. In fact, he was probably a functionary of the embassy or consulate, snoozing away his off-shift, as he had every right to do. He might be on duty at night, so he had to sleep in the daytime.

  With resignation I went to the cabinet. Might as well finish this charade and get out. I checked the top drawer but didn't see any alarm wires. I tugged at its handle. It was locked.

  I looked at the sleeping man. There was a key on a string around his neck. I reached across him and carefully cut the string. How many ninjas had performed just this sort of chore in ages past? I took the key and tried it. Success: the drawer slid open. And it was empty. So were all the other drawers. Just as I thought. A wild-goose chase. Disgusted with myself for ever getting involved in this, I turned away.

  "Do not move, señor," a gruff voice said. Something hard jammed into my back.

  I reacted automatically. The man was an amateur; he should have held his weapon back, not making contact with my body. I turned rapidly, twisting my torso sidewise so as to remove it from the line of fire. My right hand shoved the gun aside and up, catching the barrel, twisting. But his finger caught in the trigger guard, and the gun fired. I felt the burn of it on my wrist.

  Then I reversed my swing as I wrenched the weapon out of his hand. I felt the crack as his finger snapped. I clipped him on the chin with the metal butt. He fell back on the bed, unconscious. The bullet had hit the ceiling. I was not hurt, except for the powder burn. But I had only seconds before the whole house would be on my back. And I hadn't recovered the diamonds. In fact, I was now guilty of breaking and entering, and battery, for no reason the authorities would believe.

  Feverishly I searched the man, just in case. Nothing. Then I ripped the sheets off the bed, flipping them over the man while I checked under the mattress. Nothing.

  I looked up-and saw the safe in the corner. Fine sleuth I was! There was the obvious place—and I had no way to get into it. My time had been wasted from the start.

  I turned, ready to sneak out, and there was a huge goon blocking the doorway, the biggest monster I had seen in a long time. He was about six feet six inches tall, wide in proportion, and must have weighed three hundred pounds, only some of which was fat. An ugly scar ran down his face. He was hairy, with wrists as big as normal hands. He was wearing incongruous sky-pink pajamas. There was no mistaking his intent, however. He charged me with a hideous roar: pure kill-lust.

  I grabbed him by the head, one hand on each side. I turned and twisted that head to the side while pulling forward with all my strength. It was a forbidden neck lock, but this was no polite tournament match. We know a lot in judo and karate and the other martial arts that is never used in sport, for reasons of safety. In a normal man the neck would have snapped instantly. But this giant had such a neck! It was so big that it hardly seemed to exist. A column of muscle and gristle that filled the region between ears and shoulders, leaving scarcely any indentation. I succeeded only in wrenching it, causing him discomfort that hardly improved his disposition, and in throwing the man against the bed.

  The bed collapsed under his weight, dumping its other occupant. The giant twisted about like a crocodile and started to get up. I planted a swift kick with the heel of my foot to the back of his knee, breaking the meniscus of the joint and tearing the tendons. It was a brutal injury. Another man would have sprawled on the floor screaming, for such damage to the knee is extremely painful. This one got up somehow and lunged at me as I turned to leave the room via the window. But with all his weight on it, his leg collapsed under him, and he dropped heavily to the floor. Still he tried to crawl after me, and I had no desire to grapple with him!

  I could not get past him to the window; and if I could, I would not have time to don my hand and foot spikes for the descent before he grabbed me. The giant's knee was broken, but the rest of him was more than I could handle in the time I had. At any moment the rest of the household would be upon me. So I had to use the door to flee.

  I sidled into the empty hail. There was a landing leading to an ornate staircase complete with curling banister. I trotted down, resisting the irrational urge to slide down the banister. But another man appeared at the bottom. As he spied me, he tried to pull a gun. I jumped the rest of the way down, both feet forward. I struck him on the chest, my feet crushing several of his bones and his sternum. He was knocked unconscious, and his body served to break my fall. I completed the action in a front roll, ducking my head to let my shoulders and back bear the brunt of the impact harmlessly. The first thing a judo student learns is how to take a fall, and it is well worth knowing. I came neatly back to my feet, and there was the front door.

  The giant was crawling down the stairs, dragging his leg, doggedly pursuing me. I didn't have the diamonds, but I had to get out. I opened the front door.

  Two policemen were charging up the walk as I looked out. Hastily I drew back, but there was the giant, pulling himself erect against the banister, able to hop on one foot, and still plenty dangerous. I could not afford to tangle with either the giant or the law. I froze.

  Then an old blind man with a white cane and dark glasses appeared on a crosswalk. What on earth he was doing here I couldn't guess; maybe consulates were soft touches for beggars. I was hardly concerned with him; right now I had to foil the two police guards and find Hiroshi and get the hell out of here. What a disaster!

  Then, surprisingly, the blind man stepped into the guards, holding up something small and round. They both stopped and stared. The blind man swung his cane to strike the first man on the back of the head, knocking him out. Then a flourish like that of a kendo bamboo sword master, and the cane hit the gun hand of the other guard and continued straight into the solar plexus. Had it been a sword, it would have skewered him. Both guards were out, but not wounded.

  "Hiroshi!" I exclaimed, catching on.

  He made one of his little bows. "I did not really hurt them. Come, we must depart."

  "But I didn't get the—"

  He stopped me with a gesture. In his hand he held another little bag, and I knew by his manner that it containe
d the diamonds. "They had placed the diamonds in a secure place," he said. "I discovered this too late to inform you."

  He was trying to spare my feelings, but I saw through him. I had, I realized, been a decoy, sent in after the decoy guard and decoy safe. Hiroshi had allowed me to spring the trap and distract the guards and make a commotion, while he zeroed in on the bag himself. No sense leaving the job of recovery to an incompetent.

  Or was it even more insidious? Hiroshi had been incredibly nonchalant about the diamonds from the outset, and he was not a careless man. There had really been too little time for him to enter the house, open a safe, emerge unobserved, and don the blindman disguise. If he had the real diamonds now, he must have had them all along.

  I felt a prickle of discovery as we made our rapid, silent way out. Could he have given me imitations for stealing, while he kept the real ones safe all the time? Why?

  I could not ask him directly, for he would never hurt my feelings by admitting such a ruse. But as I mulled it over, it made sense of a sort. The job had been done: the diamonds had been stolen and yet kept safe, the enemy had been exposed, and my commitment to the dubious cause of Fu Antos had been tested and cemented.

  Still, there were loose threads, elements that didn't quite jibe. If the diamonds I had had were fakes, and had not been recovered by Hiroshi, surely the enemy knew it now. So they would naturally plot to obtain the real ones. That would renew the danger.

  We should have left things strictly alone, allowing them to discover the ruse in their own time, too late to stop the fencing of the diamonds and the delivery of the arms to Fu Antos. Why had Hiroshi insisted on complicating the picture, antagonizing the enemy at peril to our lives? These were not small-time hoods we were dealing with; these were thoroughgoing international gangsters, a tough breed. That giant...

  There, too, an answer of sorts emerged from the shrouds. Hiroshi did not want merely to identify the enemy; he wanted that enemy to know that he knew, and to feel the weight of Fu Antos' retribution. Not only would it be clear that no place was safe from the ninja lord's infiltration; a new dimension had been opened. For they would now check the diamonds in the safe and have them appraised by experts, and the stones would be exposed as fakes. They would have to assume that the raid had after all been successful.