and then to Nezuma.
“Next time,” she said through gritted teeth.
Nezuma smiled.
Annja hobbled over to her bag and drank down some of the last remaining water in her bottle. The crowd at the budokan was still cheering Nezuma and he soaked up the adoration. He bowed several times and then left the mat. The spectators left soon after, filing out in the same orderly way as they had come into the budokan .
Annja sat there for another few minutes, catching her breath. She sucked at the bottle and realized that she was out of the precious fluid.
“Here.”
She looked up and into the deepest, darkest eyes she’d seen on a man. He held out a fresh bottle of water and smiled.
Wow, Annja thought. “Thanks,” was all she could say.
“That was some fight. You held your own against him remarkably well.”
“Remarkably well? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He held up his hands. “Please, I meant no disrespect. I certainly do not share Nezuma’s viewpoint on the role of women in society.”
“You know what he thinks about women?” Annja asked.
He smirked. “Nezuma has made no secret of his views on women and the martial arts. You can read about them in any number of magazines.” He watched as the budokan emptied out. “Nezuma is an extremely adept opponent, however. But you made him work for that win. And that is something that doesn’t happen too often. You should be quite proud of how well you fared.”
Annja grimaced. “I’ll save that for when I’m feeling better. Right now, my guts feel like they want to stage a revolt in my stomach.”
He offered his hand. “My name is Kennichi Ogawa. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Creed.”
Annja stared at him. “Nice to meet you.”
“It’s not often that this tournament attracts someone of your…professional stature.”
Annja frowned. “You’ve heard of my work?”
“Certainly. You are, in fact, the reason why I am in attendance 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.”
