Chameleon

5

The short Japanese woman walked briskly down the fenced street to the kendo school. She could hear the sharp, flat reports of the bamboo swords striking each other before she entered the large, brightly lit room.

Inside, it might have been a scene from the seventeenth century. There were twenty students in all, each well protected by thick headgear and ribbed masks called men, hard, bamboo-backed jackets called do, by kotes, leather gauntlets covering their hands and wrists, and a padded tare shielding stomach and groin.

She walked down the side of the room to a podium in the front and stood silently in the corner, watching the master sensei, the teacher, as he seemed to float around the room, watching each of the teams as they dueled, occasionally stepping in to make a point. The shinai ‘swords,’ made of four bamboo slats laced together at the grip with leather, smacked sharply as the students attempted to score points, striking at the top of the head, the right wrist, the right torso and the throat.

The sensei taught by example. When he wished to instruct a student he simply moved in, taking over the role of the opponent. His moves were dazzling. She saw him score three points with what looked like a single move. He bowed to the student and moved on, working his way across the room until he was near her.

He leaned his shinai against the wall,

‘Excuse me, Okari-san,’ she said. ‘I would not interrupt your class, but it-is important.’

‘I understand, Ichida,’ he said quietly. ‘I assume things are happening in Tokyo?’

‘Hai. The one known as Kazuo is much better than we thought.’

‘So? Kei and his friends did not discourage him, then?’

‘Kei is in the hospital. His jaw is broken. The others were also hurt. He said it was like fighting the wind.’

The kendo master said nothing for several seconds. He watched his students at work, and without turning, asked, ‘And has he made progress, this Kazuo?’

‘Perhaps. He first went to the Hall of Records and then to visit a man named Hadashi at the Kancho-uchi. He was at the Kabuki Theatre asking questions about make-up and actors who have worked there in the past. And now he is here.’

‘In Kyoto?’

‘Hai. He stays at the home of the Tokenrui. And he has made plans to go to Tanabe later today.’

‘Interesting.’

‘He knows the country and our ways. He moves easily.’

‘He is just like the others. He was once with the CIA. They are all alike. What about the Englishman?’

‘He is much more subtle. It is as if they did not know each other.’

‘And the other two?’

‘They were still in Tokyo last night.’

‘I will deal with them later. Thank you. I am sorry about Kei, but I am sure he will recover. It is comforting to know I can rely on my friends.’

The Japanese called Ichida bowed again. ‘Shall we continue to follow him?’ she asked.

‘No. But keep the two in Tokyo in view. First I must dispose of the assassin, O’Hara, who poses as a journalist. After that, we will deal with the others.’

And with that he turned, and moving with the grace of a dancer, whirled through the students like a dervish, scoring point after point after point until he had challenged them all. And then he stopped and removed his men and laughed.