Part 20 (2/2)

”Well, that's no fun,” Jiro said. ”Wait here.”

He vanished into the crates and Annja could hear him rummaging through a variety of boxes. ”How's the training going anyway?” Jiro asked Ken.

”Well. How about yours?”

Jiro's head popped up. ”Finally got my shodan shodan.”

”Congratulations.”

”A black belt,” Annja said, ”what style?”

”Judo.”

”Jiro's been training for almost twelve years now.”

Annja lowered her voice. ”It's taken him that long to get his black belt?”

Ken nodded. ”Judo training here in j.a.pan is very austere. They promote very slowly to discourage rank hounds from even signing up. But Jiro is quite accomplished at what he does. I've seen him take down men twice his size on the street without batting an eye.”

A pair of black backpacks landed at their feet. Annja bent and picked one up. The ripstop nylon would repel rain and keep the contents dry. It was large enough to fit a change of clothes and provisions along with some rope. ”Seems decent enough,” she said.

”They're made in Egypt. Cheap knockoffs, but just as good qualitywise,” Jiro said. ”I wouldn't try to pa.s.s them off as L.L. Bean goods, but I don't think that's on your agenda anyway. Am I right?”

”Yes,” Ken said.

Jiro vanished again and Annja turned to Ken. ”You've known each other for a long time?”

”About ten years. Jiro supplies me whenever I go abroad. I met him when he was a pickpocket in Kyoto, eking out a living stealing wallets from tourists. I encouraged him to think a little bigger.”

”And you got him into stolen goods?”

Ken smiled. ”You have to admit it's a step up.”

”I guess.”

Jiro came around the corner with a box full of canned goods. ”You guys like ravioli?”

Annja took a can and recognized the familiar smiling face of a well-known American brand of canned pasta. ”Sure.”

”You don't have any noodles?” Ken asked.

”Sorry pal, fresh out. I've got British rations in the back, though, if you want those instead.”

”Not a chance.”

”Wise move,” Jiro said. ”How about sleeping bags?”

”We'll need them,” Ken said.

Annja started loading the backpacks with the canned ravioli. ”How long do you think we'll be out there? These are pretty heavy.”

”Hopefully no longer than a day or two.” Ken shook his head. ”I don't think I'll be able to stand ravioli after that.”

”It's for a good cause,” Annja said. ”Just imagine how good it'll taste once we get it warmed up.”

”Can't wait,” Ken said.

Several jackets, sweaters and pants came flying out of the darkness of the crates. Jiro's voice called out, ”I've estimated sizes, so don't yell at me if it's not a perfect fit for you guys. I'm not running a clothing store. But it should fit pretty well anyway.”

Annja picked up some of the clothes and held them up. The dark parkas seemed well suited to the cooler climate of the mountains. She pa.s.sed a pair of cargo pants to Ken, who slid them into a backpack.

Jiro came back with two sleeping bags. ”You'll love these. Latest generation from Canada. Specifically built to roll up small but balloon up and conserve heat. Plus they're nice and roomy. I've got a pair of hunting knives in here, as well, because knowing Ken, you guys aren't that far removed from trouble.”

Annja smiled. ”You've got a rep.”

Ken shrugged. ”I try to live it down, truly I do.”

Jiro slapped the sleeping bags down and handed them each a knife. ”All right, now the fun stuff really begins.”

”Fun stuff?” Annja asked.

Ken sighed. ”That's what Jiro says when it's time to figure out how much I owe him.”

21.

Shuko's naked body glistened with sweat. Nezuma could see every thin cord of wiry muscle wrapping itself around her bones, throbbing beneath her skin like some majestic hidden snake. Her eyes blazed.

Nezuma waited for her in the neck-deep waters of the ofuro ofuro steam bath. The temperature hovered just above one hundred degrees, and in contrast to the night air, the steam wafted about them both as Shuko approached the cedar-lined bath. steam bath. The temperature hovered just above one hundred degrees, and in contrast to the night air, the steam wafted about them both as Shuko approached the cedar-lined bath.

She lifted one leg to step over the edge into the water and Nezuma smiled with appreciation. She saw where his eyes were staring and moved her leg ever so slightly to conceal herself. She knew it drove him crazy.

Her leg slid into the waters totally without fear. She leaned forward and brought the rest of herself into the water. She stood before Nezuma and said nothing. She never did when they made love.

Shuko sank into the water up to her neck and dipped her head back into the water. When she came up, her wet hair streaked down her back, framing her face.

It had taken them years before each was comfortable enough with the other to indulge in the s.e.x they both knew they wanted. Nezuma had taken her to Paris one week close to Christmas and had shown her the Eiffel Tower. They had dined in the finest restaurant in Paris, drunk the finest wine and then gone back to his room, where he undressed her as if he were uncovering the most delicate and delectable treasure. She had exploded in pleasure the moment they connected.

Now, Nezuma could see her eyes drooping into the limpid state that he loved in all beautiful women. Shuko knew precisely how to use her s.e.xuality to her utmost advantage. He had seen her do it enough times since their first encounter. Shuko could seduce men and women with ease. She usually seduced them in order to kill them or steal their secrets.

She drew closer to him, her moist lips brus.h.i.+ng the surface of the water.

The ritual varied, but the goal was always the same-see how long they could stand being this close to contact before one of them gave in.

Shuko eased away from Nezuma with a teasing smile.

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