Free The Nicholas Linnear Novels by Eric Van Lustbader Page B

time.
    “What does he mean?” Florum said.
    Nicholas took a deep breath. “The art of ninjutsu,” he said, “is very ancient. So old, in fact, that no one is certain of its origin, though speculation is that it was born in a region of China. The Japanese took many things from Chinese culture over the centuries. There is an element of … superstition involved. One could even say magic.”
    “Magic?” echoed Doc Deerforth. “Are you seriously suggesting …?”
    “In the history of Japan,” Nicholas said, “it is oftentimes difficult to separate fact from legend. I am not trying to be melodramatic. This is the way it is in Japan. Feats have been ascribed to the ninja that would have been impossible without the aid of some kind of magic.”
    “Tall tales,” said Florum. “Every country’s got ’em.”
    “Yes. Possibly.”
    “And the poison you found?”
    “Is a ninja poison. Swallowed, it’s quite harmless. A favorite method of administering it was to make a quick-drying syrup of it and coat the shaken with it.”
    “What’s that?” Florum asked.
    “These are part of a ninja’s arsenal of silent, easily concealed weapons, his short-bladed shuriken. The shaken is a star-shaped metal object. Flung through the air by the ninja, it becomes a most lethal weapon. And coated with this poison, the weapon need not even puncture a vital spot for the victim to die.”
    Florum snorted. “Are you trying to tell me that that stiff was killed by a ninja? Jesus, Linnear, you said they died out three hundred years ago.”
    “No,” Nicholas corrected. “I merely said that that was the last time they were used in any major Way. Many things have changed in Japan since the sixteen hundreds and the Tokugawa shōgunate, and the country is, in many respects, no longer what it once was. However, there are traditions that are impossible to obliterate by either man or time.”
    “There’s got to be another explanation,” Florum said, shaking his head. “What would a ninja be doing in West Bay Bridge?”
    “I’m afraid that’s something I can’t answer,” Nicholas said. “But I know this. There is a ninja abroad here and in all the world there is no more deadly or clever foe. You must take extreme caution. Modern weapons—guns, grenades, tear gas—will give you no security against him, for he knows of all these things and they will not deter him from destroying his, intended target and escaping unseen.”
    “Well, he’s already done that,” Florum said, getting up. “Thanks for the information.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice meeting you both.” He nodded. “Doc.” And with that he left.
    The moment Justine heard the knock on her door she felt her heart sink. She put down her pen and, wiping her hands on a chamois cloth, came away from the drawing board. The light had been just right; she preferred the daylight to the gooseneck lamp clamped to the board, even though its combination of fluorescent and incandescent bulbs gave her a decent approximation of natural illumination.
    She let Nicholas in.
    “They called you about that body, didn’t they?” she said.
    He went across the room and sat on the sofa, hands behind his head. “What body?”
    “You know. The one they took out of the water the day we met.”
    “Yes. That’s the one.” He looked tired and drawn to her.
    “Why did they call you?”
    He looked up at her. “They thought I might be able to help them find out how he died.”
    “You mean he didn’t drown? But what would you—”
    “Justine, why didn’t you tell me your father is Raphael Tomkin?”
    Her hands, which had been in front of her, fingers interlaced, dropped to her side. “What possible reason would I have to tell you?” she said.
    “Do you think I’d be after your money?”
    “Don’t be absurd.” She gave a little laugh but it came out quite strangled. “I don’t have any money.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “What difference could it make who my father