"One might call it heirloom. It belonged to dear friend of my father. He is deceased and sword was all my father had left of him. When my father died he made me promise to keep sword in family. I must keep promise to my father."
Okay. Jack understood that. But odd the thief would take a worthless heirloom back to New York. Unless…
"Maybe it's worth more than you think."
Naka shook his head. "I think not." From an inside pocket in his suit jacket he pulled a pair of photos and handed them across the table. "See for yourself."
The first showed a long, slim sword, its naked, curved blade lying atop a wooden stand, cutting edge facing up. The long, tapered tang was exposed—someone had removed the handle. The blade looked strangely mottled. The next photo was closer in and slightly blurred, revealing the mottling as a random pattern of irregular holes in the steel. The cutting edge was perfectly preserved, but the rest was Swiss-cheesed.
"A samurai sword?"
"Yes," Naka said. "A katana."
"No offense, but it looks like a piece of junk."
"In very real sense, it is. But to my family it is priceless. Therefore it make no sense for someone to steal unless they mean to ransom back to us."
Jack looked again at the moth-eaten blade and agreed: no sense at all.
"And you've received no demand?"
"Nothing. And thief has fled islands."
This didn't make a whole lot of sense. Jack felt some key element was missing—or being withheld.
"Aren't some of these swords valuable?"
Naka nodded. "Nihont fashioned by ancient swordsmiths such as Masamune and Muramasa—especially those signed by Masamune—are rare and of most extreme value."
Most of what Jack had just heard was meaningless.
"Nihont?"
"Only swords forged in Japan can be called nihont. Foreign-made imitations cannot."
"And I take it this blade isn't signed by Moonimalaya or whoever."
"No one. Especially not Masamune." He pronounced the name with exaggerated clarity, as if speaking to a five-year-old. "A Masamune sword would never corrode as this one did."
Jack squinted at the photo and spotted a tiny figure carved into the steel of the tang:
He turned the photo toward Naka and pointed. "Someone's signed something there."
Naka glanced at it and nodded. "Yes. The two characters separately mean 'outside' and 'person.' Together they mean 'foreigner.' "
That tripped a memory.
"Oh. Gaijin."
Naka blinked. "You know this word?"
"I know a few words. Arigato and all that."
In truth he'd picked up "gaijin" reading Clavell's Shogun, but no need to let this guy know.
Naka pointed to the engraving and looked at him directly for the first time. "Does this mean anything to you?"
Jack shrugged. "Only that I'd be a gaijin in your country just as you are in mine."
"Yes." Naka sounded relieved and averted his gaze again. "That is what it should mean."
What's that all about? Jack wondered.
He decided to push a little.
"So if I want to get this sword back for you, all I have to do is go around asking about a rotted-out blade with gaijin written on the hasp."
Naka's seat jump was almost comical.
"No-no-no! You must not. Such inquiries could reach wrong ears."
"So it is valuable."
"No. It is not. As I tell you, original owner might hear. It would want back."
"It?"
"A museum in Japan."
Good. He could handle a museum. Jack didn't want some kind of Zatichi coming after him.
The food arrived then. The burger came open-face style. Jack assembled it and took a big chomp—heaven—while Naka started to poke at his salad.
After a couple of bites, Jack forced himself to speak. He would much rather have wallowed in the ground sirloin until it was gone.
"And why would this sword have been in a museum?"
"Because it is old. It was but minor part of much larger collection, but if museum hear, it will want back."
"Gotcha."
Naka looked at him again, a plea in his eyes. "You can do this?"
"I can only promise to try."
"No. You must succeed! Moki's consort said—"