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"It's men like these who give our arts a bad name and bring shame on us all," Sensei Mashuta said. His face and voice were calm but his eyes reflected his anger and shame as he listened to Skipper present the situation as he knew or suspected it to be so far. The great sensei was impressed with Skipper's manners and his knowledge of Asian culture. He made a mental note to compliment Grandmaster Lee on the excellent demeanor of his senior student. In the Orient it's often felt that Americans have no manners or social skills. When one turns up who does it's worthy of comment.

Sensei Mashuta rose and walked back across his charmingly plain office, stopping at his desk. Picking up pen and paper he wrote a name and address which he gave to Skipper with a slight bow, saying, "This may be of value to you. To our shame this Sensei is well known for teaching the type of person you've described. He accepts, even encourages, men of poor moral character to practice at his dojo. They practice the darker side of our arts for the purpose of using them against other men for equally dark purposes.

"The corrupt breed corruption and though their skills are great they have little moral fiber to strengthen them. He is also known to have several American students who train with him much of the time. Perhaps among them are the ones you seek. If not him, then perhaps one of his students is teaching them."

Skipper was elated. This was just the kind of lead he needed. "Thank you, Sensei Mashuta. Your assistance has been of great value. I hope you'll find your trust hasn't been misplaced." Skipper and Yoshi bowed, then turned to leave.

"Mr. Mason."

Skipper turned and felt the Sensei staring past his eyes into his soul. "Guard yourself well. Place your faith in Sensei Nakagawa. He will not fail you. The path you have chosen will test you beyond that which you have seen in your life. Call on your art and your faith; reach into your soul for strength. Only then will you succeed." The Sensei's piercing eyes held Skipper's gaze a few moments longer, until Skipper looked away.

The only other person able to force Skipper to break eye contact first was Grandmaster Lee. Skipper bowed again and left without further comment.

As Skipper smoothly guided Yoshi's powerful Toyota through Tokyo to the other side of town he thought about Sensei Mashuta's cryptic words. He glanced over at Yoshi who was staring straight ahead. "You didn't tell me you're also a sensei, Yoshi. What rank do you hold?" Skipper hoped he wasn't being too forward.

"I'm now a fifth degree black belt in both Jujitsu and Shotokan. Sensei Mashuta honors me with the title of sensei; I don't have my own school, though I do instruct members of my unit at the police department. And you?"

Skipper laughed. "I hold fifth dan black belt ranking in the Korean martial arts of Taekwondo and Hapkido. I don't have my own school either, but I often teach at Master Lee's school." Skipper and Yoshi looked at one another with new common ground and increased respect. Time would tell but Skipper had a feeling this man would become a lifelong friend. He was serious and didn't have a childish need for self aggrandizement.

Arriving back at his apartment Skipper found that Kagi had set out a light snack of sushi and rice and there was a message for him near the phone. It asked that he contact "Niko" at the police headquarters communications section as soon as it was "convenient." Skipper lifted the receiver and placed the call.

Skipper's command of the Japanese language was minimal at the very best. After struggling in Japanese with several police operators a female voice finally came to his aid in English. She had an excellent command of the language with only the slightest hint of an accent. In the future, would Skipper please always request Niko when he calls in? She taught him a better phrase to make the request in Japanese.

"I have just downloaded an e-mail file directed to you through our department, Mr. Mason. It's from a Mr. Johnson in America. Would you like me to have a hard copy sent to your room?"

"Yes, thank you, Niko. I'll be waiting for it." In the meantime he wanted to work out some kinks left over from the long flight and subsequent lack of exercise. Calling to the big Japanese, he asked, "Kagi-San, is there a gym nearby where I can work out?"

"Yes, Sir. You'll find our gym here on the ground floor directly across the garden. Nakagawa-San has just gone down to begin his own workout."

* *

"Guess you can't get rid of me, can you, Yoshi-San." Skipper was smiling. The two men bowed and began to work out together; first warming up, then sparring. Fitting the differences in their styles together, each pressed the other harder and harder until it became evident neither had a clear advantage in even the most serious of friendly combat. Finally, simultaneously, they stopped. Dripping sweat, their uniforms drenched, they were a little surprised to see a small crowd of officers had gathered in the gym to watch. Yoshi and Skipper bowed formally to each other. Then they began laughing, shaking hands and slapping backs in a playful way. They were having fun.

"I'm not accustomed to not winning easily," Skipper said. "I'm glad I don't have to face you in serious combat -- you're a formidable opponent, Sensei Nakagawa."

"And I, you, Sabumnim Mason. I have been Grand Champion of all Japan for the past three years."

Skipper laughed. He was surprised and pleased to hear Yoshi use the Korean title for instructor. "Yes", he thought, "this guy's got his act together, all right".

Together they returned to Skipper's apartment. The messenger with the file who was waiting to personally deliver it to Skipper also had a file from the FBI for Yoshi. Dismissing him, Yoshi and Skipper accepted towels and dry robes from Kagi and sat down to find out just what they had.

"All right!" Skipper yelled excitedly, jumping up and swinging his fist through the air.

Yoshi looked at him as though he'd gone amusingly mad.

"Yoshi-San, this is great stuff here. It was Jack Arnburg who killed the man on that airliner; the partial fingerprint inside the insulin kit matched perfectly. That means the two missing Americans are definitely Arnburg and his buddy, Peterson. The passports and other personal papers found at the hotel all list phony addresses in the Los Angeles area. And, to put the icing on the cake, good old Bert even sent us complete dossiers on these two creeps." Although Yoshi's command of English was excellent, it wasn't quite up to the task of following Skipper's excited, machine-gun staccato speech.

One look at Yoshi's bemused face and Skipper realized his error, apologized and began again. This time he took Yoshi through each document and scrap of information on the two men. Bert, true to form as in the old days when he was Skipper's team sergeant, had gone the extra mile in turning up information needed by his "commander." Skipper and Yoshi read about Freddy Peterson's background in Tokyo, including his father's separation from the U.S. Air Force when Freddy was a boy, to take a job with a Japanese electronics manufacturing firm. Bert had also included both Arnburg and Peterson's complete military files and what information that was available on their subsequent drop from sight.

Yoshi placed a call to his headquarters and within two hours had even more information on Peterson.

The information turned up by the records section of the Tokyo police was a small, but important piece in the overall story of Freddy Peterson. Yoshi and Skipper learned that Peterson had been picked up on numerous occasions as a suspect in, or party to, numerous petty and not-so-petty crimes in the Tokyo area during his youth. Nothing of note ever stuck though and he'd been released to the custody of his father or mother, or just cut loose. He seemed to have spent most of his time in a rough neighborhood on the outskirts of Tokyo -- a neighborhood of somewhat less than desirable repute.

Skipper and Yoshi put all this together with the information they already had. Skipper's luck held and they discovered the address given them by Yoshi's sensei is also in the same neighborhood. Skipper looked at Yoshi who looked at the piece of paper from his Sensei. He shook his head in awe. There were times when both men felt that the insight displayed by the great masters of the martial arts was beyond comprehension.

The moment quickly passed. "Yoshi-San, see if you can find out what the word is out on the street; then you and I will pay Sensei Kubota a little visit -- in the interest of better international relations -- Okay?"

Sensei Kubota was a disreputable man who sat smugly behind his desk, immediately insulting Skipper and Yoshi by not observing even the most basic rules of etiquette when they were ushered in. For several minutes he pointedly ignored them by pretending to be busy with some paperwork and refusing to acknowledge their presence. When he did recognize them he merely looked up and stared flatly at them.

Yoshi had already had enough of this cretin. His patience worn thin he stepped forward and slammed both hands down on Kubota's desk, one of them holding out his police ID. Skipper heard a scramble of feet on the tatami mats outside and stepped back, leveling his .45 at the shadow on the other side of the shoji door. When the door slid back the young black belt looked at the gun, then at Skipper, then at Yoshi and his sensei. Receiving a slight nod of dismissal from his sensei, he bowed and slid the door closed again.

Sensei Kubota sat bolt upright as Yoshi rapidly fired first a statement, then questions at him. The conversation was much too fast and complex for Skipper to follow. Kubota answered in short sentences, then gave a rather lengthy statement, provoking more questions from Yoshi. At length, Yoshi stood back, apparently satisfied for the moment. "Let's go, Skipper-San. We're done here -- for the moment."

As though he had suddenly regained his manners, Sensei Kubota stood up and bowed formally to them both, uttering a series of apologetic noises. He then accompanied them out of the dojo past the hostile stares of his students.

As Skipper drove through the narrow streets he kept an eye on the rear view mirror. When he was sure they weren't being followed, he shot a questioning glance at Yoshi. "I pointed out to him that it isn't nice to be so rude," Yoshi said. "Then I allowed him to make amends to you for his transgressions -- in the interest of improving international relations, of course."

Skipper grinned. Obviously Yoshi'd leaned on the sensei with a heavy shoulder. It was good to know his partner carried that kind of weight and knew how to use it.

Yoshi went on to tell him Kubota had well-remembered Peterson - but, at first, he'd tried to hide it. Peterson had studied there as a boy. A few years ago he'd turned up again with a friend and again studied under Sensei Kubota for a few short months. According to Kubota, neither Peterson nor his friend had been able to master even the basics of the art of ninjitsu and had dropped out.

Skipper and Yoshi knew Kubota was lying and decided he'd probably be in contact with the two Americans quickly if indeed he wasn't already. They also realized they'd undoubtedly run into Kubota or the thugs he called students, again soon.

Sensei Kubota was incensed. Rage caused his voice to quiver when he sent a student to his cousin's hotel to take the Americans out to a small restaurant nearby owned by yet another relative where he would meet with them soon. He was upset by the way the policeman bullied him, causing him to lose face in front of his students. Kubota was a morally corrupt and weak man which was why his father had left so much out of his education in ninjitsu. He'd recognized his younger son for what he was. The young Kubota had filled in the gaps in his education on the streets, learning from the hardened criminals who filled the back alley bars and whore houses.

Managing to barely stay out of trouble until his father passed away Kubota had seized leadership of the Kubota Ninjitsu Dojo after the "accidental" death of his older brother. Under his leadership the dojo slipped from a once respected institution to a training ground for the criminal misfits of Tokyo.

Under the guise of a martial arts academy the school taught riffraff the skills of fighting, burglary, murder and petty espionage. Peterson was one of Kubota's better students but the man Peterson brought with him when he returned from America several years ago had turned out to be his best student.

Armed with excellent prior martial arts training Jack Arnburg quickly established himself as the pre-eminent student in the school - quietly surpassing even Kubota. He and Peterson continued to train there and use Kubota and his relatives to help cover their tracks and support their activities. They saw to it that Kubota was more than amply rewarded for his services and supported him in his "leadership" of the dojo.

When he arrived at the restaurant Kubota passed through the public dining area and headed directly into the family living quarters in the rear where he found Arnburg and Peterson waiting.

They were surprised by his news that an American and the local police were asking questions about them They thought they'd covered their tracks very well. The trio huddled together for nearly two hours formulating a course of action.

Arnburg fueled and controlled Kubota's anger with the skill of a practiced puppeteer. Kubota at first raged, wanting Skipper and Yoshi beaten by some of his students. However, with Arnburg's sly guidance Kubota soon concluded that only the deaths of the American and his Japanese cop friend would satisfy him for the humiliation he suffered at their hands and restore his lost face with his students. Arnburg planned for Kubota and his students to rid him of this minor wrinkle in their plans -- he and Peterson must be able to meet with Choi's people without interference.

Much to Arnburg's annoyance Kubota left the most important information until last; almost as an afterthought. He gave them what he had only just received when Skipper and Yoshi arrived. The name of the hotel where Choi was staying and the rumors on the street that Choi was eager to complete their bargain.

Armed with that essential bit of knowledge Arnburg and Peterson left through a back alley while Sensei Kubota returned to his dojo to organize his rabble of followers. He placed a call to Officer Sasaki of the Tokyo Police Special Branch. Sensei Kubota smiled. He was pleased with "his" plan and expected to be even more pleased with its results.