Warrior Spirit. Alex Archer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ they gone?

      She shivered in the cooler air of the room. She felt certain someone had been here. And she’d been getting reacquainted with her long-lost primal instincts enough to place some trust in them when they warned her of danger. Somewhat. Annja was the first to admit that she still had a lot of trouble having one hundred percent faith in her instincts. Especially when her logical mind seemed ready to always mount a good argument for why she shouldn’t.

      Someone had been in the room.

      But now they were gone.

      Annja knelt and checked under the bed and at the base of the simple curtain framing her window. She carefully checked the closet, as well. Otherwise, there was no place to hide in the Spartan room.

      She frowned again. A cursory glance around told her that they hadn’t taken anything. Her laptop still sat open on the desktop, although the screensaver was bouncing around from a lack of activity. Annja’s bags sat unopened next to her bed. And her cell phone and purse remained near the door.

      Weird.

      She padded back to the bathroom and toweled herself dry before pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Then she walked around her room again before ending up at the window.

      Annja’s room was on the fifteenth floor of the hotel. From her window she could see the Tokyo skyline outlined in the dazzling colors of the neon spectrum. The city shone so brightly that Annja could pick out very few stars in the sky.

      Her window wasn’t locked.

      I know I checked that lock earlier, she thought to herself. Being a native New Yorker, Annja was nothing if not security conscious. All doors and windows were always locked behind her whenever she was home. And that habit stayed with her no matter where she traveled.

      But now, her window was unlocked.

      She slid it back on the rails and found it could open wide enough to enable someone to get through it.

      But who would be able to get through fifteen stories up from the ground?

      Annja grinned and shook her head. She was being silly, imagining that someone would consider her such a prize that they would risk life and limb scaling the side of a high-rise just to get into her room.

      Still…

      She slid the window closed and locked it. The double latch clicked shut, and Annja let the curtain fall back into place. She wished she had a fingerprint kit so she could dust the sill.

      Annja sat at the desktop and brought her laptop out of its sleep mode. Once she clicked Refresh, she clicked the mouse and waited for the newsgroup page to reload.

      “Wow.” She already had one response to her query on the newsgroup.

      Annja checked the name—Earl Sunday. He listed himself as a professor of Asian history at some college Annja had never heard of—probably some online institute that charged people a couple hundred bucks for a credit or two. Of course, that was no surprise. These days, anyone with some bucks could open a school and charge people money for a degree. And sometimes, they didn’t even bother with the school part.

      Annja looked at the post.

      There is no such thing as modern-day ninjitsu. Ninja were used in Japan’s past, but there is no evidence or verifiable records to suggest that so-called modern exponents of the art actually engage in authentic ninjitsu training. This, despite what many claim, is the truth. Furthermore, anyone claiming to be involved with ninjitsu should have their head examined. Ninja were nothing but cutthroat assassins who were only concerned about money. They had no honor and their historical significance is virtually nil. Japan would be far better off if there had never been such characters in her past.

      Annja leaned back from her keyboard and shook her head. She guessed that being called wishy-washy wasn’t a problem for Sunday. She also decided that he must be an extraordinarily inflexible person to post something so utterly rigid and devoid of anything useful to her.

      “I’ll bet he enjoys listening to himself talk.” She frowned. “Jerk.”

      Annja hit the reply button and as the page refreshed, she saw four other people had posted responses.

      Sammy23 in Baltimore posted this:

      Ninjitsu does exist and if Sunday wasn’t such a complete bonehead impressed more with the words he writes than actual fact, he might do better research before displaying his idiocy to the world. The art still exists and is taught in Japan and in many countries around the world by students who have returned from training with the grandmaster. Ninjitsu is a complex system of martial arts, broadly encompassing every facet of personal protection and survival. If you have the opportunity to study it with someone who knows what they’re doing, I suggest you do so. Good luck!

      Annja guessed Sunday had himself a bit of a reputation with ninjitsu enthusiasts judging by the similar tone of the other responses. In fact, by the time Annja was composing her thank-you note to those who had posted, ten more people had wandered over to blast Sunday. More so, they’d even reposted Annja’s query on a martial-arts newsgroup, opening the floodgates on Sunday. Most people called him an academic who never bothered to go to the source and find out what ninjitsu was truly about. Someone even went so far as to call him an utter coward who would never have the courage to take a class with the grandmaster and find out for himself why ninjitsu was such a great system.

      Annja typed her thank-you note and posted it. Then she shut the computer down and climbed into her bed. The pillows cradled her head and she sighed, trying to relax herself enough to fade off to sleep. Her eyes, however, simply would not stay closed.

      Someone had been in her room. She just knew it.

      And even though she no longer felt that she was in danger, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her personal space had been invaded. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed, by any means.

      She glanced at the light sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. She should turn it off and go to sleep. But at the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted the room to be dark.

      Annja closed her eyes and thought about the sword—her sword—and instantly it came to mind. She reached out for it and wrapped her hands around the hilt but didn’t draw it out.

      It was there if she needed it.

      But why hadn’t she thought about using it when she was in the tub? Why hadn’t she immediately pictured the sword, and then come running out of the bathroom ready to slice and dice whoever stood before her?

      It didn’t make sense.

      Unless she hadn’t been in danger after all.

      More questions that Annja didn’t feel much like pondering. At least right then.

      She turned out the light and settled back closing her eyes. Sleep was just what she needed.

      The ringing phone sat her bolt upright as if someone had fired a gun in the room.

      She clawed for the receiver and bounced it off its cradle.

      “Hello?”

      “Good evening, Annja. I take it СКАЧАТЬ