hunting for Stikes, and it turns out he’s right here with you!”
“Stikes? What are you talking about? I wouldn’t—”
Takashi spoke calmly yet defiantly in Japanese. Kojima translated for him. “Takashi-san apologizes for interrupting a personal discussion, but he would very much like to know what you are doing here.”
“Oh, he would, eh?” said Eddie. He indicated the statues. “I’m here for them—that’s part of the reason, anyway.”
Kojima relayed that to his boss, then provided another translation. “Takashi-san regrets that he will not allow you to take the statues, and also warns that the consequences if you try will be severe.”
“Tell him he doesn’t get a say in it,” Eddie replied, aiming the gun at the old man. Kojima began to translate this back into Japanese.
“Oh, knock it off,” Nina snapped. “You speak perfect English!”
Takashi sighed. “I was trying to buy us time, Dr. Wilde.”
“Well, time’s up,” said Eddie. “So first, give me the statues. Then take me to Stikes. He’s the rest of the reason I’m here—I’m going to kill that bastard.”
“Stikes is here?” asked Nina, shocked.
Eddie regarded her doubtfully. “You didn’t know?”
“Of course I didn’t! That son of a bitch tortured me—do you seriously think I’d be here if I’d known he was too?” She glared at the Makarov. “And are you actually holding me at gunpoint? My God, Eddie! I can’t believe you think I’d turn against you!”
Slightly shamefacedly, Eddie lowered the gun, just a little …
Enough for Takashi to risk making a move. A bony finger firmly tapped the face of his watch.
An alarm shrilled. Eddie whipped the gun back up, making even the normally implacable Takashi flinch, but he didn’t fire. “That was a fucking stupid thing to do,” he growled, stepping farther into the strongroom and gesturing for the trio to move past him to the exit. “Okay, old-bloke-san, you lead the way. Hands up where I can see ’em. All of you. Sorry, Nina,” he added, “but I need to get out of here.”
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded as they filed past him. “And why do you want the statues?”
“I don’t want the bloody things—they’ve caused enough trouble already. But somebody else wants ’em smashed, which is fine by me.”
Takashi looked back at Eddie with a calculating expression. “Who wants them smashed?”
“No idea—someone who really hates purple, maybe.”
“You do not know who sent you here, or why?”
“All I know is that they told me how to find Stikes, and killing that bell-end’s all I’m bothered about right now. Okay, move. Go through the—”
A flurry of movement in the next room, figures appearing seemingly from nowhere in a whirl of dark cloth and the flash of drawn weapons. They flanked Takashi and Kojima, narrowed eyes staring coldly at Eddie.
The foursome were dressed entirely in midnight blue, their faces mostly concealed behind balaclavas. Each had a different weapon at the ready: a katana, a traditional curved Japanese sword; a long black wooden bo staff banded with metal; nunchaku, two hefty wooden handles connected by glinting steel links; and a kusarigama, a malevolent-looking sickle with a ball and chain attached to its handle. The wielder of the last spun the weight with one hand, making a low and threatening whoosh with each revolution.
Eddie almost laughed. He pointed the gun at each in turn. “Let me guess—Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael?” He looked back at Takashi. “Seriously, fucking ninjas? You’re joking, right?”
“You will find that the joke is on you,” Takashi said. A small nod …
“Hai!” The katana-wielding ninja lunged with astonishing speed, his blade a silver line slicing at its target’s throat—
“Bye!” Eddie shot him. The ninja slumped to the floor with a bullet hole in his chest and a distinctly surprised expression.
He turned to his other new opponents, ready to give them the same treatment if they were dumb enough to bring swords to a gunfight …
Donatello released one of his nunchaku’s handles, his free hand whipping something from a bandolier across his chest. A flash of steel through the air—and Eddie yelled in pain as a throwing star thunked into his upper arm.
Another shuriken was already spinning at him, this one slashing through his sleeve as he dodged and brought up his gun—
Something heavy smashed into his hand, chain whipping around the Makarov. Raphael’s kusarigama, the ninja using his weapon like a metal lasso. He yanked it back. The gun was torn from Eddie’s stinging hand, flying over the remaining three ninjas and landing in the gallery as they rushed into the strongroom.