Bauer pulled his phone from his pocket, turned, and walked a few steps away, keeping his back to the training ground and his voice very low.
His figure wavered slightly in the heat haze. Kashimo could not make out his lips, only see him say a few words into the phone, then nod, hang up, and slip it back into his pocket. By the time he turned around, his expression had returned to calm.
Miguel stepped half a pace aside, turned toward Kashimo, and gestured for him to wait.
"Mr. Kashimo, sorry to keep you waiting a little longer." There was a barely perceptible gravity in his voice. The smile still lingered on his lips, but the look in his eyes had changed. He was no longer the young man who had been battered all over during their spar, but a mature man making an important decision.
Kashimo did not mind. He slid his hands back into his pockets and leaned against the railing at the edge of the training ground.
His flight was tomorrow night anyway. A little wait would not hurt. His gaze moved from Miguel's face to Bauer's, then back to Miguel's. Neither man spoke again. They simply stood there quietly.
Kashimo turned it over in his head. What could it be? Money? Kenya's Jujutsu Society was hardly wealthy; the crude state of the training ground made that clear. A cursed tool? He knew little about the cursed tools here in Africa, and nothing came to mind from his scattered memories.
He was in no hurry. He just leaned against the railing and watched the children who had yet to disperse from the edge of the training ground.
A little over ten minutes later, the roar of an engine came from the distance. It was not the