The story behind the story behind the story of the Chrysanthemum Throne

Well, I just got back from the shooting range, where I was practicing with a French "AN IX" cavalry pistol. It's the weapon that Napoleon issued to his cavalry soldiers in the early 1800's. Mainly used for volleying and close quarters, the "AN IX" was, and still is, a deadly little hand cannon.

You might wonder why I would be practicing with such an old and exotic weapon, but we practice with all sorts of out-of-date weapons in order to give ourselves every advantage in case of an "unplanned scenario". In fact, this very weapon came to my aide back in 1998 in Shropshire. I was in a gentleman friend of mine's game room when the butler revealed himself to be an assassin trained in Ninjitsu. I quickly shoved my dear friend into a broom closet and proceeded to fend off the brute using a blend of Systema and Krav Maga. Things were going pretty well, and I was gaining the upper hand, but then suddenly my friend emerged from the closet to see if the battle was over and if I needed a refresher for my drink.

Well we were fighting in front of the closet door when he opened it (I should have seen that coming), and the sudden introduction of space between myself and my adversary gave him opportunity to reach for his throwing stars. I barely had time to shut the door again on my host and dive behind the snooker table as the shuriken splintered the wood on the table and around the mantelpiece.

At that point I'd had enough of our little spar and decided to end it at the point of the Beretta I usually keep concealed in an ankle holster when I'm wearing a tux. Well I'll be damned if I hadn't left the pistol at home for the evening in favor of my Glock 33 in a shoulder holster, which was currently hanging on the back of a chair on the other side of the room with my jacket (you see, we were heading out to the opera that evening and would be going through a part of town where I prefer to keep more fire power closer at hand). This turn left me in a particularly tight spot, pinned down by an armed assailant from across the room.

I knew I didn't have a lot of time before he came over to finish me off, and while I was quickly weighing my options I happened to glance up and spot the AN IX my friend had perched on display over the hearth. Without stopping to think whether the damn thing was loaded, I sprung from the floor, grabbing the weapon and cocking the hammer in one fluid motion as I dove to my right and fired a fearsome round into my attacker's chest.

As I picked myself off the ground, my friend emerged once more from the closet, pausing momentarily to assess the carnage, and then again offered me that drink. You've got to hand it to the Brits, they certainly do know how to entertain properly (and we even managed to make it to the show on time after disposing of the body!)

In any case, my point is that in our line of work it's important to be both prepared and ready to improvise. Which is what brings me to the story you might recently have heard about the birth of a proper successor to the Japanese Imperial Throne.

Now I wouldn't normally share this kind of information, but I just got back from the range, I've got my '68 Glendronach in hand, and I've got a story that's just too good not to share...

So, as you probably already know, they've had a big problem in Japan with Princess Masako not being able to produce a male heir to the throne. Add to that Prince Akishino and Princess Kiko, whose kids would be next in line, only had girls, and weren't into trying another time. This had a bunch of old-line folks over there in a tizzy, and let's just say that certain elements wanted the situation resolved. OK, so into the scene steps Zulu Echo.

Now, I'm not saying that there was a mission, but if there was, let's say that Zulu Echo's task was to slip into the royal chambers in the dead of night and impregnate the princess (and don't get the wrong idea here, he had the necessary medical equipment, and a vial of a certain Prince's semen with the correct sperm separated to guarantee a male heir).

OK, so now if you've got a picture of the situation, he's slinking across room in his stealth getup, he removes the equipment from his satchel, and as he's getting ready to attach the vial to the apparatus the princess turns over and purrs, "There you are..." Which she said in Japanese, of course, which Zulu Echo understood, of course, since he's fluent in like 40 freakin' languages. And he drops the equipment, which breaks on the floor.

Now, at this point, most any rational person would be saying to himself, "How the fuck did I let my life get to the point that I'm standing here in the Japanese royal bedchambers talking to a princess while in black pajamas holding a vial of doctored sperm?" Fortunately, Zulu Echo is not just any rational person. He quickly remembers, perhaps a moment too late, that the princess has many males of employ that visit her in the evenings in black garb. And in a cool moment of brilliance he excuses himself to get her another glass of sake to replace the one that he "broke" on the floor. He goes into the hall, subdues the waiting gigolo, and returns from the kitchen a short time later with a warm glass of sake and a turkey baster. A few moments of impressive gymnastics later, and he escapes through a vent in the floor. And nine months later the Japanese succession issue is resolved!

So again, my point is, be prepared, and be ready to improvise. And keep a cool head. You'll need that too.