What the-?

He leaned back as the katana made another slice at his head-the guy had one h.e.l.l of a reach. He heard the whisper of lacerated air and felt the breeze in its wake.

O'Day had a two-handed grip now and was already making another swing for the bleachers. Jack flung the remnant of the Glock, bouncing it off his forehead. O'Day grunted in pain and his swing went wide.

With that, Jack vaulted over the counter, grabbed a dagger off the wall, and flung it. O'Day knocked it away in midair with the blade. He grinned, confident. He knew how to handle a katana.

And now Jack knew it too.

He grabbed another knife-a heavy dirk-threw it, and reached for his Kel-Tec in its ankle holster. But the dirk went wide and the katana smashed into the display case inches from Jack's head, showering him with glittering shards of gla.s.s.

He forgot about his backup for an instant as he rolled away from the gla.s.s and O'Day's follow-up swing. Then O'Day climbed over what was left of that section of the display case and charged, the katana held high with both hands, his mouth wide in a scream of rage. Looked like he'd had enough and wanted to end this here and now.

On the floor, with no room for lateral movement in the narrow lane behind the cases, Jack scrabbled away on hands and knees. In desperation he grabbed a wavy bladed kris from a case as he pa.s.sed and winged it over his shoulder. He heard O'Day's scream choke off but he didn't slow. Without looking back he dove onto the display cabinet and rolled to the other side. As soon as he hit the floor, he rolled again, yanking his backup free along the way. He leaped to his feet, aiming the Kel-Tec P-11 at O'Day's center of ma.s.s.

But didn't fire.

O'Day stood behind the counter, leaning against the wall. He'd lowered the katana, though he hadn't dropped it. His eyes were glazed as blood poured from his mouth. Somehow, the kris had landed point first in his open mouth, piercing the rear of his throat. The wavy blade protruded at an angle, and began to bob as he made a slow turn and staggered toward the rear of the store.

Jack heard a clattering clank and figured he'd finally lost his grip on the sword. He made it to the NO ADMITTANCE door before collapsing face-first onto the floor. The dead-weight impact of the floor against the pommel of the kris drove its blade deeper into his throat and out the back of his neck. His legs spas-kicked a couple of times, then he lay still.

Jack watched it all and felt nothing.

Bye-bye, Tom O'Day. Maybe Hugh Gerrish will be waiting for you on the other side. Should be an interesting conversation.

He hurried around to the back of the counter and lifted the katana, careful to avoid its cutting edge. He felt a strange sensation run through him as he touched the blade. Couldn't identify it-at once thrilled and repulsed. He gripped it by the handle and had to fight off a mad urge to swing it in a decapitating arc.

Was that what had happened between Gerrish and O'Day?

No matter. He wasn't going to keep it...

Or was he?

Jack felt this mad rush of desire to take it and hang it on his wall and shred anybody who tried to take it from him.

He shook it off. Three people dead now because of it-at least he a.s.sumed the bat-wielding guy who had charged into Gerrish's apartment had left the living. Three that he knew of. Who knew how many it had killed since Masamune had made it? He couldn't see how it could be worth it.

Time to get out of here. He needed something to wrap it in, and then he'd be gone. He looked around...

And his gaze settled on the security cam.

s.h.i.t!

Despite his hat, with all that dodging and weaving and rolling over the counter, no way his face hadn't been exposed. Had to find that tape or disk or hard drive or whatever and trash it.

He dragged a chair over to the corner and was climbing toward the cam when a rattling racket came from the front of the store. Someone was banging on the security shutter.

"Mister O'Day?" a voice called. "Are you in there? You are supposed to be open by now."

That sounded like the yakuzas' boss from last night. The same guys? Could it be possible?

Didn't matter. Couldn't be caught here.

He hopped down and pulled on the NO ADMITTANCE door, but it wouldn't budge because O'Day's corpse was slumped against it. Jack was trying to slide him out of the way when he heard the steel curtain begin to roll up. No time to get out, so he darted toward the counter. On the way he spotted the pieces of his ruined Glock on the floor. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up everything in sight and ducked behind the display cases. Beneath them he spotted wooden doors. He slid one open and found a near-empty s.p.a.ce occupied by a few stilettos and folding knives. A tight fit but...

He put the katana in first, making sure its cutting edge was facing away. He followed it, folding his knees against his chest and sliding the door closed. He waited, listening, Kel-Tec ready.

4.

Hideo had noticed that the security shutter was unlocked, so he instructed Goro to raise it. The lights were on within. He pushed on the door and it swung open.

"Mister O'Day?" he called again. "Are you in there?"

No answer.

Kenji slipped past him and entered the store. He took two steps and stopped. He glanced back with a surprised and concerned expression, then hurried forward. The two other yakuza followed. Hideo hesitantly brought up the rear, sensing that something bad waited ahead.

He was right. One quick look at Mr. O'Day, a flash of the hilt of a dagger distorting his mouth and the b.l.o.o.d.y point of its wavy blade jutting from the back of his neck, was all he could take. He turned away and struggled to hold down his breakfast of natto, nori, natto, nori, and miso soup. and miso soup.

He succeeded, then managed to say, "The katana-does anyone see the katana?"

As they began looking, Hideo noticed people pa.s.sing on the street. No one glanced in, but sooner or later someone would.

"Hurry!"

Goro and Ryo rolled the body away from the rear door. Kenji stepped through and turned on the lights.

"Takita-san! Come see!"

Hideo gingerly stepped over the corpse and peeked in the room. He gasped at the dozens of gleaming blades racked on the walls. He knew little about katana, but sensed this was a magnificent collection.

Unfortunately each blade appeared to be in perfect condition. And there on the floor lay the rug he had seen O'Day carrying from Gerrish's apartment building-empty.

He glanced again at the front of the store. Madison Avenue was becoming busier and busier. Only a matter of time before someone stopped in for a look.

The katana was not here. O'Day had killed Gerrish to get it, and now someone had killed O'Day. This blade was leaving a trail of corpses in its blood-soaked wake. How was he going to find this latest killer?

Wait. Hadn't he seen a security camera on one of the walls? He stepped back in to the front area and yes-a camera mounted near the ceiling. A chair sat conveniently in place below it. He climbed upon it to get an idea of where the wire might go. He tugged on it and- It came free.

Only a gentle tug to pop it out of the wall. Hideo found himself looking at the clean-cut end of a coaxial cable, devoid of any connector.

No! A prop!

In a fit of rage he tore the fake cam from the wall and hurled it across the store, spewing curses as it flew.

Hideo hated O'Day then. He deserved to be dead. He had left Hideo with no record of what had transpired here.

He jumped to the floor and hurried to the front door where he scanned the street. No traffic cams in sight. He cursed again, this time under his breath.

Then he turned to Goro. "Turn out the lights inside and lower the shutter." To Kenji: "Call the car."

As he waited he reviewed his options but saw no way to rescue this. He must find one. Must Must. His own honor as well as Yoshio's depended on it. He could not return to Tokyo and report failure to Sasaki-san.

5.

Hearing the security shutter clang shut and the store go silent, Jack eased open the sliding door and unfolded himself from the cabinet. Good thing he wasn't claustrophobic.

He reholstered his Kel-Tec and fitted the pieces of the Glock into his pockets. Even though it was ruined, he couldn't very well leave it behind. He looked around to see what had caused the crash and the cursing. In the dim light seeping around the edges of the shutter he noticed the security cam lying smashed on the floor. When he stepped closer and saw the deadend cable, he understood.

O'Day... scamming to the end... everybody, including Jack.

Okay. Alive and in possession of the katana. All he had left to do was get out of here and return the sword to its rightful owner. No, wait-that would be the museum in Hiroshima. Then again, the rightful owner would be the family of the man who had owned it last-probably vaporized in the A-bomb blast.

A torturous provenance. He'd go with the Hirohito he knew.

He began a search for something to wrap around the sword. In the back room he found a dusty throw rug that did the trick. But first he used it to wipe the kris's handle, and anything else he had touched.

He slipped up to the front door and peeked through a quarter-inch gap between the wall and the shutter track just in time to see the boss man and his three yakuza pals getting into a black Lincoln Town Car.

Jack waited until it had moved off, then adjusted his cap and shades for maximum coverage before lifting the shutter just enough to allow him through. He straightened and let it drop again. A quick look around showed n.o.body particularly interested in him. It also showed the Lincoln waiting to make a left onto 29th Street.

He stood watching it, wondering who the h.e.l.l they were.

The light changed and the car started to turn, but stopped halfway. For a second Jack thought one of them had spotted him, then realized it had stopped because it couldn't go any farther. Twenty-ninth was backed up.

As he watched it inch around the corner, he realized a pedestrian could run circles around them. h.e.l.l, an arthritic snail could leave them in the dust.

If traffic stayed jammed, maybe... just maybe he could follow them to whatever they were calling home.

He gave them a lead of half a block or better, then followed. Cautiously. They were crossing the lower end of Murray Hill and he didn't see many places to hide. Whenever the car stopped-and that was often-he did the same and found a doorway or used an unloading van as a screen.

When they finally reached Fifth Avenue, Jack saw the problem: mini gridlock. On the far side of Fifth, the street opened up, but the avenue itself was backed up. Could be an accident, or construction, or simply the daily perversities and vicissitudes of Manhattan traffic. Didn't matter. Once their car crossed Fifth, they'd be gone.

But wonder of wonders, the left-turn blinker came on. Hope sparked. This might work out after all.

Staying out of sight on Fifth was easy-more lanes of traffic, more pedestrians. The Town Car stayed in the center fire lane as it made its downtown crawl, which told Jack that it wasn't intending to turn for a while.

After more than twenty slow blocks, they came to Washington Square Park. The car seemed aimed to pa.s.s through the famous arch when it flowed right onto Waverly Place. The car stopped before a ma.s.sive, granite-fronted townhouse where the four got out and hurried up the front steps through a columned portico. They entered as if they owned the place.

He had a feeling they didn't, but maybe their employer did. He wondered who that might be. Some sort of j.a.panese crime organization? How else to explain the yakuza? Seemed that someone in that deep-pocketed organization-had to have elbow-deep pockets to afford a place like the one on Waverly-was a katana collector as well, and had somehow learned that Gerrish had stolen the Gaijin Masamune.

Jack was sure Abe could learn who owned it. He'd ask him to find out.

Just for curiosity's sake.

Because Jack had no intention of seeing any of that crew again. He'd contact Naka Slater ASAP, hand over the sword, collect his fee, and then it would be arigato, sayonara, arigato, sayonara, and good riddance to the cursed thing. and good riddance to the cursed thing.

6.

Darryl's eyes burned in the bright midday sunlight but he kept constant watch on the comings and goings at the Milford entrance.

Even though his shift didn't start again till midnight, and he needed some shut-eye real bad, he couldn't stay away from the hotel.

With good reason: He had a big investment here.

Hank had set up two twelve-hour shifts of three guys each in a side-door panel truck, noon to midnight, and midnight to noon. They'd found a parking s.p.a.ce across from the front entrance and camped there. The plan was to spot her and follow her and one way or another pull her into the van without being seen. In the event they were spotted and reported, the van had been fitted with stolen license plates.

Darryl had taken the first red-eye shift with two other Kickers. Hank had told them that Dawn would probably dye her hair, so give every every chick in her age group-not just the blondes-a close look. chick in her age group-not just the blondes-a close look.

And just to make sure she was really registered, he'd called the hotel and asked for Dawn Pickering. Darryl had figured she'd register under a phony name but Hank had said no way. Maybe before 9/11, but not since. The hotel wouldn't tell him the room number but had put him through to Dawn Pickering's phone. He'd hung up just as it started to ring.

Yeah, she was there, all right.

Smart guy, that Hank.

He scratched his left shin. Been itching him since last night. Had something bit him?

He pulled up his pants leg for a look and saw a purplish blotch on his skin. He tried to rub it off but it was in in his skin. Weird. And ugly. Must have b.u.mped it in the truck. He'd spent twelve hours straight in that thing watching the entrance with no sign of Dawn. And even though he'd been relieved a couple of hours ago, he couldn't seem to let go. his skin. Weird. And ugly. Must have b.u.mped it in the truck. He'd spent twelve hours straight in that thing watching the entrance with no sign of Dawn. And even though he'd been relieved a couple of hours ago, he couldn't seem to let go.

He didn't know the guys on the noon shift, didn't know how sharp an eye they'd keep out for the girl. After all, what did they care. Yeah, Hank said she was important to the future of the Kicker Evolution, but what did that mean in everyday terms? Not much.

If she slipped by them they'd be like, Oh well, f.u.c.ked up, we'll get her next time.

Different for Darryl. That babe meant five grand in his pocket. He wasn't about to let her slip away.