Toru stood in the dark and listened to the futile kicks and thuds against the st.u.r.dy door that guarded the scrolls and the ekisu ekisu. Not only was it thick, but reinforced high and low by heavy crossbars. He had intended to bring the girl and the katana in here, but the barbarians had invaded this level before he had a chance.

Then he heard another sound-the roar of a small gasoline engine.

What-?

When he heard a saw attacking the wood, he knew.

His gut roiled as he tightened his grip on his katana. He knew he would not survive this, but he would make them pay dearly.

An errant thought plagued him. What if they weren't interested in the scrolls and the ekisu ekisu? What if they were only after the girl and the katana?

He shook it off. No. Who would not want to control the secret of the Kuroikaze?

Perhaps he could make them pay so dearly that they would forget about the Black Wind.

Wood dust peppered him as the saw pierced the door and began a downward cut. He positioned himself so that he would be behind the door when it opened, then closed his eyes behind his mask. Only a matter of time now.

Finally, after cutting through the crossbars and around the lock, the chainsaw was withdrawn. The door burst open, exposing the room to wan light from the hall. Toru held his breath as flashlight beams lit the sawdust motes in the air.

"Empty," someone said as he stepped forward.

Toru acted then, stepping out from cover and slashing toward the man's neck. The blade opened a wildly spraying gash in his throat. As the man went down, Toru delivered an overhead chop to the shoulder of the man behind him, nearly severing the arm from his body, then stabbed at a third man, piercing his rib cage through and through. But when he tried to withdraw the blade, it wouldn't budge-jammed between front and rear ribs.

He ducked as something flashed toward his face but not quickly enough. His head exploded with pain and bright flashes, but he remained aware as he hit the floor and felt each kick and each blow that followed.

"All right! All right!" cried a voice. "Enough!"

"The motherf.u.c.ker killed Th.o.r.en, Hendricks, and Rucker, boss! Ain't no such thing as enough."

"Oh, he's gonna get his. Don't you worry."

Toru became aware of someone leaning close, but his eyes would not focus. He felt a finger poke a broken rib, sending a stab of pain through his chest.

"Where's the girl? Where's the katana? Tell me and I'll let you live."

Live? Did he know what he was saying? How could he go on living if he betrayed the Order?

But as for answering, Toru could not have done so, even had he wished it. He knew from the pain and his inability to move it that his jaw was broken.

The man withdrew. Toru heard his voice as if from down a long corridor.

"You know what? These monks or whatever they are seem to like to cut themselves up. Let's see if we can help this guy along. Whatta ya say, Jantz?"

"Awright!" said a third voice.

Toru heard the chainsaw roar to life again and wanted to scream.

Glock in hand, Jack took the lead as he and Veilleur picked their way through the corpses. He'd expected some bloodshed but not bodies piled up outside the front door. Sort of like Vlad the Impaler warning the Turks.

All Kickers, as far as he could tell, but not all killed the same way.

He whispered, "Some of these guys have been cut, some shot. And this one's got a shuriken shuriken in his eye. Bet that smarted." in his eye. Bet that smarted."

Veilleur nodded. "The work of both the Kakureta Kao and your yakuza friends, I imagine."

Friends. Right. With friends like those...

"Looks like the Kickers are getting the worst of it."

"No surprise. They are the least skilled, after all."

"We'd better be careful."

"Thank you," Veilleur said with a smile as he bent and picked up a long, curved crowbar. He hefted it and made a couple of short swings. "A much-needed warning as we stand over seven corpses."

Jack realized it had been kind of a dumb thing to say. But he was used to working alone.

"Just playing Master of the Obvious."

"You have proven yourself worthy of the t.i.tle." Veilleur gestured toward the entrance. "I think we should find another way in, don't you?"

Jack agreed. They made their way to the north end of the building. They'd heard the sound of a chainsaw as they'd approached, but that had stopped now. They found a fire exit around the corner-unlocked. They slipped through the doors, Jack again in the lead, and found themselves at the bottom of a narrow stairwell.

He eased the door to the hallway open a crack and peeked out. He jerked back, then peeked again.

"What is it?" Veilleur whispered.

"I see dead people."

A slaughterhouse.

Corpses of Kickers and robed cultists littered the floor near the main entrance. Just this side of them, what looked like a dead yakuza-the heavy one-with a jacket over his head.

He narrowed the opening when he caught movement farther down the hall. As he watched, the yakuza-the two remaining gunsels and their boss-exited one room and crossed the hall to another.

He tapped Veilleur's shoulder and pointed up the stairway. The old man nodded and they headed for the second floor.

Fewer bodies up here-a half dozen maybe, all in blue robes. Nothing moving. He motioned Veilleur to follow and started down the hall, peering into the rooms as they pa.s.sed. He saw two dead Kickers in one, next to the battered body of a limbless monk. Two doors down they came upon a room awash in blood-three dead Kickers plus someone's arm.

Christ, what happened in there?

Jack decided he didn't need to know and was about to move on when Veilleur stopped him.

"Wait. I want to see..."

He led Jack inside where they found the source of the arm: another dead limbless monk, only his were freshly severed and strewn around the room. His belly had been ripped open as well. Jack remembered the sound of the chainsaw and turned away.

He felt a little ill. In a way, all this was his doing. He might not have created the conflict between them, but he'd put three vicious pit bulls in the same ring. He hadn't realized how vicious. He'd expected bloodshed, but this had gotten out of hand.

Veilleur seemed unfazed. He'd given the monk's quartered and eviscerated body barely a glance before moving on. He was now picking through a pile of scrolls in the corner, unrolling them a little and shining his flashlight on them.

After looking at three or four he turned to Jack. "Would you get me one of the oil lamps from the hall?"

Jack checked the hall. Voices drifted down from the other end. He stepped out, unhooked the nearest lamp from the ceiling, and ducked back inside.

Veilleur took the lamp and tossed it onto the scrolls.

"This should have been done centuries ago."

"Why?"

"They tell how to create the Kuroikaze-the Black Wind."

Slater had mentioned the same thing.

"What the h.e.l.l is it?"

"No time to explain here. Suffice to say it's vile and evil. There's enough evil in the world without the Kuroikaze too."

"I need more than that. What's it do?"

Veilleur looked at him. "It kills. It sucks the life out of everything it touches. You read about that incident a few miles from here, I a.s.sume. Where everything-plants, rodents, insects, even bacteria-were found dead?"

"The wilt."

"It's no coincidence that it happened not far from the Kakureta Kao building."

"That was a Black Wind?"

Veilleur nodded. "A miniature example. I suspect they were experimenting."

Then Slater hadn't been crazy.

"What for?"

"My guess is revenge. Or simply because they're all even madder than they seem."

The spilling oil soaked into the old paper, setting the pile ablaze. The room began to fill with smoke.

"Are they the only copies?"

"Who can say? I hope so. But at least we know that no one will be using these."

Jack returned to the hall and started to lead the way toward the other end when he heard a voice on the main stairwell asking for Hank.

He and Veilleur ducked into the next room-free of corpses, thank you-and waited.

Darryl cowered behind the door of the empty room, hands pressed against the sides of his throbbing head, waiting. He'd thought he was home free when he'd ducked in here to escape the shoot-out. A few minutes later he thought he was dead-just about peed his pants-when two of those suited gunmen came in. But they hadn't looked behind the door.

For a while now everything had been pretty quiet-except for the sound of a chainsaw somewhere in the distance. Upstairs maybe?

Did he dare take a peek? Didn't see any alternative. Sure as h.e.l.l couldn't stay here all night.

He crept to the door on hands and knees and peeked out. Bodies everywhere. He knew some of those dead faces.

No movement anywhere, no sound. He took a deep breath and made a tiptoe dash to the next room.

Oh, s.h.i.t. He wasn't alone. The lone, sputtering candle revealed the legless monk and the two Kickers he'd stabbed. Except the Kickers had been alive when he'd left them with Menck, and now they were- Say... where was Menck?

"Darryl?"

He almost screamed when he turned and saw the dead monk rising from his bed. But no-the top of his bedding was moving with him. Menck's bandaged head popped out from under the futon.

"s.h.i.t, Menck, you almost gave me a heart attack. What the f.u.c.k you doing under there?"

"Hiding. When I saw those j.a.ps going room to room after ma.s.sacring our guys, I dove under here." He pointed to the two dead Kickers. "They shot them up, then left."

Darryl's stomach knotted. "So it's just you and me out of all those guys?"

Menck nodded. "Seems that way. At least down here. Don't know about Hank upstairs."

"s.h.i.t! Hank and his no-guns rule. We didn't stand a chance."

"Hey, n.o.body figured on hit men."