"Not yet." Fat Boy Ichimada was already looking through his infrared nightgla.s.ses. He could see the woman in the Jeep. And then, as the headlights flicked off, he followed her as she scrambled off the road. Through an expertly cut hole in the fence, where she joined another figure. A man.

"Get me down there," Ichimada said. "One sweep."

Wailea Charlie banked the helicopter, and Fat Boy Ichimada felt his stomach trying to reach his feet. He concentrated, keeping the image of the man in his binoculars. The resolution was superb, but the man was turning away. Ichimada gave instructions to Wailea Charlie, and the copter banked further.

Now Fat Boy Ichimada got a clear look at the man's face, and his pulse jumped.

Buddha, he thought as he recognized the face. Even without having seen the photo Ude had showed him, Ichimada would have known that face. It could have been Philip Doss's face twenty years ago.

"Forget the dogs." Gave Wailea Charlie orders to set the copter down on the landing pad beside the rambling house that sat in the center of the compound, thinking of the irony of it. All day he had been searching for Philip Doss's son, and now the man was coming right to Fat Boy Ichimada's front door.

The race has been run, Fat Boy Ichimada thought as the dust whirled up all around them, the copter settling onto its pad, and I've come in first.

But when he had walked, doubled over, from beneath the diameter of the still whopp-whopp-whopping rotors, he saw that someone had released the Dobermans from their screened-in runs. The pitch of their barking told him that they had already caught the intruders' scent.

Fat Boy Ichimada began to run.

They were still far from the house when Michael heard the Dobermans' yelping.

He had already identified the sound of a helicopter.

"They know we're here," he said, taking her arm and beginning to run.

"Not that way," she said, pulling him off to the left. "It's thick with traps." Holding on to him. "Careful right here." Guiding him around a nasty-looking contraption. A well-camouflaged boar trap.

Now Michael was glad that he had taken her with him. He reached into his satchel, threw several small cotton bags to their right, then he pulled them left.

"What were those?" Eliane asked.

At least she isn't out of breath, Michael thought as they charged up a long rise. She's not the liability I had feared she'd be. Into a copse of trees, where he held them in the dense shadows for a moment. "Dried blood," he said.

"Gardeners use it to keep pests like rabbits away from their flowers.

Hopefully, the blood will confuse the dogs."

"Not for long, it won't," Eliane said.

"I don't need very long. Come on." Michael took her by the hand. Crouching, they moved on across the lush heath. He could make out the lights of Fat Boy Ichimada's house through the swaying branches of the trees. He did not approach their illumination directly, but rather began to circle to the left, away from the baying Dobermans.

The layout of the compound was a live thing in Michael's brain. He had spent most of the plane ride memorizing everything Uncle Sammy had given him about Fat Boy Ichimada. He knew now that he would need every sc.r.a.p of information in the BITE file.

The trip wires were not difficult to negotiate once he had located them. He was careful to keep Eliane directly behind him, so that there was no chance she would blunder into one while he was working on disengaging another.

They moved on, circling nearer the house now. But it had taken longer than he had antic.i.p.ated to put the trip wires out of commission. The baying of the Dobermans changed pitch, and he knew they had found the bags of dried blood.

Frustrated, they had begun to pick up a new scent.

Michael pushed Eliane onward, ignoring the spotlights. His plan had called for him to take them out; there wasn't time. Out from the inky shadows of the trees, across a lush lawn, urging her onward.

Realized his mistake too late. The spotlights coming on all at once, spangling the night, eating up the darkness in great, awful swatches. The dogs withsight now, bounding out of the still-black woods and onto the lawn, where Michael and Eliane were silhouetted against the white clapboard of Fat Boy Ichimada's house.

Michael thinking, There are three Dobermans. They're full-grown males, Uncle Sammy had said. They've been attack-trained, son. Do you know what that means?

Once they are given the specific command, nothing can stop them short of death. They'll go right for your throat and do their best to rip it out.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on?" Fat Boy Ichimada bellowed. "Who set the dogs loose?"

At that moment, the spotlights came on. Buddha, Fat Boy thought, with all that illumination Michael Doss doesn't have a chance. The dogs will tear him to shreds.

He saw one of the Dobermans' trainers, began to yell at him.

"Save your breath," a voice said. "He's through taking orders from you."

Fat Boy whirled, saw Ude step out of the darkness of the eaves.

"They all are."

"This is my house!" Ichimada screamed. "These are my men!"

"Not anymore." Ude was grinning. He was enjoying this immensely. "I told you Masashi gave me complete control over this situation. I am oyabun here. I give the orders from now on."

Fat Boy Ichimada took a step toward Ude, checked as Ude swung up the Mack-io.

It was a compact automatic machine pistol.

"I wouldn't do that," Ude warned. "I'm not about to let you within arm's length of me. I know what those hands can do."

"Let's negotiate," Fat Boy Ichimada said. "We can work a deal."

"Yeah? What do you have that I don't have already?"

"Money."

Ude laughed. "Someone's coming, Ichimada. Maybe you'll tell me who it is."

"I don't know. A local kid, probably."

Ude scowled. "I've had enough of your lies." He gestured. "Get in the house."

"How are you going to take care of me and the intruder?"

Ude grunted. "I'll let someone else take care of you." He made a movement with the Mack-10, and Fat Boy Ichimada turned. He saw Wailea Charlie aiming a pistol at him.

The pilot gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, boss," he said. "But when Tokyo talks, I gotta listen."

"Take him into the house," Ude said to Wailea Charlie.

He was already turning his attention back to the sound of the dogs.

Michael had sent Eliane off in an acute diagonal away from the arc-lit perimeter of the house while he headed into the light. The dogs were closing in on him; there was not much he could do about that.

Pa.s.sing the shadows of a tall tree, he turned and heaved his small satchel up into the lower branches. Then he drew the katana Uncle Sammy had given him. It was old, well made. Though the wrapped leather grip was shiny and worn, the blade had marvelous heft and balance, both of which were crucial.

They came out of the shadows in a pack, as they had been trained to do.

Michael faced them sideways. His right hip was toward them. He held his katana in the prescribed two-handed grip. His left elbow was lifted. His weight was on his right leg and hip.

Two dogs leaped at him. They hit the light at once. Coming at different angles, they were illuminated oddly, so that they seemed two halves of one monstrous creature.

Itto ryodan. Splitting an opponent in two with one blow.

Michael erupted into motion. He was tracking the arcs of their leaps. Now his katana swept up, and in that preliminary motion, the blade-so razor sharp that it disappeared when looked at head on-slammed into the rib cage of the first of the Dobermans.

Michael was still moving, his left shoulder twisting away from the hurtling thing. His downward strike-the second half of the wheel maneuver-swept through the torso of the second animal.Michael whirled. The third Doberman was crouched just outside the reach of his sword. It growled, bared its teeth. Its muscles were spasming continuously beneath its glossy black fur.

When it took off, the talons on its back feet scored deep furrows in the ground. Instead of springing, it tore to Michael's left. As he pivoted away from it, it leaped. Using usen saten, Michael ducked. Lifting his blade at the same time, slashing left. Sliced the Doberman open along its left side.

The creature crashed to the ground at Michael's feet, lying on its side and panting as its eyes glazed.

Michael lowered the katana. Took a deep breath. Then the sword was flying from his hands.

He hit the ground on top of the dying dog. Tried to turn, felt a great weight on him, the gnashing teeth. Pain as nails raked him. What? The first dog!

Somehow it had gathered the remainder of its strength and had attacked again.

He had pinioned its forepaws, but its rear legs began to work on him. There was nothing in Michael's a.r.s.enal to deal with the animal fury of the Doberman at close quarters. He was losing his hold.

He saw his sword lying out of reach. He was using all his muscle just to keep the frantically snapping jaws from his throat. Meanwhile, the powerful hind legs were doing their best to rip open his belly.

The feral eyes glowing yellow in the semidarkness, the animal stench of the dog, the stench of blood. Both instinct and pain told him that he could not hold on much longer.

Already the jaws were closing in on his face. It was becoming increasingly difficult to turn aside the furious attack.

There was a chance, but it meant having to free one of his hands. And using only one to fend off the thing's head. Had to try it. Now!

Freed his left hand, the right going to work on the Dob-erman's muzzle to keep it at bay. But the jaws were snapping taster now. It was as if the animal could sense that its own end was near. The knowledge increased its frenzy, and now it had gotten through, the jaws opening, the teeth, dripping saliva, blurring inward toward Michael's unprotected throat.

The fingers of his left hand closing around cool, curving metal. Bringing it up, spraying the Bactine antiseptic directly into the eyes, nose and mouth of the dog.

The Doberman howled and jerked away. Michael was up, lunging for his longsword. The dog, blinded, was on him immediately. He fell, twisted his torso as he did so. Slashed down, severing the dog's spinal column.

He threw the corpse aside and rose. People coming.

Stood with knees bent. Held his katana over his right shoulder so that it stretched out and back, as one might carry a parasol to defeat the rays of the late afternoon sun.

Two men armed with M-16 a.s.sault rifles plunged out of the shadows from which the Dobermans had emerged moments before. Michael stepped forward, slashed down once, then, pivoting, struck horizontally. The men joined the dogs.

For some moments he stood still as stone, listening. When he was certain that there was nothing hostile in the immediate environment, he picked up his scabbard, slid the katana home.

Sticking it through his belt, he climbed the tall tree and retrieved his satchel.

He dropped to the ground, then headed toward the house.

Ude was within the perimeter of the spotlights' illumination when he heard the Dobermans cease to bark. He waited for precisely a minute and a half. When he heard nothing louder than a moth's fluttering, he spoke softly into his walkie-talkie.

There was no response to his repeated callings.

Ude ordered everyone inside-there were five, not counting Fat Boy Ichimada-to arm themselves with M-16's. Wai-tea Charlie was already armed. Ude told them to shoot to wound, though none of them knew who it was they were supposed toaim at.

He instructed Wailea Charlie and Fat Boy Ichimada to follow him out to the living room.

"What do they want?" Wailea Charlie asked.

"Shut up," Ude said. "Just make sure Ichimada here stays in one place, and keep him away from the weapons." He was checking the load when the front window ballooned inward. A rain of gla.s.s flew at them.

The Yakuza opened fire with their M-i6's, completely shredding the incoming object.

The moment the bolt was off, Michael dropped the compact hunting crossbow and was sprinting around to the east side of the house. Pried open a window to a bedroom and climbed through.

He hoped the vinyl float he had shot through the front window by tying it to the crossbow bolt had provided him enough time.

The bedroom was empty. Drew his katana, opened the door cautiously. Caught the stink of cordite fumes. In the darkness, there was more shooting. Maybe, he thought, they'll kill each other off.

Turned left down the hall. Fat Boy Ichimada's master suite was next. Burst through the door, the longsword held in front of him. Ran through the bedroom and attached bath. Empty. It was imperative that he make a sweep through the rooms in order to determine who was left and where they were. A bathroom, also deserted.

Now he came to a fork. To his left lay the office, to the right, the kitchen and, beyond, the living room. The kitchen was the obvious place to go now since the lack of large windows made it a probability for defensive tactics.

He stood to one side of the swinging door, lifted his blade until its very tip made contact. Then he pushed inward, opening the door.

Two Yakuza, one firing immediately.

But Michael had come in rolled in a ball. He came out of it, swiping sideways with the blade. Cut through one man. He screamed as the other whirled.

Michael chopped down, immediately slashed again, and the man collapsed.

Up and running along the hall as machine-gun fire erupted through the kitchen's other door. Another Yakuza in the dining area, his M-i6 hammering away as the door into the kitchen disintegrated.

Michael took him down with one powerful slash. Dodged back as more fire spewed out. Retreating down the hallway, drawing them after him.

When he heard them coming, he turned and ran to the spot where the hallway branched. Went five steps in the direction of the kitchen, dug into his pocket, pulled out a lighter and a half-dozen long-fuse firecrackers.

Headed down the opposite fork, toward Fat Boy Ichima-da's office.

When Ude saw the slashed remnants of the vinyl float, he sent two men into the kitchen, another to the other side where the hallway began off the dining area. He kept the rest of them where they were.

But within minutes, he was obliged to alter his tactics. For one thing, three of his men were down. For another, they had all gotten their first glimpse of one of the intruders.

Ude immediately ordered the three remaining Yakuza down the hallway. As they began to move, he began to follow them, not reluctantly but cautiously.