Philip took out a length of wire with wooden handles at either end. He whipped the wire around Zen G.o.do's neck, began to pull it tight.

Heard the distinctive rasp of the shoji out into the hall sliding back. Turned his head. "Watch out!" he cried.

The katana blade was whistling toward Jonas. Who wheeled and leaped at thesame time. The edge sliced into the reed mat.

Philip continued his work. Pulling, pulling. While Jonas was busy feinting, ducking, weaving.

Blood covered Philip's hands in a warm stream, and he thought, That's it!

Whipped the wire free, and dived for the syringe, pocketing it. He leaped up, grabbed at Jonas, who had pulled his service pistol. "I'm gonna kill this f.u.c.ker!" Jonas said. The katana was whistling again. Slices in the shoji and the cedar walls attested to the rapidity with which the longsword was being wielded.

Jonas leveled the gun, and Philip slapped it away. "Are you crazy?" Pulling Jonas back across the threshold.

Out onto the porch. Stuffing his and Jonas's shoes into his jacket. Leaping off the porch, dragging an unwilling Jonas with him. Out into the rain, the black, black night.

"G.o.do?"

"Dead," Philip said. He wiped the blood onto Jonas's hand before the ram washed it all away. "The wire went halfway through his neck."

"Good," Jonas said. "Good." Philip noticed that he was trembling.

In the car, speeding through the city, Philip said, "That was insane what you almost did back there."

"What?"

"The gun, Jonas. The f.u.c.king gun. It's U.S. Army issue. If you'd used it, what do you think a ballistics check woutd've produced?"

"They couldn't trace it back to us."

"Maybe not all the way. But it sure as h.e.l.l would've put Silvers in an awkward position. 'What are U.S. Army issue bullets doing inside a j.a.panese national, Colonel Silvers?' Do you think he'd care to field that one from his superiors?"

Jonas was silent. Streetlights streaked his face in furious colors. The residue of the rain dripped off them in concert to the whick-whick-whick of the windshield wipers.

"Christ," Jonas said after a long time, "but this was a nasty one." His tone gave Philip the impression of elation. He was flushed, his eyes alight. Then he turned. The pale, greenish streetlights lent his face an unearthly aspect.

"But who the h.e.l.l was that with the sword?"

"Who cares?" Philip said. "G.o.do's dead. Whoever it was didn't get a look at our faces."

"Yeah." Jonas ran a hand through his hair. "I've got to I thank you for that one, buddy." He blew out a breath of air, relaxing. He was beginning to enjoy the aftermath. "Jesus, that G.o.dd.a.m.n sword almost decapitated me!"

When Philip thought back on it, the scene had possessed the quality of a film wherein the lead actor stares into a set of mirrors so that his reflection is repeated endlessly... That day, when Michiko had brought him to see Zen G.o.do.

When Zen G.o.do had said to him, I want you to kill me. And Philip had said, Why?

But he had needed time to absorb not only what was being, asked of him, but also what was to come. Having watched] Michiko through every minute phase of the exquisite ritual: of making tea, he had allowed the heat to seep into his palms as he closed them gently around the porcelain cup; the one he would, later that week, deliberately knock off the edge of the table. The gentle tendrils of steam rose toward his face like the last remnants of a dream.

Only after Philip had sipped all the tea out of the cup did Zen G.o.do begin. "I want you to understand the situation in its entirety." Michiko, at right angles to him, leaned forward to fill the emptiness between Philip's cupped palms. "By 'dying' I will win nothing but time."

"The power of the Jiban is such that it has forced me into giving up my name, my business, my life as Zen G.o.do. I will disappear from the bureaucratic scene. Dead, I will lose whatever power I might now have."

He sipped his tea, encouraging Philip to do so as well. "Accordingly," he said, "I must be reborn. This is a difficult and perilous undertaking. Itcannot be accomplished alone. I have only my daughter. Cut off from everyone I know, I am terribly vulnerable now. If word that I still live should reach any member of the Jiban, I would certainly be executed within hours.

"Rebirth cannot be achieved overnight. Therefore, I will be going away. To Kyushu, the southern island. There I will live with the orange fanners. I will dig my hands into my native soil with enthusiasm and a free mind. I will work, I will eat, I will sleep. And time will pa.s.s.

"Meanwhile, here in Tokyo my daughter will take care of my affairs. I have much money, many investments. There is a great deal to do."

Michiko pulled back the sleeve of her kimono, poured them both more tea. She looked neither at her father nor at Philip, but rather at what she was doing.

She had, Philip thought later, the most extraordinary powers of concentration.

"But alone, she cannot complete what must be done," Zen G.o.do continued. "She needs a.s.sistance. And only you, Doss-san, can provide that."

Philip, drinking his tea, wondered at the change that had come over him. Like a thief in the night, it had appeared when he wasn't looking, transforming him. He thought about how he used to be, about how Jonas still was: My country right or wrong; I will follow orders unhesitatingly-unthinkingly. The United States fiber alles: That still might be Jonas's motto.

"Naturally, I do not expect this extraordinary service to be rendered without adequate compensation. Tell me, Doss-san, do you believe in futures? Yes, of course you do. You would not be here now, otherwise. In return for your work, I will give you a one third share in all future revenues."

"Revenues in what?" Philip had asked.

Zen G.o.do smiled. "I am a kanryodo sensei. The Way of the bureaucrat has defined my entire adult life. Even our defeat in the war of the Pacific could not alter that. Neither will my 'death.'

"Certainly, I cannot return to the ministerial arena. Nor can lenter any legitimate sphere of business without the distinct probability of coming to the attention of members of the Jiban. So what are my alternatives? I have only one. I must go underground. I must become Yakuza."

"Why Yakuza?" Philip had asked. "Yakuza are gangsters. By controlling gambling, prost.i.tution, pac.h.i.n.ko, they prey on the weak and defenseless. I will not be a party to that.

"Life is infinitely mystifying," Zen G.o.do had said. "I wonder how such idealism can be reconciled with the cynicism of the business you are in."

"I only know what I can and cannot do."

"In the beginning, it is said that the Yakuza protected the farmers in the countryside from the bands of marauders prevalent in those days." Zen G.o.do shrugged. "Legend it may be. Or fanciful notion. Who can say? In any event, I have no choice. If I will have any chance of defeating the Jiban, I must have power. I must control the actions of bureaucrats, politicians, bankers and manufacturers. If you can tell me I how I may accomplish this any other way, I would be pleased to hear it."

"I cannot," Philip had said after a time. "But I am not criminal."

"There is much an honest man can do within the Yakuza, Doss-san. I do not pretend to be a-what do you Westerners call it? A saint? Yes. But saintliness is not within the province of man. There is much good that can be accomplished for my people. If I do not do this-and, Doss-san, let me say that you alone have the power to stop me-then surely the Jiban will triumph in eventually bringing on another world war. They desire s.p.a.ce for j.a.pan. They believe that it is the emperor's will-j.a.pan's destiny. I do not say that this will be accomplished next week or even next year. But it does not matter to the Jiban.

They are patient. Westerners are not. That is what the Jiban members are relying on. In thirty years, or forty, who will remember there was even a clique of ministers with that name? Hardly any. At that point, their time will have come. Unless I can somehow find a way to gain enough power to oppose them."

"Forty years from now?" Philip was incredulous.

"Yes, Doss-san. In the time span of this world, that is but a single breath.It is nothing. You must learn that."

Philip had stared at Zen G.o.do for a long time. At last he said, "I do not want the money."

"Then," Zen G.o.do said, curious, "what is it you want?"

When Philip did not answer, Zen G.o.do said, "Excuse me for saying this, but I believe you do want what your conscience mistakenly dictates you put aside.

Believe me, Doss-san, it is not necessary for you to make up your mind about this now."

"I don't want it."

"But one day," Zen G.o.do said, "you will."

Michiko stayed with Philip long after Zen G.o.do had left them. "There are certain specific details my father wishes you to understand," she said.

Beneath the ash-gray kimono, she wore an ice-white underkimono. The glow of her firm, dusky flesh warmed the color in spots.

"I don't understand," Philip said as she shed her ash-gray silk skin. "This can't be what he bad in mind. You're married."

"The marriage to n.o.buo Yamamoto, eldest of the Yamamoto sons," she said, "is my father's undertaking. It is not mine."

Philip watched her. "He forced you into it?"

"Forced me?" Michiko did not understand him. "He created the liaison. It is business. The Yamamotos are in the process of building a network of companies specializing in heavy-industry manufacturing. My father, during his tenure as head of the Bank of Nippon, was instrumental in creating a local bank that will, in time, become the central hub of the Yamamoto konzern.

"This is the way the future of j.a.pan will be constructed, my father believes.

The bureaucracy designates certain specific industries for high-speed growth.

To induce new companies to enter the designated fields, loans of a highly beneficial nature to the borrower are extended through the Bank of Nippon to regional and local inst.i.tutions. However, new industries take time. Money runs out all too quickly. My father has realized that once committed to lending these new companies capital, the local banks will have to continue the policy.

"Overloaning, my father calls it. Because eventually, the local banks will have lent so much money that they will end up owning a majority of the businesses that have borrowed from them. This will happen in the Yamamotos'

case, as well. Except that thanks to my father's foresight, they will already own the bank."

Having the future of j.a.pan predicted by this exquisite, half-naked creature had about it the aspect of the mythological. For an instant, Philip imagined himself a great hero on an epic quest. And now, at its end, coming face to face with an oracle of extraordinary powers. He was reminded of how he had first met Michiko, in the mist of the ruins of the Temple of Kannon. And this, too, seemed to reinforce the eerie mythic feeling she engendered within him.

It was as if she had been resurrected from out of the temple's ashes, as if she were the reincarnation of all those lost souls whose bodies had been burned by the fire bombing, whom he had heard crying out.

"In that event," Philip said thickly, "you will be a wealthy woman."

"Money," Michiko said with a sneer. "If money and power did not go hand in hand, I would not care about money at all."

"n.o.buo Yamamoto will have a great deal of power," Philip said.

"No," Michiko said, moving in her ice-white underskin so that Philip was unable to take his eyes off her. "He will have a great deal of money. He does not understand the nature of power. He knows neither how to acquire it nor what to do with it if he had it. Money is what n.o.buo craves. So he can have his parties for his business friends. So he can provide girls for all of them.

So they can get drunk, be sung to, fondled, caressed, coddled like babies at their mothers' b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 'Goo goo,' I say to n.o.buo when he comes home in the morning after such a night. 'Don't you understand me when I speak your language?' "

She had such beautiful shoulders, such a graceful neck. Her small, pointed b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose and fell against the silk with her breathing. Her waist was sonarrow he was certain that he could put his hands around it. Undressed, she seemed tiny, and tremendously vulnerable.

"Whatever power we accrue," she said, "will be my doing. Though I suspect that he may be unaware of it, it is my father who is responsible for my learning how to ama.s.s power."

Utterly desirable.

"Do you want me?" she whispered. The lamplight in her hair like gold thread glinting in a coal mine.

Philip found it difficult to speak. "I would not be a man if I did not."

"That is what I need," Michiko said, rising. "A man. Not a child."

As she rose, the silken folds fell away from her hips. Shadows stroked her powerful thighs, curving inward to keep from him still her secret delta.

"You must want," she said, moving toward him over the reed mats, "for me to give." With a natural grace that could only be termed sinuous. "You must, in your wanting, give." Stood over him for a breathless instant, before bending her knees. "I think that we must both be selfish people to be here now, alone, together. Two married people, not married to one another." She knelt before him. Her eyes glowing in the low light. "But I do not want to come together with another selfish human being. I would prefer permanent abstinence to that.

I do not wish to be selfish myself."

Opening the b.u.t.tons at the cuffs, down the front of his shirt. Spreading it apart. "Tell me, Philip-san, do you think that selflessness can take the place of love?" Running her palms across the flesh of his shoulders, biceps, forearms, until the shirt dropped into his lap. "Do you believe-as I do- that it can make of l.u.s.t a more n.o.ble emotion?"

"I believe in what we are doing."

She gave a little laugh. "In my father's selflessness at wanting a better j.a.pan?" Her fingers deftly slid his belt through the buckle, unzipped his trousers. "Or in our selflessness in wanting each other?"

She took the shirt off his lap.

Philip felt an exhilaration in being here. Ever since the night when he had wrapped the wire around Zen G.o.do's neck and had felt the freshly killed animal's blood washing over his hands, he had experienced a sense of freedom that was dizzying.

He had gone underground yet again, he realized. He had moved from one subterranean pa.s.sageway to another. And now he would begin to play for real the game that so fascinated and obsessed him. Now he could be the red fox and the hunter, all in one. It was the unique role for which he had been searching all his life.

"When I return from Kyushu," Michiko's father had said, "I will no longer be Zen G.o.do. Zen G.o.do is dead, eh, Doss-san? You killed him. I am now and will henceforth forever be Wataro Taki. It is my pledge that nothing I will ever ask of you will compromise your patriotism. I know how you feel about your country. Perhaps better than you do yourself. As I said, in the Tokko, the special police, during the war of the Pacific, I worked at weeding out the Communist elements that, had they been allowed to flourish, would certainly have been a devisive force inside j.a.pan. I plan to use my new Yakuza clan to continue that battle. You see, Doss-san, there is nothing I want for my country and yours that you do not as well."

They had sat facing one another. Two people from opposite cultures. Two individuals drawn to one another precisely because of that gulf. Two human beings so alike they might have been twins. Warriors who might have been sent here from the edge of time. It was as if they had been born for this moment, born to fight this particular battle.

"No one has ever loved me," Michiko said, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "Others have known only parts of me. Is that my fault? Perhaps, yes."

She was concentrating on the s.p.a.ce between them with an intensity that made it come alive. "Our culture dictates restraint. In a society that lives with rice-paper walls, privacy is unknown. There is no 'I' in j.a.pan. Only 'we.' "

She sat quite still, studying him. Or some quality she found inside him. "ButI open my mind. I think. And I feel 'I.' How is that possible? I cannot understand it. I cannot bear it. Because that T is impossible to share with another j.a.panese. I must keep it forever locked away inside the deepest part of me.

"Except with you." Using the pads of her thumbs on his nipples until they stiffened. "My flesh melts like wax next to you." Then her tiny tongue. "The compressed air inside my head can escape." Licked under his arms. "I can close my eyes." At the base of his belly. "I can think 'I' and not feel like an alien crawling across the moon." Teaching him that it wasn't only his p.e.n.i.s that could feel during s.e.x.

She stopped abruptly, put her hand against her pursed lips. "I did not think that I wanted to talk."

"You wanted to talk," Philip said, reaching for her, "as well."

He bent all the way over, lifted the last layer of ice-white silk off her.

Tongued her until her moans filled the tiny apartment. Her thighs spread and spread. Then, rock-hard, he climbed over her, felt her fingers curl around him, guiding him into her hot, liquid core.

He thought that he might go insane. He was caught up in a madness that seemed to encompa.s.s the universe. He felt sensations all through his body. He opened his mouth over hers. Felt the fiery points of her nipples pressing with exquisite sensation against his own. Tried to merge himself with her.

And almost succeeded.

One thing you could say about David Turner: He knew how to treat a lady. It became his habit to take Lillian to the U.S. Officers' Club that Silvers frequented. Perhaps he used credentials that his CO would not have approved of; Turner was adept at such deceptions. But it was all in a good cause.

For her part, Lillian loved the Officers' Club. It was within the U.S.

amba.s.sador's compound, a white stone building that had been entirely refurbished inside. Mac Arthur liked his brain trust to be comfortable, and the black market in meat, vegetables, fruit, wine and whiskey did a booming business behind the scenes here.