He shook his head, but she was already moving. He made a grab for her.

Antic.i.p.ating him, she danced away. Then he had the sense of being alone-or rather, of being without her.

He was not alone.

He felt the presence of the kami.

Or of Tsuyo.

Perhaps, after all, there was no difference between the two.

" '. . . tell Michael to think of me when he next has green tea. Tell him to use my porcelain cup. He always treasured it. I'm thinking of the place where you and he almost died. Even in summer, alas, there is not a single heron.' "

Audrey finished reciting her father's enigmatic message.

Masashi was concentrating over each word. "This porcelain cup," he said when she had finished. "Do you know it?"

"Sure," Audrey said. "It was one of the mementos my father brought back from j.a.pan."

Masashi, excited, seized on this. "Recently?"

"Oh no," Audrey said. "He brought it back many years ago. It's from a time just after the war, I think."

That can't be it then, Masashi thought. "This place your father mentions," he said, "where you and your brother almost died. Is it here in j.a.pan?"

"No," Audrey said. "I've never been here before. It's in the States."

"Pardon me?"

"In America."

"Why would it be special to him?" Masashi asked.

"Because of what he said, I suppose." Audrey thought a moment. "He was terribly afraid that Michael and I had died. There was a snowstorm, you see, and-"

At that moment the door opened, and Kaeru came hurriedly in. His face was pinched. The fact that he had not bothered to knock was a sign of the greatest agitation.

"What is it?" Masashi snapped.

His oyabun's tone brought Kaeru up short. He remembered his manners. He bowed mechanically, said, "Ten thousand pardons, oyabun, but a package is waiting for you."

"Leave me aloae," Masashi said. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Indeed, oyabun," Kaeru said. "If this were not of the utmost importance, I would never have interrupted you. A messenger is hand-delivering the package.

It seems as if it is so valuable that you must sign for it yourself. He refuses to take anyone else's signature in subst.i.tute."

"All right," Masashi said. He turned to Audrey and smiled. "I won't be long, my dear," he said. "Rest some now, and when I return, we will conclude this talk."

"But what about a phone?" Audrey said. "I'd like to speak with my mother."

"In time," Masashi said. "For now, I will leave a man just outside this door to make certain no one disturbs you."

"But-" Audrey broke off, for the two men were already gone. Once again, she felt tears welling up behind her eyes. She wanted to get out of here. She wanted to go home, to see her mother and Michael. Oh Michael! she wailed silently. What has happened to you?

Then she thought, Stop feeling sorry for yourself. She got up and went to the door. She turned the k.n.o.b, but nothing happened. The door was locked. Now that's odd, she thought. She shrugged. Or perhaps it was just another security precaution. Then why hadn't Masashi mentioned it to her?

Well, she told herself as she walked about the room, I certainly feel safer here than I have in many days. She went to the shoji, slid them aside. Through the grime-encrusted window she could see docks and water. A river, she decided, since she could see the far sh.o.r.e teeming with buildings andactivity. Then she had been right: She was in a warehouse. There was some satisfaction in having worked that out.

She turned away from the window and saw the doork.n.o.b moving. That's strange, she thought. If Masashi were coming back, he'd have a key. She moved closer, watching. Something was being slipped between the door and the jamb. She heard a click, then the k.n.o.b turned and the door opened.

A man rushed in. Behind him, Audrey could see the form of the fallen guard, the man Masashi had left to protect her. And she thought, Dear G.o.d, they've found me.

She whirled to run from the man, but she felt him seize her from behind. She tried to scream, but his hand was firmly clamped over her mouth. And fear had her by the throat.

The Taki-gumi soldier who had searched the outbuildings had returned to the main temple. He was soaked and angry. As was the other one. A silent signal pa.s.sed between them, and they pushed their way past the protesting priests.

All carried drawn katana. They moved methodically through the oratory. They appeared to have no regard for the sanct.i.ty of the place. But then these were young men, with spirits as rough as sandpaper. Just months ago they had been riding their motorcycles, drinking beer, outfitted in stinking leather, shiny with wear. What did they know of Shinto, of shrines, of groves of sacred trees and of kami? They cared about neon, about speed, about anomie and the loss of consciousness. They hated because they were too cowardly to face their own fears. Thus their hate made them arrogant, wild and, in the end, infinitely malleable. They only required an object at which to direct their hate-no matter how temporarily. This was what Masashi had understood, and used. It was why they obeyed him without even understanding that that was what they were doing.

The pockmarked one came upon the sacred cord. He saw the curtain beyond. It was obvious that it was a symbol of something of which he was ignorant. With one slash of his sword, he severed the cord. Then, cautiously, he advanced on the curtain and the s.p.a.ce beyond.

The one with the bald head saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and ran in that direction. Around a turning he saw the shape of the woman slip out a side door, and he smiled.

He did not follow further but, rather, turned and headed back through the main oratory to the front of the temple. He crashed through the knot of priests and went out into the rain-filled night. Down the path to the small enclosure, where the wind, picking up, plucked at the bells. He went down the wide flight of stone steps three at a time.

He knew where the woman was headed. They had been to the car and knew that the katana was there in the back seat. They had disturbed nothing, not knowing where their quarry was or what they would do. Now the bald-headed man knew.

He was there well before her, and he settled himself within the shadows of a creaking pine. He did not have long to wait. Eliane came running through the woods, heading straight for the car. The bald-headed man chuckled.

He was already moving as Eliane reached the car. She had grabbed the handle of the katana, but now she saw the reflection of his movement in the slightly curved surface of the window. The rain made it impossible to get more than a fleeting impression. But it was enough.

She swiveled her hips, bent her left knee, lifting her right leg and slamming it into the oncoming a.s.sailant. She grunted as she made contact, bringing all her weight to bear on the blow.

The bald-headed man staggered, and Eliane was whirling, leaving her feet, kicking out with the other foot. The toe of her shoe caught the bald-headed man on the point of his chin. His head snapped back and there was a crack as sharp as a rifle shot. He collapsed, his head at an unnatural angle.

Eliane reached down, took up the fallen katana. As she raced back toward the lights of the temple, she thought she heard the cough of a car engine, but with the sounds of the wind and the rain she could not be sure.

Inside, the pockmarked Yakuza was approaching the curtain. He was in the firstattack position so well known in kenjutsu. His right side was held forward, his knees bent, his fists were at the height of his sternum, the blade angled forward.

He was not more than eighteen inches from the curtain. He stood very still, listening. But all he could hear were echoes swirling all about him as his colleagues went about their search.

Very carefully, he extended the tip of his sword until it touched the curtain.

He saw that he could easily pull it aside in this manner, and was about to do so when it flashed open. He gave a little scream as the demon leaped out at him.

It was all white, this demon. Its head was horned, and it had a great grinning mouth as red as blood. It was only after the demon struck him with an atemi so powerful it broke three ribs that he recognized the face as a mask, the body as wrapped in a white cloth. But by then he had been struck again and there was very little conscious thought left.

Michael threw the mask aside as he scooped the sword out of the dying soldier's hand. He unwrapped the cloth from around his upper torso and leaped over the supine figure.

In a moment, he saw the leader, a slim, suited man with a thin moustache. He was unlike the others. He was older, and he had never been on a motorcycle.

There was a flame inside him that the others lacked. He among the Yakuza knew precisely where they were and what the nature of sanct.i.ty meant. He just did not care. Or, perhaps somewhat more cruelly, his sense of desecration was deliberate.

Certainly, Michael thought, there was a measure of satisfaction if not outright pleasure in the way be brought the blade of his tanto to bear on the bald-headed priest who had given the box to Michael.

He drew a line of blood on the priest's flesh the moment he saw Michael. "Get it," he said curtly. "Don't waste time in denials. Don't waste time at all."

"But I don't-"

He drew another line of blood on the priest. "This will happen," he said, "over and over. Until you bring me the box."

Michael turned and went back down the oratory. In the sanctuary of the kami he retrieved the box, brought it back to where the soldier stood imprisoning the priest.

"Ah," the Yakuza said, exhaling deeply. "Put it down." He nodded. "Just there.

Close enough so the priest can fetch it for me."

Michael did as he was told.

"All right," he told the priest. "Get it." He lifted the blade to allow the priest to move. As he did so, his own body moved just enough for Michael to see a sliver of another figure behind him. It was dripping water.

"Don't hurt him," Michael said.

He laughed. "Shut up!" He gestured with his head. "And tell the girl creeping up behind me to stay where she is unless she wants this priest's blood all over her."

"I won't move." She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You've already killed one of my men," the Yakuza said to Michael. "Where is the other one?"

"Out by the car," Eliane said. "I broke his neck."

"I'll take the box now." The Yakuza was very smart, Michael saw. He refused to be provoked into making a blunder.

Michael walked to the box and bent down.

"Not you. The girl."

When he hesitated, the Yakuza said, "I only require a tenth of a second to take this old man's life."

The tanto flicked upward, back. "The box."

Eliane brought the box to the edge of the doorway. As she did so, he retreated, keeping the distance between them.

The blade glinted at the priest's throat. "Now. Come here."

Eliane went into the darkness.Michael saw the Yakuza press the blade to the side of her neck just before they disappeared into the rain.

"Quiet," Joji said in Audrey's ear. "Keep still, or you'll give us both away."

He kicked the door shut, moved them into the center of the room. "Don't be scared," he said. "I know who you are. I'm a friend."

Joji, having lost Michiko and Tori in the maze of corridors, had panicked. He had been too cautious, following too far behind for fear of alerting Masashi's men of his presence.

He had wandered down this corridor and that, twice nearly coming upon Masashi's soldiers. Then he had turned a corner and had seen the guard stationed outside the door to this room. His heart had leaped. He had been certain that fate had led him to the very spot where Masashi was holding Michiko and Tori.

He had overpowered the guard and, not finding the key to the door on his person, had picked the lock. Entering the room, he had been all set for a reunion with his stepsister and her granddaughter, only to come face to face with Philip Doss's daughter, Audrey. He had known of her, of course, from Michiko, and had seen the photographs of Audrey and Michael that Michiko kept.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said now. "I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth." He did so, turning Audrey around. Then he told her who he was and what he was doing here.

Audrey listened. The more he spoke, the more terrified she became. "Masashi is my father's enemy?" she said. "But he told me just the opposite."

"He lied," Joji said. "My brother is quite adept at that."

Audrey backed away. "One thing's for sure. One of you is lying. The problem is, I don't know which one."

Joji thought a moment. "I understand how you feel," he said. "I have an idea.

Come with me just long enough to find my stepsister, Michiko. Masashi is keeping her and her granddaughter, Tori, here against their will. He kidnapped Tori, in fact, so that Michiko and her family would do what he wants. Please.

I'm sure Michiko will be able to persuade you that what I've said is the truth."

This made sense to Audrey. Joji was offering her the two things that she wanted most now: her freedom and the chance to make up her own mind. She nodded. "I'll trust you that far," she said warily. "But only that far."

Joji bowed. "That's fair enough. Come on."

Masashi signed for the package, and the motorcycle messenger sped off. The package was small, almost fitting into the palm of his hand. There was a purple urgent: open immediately stamped on the wrapping. Masashi opened it. Inside was a single audio ca.s.sette. There was no message, nothing written on either side of the ca.s.sette sh.e.l.l.

He and Kaeru went back inside the warehouse, up the stairs to Masashi's third-floor office. Masashi went to his desk, popped the ca.s.sette into a tape recorder.

A voice came on. It was speaking Russian, but with a decided accent. The voice sounded familiar, but Masashi could not quite place it. His finger stabbed out, stopped the ca.s.sette.

"You know Russian," he said to Kaeru. "Translate."

"It's a long-distance telephone call," Kaeru said. "The man is asking for someone named Yvgeny Karsk. He's a general."

"In the Russian Army?"

"No," Kaeru said. "The KGB."

"The KGB?" What is the purpose of this tape? he wondered.

Kaeru, with his head c.o.c.ked, listening intently. "According to what's being said, Karsk is one of the chiefs of the KRO, the KGB's Counterintelligence Department."

Kaeru looked at Masashi. "How does the Soviet spy apparatus concern us?"

"Other than that I would like to kill them all, nothing," Masashi said. He set the ca.s.sette to playing again. More Russian, this time from the other end ofthe phone line.

"They're saying that Karsk is at home at that late hour of the night. The call is being transferred."