By the Sword

  Before they could challenge him, Jack positioned his faux tattoo where they could see it and said, “Am I late?”

  The heavier of the two nodded. “Missed them. Just left.”

  “I got a call and came as soon as I could. Damn.” He looked around. “Nobody else heading out?”

  The guy shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Shit.” Jack loosed a disappointed sigh. “Well, anything I can do around here till they get back?”

  Now he was getting a different kind of look—incredulous. Jack guessed not too many of their peers volunteered.

  Finally the thin guy spoke. “You can go upstairs and help Ansari and Stayer clean up the mess in the boss’s room.”

  “Hank’s room?” He assumed that was on one of the upper floors—just where he wanted to be. “What happened?”

  They glanced at each other. The heavy guy shrugged and said, “Someone got killed.”

  Jack feigned shock. “No way! I heard something was stolen, but nobody said anything about—”

  “We’re keeping it quiet for now. Look, you want to help those guys, be our guest. Don’t think you’ll get an argument from them. They’re on the second floor.”

  “Great.”

  He headed up the granite steps but passed the second floor and continued to the third. He hurried from room to room—all unlocked, all empty.

  Well, he’d seen Dawn through a second-floor window. Maybe he’d find her there.

  On the second floor he did another room-to-room search until he came to one with two guys scrubbing a red stain off the floor.

  “Is there where Haber bought it?” he said, remembering the name and trying to sound more knowledgeable than he had downstairs.

  Ansari and Stayer—he didn’t know who was who—looked up at him.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “The guys downstairs said I should come up and help you. What needs to be done?”

  “Well, your timing’s fucking great,” one of them said. “We’re just about through.”

  Jack decided to go for the gold.

  “Where’s the girl?”

  This earned him instant suspicion.

  “What girl?” the other one said.

  Jack was flowing toward a kneecapping mood. The Glock was a growing itch against the small of his back.

  “The one whose picture I’ve been hanging all over town for weeks. Word is they found her. They got her here?”

  “If you know so much, you should know the slants took her when they grabbed the boss’s sword.”

  Jack didn’t try to hide his shock. “They took her too?”

  “Yep.”

  “What the hell for?”

  The first one shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question. All we know is that Menck and Darryl was watching her down in the basement, now they’ve got broken heads and the girl’s gone.”

  Jack stared at them for a few heartbeats as his mind reeled, then he spun and ran back down the hall.

  “Hey, where you goin?” said a voice behind him. “I thought you was gonna help.”

  In your dreams.

  He pounded down the stairs.

  What the hell? He hadn’t seen this coming. The Kakureta Kao had taken Dawn? Why-why-why?

  And it didn’t sound like a spur-of-the-moment thing, as in taking a hostage for insurance. The sword had been on the second floor, and Dawn in the basement. Taking her couldn’t have been happenstance.

  Goddamn. He’d thought he was drawing the Kickers away from her when all the time he was sending them to her instead.

  He blew through the foyer and out to the street. He needed a cab. He was turning toward Allen Street when he heard a toot. He looked and saw a green Land Rover double-parked in front of the Lodge. A bearded, older man stood beside it.

  Veilleur waved. “Need a ride?”

  Jack fairly leaped toward him. “How the—?”

  “A woman with a dog told me you might need some company.” He opened the driver’s door. “I suggest you drive.”

  “The Ladies…you know them too?”

  A nod. “Very well.”

  Jack jumped in and started the car. As soon as Glaeken was settled in the passenger seat Jack gunned it toward the Manhattan Bridge.

  “But how did she know?” Jack said.

  The old man shrugged. “She doesn’t know everything that goes on, but she knows quite a bit.”

  “Who are they?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “Would I be asking if I did?”

  A pause, then, “Perhaps she doesn’t think you’re ready to know. I think you’re more than ready, but the decision is hers.”

  “Come on. A hint at least.”

  He shook his head, then said, “All right. You keep saying ‘They.’ There’s only one.”

  That shocked him. “But I’ve seen—”

  “Only one, but she comes in many shapes and sizes.” He waved his hand. “Forget the Lady for now. Let’s plan what we’ll do when we reach our destination.”

  Jack forced his thoughts back to Dawn, but they wouldn’t leave the Lady entirely.

  “Did she at least say why this cult kidnapped Dawn?”

  “She’s not sure. One thing we agree on is that her baby is important to all the wrong people.”

  “What about the sword? Why do they want that?”

  “Apparently it was instrumental in fulfilling a prophecy that doomed them in the past. They think controlling it will protect their future.” He looked at Jack. “It might be best for the world if the Kakureta Kao has no future.”

  Their eyes locked for a second, then Jack turned back to driving.

  “That might already be in the works.”

  He prayed Dawn wouldn’t go down with them.

  8

  Hank saw the building, saw the wall, saw the gate, saw the guard in his corny kung-fu getup. A big entrance opened in the center. He’d never been here before, but for some reason the place looked familiar.

  No matter. They’d arrived.

  His blood sang in his ears. He’d counted thirty-seven Kickers, including himself, in nine vehicles. How many of those Japs could be in there? Two dozen, tops. He couldn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t have Dawn and the sword back in fifteen minutes.

  The sooner the better. His head still throbbed and he felt like puking. He just wished he’d seen the guy who’d done this to him. All he remembered was a bright light in his eyes and then nothing. So if he couldn’t make the guilty one pay, they’d all pay.

  He phoned ahead to Menck in the lead car—the one with the GPS.

  “Slow down until we can get one of the pickups in front, and then we’ll run that fuckin gate. No talk, no dickin around. We’re going in.”

  He watched a battered old truck make its way to the front, then gun forward. The rest followed in its wake.

  The guard stepped out behind the chain-link barrier and waved them to stop. But instead of slowing, the pickup accelerated. The guard dove for cover as the truck hit the barrier dead center, sending the double gates flying back on their hinges.

  And then they were all barreling through, one after another, pulling up before the entrance and piling out. No flood or security lights on the outside, and hardly any light inside. Headlights provided all the illumination. As they were milling around, getting organized, the guard from the gate came running up behind them, shouting and waving a sword. A length of chain whirled through the air, catching his knees. He went down and in a flash a dozen guys were on him. Crowbars and two-by-fours rose and fell. When the whooping knot stepped back, the guy lay flat, facedown, unmoving. A grinning Kicker brandished his sword.

  This was going to be easy.

  “Everybody inside!” Hank shouted, waving his crowbar in the air. “Trash the place and everybody in it!”

  The Kickers roared and charged the entrance. The big glass doors weren’t even locked. Again that sense that he’d seen this place before.

 
Hank hung back. Menck and Darryl, each carrying two-by-fours, did the same. Their heads must have felt like his.

  Much as he’d have liked to, he couldn’t wait out here through the whole melee. Had to be among them, pretending to lead them. So when half their number had pressed through the entrance, he checked the reassuring bulk of the .38 in his front pocket, then started forward, motioning Darryl and Menck along.

  “Come on. Time for some payback.”

  They flowed into a big center hallway that ran the length of the building. Opposite them, faintly visible in the dim light, a wide set of stairs ran up to the second floor.

  Now he knew why the place looked familiar: just like his old high school. Man, he’d hated that place.

  But where were the lights? The only illumination came from some sort of oil lamps strung along the center of the ceiling. He found a bank of light switches and started flipping them.

  Nothing. The place didn’t seem to have electricity. Why wouldn’t—?

  A Kicker cried out and clutched his face. Hank gasped as he saw something round and pointy jutting from his eye—a throwing star. Another sliced into his throat.

  And then came a hail of the things. Hank dropped to his knees as the stars pierced heads and shoulders and raised hands.

  The rain stopped, replaced by shrill cries echoing from both sides as black-clad figures charged out of the dark. Sword blades gleamed in the lamplight.

  Their blood up now, the Kickers charged right into them. Some fell victim to the swords but their overwhelming numbers inundated the attackers and crushed them.

  Hank counted seven Kickers down. Some looked dead, others—like the guy with the star in his eye—were still mobile but out of the fight. Hank couldn’t let these minor losses take the steam out of them.

  “Listen up! We knew we wouldn’t come through this without a scratch. Yeah, we’re bloodied, but we’re unbowed. If this is the best these gooks have to throw at us, the battle is won! All we’ve got to do now is find the sword and the girl. So we’re gonna split up.”

  He used his arm to draw an imaginary line through the group, then pointed to the right.

  “This half stays down here with Darryl and Menck. Your job is to search every room on the first floor. The rest of you come upstairs with me. We’ll do the same on the second. Those of you who are hurt but still able to get around, help get the others outside.” He clapped his hands. “All right! Let’s move! And fuck up anyone who tries to stop you!”

  They let loose a battle roar and divided.

  As Hank’s group headed for the stairs, a frantic voice shouting in Japanese echoed down from the second floor. But that was instantly drowned out by the sound of someone starting and revving a chainsaw.

  Shiro stood watch over the girl and the katana—together, just as the Seer had predicted. Akechi-sensei had used a doku-ippen on her that caused sleep but would not harm the life she carried.

  He was dreaming of the glory in the Order’s future when he heard a commotion from below. He looked out the window onto the rear of the property but saw nothing. He padded down the hall to one of the narrow stairways at each end of the building and heard cries of rage and pain—the unmistakable sounds of battle—echoing up the well.

  Baffled, he hurried down in time to see some of his brothers fall before the onslaught of an invading rabble.

  Kickers! It couldn’t be anyone else. They’d come for the girl and the katana.

  Shiro’s hands patted his sash and his pockets—empty. He was unarmed, but he could remedy that.

  He dashed back up to the second floor and ran its length, shouting a warning and a call to arms.

  He pounded on his sensei’s door.

  “Akechi-sensei! We’re being attacked. They want the katana and the girl!”

  The door swung open and Shiro gasped at the sight of his teacher’s face. He must have removed his mask and hadn’t had time to replace it.

  “Arm yourself and guard the katana and the child! Let no one near them! I will guard the sacred scrolls! Hurry!”

  Shiro ran to his room and grabbed his katana. He was starting back toward the hall when he spied his bow standing in a corner.

  …guard the katana and the child! Let no one near them!

  How better to do that than thin the ranks of the attackers?

  He grabbed his quiver and ran for the stairwell at the end of the hall.

  Darryl let one of the big guys without a headache kick in the doors.

  The first room was dark and empty save for some bedding—didn’t they call it a futon or something like that?—along with some clothes and not much else.

  In the second they found a couple of burning candles and an old, bald-headed guy in a blue robe, cowering on his futon. Looked like some sort of monk—like from a kung-fu movie. Then Darryl noticed with a start that he didn’t have any legs.

  The monk was wailing in Japanese, motioning them to leave.

  “What do we do?” a Kicker said to Menck.

  Before Menck could answer, another said, “We do like the boss said. We fuck him up.”

  The monk’s wailing and whimpering grew louder as the two of them stepped forward, one with a two-by-four, one with a crowbar. They raised them when they reached him—and suddenly the monk didn’t look afraid anymore, and his wailing and whimpering changed to raging screams as he pulled a long sword from beneath his robe and started swinging.

  Darryl cried out in surprise and fell back. He watched in horror as the monk opened the first Kicker’s thigh, then backhanded a slice deep into the second’s knee. They screamed and went down. Fortunately they fell on him, pinning him. A couple of other Kickers rushed in and turned the old dude’s skull to mush.

  “Shit!” Darryl shouted. “These guys are crazy!”

  Menck knelt next to the futon and started tearing strips from the bedding. As he wrapped one around the bleeding thigh he looked up at Darryl.

  “I’ll take care of these guys. Keep going. Let’s find what we came for and get the hell out of this madhouse. And be careful, damn it.”

  Don’t need to tell me, Darryl thought.

  He wished he was staying behind with Menck.

  “All right, guys. Let’s roll. Stick together and keep your eyes open. You see anyone who ain’t us, clobber him first and ask questions later.”

  As he was rejoining the Kickers in the hall, one of them let out a gurgling cry. Darryl watched him sink to the floor clutching at a black arrow shaft sticking out both sides of his neck.

  And then another went down with an arrow sticking out of his head—this one didn’t come out the other side.

  Suddenly everyone wanted into the room. All but one. This bearded mountain of a Kicker Darryl knew only as Jesse picked up a dead Jap in the hall and charged whoever was shooting at them, holding the corpse in front of him as he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  Darryl dropped to his knees and dared a peek down the hall. He saw a skinny guy in black, much like the ones who’d charged him in the Lodge basement, standing by the front entrance and shooting arrow after arrow like a machine. Some of his shots went wide, but a lot of them plowed into the dead monk.

  Finally the Jap ran out of arrows. When Jesse saw this, he tossed the monk aside and picked up speed toward the Jap. Now that it was safe to go out, the Kickers around Darryl loosed howls of rage and joined the chase like a pack of baying hounds. Not wanting to be thought of as a coward, Darryl brought up the rear, keeping an eye over his shoulder in case another archer appeared.

  Out of arrows and with a mob coming his way, the Jap turned and ran for the far end of the hall. The Kickers were almost even with the entrance when four Japs in suits—suits and ties—stepped into view.

  Like it had a single mind, the mob changed course and charged toward the newcomers.

  “Stop,” Hideo said, staring at the building a few hundred yards ahead.

  Kenji pulled the car onto the shoulder and looked at him expectantly.

 
Hideo checked the coordinates. Yes, this was the place. But look at all the vehicles in front of it. That did not seem at all in keeping with the Kakureta Kao’s antiquated ways.

  He had talked to the home office and had been told that Kaze Group had no dealing with the cult. Hideo was free to do what he wished with them.

  He tapped Kenji’s shoulder and said, “Turn off the headlamps and proceed to the building. We do not want to announce our presence too early.”

  Kenji complied and soon they were gliding up to the ruined front gate.

  “Park here. We will walk the rest of the way.”

  A moment later Hideo, Kenji, Goro, and Ryo were standing in a tight circle. The three yakuza were fastening silencers to their pistols. Even Hideo was armed for this trip, but he kept his weapon in the holster strapped to his shoulder. He had no idea what make it was, only that it was loaded with .9mm hollow-point rounds and ready to fire. He felt no need for a silencer, for he had no intention of drawing and firing it unless circumstances became dire. And in that case, he doubted silence and secrecy would be issues.

  When the yakuza were satisfied with their weapons, the four of them walked through the gate and toward the main entrance. As they wove through the parked vehicles, they heard groans and voices. They came upon half a dozen or so dead or wounded Caucasians. These were most certainly not Kakureta Kao monks.

  One of them with a bloody head looked up and spotted them. He was carrying a crowbar. He lifted it as he rushed them.

  “Dirty motherfu—”

  Phut!

  Kenji shot him in the face. Before the man’s body hit the ground, Ryo and Goro were shooting anyone not already dead, and even those who were.

  He noticed strange tattoos on the hands of some of the corpses. He’d seen that spidery figure here and there about town.

  But the figure didn’t bother him a fraction as much as his lack of shock or revulsion at the cold-blooded murder of these men. The prospect of failing in his quest for this strange, elusive katana had changed him. He was now ready to eliminate, by any means necessary, every barrier or impediment to his finding it.