By the Sword

    But no… no lights. No sign of a dog or anyone patrolling the yard. Just that one guard at the gate.

    Great.

    He hurried around to the west side of the wall where he could put the temple between him and the front gate. He was ready for the pain this time when he levered himself up and over. Landing on the other side he froze in a crouch, listening. A growl or a bark would send him back over that wall in a heartbeat.

    All quiet.

    Maintaining his crouch, he hurried over to the side of the building and began inching along beneath the windows, listening. He didn't expect anyone to be speaking English, and knew he'd never understand a word. But he was searching for a certain tone of excitement, or the sound of guys gearing up for battle.

    He found it near the southwest corner. Loud chatter flowing from an open window, then what sounded like someone giving a pep talk, then cheers and the sound of trampling feet.

    As the sound faded he dared a peek over the sill into what looked like some sort of classroom. He spotted the last three guys of the group that had been gathered here, scrambling out through a door. All wore black from head to toe and held knives and nunchaku. They looked like ninjas without hoods.

    Jack allowed himself a little smile. He didn't need to understand a word they'd said to know they were on their way to the Lodge to kick some Kicker ass and grab that sword.

    And Jack would be right behind them.

    He noticed with a start that the room hadn't completely emptied. A lone figure in a hooded blue robe sat statue-still behind a desk, staring into space. At least Jack thought he was staring. Maybe he was meditating. Jack couldn't see his features through the red silk drawn across his face. The mask had eyeholes but Jack's angle didn't allow him to see through.

    Definitely creepy. Slater hadn't exaggerated. These were weird dudes.

    The head started to swivel toward him so he ducked and moved away from the window. As he heard the van engines rumble to life on the far side of the building, he swung back over the wall and started making his way up the incline. But as he neared the spot where he'd left the cab, he didn't see it. He ran up onto the crumbling pavement and looked around. He was sure—

    And then he saw a little piece of paper weighted by a stone at the side of the road where the cab had been. He picked it up.

    Half of a fifty-dollar bill.

    Gone. The weasel had run off.

    Jack stomped around in a circle, calling the little Thai bastard every name he could think of. When he finished he felt a tiny bit better, but he was no closer to Manhattan. He had a phone and he could call a cab, but if this tertiary road had a name, he didn't know it. So where could he tell them to pick him up?

    He broke into a run toward the house lights a half mile away. He'd find a street there. Then he'd have an address.

    Shiro watched the time on his cell phone, waiting for the 4 of the 1:14 on its screen to advance. He and his three companions, Jun, Fumio, and Koji—two guards and another acolyte—would enter from above, while Yukio and the others would break in through the back.

    As he gazed down at the rooftop two stories below, he felt his blood pounding in his ears, his palms slick with sweat. Even though he had company, he felt alone. He and Yukio knew the most about the Kicker building—and not much at that—so they were in charge. Shiro had never been in charge of anything before. His every move since being taken from his fishing village had been directed and guided by the sensei of the Order. He found being in charge of his own actions as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

    He wished Akechi-sensei were at his side now. He could tell that his teacher had wanted to come along, but his vow prevented him from appearing in public without his mask, and they could not risk the attention he would attract if he appeared with it. So they had left him behind in the classroom.

    It had taken them almost an hour to reach Lower Manhattan. He had heard that the Staten Island ferry had once transported cars, but no more. So they had been forced to take the Verrazano Bridge into Brooklyn and cross back over via the Manhattan Bridge which left them only a few blocks from their destination. When they arrived at the building, passing it on the street, he had been relieved to see that most of the Kickers who had been milling around on the sidewalk earlier in the evening had drifted away. Only a few remained, clustered on the front steps.

    The Kicker building did not adjoin any of its neighbors. It sat unattached on its property, with a narrow alley on its east flank and wider spaces to the west and rear. That was good news for those invading from street level, but not so good for those entering from above.

    Using dramatic kicks and throws, Jun and Koji had got into a mock fight near the front of the building. While those on the steps were occupied cheering them on and calling for blood, Yukio had backed the van unseen into the alley on the building's west side. They were waiting below for the agreed-upon moment to invade via the rear entrance.

    Success or failure rested in the hands of him and other members of the Order's Outer Circles. Failure was unthinkable. They must succeed.

    And the first step to success was reaching the roof.

    An interesting roof. Someone had gone to the trouble to create a garden there—flower beds, potted trees, even an area of sod. He wondered who had done it. He could not imagine these Kickers…

    He shook off the questions and focused on his phone. This was taking—

    There! It changed to 1:15. He signaled to the others and they began to rappel down the wall of the building on the east side of the Kicker home. When he reached a point ten feet above roof level he kicked backward with everything he had, swinging away from the wall. He let the rope slide through his gloved hands as he glided through the air to land with a jolt on the Kicker roof, half a foot inside its low parapet. The others landed successfully as well.

    Without speaking he pointed to Fumio and then to the western edge of the roof. He would ready a rope there to lower to the van parked below when the time came, then he would stand guard to make sure no Kicker came up on the roof.

    Shiro, Jun, and Koji made their way through the potted trees—mostly decorative like cherry and dogwood, and even a delicate five-fingered maple. They reached the door to the floors below and, as expected, found it unlocked. With no adjoining roofs to allow trespassers access, there was no need to lock it.

    They crept down the stairs to the third floor and peered along the hallway, dark except for light from an open door that appeared to be a bathroom. It was empty. With luck, the few Kickers who remained in the building were asleep.

    Shiro had seen the katana through a second-floor window, so they continued down. Once there, they found it as dark and deserted as the floor above. Shiro led them along the hall to the third door and stopped there. By his calculation, this one opened into the room they wanted.

    Now the truly difficult part. They had to enter, subdue whoever might be within, and leave with the katana—all without a sound. Shiro had given it a lot of thought on the way over and had decided on a precipitous entry rather than a stealthy one.

    No light shone from under the door, so the room was either empty or its occupant asleep. If empty—easy. If occupied, they had to silence the occupant before he could raise an alarm.