Someone who looked like a guard let him through the gate in the six-foot stone wall running the perimeter.

    Guard?

    "Slow down," Jack said. "Let the other cab pull away, then drive by—slowly."

    The driver did as he was told. As they passed Jack got a glimpse of the guard in the glow of the single bulb over the gate. He was wearing a kimono and a hakama, like someone out of a chop-socky movie.

    "Stop here and turn out your lights," Jack said as they reached the top of a rise.

    "I drive you back now, yes?"

    Jack dropped a couple of twenties on the front seat.

    "Just park here a few minutes. I want to watch the place."

    "I do not like it here," he said, but parked and doused his lights.

    Jack looked around and could see why. To the west the Hidden Face building stood alone, isolated on a marshy flat. Half a mile or more away in the opposite direction he could see what looked like house lights. Down at the building he spotted a couple of commuter vans parked along the southern flank. Beyond and to the right of the temple rose the dirt-covered hills of the landfill. Like cyclopean burial mounds. In a way they were burial mounds—the final resting place of a half century's worth of debris from the urban civilization a few miles to the north.

    He pointed to the biggest mound. "How tall do you think that is?"

    "As tall as the Statue of Liberty. The Fresh Kills landfill is one of largest man-made structures on Earth. It can be seen from space."

    It sounded rehearsed.

    "You give tours?"

    The driver shrugged. "I learn if I give interesting fact to fares, they give to me bigger tip."

    Jack turned his attention back to the temple, trying to imagine what was going on in there. He hoped they were planning a raid on Kicker HQ.

    Shiro tried to rein in his excitement as he approached the front entrance of the temple. He placed his cell phone in the galvanized, foam-lined, waterproof milk box outside the door. There it would rest among watches and flashlights and other phones.

    He found the phone invaluable in the outside world—without it he would not have been able to call Yukio and tell him to maintain surveillance on the Kicker house while he returned to the temple—but useless when he needed to contact the temple. No technology from beyond the sixteenth century—the time of the Order's defeat of the Nobunaga Shogunate—was allowed inside. No radios or TVs or watches or guns. And worst of all, no air conditioners in the summer when the heat and humidity suffused the landfill area with the reek of old garbage and methane.

    But no sacrifice was too great for the Order.

    Minutes later Shiro was kneeling in his teacher's sparsely furnished quarters, bowing before him. He raised his head to speak.

    "I saw them both, sensei—the woman and the sword!"

    Akechi-sensei's eyes narrowed to slits within the eyeholes of his mask as he studied Shiro. "You are sure of this? Absolutely sure?"

    "She has changed her appearance, but I studied her through my field glasses and I have no doubt that her face is the same as in the photograph on the flyers."

    His sensei closed his eyes and remained silent for what seemed like an eternity.

    "But that does not mean she is the same woman whose face the Seer saw 'everywhere.' "

    "But her face is everywhere, and she is with the katana—in the same room! The katana and the baby together! Just as the Seer said."

    The eyes opened and fixed on Shiro. "Yes. It is indeed as the Seer said. You have done well, Shiro."

    The praise warmed him. "Thank you, sensei."

    "Remember the Seer's words: 'Who controls the child controls the future.' And, 'Her child and the katana are linked to the destiny of the world.' The katana and the baby are together now, but elsewhere. We must keep them together. Here."

    Shiro thought about the old stone building and all the men milling around outside it.

    "Sensei, it will be extremely difficult to steal the sword and make off with the woman."

    Akechi-sensei nodded. "I am aware of that. If we had only the sword to worry about, we could start a Kuroikaze atop the building, then stand back and wait until everyone inside was dead. When it was safe we could simply walk in and take it."

    Shiro thought of the many innocents in the neighborhood who would be dead as well, but didn't mention it. His sensei was not the sort to worry about collateral damage.

    "But the Kuroikaze would kill the woman and child as well."

    "Exactly. So I see no alternative to invasion. Tell me what you know of this place. We shall make a plan and strike."

    "When, sensei?"

    "Why, tonight, of course. You have seen both her and the katana there tonight. Tomorrow it might not be so. We must strike as soon as possible."

    Shiro leaped to his feet. "I'll call Yukio and ask him what he sees. I had only one angle on the place. He'll have another."

    His sensei's eyes narrowed. "You do not bring the phone in here, I trust."

    "No, sensei. It is outside."

    "Use it then. Ask Yukio if he can find another entrance besides the front door."

    "Yes, sensei."

    Shiro hurried off with his heart pounding. At last! Tonight he would finally be able to put to use all of those years of martial arts training.

    He couldn't wait.

    The driver remained antsy while Jack became bored.

    He glanced at his watch: 11:39. He wasn't quite sure what he'd been hoping for. Ideally, the watcher would make his report, and soon after a mob of monks would come charging out, pile into the vans, and head for Kicker HQ.

    Jack's plan was to follow and let them launch whatever plan they'd cooked up. And while they were busy trying to retrieve the sword, and the Kickers were engaged trying to keep it, Jack would snoop around during the fracas, find Dawn, and spirit her away. If he had to damage or kill a few Kickers along the way, so be it. They'd kidnapped her, and if they wanted to get in his way, they'd pay the price.

    He hadn't forgotten what Veilleur had said about keeping the katana out of the wrong hands. But the katana was a thing, Dawn was an eighteen-year-old girl. That set the priorities.

    But the temple remained quiet—at least that he could see. The piddly security lighting gave him an idea.

    "Listen," he said to the cabby. "I'm going down for a look-see. I—"

    "No-no! You mustn't!"

    "I'll be fine."

    "I take you back to ferry now."

    Jack pulled a bill from his wallet and tore it in half. He'd seen this in a movie and it seemed like a cool move. He handed one half through the partition.

    "Here."

    The driver took it and stared at it. "What is this?"

    "Half of a fifty. I'm going down for a look. You wait here. If you're still here when I get back, I'll give you the other half. Sound fair?"

    "Yes-yes. Most fair."

    Jack opened the door and stepped out. "I won't be long."

    He circled around through the dark to the north end of the property, then made his way down a slope dotted with clumps of rank grass and skunk cabbage. When he reached the wall he crouched and waited for any sign that he'd been seen.

    When none came, he rose and carefully felt along the near edge of the top of the wall. Finding only smooth brick, he did an overhand pull-up and—clenching his teeth against the howl of pain from his left deltoid—scanned the top. No razor wire or broken glass. He checked the walls for security lights. If he found any, he'd head back to the cab. They'd probably be motion activated and would light up as soon as he went over the wall.