F. Paul Wilson - By the Sword

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.

Shiro pulled out a flashlight and turned it on. As he reached for the doorknob he nodded to the others, each gripping a handle of the nunchaku looped over his neck. He knew where the bed was. He'd shine the light on it and Jun and Koji would take care of whoever was in it.

He pushed open the door and glided inside. The man he'd seen with the sword lay in bed. He jolted upright, raising a hand against the light in his eyes.

"What the f—?"

Jun and Koji's nunchaku whipped through the air and cracked against the man's skull. He fell back without a sound and did not move. Blood began to leak onto his pillow.

Shiro flashed the light around and found a katana in a scabbard leaning in a corner. He handed the flashlight to Jun and grabbed it. He pulled the blade free and held it in the flash beam. He had seen the photos so many times, he knew the pattern of holes and defects by heart. This was it. This was the katana the Order sought. Akechi- sensei would be so proud.

A strange, vaguely unpleasant feeling coursed through him as he gripped the handle. He couldn't identify it… he'd never felt anything like it before. He felt strong… powerful…

Suddenly a noise at the door and a voice—

"Hey, what's goin on?"

Jun swung the beam, revealing a disheveled man in underwear. Without thinking, Shiro thrust the sword at him and watched with shock as it sank into the left side of his chest.

Immediately he withdrew it and staggered back, horrified. What had he done? He hadn't meant… he'd reacted… it almost seemed the sword had reacted for him… on its own.

The man's eyes went wide, his mouth worked as blood spurted from his chest, then he sagged to his knees and held the worshipful pose for the last beats of his dying heart before slumping back onto the floor.

Shiro looked around and saw Jun and Koji staring at him in awe.

Then Jun bowed. "For the Order."

"For the Order," Koji echoed, bowing as well.

Shiro shook himself. "Yes, for the Order."

But had it been for the Order? He felt as if it might have been for himself… or for the katana.

As the other two dragged the body farther into the room, Shiro wiped the blade on the bedsheet, then, with strange reluctance, sheathed it. They closed the door behind them and headed back to the roof.

There they found Yukio waiting with the rope. They lowered themselves to the alley and crawled into the van. The other three were softly congratulating one another and recounting the night's events. Shiro barely heard them. The shocked face of the man he'd killed filled his brain.

"Don't look so down in the mouth, girl. No one's gonna hurt you. You're gonna be taken good care of."

Dawn slumped in one of the basement chairs and looked up at the man called Darryl. She totally wanted to scream at him to get out, but she was screamed out. Cried out too. She felt as if she were spiraling down through an endless black void, with nothing to grasp, nothing to break her fall.

Why did they want this baby? What was the Plan ?

Did it matter now? She was going to have to resign herself to the fact that she was doomed to have this baby. She didn't see any way around it.

So okay. If that was the way it was going to be, she'd have to find a way to make the best of it, find a place in her head to totally retreat to for the next seven months while she waited for the baby. After that she'd get her life back and be on her way.

Giving in… surrendering… getting all fatalistic. She didn't know if she could do that, didn't know if she could stop looking for an escape route.

She clenched her fists and ground her teeth as she thought about how she had only one person to blame for all this.

Me.

Her mother had totally warned her from the start about Jerry, but did she listen? No way. She had all the answers and Mom had none. She'd let Jerry suck her in with that smooth line about designing video games for women and how she'd be the toast of the gaming world. Total bullshit. But it worked. She let him into her life and into her body, without a clue as to who he really was. And now she carried his baby.