Where was this going?
"That works into my plans as well. I may be able to assist you toward that end. But not tonight."
Hank felt his gut twist as he watched the man step over to the bed and lift Dawn into his arms as if she weighed nothing.
"Where are you taking her?"
"Someplace safe—safer than here. A place she will not escape from again."
That shocked Hank. "She's been with you? And she got away?"
"An unfortunate lapse by one of my employees. It will not happen again." He looked up, as if watching the sky through all the floors and ceilings overhead. "I suggest that if you want to be present for any future mass dissimilation, you leave the city at once. An ill wind is about to blow."
"Wind?"
He smiled. "An ill wind that blows nobody good—except me. You'd best leave now."
Hank had no idea what this loon was talking about, so he shook his head. "No way."
Like he was letting this wimpy-looking dude or anyone else—no matter what his eyes looked like—tell him to get out of town.
"As you wish."
And then the man carried Dawn out the door and up the steps to the first floor. Hank waited to hear some sort of commotion from above but all stayed quiet. Was everyone else in the building frozen too?
Suddenly he was stumbling forward, able to move again. Free. He grabbed the.38 from Darryl's hand and ran up to the first floor where he found the foyer deserted.
"Hey, boss."
Hank started and turned to see Ansari strolling in. "Where the hell is everybody?"
"Stayer thought he heard something on the roof so we went up. We found out how they got in: Scaled down ropes from next door. We never thought to keep watch on the roof."
"We will now."
"Damn right. Stayer's up there doing the first shift. We'll rotate till we can find a way to alarm that door."
Hank looked around. "You see anyone come through here who didn't belong?"
"Like who?"
"Never mind."
The guy had slipped out with Dawn. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He'd told them he'd take good care of her. He seemed as interested in the baby as Hank.
I can foresee a circumstance where the child might indeed act as the Keyto the Future, though not quite in the way your father intended.
Hank wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded good. And the guy had been holding all the high cards when he'd said it, so no need to lie.
Hank couldn't help feeling an odd sense of relief. Keeping Dawn and her baby locked away and healthy had looked to be an almost impossible task. Now it was out of his hands.
But once the baby was born—he and Jeremy had figured that would be next January—he'd go looking. His dreams had led him to Dawn, so he was sure they'd lead him to the baby. He didn't want to go one-on-one with that weird dude, but with a bunch of Kickers behind him… different story.
He looked at Ansari. "Jantz ever show up?"
He shook his head. "No sign of him, no call, no nothin."
Not good. He should have been here by now… unless he ran into the hit men.
Oh well, his dreams had also led him to the sword… or rather the sword to him. It would happen again.
The weird guy's parting words came back to him: I suggest that if you want to be present for any future mass dissimilation, you leave the city at once.
Get out of Dodge? Fat chance. This was Hank's town now.
Shiro unfolded himself from the tiny space between three large potted trees.
He'd stumbled as he'd swung onto the roof. Someone below must have heard because in less than a minute four Kickers arrived. They did a quick, cursory search and then spent the rest of the time looking at the ropes Shiro and his now dead brothers had left dangling from the neighboring rooftop.
Finally three of them returned below, leaving the fourth as guard. He immediately set a chair by the door and lit up a cigarette. Shiro watched from his hiding place, waiting for his chance. From the way he was drawing and holding the smoke, Shiro suspected it was cannabis.
Good. It would slow his response time, dull his senses, give him a false sense of well-being.
After a while the sentry's head drooped—just what Shiro had been waiting for. He padded up behind him, wrapped an arm around his head and dragged his tanto across his throat—just as he had done with the Kicker carrying the katana back at the temple.
Leaving the gushing, twitching body in the chair, Shiro walked to the center of the roof and sat. He pulled the vial of ekisu from his pocket and removed the stopper. He raised it toward his mouth but stopped midway.
He was afraid… afraid of what it would do to him… afraid of seeing the Hidden Face before he was ready.
And yet, what had he to live for? His brother acolytes and the elder monks were dead, his sensei butchered, the sacred Kuroikaze scrolls turned to ash.
The Order of the Kakureta Kao was, in almost every sense, extinct. Only he survived to exact vengeance. He could go below and slay many of them, but they would overcome him and the Kickers would go on.
But not if their leader died.
He knew Hank Thompson lived below. A Black Wind starting here would kill everyone in the building, and in the buildings for many blocks around. Shiro's head had been injured, but his body remained strong. He would take a long time dying, and the longer he held on, the greater and stronger his Kuroikaze. It might spread for a mile or more.
He realized then that no one in the world would ever forget tonight. The Trade Towers' death toll would pale before Shiro's Black Wind. And all would know it began here, with the Kickers. They would be shunned and reviled and hounded across the land.
An eye for an eye, brothers for brothers.
His fear faded. He titled the vial to his lips and downed the ekizu in one bitter gulp. Then he lay back and waited.
It took effect more quickly than he'd expected. In a matter of seconds he felt his skin begin to tingle as the extract coursed through his capillaries. Then the tingling faded, replaced by no sensation at all. He no longer felt the roof beneath him. He could have been floating a few inches above it—naked, because he could not feel the clothes against his skin, nor the saliva against his tongue. Did he still have saliva?
The carbon monoxide tang of the air faded along with the sight of the stars and the incessant Manhattan rumble.