"Mr. Walton, where is the silver case?" She'd walked straight up to us and now was just standing there, awaiting an answer.
"Mori-san, that silver box is long gone, thanks to Noda." I suddenly felt as if we'd just dropped out of the twentieth century and back into the twelfth. Time warp. "Let me tell you something. It was like the apple in the Garden of Eden: bite into it and out would spew the knowledge of good and evil. Better to forget the whole thing."
"You don't know anything."
"Definite point. We've just discovered there was a heck of a lot we didn't know." I thumbed toward Noda's office. "Including the scope of Dai Nippon's impressive new investment program."
She ignored that response entirely as she whirled on Tam, her voice increasingly strident. "Dr. Richardson, you have betrayed His Majesty."
"Mori-san, you and everybody who's helping Noda are the ones who've done the betraying." Tam stared her in the eye, daggers.
"Even though you are Fujiwara, you still let him continue," Mori pressed on, oblivious. "His scheme to manipulate the Emperor, to undermine MITI-"
"That's got nothing to do with-"
"It is the duty of a Fujiwara to protect His Majesty."
"Speaking of His Majesty," I cut in, "how much did you have to do with Noda's fake sword? Guess that 'protected' the Emperor too. Nothing like being handed a new lease on divinity."
"The sword was to be his gift to me." She said it hesitantly. "To restore-"
"Perhaps we can clarify what it's really intended to restore, Mori-san," I interrupted again. 'The shogunate, with Noda as-"
She turned on me. "And you helped him too."
"What?"
"You and Asano-san stole the only thing I could have used to stop him. The contents of that silver case. And then this operation. After I'd tried to warn you both."
"Mori-san, could be we're all acting under certain misunderstandings here today. For starters, buying up every American blue chip issue in sight was not exactly our idea."
She stared at me for a second, disbelieving. "But that is precisely what you are doing."
"Think again." I pointed toward Noda's office. "That's his game. Helped along by that sharpshooter over at the console." I waved to Jim Bob, who toasted us with his champagne glass, still too zonked on uppers to comprehend the revised ground rules. "Maybe you'd like to run through it with them."
She seemed to notice him for the first time. "Who is that person?"
"Noda's new hired gun. We've been retired. Without even so much as a gold watch."
"He is the one responsible?"
"He's good, tell you that. Fooled us all." I settled onto the office couch. "Noda's got him and this supercomputer. Looks like good-bye America."
Noda's office door, incidentally, was still firmly closed, so presumably he wasn't yet aware of Mori's arrival. Were we about to see history replayed before our very eyes, that fateful battle of Dan-no-ura staged all over again, eight hundred years later, as a loyal retainer of the emperor fought to thwart the armed takeover of a would-be shogun? Wonder who was going to win this time around.
"Mr. Walton, this must be stopped." She was turning the key on her new leather handbag, unlocking it. "I also insist you return your copy of the contents of that case. Having that is the only way I can-"
"Mori-san, not so long ago the contents of that silver box were very dear to our hearts, which is one reason we took the precaution of storing a facsimile on the hard-disk memory of the mainframe here. Now, there are about ten zillion files in that computer, so all you have to do is figure out what file name we used and you can just run off all the copies you want." I got up and faced her. "At the moment, though, there're more pressing worries."
"You are playing with fire, Mr. Walton." She glanced at the computer room down at the other end of the floor.
"No kidding. This is a tough game we've got going. Maybe you'd like to get an update from the other team too, Noda and his new crony."
"Are you saying he is the one?" She was pointing toward Jim Bob, who was now winding up the last dispatch of our new buy orders. I noticed it was the third time she had inquired.
"Don't take our say-so for it. Go ask him."
Without a word she spun around, leaving a cloud of exquisite floral perfume in her wake. Tell the truth, I rather liked the designer outfit, what you might call a real classic. What I didn't care for all that much were the vibes. Very, very ominous.
As she strode toward Jim Bob, he watched her with an unfocused gaze. He apparently assumed it was all some costume-party gag. Definitely a major mistake.
"I am Akira Mori."
Probably by then he no longer knew what he was seeing. He revolved around, adjusted the Uzi leaning against the console, and extended his paw.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance. Jim Bob McClinton. You work for Mr. Noda?"
"In a manner of speaking." She ignored the proffered handshake. "Is it true you are now in his employ?"
"I was. At the moment, though, I'm taking care of myself, American-style, if you want to know."
"Whatever you are doing, I hereby order you to terminate all activities in this office. Immediately."
Jim Bob just stared at her, not quite sure his brain wasn't playing more tricks. "Well, now, I'd normally like to oblige a pretty lady like yourself, but I'm afraid I just don't have any intention of doing that." He grinned, eyes flashing.
"Are you telling me you refuse?"
"You hear real good." He reached down for the Uzi, and his bloodshot eyes began to blink. "Far as that goes, where I come from we're not used to takin' orders from cute little twats. So the best thing for you to do would be to shake your ass out of my way and mind your own business. Or maybe go talk things over with Noda." He thumbed toward the office. "In there."
She was opening her handbag, reaching inside.
Jim Bob, I was wanting to yell, this woman is neither "cute" nor "little." Above all, she is definitely not a "twat." You are now face-to-face with a world heavyweight ball-breaker. Who may be about to take that Uzi you're so proud of and tie it around your scrofulous neck. This game is way over your head. Can't you see where it's headed?
"Matt, what's she doing?" Tam bolted forward…
Sad to say, everybody was too late, including Henderson. By probably no more than a second or so. I watched Jim Bob swing around his automatic… and then the lights went out. We heard the dull thunk of a silencer, followed by another, and next the sound of a chair crashing backward, an Uzi clattering across the floor. It was indeed Dan-no-ura all over again, only this time the shogun's forces had just taken the first hit.
But at least Henderson must have eluded Noda's gorillas. How'd he do it?
Whatever had happened, he'd gotten the message. Suntory black. He'd had Eddie yank the master switch for the eleventh floor. He "blacked out" Dai Nippon.
For what good it did. Not much, as things transpired. He'd only cut the overheads. The computer must have had its own backup power, some circuit that didn't run through the main utility room. The office was now eerily illuminated by CRT screens, still buying blue chips. As usual, Noda had prepared for all eventualities.
Gingerly we inched out onto the floor. Jim Bob was sprawled beside his console in a spreading pool of blood. Maybe he was still alive. Maybe not. Tam reached down to check the pulse at his neck.
"It's gone." She looked up, stunned.
Who was next? More to the point, where the hell was Mori?
Then we saw her, moving like a ghostly figure in a No play, gliding through the bizarre lime-colored light of the terminals. We watched as she disappeared into Noda's office, trailed by the two dumbstruck guards.
What a standoff, I reflected fleetingly. The would-be shogun versus the Emperor's number one fan. This time, though, the Imperial side is hopping mad and loaded for bear. Wonder who'll…?
There was, however, something more important to think about. The next few seconds could turn everything around. This was hardly the time for historical meditations. With deliberate haste we might even live long enough for some history of our own later.
In the dim glow of the screens Tam grabbed Jim Bob's Uzi, and we both dived for Noda's office. The door, happily, had just slammed shut. Since it was the kind that opened out, all we had to do was shove a desk against it and they were contained.
Now, how much time did we have?
"The mainframe." She was staring through the green shadows toward the glassed-in room that contained the massive NEC. "Matthew, we've got to shut it down somehow. That's the only way left to stop him."
"Is there an on-off switch?" Who knew how you went about disconnecting a twenty-million-dollar supercomputer?
"We're about to find out." She led the way.
The entry door was glass, half-inch, and locked. Beyond it stood the string of six-foot-high modules, off-white and octagonal, lined up like squat soldiers on flooring elevated about six inches above that outside. The nerve center of Noda's empire rested there on its platform, silent and secure.
"Tam, pass me that thing." I reached for the Uzi, turned it around, and rammed the steel butt against the glass. Then again. It just bounced off.
"Harder."
"Okay, but stand away."
I hauled back and swing at it with all my might. With a sickening crunch the glass shattered inward, spewing shards across the icy tiles inside. An alarm went off somewhere out on the floor, but we just ignored it. After I'd punched away a few hanging pieces, we stepped in and up.
I handed back the Uzi. Now what?
"It's freezing in here." She shivered from the cold, then pointed down. "You know, all the wiring must be underneath this raised floor. There's no way to even know where the power conduit is, let alone reach it."
"Okay, guess we'll just have to start ripping…"
My heart skipped a beat. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I finally noticed what I should have seen immediately. Lying atop the big computation module was a thin, four-foot- long bundle, swathed in silk.
So there's where he decided to put it-in the one room that would always be locked. Or maybe he thought it should be kept in the most powerful location on the premises.
I reached up and retrieved it, then pulled away the silk. The blade had just been freshly oiled, and it literally glistened in the dim light. It was every bit as razor-sharp as the day it had been consecrated eight hundred years ago at the zenith of samurai metallurgy.
Guess Noda knew a prize when he saw it. And this katana was definitely a one-of-a-kind piece-an Old Sword, koto, from the Sanjo branch of the Yamashiro school of swordsmiths, late Heian. Signed by Munechika, said to have fashioned samurai swords for the Shogun Minamoto Yoritomo himself, the man who destroyed the Imperial forces at Dan-no-ura. No wonder Noda had treated it with special reverence.
"Welcome." I held it up.
"Why do you suppose he put it in here?" She was admiring it too.
"You know, I think I understand. But it's the kind of thing that can't be explained in words."
"Well, at least you've got it back again. Samson's hair. Are you pleased?"
"Maybe Noda was trying to tell me something. Send a message. But now I'm going to send one back."
"Do you really think…?" She was already ahead of me.
"Guess we're about to find out." I bowed to the blade ritually, then to the NEC's head-high main processor. "From the first shogun to the last."
This, I muttered silently, is for Amy. Her answer, Noda- san.
The great masters of swordsmanship all will tell you something very ironic. If you train for years and years, all your moves eventually become instinctive; you literally no longer "know" what you are doing. You become oblivious of your mind, as unknowing, consciously, of technique as the day you started. Thus the greatest masters and the rankest beginners actually share something very similar. Both are totally unaware of technique.
Was I closer to the mindless beginner or the "no mind" master? Friends, that's one confession you'll need medieval torture to extract.
I will, however, admit to thinking about which stroke to use. There are several that might have done the job. Of them all, though, the kesa seemed best for some reason. It slices diagonally, from the left shoulder down and across to the right, and a swordsman pure in spirit can literally bisect a man, slice him right in half.
As the blade sang through the cold and struck with a ring true as a bell, I felt nothing, thought nothing.
The hexagonal computation unit standing in front of us wasn't halved, not even close, but it was severely disoriented. I felt a small tingle in my fingertips as the sword sailed through the outer steel casing and severed its first layer of silicon neurons, sending forth a shower of sparks.
It wasn't dead, but then the sword had some backup. There is a long tradition in Japanese culture of cooperation, support from others. For example, in seppuku, the ritual disembowelment sometimes called hara-kiri, there is always a second participant who stands behind you and ceremonially lops off your head as your body topples forward. It is an honored assignment.
My action may have been satisfying symbolically, but it wouldn't do the job alone. Fortunately it didn't have to. There was one simple way to disengage Noda's electronic brain, now and forever. Tam didn't even hesitate.
For a second there it could have been the Fourth of July. An Uzi blasting away in the dark is a marvel. I watched spellbound as she emptied about twenty rounds into the processor bank as well as into everything else in sight, continuing until smoke started to pour out of the flooring below, followed by the crackle of electrical shorting. Then several storage modules began to arc, their high voltage mating in midair. In moments Noda's NEC supercomputer was transformed into a shorting, sputtering junk heap.
After that, electrical fires erupted down below, and the linoleum squares beneath our feet proceeded to heat and buckle. Next, something flashed somewhere in the dark, and a stack of computer printouts lying next to the door burst into flame.
Originally I'd planned to retrieve the blade, but then I reflected a second and decided just to leave it. The sword in the supercomputer. A six-figure gesture, maybe, but one worth every penny in satisfaction. Noda would definitely understand.
By the time we made our way back through the shattered glass doorway, picking a path among the splinters, the fire was already spreading to the main office.
"Let's get out of here." Tam was still grasping the Uzi.
"Not so fast." I reached for the grip. "You don't get to have all the fun. How do you operate this thing?"
"Just pull there." She pointed, then raised the muzzle. "Careful. You might need that foot someday."
I lifted it up and it coughed a burst of flame. The water cooler outside my office exploded.
"Uh, I think you have to be Chuck Norris to do it like that. On a scale of one to ten, that round scores down in the fractions. Better aim."
"Spoilsport." But I did. I took critical bead on a leering green monitor, squeezed, and felt a light kick from the metal stock. Out blinked one of the dying monster's eyes. Then I methodically took out half a dozen more workstations, just for the hell of it. Automatic weapons fire can be great therapy. Not to mention fun.
"Okay for a beginner… Matt!" She was pointing at the desk of Noda's secretary. A phone light had just flashed on. "He's calling in reinforcements."
"Time to make our not-so-graceful exit."
"Bring the automatic."
"You've got it… and, uh, I'm a little embarrassed to ask you for money, but would you mind grabbing your purse. We may need it."
"You're now broke, right?" She dashed for her office.
"So we're told." I was wrapping the Uzi in some computer printouts that hadn't yet caught fire. The place was really starting to blaze, thanks to all the paper. Smoke everywhere.
While she was coming back, I decided to go over and kick the desk away from Noda's door. Sure it was a risk, but we couldn't let him burn to death. Or Mori. Besides, we were home free. With the NEC supercomputer blown to pieces, as well as Jim Bob, there was absolutely no way Noda could cancel that stack of buy orders we'd seeded all around the globe. Nothing could stop the bomb.
As we made our way through security, we saw Mori coming out of the office, choking through the smoke and looking crazed as ever. Apparently the battle of Dan-no-ura, twentieth-century style, was still raging. Then Noda appeared in the doorway behind her and just stood there surveying the blazing ruins of his empire. With his customary discipline, he appeared totally unperturbed by it all. Not her, though. She lunged for the remains of the computer room, now billowing smoke and tongues of fire. The last thing on her mind, apparently, was us.
Which was just as well, because the second we hit the hallway we heard the elevator chime. It had to be Noda's backup forces. Without a word we both ducked for the stairwell, and as the metal door slammed behind us, Tanaka and a host of armed DNI security guards poured off the elevator like gangbusters. Turns out there'd been a small army poised downstairs just in case.
They could have the place, what was left of it. My last memory of that office was a raging torrent of smoke and flame. Nothing remained. This had to be the grand finale for Dai Nippon and Matsuo Noda. The end. Finis.
Barring unforeseen developments.