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to allow ourselves to bee isolated from the rest of the world。〃
Nangi waved away Sato's words。 〃A mere stab in the dark。 The man's an animal； nothing more。〃
Sato gave a deep sigh。 〃And yet he's quite correct。 Why else would we be laboring so long and hard on Tenchi； eh？ It is something that is critically draining our financial resources； it is the most desperate gamble Japan has taken since Pearl Harbor。 In many ways it is more crucial to this country's future than the war ever was。 We were able to rebound from that defeat。〃 Sato shook his head。 〃But if Tenchi should fail or if…Buddha forbid！…we should be found out； then I fear that there will be nothing left of our beloved islands but atomic ash。〃
〃Tsutsumu's dead； along with Kusunoki。〃 The voice was flat and cold。 It might have been conveying the message； 〃Here are ten pounds of rice。〃
〃Before or after？〃 By contrast this voice was heavy； thick with foreign inflection。 'That is the only thing that matters。〃
〃Before。〃
There was a muffled curse in a language the first man could not understand。 〃Are you certain？ Absolutely certain？〃
〃I was thorough enough to do an anal search。 He had nothing on him。〃 There was a slight pause。 〃Do you wish me to withdraw？〃 Still the voice was emotionless； as if all feeling had been trained out of it。
〃Certainly not。 Stay just where you are。 Any sudden movement on your part could only bring down suspicion and these people are not to be underestimated。 They're fanatics； exceptionally dangerous fanatics。〃
〃Yes。。 。I know。〃
〃You have your orders； adhere to them。 The dojo's bound to be in turmoil for the next few days at least。 Even they need time to gather themselves。 They haven't picked Kusunoki's successor yet； have they？〃
〃There are meetings going on to which I am not privy。 As yet there have been no announcements。 But tension is high all through the dojo。〃
〃Good。 Now is the time to burrow in。 Get as close as you dare。 Strike in the midst of this confusion； our tactics are more efficient in this atmosphere。〃
〃Kusunoki's death has turned them into alarmists； they see hostiles in the movement of the shadows。〃
〃Then be especially bold。〃
〃The danger has increased。〃
〃And has your dedication to the goals of the Motherland therefore decreased？〃
〃I will not waver from the cause； you know that。〃
〃Good。 Then this conversation is at an end。〃
A light went on atop the scarred metal desk； dim and buzzing； coldly fluorescent； emanating from an ancient khaki gooseneck lamp that had been functionally ugly when new and now was light…years away from that。
This fitful pale mauve illumination revealed a face no more unusual than an accountant's or a professor's。 Black eyes above sloped Slavic cheekbones were penetratingly intelligent； to be sure； but his fine； tufted hair； the liver spots high on his domed forehead； and the rather weak chin all bined to paint a portrait of a bland； unremarkable man。 Nothing could be further from the truth。
His slender…fingered hand came away from the phone； already his mind was racing。 He did not like the sudden murder of the sensei； he knew well Kusunoki's power and was astonished that the sensei had been overpowered at all。 Still； he was trained to use any and all unforeseen circumstance to his benefit； and striking swiftly and surely during times of confusion was standard procedure。
Contrary to what his brethren back home espoused； he enjoyed working with these locals。 While he would never invite one to marry his daughter…if he had one…he could admire their expertise； their dogged persistence； and； above all； their rabid fanaticism。 This fascinated him； it was also his secret weapon against political assassination back home。
While his position； among all his brethren； was most secure… simply because he fed them a steady diet of fear and secrecy； two elements which never failed to catch their attention…still one found it good practice to keep shuffling the cards； keeping options open； finding the soft spots in one's superiors' private lives that would turn the key in the lock of one's future。 That was a lesson he had learned well and hard。
He turned away from the phone； activating the portable but very powerful 512K puter terminal； rechecking the myriad random elements he had thrown at the original program。 Still it was holding up。
His grunt in the otherwise silent room told of his satisfaction。 With an effort； he rose and lumbered to the door as thick and impenetrable as a bank vault。 Dialing the bination； he let himself out。
Nicholas left the dazzling glitter of the enormous hotel behind him； a city within a city； and took the immaculate； silent subway into the Asakusa district。 The blank…faced jostling throng who rode along with him with their fashionable clothes and French…style makeup were outwardly very different from the members of the war generation。 Yet Nicholas could not forget what happened here…as it did throughout all of Tokyo…on March 9； 1945。 The firebombing by American warplanes。
Here in the Asakusa district； people sought the sanctuary of the great and beloved Buddhist temple of Kannon； the goddess of Pity。 Built in the seventeenth century； this was thought safe because it had survived all the great fires of Tokyo as well as the most infamous earthquake of 1923。 But as hundreds crowded inside； the long； arching timbers； so lovingly wrought by artisans of the fabled past； caught fire。 The gray slat roof which had been such a staunch landmark for hundreds of years collapsed inward； crushing the already burning throng。 Outside； the ancient stately gingko trees of the surrounding gardens burst into crackling torches； pinwheels of sparks arcing into the howling crimson night； running along street gutters like voracious predators。
Asakusa； like the rest of the city； bore no scars from that time； Nicholas realized。 The Japanese had been very careful about that。 In this downtown area of Tokyo； more than in any other place in the city； perhaps； the ethos of Japan's splendiferous Edo period still held sway。
Crowds clouded the gates of Kaminarimon； streaking its great two…story vermillion face with their darting shadows。 A scarlet and ebon rice…paper lantern of gigantic proportions swung between the two red…faced wooden statues of the gods of wind and thunder； the bodyguards of Kannon； who； though she failed her people once in the incinerator of the war； was worshiped and loved still。
Dodging those Japanese on the run； Nicholas took the stone…paved Nakamise…dori； passing sweet and souvenir shops piled high with wares。
On impulse he turned down a near side street； strolling slowly through the relative gloom。 He stopped abruptly in front of a tiny storefront that spelled out 〃Yonoya〃 in kanji。 Inside； glass shelves were lined with the slightly oily boxwood bs。
Nicholas remembered Yukio slowly； rhythmically stroking her hair with such a b。 How soft and long and shining were those tresses； thick and lustrous。 Once he had asked her if all Orientals had such beautiful hair and she had laughed； embarrassed； pushing him from her。
〃Only the ones who can afford these；〃 she said； still laughing。 She showed him the exquisitely hand…carved imple