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utsu…he did precisely what Protorov was asking him to do： discover the secret of Tenchi。
It was not lost on him that what he was reading was in code。 The Tenshin Shoden Katori code。 He also grasped that if his enemy was showing it to him then he must have no one else to translate it for him。 And if Nicholas died； that would be the end； therefore Protorov would have nothing to transmit or to use。
Therefore； Nicholas decided； after he had finished reading this document； he must die。 And even as his mind reeled with the fantastic knowledge of just what Tenchi was； even as he recalled Sato's wish for Japan to end its childhood of dependence on the rest of the world； to enter the adulthood of self…sufficiency； he began the process。
Just a foot away from him； Protorov could not tell whether Nicholas was just looking or reading。 Did he know the code or didn't he？
〃Tell me what this says；〃 he repeated over and over； brandishing all four sheets。 〃Tell me； tell me； tell me。〃 But Nicholas' eyes kept crossing and Protorov noticed that his client's color was fading。
The doctor stepped between them。 〃That's enough；〃 he said； putting the flat of his stethoscope over Nicholas' heart。 Immediately； he ripped the ear plugs off and began to pound on Nicholas' chest； fist against the flat of his hand。
〃I warned you against this；〃 he managed between grunts。 〃We're going to lose him。〃
〃No！〃 Protorov cried。 〃You must save him！ I order it！〃
The doctor gave a grim laugh。 〃Unlike you； rade； I know that I am not a god。 I cannot create life out of death。〃 He allowed his hands to drop。 He stared at them； then turned around to glare at Protorov。 〃I cannot undo what you have done； Colonel。〃
〃Rouse him； Doctor！〃 Protorov was beside himself。 〃He has told me nothing！ Nothing at all！〃
〃That's always the risk one takes in these neuropharmacological matters。 The balance is ever so deli…〃 He recoiled； bounding off Nicholas' frame； as Protorov hit him with his fist。 〃That will cost you； Colonel；〃 he said； wiping at his split lip。 〃Central will hear about this。〃
〃You！〃 Protorov's voice was a low； guttural growl。 〃You killed him！ It was your doing！〃 His hands were shaking with the force of his rage。 Tenchi； the GRU…KGB summit； the great coup； all dust in the wind now； as ephemeral as wishes。 〃Russilov！〃 he cried。 〃Take him into protective custody。 If he gives you any trouble at all put a bullet through his head。〃 He grabbed the doctor by his shirtfront； jerking him forward。 〃You've made your last empty threat；〃 he said； just before he threw the doctor away from him。
Russilov； one hand on his holstered pistol； took the man's arm in a viselike grip。
Watching them depart； Protorov tried vainly to control the rage sweeping through him； shaking him like a tree in a storm。 He could not believe it。 How could this happen？ he thought。 It was outrageous； inconceivable。 He would not believe it。
He turned back to Nicholas' limp body。 He looked upon it as one does one's own failings。 He despised it with a fierceness that bordered on pain。 He remembered striking down an icon once； a Crucifix made of wood； painted in gilt and white； bright red where drops of blood leaked at open palms； crossed ankles； bethorned forehead。
It broke when it fell； and he ground it underfoot with the heel of his polished boot。 The agony it had conveyed； which； for the owner； at least； had been transmuted into a constancy of faith； had been incoherent to him。
Yet now the extreme of pain the Crucifixion represented was revealed to him。 It was as much a shock to him as if he had woken up in the morning to find that his legs had been amputated。 Abruptly the world was not the same anymore； and never would be again。 A certain peace…a wholeness not only of flesh but of spirit as well…was gone； and in its stead rose a torment； engulfing and endless。
Up until this moment there had never been any real doubt in his mind that he would achieve his goals。 Lofty or not； they would be his。 He was clever and he was ruthless。 Like Einstein； he was an intuitive thinker who could make great leaps that bypassed plodding logic。 That； he knew； was as close as man would ever get to traveling at the speed of light。
Now he had to face the crushing reality that that was not enough。 He would not learn the secret of Tenchi； he would not make his summit； there would therefore be no coup。 No greatness for Viktor Protorov。 History would not enthrone him。 It would now not even notice him。
Protorov looked at Nicholas Linnear with a murderous glare and saw only his own undoing。 He saw how close he had e to ultimate victory。。。 and how far away。 It was knowledge that he could not tolerate。
A man berserk； he railed at the cool flesh； pounding it over and over again while great gasping grunts emanated from him in such profusion and with such clarion pealing that even Russilov dared not reenter the vault。
But even this physical venting of his rage and pain was not enough。 The body was manacled； an absolute prisoner。 To strike his late client thus…a man who had caused him to lose everything…both diminished Protorov and increased his agony。
Swiftly； still grunting like a wild boar； he unfastened the leather straps that bound Nicholas to the wheel。 First fingers and wrists were freed； then thighs and ankles。 Lastly the waist strap came undone； and the form fell onto him with the force of a sack of cement。
Clawing and kicking； Protorov thrust the body away from him while at the same time seeking to follow it to attack it anew now that it had been freed and； in his mind at least； was fair game for him。
What could he think then when； in the midst of his red； red rage； a corpse pronounced deceased by his neuropharmacologica expert reached an arm out and grasped the side of his corded neck？
For the Western mind death is a difficult modity to e by。 Because there is no acceptance of it； because there is no thought as to its confluence with life； human beings are； more often than not； most difficult to kill。
The simple fact is that the organism does not want to die。 To this end it will cling tenaciously to life； it will push the body to superhuman； inexplicable feats of strength and endurance。 Cars have been moved by quite ordinary people in this kind of situation； extraordinary jumps have been made； exposure to the elements sustained beyond all measure。
Then there is the body itself。 A bullet to the head may be turned aside by the skull。 Similarly； a knife thrust can be deflected by an intervening rib。
In the East； however； where traditionally death means nothing； it is different。 Death es with the speed of a lightning bolt； giving the spirit of the organism no time to react at all。 Ancient teachings； as well； allow an assailant to actually use the human body against itself。
And that was precisely how death came to Viktor Protorov； how Nicholas Linnear did； indeed； bee C。 Gordon Minck's terrible swift sword。 Perhaps he knew to what use he had been put。 Certainly he did not care。
Nothing was in his mind…his spirit was as clear as a mountain lake after a strong rain…as he pressed inward with the thumb of his left hand； breaking apart Protorov's collar bone and using it a