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itude of the implacability of fate。 Thought； too； of the Colonel's conviction that he had been taken by forces he knew nothing of。 Life could not be so cruelly unfathomable。
He went through the darkened hall； wondering that none of the lights had been lit。
The kitchen was deserted。 No one answered his call。 He shrugged off his coat； threw it over the back of a chair； went towards the back of the house。 Stillness nodded deferentially to him； ancient as time。
He came； at length to his parents' room。 The thin paper shoji was closed but； beyond； a light was on and he caught the edge of a shadow； moving。
He hesitated； reluctant to disturb Cheong if she was about to rest。 Tomorrow； he promised himself； he would take her to the grave and together they would kneel before the marker of new cedar； lighting the incense and saying the prayers in English and in Japanese。
The shadow moved again and he called out her name softly into the falling night。 No answer came and cautiously he opened the shoji。
He stood perfectly still； one foot in； one out； staring。 All the breath had gone out of him。 His head pounded and he felt a shock at the base of his neck as if from contact with a live wire。 All the tatamis save one had been taken outside。 The futon was folded in a neat pile in the far corner。 One round white paper…shaded lamp was on against the right wall。 Beyond； outside the glass panels of the far wall； lay the blue…whiteness of the snow； virgin； without one footprint to mar its granular surface。 It seemed unnaturally pale against the black backdrop of the croptomeria and pine forest。 There were no lights in the sky。 The one remaining tatami had been placed in the centre of the room； the surrounding wood floor seemed naked； like raw flesh with the skin stripped away。 On it Cheong knelt with her back to him。 She wore a formal light grey kimono with obi。 The one with the pink roses embroidered across it。 Her back was bowed； her head down as if in prayer。 The light gleamed on her blue…black hair； immaculately coiffed。
At her right side tiny Itami knelt； sitting at right angles so that he could see her profile。 She； too； was dressed formally in a midnight…blue kimono； sleeves edged in crimson； milk…white obi。
The absolute stillness of the room was a tangible force； a rigid barrier holding him from further movement； even from speech。
Then one sound came； as sharp and near and startling as the first break of thunder from an unexpected storm。
It was the slither of steel against a sheath。
Cheong's right arm moved with unnatural speed and for the briefest instant。 Nicholas's mind was unaccountably filled with the sight of bursting cherry blossoms； impossibly pink against green foliage。 Now that it had menced； the transition from absolute motionlessness to rapid movement was irrevocable。
Saw the blade flashing platinum as its length caught die lamplight； as blinding as the sun； slashing inward in the blur of conviction that was necessary。 Into the left side of the abdomen。
A thin cry like a startled bird's but no fear and the body remained still。 A slight trembling； the perfect folds of the silk disturbed； an eyelash's flutter just before the violent jerk with both hands on the hilt； left to right； horizontally across the abdominal cavity。 Only now the shoulders shook somewhat and he could hear a gasping as of a bellows desperately working。 Droplets of sweat rolling down her forehead； dropping； darkening the tatami。
This must be a dream。
Saw the tension e into her elbows as she brought the blade upward towards her sternum。 Such strength and force of will many men did not possess。
With infinite slowness； as if settling by degrees； fists still locked around the hilt； Cheong's body began to crumple forward； still in total control； a living monument。 Her forehead touched the floor before the edge of the tatami。
As if that were a signal； Itami now moved。 Her right hand fled to her side。 With a harsh rasp； the katana； previously hidden within the folds of her kimono； was nakedly revealed and； standing now； she raised it high over her head。 The blade menced its downward motion with a hot hissing sound as if those fearful shades of steel were anxious to feel the warm flesh part。
In an instant； Cheong's head was cleanly severed from her neck。 Only then did the body lose its control and collapse pletely。 Blood seeped darkly； neatly； just a little of it； as if sprinkled there by a decorator。
'No！'
At last released； Nicholas sprang across the room。 Itami； staring down at the beautiful head； black and white and crimson； did not even look up。
'What！ What！' He could not think。 His tongue seemed an impossible weight in his mouth and he resisted the desire to rip it out。 He looked at nothing but the body of his mother。 And her head。
'It is done now； Nicholas。' Itami's voice seemed distant and gentle at the same time。 The bloody katana was at her side。 'She is a child of honour。'
Fifth Ring
THE NINJA
I
New York CityWest Bay Bridge； Summer Present
Someone began screaming； even before the lock shattered and the heavy door slammed inward in a crack of thunder。
The room was a shambles。
A bulky shape ran past him； across the room to the open window。
He began to struggle with it immediately because it had been his stupidity that had brought this on and if he did not work it out right now he would be no damn good in the next few hours and that would without a doubt prove fatal。 He did not want to die。
Noted in passing the woman spread…eagled on the bed。 Her flesh appeared to have been oiled； the light lying in long sweeps whitening the skin。 Chinese。
He had known just as they had banged open the front door to Ah Ma's； in the wake of the tsunami。 Took you bloody well long enough； he berated himself。
The woman stared not at him but at the muscled legs crisscrossing hers； wide shoulders at the edge； of the stained coverlet； head off the bed at an odd angle。 It was she who was screaming。 The silken bond held her from moving。 Her eyes were wide enough for him to see the whites all round。 She might have been a madwoman and he saw why。
Upside down； Philip looked at him reproachfully； tongue 〃half bitten through between his teeth。
The screaming seemed to go on and on in cadence； as effective as a siren。
'There's another way；' Nicholas had said。 'A better way。' He dipped half a dumpling into its dark brown spicy sauce； popped it into his mouth。 'I don't want any of your men getting hurt。'
Croaker looked at him quizzically。 'You're a strange bird； you know that？ It's what we get paid for； us cops … taking risks。'
They were in a dumpling house on Elizabeth Street between Canal and Bayard。 The place was crowded； the noise level high。
'Reasonable risks；' Nicholas pointed out。 'The ninja's a sorcerer of death。 They're not going to be prepared for him。'
'Aren't you being just a little bit melodramatic？'
'No。'
Croaker put down his chopsticks； pushed his plate away from him。 A waiter immediately came to clear it away。 'All right。 What's your idea？'
'Let me go in alone。'
'You're nuts。' He levelled a finger。 'Let me tell you something； Nick。 This is