Outside, the Roppongi was still crowded. Over at Shinjuku station the late-night drinkers would be trying to push their way onto the last trains of the night. On the Ginza they would be lining up at the cab stands. It was ten minutes to midnight. There wasn't time.
He let his astral body spring loose and rocket through the night toward the Imperial Hotel. The neon and mirrored glass and chrome blurred as he picked up speed. He didn't slow until he was through the wall of the hotel and hovering in Peregrine's room. He let himself become visible, a glowing, golden-rose image of his physical body.
Peregrine, he thought.
She rolled over in bed, opened her eyes. Fortunato saw, with a small, distant sort of pang, that she was not alone. I need to know where Hiram is.
"Fortunato?" she whispered, then saw him. "Oh my God."
Hurry. The name of the hotel.
"Wait a minute. I wrote it down." She walked naked over to the phone. Fortunato's astral body was free of lust and hunger, but still the sight of her moved him. "The Ginza Dai-Ichi. Room eight oh one. He says it's a big H-shaped building by the Shimbashi station-"
I know where it is. Meet me there as fast as you can. Bring help.
He couldn't wait for her answer. He snapped back to his physical body and lifted it into the air.
He hated the spectacle of it. Being in Japan had made him even more self-conscious than he ever had been in New York. But there was no choice. He levitated straight up into the sky, high enough that he couldn't make out the faces turned up to stare at him, and arced toward the Dai-Ichi Hotel.
He got to the door of Hiram's room at twelve midnight. The door was locked, but Fortunato wrenched the bolts back with his mind, splintering the wood around them.
Hiram sat up in bed. "Wha-" Fortunato stopped time.
It was like a train grinding to a halt. The countless tiny sounds of the hotel slowed to a bass growl, then hung in the silence between beats. Fortunato's own breathing had stopped.
There was nobody in the room but Hiram. It hurt Fortunato to make his head turn; to Hiram it would have seemed like he was moving in a blur of speed. The sliding doors to the bathroom were open. Fortunato couldn't see anyone in there either.
Then he remembered how the Astronomer had been able to hide from him, to make Fortunato not see him. He let time begin to trickle past him again. He brought up his hands, fighting the heavy, clinging air, and framed the room, making an empty square bordered by his thumbs and index fingers. Here was the closet, the doors open. Here was a stretch of bamboo-patterned wall with nothing in it. Here was the foot of the bed, and the edge of a samurai sword moving slowly toward Hiram's head.
Fortunato threw himself forward. His body seemed to take forever to rise into the air and float toward Hiram. He opened his arms and knocked Hiram to the floor, feeling something hard scrape the bottoms of his shoes. He rolled onto his back and saw the sheets and mattress slowly splitting in two.
The sword, he thought. Once he convinced himself it was there, he could see it. Now the arm, he thought, and slowly the entire man took shape in front of him, a young Japanese in a white dress shirt and gray wool pants and bare feet.
He let time start again before the strain wore him out completely. He heard footsteps in the hall. He was afraid to look away, afraid he might loose the killer again. "Drop the sword," Fortunato said.
"You can see me," the man said in English. He turned to look toward the door.
"Put it down," Fortunato said, making it an order now, but it was too late. He no longer had eye contact and the man resisted him.
Without thinking, Fortunato looked at the doorway. It was Tachyon, in red silk pajamas, Mistral behind him. Tachyon was charging into the room, and Fortunato knew the little alien was about to die.
He looked back for Mori. Mori was gone. Fortunato went cold with panic. The sword, he thought. Find the sword. He looked where the sword would have to be if it were slicing toward Tachyon and slowed time again.
There. The blade, curved and impossibly sharp, the steel dazzling as sunlight. Come to me, Fortunato thought. He pulled at the blade with his mind.
He only meant to take it from Mori's hands. He misjudged his own power. The blade spun completely around, missing Tachyon by inches. It whirled around ten or fifteen times and finally buried itself in the wall behind the bed.
Somewhere in there it had sliced off the top of Mori's head.
Fortunato shielded them with his power until they were on the street. It was the same trick Zero Man had used. No one saw them. They left Mori's corpse in the room, his blood soaking into the carpet.
A taxi pulled up and Peregrine got out. The man who'd been in bed with her got out behind her. He was a bit shorter than Fortunato, with blond hair and a mustache. He stood next to Peregrine and she reached out and took his hand. "Is everything okay?" she said.
"Yeah," Hiram said. "It's okay."
"Does this mean you're back on the tour?"
Hiram looked around at the others. "Yeah. I guess I am."
"That's good," Peregrine said, suddenly noticing how serious everyone was. "We were all worried about you." Hiram nodded.
Tachyon moved next to Fortunato. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Not only for saving my life. You probably saved the tour as well. Another violent incident-after Haiti and Guatemala and Syria-well, it would have undone everything we were trying to accomplish."
"Sure," Fortunato said. "We probably shouldn't hang around here too long. No point in taking chances."
"No," Tachyon said. "I guess not."
"Uh, Fortunato," Peregrine said. "Josh McCoy." Fortunato shook his hand and nodded. McCoy smiled and gave his hand back to Peregrine. "I've heard a lot about you."
"There's blood on your shirt," Peregrine said. "What happened?"
"It's nothing," Fortunato said. "It's all over now"
"So much blood," Peregrine said. "Like with the Astronomer. There's so much violence in you. It's scary sometimes." Fortunato didn't say anything.
"So," McCoy said. "What happens now?"
"I guess," Fortunato said, "me and G. C. Jayewardene will go see a man about a monastery"
"You kidding?" McCoy said.
"No," Peregrine said. "I don't think he is." She looked at Fortunato for a long time, and then she said, "Take care of yourself, will you?"
"Sure," Fortunato said. "What else?"
"There it is," Fortunato said. The monastery straggled across the entire hillside, and beyond it were stone gardens and terraced fields. Fortunato wiped the snow from a rock next to the path and sat down. His head was clear and his stomach quiet. Maybe it was just the clean mountain air. Maybe it was something more.
"It's very beautiful," Jayewardene said, crouching on his heels.
Spring wouldn't get to Hokkaido for another month and a half. The sky was clear, though. Clear enough to see, for instance, a 747 from miles and miles away. But the 747s didn't fly over Hokkaido. Especially not the ones headed for Korea, almost a thousand miles to the southwest.
"What happened Wednesday night?" Jayewardene asked after a few minutes. "There was all kind of commotion, and when it was over Hiram was back. Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not much to tell," Fortunato said. "People fighting over money. A boy died. He'd never actually killed anybody, as it turned out. He was very young, very afraid. He just wanted to do a good job, to live up to the reputation he'd invented for himself." Fortunato shrugged. "It's the way of the world. That kind of thing is always going to happen in a place like Tokyo." He stood up, brushing at the seat of his pants. "Ready?"