The taxi trail had led to a dead end. Hideo had gone to the cab company and paid off the dispatcher to let him check the fare records of the vehicle in question. Yes, it had picked up a passenger at Kennedy at shortly after four P.M. that day, but had dropped him off at Belmont raceway. Hideo doubted the mystery man lived at the racetrack, so he'd have to find another way.
Sitting at his workstation, he called up one of the close-ups he'd culled from the surveillance tapes.
"I'm going to run this through our latest facial recognition program, map the landmarks of his features, and create a mathematical faceprint."
As he started the programs, a series of dots of varying colors began to appear on the face, connected by multicolored lines. Then numbers popped up as calculations were completed.
Kenji pointed to the screen. "You can no longer see his face."
But Hideo's gaze was drawn from the screen to Kenji's hand. The tip of his left little finger was missing, cut off at the first joint. Hideo knew what this meant: yubitsume. Kenji must have made a mistake somewhere along the line and, by way of apology for his wrongdoing, cut off the tip and sent it to his kumicho, begging forgiveness.
Apparently he was forgiven, or he wouldn't be here. Hideo hadn't noticed it during the trip because he'd worn a fake fingertip to divert suspicion. Traveling yakuza often became targets of increased scrutiny.
Kenji's cuff had slipped back, revealing the lower end of an intricately patterned sleeve tattoo. Hideo had never seen these yakuza unclothed, but he would bet Kenji and Goro and Ryo were covered with them, head to toe. Yakuza tradition demanded it.
"Takita-san?"
Hideo snapped his attention back to the screen. What had Kenji said? Oh, about not seeing the face.
"Yes, but the computer will use that numeric formula to create a template to which it will match other faces."
"But where—?"
"One Police Plaza will be our first stop."
According to information on the flash drive, the sword had been stolen from the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum over fifty years ago.
"We can go to the police?"
"Not physically, but we can visit without leaving these seats. The man we are looking for was transporting a stolen object. He may not know the history of its original theft, but I believe he knows that what he carries was not legally obtained. That makes him a criminal. And most criminals at one time or another are arrested. And when they are arrested, they are photographed. And those photographs are stored…"
He paused to allow Kenji to finish for him.
"In their computer, of course." He smiled and nodded. "You very smart man."
The recognition program beeped, signaling it had finished.
"No, the very smart man here is the one who designed the software. I simply use the tools he has provided me."
Hideo didn't bother going into how the algorithms and templates would work in sequence through Police Plaza's database.
He entered the database—Kaze kept easy-open access to most of the city's major databases, mostly for tracking markets for advance warning on economic and currency trends. He set up the templates and let them loose.
"How long?" Kenji said.
"This could take very long. Why don't you check on Goro and Ryo and get some rest. I want to be able to move quickly should we get any hits."
Kenji gave a quick bow, and left. Hideo watched him go, thinking how that kid could go places—if he lived long enough.
When he was alone again, he popped another photo onto the screen: the ronin. It was only a three-quarter shot but often that was enough. He'd made positive IDs with less.
He started the recognition program and watched as dots and lines and numbers blotted out the stranger's face. Yoshio's notes had said he suspected the man he had dubbed "ronin" of being some sort of mercenary hired by Ronald Clayton's daughter for protection. If that was the case, then he too might have run afoul of the New York City authorities—weapons possession, perhaps. And if so, then his photo would be in the database as well.
He stared at the jumble of colors and numbers.
I will find you, ronin. And when I do I will ask you questions. And you will answer. Kenji, Goro, and Ryo will see to that.
Dawn paced the penthouse's great room.
"I neeeeeed to go shopping again, Henry. Come on!"
Instead of easing her restlessness, her brief taste of freedom yesterday had left her totally wanting more. Despite the size of Mr. Osala's place, it seemed smaller than ever.
Henry shook his head. "I'm afraid I dare not, miss. It was a terrible risk allowing you out yesterday without the Master's permission. I don't wish to push my luck."
"Well, then, get his permission. Or better yet, let me talk to him. I'll get him to come around."
Fat chance of that. Mr. Osala didn't strike her as the type she could move with a crying jag. But she'd give it the good old college try.
"As I told you, he is not always accessible."
"But you know where he is, right?"
"I know he's in North Carolina, but that isn't exactly pinpointing his location."
"I thought you said he was out hunting Jerry."
"I'm sure he has other concerns besides you. He called earlier to ask how you were faring and happened to mention that he was heading for North Carolina."
"What's he doing there?"
"He does not offer details of his activities and I do not ask. All he told me was he is doing research and 'setting the stage' for an extended project beginning in September."
"You must have an emergency number you can call."
He nodded. "I do. But the operative term there is emergency. A shopping trip hardly qualifies as an emergency."
"It does to me! Totally!"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't risk it again."
Dawn fumed as she watched him turn and walk away. She so wanted to kill him right now. But she wasn't through yet. She'd find a way to get him to take her out again.
And this time she wouldn't come back.
"I have found the perfect shoten, sensei," Tadasu said.
Shiro Kobayashi knew that was not quite accurate. Shiro had found him. But he didn't begrudge Tadasu the credit. He had been the leader, and if they had failed, the shame would have fallen on him.
Besides, for years Tadasu had instructed him in the use of the tanto, the katana, the bo, and nunchaku. He had been stern but seemed to care only that Shiro learned well. And Shiro had. He was now almost as good as Tadasu.
Akechi-sensei nodded from where he stood by the classroom window, staring out at the day.
"Is he, as I instructed, in a weakened state?"
"Yes, sensei. We have him locked in an empty storeroom. Do you wish to see?"
Akechi-sensei turned and faced them. Only his eyes were visible through his silk mask, which puffed slightly as he spoke.
"I do indeed wish to see this fortunate soul who shall be privileged to serve the Hidden Face."
The Hidden Face… seeing it was the focus, the ultimate goal of every member of the Kakureta Kao. Yet to achieve that goal, one had to pass through the Inner Circles of the Order. That took dedication, resolve, will… and sacrifice. Eventually, the ultimate sacrifice for the ultimate reward.
Shiro greatly admired his teacher, and would sacrifice his life for the Order. But he was not so sure—at least not as sure as he had been in his younger days—that he wished to progress beyond the Fourth Circle. Because that was when the surgeries began: the flaps, the castration, losing limbs and senses one by one until…