"A woman with child!" he cried again. "I see her face everywhere, staring back at me. She is important only for the child she carries. Her child, her child, her child… it will change the world. Who controls the child controls the future. The Order must control the child. It must!"
He loosed a guttural sound as he went through another bout of writhing and thrashing. And then he stopped, looking once again at nothing.
"The blade! The blade is with the woman! No! It is with her child! I see the child wielding the blade. The blade and child are together now and will be so again in the future. Her child and the katana are linked to the destiny of the world!"
And then he fainted, falling backward. His head hit the floor with a meaty thunk.
A pregnant woman whose face was everywhere. Everywhere… a film star? A cover model?
He and the Elders would divine its meaning and hunt down this woman with child and bring her under the Order's wing.
Who controls the child controls the future.
Toru wanted that child for the Order.
But then the second half of the Seeing: The blade and child are together now and will be so again in the future.
What else could that mean but that the katana was with the pregnant woman? Find one and they would find the other.
Her child and the katana are linked to the destiny of the world.
The future of the Kakureta Kao was linked to the destiny of the world as well.
He would start the hunt immediately.
"Takita-san!"
Hideo looked up and saw Kenji rushing into the room, waving a pink sheet of paper.
"Look at this!"
Hideo took the sheet and froze as he recognized the katana in the photo. And then he was out of his seat and in Kenji's face.
"Where did you get this?"
"Taped to the front door. They're all over."
Hideo stared at the sheet. What did it mean?
Acting on his theory that the owner from Hawaii had hired the ronin to find the katana, Hideo had spent all yesterday searching for an urban mercenary. He'd found mercenaries—plenty of them. They advertised in magazines like Soldier of Fortune and on various Web sites, but none of them fit the profile of the man he was looking for.
And now this flyer. Who but the owner from Hawaii would be offering such a reward? If so, it meant he had not yet reclaimed the katana.
He had to speak to this man. He was a living link to the sword—the only one within reach—and Hideo needed to learn what he knew. Perhaps he could provide a direction. He needed something, anything. He was floundering about. He felt as if he was drowning.
He grabbed the receiver from his desk phone and began to punch in the number listed on the sheet.
Halfway through, he stopped.
What was he going to say? He would have to choose his words carefully. The last thing he wanted was to raise suspicion, so everything he said had to have a basis in fact. He must assume that this man knew about the deaths of Gerrish and O'Day. He would be on his guard. Hideo did not want to frighten him off. No, he must lure him in and take control of him.
He sat and began making notes in preparation for his call.
After Veilleur left for home, Jack lingered at Julio's, kibitzing with some of the regulars. When he finally headed out he found himself walking behind a scruffy guy carrying a handful of pink sheets—the same shade as the one Veilleur had brought to the table. No doubt one of the guys Naka's printer had hired for dissemination.
But to Jack's surprise, the guy stopped at a pole where one of those pink flyers had been stapled and ripped it off. He added it to the stack in his hand and moved on.
He didn't appear to be the civic-minded type to go around decluttering and prettifying the neighborhood. And Jack confirmed this as the guy passed by a pole with one of the HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL? flyers with Dawn's picture. Pretty selective in his cleanup.
Interesting.
Jack picked up his pace and closed the distance between them. When the guy stopped at another pole that carried both flyers, he was practically on top of him.
As the guy ripped off Naka's poster, Jack noticed the Kicker Man tattoo on his thumb web.
Even more interesting. Maybe even verging on fascinating.
Jack reached past him and tugged the Dawn flyer free and crumpled it into a ball.
The Kicker whirled on him. "Hey! You outta your head? Whatcha think you're doin?"
Jack put on a surprised look. "Why, same as you. Cleaning up these unsightly flyers. Aren't they just the worst nuisance?"
"You mind your own goddamn business."
"You mean you don't want help?"
"Help?" He waved the pink flyers in Jack's face. "You wanna get rid of these, fine." He snatched the Dawn flyer from Jack's hand. "But you leave these alone."
"Why? They're just as ugly."
That seemed to stump him, but only for a few seconds.
"No, they ain't. And besides, these here are trying to help find a missing girl. These others are trying to find a crummy-looking sword… a… a weapon of death. Yeah, a weapon of death."
"Hmmm." Jack pretended to give this serious consideration. "I see your point. But who is this missing girl and who are the people looking for her? Her family?"
"Yeah. Her family. That's it. She ran away from home and nobody knows where she went. They want her back real bad."
"How do we know they weren't abusing her?"
"Listen up, asshole." The Kicker's expression became menacing as he leaned close to Jack. His breath stank. "Stop asking so many questions. If you don't know where she is, then shuddup and move on. 'Cause if you ain't part of the solution, you're part of the problem. Get that? Move on and keep your mitts off the girl flyers."
"Did something die in your mouth?"
The guy's faced contorted. He half raised a fist, then seemed to think better of it. Instead he pointed his finger in Jack's face.
"You just remember what I told you or some bad shit's gonna come down and you're gonna be right under it. Unnastand?"
"Perfectly."
"Good."
With that he turned and stomped away. As he passed a trash can he tossed in all the flyers, including Dawn's.
So… the Kickers—Hank Thompson, in other words—were encouraging people to look for Dawn, but didn't want anyone looking for the katana. Because he already had it and didn't want anyone else looking for it?
That meant a fourth player was in the mix.
Naka Slater, the people behind the fake Naka, the yakuza, and now the Kickers.
This was crazy. What was it about that thing?
Well, he was out of it. From the start the chances that Slater would get a hit from those flyers had been slim at best. Now, with the Kickers combing the town and removing them, chances approached zero.
Yeah. Out of it.
So why didn't he feel relieved?
Jack knew the answer. Because the Kickers were interested in the sword. He didn't know what that meant, but the Kicker-Otherness connection said it couldn't be a good thing.
He'd sensed something strange about that sword, but what use could it be to Hank Thompson? Whatever it was, he doubted it was for a good purpose. Maybe he should—
Stop it, he told himself. You're out of it. Forget about it.
And then his cell rang. Slater was on the other end.
"Jack? I think we've got a hit."
Swell.
Naka Slater looked both excited and worried as they sat on a park bench near the center of Madison Square Park. Jack sat next to him, munching on a hot dog with peppers and onions from the Shake Shack on the downtown end near 23rd Street. The bench offered a good view of the ornate wedge of the Flatiron Building. The trees were in full bloom, their branches undulating in a gentle breeze. Schoolkids, old folks, secretaries, suits, hipsters, and bag ladies paraded along the crisscrossing paths.