But his shuriken attack had barely made a dent in the force of crewmen intent on retaking the Majestic’s control room. He was arguably one of the deadliest men alive, but there were simply too many of them. He retreated through the door and slammed it shut.
Through the forward windscreen, he could see the lights of Manhattan, the beacon which was to guide them to the rendezvous with the freighter lying just a few miles offshore. He cursed again. So close.
It had been an audacious plan, and perhaps that was why he was so certain that it would succeed. After Dalton’s escape, he had almost concluded the entire mission to be a loss, but then Nakamura had made contact from Iran. His lieutenant had not only tracked down Dalton and the others, but had ultimately found a way aboard the airship where Walter Barron was already in the process of constructing a large scale version of the device the Empire coveted. For several days, Nakamura roamed the airship, his shinobi skills making him virtually invisible to the crew, and learned everything he could about the weapon and the ship itself. Most important, he had learned its ultimate destination; Barron planned to return to the valley in Pennsylvania.
That was when Uchida had conceived of his plan to capture Majestic and seize the weapon. To accomplish that mission, he had hired a crew of four men familiar with airship operations and willing to risk their lives for the right price. The glider had seemed the perfect way to get his crew onto the airship. Nakamura had made sure that no one would prevent them, silently dispatching the crew of the third watch, clearing a path all the way from the dorsal hatch to the control room, situated just above the regal dining room. Working together again at last, Uchida and Nakamura had quickly dealt with the crewmen there, turning the airship over to their mercenary crew.
Of course, there was more to it than simply seizing the controls. Nakamura had learned this during his weeklong reconnoiter. Each of the ship’s motor nacelles was monitored around the clock by a crewman who received commands through the system of copper speaking tubes that ran throughout the ship. In order to take the ship where it needed to go, the engineering crews had to receive voice and signal commands from the control room.
The engineers had been none the wiser. But then the general quarters alarm had sounded, and Uchida knew that eventually, someone would inform the engineers that the ship had been taken. He had sent Nakamura out to intercept any such messengers, and that had been the last he’d seen of his most trusted subordinate.
The ship was still plowing through the skies on course, so perhaps Nakamura had been successful, but now it would matter little. The crewmen would retake the ship before it reached the rendezvous.
He heard the sound of someone beating on the door, and saw it buckle under the relentless assault. The leader of his hired crew, a rough-looking gaijin, gazed at him balefully. “Looks like the jig is up. I say we cut our losses and turn you over to them. Maybe they’ll thank us for our trouble.”
“That will not be necessary,” Uchida said.
His katana slashed four times before the any of the men could offer further opinions on the matter.
He wiped their blood away, but did not sheathe the blade. Instead, he knelt with his back to the door, ignoring the insistent pounding, and laid the sword on the deck in front of him.
Only one task remained now.
Though he was trained as a shinobi, Uchida had always believed that he had the heart of a samurai. And when a samurai brought shame upon himself, or upon his daimyo, he would take his own life, disemboweling himself with his tanto.
Uchida’s failure however would bring shame upon the Empire. In order to save face, it was not enough to merely commit seppuku; he had to erase himself from existence. He reached in his pack, drew out his last weapon, and hugged it to his chest.
He had given Dodge Dalton five minutes, but he would need only one.
Chapter 20—City Lights
Sorensen shoved Nora away, causing her to stumble into Dodge’s arms, and then casually leveled the enormous pistol at them. Von Heissel and Anya moved away in order to give him a clear shot. Dodge felt Nora’s embrace grow tighter as she steeled herself for what was to come.
Then, Sorensen crumpled to the deck. Hurricane Hurley reached over the pilot’s motionless form and plucked the gun from the man’s grasp.
Dodge did not waste a moment enjoying the unexpected reprieve. He released Nora and hurled himself toward Von Heissel.
For her part, Nora found herself only a step away from Anya, who was gaping in disbelief at Sorensen’s limp body. Anger flashed in the blonde woman’s eyes and she remembered that she still held Dodge’s Colt in her hand, but as she started to bring it up, Nora closed the distance and delivered a roundhouse punch that connected solidly with Anya’s jaw and sent her reeling. She tried again to bring the pistol to bear, but Nora, emboldened by her initial success, rushed her and seized Anya’s gun hand, twisting the arm away before the trigger could be pulled.
Von Heissel may have been twice Dodge’s age and accustomed to soft living, but he was no pushover. Trained as a youth by the finest military instructors, he knew how to fight with his bare hands as well as he knew how to command armies. He struggled out of Dodge’s tackle, and in a single deft motion got behind Dodge. Dodge felt an arm wrap around his neck, and felt the crushing power of Von Heissel’s other forearm at the back of his neck. Breath and blood were instantly cut off and Dodge saw dark spots begin to swim across his vision.
An experienced wrestler himself, Dodge immediately understood how his foe had gained the advantage, but he knew a few tricks too. As he writhed and twisted on the deck, trying to keep the other man from getting more leverage, he brought one hand up and slipped it into the small gap between his Adam’s apple and the crook of the baron’s elbow. For a moment, his efforts served only to increase the pressure at his throat, but as he got his hand in, he was able to push out, exerting more pressure against the hold than Von Heissel’s interlaced fingers could withstand. He didn’t try to break the hold completely, but instead twisted around, so that he was face to face with the other man.
Von Heissel’s face was bright red with fury and exertion as he struggled to regain the advantage. Dodge wasn’t about to let that happen. He drew back and then slammed his forehead into the bridge of the baron’s nose.
Von Heissel gave a howl of unrestrained rage and reflexively let go of Dodge, throwing his hands up to protect his already ruined face. Dodge pushed away, and then as soon as he had the room to do so, brought both feet up and rammed them into Von Heissel’s chest. The force of the kick sent the baron shooting across the deck toward the resonance wave generator.
And then he was gone.
From the midst of her own struggle with Nora, Anya saw her grandfather vanish through the opening in the floor. Nora tried to twist the gun out of the other woman’s grasp, but Anya, still shocked by Von Heissel’s exit, instinctively tried to yank the gun back.
The pistol barked once, bucking like a living thing in both women’s hands, and Nora was sprayed with a fine mist of gun oil residue. Anya’s eyes widened in disbelief and she let go of the gun to press her hands to her abdomen, but her fingers could not stem the sudden eruption of her own lifeblood.