Chapter 6

San Francisco

“I don’t know how you guys can be so laid back about all this,” Pete Miller remarked.

“Experience,” Derek commented with a slight shrug. “You’re as laid back as you can be about your work, aren’t you?”

“I guess so. An’, yeah, that is down to experience. But I deal with the creators of dead bodies an’ there are only so many ways to do that. Gunshot, knife, garrote, arson, poison – that’s a little exotic but it happens. Blackmail, that’s another one, although it doesn’t really count as a homicide, more’s the pity. But you guys .. I don’t even know where to start thinking about what you deal with. I don’t wanna think about it.”

“Then don’t. Leave it to the professionals.”

Pete shifted. “I’m supposed to be the professional.”

“Sometimes, even you can find yourself dealing with things you are not qualified to deal with.”

“An’ you are?” Pete queried.

“More so than you. Do you want to help us?” Derek inquired mildly.

“Sure. It’s why I’m here. Point me in the right direction an’ tell me what to do.”

Derek took several heavy books from the shelves in the library. “Come with me.”

Pete obediently followed him along several corridors and into the study.

“Sit here,” Derek invited, putting the books down. “Here is your research material.” He opened a drawer in the desk and removed a pad and pen. “Here is where you can make notes. You are looking for any references to a sword of Japanese manufacture formed of one piece of metal. Usually, a sword blade is separate to the hilt. The one we’re interested in tracing thru history is one construct. Very rare.”

“An’ when I find these references?”

Derek smiled. “If you find them, make notes. Which book and page number. A manufacturer’s name. The year it was manufactured. Any identifying marks on the blade, or the hilt.” He straightened. “If you need anything, call Andrew. I’ll come check on you in an hour or so.”

“An’ where will you be?” Pete inquired.

“Helping Nick and catching up on my paperwork. One thing both our jobs have in common, I believe.”

“Tell me about it,” Pete muttered, opening the first book.

Derek returned to the library and then entered the control room. No matter how dire a situation, he always felt calmer for being in here. Maybe it was the almost silent hum of the computer, or the banks of monitor screens. He felt safer. The only evil in this room was what they brought in with them.

And, possibly, the sword in the lab.

He went thru to see how Nick was coping.

“Where’s Pete?” Nick began, not looking round.

“Book research in the study. Anything?” he asked.

Nick paused to consider. “X-rays show it to be .. a sword. Every imaging technique I know an’ every piece of imaging equipment I have to use those techniques reveal .. a sword.” He shook his head and folded his arms. “So far, all I’ve turned up is a whole lotta nothing. Certainly, no anomalous energy spikes. No anomalous energy for there to be spikes. If there’s some kinda spectral entity attached to or resident in this sword, it isn’t showing itself.”

“Maybe it’s shy,” Derek remarked and Nick glanced round. “ A joke.”

“Now I know we’re in trouble,” Nick muttered.

Derek smiled. “What of any toxic residue?”

“I’m still waiting on the results. All I’ve done this morning is look an’ not touch. An’ I won’t till I know it’s safe.”

“Wise.”

Derek studied the images on the screen. It did indeed look like a sword, innocent in its own way, laying there on its bed of packing material.

“I’ll be in my office. Tell me when the results are ready.”

“You just wanna be here when I crack open the crate,” Nick accused.

“There must be some benefits in being a Precept,” the older man commented as he went out.

Nick grinned to himself as he turned back to his project. The frustration was nibbling at him but he knew he had to wait patiently. Stealing sly shots at Derek and dodging the returns helped ease the tension. Taking a chance now might cost him more than merely time. Having said that, he had handled the container extensively and he felt fine.

Inside this crate could be a weapon once used by a god .. according to legend, anyway. Certainly, it was a blade which had seen a lot of history and had definitely been used by someone or something – on the evidence so far, it was probably the latter.

A sword both blessed with the power to heal and cursed with the power to destroy.

Nick thought about this as he looked at the 3-D image revolving hypnotically on the screen. All swords had the power to destroy life .. but only when held in the hand and directed by a reasoning intelligence. This sword had the power to kill all on its own. Why had it killed the flight crew?

Jumping ahead there, Nick, he told himself. We don’t know yet that it did.

Something was on that jet. Something killed those two men and then flew the aircraft to a proper landing. They must be making ancient spectral entities extra smart these days …

The computer beeped and he spun quickly, his eyes scanning the results. Nothing. No evidence found of any known toxic substance. That shot down, finally, the biohazard theory.

He went out, sealed the lab, and went to Derek’s office. “It’s clean. No trace of anything known to drop a man where he stands.”

Derek paused then nodded. “Then .. provided it remains in the lab, I see no reason why we can’t open the crate.”

*****

Pete Miller had his chin propped in his hand. The other hand held the pen and he was idly doodling abstract designs on the pad while his eyes tracked along endless rows of print. Every so often, he sighed. Or turned the page. Occasionally, he yawned. He was learning the hard way that the exciting stuff was only the culmination of a horrible amount of dust dry tedium. The sharp curve he had expected was turning out to be a long, flat line. He wondered how someone as intelligent as Rachel Corrigan could endure this. He could feel his brain cells dying by the thousand.

When he had forced his eyes open for the third time, he put down the pen and got to his feet. He needed some fresh air. A pot of coffee, strong, black, that would help too. He checked his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter then set out to find a way downstairs and into the open. Then, swearing, he backtracked and scribbled a note telling Derek he’d gone for a break.

How can a sword, packed in a crate, holding some kind of evil yet good guardian spirit created, supposedly, by some ancient Japanese goddess .. kill two men and then fly the plane?

That, Pete felt, adequately put the problem in a single sentence. Answer that, the case was solved. Like Nick, he had ruled out biohazard. Reluctantly, he had given up on the idea of a stowaway. So, as everything else in the manifest had checked out, it had to be the sword. It couldn’t be anything else. There wasn’t anything else for it to be.

Then Pete felt a little sorry for himself. Just lately, he always seemed to be in the wrong place at the right time to pick up these ostensibly unsolvable homicides. Of course, if he ever made lieutenant, he would be a little more understanding with the reports which crossed his desk. Right now, he had to figure out how to put all this into words. Too many others were already involved for it to be quietly forgotten.

He scored a minor success when he located the stairs and went down them to the foyer. I need a GPS here, he mused. Or just a long length of rope.

As he approached the front door, the bell rang and he jumped, thinking about the security protections in the house and whether he had triggered something. As he wondered what to do, Andrew emerged from a corridor, nodded pleasantly at him, and went to the door. Pete hung back, feeling slightly sheepish.

“Is Detective Miller here?” asked a voice. “I’ve got a delivery for him.”

“He is, yes. Do you need to see him?” Andrew inquired. “Or can I take the delivery for him?”

“I need a signature. This is evidence in a police investigation.”

“I’ll just get him for you. Please wait here.” Andrew pushed the door almost shut and turned. “It’s for you,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“I’d wait a few moments,” Andrew softly advised. “Otherwise, it’ll seem like you were hiding behind the door and that would look rather foolish.”

Pete shoved his hands in his pockets and studied the nearby suit of armor. Andrew kept an eye on the time, then nodded. Pete went to the door.

“I’m Detective Miller.”

“Officer Barbirolli, sir. I was told to deliver this to you. I need a signature.”

Pete took the offered pen and scrawled his name at the base of the form, then picked up the metal, orange painted rectangular box in its sealed evidence bag. “Thanks. Safe journey back.”

He closed the door and found Andrew hovering in the background. “Do you require assistance, sir?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m feeling like the poor cousin visiting from the country, Andrew, an’ it’s time it stopped. So .. I don’t like doing this because it doesn’t feel right to me but I want a pot of strong, black coffee taken to the study in .. twenty minutes or so, and I want this evidence bag taken to Derek wherever the hell he is in this rats’ maze of a house. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Andrew smiled.

“Thanks. I’m going outside for a smoke an’ some fresh air. I’ll be back – ”

“In twenty minutes or so.”

“Right. An’ I want you here to meet me so you can show me how to get back to the study.”

“Is that before or after I deliver your coffee there, sir?”

Pete glared at him. “After.”

“I understand.” Andrew took the bag. “I’d advise going down the drive to the end of the wing, then following the house around to the terrace out back. It has some nice views. I’ll come and find you, then bring you back thru the games room.”

Pete hesitated by the front door. “Can I ask you .. how long did it take you to find your way around?”

“Not very long, Detective, but then I’m a butler and it’s my job to know my way around.”

“Right. I’ll wait for you then, on the terrace.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pete escaped into the open and walked briskly down the drive. He lit a cigarette as he walked, inhaling deeply and feeling his nerves start to unknot. Butlers. Yeah, they were useful but they were too goddam smart by half. How could Rachel Corrigan give orders to a guy who was her equal? Pete felt acutely uncomfortable. And then he pulled up and swore softly.

You are thinking about Rachel way too much, y’know. She’s a friend, Pete. Don’t start letting her into your head. It’ll only end in tears. Yours and hers. Okay. How can Nick Boyle give orders to a guy who is his equal? I don’t know. I only know I don’t like doing it. I wouldn’t like it if he gave me orders. But then .. he wouldn’t, would he? He’s a butler. Except he did, back there by the door. It’s a great house, I like it here to visit but I cannot wait to get home. I know my place in the world and it’s one where I can smoke inside and fetch my own coffee.

He rounded the corner and kept going, rounded the next corner and halted again, starting to get an idea of the sheer size of the estate. The view was incredible. Pete saw the steps and climbed them to the terrace where he found a cast iron table and a couple of chairs in a sheltered angle of two walls. He sat down.

Five minutes later, Andrew joined him, sitting in the other chair and lighting his own cigarette.

“You seem to have a problem with me,” he began.

“I have a problem giving orders to people when they don’t work for me,” Pete replied.

Andrew nodded. “I work for the house, Detective Miller. I’m staff. The staff. I’m not a servant or a slave. My job is .. fetching coffee when people want it, cooking meals, preparing guestrooms .. an’ a whole lot of other things. I’m trained to do that, qualified to do that, and I would be insulted if I was not used to the best of my abilities – just as you would be insulted. My function here is to serve, to keep the house working as a home and a place of business. That’s here. If you tried to give me orders out on the street, I’d tell you where to go, buddy. Here .. I say ‘yes, sir’, because it’s my job. Saying that is .. like wearing a uniform.”

Pete nodded. “I guess I don’t like to see guys being passive but I understand. Thanks, Andrew, for putting me straight. But would you do something for me?”

“If I can.”

“Stop with the ‘sir’, okay? Call me Pete.”

“If it will make your stay more enjoyable, of course, Pete.”

“Thank you.”

Andrew finished his cigarette and stood again. “I’ll take your coffee to the study, then come back for you. You’re right, this house is like a rats’ maze till you know your way around. It took me five days of study to get it nailed.”

Pete laughed. “Now I feel better.”

*****

Derek took the evidence bag thru to the control room. “Nick, the cockpit voice recorder is here.”

In the lab, Nick’s hand froze on the lock to the sealed container. “I’ll be right there.”

Derek took a knife and slit the bag open. Carefully, he lifted out the recorder and put it on a table in the alcove. Nick joined him.

“Pete is gonna want to hear this too,” he commented.

“Then we copy it onto tape or CD. We need our own copy. We have a little time yet. Pete is taking a break outside and I told Andrew to keep him occupied for a while. You and I should hear this first.”

“It’s his investigation, Derek. We’re the consultants.”

“And if what we hear is horrifying? You remember how those bodies looked, don’t you?”

Nick nodded. “Okay,” he yielded. “Hit me.”

Derek rewound the recording about halfway and pressed the ‘play’ key. They listened. Nick went to get a map and started plotting the jet’s position from the coordinates he heard. He pointed and Derek nodded. The jet had, at that point, been approaching Hawaii and it seemed from the conversation between the two pilots – one of whom had been Japanese, the other Australian – that everything was proceeding exactly as it should. They were doing everything they should be doing when they should be doing it, and, in the quiet moments between, chatting about the J-League games in the upcoming season.

“Have we gone on too far, do you think?” Derek frowned.

“I don’t know, Derek. They sound fine but who can say? They’d been dead a long time when they landed the aircraft in San Francisco,” Nick replied. “Maybe they could discuss the new soccer season as well as talk to the controllers.”

There was a rustling noise.

“What the – ?” one pilot said.

The rustling got louder, turned into a brief burst of very loud white noise, then silence reigned for possibly ten seconds. Then there was another sound, and silence. Then an air traffic controller in Hawaii came on the radio for a check in. Derek heard a clear hiss, like a sharp, surprised intake of breath. He leaned forward, listening hard. He thought he heard a very quiet murmuring sound which might have been a voice. Then the pilot said, “This is charter jet golf november niner five five acknowledging your transmission. Everything’s fine up here.”

After that, there was no more chat about soccer. In between talking to the controllers on the ground, there was nothing except the infrequent signals from the cockpit instruments. Derek switched off the recording.

“Get me a copy of that, Nick. From just before the first rustling sound to just after the pilot acknowledges the control center in Hawaii.”

“Did it hiss?” Nick queried after a moment.

“I think it did. But we need to examine the background noise as well as the surface sounds. In fact, when you copy it, go from .. ten minutes before the first rustling noise to ten minutes after the acknowledgment.”

Nick nodded.

“I’ll move the audio equipment into the library. Pete can help out. He’s probably exhausted his efforts at book research by now.”

“Okay,” Nick nodded.

“I think the crate should be left alone till we’ve analyzed this. Try phoning Frances – see if the results of the tox screens are in yet.”

He nodded again. It made sense. The two pilots hadn’t even had time to scream. If something struck that fast, leaving the sword in the crate was a wise decision.

Nick started work on the copying of the section of the recording Derek needed for his analysis. He put it onto a CD and listened to it again as he transferred it. He couldn’t get around the obvious fact that the people in the Tokyo house had handled the weapon, crated it up, delivered it to the airport, and that he had handled the crate as well. Why hadn’t he been attacked in the same way? Why hadn’t the Legacy members in Tokyo?

Once the copy was made, Nick went into Derek’s office and called Frances.

“Hi, it’s me. You got any results yet on those two pilots?”

“Have you?” she asked.

“If I said it’s early days, you won’t say the same thing back, will you?”

“No.”

“Then .. it’s early days,” Nick replied. “We’ve only just gotten a hold of the cockpit voice recorder. Whatever it was hit ’em fast. They never had time to say anything except for ‘what the?’ No chance to explain or make a report, not even time to scream. The aircraft didn’t malfunction, alter course, go into a dive … Must have been on auto pilot. What’ve you got?”

“They had hamburgers an’ coffee. No sign of artificial stimulants. A few fatigue poisons were developing but I’d expect that. The blood work up .. was strange,” Frances sighed. “No evidence of exposure to toxins but hormone levels were high. Adrenaline strongly indicated. The chemical balance in the blood was off. And the blood was thick. Its make up had been altered. Not quite a gelid consistency but it isn’t far off. Something else, Nick – when a person dies, the blood pools in the parts of the body closest to the ground because the heart isn’t pumping anymore. So, if a person dies sitting in a chair, like the flight crew, the blood pools in the feet and lower legs. The skin becomes swollen, black. It didn’t happen with these two guys. Their hearts had stopped yet the blood continued to move round their bodies. It shouldn’t have done that, an’ not just because their hearts had stopped. It was too thick to move. I can’t begin to explain this. I’ve ordered another set of tests on the blood samples – one, to find out why it thickened, an’, two, to figure out how and why it didn’t pool.”

“Keep me posted?”

“Only if you will,” she teased.

“You got it,” he grinned.

*****

Pete Miller was back in the study and on his second cup of coffee when Derek came in. Pete sat up.

“The natural optimism given to me by Mrs Miller says to me that this is the moment you tell me the voice recorder can explain everything, an’ my hell bent cynicism, the gift of my police training, is saying I’m a jerk for even thinking that.” He angled his head. “So .. who wins out? Optimist or cynic?”

“The cynic, I’m sorry to say,” Derek responded and Pete shrugged. “However, we have isolated the relevant part of the recording and Nick is copying it for analysis. I thought maybe you’d like a break from book research because my optimistic half is saying you’d find the audio analysis more interesting and my cynical half is saying you’ve found nothing in the books.”

“Your cynic wins out too, but your optimist has hit a hole in one. Let’s go.”

Derek began the return journey. “Don’t be disappointed that you found nothing. It was a long shot, to say the least.”

“Well, it might be in there somewhere. I just haven’t found it yet.” Pete shrugged again. “Maybe I wasn’t in the right mood. What happened on the recording?”

“There are noises, nothing as yet easily recognizable. One of the pilots began to say something but never finished. I think you’ll find this part of the investigation a lot more worthwhile than reading books.”

“So someone was on board?” Pete commented.

Derek hesitated. “I’d prefer to say some thing.”

By the time they reached the library, Nick had set up the audio equipment on the big table and had connected it to the laptop. He held out the CD.

“Did you speak with Frances?” Derek asked, taking it.

“Yeah. No toxins present but there are some things which are off. She’s ordered more tests. One thing she’s confused about is that the blood continued to move around their bodies even though their hearts had stopped. Shouldn’t happen an’, in these guys, couldn’t have happened cos the blood was too thick to move. She said adrenaline was high. Whatever they saw sparked a big response.”

Pete sat down. “An’ there’s no poison in either of them? Poison can do that – thicken the blood.”

“She said not but maybe the new tests will reveal something,” Nick replied. “You need my help with this? I thought I’d go give Andrew a hand with lunch. I’m starving.”

Derek nodded, indicating he could go. “Nick has a cast iron stomach,” he remarked to Pete. “He would feel starved and find time to eat in the middle of Armageddon.”

“Useful guy to have around though,” Pete remarked.

“Oh yes. There is no doubt about that. Each of us in this house is ready to sacrifice themselves if it means saving a life.”

Derek sounded absorbed, speaking as he worked. Pete slowly shook his head as another little piece of understanding slotted into place. This wasn’t a business, like a convenience store or a gas station. This was like police work – a lifelong dedication.

“Is that sword still locked away?”

Derek nodded again as he put the CD into the laptop. “We’ve found no evidence of toxic residue on the crate but we won’t attempt anything until after we’ve discovered what exactly is on this recording.”

*****

In the lab, a pale wisp of gas began to seep thru the slats of the wooden shipping crate. It curled and moved lazily, like smoke on an almost still day, then began trying to find a way out.

*****

“How’s it going?” Nick asked as he entered the kitchen.

“Very well, all things considered,” Andrew replied.

“Pete giving you a hard time?”

“He finds it difficult to understand that I have chosen this line of work. There again, I find it difficult to understand why he chose to be a cop. So we’re quits. Live an’ let live.”

“Need a hand?” Nick offered.

“Some tomato paste from the larder. Then, if you could slice those mushrooms for me?”

“Sure. Beer?”

“Nick .. not while I’m on duty.”

“I think you an’ Pete have more in common that you realize,” Nick grinned, going to the icebox. “You been on any ghost hunting expeditions lately?”

“No, unfortunately. However, I am due some time off and there’s a trip in the pipeline.”

“We can cope for a while,” Nick commented, going to the larder for the tomato paste.

“Oh, I know that. You’re a very resourceful group of people,” Andrew smiled. “It isn’t just yet. September.” He paused, looking over his shoulder as Nick came back in. “Can I ask what was in the crate you brought back yesterday?”

Nick paused too. “That’s a good question. We’re not entirely sure. It’s a sword from Japan, at least that’s what it appears to be, but it may be more than just a sword from Japan.”

“I see. In what way?” Andrew inquired, taking the paste.

“Could be a sword of legend, an’ I don’t mean history.”

“The sword of Amaterasu.”

“Right,” Nick agreed. “You a fan of Japanese mythology?”

“Isn’t everyone?” Andrew queried, straight faced but his eyes laughed.

“Not that I’d noticed last time I was in town,” Nick grinned.

Andrew laughed. “It’s an interest of mine. When the rain’s pouring and the wind’s blowing, there’s nothing quite like reading about feudal Japanese society and some of the big battles. And legend forms part of the mythos. The sword of the Sun Goddess is more than legend. It’s mythical. If it is the sword, I would dearly love to see it.”

“If it’s safe, sure, I’ll see that you get your chance before it goes home.”

“Thanks. It’s a fascinating story. Did you know that, according to legend, Amaterasu surrendered the sword when the sun was taken hostage? She won it back again after the sun was released but it was never the same blade. Of course, that could just be a fun way of explaining a total eclipse.”

Nick hesitated in slicing mushrooms. “Who’d she give it to? D’you know?”

“One of the gods of the underworld, I believe.” Andrew closed his eyes to better think. “No-Kami-No-Matsu .. possibly, but I couldn’t swear to it without checking.”

“It’s okay. I’ll check,” Nick responded. “Thanks, Andrew.”

“Pleased to be of service,” the butler replied.

*****

“What is that?” Pete muttered, leaning forward over Derek’s shoulder.

“It could be the curtain being drawn aside.” Derek looked round at him. “The pilots believed themselves to be alone on board yet the curtain was moved. Pulled back. It startled them, prompted one to say ‘what the?’ Both must have been turning to look .. and what they saw possibly killed them.”

“It did kill them,” Pete corrected.

“What I meant was merely the sight of it was fatal. It didn’t have to physically touch them.”

“Holy shit.”

“Listen to this.” Derek forwarded the recording a little. Pete concentrated. “Did you hear that?” he asked, stopping the playback.

“Right after the voice on the radio?” Pete queried. “Yeah.”

“What did it sound like?”

“Like a hiss of surprise.”

“I thought so too,” Derek agreed. “It could mean that the assailant – for want of a better word – ”

“How about you try murderer?” Pete suggested.

“All right. It could mean that the murderer was unfamiliar with the technology and procedures for flying the plane. The voice on the radio startled it and made it realize it had made a tactical error.”

“Because it had killed the crew before it had fully assessed its situation.”

“Exactly,” Derek declared. “Then .. there was this.”

He switched on the recording again and turned up the volume. Pete listened carefully, his head slightly angled.

“Is that a voice?” Pete whispered.

“It certainly sounds like it.”

“Wow … What’s it saying?”

“I don’t know but I can make an educated guess. It’s some kind of .. reanimation spell because, shortly after, the pilot speaks to the controller.”

“Holy shit … How can we find out for sure?”

“By playing with the analyzer. It’ll take most if not all of the afternoon.”

Nick came back and immediately went to one of the shelves in an alcove. “Andrew is one hell of a source of information,” he remarked, drawing an index finger along the titles on the spines. He stabbed at a book and pulled it down. “He’s into Japanese mythology. Did you know the sword of Amaterasu was given away to another god as a ransom to free the sun when it was taken hostage?”

Derek’s eyes widened slightly. “Andrew told you that?”

Nick put the book on the table and opened it at the index. “He did.”

“How could the sun be taken hostage?” Pete inquired.

“Total eclipse,” Nick and Derek said together.

“You must remember legend always has some base in truth,” Derek went on. “A total eclipse to the people of prehistory would have appeared like the sun had been captured. To free it, the Sun Goddess would have taken some kind of action. Did Andrew know to whom she gave the sword?” he asked Nick.

“This guy here .. he thinks. No-Kami-No-Matsu, an’ pardon my pronunciation.” Nick turned the book around and pushed it across the table. “One of three brothers, gods of the underworld .. now there’s a surprise.”

“Jeez, that is one ugly looking individual,” Pete remarked, recoiling from the picture.

“Imagine seeing it for real … ” Derek commented. “Enough to kill you, perhaps.”

“Andrew said the Sun Goddess reclaimed the sword after the sun was released but it was never the same blade,” Nick concluded.

“Hmm, interesting. Amaterasu, a benevolent goddess, blesses the weapon with the power to heal. No-Kami-No-Matsu, a malignant god, curses it with the power to destroy,” Derek interpreted.

“Are you saying this No-Kami-No-Matsu god .. is in the sword .. right now?” Pete exclaimed.

“Or one of his underlings. A spirit slave. A malevolent guardian of his interests.”

“I can’t believe this. I’m sorry, guys, but this is going way beyond the weird I expect from you,” Pete said, stepping away and running a hand thru his hair.

“Then look at this,” Derek invited, offering him the book. “No-Kami-No-Matsu was responsible for bringing death and escorting the dead to the underworld. He also had the power to control them.”

“Enough to fly an aircraft?” Nick queried.

“Enough for them to continue to act as they had when they were alive,” Derek nodded. “This god or guardian did not have the knowledge to pilot a plane, therefore … ”

“He made them into zombies.”

“Animate corpses.”

Nick sat back. “What the hell do we do now?”

“Well .. I think it’s reasonable to say, on the evidence we’ve acquired so far and our research, that we do indeed have the sword of Amaterasu in this house,” Derek replied.

“Great,” Pete remarked. “I’m pleased for you, really I am. But this sword has a nasty little companion, invisible until it kills. What the hell do we do about that? Huh? How do we know it isn’t standing right behind us listening to every word we say?”

“Because the sword’s in its crate in a sealed container inside a locked and sealed laboratory,” Nick patiently stated.

“Right. Forgive me for forgetting that. But, hey, can I just point out this is a god. A god who can kill people just by showing his butt ugly face, an’ then, if that isn’t enough, can reanimate them. I do not want to go that way, people. I wanna get to retirement under my own power, y’know? Please, don’t tell me it cannot escape from its box because that will be pushing the limits of my belief just one step too far.”

“He has a point,” Derek commented.

“Yeah, but – ” Nick began.

“How can you say there’s a but?” Pete demanded.

“Because I’m sitting here, alive, in one piece, an’ trying to figure this out, that’s how,” Nick countered. “An’ so are you. Frank Malone survived. The Customs guys all survived. If this entity, be it god or guardian, is so damned evil .. how come it didn’t attack me? How come our contacts in Tokyo weren’t attacked either?”

Pete shut up. He couldn’t answer that.

“I think .. we should have lunch and then continue with the analysis of the recording,” Derek decided. “For now, the weapon stays exactly where it is.”

Nick nodded. “Absolutely.”

“You don’t need to hear me agree to that,” Pete said in a tight voice.

“One other thing you learn working in this house,” Derek remarked to no one in particular. “It’s all right to get scared.”

*****

In the dining room, Andrew put the final touches to lunch and he did it without conscious thought. His mind was captivated by the idea of actually seeing the fabled sword of the Japanese Sun Goddess. He felt he had earned the chance by contributing to a current investigation. He hoped profoundly that the weapon was safe or could be made safe. This was an opportunity to witness something deeper than mere history.

No-Kami-No-Matsu … The blade was never the same. Somehow, just by being in that god’s possession for a few hours, it had become tainted, made less in some way. Reduced in stature. Some might even say corrupted.

How to make it safe after that … Andrew had no idea. He just hoped Derek Rayne and Nick Boyle could find a way.

He went to announce that lunch was served.

*****

The wisps of gas congregated around the lock of the container. Every inch of the interior of the Perspex box had been explored and the lock was the only weakness. They probed and sensed, felt, and, finally, found the way thru. They surged into the lab, sparkling with the energy of the divine and glittering with sharp purpose and eternal, boundless curiosity. Slowly, they came together and formed one entity, throbbing with power. For a second, it blazed bright, then vanished.

From the slats of the shipping crate oozed a black mist …

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