Sullivan extended one big hand. Hoover looked at it distastefully, then finally shook on it. Sullivan had to resist the urge to break all his fingers. “Welcome to the conspiracy, Mr. Hoover.”
Fairfax County, Virginia
All aspiring Iron Guards had to read Okubo Tokugawa’s personal history. He was their leader and their inspiration. An Iron Guard was to emulate the Chairman in all aspects of their life. Whether it was courage on the battlefield, artistry on the canvas, or cunning in the courts, Okubo Tokugawa was all that an Iron Guard should aspire to be.
He had also been a ronin, Toru reasoned.
The Chairman had been born into one of the greatest families in Nippon, but when the Power had chosen the young man to be the first Active, his sudden manifestation of magical abilities had been a great cause of confusion. This was before man understood anything about magic, and the young samurai’s miraculous skills were frightening to the unenlightened. There could only be one Child of Heaven. The Shogunate was shamed by this development, and political rivals used his uniqueness as an excuse for war.
Seppuku was not an option for someone who could not seem to die, so he had been exiled for the good of the empire. Thus he had become a wave man, a ronin, carried about by the dark ocean of fate. It was only through this wandering time that the man who would go on to become the Chairman would learn true wisdom.
Toru clung to that idea. He was following in the footsteps of his father.
He would not obey the false Chairman’s orders. The imposter deserved no loyalty. He did not speak for the Imperium. In fact, by disregarding Okubo Tokugawa’s final message from beyond the grave, the imposter was putting the entire Imperium in jeopardy.
If the imposter would not fill the Chairman’s final order, then Toru would. He did not yet know how, but once the Pathfinder was defeated, then Toru would turn his attention to the imposter. Until then, however, pursuit was inevitable. No Iron Guard had ever forsaken his place before. Hatori should have fled, but he had been old, tired, and afraid. Toru would atone for his mentor’s mistakes as well.
The marines were still unaware of what was coming. He had gathered his belongings, a bag of gold coins, a supply of American money, along with his favorite weapons, and then gone to the garden to meditate and to wait for the Iron Guards that were supposed to take his life. He could have just run, but then they would have given immediate chase. He would need time to plan his next move, and that would be difficult while being hounded by his tenacious brothers.
In winter the garden was as grey as his soul. The chill wind kept his mind sharp as he waited. He did not yet know how he would fulfill the real Chairman’s command. He was not strong enough by himself to destroy a Pathfinder. He prayed to his father’s spirit for guidance. He would need the wisdom of the Chairman to accomplish this mission.
One of the men disturbed his mediation. “Iron Guard, I have news.” It was the Finder and he had a map in hand. The wind was whipping it about. He bowed deeply. “As you ordered, the spirits have followed the American woman. She has located the Grimnoir. They are hiding in a farmhouse not far from here.”
Toru stood and took the map. There was an X drawn on it to the south of them. “Was the large one there? Sullivan?”
“Yes, Iron Guard. It was the same two that came here. She arrived as they were leaving in a red pickup truck. The spirit was not strong enough to follow them because of their ring wards. But from the looks of it, I believe they will be returning shortly. The woman is hiding, watching the place now.”
The flash of inspiration was so clear that he had no doubt it was divine. The marine was not nearly as big as Toru, but he was rather tall. “Have you told any of the others?”
“No, Iron Guard.”
Toru carefully folded the map and put it inside his clothing. “What is your name?”
“Okada Hiroshi,” he answered proudly.
“You have done a great service to the Imperium today, Okada Hiroshi,” Toru said solemnly, and then he bowed. The marine was shocked at the display. It was rare to receive a compliment from one of the mighty Iron Guard. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Iron Guard,” Hiroshi stammered.
Toru drew his sword and struck so quickly that the marine never even saw death coming. It was completely painless. Toru had already cleaned the blood from his sword and put it back in the sheath before the body toppled. He gently carried the body into the garden and hid it. He then put on his most distinctive kimono and went back to the house. He made sure to greet a few of the staff, and then snuck to the basement to carry up a crate of explosives.
After returning to the garden, he dressed Hiroshi in his kimono and set the body next to the bomb. It was enough to make a mess, but would still leave plenty of big pieces. Toru bore eight kanji, Hiroshi only bore one. A careful inspection of the body parts would reveal what he’d done, but they probably wouldn’t even check until they realized Hiroshi was also missing. His brothers would not search for him if they thought he was dead, and by the time they realized the truth, his trail would be cold.
Fuse lit, Toru escaped over the back wall into the woods. His Brute speed had gotten him a quarter mile away by the time the explosives detonated and thunder rolled through the trees. He turned for one last look at what had been his home and watched the smoke rising from the garden. For the first time in his life, he was truly alone.
The life of an echo.
Perfect sky and mountain firm.
Fires of purity burn.
On a dark ocean.
The Iron Guard understood it now. The meaning had become clear.
New York City, New York
“Buckminster Fuller. Heard of him?”
“Nope.” Francis looked up from his drink, and then suspiciously down the bar. None of the other customers seemed to be paying attention to Francis and Chandler. It was a low-rent speakeasy and since technically nobody was supposed to be here, customers pretty much minded their own business. For whatever reason, Chandler seemed to be the expert on out-of-the-way dives like this around the city. Francis kept his hat pulled low and his overcoat collar up so no one would recognize him. Luckily, it was cold out, and every time the door opened another blast of cold air would come shooting into the dark bar, so at least he wasn’t the only one dressed that way.
Chandler looked around the room, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’m enjoying this detective thing. Much more interesting than accounting. Fuller’s a Cog. He’s got a little shop in Greenwich Village.”
That wasn’t particularly fancy for a Cog. “What’s his magical brilliance in? Musical theater?”
“For a rich guy, you sure do look down your nose at the arts.”
“Hey, I’ve donated piles of money to… stuff.” Francis wasn’t in the mood for witty banter. He’d told his secretary to hold his calls and then he’d slipped out through the UBF mail room and had run for his life. He’d gone from millionaire to fugitive in less than five minutes. Which was about as fast as he’d gone from nobody to millionaire in the first place. He sighed. “So what’s his deal, Ray?”
“Fuller’s a big idea man, but his thing is domes.”
“Domes?” UBF employed several Cogs who specialized in useful things like engines, electronics, or aerodynamics. “No wonder I’ve never heard of him. Who’d pay good money for a dome? Eskimos?”
Chandler finished his drink and then signaled the bartender for a refill. “The Office of the Coordinator of Information.”
“Fuller owns Dymaxion?”
“One and the same. Fuller’s come up with some sort of geometric design that chases away magic. Ten minutes after he announced it, OCI swooped in and told him to shut his trap. They have been buying everything he’s turned out since.”