“What happened to the rest of the Iron Guard taking care of it?”
“My brothers have been led astray. I am afraid they will not understand until it is too late for us all.”
“By the fake Chairman?”
“Yes.”
“You’re on your own…” Sullivan was stunned. He’d never realized that an Iron Guard would or even could do something like disobey orders. “What’s to keep me from gunning you down where you stand?”
“Your desire to defeat the Pathfinder.” Toru slowly drew the sword. It was nearly three feet of menacing razor steel. Sullivan had used one to cut a man in half once, and even with the BAR in hand, was wise enough to fear one in the hands of a trained Brute. “My father, the real Okubo Tokugawa, was wise beyond measure. Even in death, he would not have chosen to speak to you, among all of our many enemies, unless he thought you had the strength to do what was necessary. I have prayed for his guidance and the way has been shown to me. I am doing what I know my father would have me do. Do you see this blade?”
“Kind of hard to miss.”
“This katana represents what it means to be Iron Guard. It was presented to me when I proved worthy to bear the sacred kanji. This blade represents sacrifice and pain. It is my soul.” He twisted it back and forth, studying the reflections of the lamplight. Toru knelt and held the sword before him. “Yet the blade has become tarnished.” Sullivan could see that the steel was clearly without blemish. “It is stained, rusted, and chipped. This katana-” Toru had to choke back the emotion to continue. “It is flawed.”
Sullivan slowly lowered the BAR.
Toru took the hilt in his right and the sharpened end in his left. With a surge of Brute force he bent the sword. It bowed, resilient, but even the finest steel will break eventually.
SNAP.
The noise made Sullivan flinch.
Toru placed the two pieces on the grass. Blood was streaming between the fingers of one hand. He bowed his head.
“I am Iron Guard no longer… I, Toru, son of Okubo Tokugawa, pledge to help you defeat the Pathfinder. That is my mission. My father chose you. It is my obligation to him to assist you until this mission has been completed and the Pathfinder has been defeated. I will not help you against my people or my Imperium unless it is necessary to battle the Enemy. I will teach you the ways of Dark Ocean, then we will destroy the creature or die trying.”
Sullivan didn’t know what to say. There was movement behind him and Hammer spoke softly. “He’s completely sincere.” She sounded awestruck.
After several long seconds, Toru looked up from his broken sword. “Until I have fulfilled my father’s command, I am unworthy of an Iron Guard’s blade.”
“And when the Pathfinder’s beaten?”
“In the unlikely event we both live, we will tend to our unfinished business. We will fight. One will die. You helped kill my father, so we must; to do otherwise would be shameful. However, I will not let my hatred for you and your wretched ways deter me from my obligation.”
That actually sounded pretty fair. “Then what?”
“Then?” Toru obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Should I win, I will then return to my people and commit seppuku as I have been ordered.” Sullivan tilted his head, confused at the word. “Suicide. When my mission is done, I must kill myself to cleanse my disgrace from my family. It is necessary.”
He didn’t need Hammer’s Power to know that was the truth. That fact that he’d shown up here proved that Toru was a suicidal maniac. Sullivan could just hold the trigger down and hose the crazy bastard down with lead, throw the body in a ditch and call it a night. He wanted to do it so very badly. Instead, Sullivan took his finger off the trigger and put the safety on.
This was no trick. The emotion on Toru’s face when he broke his sword in half wasn’t faked. This man had just turned his back on his entire life in order to keep a promise to a dead man. The Enemy was real, and in Toru he had someone who actually knew how to fight it.
“You got a deal.”
The former Iron Guard bowed deeply. Feeling awkward, Sullivan did the same. He looked up just in time to see Faye Vierra pop into existence right behind Toru. The Traveler was lifting a big revolver in one hand. With no time for finesse, Sullivan surged his Power and Spiked hard, bending gravity away just as Faye fired.
Toru tumbled across the dead grass. Faye’s stray bullet shattered one of the farmhouse windows. She squeaked in surprise as gravity changed around her and she went flying through the air. Faye Traveled out of the effect and hit the ground right next to him. “Look out, Mr. Sullivan! They’ve got a Heavy!”
He caught her by the arm before she could try to shoot at Toru again. “Cease fire.”
“Iron Guard! Right there!” she shouted. Toru had caught his club as it had gone spinning by, and was standing in a fighting position with it raised overhead. Brutes were fast. Toru was red-faced and furious, but he wasn’t charging them. Yet.
“Remember that one time when we first met and you murdered me by accident?” Sullivan asked gently.
“Yeah?”
“This is kind of like that. Faye, meet Toru.”
“Oh… Whoops.” She lowered the revolver. “Gotcha. Sorry about that.” She looked over at Toru. “He seems really upset.”
“You better pop on out of here until he cools off.” Faye gulped and Traveled away. Toru slowly lowered the club. “She gets a little excitable.”
“Keep your kichiku ninja on a leash, Sullivan,” Toru spat.
He shrugged. “With the rep you assholes have developed around here, we’ll be lucky if that’s not about the friendliest greeting you get. Put the meat tenderizer away. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Hammer
Chapter 14
Awake. Aware… Feeling every pain, every wound. Never healing. The poor bastards just can’t die. It’s no wonder they all go mad eventually. And the screaming coming from the trenches all night long … I wished they’d quit screaming. That was the worst part. Always with the screaming. Zombie Kraut sons-a-bitches. Damn the Kaiser’s eyes.
Miami, Florida
As was to be expected, the temperature inside the morgue was kept chilly. The room smelled of formaldehyde and detergents. The two knights followed the attendant down the wall of small metal doors. It was obvious right away which door they were looking for. It was the only one with a padlock on its latch. The attendant looked both ways to confirm that they were alone, then pulled out a ring of keys. A moment later, he slid out a table containing a sheet-draped corpse. Even with the sheet in place hiding the evidence, it was obvious that the body was in two pieces, with the lump of the head being just a bit too far from the remainder.
Well done, Francis, John Moses Browning thought.
The morgue attendant looked at them expectantly. “Well, gentlemen?”
Donald Bryce removed his wallet from inside his suit jacket, pulled out five twenty-dollar silver certificates and handed them over. The attendant tried to pull them away, but Bryce wouldn’t let go of the money. He scowled at the attendant and waited.
“Half now. Half when we’re finished,” Browning said.
The attendant looked hurt. “Okay… You got fifteen minutes. That’s all I can promise. I don’t want to get fired for letting reporters in here. We’re under real strict orders.”
“That’ll be sufficient,” Browning said as he nodded at his companion.
Bryce relaxed his grip and the attendant snatched the money away. “Fifteen minutes. Take your pictures quick. Don’t fiddle with it,” he said, indicating the dead man. “The doctors can always tell.”
The bag in Browning’s hand did in fact have a camera in it, but that was only in case any of the police officers or staff had bothered to check as they’d bribed their way in. No one had. Apparently they were not the first “newsmen” that had snuck illicit photographs of the assassin’s body. None of the pictures had shown up in a legitimate newspaper yet, since a decapitation would never make it past the censors, but it made for a very plausible story.