Victories Lost

Nate realized he'd made a wrong turn, but habit made him press ahead. Being lost on Japanese roads was not unusual, and he'd found the consequences of groping around trying to find the way back to the point of the error often increased the degree of being lost.

His spirits lifted slightly as the road curved to the right, and a few ancient carbide street lights came into view, shining dimly through the night. Their corrugated, circular shades suspended from overhead wires cast feeble pools of light in the blackness. The lights, Nate remembered thankfully, marked the beginning of central Yokohama.

With renewed confidence Nate recognized the dark bulk of the Yokohama Bank on his left. Beyond it was the silhouette of the Shinko pier, outlined in the faint reflection from the calm, oily surface of Tokyo Wan. In these more familiar surroundings he stepped down on the accelerator. The quality of the road improved slightly where the stronger economic heartbeat of Yokohama made more money available to repair some of the devastation of the war.

A long block past the Kanagawa Prefectural Office Nate began to look for a cross street where he could turn right. He felt certain Route Sixteen was little more than a mile to the west. A street appeared in the loom of the headlights and he swung the car to the right. He nodded his head, certain this was National Road Sixteen leading south to Yokosuka.

Recovered from his near accident, and again sure of his way, Nate mused to himself the twisted ways that fate wove events into complex patterns. Japan was once the bitter enemy he plotted and schemed against. Since the war ended he devoted his best effort to revitalize the economic life of the nation he helped to destroy a few years before. Odd.

Even his mission tonight contained convoluted threads. The envelope lying on the seat carried information he had secretly uncovered, first by accident, later with the stealth of a spy. The data seemed to point to dangerous flaws in the character of the man who once commanded a victorious army, and now exercised autocratic rule over Japan. The conqueror had been transposed into benefactor of his former enemy. In a convoluted twist of fate, the beneficent conqueror seemed on the brink of a terrible error of judgment. He wondered if Jarrel Meyerhof and himself, two ordinary people, could work out the implications of the papers before the gods of fate cleared the board for a new pattern.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Nate paid no attention to the nondescript light blue sedan that came out of the night going in the opposite direction. He also didn't notice that it slowed as it passed, made a tight turn and accelerated swiftly to overtake his mud stained olive-drab car.

His attention suddenly snapped into focus as the lights of the blue car flared behind him. The next thing he knew the overtaking car pulled out to pass. It was a stupid maneuver on the dark, dangerously uneven road.

The other car lurched and plunged alongside, then slowed momentarily. Nate, with a quick glance at the other vehicle, thought he saw dark faces peering across at him. Mild apprehension turned to a stab of fear as the dusty blue car ran ahead of him, then swerved abruptly in toward his right front fender.

He wrenched the wheel to the left and jammed his foot on the brake pedal. The car skidded sideways and howled to a stop without going out of control, toppling into the ditch or smashing into the other car.

Thoroughly alarmed, Nate felt a sense of dread as black suited figures leaped out of the blue car. He grabbed the envelope of papers off the floor where they ended up. He frantically rolled them into a tight cylinder and jammed them as far up into the dash board wiring as he could. The figures appeared at the opposite door of the Ford.

The figures, black as shadows, raced around to his side and twisted the door handle unsuccessfully. He felt trapped with no place to go. The side window next to Nate cracked as one of the forms drove an elbow into it. Blindly, Nate threw open his door pushing one of the attackers over backward and leaped from the car.

He didn't have the slightest idea where he was going, but he was definitely not going to hang around and be trapped in the car. He bolted down the road in the direction of Yokohama running as fast as he could, but feeling as if he was running in deep sand. After less than twenty-five yards his breath started coming in ragged gasps. He heard no footsteps, but magically a black suited figure raced up from behind and tripped him, sending him sprawling to the rough concrete. Sharp, stabbing pain shot through his knees and the palms of his hands as the skin was torn. Dazed and on all fours, he looked up at the figures materializing around him. He shook his head hoping this was some sort of hallucination, but with fear constricting his heart, he knew it was the real thing.

"What do you want?" he demanded, but was met with stony silence.

One of the figures dipped toward him, and he felt his arms pulled up and behind his back, while his body was forced to remain doubled over. Frantically Nate twisted his head to see what was going on behind him.

Without warning his old Navy dog tags, that he still wore for luck, were ripped from his neck. To his right he heard the rasp of steel and his eyes caught the faint glint of a long, slightly curved blade that seemed to float up and out of his field of vision. Recognition exploded in his brain, he'd seen a sword being drawn.

"Oh God! What's happening . . ., what're you doing? Please . . . "

Faintly, Nate's ears registered a whisper in the air. Then there was nothing.