"Takita-san!"

    Hideo looked up and saw Kenji rushing into the room, waving a pink sheet of paper.

    "Look at this!"

    Hideo took the sheet and froze as he recognized the katana in the photo. And then he was out of his seat and in Kenji's face.

    "Where did you get this?"

    "Taped to the front door. They're all over."

    Hideo stared at the sheet. What did it mean?

    Acting on his theory that the owner from Hawaii had hired the ronin to find the katana, Hideo had spent all yesterday searching for an urban mercenary. He'd found mercenaries—plenty of them. They advertised in magazines like Soldier of Fortune and on various Web sites, but none of them fit the profile of the man he was looking for.

    And now this flyer. Who but the owner from Hawaii would be offering such a reward? If so, it meant he had not yet reclaimed the katana.

    He had to speak to this man. He was a living link to the sword—the only one within reach—and Hideo needed to learn what he knew. Perhaps he could provide a direction. He needed something, anything. He was floundering about. He felt as if he was drowning.

    He grabbed the receiver from his desk phone and began to punch in the number listed on the sheet.

    Halfway through, he stopped.

    What was he going to say? He would have to choose his words carefully. The last thing he wanted was to raise suspicion, so everything he said had to have a basis in fact. He must assume that this man knew about the deaths of Gerrish and O'Day. He would be on his guard. Hideo did not want to frighten him off. No, he must lure him in and take control of him.

    He sat and began making notes in preparation for his call.