Originally published in Barakei

It began in San Francisco in the spring.

Teri McAllister backed her car into a parking spot barely large enough to contain it, cranked the steering wheel to counter the steepness of the hill, and emerged into the April sunshine, pausing only to haul her grocery bags out of the back seat. Balancing one of them against her hip while she locked the car, she set off for the flight of steps that led up to her apartment. Once the groceries were stowed, she would be free for the rest of the day and she wanted to go flying. It seemed like a long time since last month's air show and she was tired of the ground.

It had been over a year since she had wormed the truth out of her mother. Her father had not deserted them, after all, and he had not died in the Korean War. He was living in Japan, and Laura, who had international contacts accrued through her years of globetrotting, first with notebook, then tape recorder, the camera in hand, even had his address. Teri took the address and her departure, storming off in a huff, and she hadn't spoken to her mother since. Laura had shown little enough concern for Teri's sensibilities. It was time she had a taste of her own medicine.

Armed with righteous indignation and the key to a new life, Teri still refused to sever the ties completely with the old one. Her stepfather, Michael Reardon, had always been there for her even when Laura couldn't, often enough that people who only vaguely knew of the family assumed Michael was her real parent and Laura the step. And Mark, of course. She loved her baby brother and saw to it that he got cards and letters from all over the country and phone calls when she could safely ring without encountering Laura.

Impulsively, Teri wrote to her father in Japan to ask for a meeting, then she panicked--what did she know of him, this unknown man who had nothing to do with her beyond fathering her long ago. For thirty years he had lived in Japan. Maybe she and her father would be so different that they could meet but never touch. Laura had told her nothing about him except his address and that he had been a pilot in the war. Teri had always known the latter, and perhaps it had influenced her in her career choice. But flying was a small enough common ground for her and this unknown father of hers. It might not prove enough to bridge the gap of generation and culture. She waited for him uneasily, never really expecting him to come, and then she panicked and ran.

Afterwards she was sorry, but afterward was too late. When she began to regret her hasty departure and called her friend Holly Trumbull in Ellerston, she discovered her father had come for her--and gone again. Teri left a message for him with Holly in case he called, then she set off to search for him, touched and charmed that he had come, and guilty because she had lacked the courage to wait. She sound have trusted him.

She asked Mark to let her known if he ever called their mother. In a crazy urge to make herself conspicuous and easy to find, she let a friend talk her into doing some modeling, and amazingly, caught the public's eye for a tiny taste of fame, but that had fizzled when that bastard Garrett tried to hit on her. She didn't need that, and she was really too old to hope for an ongoing career: the real names in the field were usually well under thirty.

Soi she went back to her first love, flying, and eventually she landed in San Francisco. Like Tony Bennett, she found herself leaving her heart there, and she decided to stay. Periodically, she checked her sources for word of her father, but America was a big place to wander in, and she kept missing him. Maybe someday, she thought wistfully as she turned the key in the lock and let herself into her apartment. Maybe someday, I'll find you.

As she closed the door behind her, the phone began ringing, and she dumped her groceries on the table and scooped up the receiver on the third ring. "Hello."

"Teri McAllister?" the voice was foreign, Japanese. Excitement ran like wildfire through her veins. Her father had lived in Japan. Could this finally be word of him?

"Yes, this is Teri."

"My name is Ohara. I am a friend of your father."

"Where is he?" she demanded eagerly.

"In Tokyo. Perhaps you knew he was searching for you. When he failed to find you, he returned to Japan, and he wants to see you very much."

"I want to see him, too. But if he knows where I am, why doesn't he call me himself?"

"Two days ago, he suffered a heart attack, and he is confined to a hospital here in Tokyo."

Her own heart lurched. "Not dying," she protested n dismay. To have come this close to finding her father and then to lose him would be unbearable. "Oh, please, not dying."

"Fortunately not. He will live, Miss McAllister. But he asks for you. He learned your location hours before the attack, and did not have time to arrange to come to America to meet you."

"I'll come to him," she cried. "I'll get the first plane I can."

"He asked me to purchase your air ticket. Please do not disagree, Miss McAllister," he continued hastily when she started to protest. "He feels he has done nothing for you, and he needs to be allowed to do this much."

"All right." She was reluctant to take his money while he was still a stranger, but they could argue it out when he was well again. She wrote down the instructions for picking up the ticket and the flight number and times obediently and arranged to meet Ohara in Tokyo.

"I will take you to him as soon as you arrive," Ohara promised.

Kyu Okasa looked around the shabby hotel room with patent disgust. It was not that he had never stayed in a place of squalor before, but he had never come to like it, though he could close his mind to his surroundings and function as tradition and employment dictated. This time, though, it was different. This time, the end would be worth the discomfort, the greasy food, the dishonorable people he was forced to use. The end result would destroy his enemy, and anything was worth that price.

Okasa had been raised in the ninja tradition, a tradition that went back centuries; his family had been ninja for many generations and he was proud to continue their line. He often thought of his distant ancestors and the skills they had developed, skills that had been passed down to him, and he wondered what they would have thought of his own century, his own master. That the man had been gifted was generally accepted. That he had lived his life with honor and fulfilled his duties was clear and could be proven. But he claimed that the wheel had turned and that times were different, and Okasa knew better. Times might be different, but the ninja must remain the same. The rules and customs that guided the sect made it what it was, the truest thing Okasa knew, and it was his duty to keep it pure, the way it had always been. Modern softness was not for him.

Yet John Peter McAllister was not, and had never been, soft. Okasa hd approached him warily in the beginning, suspicious of this Occidental who came to the ninja without a background in the traditions. The sect was peaceful in those days; old Master Kenji had seen to that; a quiet studious man of great honor, who did not fear to fight when the time was right, and who understood his responsibilities. It had been a good life under Kenji. He and McAllister had been close, as close as McAllister and Okasa were later to become, and McAllister had been devastated by his death. Okasa remembered, though he was just a young student then, the grief on the American's face when he announced that Kenji was dead. But he had not shirked his responsibilities and the sect had continued to prosper, as was only correct. Men might come and go, but the ninja remained, the only constant in an uncertain world.

As Okasa grew to manhood and began to develop his skills, he drew the notice of the American, and McAllister bean working with him more intensely, demanding more of him than he did of the others, though he never allowed a student to shirk. Okasa was proud that his abilities had singled him out, and he soon became the best pupil in the dojo. Even better, he and McAllister became friends, often spending long evenings in philosophical discussions, which McAllister would interrupt at random with physical challenges that kept Okasa constantly on his toes. McAllister gave no quarter in a fight, and Okasa was proud to be found worth of such a superior challenge.

But in the passage of time, nothing remained the same, nothing but the ninja, and Okasa began to observe that McAllister's views and his own often different. Okasa was eager for action; historically, the ninja had not been a contemplative order, and while it did not become one under McAllister, Okasa noticed that this Master was highly selective in the contracts he chose to accept from those who came to hire their skills. Okasa sometimes urged his sensei to accept a new job, eager to prove his gifts in the field, but McAllister as stubborn and spoke of honor, and Okasa listened to him. He understood what the Master meant, at least most of the time, but there were occasions when he felt that the Master was too hesitant to kill, to reluctant to take the ninja's proper place in the scheme of things.

One day when McAllister had refused a job that Okasa felt worth of his own particular gifts, he had gone to the contractor and offered his services. "Sometimes my master does not involve himself in these particular aspects of the work," he had explained and accepted the contract. Returning to the dojo afterwards rather flown with success, he had kept mum about his actions, but gradually be began to spread the word in secret that if a ninja was wanted for dirty work, such as a killing or a terrorist act, it was better to come to him than to the master. McAllister did not seem aware of the deception, and Okasa preferred that. Better he perform these ninja functions that McAllister didn't, better that the sect remain unshamed.

Okasa still cared for McAllister and hoped to spare him; more, he hoped to turn him to his viewpoint, and their philosophical discussions became debates that sometimes grew hot and furious. They could not agree, and gradually, Okasa began to believe his master was betraying the sect. The ways of their ancestors must be maintained, and if McAllister could not do so, then there were others who could. Covertly, Okasa began to recruit others from among the Master's pupils, carefully selecting those who would not betray him. He would eventually be forced to move against his master, but not yet, not until he was ready. He did not want to split the sect down its middle; a fight would destroy them, and Okasa still held faint hopes of luring McAllister to his viewpoint.

Instead, the Master discovered Okasa's subversive activities, and the resultant explosion split the school right in two. Okasa's adherents, the more vocal of the Masters' former pupils, rallied behind Okasa, determined to kill the Master, who was now their enemy. Okasa knew they were right, that the only way to restore proper order was McAllister's death, though he wished at first it need not come to that. But he did not have the luxury of mercy, so he accepted the task set before him, and as McAllister's more loyal and peace-loving students scattered, Okasa set his followers to kill the Master.

McAllister defeated the three hand-picked men rather easily and fled, and Okasa, questioning the remaining pupils, learned for the first time of a letter that had come from America. McAllister was summoned home to meet his daughter, a daughter whose very existence had been unsuspected. Very well, that made it clear. McAllister intended to go to America, but he could not be permitted to leave. Okasa trailed him to a small airport just as McAllister was to board a plane. In desperation, he flung a shuriken, though his former master deserved better than a blow from behind. Okasa felt as if the throwing star hard wounded both of them, and when McAllister escaped in spite of his injury, he was almost glad. There would be another time, a better way to stop his enemy. He could challenge him face to face, for was he not now a master in his own right? He would challenge McAllister in a fight to the death, and he would triumph, protecting the sect and restoring the old ways of the ninja to their former glory.

OF course it was not as easy as that. Though Okasa spoke English and had visited America before, he lacked McAllister's advantages there. It was more difficult to blend in, and though disguises and careful attempts to conceal his accent might serve as temporary tools, he could not be assured of complete deception. He found the Master a number of times, but none of their battles were conclusive, especially since the Master played a defensive game, reluctant to kill his former pupil. Shamed by his failure to do so when the Master had clearly beaten him at their first American encounter, Okasa became all the more obsessed. Relentless in his pursuit, he traveled back and forth across America in search of McAllister while the Master sought his daughter. It didn't take his enemy long to find a new pupil, and Okasa, watching from a distance as the young drifter, Max Keller, slowly gained in skill. He was not in Okasa's class, but he was good, and Okasa knew he could become a serious threat one day. The two of them together, master and pupil, could vanquish Okasa, so his confrontations were carefully planned for times when the Master's hot-headed young student was not at hand. McAllister still eluded him, and as time passed, Okasa began to realize he needed a plan of more subtlety, more complexity.

The current plan was as much a result of luck and superb timing as it was of strategy, but strategy played its part. Summoning backup from Japan and arranging it there as well, he conceived a scheme that was certain to succeed. Now that it was running, Okasa could not halt it unless he chose to surrender. Soon, the Mater would be in his hands, and this time it would not go the American's way. He would respond to threat, threat against his daughter. Though Okasa did not plan to harm the girl, his discovery of her location had played into his hands, and now she was a tool who fit perfectly I his grasp. Soon now, it would be finished.

"Repeat your instructions to me," Okasa told the man who stood before him in the second-rate, lower Manhattan hotel room. "Please be precise. Your task is simple, but it must be played perfectly."

The man who faced him was tall and balding. He wore a grey mustache and his age was late fifties or early sixties. He glared at Okasa as if to challenge his authority, but at the last moment, he shook his head and backed down. "You got it. I'm to be at LaGuardia in three hours. I am to meet you before the metal detector at the United concourse. I am to take the items you give me and board the specified plane, and I am to change planes in Chicago. I will appear inconspicuous on the first place, but in Chicago, I am to complain about my seat assignment and make sure the gate attendant will remember me. When I reach San Francisco, I will meet you in the airport and return the item to you. I will be paid then. I will keep silent about my trip, and after remaining in San Francisco for one week, I may leave. My part will then be finished."

"That is correct," purred Okasa. "Very well. Go to the airport now. I will meet you there at the correct time."

The man picked up his jacket and left quickly, as if intimidated. Since Okasa preferred the man to remain that way, he smiled to himself as the door closed. The plan was working perfectly. His tool was not clever enough to realize how expendable he would be once this was over. All the waiting and planning had finally worked to Okasa's advantage. All those encounters with McAllister had led up to this infinitely more satisfactory plan.

He strode over to pull open the adjoining door. "The tape recording," he urged.. A young oriental man passed it to him. "It went well," he assured Okasa, though this was familiar ground. "Ohara will be waiting in Tokyo as planned. The young woman suspected nothing."

Okasa merely nodded, inserting the tape into a tiny tape player and pocketing it. He began to arm himself with his weapons, knowing he could not get through the airport gate with them but also knowing that it was unlikely he would need to do so. "Let us go," he said as he picked up his suitcase. "We must be there in time to intercept our target."

"If he should fight us?"

"If he wants his daughter to survive, he will not."

"I fear him."

"So you should. He is a dangerous man. But this time, it is we who will triumph." Okasa smiled and led the way to the door. He checked his watch. "We must not be late."

Max Keller sipped from a can of 7-Up and grimaced, leaning back against his pillow, watching his mentor, John Peter McAllister do up the fasteners of his suitcase. "I wish I could go with you," he said wistfully. "It doesn't seem right that you'd have to go alone. I wanted to help you find Teri."

"We know where she is now, Max," McAllister reminded him. "When you're feeling better, you can drive out to join us. But I don't want to wait. You can understand that, can't you?"

Max nodded. "Yeah, we had some great luck. To know where she is--and she doesn't plan to leave. It's terrific."

"I hope she doesn't leave." McAllister studied Max consideringly and leaned over to rest a hand on his forehead. "You're still too hot. Sure you'll be okay if I leave?"

"It's only the flu," Max muttered. "I'm a lot better than I was yesterday--and when I think of the day before..." He grimaced expressively. "I'm okay. I'll probably stat out tomorrow morning. Catch a nap after you leave and get a good night's sleep tonight. I'll be fine tomorrow."

"I can wait."

"No you can't, old fella, not when it's Teri. You get out there and see her. All I ask is that you give me a call tonight and let me know it's okay."

"You're pretty confident," McAllister observed.

"Hey, what can I say? She's gonna love you. She's probably as scared as you are, but she must want to see you or she wouldn't be telling people where she was in case you asked. She's waiting for you and she'll be thrilled when she opens the door and finds you standing there.

'I hope so, Max."

"It's a good thing we checked back with Holly Trumball," Max remarked, setting aside the empty soda can. "Or we wouldn't have known he'd had a friend call her to tell where she was."

"We check every month or so anyway," McAllister said. "It just worked out, that's all."

"I wonder why Teri didn't call Holly herself," Max mused. He stretched out on the bed. "God, I'm beat. But I"ll drive you to the airport if you want me to."

"No, you catch that nap. I'm perfectly capable of taking a taxi to the airport."

"Max looked up at the Mater and grinned. "This is great, isn't it? You look like a kid who just got a special Christmas present. I always knew we'd find Teri."

"Really? I've seen you biting back some hasty words a few times."

"Well, I usually thought we'd find her," conceded Max with a smile. "Once in awhile I'd wonder if whe wasn't being hard to find on purpose, but hey, it's a big country. You take care, old fella, 'cause I won't be there to watch your back."

McAllister tossed him a look of mock affront. "I think I can manage to take care of myself, Max."

"Superninja," agreed Max cheerfully. "GO on, get outa here. I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Don't set any land speed records with your van," McAllister admonished with an affectionate clap to Max's shoulder. "I'll look forward to your arrival, but not in pieces."

"Hey, you know me. Soul of discretion. Safe and careful."

"Safe and careful!" McAllister stared at his pupil in disbelief. "Are we talking about the same Max Keller?"

"What can I say? Natural talent."

McAllister groaned. As he started to speak, a horn sounded, and he glanced out the window. "That's the taxi. I'll call you tonight."

"Be careful. Okasa's still out there."

"Count on it." HE flashed Max a smile as he left.

Max heard the taxi depart, then he rolled over and closed his eyes. This bout of flu had taken a lot out of him. He was just sorry he hadn't pulled himself back together a day or two sooner. He didn't like the thought of McAllister taking off on his own, though if there was anyone in the world capable of handling himself solo, it was John Peter McAllister, ninja master. Max grinned with pride at the thought of his mentor, the first Occidental American to become a ninja, and who stood up for his beliefs and values even if it meant alienating his former pupils, who had returned to the old and violent ways of ninjutsu, espousing the darker values of the sect. McAllister had decided he could not console such a way of life, and when his daughter, the daughter he hadn't known about, had written him out of the blue, her letter had coincided with the realization that he must leave Japan or face death at the hands of his former students. Teri gave him something to aim for, a new purpose in life, so he came to America to seek her. Instead, he had met Max and the two of them had teamed up, Max vowing to help McAllister search for Teri in exchange for ninja lessons.

It had proven a remarkably successful partnership. Max had started off hot-headed, out of control, meaning well but lacking the restraint to handle himself without losing his temper and getting into fights. He couldn't count the number of bar windows he'd been pitched through before McAllister had taken him in hand. These days, he didn't fight unless there were no other options--at least most of the time. He had learned to control his emotions and master his passions, and he was beginning to see his way clear to planning his future. He vaguely liked the idea of law school, perhaps even going into partnership with his lawyer father one day, but he wasn't ready to stop his lessons with McAllister, and maybe he never would. There was no reason why he couldn't be both a ninja and an attorney, as there?

Still smiling, he fell asleep.

It was mid-afternoon when he awoke, and though he felt better, he also felt lazy and comfortable, so he didn't get up except to turn on the television. Some stupid old move was running, but by the Max was back in bed and he lay there watching halfheartedly, groaning at the insipid story line as it unfolded.

"We interrupt this program for a special bulletin."

Max opened his eyes, startled out of a doze. News bulletins never spelled anything good, and when he heard one announced, he always feared something like a political assassination or a declaration of war. This time it was something less far-reaching, but tragic all the same. A plane crash. A United jet out of Chicago had exploded in midair and crashed into an Iowa cornfield. Max grimaced at the image of twisted wreckage, then suddenly he sat bolt upright. A United flight out of Chicago? What the hell time was it? He scrambled after his watch on the bureau as the announcer explained that the plain was bound for San Francisco and gave the flight number. Max couldn't recall the number of McAllister's flight, but the time was right, and McAllister was to have changed planes in Chicago. Terrified that the Master had been on the plane, Max dove for the telephone directory and called United.

It took about five tries to get through, and when he did, Max was shaking with uneasy anticipation. Please, let there have been a couple of different flights from Chicago to San Francisco. Please let the Master have missed his flight. A harassed voice came on the line and Max burst out, "I know someone on that flight, the one that crashed. What--who do I talk to?"

"His name?"

"John Peter McAllister."

There was a pause, then the voice returned. "Are you a relative of Mr. McAllister?"

Realizing he would get no information unless he was, Max replied, levelly, although his insides were quivering, "I'm his son."

"Then I am sorry to tell you his name is on the flight roster."

"You mean he was on the plane?" Max's voice quavered. "Oh, god! How do I found out who survived?"

"I'm sorry," said the man with tired sympathy. "There were no survivors."

"Are you sure?" Dumb question, Max. Of course he was sure.

"Yes. I am sure."

"But--" He fell silent, struggling for control. "What--what happens next?" he asked helplessly, desolation settling over him like a shroud. "What--what do I do?"

"Your name, please?"

"Max Keller."

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Keller."

"Sorry! That's a hell of a thing to say. What good does it do to be sorry?"

The man heaved a sigh. "I know it does no good."

Max felt tears slide down his cheeks and made no attempt to check them. "Where do I go? Could I identify--"

"It might be possible to identify his personal effects," the voice told him quietly.

Personal effects? It had been that bad a crash? Max began to tremble, and he reached involuntarily for a blanket, pulling it around his shoulders with one hand. "I'm going out there," he announced. "Listen, isn't there any chance that--"

"I'm sorry."

"How did it happen?"

"That information is not yet available."

Max asked a few more useless questions until he couldn't bear to go on talking and hung up. For a long moment he stood there, one hand clutching the blanket about his shoulders, the other resting on the receiver as if he needed the support to keep on his feet. Then, helplessly, he picked up the phone again and dialed Teri's number. She hadn't been home when they'd called before, but she might be there now. She deserved to be told personally instead of hearing it on the news or reading it in the paper. But she wasn't home this time, either. Max wondered if she had disappeared again. If so, at least the Master was spared that last disappointment.

"Oh, god," Max whispered and collapsed on the bed, wrapping his arms around his knees. For a long time he lay staring unseeingly at the wall while tears ran unchecked down his face.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right for the Master to die in such a stupid, pointless way. Everyone Max loved died in plane crashes. His own mother and brother had been killed in one just a little over three years earlier. Now the pattern had repeated itself. He couldn't stand it. It wasn't right. He'd never see McAllister again, never hear him teaching Max, joking with him, laughing at some shared experience. Max would never finish his ninja lessons now, never witness the Master's reunion with his daughter. It had all been for nothing, the Master's search.

No, not for nothing, a part of his mind protested. Max knew the Master had been alone until he came to America, but his solitude had ended when he had met Max. The Master had become as close to him as a second father, closer in some ways than Max's real father, and he knew he had filled the emptiness in his mentor's life, too. Right now, that didn't seem enough, but it might mean something later. At least he'd been there when McAllister needed him. At least he'd cared. Even as awkward as Max could be at expressing emotions, the Master had known how much Max loved him. It wasn't much consolation right now, but it was better than nothing.

When the first rough edges of his grief had eased enough for him to achieve a semblance of control, he considered phoning his father with the bad news. Patrick Keller had dealt poorly with the loss of his wife and elder son, and though he had come to terms with the loss, he might find this new tragedy a painful reminder of what he had lost. Max decided it was better to wait, struggling to convince himself that there was still a remote chance of a mistake. Besides, he couldn't bear the thought of breaking down and bawling in front of his father. He'd call in the evening. Maybe, by then, he could handle it.

But there was someone else to call, and Max, who had once looked up the number in a burst of curiosity, though he had ever expected to use it, dialed without hesitation the number of Laura Kennedy, Teri McAllister's mother.

"Hello?" The voice was young and male, and Max, whose mental scenario had included no one who matched that description, was caught off guard. He cleared his throat awkwardly and burst out, "I need to talk to Laura Kennedy. It's urgent."

"Mom's in Beirut," the young voice informed him.

"Mom?" echoed Max in stunned disbelief. "Who is this?"

"I'm Mark Reardon. Laura's my mother."

"You mean you're Teri's brother?" Max demanded in astonishment.

"You know Teri? Who are you?"

"Max Keller. I don't really know Teri, but I know--knew--her father."

"What, the ninja?" Mark asked, surprising Max with that display of knowledge. McAllister had believed that Teri knew nothing of him, but she must have learned a little and shared it with her half-brother. "Mom said he was back in America. She always knows things like that. Teri's been looking for him."

"She's too late," Max said heavily. "That's why I'm calling. He's dead." His voice broke on the word, and he had to struggle for control. "I've tried to call Teri--we've got a San Francisco number, but she's not answering."

"She's on her way to Japan," Mark replied. "She heard he'd gone back there. She must have picked up the wrong information."

"But she can't go to Japan." Max's voice rose. "It's too dangerous. If she--" He fell silent. "No, she'll be all right. If he was still alive, maybe, but--" This was impossible. Teri's value would be bait to lure her father into a trap, but if that had been anyone's intention--Okasa's intention--the trap had been sprung too late.

"You sound terrible," said Mark sympathetically. "Look, can't I stand in for Teri? She'd want me to. Why didn't her dad call here to find her? Oh! Maybe he did. Mom would have put him off."

"Nice of her," snapped Max sarcastically. It was a good thing Laura Kennedy wasn't standing before him right now. The way he felt, he would probably have decked her.

"Yeah, I know," agreed Mark. "But she wasn't fair to him and she's not too great with apologies. She tends to get high-handed and ignore the whole thing. Makes a bad thing worse, but you can't convince her. Not even my dad can convince her. I wouldn't be saying all this to a stranger, but this--your news--where are you?"

"A motel in Queens, not too far from LaGuardia."

"Want me to come and pick you up?"

"No. Listen, you must have heard about that plane crash out in Iowa. That's how it happened. He was on his way to see Teri when it crashed."

"Oh, damn." Mark was clearly shocked. If he was lucky he was young enough to have encountered few of life's harder realities, and this might even be his first major crisis. "Teri will go all to pieces. She loves dad, but she wanted to meet her own father and get to know him, and Dad gave her all kinds of encouragement. If you're going out there, would it be okay for me to ride along? Somebody from her side of the family should be there."

Max wanted no one, but maybe he owed it to Teri to take her brother with him. Besides, it might be best to have some company on the road to distract him on the long, painful odyssey to Iowa, and even to share the driving. But there were questions. "You sound pretty young," Max observed. "Aren't you in school?"

"I'm a senior, and I'm an A student. It won't hurt me to miss a few days. I know Dad will say it's okay. By the time you get over here, I'll have it all set up. It's a good thing it's Sunday or nobody would have been home."

Max grimaced at the idea of being accompanied by a high school kid, but he couldn't refuse Teri's brother, so he consented. He jotted down the address, then he threw his things and the Master's together. The latter caused a stab of pain as he packed up the remainder of the Master's possessions.

Michael Reardon, Laura's husband and Teri's stepfather, opened the door to him when Max arrived to pick up Mark. The older man, a distinguished, silver-haired fellow in casual but expensive clothes, eyed him measuringly as they shook hands and introduced themselves. He must have approved of what he saw, for the drew Max into the elegant apartment with a comforting hand on his shoulder and a sympathetic smile. "I can only say how sorry I am about your friend's death," he told Max briskly as if sensing that a gentler tone would have been impossible to bear. "It's best, perhaps, that Laura isn't here. Twenty years of marriage to her hasn't blinded me to her faults, and I've never been able to change her. Time after time, I've considered calling Teri's father, but I always held back. Now that it's too late, I realize I should have followed my instincts. I knew Laura was wrong about him. Perhaps not wrong in breaking with him, but wrong in keeping Teri a secret. Now this terrible thing has happened. I can't help fearing it will bring about a complete alienation between Teri and Laura, and I don't want that."

"Laura deserves it," spat Max.

"Perhaps," agreed Reardon. "Perhaps, Max. But why compound the tragedy?" He shook his head and changed the subject. "Mark will be right out. I agree with his decision to go. He's capable of deciding things for himself, and I'm glad I can applaud his choice. He's eighteen and sensible. I won't expect you to babysit. But it won't be a pleasant experience for either of you."

"I know. Don't worry," Max said tightly. "The airline people said we won't have to identify bodies."

Reardon flinched slightly and shook his head as if to deny that had been his meaning, even though Max was sure it had been. He was spared further comment bu the arrival of Mark, a tall, skinny, fair-haired boy in jeans and a windbreaker jacket, carrying a duffle bag by the strop. He halted awkwardly, repressing his natural energy, put at a loss by the reality of tragedy, evidenced by his father's sober demeanor and Max's reddened eyes, then he came forward. "I'm Mark," he said, sticking out his hand in greeting, man to man.

"Max Keller." The kid's grip was firm and he looked sympathetic, though he didn't comment on McAllister's death. He was probably embarrassed and uncomfortable, but he stood his ground. "I'm ready."

"Would it bug you to talk about him?" Mark asked tentatively as the van headed west across Pennsylvania. Michael Reardon had waved them off with promises to wire Teri in Japan and ask for her return. He would break the news to her, a job Max felt belonged to him, though Teri might prefer to hear it from someone close to her rather than a stranger. Max had acquiesced reluctantly, with the feeling he was letting the Master down. He couldn't start by shirking his responsibilities.

Glancing over at Mark, he wondered about the kid. He'd been okay so far, even though they'd done nothing more than exchange commonplaces about traffic conditions. Max could hardly hold his mother's actions against him, and he didn't want to. That wouldn't help. But talking about the Master--he just didn't know. He didn't want to lose it in front of Mark, and he was so miserable, the tears so close to the surface, hew as afraid to break down once he got started. But the Master had been so special to him that, in another way, he needed to talk. He owed him, and it might even help.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, he was Teri's real father. I always wondered what he was like. Teri's pretty decent for an older sister. The other guys were always impressed with her. She can fly a plane and she's been a model. But even better, she's always been great to me. Maybe she thought she had to because Mom's always been off somewhere on one of her jaunts, and Teri wanted to pitch in and help out. Dad's not bad, either."

Max sensed that Mark's feelings for his mother were ambiguous at best. He loved her, but sometimes he got mad at her, too, for being away, for being someone who might be difficult for a child to love. She was probably more interested in her work than in her children, though eventually she would grow too old to rove the globe looking for news stories. When that happened, she might discover that she had missed her children in the process, but by then it would be too late. Max derived a peculiar satisfaction from that speculation.

"Your dad's okay," he praised. He liked hwat he'd seen of Michael Reardon.

Mark nodded, pleased. "He's all right." There was warmth in Mark's eyes that intensified the cautious enthusiasm. He was the wrong age to lavish praise upon his parents. "Tell me about Teri's Dad."

"He was really special," Max admitted. "I think he saved my life.

When he met me, I was wandering around the country looking for trouble. I thrived on it. Got into fights, got arrested for a troublemaker. There was never anything bad enough for a conviction, but that was just luck. I was heading for deep water and would have gotten in over my head before much longer, but he threw me a lifeline. At first he didn't want to teach me--said I couldn't endure the discipline. Well, I got stubborn. Maybe that's what he wanted, to see how I could handle his doubt. I've got a long way to go, but I'm getting there. I don't get arrested any longer. That's something."

Mark nodded. "What did he do?" he asked, fascinated. "How did he change you?"

"Sat on me a few times when I would have gone overboard. Cooled me off when I got too hot tempered. But anybody can discipline you. Not everybody can make you want to do things right. Sometimes he really got tough, came down on me with both feet, but other times it wouldn't take more than a frown. I could see it in his face when I did something dumb. He'd be disappointed in me, and I felt like shit. I'm pretty pigheaded and we had our share of disagreements, but when I did something tough and it turned out all right because it was the way he'd taught me, I felt great." He heaved a vast sigh. "It's gonna be hard," he went on sadly. "I can't let him down. I've got to do what he'd expect. He said he expected a lot from me, and that means I've got a lot to live up to. I miss him."

"I bet. He sounds like he was great."

"But it wasn't all discipline. It was fun, too. He had a great sense of humor, kind of dry. He'd come out with something funny in such a sneaky way that it would catch me by surprise. He had me going a few times, let me tell you. I was always trying to get him to loosen up and party. Dragged him off to Vegas a few times. At first I thought he'd be a drag when it came to fun, though he gave me a hard time about the girls. But women liked him. He would look so surprised when some gorgeous woman would try to latch onto him, but he wasn't above having fun and going with the flow, either." He thought of Maggie Sinclair, a woman for whom the Master had fallen hard. Max had always wondered if McAllister would go back and look her up one day, once he'd found Teri. He knew McAllister called her periodically and sometimes sent her long, rambling letters. God, he'd have to call her and make sure she didn't get the news without warning. He probably had a day. Papers didn't instantly print passenger lists. But that would be for tonight, too.

"Would Teri have liked him?" Mark prodded, interrupting Max's funk.

"No way she could have helped it," Max insisted. "She would have loved him, I'm sure of it. I wish they could've met. She meant so much to him. He gave up everything in the world to find her. You know he's a ninja--you said so on the phone. Well, the other ninjas didn't take too kindly to his leaving. They want to kill him. He could have gone to ground somewhere they'd never have found him, but he didn't. He kept on looking for Teri. It made him a better target, but finding her was more important to him than being safe. He would have kept her safe, though."

"You can't be sure, can you?" Mark worried.

"Yeah, I can. They didn't try things like car bombs or anything that would have carried over to innocent bystanders. It was personal. Okasa always went for him one on one."

"I hope he didn't change his style this time."

Max froze, the van lurching before he caught himself and straightened it out. "You think Okasa--nah, he wouldn't have done that. I don't like Okasa, but he wouldn't have killed all those innocent people just to get the Master."

Mark looked shocked, though kids his age like to pretend to be tough and blasé, unimpressed by life. The reality was that the very idea of a vengeance of such magnitude shocked Mark down to his socks, and he looked scared and sick.

"Listen," Max insisted urgently, "if Okasa never even hurt me when I had to be a helluva nuisance, then he sure wouldn't do something like that. It's not his way. I don't understand him like the Master does--did--but I know that much."

"They think there was a bomb on the plane," Mark put in. "I heard it on the radio while I was waiting for you."

"Yeah, I know." Max had heard the same report but hadn't associated it with Okasa. He'd been filled with rage that someone had deliberately caused the explosion, but Okasa had never occurred to him. Had he been naïve?

"One hundred fifty people," said Mark seriously. "Who would be crazy enough to kill 150 people?"

"Terrorists, probably. They're crazy enough to try anything. But, why? It was just a simple domestic flight."

"We don't know that. Maybe somebody important was on board."

"Yeah, maybe." Max didn't really care, so long as whoever did it got caught. All he cared about was the Master. The pain surged through him, coming and going like the tide, catching him unexpectedly like when he remembered Maggie Sinclair. Maybe it was good that Mark was with him. At least he had a good reason to control his emotions. He didn't want to lose it in front of the kid.

But McAllister deserved some tribute, some recognition. Mourning him didn't mean Max lacked control. The Master ought to be mourned properly.

"This is tough on you," Mark observed quietly. "Maybe I shouldn't have come."

"No, it's okay, kid," Max reassured him, rubbing his hand across his eyes as if to restrain unshed tears. "I'm glad you're here. I think it'd be impossible alone."

Mark brightened slightly, then stiffened his shoulders as if to accept the new responsibility Max had given him. A good kid, decided Max. He suddenly understood why McAllister enjoyed teaching. It might feel good.

When they got out of Pennsylvania and into Ohio, Max relinquished the wheel to Mark and crawled into the back of the van to take a nap. He was still dragged out from the flu, and exhaustion hung on him like a ten-ton weight, but he didn't expect to sleep; every time he closed his eyes, he could see the master's face, and sometimes the imaginary picture of the plane bursting into flames and rubble in midair superimposed itself over the image of his mentor. He winced as that happened again, then, finally, knowing he must sleep if he didn't want a relapse, he forced himself to the mental discipline that would bring him control. He feared his sleep would not be a safe haven but instead a place of nightmares. He was right.

Okasa was at the San Francisco airport when he heard the news of the Master's plane going down. He had ventured into the airport during a refueling stop on the way home to Japan to meet the master's look-alike and retrieve the medallion he'd given him, but finding the atmosphere tense and uneasy, he speculated that it was caused by some air disaster. People waiting to fly would be wary in the wake of such a tragedy, and if the downed flight had originated here or if this were its destination, grieving family members would mill around. He asked a few discreet questions out of curiosity, never once thinking that the plane he was interested in would be the one involved. He had never considered destroying it; that was not the way he worked. But the plane was the one. All aboard were reported dead.

For a moment, Okasa frowned, unhappy with the outcome, then he shook his head. It was done, it could not be helped. It concealed his traces far better than he could have done himself and it freed him from the unpleasant task of killing the man he waited to meet. Now he could return to Japan more quickly, certain he had thoroughly covered his tracks.

Jet lag was certainly one of the more unpleasant results of modern technology, thought Teri McAllister as she deplaned at the New Tokyo International Airport at Narita. After a frantic rush to catch the plane and a seemingly endless flight across the Pacific that included a surprising stop in Alaska, she was exhausted. She couldn't have felt more drained if she had been one of the ancient people who had crossed the Pacific in one of Thor Heyerdahl's rafts.

When she was finally processed and free, Mr. Ohara approached her, a tall, attractive man, younger than she had expected, who moved with the grace and controlled power of a panther, and she wondered if this were one of her father's students, though he wore a business suit rather trhan anything suggestive of the ninja. "Miss McAllister," he greeted her, taking her hand briefly, then her suitcase. "I hope your flight was a pleasant one."

"It was exhausting," she replied. "I was too worried about my father to sleep, and I could never sleep on jets anyway. I'm a pilot myself, but I never learned the knack. Oh, lord, I'm babbling. I'm sorry. How is my father, Mr. Ohara? Is he all right?"

"He is making steady progress. The doctor feels surgery is not required and he should be released in a week. Of course he will need to restrict his activities, and in that respect, you might help us. Your father has always been very active and he does not like being ill. Keeping him calm and restricted to more sedate activities will be a difficult task."

"I'll do what I can," she promised. "But you must know I've never met him, Mr. Ohara. He might not listen to me."

"He will listen. He wants to see you very badly. The news of your arrival was most beneficial to him. Come along. My car is here. Have you other luggage?"

"No, I travel light. I just want to see him. May we go straight to the hospital?"

"I think that would be best. Would you sit in the back seat, Miss McAllister?" He showed her into the s eat, stowing the bag beside her. "It is some distance into the city. I thought perhaps you might wish to sleep. I brought you a pillow."

"She took it gratefully. It was small and different from the pillows she was used to, but she appreciated his kindness. "You're very considerate."

"Your father was once my teacher," he said. "I have a debt to pay." He closed the door and Teri leaned against the pillow, noting that the car was like a taxi, with the front glassed off. Ohara pulled the panel open slightly. "I shall keep this closed so my radio will not disturb your sleep. It will take us at least an hour to reach your father." He closed the glass.

Teri dozed a little, comforted by Ohara's thoughtfulness, but gradually something began to disturb her, and she opened her eyes and sat up. She had not dreamed Tokyo was so far from the airport, for instead of winding through the streets of a crowded and comfortable foreign city, the car was curving along a country lane that bore no resemblance to a modern highway. Something was wrong."

"I hope you had a pleasant nap." Ohara noticed her sitting up. "And I wish you may enjoy the view of the countryside, Miss McAllister. It is particularly beautiful, is it not? Appreciation of beauty is one of the things your father taught me."

"Where is he?" she demanded, realizing she had made a grave mistake.

"He will arrive shortly," Ohara told her. "Now that you are here, I feel certain that nothing could keep him away."

Her stomach lurched as she realized how easily she had been fooled. "He's not here, is he? He never had a heart attack. He probably didn't even return to Japan. For some reason, you want to hurt him, and you're using me as the bait. But it won't work. I don't know what your grievance is, but what good will it do to use me? I told you I'd never met him. Do you think he'll risk his life for a stranger?"

"I know he will. You do not know your father, Miss McAllister, but I know him very well. He would never allow you to remain in danger if he could save you. If he would do this much for a stranger, how much more urgently will he respond to the threat against his own flesh and blood? Family is very important, and you are his only kin. He will be here soon. You will meet him before his death. We will grant you that; we are not so heartless as to deny you your reunion. But your father must die, Miss McAllister. Consider yourself fortunate that you will only lose a stranger."

She stared at him, horrified, then, in desperation, she tried to jump from the car. But the doors had no inner handles. Ohara closed the glass between them and sealed it, and though she beat against it with her fists, it was strong enough to resist her onslaught.

She was a pawn and a prisoner.

The FAA people had closed off the crash site, so Max was not allowed near it but was instead directed to a temporary command center, a place he suspected he would dream about for the rest of his life. Other people who had lost family were there, and if Max expected to find companionship among others who had experienced a loss like his own, he found only isolation and perhaps a strange determination to respect each other's privacy. By this time, he had become more comfortable with Mark, and was glad of the boy's presence at his side, though a part of him knew he should try to keep Mark out of this. Only three bodies had been found that could be identified; the others were for the experts. None of the three matched the Master's description., so Mx was spared the horror of trying to make an identification, though he would have felt better if he could have said, "Yes, that's him." The crash victims had little enough dignity as mere names and numbers, and if nothing else, he could have taken the Master's body home for burial, but it was not to be. The devastation was tragically thorough, and Max was forced to describe personal effects. After a hellish eternity, he was given something and he stood staring at the remnant in his hand. It was half of the Master's butterfly medallion.

His fingers closed round it possessively, so tightly that his hand bled, but he didn't feel the sudden pain as the jagged fragment bit into his skin. He stood there numbly, knowing now that it was true, that it was finally over. He heard Mark telling the official that, yes, it was McAllister's, and then Mark grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Max went passively, feeling as if the world had ended.

John Peter McAllister hated to leave Max behind while he went in search of Teri, partly because he wanted Max's support at the meeting, for although he felt in control of most situations, this was sure to be one he could not control, and partly because he knew Max feared that finding Teri would put an end to their partnership. McAllister would have liked to reassure him that this was not the case. Max meant a lot to him, kept him from being alone, and though he still needed to find Teri, he knew that, if he never did, he still had Max, who had become like a son to him, who cheered him up when he was glum, who learned rapaciously, who could make him laugh, rouse him to righteous wrath, or fill him with a warm and heady sense of companionship. It was a pity about the timing because a few more days might have made no difference--except that a few days had mattered in the past, and hew as unwilling to miss Teri again now that he had come so close.

It was Max who had suggested he fly out to San Francisco, and his pupil's generosity in making that suggestion had touched him. "I'll drive out to meet you once I'm on my feet again, Max had promised as he scribbled down Teri's address. McAllister would have hated to take Max with him on the plane before he was steady on is feet--it had been a nasty bout of flu that had required a doctor's visit and a prescription--and Max had spent several days in bed, feeling very ill. He was better now, but he was still weak, and McAllister thought he needed another day or so in bed, or at least taking it easy, not driving cross-country. Better for him to stay behind and rest up. When Max arrived in San Francisco, McAllister would take great pleasure in introducing his daughter to his 'son'.

He arrived at the airport in plenty of time and checked his bag, asking for an aisle seat because it gave him slightly more room for his long legs. Then, as time to board the plane neared, he headed for the gate.

He never made it.

As he walked toward the metal detector, he sensed a familiar presence and knew without doubt that Okasa was here. But what could Okasa co in full view of so many people? He might be obsessed, but he wasn't stupid, and attacking McAllister here was little short of suicidal. McAllister didn't think Okasa wanted to die or risk arrest. He glanced around and found Okasa waiting for him.

"Master," Okasa said smoothly. "I would speak with you." He wore street clothes rather than his ninja garb and there was a smug expression on his face.

"I have nothing to say to you, Okasa, not unless you're ready to get down to it about the old days."

"No, I prefer the subject of your daughter," Okasa returned triumphantly.

"Teri?" he asked sharply, grasping Okasa's arm. "If you've hurt her--"

"No, Master." He freed himself. "She is but an innocent pawn in this, and she will not be harmed unless you fail to cooperate. Come with me. I will take you to her. Once you arrive, she will be freed. I promise you that, on my honor. But if you resist, if you do not come, if I do not return within a specific time, she will die. Regrettable, but necessary."

"I don't believe you have her," the Master challenged, even as he knew it was a risk he dare not take.

"Do you not? Then listen. I will show you how easily we took her." He produced a small tape recorder. "Here. Listen. You will hear her voice."

McAllister took the recorder warily as if it might explode and inserted the earphone. The tape proved to be a telephone conversation between a woman who identified herself as Teri and a man who claimed to be Ohara, presumably his former student, although the voice sounded more like Hiro Takarada, another pupil. The upshot was that Teri was on her way to Japan, where she would be met and detained, and she was on a false errand, expecting her father at the end of the journey. He felt a momentary warmth that she would be concerned enough for him to cross the ocean to meet him, but that warmth was superceded by his fear for her.

"Do you think I can vanish so easily?" McAllister pressed his former student as he removed the earphone. When he took the tape from the machine and pocketed it before returning the player, Okasa did not object, receiving it back without comment. "Max won't let me just disappear," McAllister insisted.

"Perhaps not, but how will he know where to begin the search? He is ill, not at his best, and he will not know where you vanished. Turn around, Master."

Warily, McAllister did. He doubted Okasa would slug him while his back was turned, but he wasn't certain what to expect. Across the corridor stood a man who watched him and Okasa intently. He was tall and bald on top, and he wore a grey mustache. He was not a dead ringer for McAllister, but he resembled him enough that, should the flight attendants be questioned later, they would identify him as McAllister and say that he had been on the plane.

"That man will take your place, Master," Okasa said smoothly. "I am not alone here and I am armed. I think you will give me your ticket and your butterfly medallion rather than risk the life of an innocent person, or your own daughter."

"I will not risk Teri's life," McAllister agreed. "But I have no guarantees the woman on the tape is really my daughter."

"Yet you believe it, or you would not have chosen to keep the tape. I promise you that it was your daughter's voice you heard. I will not lie to you in this. I give you my word; you know it is good."

"I believed that once, before you turned on me and the things I taught you."

"Before you betrayed the old ways," insisted Okasa. "In that, I was right. In this, I tell you the truth, that I control your daughter, that the woman on the tape is truly Teri McAllister, and that she is safe and unharmed, until I tell my people to harm her. I will not do so unless you refuse to accompany me."

McAllister knew he spoke the truth. When Okasa was working his subversive activities, trying to lure McAllister's students away from him, McAllister had known deep inside that something was wrong, that Okasa was holding something back from him, though he had not learned the full scope of Okasa's secrecy until it was too late. Now, he could sense none of that deception in his former pupil. He knew Okasa spoke the truth, and that Okasa's own particular brand of honor would forbid him to harm Teri once his word was given. If he controlled his followers thoroughly enough to ensure that, Teri was safe, at least for the moment. McAllister would have to accompany him back to Japan without warning Max because there was no way to do so. Once Teri was safe, McAllister would be a free agent, able to fight for himself. If he were careful enough and skilled enough, and if he had any kind of chance at all...

"I want your word that Teri goes free once I arrive. I want to see her and reassure myself that she is unharmed, and I want her safety guaranteed afterward. I want your word on that. If you can't agree to my terms, we've got no deal, Okasa."

"I agree to your terms," Okasa conceded readily. "I will permit you to speak with your daughter, and she will not be harmed. You, however, will die."

"Think so?" McAllister smiled a little. Then, reluctantly, he removed his medallion. If Max saw him do it, he would not believe his eyes, for McAllister had told him that no one else could possess it unless he was dead. But that was before Teri had entered the game, and the symbol was worth far less to him than a living girl. He produced his plane ticket, too, and Okasa gave both of them to the ringer, who settled the medallion around his own neck and went through the metal detector toward the gate without looking back, his face stolid and free of curiosity.

"Now," said Okasa triumphantly, "You will come with me."

Max Keller awoke in a darkened room, the only light coming from a flickering TV screen on which an episode of Riptide was playing. On a second bed, Mark Reardon sat cross-legged eating popcorn from a microwave bag and drinking coke from a can, watching Cody, Nick, and Murray discussing their current case. When Max stirred, and sat up, he glanced over quickly. "Hope I didn't wake you," he said. "Want me to shut it off?"

"No, I guess I'm all slept out." Gesturing to the screen, he asked, "Is it still only Tuesday?" It feels like it ought to be at least Friday."

"It's still Tuesday," Mark confirmed. "How do you feel?" You looked so awful I was scared you'd had a relapse. I should've done more of the driving on the way out here. You were just getting over that bug."

"I'm all right," Max said unconvincingly. He knew his sickness was not of the body but of the spirt; he was heartsick. Glancing around the room, he saw the broken fragment of the Master's medallion on the beside table and he stared numbly at his bandaged hand. He remembered Mark exclaiming at the blood and taking him to an emergency room in Des Moines for treatment. Now they were in a motel there, from which Mark had called his father to confirm the bad news.

More bad news awaited them. Michael Reardon reported that he had been unable to reach Teri in Japan. When Max questioned him, he discovered for the first time that Teri had been summoned to Japan with a spurious message that her father was ill there. Max was horrified to realize he had missed this the first time around. Of course he'd still been weak from the flu and not functioning properly and the news of the plane crash had numbed his reasoning power. Okasa had decoyed Teri to Japan. He must have meant to lure the Master there too, and for an instant, Max had allowed himself to hope that Okasa had somehow prevented the Master from boarding that plane, then he remembered the medallion. McAllister would never have Parted with that. Perhaps Okasa had been waiting in San Francisco to capture the Master when he came to Teri's house; that must be it. What would he do when he learned about the plane crash? McAllister would have insisted Okasa would free Teri, but Max couldn't be so sure. Teri was McAllister's only blood relation, and if McAllister was now beyond his pupils' wrath, Teri was not. The fact that it was more than forty-eight hours since the crash proved his point. Teri had not returned and she had not contacted her step-father. Max knew he must go to Japan.

But he couldn't go to Japan if he couldn't stay on his feet. The doctor who had treated his hand had given him an injection against infection, and on top of the stress and recent illness, Max collapsed on the bed in the motel room and went out for the count. He'd obviously been out for some five or six hours, closer to six to judge by the end credits of Riptide that were rolling across the screen.

"Maybe we should grab a bite to eat." suggested Mark. "Something must be open, the restaurant here if nothing else. or a burger place. You look like you need food."

"I need to get to Japan." Max protested. "But I can't swing the price of a ticket. I'll have to ask my dad." He had finally broken down and called Patrick Keller to tell him about the crash, and his father had been horrified, offering to fly out and stand by him. but Max had refused. It wasn't that he didn't want his father there. He did. But he couldn't put his father through the experience, not after the other crash three years ago. He'd promised to call back later, and now, as he went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face to complete the wake-up process, he thought this might be the time to do it. His father could loan him plane fare to Tokyo. He might even know where Max's passport was. Max would head out to California and pick it up and the tickets and be on his way to Japan without further delays. Maybe he could presume on Mark to share the driving that far. Money didn't seem to be one of Michael Reardon's problems; he could easily advance his son plane fare home when Max left for the Far East. He asked.

But Mark shook his head. "I'm coming with you." he insisted. "To Japan."

"The hell you are. You're just a kid. You can't take on ninjas."

"I'm Teri's brother," he reminded Max. "I'm going. Dad would want me to. I'll stay out of the fights if I have to, but you can't keep me away. She's my sister," he repeated urgently. "It's my place to go."

"Yeah maybe it is." Max agreed. "But if I have to fight to get her out of there, you can't help. This is heavy stuff. I don't think I'm even up to it, and I've had intensive training for more than a year. Some of these guys started learning when they were kids."

"You could go through the Embassy." Mark suggested reasonably. "Fighting it out isn't the only way, Mom's got friends there. She knows people all over the world. Let me contact them for you. If I show up and tell people I'm Laura Kennedy's son, they'll rollout the red carpet. When we went to Europe last summer, it happened in all the major capitals. I don't like presuming on her name, but I'd do it for Teri."

"You got a passport?"

"I called Dad. I had it cabled to me at your dad's office."

"You've been a busy little boy scout." grumbled Max, but he was glad of anything that would help Teri. If he had lost the Master, it was his duty to help the Master's daughter. At least it was one fina1 thing he could do for his mentor. He hoped so. No matter what contacts Laura Kennedy might have in Tokyo or how determined Mark Reardon was to help, it might prove an impossible task.

Teri could already be dead.

Max shoved that thought out of his mind. He couldn't start with negative vibes. Instead he grinned at Mark. "Okay. kid. you're in. But when it comes to the heavy artillery, you'll have to sit on the sidelines. Let me call my dad and then we'll get something to eat. I think we should leave for California tonight. What do you say?"

"I say we go in the morning," Mark replied, holding up two folders. "Plane tickets to L.A. Dad paid for them, and I picked them up while you were sleeping. We'll get there a lot quicker if we fly." He added tentatively, "Okay?" as if he realized that Max wouldn't be too keen on flying right now.

Max nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. I've got to fly to Japan. I might as well get used to it." He reached for the telephone to call his father.

Patrick Keller, attorney at law, met his son's plane the following morning and stood pacing uneasily while he waited for the door to open. He knew Max had hoped to protect him on this; he'd not handled It well when Katherine and Jimmy had died a few years ago, and since he and Max had become friends again, he had noticed that his son sometimes tired to shield him from life's harsher realities. Of course being an alcoholic made him appear less in control than he'd been when Max was growing up, and even if his life was working better these days, he was proud of Max for trying to be strong for him. Today Patrick was certain he would need to be strong for his son.

When Max appeared, taking his inevitable hamster Henry out of his pocket--he must have smugg1ed it aboard the plane--and passing it to a skinny, blond high school kid that must be Teri McAllister's half brother, Patrick realized it was even worse than he had expected. He came close to not recognizing Max because he looked to grim and unhappy. Patrick couldn't remember seeing Max so lost and miserable before, and betrayed by a sudden rush of protective sympathy, he gathered his son into his arms the way he had when Max had come to him as a child with some hurt or fear, needing protection. That Max was an adult who could protect himself didn't matter; he was still his son, and Patrick realazed that parental urges don't go away simply because the child becomes a man.

Even more alarming was the fact that Max let him. In recent years, Max had become too prickly to accept comfort, and though he could show his father affection, he wasn't easy with admitting he needed help himself, no matter how much he cared for the person who made the offer. But now he grabbed his father and hugged him as if he were still the little boy that Patrick remembered. He found himself wishing desperately that Katherine were here to help him, because he didn't know what to do next. It had always been hard for him and Max to communicate.

But Max drew back and regarded him solemnly with dry eyes. "I'm glad to see you," he admitted. "I was hoping you'd be here."

"Of course I'm here. I got everything you needed. You said it was urgent."

"It's urgent," Max agreed. "We've got to get Teri back. This is her brother Mark. My dad, Patrick Keller," he completed the introduction.

Patrick shook hands with Mark Reardon, regarding him approvingly, "I've been talking to your father," he told him. "This is a terrible thing. We can't let that girl remain in jeopardy. I've got three plane tickets to Tokyo. We'll leave this afternoon."

"Three plane ticket.?" Max echoed blankly, "What do you mean, we?"

"I'm coming with you. I don't know what I can do for you, Max, but you can't handle this alone or even with Mark. You need all the help you can get, and I'm your father. I know you'll go no matter what I say, but you can't stop me from going too, I haven't always been there for you when you needed

me, but I will this time. Mark's father has already de some calls to people his wife knows in Tokyo, and that gives us a start."

Max's face was expressionless for a moment, as if he'd closed away his feelings completely, but suddenly he smiled. It was a pale imitation at best of his normal smiles, but at least it brought some life into his face. "Thanks, Dad." he said quietly. "I'm glad you're coming."

When McAllister roused, he felt groggy and disoriented, and he realized without surprise that he had been drugged. It must have been in the coffee that Okasa had served him in the private jet heading west out of LaGuardia, and he didn't understand the necessity of such an action unless Okasa feared

he might try something at one of their refueling stops. Some time must have passed because he was no longer in the plane but in a darkened room, impossible to identify without further information. Was he back in Japan? Curiosity and a full bladder drove him to get up and investigate his surroundings. He discovered a small bathroom, Japanese style rather than Western, which helped to determine his general location, and availed himself of it before returning to study the larger room. The light switch worked and he saw that the room contained little beyond the futon he had been sleeping on and a low table with a teapot and cup on it. The pot held tea, still hot, and he sniffed it cautiously, trying to determine if it were drugged too, but it smelled normal, the scent evocative of his old life, sending a rush of nostalgia through him.

Before Okasa had turned the others against him, he had loved this country and the way of life here, and the tea reminded him of pleasant moments of peace and contentment. He poured himself a cup and sipped it cautiously. It didn't taste drugged, and it helped to clear his head.

That was when he noticed a folded newspaper lying just inside the door. Suspiciously he tried the door. Locked, of course. Realizing he was meant to see the paper. he picked it up and opened it. It was a Japanese paper dated two days after he had left New York, and one of the in headlines concerned itself with an airline disaster, a crash in the United States. It didn't take much imagination to put two dnd two together and realize that the plane. which had evidently exploded somewhere over Iowa, was the one he would have taken if Okasa had not intervened, the plane his double had taken in his place. Had Okasa caused that? It seemed a bit beyond even Okasa, taking out that many people just to cover his tracks.

Then McAllister remembered Max. Max had no way of knowing he hadn't really been on that plane. From the sound of the article, there had been few bodies capable of being identified, but it was possible his medallion had come through the crash intact enough to be recognizable. If Max saw it, he would believe his mentor dead. McAllister didn't really want Max rushing off to Japan to rescue him--it was too dangerous--and he'd have no way of guessing that Teri was here too. If he kept calling Teri and received no answer, he'd probably just assume she'd taken off again, and it would never occur to him that she might be in trouble unless Okasa told him. From the way Okasa had hired an impersonator, it was clear that he wanted to conceal his traces, to keep people like Max from making a fuss over his disappearance. If the crash was the work of terrorists, as the article implied. Okasa's tracks had been covered by an unexpected source, and far more thoroughly than he could have arranged himself. McAllister could not count on rescue.

But Okasa had promised to free Teri if he cooperated, and had vowed to let him see Teri first. McAllister had trusted him that far, which may have been foolish, but he knew Okasa thoroughly. Though his former student had twisted his teaching and gone his own way. McAllister could still remember their extended conversations and arguments, and he knew how Okasa's mind worked. If Okasa gave his word. he kept it. Since he was the one who controlled the giving of his word, it was safe to assume that he meant it this time. In spite of his enmity for McAllister, he had almost always dealt with him within his own perceptions of honor. Though McAllister felt there was no honor in using a man's daughter against him, Okasa had promised not to harm her.

As if to prove that. a key turned in the lock and Okasa himself entered the room. "Ah. Master, you are with us again. Are you well?"

"Not particularly," McAllister returned. "But getting there. I want to see Teri now."

"She is waiting for you. Come with me."

Despite the danger, the threat of death that hung over him. McAllister could hardly control his excitement at the thought of finally meeting his daughter, so he set the newspaper aside and went with Okasa down a short corridor. Okasa unlocked another door and stood back to allow McAllister to precede him. "I will give you half an hour." he said.

"And then Teri goes free?" "As I promised."

McAllister went past him into the room and Okasa locked the door behind him.

When the door opened, Teri McAllister scarcely bothered to look up. She had spent her first day in captivity alternately sleeping off her jet lag and exploring the confines of her prison. It was one small room with an odd foreign bathroom attached, and little in the way of furniture; no real bed but a kind of rolled-up thing like a sleeping bag that didn't open up but which was surprisingly comfortable, and a table. Food was brought to her several times a day, bland and boring food that might have come out of the microwave section at a 7-Eleven store sometimes supplemented with more interesting Japanese food. Chopsticks were provided, and Teri was glad she knew how to use them a little or she would have spent a lot of time spilling food. A pot of green tea usually accompanied her meals and Teri liked it. She had one window high on the wall with a sliding section that seemed to be made of paper. When she pushed it aside, she saw that the window was too small to escape through. It gave her a stimulating view of a small, elegant garden backed by a thick stand of trees. No one ever crossed it into her line of vision.

Sometimes she heard people in the hallway speaking in Japanese, but since she knew no more than a couple Japanese words, it did no good to listen. The speakers were both men, one of them Ohara, but that need not mean anything. Ohara always brought her food, and he would sometimes converse with her briefly, answering her questions about the food and exchanging pleasantries as if she were an honored guest. She would have thought him genuinely considerate or at least well mannered, but there was a coldness in his eyes that made her wary of him. He never explained anything to her that mattered. She knew she had been brought here as bait to lure her father here, but Ohara would not tell her why, no matter how often she demanded explanations. He repeatedly promised that she would be freed once she had done her part, but Teri found that slim consolation. It wasn't fair to find her father only to lose him, and worse, to lose him by violence. It made her feel sick.

As she listened to the sound of a singing bird coming from the garden or perhaps a cage in a nearby room, Teri began to make her plans. She was helpless now, but she might be less so once her father arrived. Though she had no skills in martial arts, she was grateful that Mark had learned her father was a ninja by questioning Laura. Once free, she could perhaps use that knowledge to save his life. She wouldn't find her father only to witness his death.

But was there truly anything she could do? She couldn't fight, and she doubted she'd have time to seek help when she was released. Certainly she would not be allowed to walk away with the knowledge of her prison's location, so she would probably be drugged or blindfolded. By the time she got her bearings and sought assistance, it would be too late.

As she realized her limitations, she shed helpless and angry tears, but she intended to try. There must be some way to save her father's life. Maybe he could give her the vital clue that would get him free. Why did they want him in the first place? Had he broken some ninja law? Maybe he shouldn't

have left to look for her. Maybe he had taken some kind of vows like a nun that were meant to bind him within the group. He might be expected to pay the price of desertion.

She thought there were only the two men here; she never heard more than two different voices and never saw anyone but Ohara. But suddenly there was more activity. There were new voices and heavy footsteps in the hall, and an aura of excitement filled the place, making Teri wonder if her father had come, but if so, he was not brought to see her. Hours passed and Teri fretted. pacing the room impatiently.

When new voices sounded outside her prison, both of them were speaking Japanese, and she realized that it was probably not her father after all but merely a changing of the guard, so her interest waned again. But when someone entered the room, Teri could feel the difference in the atmosphere immediately. It was as if the air was heavy with electricity before a storm, and she lifted her eyes curiously to see what had brought about the change.

A stranger stood there.

He was tall, and what hair he had left was grey. Caucasian rather than Japanese, he looked tired and rumpled and worried, but something shone in his eyes that transcended that, and Teri's heart began to thump with excitement. Suddenly she realized she had seen pictures of him, old pictures, of a tall, dark-haired n in a military uniform. pictures Laura had shown her when she confessed her deception last year. Excitement warred with worry for him as Teri stood up and began to move toward him. "Father?"

"Teri?" His long legs brought him to her in two impatient strides and she was enveloped in a fierce hug that proved to her how much he wanted her, resolving all her doubts and fears about her reception. She wrapped her arms around him, momentarily secure. and held on tight.

"You're all right?" he demanded against her hair. "They haven't hurt you?"

"No. I'm fine. I'm just worried about you. I'm sorry I fell for their story. I didn't know any better. I only knew I wanted to find you."

"I heard the tape of that phone call. They were very convincing. I don't see how you could have resisted it, not if you really wanted to find me. I'm sorry my problems have involved you. I never meant that. Risking you was the last thing I would have done. I'd rather have you safe."

"I'd rather be with you. We've got to get away from here. I can't lose you now."

"You'll be safe, Teri. I've had guarantees of that."

She pulled out of his embrace and looked up into his lined face, memorizing his features with a greediness that astonished her. He was here and, for the moment, he was well, and Teri couldn't bear to lose him. "Do you actually believe them?" she demanded incredulously.

"They have their own honor," he replied. "Breaking promises, even to an enemy, is not their style. You'll be safe. I'd do anything to ensure that."

"But I can't leave you here. They'll kill you!" When he remained silent, she prodded, "Won't they?"

"They might try. How many of them are there, Teri?"

"I've only heard two of them talking."

"What did they say?"

"I don't know. I don't speak Japanese."

"You're sure there were only two?" he asked urgently as if it mattered.

"Yes, positive. I didn't have anything to do for the last few days. I listened to everything they said, even if it was gibberish. I needed every advantage. It's debilitating, being a hostage. I can't imagine how the people in Iran stood it. I could only stand it if I planned what to do to get back at them. Ohara's the only one I've seen, but the other man with him sounds older, closer to your age. Is it important?"

"Yes. When Okasa brought me to your room, I realized where I was. This is the place I lived for thirty years, our sect's headquarters. There should be many more people here, dozens. I expected to face that many enemies, but if there had been more people here, you would have heard them, at least moving around. What have you seen out your window?"

"A garden. No one was ever there."

"We used to hold daily practice sessions there," her father reminisced. "I don't know why they'd stop. It makes no sense." He gripped her arms. "Thank you, Teri. You've helped me. You can help me even further by going away willingly when they take you to freedom. I don't want to have to worry about you after you've gone."

"You mean just abandon you to them?" She shook her head violently. "You know I can't do that."

"You must." He shook her lightly. "If I'm to die, I'll rest easier knowing you're safe. If you die with me, it will all be for nothing. I want you to promise you won't risk your life."

"That doesn't mean I can't get help for you," she insisted. "Tell me where this place is."

He shook his head. "I can't, Teri, for two reasons. If they're listening to us, it will mean they can't let you go, and I can't jeopardize that. And now matter how much the sect has changed, I can't give them away either. Okasa always feared I would betray our ninja secrets, but I never intended that, and I can't start now."

"I don't understand you," she burst out, upset and hurt. "You're saying I should just walk away from here and let you die. What kind of daughter would I be if I did that?"

"You'd be alive," he insisted fiercely. "That's the only reason I came here, the only reason I let them bring me back, to make sure you were safe. If you don't escape, I'll have died for nothing."

"You expect a lot of me, Father." She stared helplessly into his eyes. She wanted to know this man, to understand how he felt, why he did what he did, but it looked like she would never have that chance. "I don't want to lose you now."

"I don't want to lose you either. We searched for you, followed up every lead, and when we finally learned where you were, it was too late. But at least I've seen you and we've talked. I had that much."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Max Keller and I." He led her over to the bedding, rolled it up into a kind of chair, and sat down with her on it. "That's what I 'd like you to do when this is over, Teri. Find Max for me and tell him the truth. He thinks I died in a plane crash, and I know he's hurting."

"You think it will make him feel better to know the ninjas killed you?" she asked in disbelief.

"No, but it has a purpose. Besides, he lost some of his family in a plane crash. And I'd rather he knew the truth." Suddenly he shook his head. "Knowing Max, he'll go off half-cocked and try to get revenge. I don't want that. You must tell him not to try."

"Tell me who Max is," she urged.

"He's my friend. A good person; you'll see when you meet him. I've been teaching him--I can't seem to break the habit. He's a few years younger than you are, and I met him when I first came to America last year to look for you. We made a deal; he'd help me look for you in exchange for lessons. A fair trade-off, but it went beyond that. I hoped to find a daughter when I returned to America, but I didn't expect to find a son."

"He's that close to you?" She smiled. "I'm glad you found him, then, when you couldn't find me. I promise I'll look for him and I'll tell him what happened, but I'll also tell him you don't want him taking revenge." She shivered, all at once. "Listen to me. I'm talking like you're already dead. I can't let them do it, Father. I have to try to stop them."

"There's nothing you can do. Don't fight me over this, Teri. The only thing I want from you is the gift of your survival."

That was final, and she knew that to argue with him further would do him a disservice. Instead, she must live up to his expectations. That didn't mean she wouldn't save him if she could, but she would not endanger herself uselessly, simply to still her conscience. If he could face what was coming, so could she. "All right. I give you my word. I won't take a foolish risk to save you, but I won't ignore a good chance, either. Is that fair?"

"I wouldn't expect any less from you. Now we only have a little time left. I want you to tell me about yourself. I want to know all about you."

"Everything?" she asked doubtfully, then she caught herself. This might be their only time together. Naturally, he would want to know. So she launched into her life story, trying to make it interesting. She told him about Mark and Michael because they mattered to her, and she explained how she had become a pilot because he'd flown in the war. "I didn't have anything of yours," she admitted. "And when Laura told me you'd flown in World War II and Korea, I decided I had to learn to fly. I didn't realize how important it would become to me, though. It's not just a job, it's a way of life. There's something special about being up there, looking down on a tiny world. It gives a great sense of perspective about life's problems. I can't count the number of times I'd go up, feeling messed up about something, and come back down to find the problem had worked itself out in my head." She grinned. "I did a lot of flying after I left Ellerston. I wasn't sure what to do about you, whether I wanted to find you or whether I wanted to keep on running. It was frightening. All my life, I'd believed one thing, and then I learned none of it was true. But I had a good thing going with Michael already--you'd like him, I think. He's been wonderful. But I had to know about you, so eventually I made finding you a top priority. I settled in one place--San Francisco--and put out feelers. I've got a lot of friends in aviation and I figured you'd check with some of them eventually."

"And you had one of them call Holly Trumbull last week and give her your phone number?"

She stared at him in surprise. "What? No, I planned to call Holly in another day or so. I was contacting West Coast people first. You mean that's how you found me? Somebody called Holly? Who?"

"Okasa," he replied with certainty. "He found you and set all this up. You were the bait, and I fell into the trap, just like he knew I would. By the time Knew where you were, he'd already decoyed you away so I couldn't reach you. A call from me would have kept you from Japan."

"It sure would have made me suspicious after the other call," she agreed. "He must have really watched you--and me. I don't like that. It makes my skin crawl."

He grinned wryly. "I'm not too fond of it myself. It doesn't matter now. Tell me about your plans. What do you want to do next?"

"I don"t know. I like what I'm doing well enough to want to keep at it. I might learn to fly a helicopter. I don't know." More than anything, she wanted to come to know her father, but that didn't look like an option. She felt like crying but she fought it off. She couldn't break down in front of him; it wouldn't be fair to either of them.

"Marriage plans?" he prompted.

"Not at the moment. I as engaged once when I was twenty. He was a real hot shot pilot, and he thought he could fly anything. He was wrong. He never expected to die in the air, but he did, and I never found anyone I liked as well. That can happen. You would have liked him, I think." She pushed the memory of Doug aside; god, it had been a long time since she remembered those days. "I might marry someday," she went on. "Not for the sake of marriage, but because it seems like the only thing. I've seen too many friends go the divorce route; they jump into marriage like jumping into a swimming pool, thinking they can climb out if the water's too deep. I want something real."

"I hope you find it."

"So do I. But I want to hear about you. I've done all the talking, and that isn't fair."

"There's a lot I can't tell you, Teri. Details of my life here. But after the war, I didn't go back home. I didn't know about you--if I had, I might have made different choices. But Laura and I had gone our separate ways, and I had no close family anywhere. Something about the life here, the peace and tranquility I found, touched me, especially after the war, so I stayed. I'd always been intrigued by the stories of the ninja from the first time I heard them, and, more than anything, I wanted that for myself, so I stayed. It wasn't easy to be accepted--not only was I American, I had no background in the traditions. But I persisted." He gave her a crooked grin. "I can be very stubborn. They finally gave me an opportunity to prove myself."

"And you showed them you could do it," she said proudly.

"Not without a lot of hard work. But it was worth it in the end."

"Worth it! When they mean to kill you!"

"I had thirty years of it, Teri, before I walked away, and how many people know that many years of happiness? Most of it was good. I've changed, though; I don't think I could come back now, even if Okasa and his friends didn't have other plans for me. But I'll always remember how much it meant to me."

"What would you do now--if--"

"If I get away from here? That won't be as impossible as you think. You might be seeing me again before you expect it. And if I do, my first priority is to spend some time with you, getting to know you better."

"What about Max?"

"I want him there, too. He means too much to me to just walk away. You'd like him, I think. He's got a good heart, though a reckless one. He usually takes one chance too many, but he's learned enough now to handle himself better. I told him I'd help him learn to control his passions. He's doing that. Sometimes, these days, he looks before he leaps."

"It sounds like you have fun," said Teri wistfully.

"We do. Find Max, Teri. Please. I want the two of you to know each other. Help him if you can. I know he'll try to help you."

"I promise."

The door swung open to admit a man Teri hadn't seen before. "Come, Miss McAllister," he urged. "I have promised your father to see you safe and well. It is time for you to go."

She wanted to object, to plead with him to spare her father, but her father had spoken of honor, and with that went dignity. She could not show anything less than dignity to her father's enemy, although her every nerve ending screamed at her to demand her father's life. She only said, "All right," and let her father pull her to her feet. He would remember her bring brave, even if it took every iota of strength she possessed. Ignoring the man in the doorway--Okasa?--she embraced her father one last time and kissed him. He held her tightly and she could feel him trembling. Then he put her away from him and turned to Okasa. "Treat her well."

"You have my word she will be unharmed."

Her father accepted that. He squeezed her hand before Okasa led him from the room, and she went, head held high, watching her father's face until the door closed between them.

Okasa held up a black hood. "You will wear this until you are well away from here. I do not want you to guess our location. You father was wise to keep it from you."

"So you did listen," she spat. No wonder her father had said so little about his chances for escape. She hadn't thought him the kind of man who would sit tamely waiting for death, but he could speak little of any plans he might have made if he suspected he was overheard. "I should have known," she cried. "If he's the measure of a ninja, I see little to trust in you."

"You do not understand. Naturally, you are concerned for your father. I do not expect you to believe me, but this is as difficult for me as it is for you. Once I loved him as a father. To you, he is a stranger, only an image of what your father should be, but once he mattered to me on a more personal level."

"So much that you betrayed him," she scoffed.

He picked up her handbag from a table along the corridor and put it into her hands. "You will find your possessions untouched. Your suitcase is in the car." He fastened the hood over her face; it fit loosely but it completely blocked her view, though she could breathe. "I will guide your steps," he said, and led her from the building, punctiliously assisting her down a flight of shallow steps and warning her about obstacles in her path. Then, unexpectedly, he lifted her into his arms." I am sorry," he said when she let out an involuntary squeak of terror, "But you must ride in the trunk for now. We have padded it for comfort and you will have air to breathe. But you must not be seen. In several hours, you will be free."

The trunk lid shut over her and she wondered at the double security of the trunk and the blindfold. If they meant her death, why go to so much trouble? She had to conclude that they really intended to free her. So she lay there, unseen tears slipping down her face behind the hood, and concentrated as hard as she could on anything that might help her find her way back to this remote spot and her father before it was too late.

After hew as returned to his original cell by Ohara and Takarada, McAllister pressed his ear against the door, listening for evidence of a guard in the hallway, but he sensed no presence there. He heard the distant roar of a car pulling away, the sound steadily fainter until it faded entirely. Teri was gone and, if he were lucky, Okasa had taken her. That meant McAllister had at most six hours to save himself, assuming Okasa took Teri all the way to Tokyo. His enemy would not allow anyone else to attend to his death and would insist on returning to be in at the kill. The Master could not count on anyone accompanying Okasa, and he only had Teri's guess that there had been a mere two men here before he arrived with Okasa and Takarada. Teri had mentioned one man besides Ohara, an older man who might have been anyone, but was probably Kenji's son, who felt he should have taken his father's place when the old man died. He had always resented McAllister and would have sided with anyone who opposed him. If it were Kenji's son, he was less a threat than the others, but, at best, McAllister would have to face Ohara, who was almost Okasa's equal, and Takarada, who made up for a lack of superior skill with enthusiasm and duplicity.

The best option would be to get away cleanly without being seen, but that was probably too much to hope for.

McAllister checked his clothing, but all his weapons had been removed--Okasa was nothing if not thorough. The room was empty of anything functional, unless, perhaps, it was the teapot. McAllister had, by now, recognized his room as one of the storage areas, a sturdily built section of the main building, with walls too heavy to be broken down even by a desperate and determined ninja. Flinging himself against the door would only warn his captors of his intent. But the teapot handle was a small china piece, held to the main pot by black metal wire like fine wrought iron, and it was the work of moments to separate it from one end of the handle. Using the bulky wire, he prodded at the lock for what seemed like twenty minutes but which was probably no more than five before he was rewarded with a click as the lock gave. Smiling to himself, McAllister removed the rest of the handle from the pot and, armed with his makeshift weapon, he eased open the door carefully. No one was in the corridor.

Okasa had made a mistake. The second pot of hot tea waiting when he returned from meeting Teri was probably drugged to keep him quiet while Okasa was gone. Since the first pot had been harmless, he had expected McAllister to believe the second pot equally so, but the odds were that it was heavily laced with knockout drops. If the others believed him drugged, they might not worry about him, but someone might come soon to see if he had drunk it. He must be gone by then.

The garden door was closest and, once past the garden, he could hide in the trees, but something warned him not to go that way, and a cautious investigation revealed the sound of voices down the corridor; he could not make out much of their talk, but occasionally someone laughed and it sounded like 'young' Kenji.

Where was everyone else?

McAllister retreated down the passage until he reached and adjoining one, into which he slipped like a shadow. Okasa's old room was down this way, and McAllister went there, finding it empty. He borrowed a few weapons there, and ninja garb, although Okasa's tobi would not fit him, then he let himself out the window and ducked behind an ornamental shrub. From there, he worked his way across the grounds until he reached the shelter of the trees. Once they discovered him missing, Okasa's men would try to track him, but he had more experience than they had, and only his fatigue and weakness from hunger could force him to make a mistake. He must find food quickly. But first, he had to learn how many men were in the building.

A cautious survey confirmed that only three men waited here, and he ghosted back into the safety of the trees. He had a long way to go before much more time passed, and he could blend into the scenery here less well than he could in America, relying on his ninja skills to keep himself hidden. Few foreigners ever came to this neighborhood and the locals were wary of strangers. If he were seen, his presence would be remarked upon.

He did not delude himself that he was home free.

After a hurried journey to obtain visas that almost made them miss their plane, Mark Reardon discovered that, once the plane was in the air, he was too keyed up to sleep. The stop in Alaska surprised him, too; he'd believed the plane would stop in Hawaii, and he took great pleasure in the view of the Forty-Ninth state from the plane window, knowing he might never return here.

There was a girl in the cabin section that he could see when he got up to move around the cabin or hit the john who gave him the eye every time she saw him looking, and Mark wondered if the rules would permit him to visit her, but he never tried. When it came right down to it, he was too worried about Teri to think of trying to make time with the encouraging girl. Instead, he returned to his seat and sipped the champagne Patrick Keller had declined and Max had refused on the grounds that it wouldn't go with his medication. That he was no longer on any didn't seem to occur to him and Max, who was lucky to get an occasional beer at home, took full advantage of the golden opportunity, although, if truth were told, he loathed champagne.

Max looked like he was still sick. He said his hand didn't hurt, and when Mr. Keller had insisted on examining it, asking for replacement bandages from the flight attendant, the slight injury seemed to be improving, unlikely to be the cause of Max's sluggish behavior. Mark thought it was probably McAllister's death rather than the recurrence of the stubborn virus that caused it, but he was smart enough not to say so. Both he and Mr. Keller were glad when Max fell asleep, soon after taking off from Alaska.

Max slept like a child exhausted by too much rough play. He looked a little flushed, and his father lay a hand against his cheek to test for fever, attracting the attention of the flight attendant, who leaned over and asked softly, "Is he ill? Should I check to see if we have a doctor on board?"

"I think he's all right," Mr. Keller returned quietly. "He's just got over the flu, and on top of that, his best friend was killed on Sunday. We'll let him sleep. He needs it."

Sympathetic, the attendant urged Mr. Keller to call for anything he should need. Mark was glad his dad had sprung for first-class seats and wondered if they should take Max up to the lounge where he could stretch out. But when he suggested it to Mr. Keller, the older man shook his head. "I don't want to disturb him. He hasn't been sleeping well, has he?"

"No, sir. We drove straight through to Iowa, and I made him stretch out in the back of the van, but he didn't sleep much. Last night he had nightmares. I think he blames himself for all of this."

"Why the hell would he do that?" burst out Mr. Keller.

"He thinks they would have driven to California if he'd been better and none of this would have happened."

"It would have happened, just differently," Mr. Keller objected. "By that time, Teri was already missing. One way or another, Okasa would have found a way to lure McAllister to Japan."

"Yeah, I guess so," agreed Mark. "But--what about Teri? Max doesn't think this Okasa will hurt her."

"I never actually met Okasa. But I trust Max's judgment. I do know Okasa had opportunities to hurt Max but he never did. Max said they fought once or twice, but Okasa hadn't planned to challenge him either time. If Teri were in danger because she was McAllister's daughter, then Max should have been in danger as his pupil, but he didn't seem to be. I think the old man considered him a son--Max certainly needed a surrogate father when McAllister came along." He made a deprecating gesture. "I wasn't the best of fathers to Max, and he needed someone to lend him a hand. McAllister did that. I was damn jealous of him at first, but now I know I should be grateful. But he loved Max, and if Teri were in danger, he should have been, too. He's alive. So maybe Max is right. Maybe we'll find Teri waiting at the embassy when we get to Tokyo."

"I hope so." Mark was surprised o find Mr. Keller speaking so frankly to him, but maybe the shared danger and worry lowered the barriers between them; Mark was suddenly called upon to act older than his years, and Keller needed allies so badly that it didn't matter if the recipient of his confidence was a high school kid. Mark felt he'd aged a lot since Teri's kidnaping.

"I just wish we could get there faster," he added, suddenly feeling the child again. One of the best things about growing up, Mark had discovered, was that he had more control over his own life, especially since he was lucky enough to have a father who trusted him, but now, he was in a situation he didn't control, and it was like returning to kindergarten.

The flight attendant returned with a blanket, and she and Mr. Keller covered Max with it. He didn't wake, but he seemed to relax into the warmth, and Mr. Keller shared a worried look with Mark, man to man. Mark grinned encouragingly and prayed for the wisdom to say the right thing.

"I hate this," Mr. Keller muttered. "Part of it's guilt, I think. I always resented McAllister, even though I can appreciate what he's done for Max. No father wants to think another man can step in and do a better job than he can do himself."

Mark remembered some of his friends and their relationships with their parents. "Sometimes kids and their folks go through times when they can't get along. I don't get on with my mother very well. Maybe that's why I was always so close to Teri. It doesn't mean Max didn't, uh, love you. I mean, I love my mom, even when she makes me mad--and she makes me mad a lot. I wouldn't trade her for anybody, even when she's at her worst. When I was in ninth grade, I had a math teacher, Miss Richardson, and I thought she was great. She was a lot older than I was--about twenty-five--and I thought she was glamorous and sexy and all the kings fourteen-year-old boys dream about and never get. She took me under her wing and helped me, and, in the end, I realized that a kid can be friends with a grown-up. I used to talk about her all the time, and Laura used to make fun of me and tease me about my 'crush' on her. Dad finally suggested she might be jealous of Miss Richardson. I was just floored. I never thought my mother could be insecure about me. It was--" he struggled for the right word-- "a revelation. If McAllister was Max's age, you never would have thought it." Then he drew back, fearing he'd said too much or come across as a smartass. Sometimes, his dad told him, he was too big for his britches.

But Mr. Keller grinned. "You're right, Mark. I had a lot of problems of my own when McAllister first showed up with Max. It made things worse. Yet McAllister got on my case and leveled with me, worrying about Max while I worried about my own hurt feelings. I finally decided a stranger should be more concerned about my kid than I was, and I pulled myself together. Max helped. He even got McAllister to help. One thing I learned from McAllister is that good advice can come from unexpected places. I thought you'd probably be too young to understand."

Mark smiled back. "You know, Mr. Keller, sometimes kids think their parents are too old to understand. Maybe age doesn't have anything to do with it."

Patrick Keller laughed. "You're right." He turned to look at Max before turning back to Mark. "Just remember to be careful in Japan. One of the hardest things for a parent is to see his child suffering. I don't know how I'm going to help Max when this is all over."

"You're helping already. He's really glad you're here."

Mr. Keller's face lit up as if Mark had given him a present.

Mark only wished he could be as reassured about Teri. No matter what Max said about Okasa's honor, Mark couldn't help worrying that Teri was in dreadful danger.

Mr. Keller eyed him knowingly. "We'll find your sister," he said. "If it's possible, we'll do it."

"Thanks, Mr. Keller," Mark replied and they smiled at each other like friends.

Teri McAllister stood on a Tokyo street corner and stared around her in confusion. Freedom felt strange and unreal after several days of captivity, and she almost felt like she wore a sign to indicate she was a person in crisis, because everyone was staring at her. Part of that was that she was an American in what was evidently a neighborhood far from the usual tourist areas, or perhaps because travel in the trunk of Okasa's car for what had seemed like days but which as probably no more than three hours had done little for the clothes she had already work for three or four days. She looked like a tramp, and she made a halfhearted attempt to smooth her hair.

But that could wait. Her father was still in danger. She had to help him, and the best place to go was the American embassy, wherever that was. She needed a taxi right away.

It took five minutes to find someone who spoke English, and then it was a child, a little boy who looked at her with bright-eyed curiosity. He took her by the hand and guided her a few blocks to a busier street and found a cab for her. She felt dazed enough to let herself be handled like a parcel listening without understanding while the child talked earnestly to the taxi driver before turning back to her. "He knows where to take you," the child promised with a grin, and Teri managed to smile back, wishing she knew a way to reward him for his trouble. Then she was watching out the back window of the cab as he waved at her, growing smaller and smaller in the twilight until the street twisted away from him and he was gone. Wearily, Teri leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

Max awoke when the plane came in for a landing and felt much better, physically, anyway. He studied himself in the mirror of the tiny airplane bathroom as he brushed his teeth and shaved, and a stranger looked back at him. He felt a hundred years old, groggy and rumpled as if he'd been sleeping in a gutter. He grimaced at himself, muttered, "Pull yourself together, Max," and went out to face his father and Mark.

They regarded him with identical expressions of concern, then, as if rehearsed, they smoothed the worry away and tried to appear as if it were normal to race halfway around the world like this. They both looked beat, his father the more so. Max wondered if his dad had sat up all night watching over him and, somewhere inside, where he'd thought all feeling had gone, he felt a sudden betraying warmth. He let it slide away again, surrounding himself with the now-familiar numbness. At least it would get him through the day.

Laura Kennedy knew an under-secretary at the embassy and Mark called from the airport to make an appointment with him. He returned, grinning. "Dad already called him and he's waiting for us. His name's Jerry Schmolowski, and he's a great guy. He spent a few weeks with us a couple of years ago when he was home on leave or whatever they call it in the Foreign Service. I think he's lived in Japan forever."

"Did you tell him why we were here?" asked Max.

"I had to tell him some of it. I said I was looking for Teri and that she'd gotten involved in some kind of trouble. I didn't mention the rest of it. I didn't want to do it over the phone. He'll probably know about Okasa. He knows all sorts of things."

"Does he know Teri?"

"He might have met her once. She was grown up and on her own when he visited us, but I think she showed up for a weekend. I can't remember. I don't know if she'd remember that he works here. Probably not. Let's grab a cab or something. He says the airport is a long way out of town and it'll probably take us an hour to get there."

It was a long enough drive for Patrick Keller to doze on the way, but after sleeping so long on the plane Max was unbearably wide awake. He looked around, sorry it was growing dark because he would have liked a better look at the Master's adopted country, to try to understand why McAllister had been so drawn to the place. But even his curiosity was lukewarm and he watched the dimming view and the start of lights springing up as Tokyo came around them with a dull interest, as if he were watching someone's home slide show. Mark stared, wide-eyed, at everything. Max couldn't remember being that young. He hadn't felt young since last week, and that was a century ago.

The American Embassy was in the Akasaka district which their driver told them was an entertainment section, with many restaurants, clubs, and discos. He offered, in perfect English, to drive them to one of them, disappointed when they declined, but then he brightened and began to point out landmarks that only Mark was interested in. Max could think of nothing but finding Teri, and he realized his father was too worried about him to pay attention to anything else.

They were shown into Jerry Schmolowski's office where he had stayed late to see them and found a man of late middle years with dark hair, a bright and interested eye, and a face that normally held great good humor. He shook hands all around, and Max felt that this one was one guy could read him clen through. He frowned over Max's muted greeting, never missed Patrick hovering at his side or the way Mark looked back and forth between the two of them as if to reassure them that Schmolowski could solve all their problems.

"So, Mark," said the diplomat when they were seated. "You were just a skinny kid a couple of years ago, and now you show up in Japan in the middle of the night asking for help. I've got to say you've really come on, but I'd expect the same of any kid of Laura's."

"We're here about Laura's other 'kid'," Marek began, taking the initiative when Max didn't. "I told you Teri was here somewhere, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. Your dad implied she was missing. While you were on your way here, I checked on her and found that she entered the country on Sunday. I don't know where she went after that, but she isn't staying in Tokyo; at least I couldn't find her here. I had the likely hotels and ryokan checked. Ryokan? They're the traditional Japanese inns. You might enjoy staying in one while you're here. But Teri hasn't been in touch with the embassy. You wouldn't be here if you weren't sure she was in trouble. How can I help?"

"She's in trouble, all right," Max burst out. "She was tricked into coming here by someone who claimed her father had a heart attack here. Naturally she came at once."

"A heart attack! But Mike called--"

"No, her real father," Mark reminded him. "You knew Dad was her step-father, didn't you?"

"That's right, I forgot hat. You mean she came to see McAllister? He's been out of Japan for over a year."

"You know McAllister?" Max demanded eagerly.

"We've met a few times. I was sorry to see him go. His successor has been giving people a lot of trouble. At least, with McAllister, we always knew where we stood. I'd forgotten about Teri being his daughter. Laura always did have a way of knowing the right people." He cut off that thought with a wary look at Mark, who seemed unoffended. He had eighteen years of Laura Kennedy. Who better to know what she was capable of than this perceptive boy?

"You mean you knew McAllister had a daughter and you didn't tell him?" Max accused him hotly.

"Why should I tell him?" Schmolowski asked in surprise. "I figured he knew. Don't tell me Laura pulled a fast one on him. Lord, that woman! Much as I love her, she sometimes makes me want to strangle her. She was here during the Korean war--before my time, I'm afraid, but I've heard the story. She left and McAllister didn't. But that's old news. Right now, we've got Teri to worry about. If someone told her that her father was here with a heart attack and she came, she must be in trouble. I bet Okasa planned it. What'd he want, to lure McAllister back? I know a little about the ninja, as much as any outsider ever could, and what little I know I've picked up from my counterparts here, but they wouldn't say much. I pieced together a lot more on my own. Since McAllister left, Okasa has had things going hot and heavy, a regular wave of terrorism and murder, but then it faded out. He spent a lot of time shuttling back and forth between here and the States. Maybe he wasn't around enough to keep the dirty work going. Maybe he's gone into deep cover. We're having less trouble all the time. Strictly speaking, it doesn't fall within my scope of activity, but I like to know what's going on." He crossed to a file cabinet and removed a folder that he began to study.

"Will that tell us where Teri is?" Max asked anxiously.

"Not specifically. But I have some ideas."

"I think I know," Max offered. "The Mas--uh, McAllister never actually told me where his headquarters was when he lived here but he talked about it in general. Give me a map and I think I can help narrow it down. I used to spend a lot of time thinking about it."

Schmolowsi nodded. "We know generally where it was. I suppose I could confirm it by talking with my Japanese contacts. Between us, we can make a damned good guess. Then what do you want? Police?"

"That might be too dangerous for Teri," argued Max stubbornly. "I want to get her out myself. It'll prevent an international incident," he pressed on when three pairs of eyes fixed on him in dismay. "I know what to expect, probably better than the police, because I've had some ninja training."

"Some training?" Schmolowski echoed skeptically. "That doesn't make you a ninja. I can't sanction your going in there, and neither will the American government."

"I'm not asking you to. I'll do it on my own, as a private citizen. If it goes wrong, then the embassy can disavow me. I think Okasa will free Teri. If I tell him about the plane crash, he won't have reason to keep her. I don't expect to have to fight. But it's my place to go. She's his daugher, and he'd expect me to take care of her."

"Plane crash?" Schmolowski prodded delicately.

Patrick Keller stepped in and described McAllister's death while Max gathered the numbness to himself and held on tight.

Schmolowski rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I see. That does present a different aspect to the matter. You could be right about the lack of danger, Max. But if Okasa is as vindictive as I've been led to expect, he may resent being balked of his prey, and he could take it out on you."

"Better me than Teri," Max insisted. "It's a risk I'm willing to take, no matter what anybody says about it."

Mark frowned. "What about me? Teri's my sister, remember?"

"You can't come. I might get her out without a fight. But you're not a ninja, and Okasa owes you noting. He probably won't hurt you, but I can't take that chance. I've got to do this myself."

"Max--" began his father.

"No. Not you either, Dad. I know you'd back me, and I know you'd be good at it, but that's not the point. I won't risk anyone else." He met his father's eyes. "I won't lose anyone else."

Patrick found that unarguable, for he backed down grudgingly. "I know what you're saying, son. But I don't want to lose you either."

"I don't think you will. All I'll be doing is tying up some loose ends. That's all. I honestly don't expect to fight. Besides, Schmolowski says that there isn't much going on with the sect. It won't be dangerous. And if it is, I do know how to fight." He would relish a good fight with Okasa, though he wasn't stupid enough to say so. "Just give me twenty-four hours," he begged. "I'll see if I can bring Teri out peacefully. If I'm not back by this time tomorrow you can send in the Marines. Okasa's smart enough to want to avoid an international incident, and the last thing he'd want is publicity. When he knows I've got backing, if not official approval, he might back down."

Schmolowski nodded. "You make a good case for yourself, Max. I don't want an incident any more than Okasa does. But we prefer you and Teri safe than either or both of you dead. You're taking an awful risk."

"It's my risk to take. I don't think Teri will be hurt either way. Give me the chance. Let me bring her out."

He was pretty sure Schmolowski guessed he would go wether he had approval or not, even if they restrained him, but the other man had the decency not to say so. "It's a risk, Max. But I see you believe it's your risk. You know Okasa; I only know my reports. If you go, I'll expect you to check in regularly. I'll give you my phone number here and at home."

"Whatever you say," agreed Max. It might be a promise he couldn't keep, but he was working on an older promise now, the one in which he'd agreed to help the Master find his daughter in exchange for ninja lessons. He'd had the lessons and now it was time to find Teri. He caught his father's suspicious look and avoided his eyes. He'd call his dad if he could. That much he could agree to.

"We'll come with you part of the way," Patrick suggested. "What do you say, Max? It's your show."

Another surge of traitorous warmth disturbed Max's shell of numbness and he flashed his father a grateful look, but he shook his head. "No thanks, Dad. Not all the way. I can make better time alone."

"Do you speak Japanese?"

"A little. The Master taught em. I can get by." That was an exaggeration, but they wouldn't realize it. "I'll rent a car and drive down there. Let me have the map so I can find my way."

Schmolowski nodded abruptly and took a detailed map of Japan for a drawer and spread it on the desk. "Show me."

Max realized he wouldn't get the go-ahead without it, and he bent over the map, searching. Finally he nodded and pointed. "Here. North of the Chichibu-Tama National Park but not as far north as Kazuizara. See? Right about here. It looks like there's a little road that goes only so far." His finger jabbed the spot.

The embassy man nodded. "That's what I think, too. All right, Max. Here's your best route." He traced his finger over the roads, and Max studied them carefully. He'd done enough traveling in his time to be good with maps, even maps in foreign languages, but this time he wouldn't even be able to read the signposts. McAllister had never taught him to read Japanese, only to speak a little of it. "You can drive there in about three hours," Schmolowsi finished.

"Okay," Max replied. "Where can I get a car."

"Take mine. Maybe the diplomatic plates will get you somewhere--though it won't give you diplomatic immunity," he added with a grin.

Schmolowski walked out with them. "I'm past due at an official reception for a trade delegation," he explained. "If you drop me off, I'll put you in the right direction out of Tokyo."

Although Teri McAllister didn't know it, Max and the others had left the embassy a mere ten minutes before she arrived, held up by a flat tire and, though it seemed unlikely, the driver had seemed to be lost for awhile. Tokyo's streets twisted all over the place, so maybe it wasn't surprising, but every second of the delay had been a new irritation. It was night and she feared everything would be closed by the time she arrived, but surely an American citizen in distress could seek help at any time. Someone must be there to receive her. By the time she arrived, she was spent and exhausted and could only gasp out a need for urgency to the receptionist.

Presently she was admitted to the office of a middle-aged woman who listened to her tale with no evidence of either belief or disbelief. Consumed by urgency, Teri contained her frustration with a massive effort, hands tightening into fists, jaw muscles clenching, while she resisted the urge to grab the woman's arm and shake it. The fact that she didn't know where her father was, was a hindrance the woman took into consideration. "I think we may be able to discover his location. I'll see if I can reach Mr. Schmolowski."

"Jerry Schmolowski?" Teri echoed, gratified and relieved. "He's here? That would be wonderful. I know him. He's a friend of my mother. Is he your ninja expert?"

"He's made a study of that particular subculture," Mrs. Austin replied. "If anyone knows where your father might be, it would be he. I believe he is attending a reception tonight. Why don't you go in there." She waved her hand at an adjoining room. "There's a cot in there. Lie down and get some sleep. Frankly, my child, you look as if you need it."

"I can't sleep. My father needs me. They were planning to kill him."

"We'll progress more rapidly if we get the right information at the beginning. I don't like to run around like a chicken with its head cut off if a little planning will cut unnecessary steps. It probably isn't as satisfying to you as calling in the Marines, but in the long run it will be quicker. Go and sleep, dear, and I promise to wake you at the first indication of success."

"Or failure, I suppose," Teri muttered darkly. "I'm just scared we're already too late."

"If we are, refusing to sleep won't help. Let me do what I can for you. Go to sleep."

Teri went. The little room was hardly more than a cubbyhole, but the bed was comfortable. Although she had not expected to sleep, Teri was devoured by exhaustion the moment she closed her eyes.

The night was cool and clear, and Max drove steadily westward, planning his strategy over and over in his head. He had left his father and Mark, loudly protesting, at one of Mr. Schmolowski's suggested ryokan, where Max had stopped long enough to take weapons from the case that Schmolowski had unexpectedly produced just before they left Tokyo, and tested them. Then, under his father's concerned eye and Mark's intrigued one, he began to conceal them about his person. He didn't want to fight Okasa now, and he was almost sure he wouldn't have to, but he would not walk unarmed into the lion's den.

His father promised to notify Schmolowski of their location in case they needed backup, but Max didn't wait for the call to go through. He saw Mark grin at him and duck out of the rom and knew the kid had done it to give him a chance to part with his father without witnesses. When Patrick hugged him hard, Max was just as glad Mark had gone. Max could handle emotional scenes better than he had in the days before McAllister, but he still preferred to have them unwitnessed.

"You use the old Keller caution, son," Patrick told him, his voice cool and collected although his eyes could not conceal his worry.

"Keller caution?" Max scoffed. "First time I've heard of anything like that."

"I think the time's right to start a new tradition."

"You got it. I'll do my best. With luck I'll be back before you get up in the morning."

"If you aren't," threatened Patrick, "I'll come in after you."

"If I don't, I'll deser