Ghost shuffled toward the security checkpoint at Goda International Airport. Shoes no longer hurt his feet. Twenty-four hours on a flight from Rio to Tokyo had given him plenty of time to get used to them.

He smiled at the boys around him, who looked nervous. They were probably homesick already and missing their parents. But really, what did they have to worry about? They weren’t pretending to be a trainee Kat on his compulsory pilgrimage to Japan. They weren’t from favelas. They hadn’t just taken their first flight on an airplane. They weren’t carrying a fake passport and ID papers. They weren’t anti-Empire rebels traveling into the heart of the enemy’s territory to join some secret resistance group.

It was Ghost who should be worrying.

But he wasn’t. Instead he was repeating in his head the information he had memorized from Makoto’s envelope before burning it in the little stove in his hut.

My name is Cardosa Takehiko. My father’s name is Cardosa Leonardo, occupation: Kyatapira officer, Shizunai Division, registration number: 234976. My mother’s name is Cardosa Gabriela, occupation …

The Kat in the security booth beckoned him forward. Copying the boys who’d gone before him, Ghost handed the Kat his passport and papers, before turning his palms up to show the sword tattooed on each of his wrists. The Kat glanced at the passport, then at Ghost’s face and then at his wrists. He grunted, handed the passport back, and nodded for Ghost to proceed.

He followed the other Kittens out into the airport arrivals area where a line of Kyatapira officers waited with cardboard signs displaying the names of the boys who would be in their charge while in Japan. It wasn’t the sign displaying the name “Cardosa Takehiko” that caught his eye, but the Kat who was holding it. He had a long, sharp face, and from behind his sunglasses the cord of a black eye-patch was visible.

Again copying the other Kittens, Ghost bowed. Makoto took his bag and indicated that he should follow.

They walked out of the airport to a black SUV with tinted windows. Makoto glanced around before opening the rear passenger door for Ghost. Inside he saw a boy and a girl who looked about twelve, the same age as him. They smiled nervously. Having stowed Ghost’s luggage in the trunk, Makoto sat in the passenger seat. Their driver, a tall, thin Asian man, said something in Japanese. Makoto shook his head, took off his sunglasses, closed his single eye, and appeared to fall into a state of deep concentration. A vein pulsed in his neck.

Ghost remembered the way Makoto could project himself to other locations. Perhaps he was checking that the route ahead was safe.

The driver seemed to be awaiting instructions.

Makoto’s eye opened wide. “Go!” he ordered.

The SUV took off with a jolt, flinging Ghost back into the seat. He turned to the others, but they wouldn’t meet his eyes. Everyone seemed too nervous to speak. Their driver continually checked his rearview mirror. Ghost looked out the back window, but there was nothing behind them except traffic. Makoto too was quiet, the lines etched into his forehead making it obvious that something was on his mind.

As they left behind the bright lights of Tokyo and made their way along a highway into the countryside, Makoto seemed to relax. He turned to face his passengers. “Ghost, this is Cormac and Kate.”

The boy, Cormac, nodded. He had pale skin with tousled brown hair and a freckled face. He didn’t have the same soft, pampered eyes as most of the other boys Ghost had seen on the flight. His were the eyes of a favela kid: tough, strong, and full of secrets.

“Are you from the Empire too?” asked Kate, leaning forward to see past Cormac. She was pretty—blond with long eyelashes and nice teeth.

Ghost nodded. “You?”

“Nope, well not yet, anyway. I’m American.”

Cormac shoved his tattooed wrists toward Makoto. “Can we get rid of these now?”

“Best keep them on you till we get there.”

“Which is where, exactly?” asked Kate, her tone fearless and her blue eyes twinkling.

These are my type of people, thought Ghost.

“Guess I should tell you guys what’s going on, eh?” said Makoto.

All three backseat passengers nodded.

“As you will know, through the ages, each Lord or President Goda has been famous for his two swords—the Butterfly and the Snake Eye—together the symbol of the Samurai Empire. And they’re more than just a symbol—they’re powerful in their own right. But there is a third sword.”

“Huh?” History wasn’t Ghost’s strong point, but everybody knew about the Empire’s two swords. Their image was everywhere. A third sword? Cormac and Kate seemed equally confused.

“The three swords were forged at the same time, five centuries ago. The Black Lotus also formed at this time, with the sole intention of stopping Goda. And our first act was to steal the third sword. We’ve been protecting it ever since.”

Ghost’s head spun as he tried to process the information. What’s so special about the third sword?

“No offense,” said Kate. “But you haven’t exactly been successful in preventing the rise of the Empire.”

Makoto snapped his head toward her, his eye narrowing ever so slightly. “Your country is still free, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but maybe not for long.”

“If it hadn’t been for us, America would have been under Empire rule long ago. We may not have stopped the Empire, but we’ve hampered its progress.” Makoto inhaled deeply, then glanced out the window, as if checking for something. “Combined, the three swords are capable of catastrophic damage. That’s why the Empire has spent hundreds of years searching for its missing sword—and why the Black Lotus has spent all that time hiding it. We’ve also been building an army of talented soldiers to continue our work.”

“Guarding the sword?” asked Kate.

“More than that: spying, reconnaissance, war preparation. Anything we can do to help bring down the Empire. And you,” said Makoto, looking from Kate to Cormac to Ghost, “are our newest recruits.”

Ahead of them, backed-up traffic caused the SUV to stop. Makoto spoke to the driver. Though Ghost couldn’t understand the words, he sensed their urgency.

Makoto closed his eye again, and his brow puckered with concentration.

“Get out of the vehicle,” he snapped suddenly, his eye opening.

Ghost looked blankly at Cormac and Kate.

“Get out. Now!” shouted Makoto.

Ghost opened the door and the three of them scrambled out. Four lanes of traffic had ground to a standstill. Ahead, a long truck had jackknifed across the road.

Makoto pulled an earpiece out from under his collar and attached it to his ear. He then tapped his chest twice and spoke in a commanding voice. “All agents, this is Makoto. They’re about to attack. I’m taking my charges to the wooded valley northeast of our position. Send backup.”

Ghost looked around. About to atta—?

Gunshots rang out, and the windows of the SUV cracked. Makoto pulled his new recruits behind the vehicle.

“What’s going on?” yelled Kate, as gunfire rained onto the highway, smashing glass, ricocheting off metal, and puncturing tires.

Makoto shouted, “Lie down!”

Ghost dropped onto his belly as a bullet hit the car door exactly where he’d been kneeling a second earlier. Their driver left the relative safety of the SUV and grabbed the bumper of an empty van whose occupants had fled. With one hand, he dragged the vehicle over to their SUV and flipped it onto its side to form a shield against the incoming gunfire.

“Jeez,” said Kate to Ghost. “Did you see what that guy just did?”

Ghost was dumbstruck. All around him, people ran from their vehicles, screaming, ducking for cover. Some fell to the pavement, bleeding.

But some drivers were obviously Black Lotus. A bald man leaped from his car and leveled a high-powered rifle across the hood. The gun’s sight swept back and forth over the distant trees. A woman in a floral dress did a forward roll between two cars and came up firing a machine gun at the unseen enemy on the hillside.

“Run!” called Makoto.

Their driver ran to another car and tossed it beside the van, creating a shield of vehicles leading to the edge of the highway. Ghost, Cormac, and Kate dashed behind the upturned cars.

Crouching down, Makoto removed two small spheres from his pocket. He pulled a pin out from each of them and rolled the balls across the highway. They emitted a white smoke, covering the area around them in dense cloud.

“Go!” said the driver, pulling out a gun. “I’ll cover you!”

Makoto turned to his new recruits. “Head for the trees,” he said, pointing to the side of the motorway. “Quickly!”

They took off. Bullets peppered the upturned cars, but they reached the edge of the road unharmed.

There was no time to catch their breath. They heard a whistling noise as something flew across the sky, then a gigantic explosion. Kate was thrown to the ground. Behind her, a car burst into flames, sending debris in all directions and spewing thick black smoke into the sky.

“Come on!” yelled Makoto, pulling Kate to her feet. Bits of smoldering metal and rubber showered down around them.

Ghost accelerated, leaping over the highway barrier onto a grassy incline on the other side. He ran faster than he’d ever run before, his eyes firmly fixed on the clump of trees ahead. Behind him, he heard gunshots, explosions, and screams.

Somebody overtook him. All he saw was a blur of color streaking away from him at supersonic speed. It was only when he reached the woods that he realized who the mystery sprinter was: Cormac. And he wasn’t even sweating. They dashed behind a tree trunk.

Ghost’s breath was coming in gasps. “How did you do that?”

Beside them, Kate fell to her knees, also panting heavily. Peering back around the tree, Ghost saw Makoto following in his black Kat uniform.

As Makoto approached the trees, something hit him on the shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground. Ghost saw it as if in slow motion. The older man’s face crumpled in pain, and he fell.

“No!” Ghost ran out toward the body, his heart racing. Without Makoto, he felt sure the Kats would catch them. Was this the end of his new life, before it had even begun? But, as suddenly as he had fallen, Makoto sprang to his feet.

“Get back!” he cried, pushing Ghost away toward the trees.

As soon as they were under the canopy, Makoto began undoing his shirt.

“Have you been shot?” asked Ghost.

Makoto opened his shirt. Underneath, he wore a curious vest, which seemed to be made from mirrored sequins that reflected the colors of the surrounding forest. He dug his fingers into a small indentation in the sequins and plucked out a bullet.

Ghost leaned closer. “A bulletproof vest?”

Makoto didn’t answer, but tapped his chest and spoke into his hidden communication device. “All three charges have safely reached the rendezvous point.” He began buttoning up his shirt. “Keep enemy engaged. Prepare for attack from the air. Keep me updated.”

A massive explosion diverted Ghost’s attention, and through the trees he watched a fireball engulf the highway. It was immediately followed by the sound of choppers. They appeared in the sky like black wasps, each bearing the crossed-swords insignia of the Empire.

“Quick, follow me,” said Makoto. He ran uphill, through the trees.

Ghost helped Kate up off the ground. She looked terrified.

“Elvis has left the building,” he said, pointing in the direction Makoto had gone.

Kate attempted to smile before stumbling ahead. Ghost and Cormac followed.

“Scary, huh?” said Cormac.

Ghost raised his eyebrows. “I guess.”

Cormac looked at him as if he had two heads. But Ghost wasn’t scared. Yes, he’d been frightened, but he wouldn’t say he was scared. He rubbed his chest, feeling the scar beneath his shirt. Since his brother had died, nothing frightened him. In the favelas, fear was a weakness, and the weak didn’t survive.