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Roger Branmore lived in a renovated four-story brownstone on West 87th Street, two blocks away from Central Park. Trees were planted at regular intervals all along the block. They were in full bloom, shady and pleasant.
A flight of steps rose past stone posts topped with weathered gargoyles to the front door of Branmore's house. It was three in the afternoon on a Saturday. Selena had called him the day before and fed him a story about researching an article for the New York Times. Nick had a camera slung over his shoulder as a prop. Branmore was supposed to be waiting for them.
They looked up at the entrance. The door was polished oak, set with a small window of stained-glass and brass fittings. It looked expensive and solid.
"Nice digs," Nick said.
"He's obviously doing well," Selena said. "If I lived in New York, I wouldn't mind having a place like this."
"We're supposed to be reporters, right?"
"That's right."
"Then let's go, Lois."
"Lois?"
"As in Lois Lane, ace reporter."
"Very funny, Nick. I suppose that makes you Superman."
"Finally," Nick said. "You figured it out."
"Would you like to get serious now?"
"Lead on."
They climbed the steps and rang the bell. After a moment, Nick rang again. There was no response.
"Try the intercom," Nick said.
A brass intercom with a call button was mounted to the side of the door. Selena pressed the button and held it down.
"Mister Branmore? It's Selena Connor from the New York Times. Are you there?"
There was no answer.
"That's odd," Selena said. "He was very clear about three o'clock being the best time."
"He must have changed his mind," Nick said.
He leaned up against the door trying to see in through the stained glass. The door moved.
"It's open," he said. "This is New York. Who leaves their door open in New York?"
"Nobody."
He glanced up and down the street. No one was paying attention.
"Come on."
He pushed the door open and they stepped inside. Nick closed the door behind them. The latch clicked. He held his finger to his lips.
They stood in an open foyer. Straight ahead, a hall carpeted with an oriental runner went toward the back of the house. A flight of stairs with a dark, wooden banister rose on the right. It was quiet in the house, the kind of quiet that felt like something was waiting to happen.
Nick tugged on his left ear.
Oh, Oh, she thought.
The lobe of that ear was gone, shot away by a Chinese bullet on the day Nick had met Selena. Every time he pulled on his ear, it meant it itched. Every time it itched, something was wrong. It was a quirk that had come down to him from his Irish grandmother, a psychic early warning system.
A faint noise came from somewhere above, a single, soft thump.
Nick signaled and they started up the stairs. He wished he had his pistol, but it was back in Washington. He no longer had the protection of the president and carte blanche to carry a weapon anywhere. It was a pain in the ass.
They reached the landing on the second floor. Again, there was a hall. At one end, a bay window looked out onto the street below. At the other end, a door stood partially open on a bathroom. Two other doors were closed.
If nothing was wrong and Branmore came out of one of those rooms, Nick was going to have some explaining to do. He'd look pretty stupid standing there, uninvited. On the other hand, his ear was itching like mad. He didn't think Branmore was going to come out of a room.
They stood on either side of the door to the room nearest the front of the house. Nick sniffed. There was a hint of something foul in the air. He looked at Selena, touched his nose.
Smell that?
She nodded.
He turned the knob and pushed the door open. It bumped against something heavy and yielding. He pushed it open far enough to get in.
Branmore's body lay blocking the door. His head was missing. Blood soaked the carpet around him. A Japanese sword lay on the floor nearby. The air stank of blood and feces. Blood was splashed across the walls.
The room was a study, a comfortable, masculine room with leather chairs and a desk. The desk had been ransacked. Papers and folders littered the floor. Behind the desk was a tall bookcase. All the books had been pulled away and dumped on the floor. There was blood everywhere.
Branmore's head had been placed in the middle of the desk. The eyes were open. They seemed to accuse Nick.
Where were you?
There was no one else in the room. Nick looked at the bloody sword.
"Is that the sword we're looking for?" he asked.
"No," Selena said.
A sound came from above. Someone was up there.
Nick gestured at the ceiling. Selena nodded.
They left the room and started up the stairs. Nick had almost reached the next landing when a figure in dark clothes came around the corner of the third floor hallway and barreled into him. He felt a hard blow next to his neck and the arm went numb. A second blow knocked the wind out of him and tumbled him backward into Selena. They went down, tangled together. The figure leapt over them and ran down the stairs. Nick gasped, trying to catch his breath. They heard the front door slam.
Selena picked herself up from the steps.
"Are you all right?"
Nick coughed. "Yeah. You?"
"I'm fine. What's the matter with your arm?"
"I can't feel it. The bastard hit a nerve center. I'm lucky he didn't go for the throat."
"He was in a hurry," Selena said.
"Did you see his face?"
"Yes. He was Japanese."
"I wonder if he was the one who set fire to that nursing home?"
"Judging from what we saw downstairs, I'd say that was a good bet."
"He must've been looking for the sword."
"If he was, he didn't find it," Selena said. "He wasn't carrying anything when he attacked you."
Nick rubbed his arm. "I can't help thinking he wouldn't have gotten away with that ten years ago."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that. He has training. The way he jumped over us tells me he's not someone you'd want to mess with."
"I think Branmore would agree with you."
"Should we call the police?"
"Are you kidding? They'd lock us up in a New York minute."
"Then we should get out of here."
"Not before we look for that sword," Nick said.
The sword wasn't in any of the rooms on the third floor. There were signs of a search, broken off.
"We interrupted him," Selena said.
"Then it could be here."
"But where? We've looked in all the rooms."
"How about an attic? There must be an attic in an old house like this."
He stepped out into the hall and looked at the ceiling. There was a trapdoor with a short rope hanging from it. He reached up and pulled the cord, bringing down a folding wooden stair.
"I'll go up. You keep watch, in case he decides to come back."
"We should get out of here, Nick."
"We will. Don't worry, I won't be long."
The attic was dark except for light coming through a round window on the street side of the building. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling. Nick pulled the chain. Nothing happened.
The attic was filled with junk. An ugly floor lamp, some wooden chairs, an end table. Cardboard boxes, marked personal. More boxes, marked books. A large, old trunk with handles on the ends. Nothing that looked like a sword.
Nick lifted the lid of the truck. Inside was a flat tray with compartments for personal items. It was empty, except for a field manual about the M1 rifle. He lifted the tray away. The bottom of the footlocker contained folded khaki and olive drab uniforms. He rummaged through the clothing and felt a hard shape on the bottom of the trunk. It was wrapped in soft, brown cloth.
Nick lifted the object out of the footlocker and felt the hard, smooth shape of a wooden scabbard through the wrapping.
He closed the footlocker and went back down the stair.
"Is that what I think it is?" Selena asked.
"Let's take a look."
Nick undid the wrapping.
"Oh my," Selena said. "That's exquisite."
The scabbard formed an elegant curve of polished black wood. A band of leather and gold surrounded the wood at the base of an oval black guard set with gold designs. A strip of black leather bordered with gold and decorated with fan shaped inlays of gold lay alongside the scabbard where the blade was inserted. The long hilt was formed of hard, black leather. It was set with diamond shaped inlays of gold, each one engraved with a simple design.
The hilt felt warm to the touch. Nick pulled the sword from its scabbard. The air made a soft sound as it parted in front of the blade. Tiny lights like stars glittered in the polished steel. Gray shapes ran along the cutting edge, like mountains seen through a distant haze. They were part of the blade, formed as it had been forged. Nick had the odd feeling that clouds could form any moment over the mountain shapes.
The tip of the blade was shaped to a deadly point. The ancient steel gleamed in the lights of the hall.
"Oh, my," Selena said again.
"It's beautiful," Nick said. "I've never seen anything like that."
"Be careful, Nick. It will be very sharp."
Gently, Nick put the sword back in the scabbard. Then he handed it to Selena.
"Here."
She took it with both hands and looked down at it.
"You look like you're in church," Nick said.
"It's just that this weapon is legendary. There really isn't anything else like it. There are only a few of Masamune's blades left in the world."
"When we get back, you can show me how to use it."
"Wrap it up again," she said. "We'd better get out of here."
They went down the stairs and out the front door, locking it behind them.