“Indeed I do.”
Mildred had been watching the front of the house, peering between the tall, rambling trees toward the narrow side street. Now she reappeared, holding her Czech ZKR 551 target revolver. “Want me to keep him covered?”
Though Ryan had the hunting rifle with a Starlite night scope and laser image enhancer, he knew that Mildred was much the best shot of the party. And if the Oriental assassin appeared, the range wasn’t going to be much above thirty yards.
“Sure,” he said.
Doc hobbled off the porch, legs oddly tight together, glancing back toward the house. Seeing Mildred watching him from the rear second-floor window, he gave her a hurried, self-conscious wave and a broad, toothy grin.
“If our man’s still out there, he could put an arrow clean through the old guy’s skull and out the other side,” J.B. said quietly.
Ryan had called everyone to the garden side of the building, making sure that they were all on the reddest alert, watching for a glimpse of the Oriental archer.
He was using the laser sight, its tiny crimson dot flickering among the leaves, peering through it and searching for any sign of life, breaking off now and again to check the birds in the trees. But none of a flock of pigeons was moving at all.
Which probably meant the garden was deserted and their enemy was gone.
Or, Ryan reminded himself, it could mean that the samurai had never left and was simply waiting patiently for his opportunity to avenge his comrade’s death.
Doc had stopped just beyond the fringe of rhododendrons and dropped his pants, squatting down out of sight, the top of his silvery mane barely visible.
With the pressure of danger, Doc was quickly done, the bushes shaking as he plucked a handful of broad leaves to wipe himself clean.
Then be was up again, running both hands through his hair, offering a mocking bow to the six faces staring at him from the windows.
“Move it, Doc,” Krysty called, her voice harsh. “Got a feeling that.”
The tall, frock-coated figure was striding toward them, walking far more freely than three minutes earlier, but Krysty’s shout made him halt, looking behind himself at the great shifting bank of green.
Ryan had been watching carefully, but he didn’t actually see the man come out of the foliage. One moment he wasn’t there. Next moment he stood at the edge of the bushes, an enormously long bow drawn in his hands, an arrow notched on the string, aimed at the center of Doc’s chest.
Ryan’s instant reaction saved the old-timer. He hissed to Mildred, “Don’t shoot the man. He’ll loose and chill Doc.”
The black woman didn’t need the explanation, instantly altering her aim, the big six-shot revolver an extension of her right arm. Both eyes were open as she looked down the barrel, her finger tight on the trigger.
The man was an almost identical copy of the Oriental that Ryan had slain. Short and stocky, in a helmet with a bronze moon in its crown, a long sword sheathed at his waist, his armor glittering in the mid-morning sunshine.
“I am Takei Yashimoto, and I am here to take a life for the life of my brother, Tokiruasha. Then I will offer my own unworthy self as a hostage in combat against any of you round-eye barbarians who wish to accept my humble challenge.”
“We have guns,” Ryan called. “A word from me and you’re dead meat.”
“I value my life less than a feather,” the samurai replied. The point of the arrow hadn’t deviated by an inch from Doc, who was standing, frozen, a few yards away.
“Gonna shoot, Ryan,” Mildred breathed.
“No. I told you-”
But there was the boom of the blaster, and the Smith & Wesson.38 round was on its inexorable way toward the armored figure.
There was a deafening crack, and the bow seemed to explode in the man’s hands. The arrow flew sideways for a dozen feet, before flopping harmlessly to the grass.
The samurai staggered backward, his helmet sitting crookedly on his head, the two halves of the broken bow clutched uselessly in his hands.