Milton went to the wall where the swords were displayed and, on a whim, took down the tantō that had caused so much trouble. He unzipped the bag with the money, dropped the blade inside, and then closed it again. He picked up the shotgun, found two fresh shells from his pocket and opened the break action. He slotted a fresh shell into each barrel and closed the breach until he heard it click.

He opened the door to the stairs. Sakura and Yamato were waiting there.

“I told you to go down,” Milton said to Sakura.

“I was frightened for you.”

Milton knelt down next to Yamato. “Try to forget what you saw.”

The boy looked close to tears. “Where is Jiji?”

“He means Takashi,” Sakura said.

“I’m not sure,” Milton said, “but I’m going to find him. We need to go. Right now.”

Milton could hear the sound of footsteps ascending from below him. Gesturing for Sakura and Yamato to stay back, he took a glance over the bannister: a fireman wearing a silver helmet was climbing up to the eleventh floor. Milton wasn’t surprised; the fire department would want to check the floors one by one to confirm that there was no reason for the alarm before they let the occupants back inside again. Milton hid the shotgun behind his leg as the fireman reached the landing. He was wearing full turnout gear: helmet, face mask, a small cylinder of compressed air on his back, a heavy jacket and three-quarter-length rubber boots.

The man saw them and called out something in Japanese; Milton didn’t understand it, but the urgent downward jab of his hand that accompanied it suggested that he wanted them to leave.

Milton stepped to the side so that the fireman could pass.

“Wait a minute,” Milton said.

The fireman turned back and Milton jabbed the shortened butt of the shotgun against his chin. The blow was hard and unexpected and enough to knock him out. Milton caught him before he could topple down the stairs, and carefully lowered him so that he was leaning against the wall.

Yamato looked fearful. “It’s all right,” Milton said, unsure whether the boy would understand him. “He’ll be okay. I just need to borrow his things.”

Milton moved quickly, removing the man’s helmet and disconnecting his face mask from the hose that fed oxygen from the tank. He put the helmet on his head and fitted the mask around his face, removed the thick jacket and pulled that on, too. There was a waste disposal chute on the landing above and he hurried up to it, opened the metal door and tossed the shotgun in. He listened to it clang and clatter as it dropped down through the guts of the building.

He returned to Yamato, reached down and hoisted him up, clutching his little body against his chest.

“Let’s get you both out of here.”

* * *