They also tapped his phone, but not on a regular basis as they feared detection. Suspecting this possibility, Yoshi had installed a bug trap so any hook-up to his line would register on a small meter. When Kuwahara picked up his phone and the meter registered a hook-up, he would dial a local friend and chat about something unimportant. If there was no tap, he would dial one of the seven.

The detectives hired to keep him under surveillance parked down the street and used a zoom-lens to photograph everyone who visited him. In this way they photographed Takeo and Wolff, along with a dozen or so locals who had come to Kuwahara on social or religious business. Only Takeo and Wolff were followed, since Takeo was recognized as having been one of the young men and Wolff was Caucasian. They were followed as they drove away after the trip to the island.

The older detective told the younger one that when they found where these two stayed, they would return and look up the registration of the boat. In that way they might find out where Kuwahara, the young man and the old American had gone. The younger detective barely listened as he frantically followed the speeding Takeo.

Takeo was very cautious and noticed early that a car was following, weaving in and out of traffic to keep up with them. "We're being followed," he said.

Wolff did not turn his head but leaned slightly and looked in the rear-view mirror. "It's the blue Nissan," he said in agreement. "He's having trouble keeping up. There. He nearly brushed fenders with the Toyota. If you aren't noticed by a police patrol, you should lose him easily."

"I don't mean to lose him," said Takeo as he poured a container of potassium cyanide into a hopper he opened with a foot pedal. "I designed this hopper, which leads to a container of sulfuric acid. Now the hopper is closed and hydrocyanic gas is building up in the reservoir."

When the Nissan drew closer in a desperate attempt to keep up, Takeo slowed down. Just as the two detectives were a car-length behind, Takeo stepped on a pedal which released the colorless gas through the exhaust. Within a few seconds the still speeding Nissan careened off the road and rolled over and over before bursting into flame.

"You could have lost them," said Wolff, but without anger. "I hope no one else will be harmed by the gas."

"Yes, I could have lost them," said Takeo. "But it's obvious that they were detailed to watch my master. So they knew of the boat trip. I'm sure they have noted the boat's registration and so would have questioned Mr. Tsubaki. He knows there is something out there. What little he might have told them would be enough to give us some trouble. And as for the gas, it disperses rapidly."

When Takeo told Hideki of the men following, Hideki checked through his sources on the deaths of the two men on that stretch of road that day. It turned out they were indeed detectives, with good records on the Tokyo police force. So it was established that Namoto did have people among the authorities who worked for him. After that incident, when any of the seven visited the island, they did not visit the old priest's home.

The deaths of two of his police hirelings disturbed Namoto. He could not be sure it wasn't accidental but decided to make his play in case Kuwahara's friends were getting ready to act against him. His first move was to design a ruse to keep the police busy while he and his karate students dealt with the old priest.

He well knew the capture of the records and other information could cause great harm to his organization. He also knew Kuwahara either had them or knew where they were. Their retrieval was more important than the karate school. Besides, he had decided to relocate it to Tokyo.

When the police patrols of the old priest's neighborhood were reduced to one every four hours, Namoto decided to attack. He first sent ten of his thirty students to Tokyo. He kept the other twenty in readiness for the raid he planned on Kuwahara's home. He meant to rush the house and literally take it apart in a few minutes so that no matter where the records were hidden, they would be found.

But first he had to create a diversion so that no matter what happened at the old priest's home, the police would be busy elsewhere. First, he gathered hundreds of pounds of explosives from certain construction companies in which he had an interest. When the explosives were stored in the school, he had his students bring in hundreds of gallons of gasoline.

The cases of dynamite and cans of fuel were placed strategically among the rooms of the karate school. One of his students trained in demolitions placed the explosives and gasoline so that nothing would be left of the building. He wired the explosives to go off in successive blasts. This was not only to destroy the school but to keep the police and firemen busy cordoning off the school for about an hour. By the time the explosions had ended, Namoto expected to be through with Kuwahara and on his way back to Tokyo.

The student responsible for placing the explosives protested to Namoto that there were far too many cases of dynamite and drums of gasoline than were needed to destroy the school. "A tenth of this would do the job, sir," he said. "What you've trucked in is enough to blow up the whole town. I have no love for these people, sir, but such an amount will cause great damage to the whole neighborhood. The town doesn't have the equipment to control the fires all the exploding fuel will cause."

"So what?" asked Namoto. "Do you think I care what happens to the wretched people around here? Blow them all up, for all I care. And then when we are gone without a trace and old Kuwahara is complaining of a beating and the ransacking of his home, the police will believe he and his young friends did this in retaliation.

"And if they still suspect me, what of it? It will only teach them to back off from anything I'm involved with."

Then he turned his back on the young explosives expert and continued to direct the loading of all their belongings and equipment into the trucks in the alley. When the loading was completed, he told the drivers to take the contents of the trucks to his Tokyo warehouse and then continued his preparations for the attack on Kuwahara.

On the evening of the scheduled attack, the agent watching the old priest's home phoned to tell Namoto the police patrol had made its eight p. m. drive by the house. Namoto then ordered his twenty students to arm themselves with nunchakus and throwing stars just in case some of Kuwahara's friends were nearby.

With Hirada driving his car, Namoto ordered the twenty students to get into four other cars and proceed to the old priest's home. When they were a block away, Namoto pressed a button on a remote control detonator. The first of a chain of explosions rocked the school and sent one corner into the air amidst a ball of angry flames. The blast shattered windows a block away and the noise alerted every police officer and fireman in town.

As patrol cars and fire trucks raced toward the scene, another blast sent the rest of the rear of the school into the alley. People living nearby scrambled from their homes and ran as fast as they could away from the holocaust. By the time the third blast ripped off much of the left side of the building, sending another billow of igniting gasoline into the sky, the police arrived.

For several minutes they worked cordoning off the area and trying to rescue any inhabitants still in nearby endangered homes. As the fire trucks got within a block of the inferno, another explosion sent the left front of the building into the street and the sky, followed by another deluge of igniting gasoline.

With no regard for the people living in the area, Namoto had directed that the explosions and fire were to cause as much chaos as possible. Several people were burned alive in their beds or died from the concussions following the blasts.

Captain Fuchida had been on the scene within minutes. After the third blast he ordered his officers and the firemen to retreat and cordon off a much wider area. He was too late to save one of his men as the front of the building exploded out into the street, burying him in its debris.

Fuchida wept as he ushered a hysterical mother carrying her two dead children from the scene. As the other side of the front of the building exploded, he knew this was no small tragedy or accident. As he worked feverishly evacuating the now burning homes and directing firemen to stay clear of expected explosions, he thought of Namoto.

In his confusion he could not guess a reason for the destruction of the karate school. It flashed through his mind that Namoto wanted to get even with the young men who he realized must have attacked the school a few weeks before.

He knew Kuwahara was somehow involved with the attack but had not bothered to question him. He did not want to find an excuse to prosecute the old man. As far as he was concerned, the matter was closed and had been a thing the bullying karate school students had brought upon themselves.

He also knew that the young men and Kuwahara would not have caused the awful destruction going on. Whatever grudge they had had against the karate students was settled with their raid.

Then it must have been done by Namoto himself. There were no karate students in evidence, as there surely would have been if some accident had begun the string of explosions.

No. Namoto had to be behind it. Maybe as a cover up. Maybe as a diversion. If the last, it had worked, as he could spare no one to investigate anything or leave the area until the fires were contained.

But he made a vow that he would get to the bottom of it. If it took him the rest of his life; if it cost him his career, Namoto would pay! As he made this vow, a helicopter from Tokyo hovered over the burning homes, dropping fire retardant.

A half hour before, when Kuwahara had heard the first blast from across town, his instincts told him Namoto was on the way. He went into his shrine and sounded the ceremonial bell he had taken from the island tomb.

Saburo and Yasuo were working late finishing the first issue of their publication. They both heard the bell in their minds and rushed outside to their adjoining apartments and garages where their motorcycles, uniforms, swords and helmets were kept.

They quickly got into their uniforms and with helmets and swords at their sides, they started their engines. At first, they engaged their mufflers. But a few blocks from their base they put on their helmets and disengaged their mufflers so they could go at full speed to their endangered master.

Hideki was at home in bed with an actress Yasuo had introduced him to. She was astonished as he arose with a quick apology and left her, rushing through a secret door. He seemed in a trance as he prepared to answer the irresistible command of the bell, pealing and throbbing in his mind.

Yoshi and Minoru were at a party and left immediately in a Ferrari. Yoshi dropped Minoru off at his home and sped the few blocks to own. Minoru was in a sweat as he remembered the words in Sergeant Kozono's diary: "I awoke shouting, 'Kuwahara! Kuwahara! Get out! Get away!' I was weeping because he was in terrible danger, and I knew we would not reach him in time."

Minoru wept as he quickly put on his motorcycle uniform, mounted his machine and thundered off at full speed to the main highway. He could not accept the idea that the diary was a true account of what was happening now. But he knew it was, even though he reacted as if he could change destiny. "And why not?", he asked himself as the bell sounded over and over in his tortured brain. If the call was futile, why should he hear the bell at all?

Tadashi was at home looking in his mirror and practicing dynamic gestures during a stirring speech before the Diet. As the bell sounded through his fantasy he dropped his pose and rushed into his garage. Within three minutes he was suited up and on his way.

Takeo was at a gambling casino with Kemiko. He enjoyed gaming, as his computer mind projected enough successful combinations to make him a consistent winner. As the ball bounced along the round furrow of the roulette wheel he turned and stalked out of out of the room, leaving Kemiko to rake in his prize.

He rushed to his Alpha Romeo and roared through the narrow streets to the apartment he shared with Kemiko. As the garage door opened automatically he parked and leaped to the locker in which he kept his uniform, sword and helmet. He was ready and on his motorcycle in record time and on his way to the juncture leading to the little town.

Within ten minutes each of the seven was barreling along at full speed. Although their living quarters were on the outskirts of Tokyo, nearest to their destination, they were still seen by many as they sped through traffic, paying no heed to regulations.

Witnesses saw black-clothed motorcyclists one second and in the next few seconds, galloping war horses carrying armored samurai bathed in a reddish glow. Vehicles, their drivers astonished and sometimes terrified, pulled to the curbs. Police gave chase, radioing fantastic reports of ancient, mounted samurai warriors and supercharged motorcycles dodging in and out of traffic with unbelievable speed and maneuverability.

The riders, seeing the traffic in slow motion, were able to dodge oncoming and careening vehicles with ridiculous ease. They were helped by their computerized controls with gyroscope which corrected any turn too sharp to keep them upright.

A lone oncoming motorcycle patrolman saw them from afar and attempted to cut them off. As he neared them he saw the seven glowing horsemen out of his nation's savage past. In his confusion his machine overturned and skidded toward them. All but Minoru rode around him and kept going.

Minoru had to stop to keep from hitting the officer and the man scrambled up and pulled his gun. Minoru reared back in the seat of his motorcycle and as he gunned his engine he drew his sword. What the officer saw was a rearing, glowing horse and its enraged, armored samurai with sword ready to decapitate him. He dropped his gun, shielded his face with his arms and leaped out of the way as the horse seemed to leap over his downed machine and gallop on.

It was no effort for Minoru's motorcycle to rear up and roll its back wheel over the officer's machine. But it was an effort for Minoru to face the fact that he had been on the verge of killing a police officer. As he sped on, he realized that for several moments he was, in reality, Joji Yamashita, the black-armored mercenary of five hundred years ago. And in his realization that he had momentarily seen the officer only as an insect in his way, he felt afraid that he was other than human.

At that moment, Kuwahara was bolting his door and drawing his sword. Although his left arm was crippled, he used his left hand to reinforce his grip on the sword handle. He had practiced little kendo in this life. But, drawing on his ingrained ferocity of so many past lives filled with chaos and war, he was not helpless nor reluctant to fight until death.

Moreover, in anticipation of the coming battle with his ancient enemy, Kuwahara had brought black robes and had dressed as the priest of old. He put them on almost ceremoniously and as he waited, he actually looked forward to leaving this life as a warrior contemptuous of death.

As Namoto and his band neared the old priest's home the explosions continued. Dozens of persons had been killed and hundreds of nearby homes were blown down and set ablaze by the explosions. The police had called for help from every town around and as far as Tokyo for firefighters and more police to contain the increasing fire storm

With the police distracted by the explosions and fires, Namoto had Hirada kick down the old priest's door. Namoto, Hirada and the twenty karate students crowded in to confront the black-robed priest.

Namoto stopped short at the sight of the old priest with his sword at the ready. Ancient memories stirred in his mind. To him it also seemed like a confrontation put off for too long. The memory was not clear but he felt a familiarity with the old warrior facing him.

"I see you expected us," said Namoto. "You must know what we've come for."

"Yes," said the old priest. "I knew you'd come. But there is nothing here for you but death."

Namoto then ordered his students with nunchakus to disarm Kuwahara. "But be sure you don't injure him too badly. He must be able to talk."

The first student to rush Kuwahara was killed instantly by an expert slash across the throat. The old priest then whirled and killed a second with a slash to the waist. A third fell as his head toppled from his shoulders.

The rest were horrified and fell back. They were young and had never seen anyone killed. They had been trained as assassins and each fancied himself a proficient killer. But with knives and various martial arts weapons. Not with a samurai sword as wielded by a true samurai who could not be intimidated as had been the old men they had bullied and stolen from in the past.

Furthermore, in all the movies of traditional Japanese battles between groups of samurai, good taste had dictated that those slain fell nearly bloodless. Perhaps a smear of red paint along a slash in a garment was all that was needed to indicate a fatality in a motion picture.

But the real thing was startling. This black-robed old warrior was demonstrating the reality of the murderous sword which could cut a man from crown to waist. As their comrade's head rolled across the floor toward them and his life's blood spurted a yard, due to his reflexively beating heart, they wilted.

Namoto shouted at them to regroup and close in. As they hesitated Kuwahara backed into a corner. Then one of the students advanced and hurled a throwing star, which was blocked by the sword. The old priest quickly lunged with a straight thrust and buried the sword in the student's chest.

Before the sword could be withdrawn, Namoto rushed Kuwahara and knocked him to the floor. Kuwahara's strength was no match for that of the younger man so he pretended to be unconscious.

By this time, the seven young men had reached the main road leading into the town. The noise of their engines alternated with the gallop of charging horses. The sight of the cyclists and mounted, glowing samurai had created a sensation in every town through which they had barged. Police cars which had given chase had been left behind, the officers not believing their eyes and so being unable to coordinate.

Reports of the seven were also set aside in favor of answering the alarms concerning the fires raging in the small town. Fire companies from as far as Tokyo were filling the highways as the inferno spread. Flames could be seen for several miles and even Army units were racing to the scene.

As the noise from across town penetrated the house, Namoto grabbed the old priest up and slapped him several times. "Don't pretend with me, Kuwahara. You're as conscious as ever. Now tell me where the documents are. Where are the identification papers of my students?"

Kuwahara opened his eyes and sneered, "My old enemy. For centuries we have fought and you have always survived. But you are again known by those who will defeat you, finally and forever."

"You're insane!" shouted Namoto. "I don't know what hypnotism you practiced on my students but I'm not so young nor so easily duped. I want what you took in your attack on my karate school."

Then to the others he said, "Search every drawer, lift every mat. Tear up the floor boards and tear open the walls. Find those documents! We don't have forever."

Hirada went into the kitchen and began tearing everything apart. When he assured himself that nothing was in the stove, shelves or utensils he began tearing the walls apart. Some of the students lifted up the mats covering the floors and then began tearing up the floor boards. Others busied themselves tearing down the insides of the walls.

As the house became more of a shambles Kuwahara said, "You're wasting your time. The documents are not in this house. They are where they will be used to end your career. You ought to have realized that. But you are a fool, as all evil men are fools."

At that, Namoto began beating the old priest, screaming, "Where are they, those devils you've recruited?"

Although close to passing out, Kuwahara said, gasping, "You are more stupid than I took you for. Nothing you could do to me would make me tell you who or where my comrades are."

Namoto was beginning to panic from frustration and rage. He could see that the searchers were getting nowhere. Also, the sounds of fire engines and police sirens were more audible than ever, showing that the fires had gotten out of hand. He began to fear that the roads would soon be so clogged that he and his party might not be able to get out.

"Then keep your secret!" he yelled, hitting him again. "We'll find them."

"No. They will find you," said the old priest, defiantly.

"We will destroy them!" shouted Namoto, punching Kuwahara so hard in the ribs that his lungs were pierced.

As blood gushed from the old priest's mouth he said, dying, "No. They will destroy you. Upon my death they will be the new ronin, devoting their lives to avenging their master. And finally bringing an end to your evil forever."

As Kuwahara collapsed in death, the roar of motorcycle engines and the hoof beats of charging horses could be heard. Namoto looked up in surprise and the karate students were shocked and terrified as the new ronin burst into the house.

The students had experienced these warriors before and seeing them draw their swords, they froze in horror. The seven paused, looking over the scene until they spotted the body of their master. Upon realizing he was dead, they went berserk

It was as if they had gone back in time to five hundred years ago. They had no consciousness of present time. They became the same avenging warriors who had fought Namoto so long ago.

As Namoto looked at them, both as black-uniformed motorcyclists and glowing, black-armored samurai, he also looked at the body of the dead priest. Suddenly an ancient memory of their description penetrated his consciousness. "The priest of death and his seven ronin from hell."

With a shout of rage, Minoru raised his sword and brought it down in a slanting blow on one of the karate students' shoulders. The blade sliced down through the body and out the lower side. As the neatly halved body crumpled, the other six charged the rest of Namoto's students.
The karate students fought as well as they could out of desperation. But their nunchakus flailed empty air as they were cut down by the dodging, glowing ronin. Hirada drew a pistol and aimed at Takeo. Before he could pull the trigger, Saburo rushed forward and cut off his hand.

Hirada gave a look of astonishment and sank to the floor, sitting against a wall. As the ronin attacked the others and they were cut down like rice before a scythe, Hirada just sat and squeezed his severed wrist to keep his blood from spurting out.

Namoto saw immediately that he had no more chance than his henchmen against the seven. Unnoticed, he bolted out the back door and ran off into a wooded area behind the house.

Within minutes the battle was over and the seven surveyed the damage. All twenty of the karate students were dead. Hirada sat dazed, still holding his wrist. The seven hardly glanced at him as they went over to the body of their master.

Minoru and Yasuo wept unashamedly as Takeo sat cradling the old man's body in his arms as if he were a baby and rocked from side to side. Saburo looked out and saw the flames lighting up the sky and heard the fire trucks and military vehicles from Tokyo race down their street to the scene.

"Takeo," said Saburo, "we will take our master's body to the tomb. Tie him on your motorcycle behind you and take him to the dock. You others follow me and we'll store our machines in the mechanic's shed. We must hurry."

Takeo picked up Kuwahara and his sword and carried him out to his motorcycle. Sitting him on the ear of the seat, he tied the old priest and his sword against his body with a sash and wheeled off toward the dock.

The other six joined him in a few minutes, carrying their helmets and swords. They lifted Takeo's motorcycle into the launch and then laid Kuwahara's body and his sword in its bow. Then Takeo started the engine and pointed the launch toward the island.

When Namoto fled the rear of the house, he floundered around in the woods for several minutes. He finally got to a clearing and stopped to compose himself. As his lungs ceased their gasping and his heartbeat slowed, he began to feel more at ease. Then, before his terrified eyes, there floated a reddish, glowing ball of light.

From the light came the old priest's voice, "They will find you. They will destroy you. They are the new ronin."

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