"Bill, why don't we head on over to Mortimer's?" I looked out at the park one last time. "You may need a stiff drink for the rest of this."
"Jesus, I'm dealing with maniacs." He got up and headed for his coat. "Let's move it."
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Bushido. Take it apart, bu-shi-do, and you have "military- knight-ways," the rules of chivalry that governed every moment of a samurai's existence. This code of honor of the warrior class, this noblesse oblige, was also known as 'the way of the sword.' For a samurai the sword was a sacred icon, an emblem of strength and inner resolve. Casual handling was unheard of. You never stepped over a sword, you never treated it with insouciance or irreverence. It was an extension of your character. A samurai regarded his katana as the symbol of his caste: a weapon, yes, but also a constant reminder of who he was, his obligations as well as his rights.
Which was why I needed the prize of my collection in hand when we entered our final battle with Dai Nippon. I wanted to face Matsuo Noda with classic dignity, with the Japanese honor he had scorned, to let him know he had a worthy opponent, one who understood the meaning of bushido. I also wanted in that process to stick those DNI guards' Uzis up their ass. I'd be needing a katana.
Our meeting with Henderson was Monday night. Tuesday morning we all buckled down and began working around the clock, each of us handling a separate area, Tam called in some favors with the head of the NYU computer center and adapted an off-the-shelf program for stock transactions to suit our unique requirements. She then booked time and scheduled a few debugging runs. In the meantime Henderson was taking care of our banking preparations, opening a string of accounts, mostly offshore where we could move with comparative anonymity. Also, we all got together at his place a couple of times and blocked out exactly what we wanted to unload first, names and dates.
While Tam and Henderson were setting up the financial end, the electronics were my responsibility. I was on the phone all day Tuesday knocking heads with Artie Wilson, an old friend who operated a maritime radio business down on the island of St. Thomas. Together we assembled a piece of gear needed to address one of the essential telemetry elements, and Wednesday night he took his boat over to St. Croix to install it.
I think I've already mentioned the marvelous Caribbean beach house that had practically fallen into my and Joanna's hands a few years back. It also sported, as do a lot of island places, a TV satellite dish, and it so happens this one was massive, a twenty-footer. Now, what is not commonly appreciated is that those concave parabolas can be used to broadcast as well as receive.