Sad to say, everybody was too late, including Henderson. By probably no more than a second or so. I watched Jim Bob swing around his automatic . . . and then the lights went out. We heard the dull thunk of a silencer, followed by another, and next the sound of a chair crashing backward, an Uzi clattering across the floor. It was indeed Dan-no-ura all over again, only this time the shogun's forces had just taken the first hit.
But at least Henderson must have eluded Noda's gorillas. How'd he do it?
Whatever had happened, he'd gotten the message. Suntory black. He'd had Eddie yank the master switch for the eleventh floor. He "blacked out" Dai Nippon.
For what good it did. Not much, as things transpired. He'd only cut the overheads. The computer must have had its own backup power, some circuit that didn't run through the main utility room. The office was now eerily illuminated by CRT screens, still buying blue chips. As usual, Noda had prepared for all eventualities.
Gingerly we inched out onto the floor. Jim Bob was sprawled beside his console in a spreading pool of blood. Maybe he was still alive. Maybe not. Tam reached down to check the pulse at his neck.
"It's gone." She looked up, stunned.
Who was next? More to the point, where the hell was Mori?
Then we saw her, moving like a ghostly figure in a No play, gliding through the bizarre lime-colored light of the terminals. We watched as she disappeared into Noda's office, trailed by the two dumbstruck guards.
What a standoff, I reflected fleetingly. The would-be shogun versus the Emperor's number one fan. This time, though, the Imperial side is hopping mad and loaded for bear. Wonder who'll . . . ?
There was, however, something more important to think about. The next few seconds could turn everything around. This was hardly the time for historical meditations. With deliberate haste we might even live long enough for some history of our own later.