He pulled the drill away. A tiny dot of blood appeared on the skin and began to grow larger, but Miss Yang wiped it away with a cotton swab. A neuropathic injector device was mounted on a second arm that hung from the ceiling. Richardson placed it over the tiny hole, squeezed the trigger, and a Teflon-coated copper wire the width of a human hair was pushed directly into Michael’s brain.

The wire was attached to a cable that fed data to the quantum computer. Lawrence was wearing a radio headset with a direct link to the computer center. “Begin the test,” he told one of the technicians. “The first sensor is in his brain.”

Five seconds passed. Twenty seconds. Then a technician confirmed that they were picking up neural activity.

“The first sensor is working,” Lawrence said. “You may proceed.”

Dr. Richardson slid a small electrode plate down the length of the wire, glued it to the skin, and trimmed off the excess wire. Ninety minutes later, all the sensors had been inserted into Michael’s brain and attached to the plates. From a distance, it looked like eight silver coins were glued to his skull.

MICHAEL WAS STILL unconscious, so the nurse remained beside him while Lawrence followed the two doctors into the next room. Everyone pulled off their surgical gowns and tossed them into a bin.

“When will he wake up?” Lawrence asked.

“In about an hour.”

“Will he have any pain?”

“Minimal.”

“Excellent. I’ll ask the computer center when we can start the experiment.”

Dr. Richardson looked nervous. “Perhaps you and I should talk.”

The two men left the library and walked across the quadrangle to the administrative center. It had rained the night before and the sky was still gray. The roses were cut back and the irises were dry stalks. The Bermuda grass that bordered the walkway was dying. Everything looked vulnerable to the passage of time except for the windowless white building at the center of the courtyard. The official name for the building was the Neurological Cybernetics Research Facility, but the younger members of the staff called it “the Tomb.”

“I’ve been reading more data concerning the Travelers,” Richardson said. “Right now, I can anticipate some problems. We have a young man who may-or may not-be able to cross over to another realm.”

“That’s correct,” Lawrence said. “We won’t know until he tries.”

“The research materials indicate that Travelers can learn how to cross over on their own. It can occur because of long-term stress or a sudden shock. But most people have some kind of teacher to instruct them.”

“They’re called Pathfinders,” Lawrence said. “We’ve been looking for someone to perform that function, but we haven’t been successful.”

They paused at the entrance to the administrative center. Lawrence noticed that Dr. Richardson disliked looking at the Tomb. The neurologist stared at the sky and then at a concrete planter filled with English ivy-anything but the white building.

“What happens if you can’t find a Pathfinder?” Richardson asked. “How is Michael going to know what to do?”

“There’s another approach. The support staff is investigating different drugs that could act as a neurological catalyst.”

“This is my field and I can tell you that no such drug has been developed. Nothing you take into your body is going to cause a rapid intensification of neural energy.”

“The Evergreen Foundation has a great many contacts and sources. We’re doing everything we can.”

“It’s clear that I’m not being told everything,” Richardson said. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Takawa. That attitude is not conducive to a successful experiment.”

“And what else do you need to know, Doctor?”

“It’s not just the Travelers, is it? They’re only part of a much larger objective-something that involves the quantum computer. So what are we really looking for? Can you tell me?”

“We’ve hired you to get a Traveler into another realm,” Lawrence said. “And all you need to understand is that General Nash does not accept failure.”

BACK IN HIS office, Lawrence had to deal with a dozen urgent phone messages and more than forty e-mails. He talked to General Nash about the surgical operation and confirmed that the computer center had picked up neural activity from every section of Michael’s brain. During the next two hours, he wrote a carefully worded message that was e-mailed to the scientists who had received grants from the Evergreen Foundation. Although he couldn’t mention the Travelers, he asked for explicit information about psychotropic drugs that gave people visions of alternative worlds.

At six o’clock in the evening the Protective Link device tracked Lawrence as he left the research center and drove back to his town house. Locking the front door, he stripped off his work clothes, pulled on a black cotton robe, and entered his secret room.

He wanted to give Linden an update on the Crossover Project, but the moment he got on the Internet a small blue box began flashing on the top left-hand corner of his screen. Two years ago, after Lawrence was given a new access code to the Brethren’s computer system, he designed a special program to search for data about his father. Once the program was released, it scurried through the Internet like a ferret hunting for rats in an old house. Today it had found information about his father in the evidence files of the Osaka Police Department.

Two swords were displayed in Sparrow’s photograph: one with a gold handle and another with jade fittings. Back in Paris, Linden explained that Lawrence’s mother had given the jade sword to a Harlequin named Thorn who passed it on to the Corrigan family. Lawrence guessed that Gabriel Corrigan was still carrying the weapon when Boone and his mercenaries attacked the clothing factory.

A jade sword. A gold sword. Perhaps there were others. Lawrence had learned that the most famous sword maker in Japanese history was a priest named Masamune. He had forged his blades during the thirteenth century; when the Mongols attempted to invade Japan. The ruling emperor had ordered a series of prayer rituals at Buddhist temples, and many famous swords were created as religious offerings. Masamune himself had forged a perfect sword with a diamond in its handle to inspire his ten students, the Jittetsu. As they learned how to hammer steel, each of the students had created one special weapon to present to their master.

Lawrence’s computer program had found the Web site of a Buddhist priest living in Kyoto. The site gave the names of the ten Jittetsu and their special swords.

I. Hasabe Kinishige – Silver

II. Kanemitsu – Gold

III. Go Yoshiro – Wood

IV. Naotsuna – Pearl

V. Sa – Bone

VI. Rai Kunitsugu – Ivory

VII. Kinju – Jade

VIII. Shizu Kaneuji – Iron

IX. Chogi – Bronze

X. Saeki Norishige – Coral

A jade sword. A gold sword. The other Jittetsu swords had disappeared-probably lost in earthquakes or wars-but the doomed line of Japanese Harlequins had protected two of these sacred weapons. Now Gabriel Corrigan was carrying one of these treasures and the other was used to kill Yakuza in a blood-splattered banquet hall.

The search program moved through the lists of police evidence and translated the Japanese characters into English. Antique tachi (long sword). Gold handle. Criminal investigation 15433. Evidence missing.

Not missing, he thought. Stolen. The Brethren must have taken the gold sword from the Osaka police. It could be in Japan or America. Maybe it was stored at the research center, just a few feet away from his desk.