By F. Paul Wilson
F. Paul Wilson’s strong international battle II novel is an unforgettable saga of ardour and terror, the ravages of warfare, the ache of betrayal, and the respect of love.
At the guts of the tale are 4 humans torn among love and honor: Matsuo Okumo, born in Japan, raised in the US, and hated in either lands; Hiroki Okumo, his brother, a latest samurai sworn to serve a mystery cult and the almighty Emperor; Meiko Satsuma, the girl they either love; and Frank Slater, the yankee who became away whilst Matsuo wanted him, and who now struggles to pay off his debt of honor.
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The Order will once again hold the place of honor in the heart of the Son of Heaven that it earned in the days of the Nobunaga Shogunate. " Hiroki said. Shimazu sighed. "I have decided to trust the two of you with a secret, the gravest secret of the Order. The outside world knows little or nothing of us. Even the Emperors have paid little heed to us during the past century, and would dismiss us entirely if what I am about to tell you was to become public knowledge. I don't want either of you to answer right away.
Me in the fog. " I whispered as hoping he would spot he lifted the sash. " He came out a few minutes later, barefoot and wearing a light kimono. >" I held up the quart jar I had spirited out of my folks' kitchen, "Here. " He took it, unscrewed the top, and sniffed. " . "Vodka? " at my . ^" "Yeah. Like gin, only not it's . At Put vodka in orange juice and was what they were calling the as smelly. least that folks' dinner party. Matsuo made a face. >" "Of course. You know my father only buys the best bootleg.
Matsuo made a face. >" "Of course. You know my father only buys the best bootleg. Imported only. " Matsuo took a drink, and nodded appreciatively. " He drank again. " "We must find a way to bring Mick to justice," Matsuo said. He spoke slowly and carefully, but still could not overcome the slur in his voice. We sat in the bushes between the Japanese garden and the patio and watched the party through the arched windows of my white stucco-walled Spanish-style house. Dad had had everybody out to see his Zen garden before dinner, and now they were all in the living room.
Black Wind by F. Paul Wilson