“What about you?” Hom asked.
Varelis looked back to the growing pile of Delta wreckage being brought in. “I guess I'll stay here and help out. It's a goddamned mess.”
“Yeah.”
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Acting Deputy Director of Operations Howard Ryan was in love with the CIA and even more in love with his new title. Lawyers had to make the best spies because by training they had more practical sense than just about everyone else. This time he was going to nail McGarvey, who'd not only outlived his usefulness in the new world order, but who had become so dangerous he could no longer be allowed to remain at large anywhere in the world. He'd obviously cut some sort of a deal with Bruno Mueller, and he'd managed to convince the FBI that he was a knight in shining armor. Ryan was going to catch him in the act. It was the only way anyone would listen.
The Marine VH-3 helicopter, the same model that the President used, touched down in a clearing in the Ellipse eight blocks from the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Ryan and the two bodyguards he'd drawn from the Domestic Operations Division, Brian Pratt and Warren Hughes, climbed aboard.
“Where are we going, Mr. Ryan?” the pilot called back.
“Upstate New York. Southeast of Buffalo. I'll have an exact destination for you when we get close.”
Ryan grinned to himself. Two could play McGarvey's game. He too had been convincing. Wood had agreed to keep him up to date on Whitman's progress. This was easy.
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Amundson read the transcript of the NSA intercept of the telephone conversation between Yeltsin and Admiral Aladko.
“That's the opposite of what the Japanese told us,” President Lindsay said.
“Sir, the Russians know that we monitor at least some of their sensitive telephone circuits, so it's a safe bet that President Yeltsin figured we might be listening. What's not clear is whether the Russians believe the Japanese have the same capability.”
“So you're saying that Yeltsin may have said what he did for our benefit?”
“Either that or they spoke in a code,” Amundson said. “I think it's a possibility.”
“Still no ELF from Vladivostok?”
“No, sir.”
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Russian Ambassador Yanis Zagorsky was in conference with SUR Washington
rezident
Stanilas Soroshkin when Yemlin was summoned upstairs. He was admitted immediately.
“It's unbelievable, but nobody is listening,” Soroshkin said.
Zagorsky looked up as if it were an effort. “Our patriotic navy has attacked a radar squadron on the north coast of Hokkaido, and now the fools cannot be recalled. The Japanese fear that we mean to invade them, and Prime Minister Enchi has asked for U.S. military assistance against us.”
Yemlin knew something was coming, yet he was stunned by how far it had gone. “How are the Americans reacting ⦠especially with everything they're facing?”
“Not good, Viktor Pavlovich. I spoke with President Yeltsin who believes that President Lindsay thinks he is lying. Shots are being exchanged not only between our navy and the Japanese, but between the American navy and the Japanese. The situation is very confusing. Very dangerous.”
Yemlin sat down. “The catalyst is the attack on the American air traffic control system. That was a Japanese operation, not Russian. Surely Lindsay's advisers know this.”
“That's why we called you,” Soroshkin said. “The ambassador believes that you should convince Mr. McGarvey to somehow get a message to the President about Mintori Assurance and everything else that
Abunai
supplied him.”
“I can't.”
“You cannot simply turn your back and walk away!” Zagorsky shouted.
“No, Mr. Ambassador. I mean that I don't know where Mr. McGarvey is, nor would I know how to find him.”
Zagorsky looked at Soroshkin with despair.
“I think that you should go to the President and tell him everything.” Yemlin suggested. “Perhaps more can be accomplished in person.”
“He's right,” Soroshkin agreed. “In any event we have nothing to lose.”
“I'll call the White House immediately,” the ambassador said. “Gather whatever materials you may need for your presentation, Viktor Pavlovich, and meet me downstairs in five minutes.”
“Mr. Ambassador?”
“You'll brief the President, naturally. You know more about this than anyone else.”
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Lindsay, Secor, Landry, and Murphy met with the Russian ambassador and Viktor Yemlin in the Oval Office.
“We are dealing with a difficult situation, so I will give you only a few minutes,” Lindsay said coldly.
“I appreciate the difficulties you are facing,” Zagorsky said. “But we have some important intelligence that was gathered for us in Tokyo.”
“We're listening.”
“Mr. President, my name is Viktor Yemlin. Until recently I acted as SUR
rezident
here in Washington. Several weeks ago Kirk McGarvey came to me for help with a situation he felt was becoming dangerous for the United States. Do you know this man?”
“Go on.”
“Mr. McGarvey uncovered a plot by a Japanese group to sabotage Guerin airplanes in such a way that public confidence in the company would be seriously eroded. When that happened the Japanese group would attempt an unfriendly takeover. Our ⦠sources in Tokyo found out that such a plot indeed existed and was being directed by a group of powerful corporations called Mintori Assurance, led by Sokichi Kamiya.”
“Get to the point,” Lindsay warned.
Yemlin was confused. “Mr. President, the attack on your nation's air traffic system was conducted by the Japanese, not us. Russia has no desire to damage the good relations we have with the United States.”
“Your warships are at this moment attacking Japan. President Yeltsin has promised to withdraw his forces, but so far that has not happened. Can you tell me why?”
“Mr. President, it is my understanding that the Pacific Fleet has been ordered to stop all activities in the regionâ” Zagorsky said. Lindsay cut him off.
“We will consider any further acts of aggression against Japan an act of war to which we will have to respond. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Mr. President, you have,” Zagorsky replied. “Let us all act with care.”
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“They were telling half-truths,” Secor said on the way back down to the situation room. “But the effect is the same as an outright lie. They're obviously stalling for time.”
“We have to base our judgments on the facts alone,” Murphy advised.
“I tend to agree with you,” Lindsay said.
A message from Naval Operations Pacific was waiting for them. Landry took the call. When he was finished he was ashen.
“That was about the
Thorn
in the East China Sea. The Japanese submarine has been destroyed.”
“Were there casualties on our side?” Lindsay asked.
“One of our Orions was shot down. No survivors. Our fighters out of Kadena shot the two Japanese jets out of the sky.”
“I want it stopped now!” Lindsay roared.
“The Japanese have backed off, and so have we.”
“Make sure,” the President ordered.
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“Mr. President, we are monitoring a lot of encrypted traffic between the Russian Embassy here in Washington and the Kremlin,” Amundson said.
“Do you have a decryption?” Lindsay asked.
“Not yet. They're using new equipment. But we think the messages are being directed to the Kremlin's Situation Room.”
“Any ELF traffic out of Vladivostok yet?”
“No, sir. And the latest satellite pass still shows Russian warships approaching the Soya Strait.”
“Keep me informed.”
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“Mr. Director, this is Tommy Doyle. We just got a message from the NTSB.”
“Where's Ryan?” Murphy demanded.
“I don't know, General. He's not in the building, so this was bounced over to me.”
“What do you have?”
“NTSB says that what brought down the planes was an explosive thermocouple frame on the engines. One of their engineers at Dulles figured it out. The frames are Russian built. Stuff is called P-4, Semtex and magnesium.”
“Sonofabitch!” Murphy swore. “No mistakes?”
“I talked to their chief investigator out there, Sam Varelis. He says they're real sure about it. Thing is the triggering signal came from a Japanese-designed unit. And the repeating transmitters that were placed at the eight airports were of an unknown design. Could have come from anywhere.”
Lindsay was looking at Murphy.
“I'll tell the President,” the DCI said. “In the meantime find out what the hell happened to Howard.”
“Will do,” Doyle said. “General?”
“Yes?”
“Good luck, sir.”
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“I think there can no longer be any doubt,” Lindsay said.
“Just a minute, Mr. President, anyone could have purchased the material from the Russians,” Murphy cautioned.
“Isn't it also possible that the Russians copied the design for the triggering mechanism from the Japanese?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We'll deal with facts,” Lindsay asserted. “Fact is the incident in the East China Sea happened because of a rogue submarine captain. But the situation in the Soya Strait is definitely by design.”
Murphy closed his eyes. He was bone weary. They all were. And tired men under stress made mistakes. There was too much that was confusing here. For the first time since this all began, he found that he was actually wishing McGarvey were here. He was a sonofabitch. But he was usually right.
“Mr. President, the circuit to Tokyo has been reestablished,” a technician said. “Prime Minister Enchi is calling.”
“Good. Now we're getting somewhere.” Lindsay put the call on the speakerphone. “Mr. Prime Minister, I have just learned something that has clarified the situation between our countries.”
“That is why I am calling, Mr. President, to explain the message that my director general of defense sent to Admiral Ryland.”
“We understand the mixup. We also monitored the telephone call that President Yeltsin made to Admiral Aladko. We know that the Russians mean to follow up their initial attack on your Hokkaido radar station.”
The circuit was quiet for several long beats. Lindsay figured Enchi was waiting for the translators to catch up.
“The Russian submarines have not withdrawn from the strait?” Enchi asked cautiously.
“Not at this time. I have ordered Admiral Ryland to send forces to monitor the situation.”
“Have you spoken with President Yeltsin?”
“Yes, I have. He understands that it is our intention to repel any further attacks against you.”
Again there was an odd pause on the circuit.
“I will inform my local commanders,” Enchi said. “Now, about the incident north of Okinawa.”
“An unfortunate misunderstanding, Mr. Prime Minister. Let us deal with first things first.”
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“I have a solution on the target,” Sattler reported. “Range forty-seven thousand yards, bearing zero-niner-seven.”
“Prepare to launch TASM Tomahawk on my mark,” Hanrahan said. The surface-to-surface missile carried nearly a half-ton of high explosives to its target at more than five hundred miles per hour.
“Skipper?”
“On my mark,” Hanrahan repeated.
Ryder slammed down the phone he was using. “Belay that order!” he shouted.
Hanrahan turned on him. “You're relieved of duty right now, XO!”
“Skipper, we've been ordered to disengage immediately. Comes direct from Seventh. What do you want me to tell them?”
Hanrahan was shaking. “Goddammit!”
Ryder came across the bridge. “For Christ's sake, Mike, it's just a sailboat. We got confirmation from Foster on Okinawa. Belongs to a jarhead lieutenant.”
“What the hell is he doing out here?”
“Trying to survive,” Ryder said. “Just like us.”
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