“Why?” Carrara asked.
“It came after you left. Reid's on the President's Tokyo Summit team. He'll be on Air Force One on Sunday. Makes him an untouchable unless the Attorney General gives her nod, which I'm told she won't.”
Â
David was in Washington again, probably with that bitch Dominique, so Chance had not bothered to go home. After their long talk last night Arimoto had not wanted her to stay. She'd seen it in his eyes. But he'd finally given in, and they'd made love several more times, her way, with some old Kenny G on the disc player.
She'd slept late, and waking with the sun streaming through the penthouse bedroom windows she had a few moments of luxury before the terrible guilt returned. The fact is she was a failure as a spy. When she was with Arimoto, when they were talking and making love, she had no control. Even last night, when she'd taken charge, her focus had remained on the sex, not on what she'd set out to do.
Lying in bed, her mind racing, she knew that McGarvey was right to warn her about Arimoto. At some point last night, despite her self-indulgence, it came to her that Arimoto was no businessman. He was not here to negotiate a deal with Guerin. In fact he was here to spy on the company and do whatever it took to bring it down.
She turned those thoughts over. So what? When Guerin fell, David would be free. One airplane company more or less would not have that much of an effect on the international balance of trade. Portland would be devastated, but as a whole the country would be just fine. After all, the Japanese already owned most of Hawaii, half of California, and a bunch of buildings in Manhattan.
Chance got out of bed and used the bathroom. Putting on a white silk kimono, she went into the living room just as Yamagata was seeing a man to the door. They stopped and exchanged bows, Yamagata's back to her. But his guest spotted her and said something.
Yamagata turned and smiled. “I hope we did not disturb you.”
“Not at all,” Chance said. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”
“Run the bath, and I'll order us breakfast.”
“Okay,” Chance said. She went back into the bedroom and closed the door, her heart beginning to race. The man was Japanese, and Arimoto's bow had been slightly deeper than his. Etiquette was very important, he'd taught her. It marked the difference between civilization and chaos. Respect for one's superiors was at the very top of the list. His bow had been deeper.
What the hell had she gotten herself into here?
Â
The
FF Cook
and
FF Barbey
pulled out of Yokosuka at 3:00 A.M. with no fanfare. They headed down Tokyo Bay past the rest of Seventh Fleet in port, pouring on speed as soon as possible. Even before they passed the sea buoy and turned to the southwest, both Knox-class antisubmarine warfare frigates were making in excess of thirty knots. The wind and seas continued to rise and it promised to be a rough eighteen hours until they rendezvoused with the
DD Thorn
, which was still well north of Takara Jima Island.
The
Cook's
skipper called the
Barbey's
skipper on the encrypted radiotelephone. “How's it going back there, Jim?” The night was black.
“Tough to keep coffee in a cup, but we're right on your tail,” Lieutenant Commander James Otter replied.
“We're painting two supertankers southbound eighty miles out.”
“Got 'em. Did you catch the illumination on the way out?”
Lieutenant Commander Adam Zimmerman glanced at his XO and grinned. “Sure did. No guesswork where
we're headed, so keep a sharp watch.
Chrysanthemum
may not be their only asset out here.”
“Won't happen until after the strait.”
“You're probably right. But we'll keep on top of this one.”
“Tanegashima,” Otter warned.
“They're not going to put anything into the air in this weather.”
“They'll be telling us something if they do.”
“That's for sure,” Zimmerman said. “Keep your eyes open.”
Â
Japanese Self Defense Force destroyer
DD118 Murakumo
was on full alert at her Yokosuka berth. The entire fleet was being held at the state of readiness because of the deteriorating situation with the Russians. Even in port, however, the Escort Fleet Headquarters flagship maintained an around-the-clock vigilance. Pearl Harbor had taught them that lesson in reverse. No place was truly safe, not even home port. When the two American frigates were finally out of radar range, the Murakumo's skipper, Commander Noburo Shirokita, and his XO, Lieutenant Commander Yashusi Morita, left the bridge for the skipper's battle cabin. This was how wars began, one confusing situation developing into another, like cherry blossoms suddenly popping out after a sharp change in the weather. Only long afterward, when the survivors picked through the rubble, could any sense be made of the situation, especially the first days. But what was happening now seemed especially senseless to Shirokita, whose father had survived the war as a young lieutenant and helped reestablish the navy under pressure from the Americans to do so in the fifties and sixties. They were supposed to be the first line of defense against a Soviet breakout into the Pacific. Just like West Germany had been the first line of defense against Soviet land forces moving in from the east. But those threats no longer existed.
“Unless we receive orders to follow them, there is little
else we can do this morning,
Kan-cho.
” Morita poured their tea.
“I'm told the air force will handle it from Tanegashima. We have no business running after them.”
“Pardon me, sir, but they know that we are on alert, and they know that we are monitoring their progress and their transmissions. Won't an Air Force fly-over be perceived as a threat?”
“Certainly, but a threat to whom?” Shirokita asked. “The Americans or that bastard Kiyoda?” Nobody was claiming responsibility for allowing that fool to regain his command and actually sail out of here. But sooner or later heads would roll.
Â
Bruno Mueller arrived back at Chicago's O'Hare Airport a few minutes after six and went down to retrieve his single overnight bag from the carousel. The flight from Washington's National where he'd left his car had been less than half full, so the luggage came out quickly. He'd had a lot to think about on the way out, and he was still preoccupied as he turned to leave. Louis had run into trouble with the signal train out of Tokyo. At first he'd been annoyed, and he'd thrown one of his tantrums. But when he'd finally calmed down, he discovered that the Bank of Tokyo had installed what he called an “antivirus” program in its computer system. “Designed,” Louis explained, “to stop the kind of shit we're trying to pull.”
“Do they know we're tampering with their system?” Mueller asked.
“No. It's just a precaution. Means they're nervous.”
“Can you get around it?”
Louis had a wild look in his eyes. He was losing it. “There isn't a program I can't defeat,” he said. He studied his computer screen. “Twenty-four hours, man. The bastards won't know they've been raped. What do you think about that?”
The operation was disintegrating. With Glen gone there was no one to control Louis, whose devotion to Mueller had been short-lived. Reid was falling apart and
was about ready to crack. And Mueller was beginning to believe that he should kill them both and get out.
But Reid's plan was charming. One last strike at the West. One final act of terrorism that would go down in the books as a day of infamy in America's history. Not that anyone but an Islamic fundamentalist would care.
“Reston,” someone called. “Tom Reston.”
Mueller was instantly alert. There were only a few people who knew him by that work name. None of them would do him any good here. He stopped as a short, gray-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard came over from a United carousel where he was waiting for his bags to come up. Mueller put a name to the face immediately.
“Bill White. Air Traffic Control, Oakland.”
“That's right. Nice to see you again.” They shook hands. “How's the article coming?”
“Slow but steady.”
“If you're working your way east, O'Hare is a good stop,” White said. “Damned fine crew. Earl Heintz, the chief controller, is one of the best in the country.”
“What brings you so far from home?” Mueller asked. If this one discovered that no one at
High Technology Business
or
Aviation Week & Space Technology
magazines had ever heard of Thomas Reston, the operation would definitely be in jeopardy.
“Union meeting.”
“Here at the airport, tonight?”
“Holiday Inn. Starts tomorrow, but some of the guys will be drifting in tonight. You might want to drop by, if you have the time. I'll introduce you around. For background.”
“That's a coincidence. I'm staying at the Holiday Inn. You can ride over with me, I'm going to rent a car.”
White glanced back at the still empty carousel. “I have to wait for my suitcase.”
“I'll get the car and meet you out front. There're a couple of questions I'd like to ask you on the way over.”
“Sounds good,” White agreed.
Mueller hurried to the Budget counter where he rented a Chrysler LeBaron for dropoff in Minneapolis,
using his Howard Ellefson identification and credit card. White was waiting in front when Mueller drove up. He tossed his small suitcase in the back seat.
“I hate those damned shuttle buses, but they're a lot cheaper than cabbing it,” White said. “How come you had to rent a car?”
“I want to get over to Meigs Field tomorrow sometime.”
“There's nothing much worth seeing there. Not for your article anyway.”
“I thought I'd take a couple of days off. See some friends. It's been a long time since I've been back here.”
“I know what you mean,” White said. “But except for O'Hare, you can have Chicago. Too big, too dirty, too much crime.”
“Oh?”
“It's getting as bad as L.A. Too dangerous to be anywhere near downtown at night.”
“How about this far out?” Mueller asked.
White shrugged. “Who knows? There's no place really safe these days.”
It only took a few minutes to get over to the Holiday Inn from the terminal, and Mueller pulled around to the side of the hotel and parked in front of some bushes next to the building.
“Hope you don't mind the extra walk, Bill. But I didn't want to register first and then have to move the car.”
“No problem,” the air traffic controller said.
Mueller got around to the passenger side of the car just as White was pulling his suitcase out of the back seat. The parking lot was nearly full, but for the moment no one was around.
“Here, let me help you.” Mueller took White's arm with his left hand and pulled him around. With his right, he plunged the nine-inch stiletto into the man's chest just below his left breast.
White was surprised. He looked down at the stiletto in his chest and then up at Mueller. “Whyâ?” he asked, then he collapsed. Moments later he was dead.
Making sure that no one was coming, Mueller removed the stiletto from the dead man's chest, wiped the blade off, and then took the man's wallet and money from his pockets before hiding the body behind the bushes.
He drove immediately to the rear of the hotel, where he rifled through White's suitcase and tossed everything into a garbage dumpster, along with the wallet after he'd taken the credit cards and a hundred dollar bill stuck behind the photograph of two small girls hugging Mickey Mouse.
It would be hours before White's body was discovered. Possibly not until morning.
An unfortunate happenstance that would, however, not slow him down, he told himself leaving the Holiday Inn parking lot. He would find a good steakhouse for dinner, place the repeater in the Commission's Noise Management Program office, and then drive immediately to Minneapolis. With luck he would be finished well before the morning shift arrived.
Â
Carrara telephoned McGarvey at Dominique's Watergate apartment. “Are you clean?”
“For the moment.”
“No file on Reid. The Attorney General's office has quashed that part of the investigation for the moment on another strong recommendation from the White House. But listen to this,
compar,
Reid has switched sides. He's going to Tokyo on Sunday with the President. It changes everything.”
“I thought he was anti-Japanese.”
“He is. Which means he's probably covering his ass in case everything's worked out at the summit. But he can't be involved with this plot to bring down Guerin, or else Air Force One won't be a target. He wouldn't risk his own life.”