Polunin shook his head. “Even you are not supposed to know about that.”
“Everyone knows.”
“Can we send
Abunai
to Washington without trouble?”
“I think so.”
“Then do it, Colonel. The sooner he talks to McGarvey, the better I'll feel. In the meantime I'll light another fire under Tokyo Station's ass. Its political section is busy, but its field officers aren't.”
Â
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Carol Moss slid open the hatch from below and handed Stan Liskey two big mugs of hot beef noodle soup. The weather had closed in, covering the moon, blotting out anything beyond the ship's running lights. Any movement, especially below, was nearly impossible. The fact she'd somehow managed to heat some soup was practically miraculous.
“No need for you to be up here,” Liskey shouted.
“Stay below out of the wind.”
“Unless you want barf all over the cabin sole, I need fresh air,” she shouted back. She waited until a wave passed under them, then levered herself over the hatch-boards into the cockpit and deftly slammed the hatch.
“How's our track holding up?”
“We'll be out of this soon. From what I could tell on the chart there's at least one good anchorage along Tokuno's south coast in the bight, and a bunch around the hump to the east.”
As soon as she hooked on with her safety harness and braced herself against the bulkhead beneath the spray dodger, Liskey handed her a cup of soup. “We'll go for the bight. If the wind shifts it'll give us an easier choice, east or west.”
“We're good on this course then.” She took a ham and cheese sandwich wrapped in a paper towel from a pocket in her foul-weather gear for him. “Mustard okay?”
“You're amazing.”
Carol laughed. “Just don't forget it when the sun is shining and we're on dry land and I burn your toast.”
“Never happen.”
“Count on it,” she said. She started on her soup. Liskey checked the lines on the Aires windvane that automatically steered the boat, then drank his soup. It was very hot and very good. Despite the increasing wind and waves, and the steadily decreasing temperature, he felt a sense of well-being. He was on his boat with a woman he loved in a time and place of his own choosing, doing exactly what he wanted to be doing. They were in no real danger, although there was always the possibility that a weakened swage on one of the shrouds or stays
could fail and the mast would fall down. Or the windvane could break, forcing them to hand steer to their anchorage, which was a difficult and very tiring job under these conditions. Or they could hit something tossed off a passing freighter or tanker that was big enough to hole them beneath the waterline. It wasn't an uncommon experience. There'd been cases in which small boats had been sunk in as little as ninety seconds. But even that thought did little to dampen his spirits. They had an automatically inflating life raft well equipped for just such an occurrence. They even carried an emergency position indicating radio beaconâan EPIRBâthat would automatically send out a mayday signal to other boats and to high-flying commercial airplanes.
Nothing was foolproof, Liskey told himself. But then neither was life itself. He smiled to himself. A philosopher he wasn't, but out here like this he felt a very strong sense of his own life force in sync with the ebb and flow of life in, on, and above the sea.
“What's so funny?” Carol shouted.
“You'll have me certified and put away if I tell you.”
“Let me guess. You love this.”
“We're alive.” Liskey glanced at the compass and knotlog. They were sailing just east of due north and making better than five knots even under severely reefed sails. He studied their phosphorescent wake aft. The Aires steered an S pattern. “I don't know if I can explain it any better, Carol.”
“I think I know what you mean,” she replied after a moment or two. “But it's so goddamned macho I don't know if I understand.”
“It's easy.”
“If you mean that you have to put your life in danger in order to feel alive, you know, like a bungee jumper or something, then I guess you should be committed. Except if that were the criterion our asylums would be crammed to the rafters with men, leaving none of them on the outside. A situation I, for one, wouldn't like.”
“Vive la différence.”
“Something like that,” Carol said. “But I'm not just a passenger on this sailboat. I chose to be here just as you did.” She swept an arm toward the darkness around them. “My blood is pumping too, Stan. But it doesn't mean I have to like this part of it. For me sailing across a quiet lagoon with ten knots of wind kicking up nothing more than a ripple is pretty exciting. Gets my blood racing thinking I'd be there with you.”
“There aren't many people who could do this.”
“Or would,” Carol said. “Doesn't make them all bad, just different. And when we drop the hook you let out as big a sigh of relief as the next person.”
“A sense of accomplishment.”
“Yes, but for me that's a better part than this.”
“You can't have that part without first doing this.”
She laughed out loud. “What a load of crap, Stan. But here I am.” Again she swept an arm toward the darkness beyond. “Even if they were forty-footers, and you chose to be out here, I'd be with you.”
Liskey opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.
“Not a particularly nineties thing for me to admit. And Gloria Steinem would probably spit up if she heard me. Fact is, I love you. Nothing's going to change that.”
“You never said that before.”
She laughed again. “Death-bed confession.”
He couldn't take his eyes off her. He wanted to drink her in great draughts. He wanted to absorb her entire body and personality into his. “I love you,” he shouted. He raised his head. “I love you,” he shouted into the wind. “I love you!”
Â
Yemlin was waiting for McGarvey at Kennedy's tomb in Arlington Cemetery. “A meeting has been arranged.”
“With whom?” McGarvey asked. They headed away from the eternal flame. The weather was once again overcast and cold. It looked like more snow.
“Somebody who might be able to help. But listen to me, my old friend. There is no guarantee that he will
know anything of value to you. He has been instructed to cooperate. But don't shoot the messenger.”
“SUR?”
Yemlin shrugged. “He is
Abunai.
”
“What's his position in the network?”
“No, Mac, he is
Abunai.
The network, except for a few field officersâa very few field officersâis only one man. He has agreed to come from Tokyo to talk with you.”
“When, Viktor Pavlovich?”
“He'll be here tonight.”
McGarvey stopped the Russian. “That doesn't make sense. There's no way he could get here from Tokyo in such a short time.”
“He's coming from Honolulu.”
“Are you going to tell me what the hell he's doing there, or am I going to have to wait?”
“You'll have to wait, because I don't know.”
Â
“Ms. Kilbourne, you look radiant,” Edward R. Reid said.
“That's what I like about mature men. They don't get tongue-tied when they pay a woman a compliment.”
“The nineties do seem to have gotten away from us. But the good side is that women like you are doing well, although it puts some of us men at a disadvantage.”
“We do our best,” Dominique said as she and Reid followed the maitre d' to their table. The restaurant was full, as usual for a weekday. People at a couple of tables waved to Reid, but she didn't see any familiar faces. One thing she had caught, though, was Reid's nervousness. Something was bothering him. “How's the
Lamplighter
doing now that you've taken on the Japanese?”
“Circulation is up, as a matter of fact.” Reid eyed her speculatively. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“Some of the people I represent are worried. About the Japanese.”
“And well they should be,” Reid said as they sat down. “Although Boeing seems to be doing well working with them. Problem is-there's no telling how long Japan
can remain stable. It's been on the brink of bankruptcy since the early nineties. Of course so have we, although we have a depth of resources that they do not.”
“You're talking about natural resources?”
“Exactly. Especially oil, which it desperately needs from the Middle East. It's completely dependent on the sea lanes. If its supplies were to be cut for even a short time, it'd suffer.”
“There are no threats now that the Soviet Union has broken apart,” Dominique said.
The waiter came, and they ordered drinks.
“Haven't you been watching television, or reading newspapers?”
“It's a localized problem. Or do you see it differently, Mr. Reid? Do you think the Russians will retaliate?”
“It could happen. Which would further destabilize the political situation out there.” Reid looked across the room as if he were suddenly unsure of himself. As if he were worried that someone was watching them.
“We have a problem.”
“With the Japanese?” Reid asked. Two men followed the maitre d' across the dining room to a nearby table. They looked like cops.
“One of my companies thinks the Japanese are after them. It's Guerin. They're worried about the accident at Dulles last week. They think it could have been sabotage. And there's been a move by a Japanese consortium to force an unfriendly takeover, which would be easy if Guerin's stocks went down the drain.”
Reid moistened his lips. “I've heard the takeover rumors, but nothing about the accident. Is the company sure about the sabotage? The National Transportation Safety Board hasn't made a ruling yet, has it?”
Dominique shook her head. “It's more complicated than that, Mr. Reid. Which is why I decided to ask for your help.”
“Please call me Edward. But are you saying that you've come to me on your own initiative, without telling anyone?”
“Not Guerin ⦠Edward. I don't want to raise any false hopes. But they're really in trouble.” Dominique glanced across the room for effect. “All this is in strict confidence.”
“Of course. How can I help?”
“They're so desperate that they've hired an ex-CIA spy. But he's got them so confused that they're starting to believe everyone is after them. There was that American Airlines crash in '90 that McGarveyâhe's the spy they hiredâthinks was engineered by the Japanese. But the one last week, according to him, was caused by someone right here in this country.”
Reid visibly blanched.
“It's stupid, but he's convinced the FBI and probably even the CIA to take a look. But it has to be Japan, don't you think? They're the only ones who have anything to gain if Guerin goes bankrupt.”
Their drinks came and they ordered lunch, but Reid was obviously distracted.
“Have you talked to him, this fellow Kirk McGarvey?”
“Of course. He's here in Washington now, as a matter of fact.”
“Where's he staying?”
“I don't know. Thing is, Edward, I need your help to convince him and Guerin that it's the Japanese consortium that's after them. Not somebody here. Will you do it?”
For a moment it didn't seem as if Reid would answer her. But then he nodded. “It'll have to wait until after the weekend.”
“Oh?”
“I'm flying with the President on Sunday to Tokyo. When I come back I'll be happy to lend a hand.”
Â
Ryutaro Teramura looked like a college student, McGarvey thought, not the head of a Russian intelligence-gathering network. His effectiveness stemmed, Yemlin explained, from the fact that he was the number-two
most powerful man in the Japanese Socialist Party. They met in an apartment in Arlington.
“I've heard about you,”
Abunai
said. “I thought you were inactive.”
“Except for this assignment, I am. Now I need your help.”
Teramura glanced at Yemlin. “Was it explained why I was in Honolulu when the call came?”
“No,” the Russian said.
“It's ironic, but my party sent me to Hawaii to meet the Guerin airplane
America
on Sunday. It's to be a goodwill gesture to show that the government does not back Kamiya's plans.”