Ralph Peters (31 page)

Noburu sized up the others. Tanjani had played his card—neither Shemin nor Biryan had known anything about the matter. They were, however, rapidly becoming interested.

Noburu could not imagine worse allies. What did they have to offer Japan other than trouble, threats, complaints, endless discontents? He wondered if Japan were not unconsciously replacing the United States in yet another sphere.

"
My dear General Tanjani,
"
Noburu said,
"
may I offer you a visit to the Bukhara site? You are welcome to inspect everything. You will see for yourself. There is nothing at Bukhara other than aircraft, maintenance facilities—and electronics. General Yameshima could arrange such a visit
immediately.
"

It was Tanjani's turn to be caught off-guard. Noburu knew that the Iranian could easily walk through the facility and even sit behind the controls of the aircraft without
realizing their purpose.

"
Perhaps . . .
"
Tanjani said,
"
. . . when there is more time. Yes. Perhaps this is a very good idea. But Bukhara is far from the front. A commander's place is with his troops.
"

Noburu knew that Tanjani would not return immediately to the front from the combined headquarters at Baku. First, the Iranian would stop off in Meshed, in the safety of northern Iran, where he would spend the night in the company of a woman who was distinctly not his wife. But the war would go on without him.

"
Yes,
"
Shemin said, rising,
"
we should all be with our troops. And the road is long.
"
He smiled.
"
Even when we journey in the fine aircraft our Japanese brothers have provided.
"

Noburu rose and bowed formally to the other men. Tanjani made a great show of hugging and kissing the prim Japanese, mussing Noburu's uniform. Shemin followed with a token embrace that took better account of Noburu's
customs, while Biryan, the rebel, shook hands like a Westerner.

A strange world, Noburu thought.

Amid the formalities of departure, Noburu mentioned to Kloete, who had silently listened to the verbal maneuvering, that the South African pilots would soon have a mission, and that he should keep himself readily available. The tall blond man gave a terse, if polite acknowledgment.

There is not one among them whom I can trust, Noburu thought.

Then they were gone. Akiro did not move to update his superior at once, sensing that Noburu required a breathing space after the ordeal of the meeting.

Noburu moved to help himself to another Scotch. But, bottle in hand, he stopped himself. What was the point? Even such controlled drinking suddenly struck him as unmanly under the circumstances. He was, surely, stronger than this.

He punished himself, disallowing this one comfort. At least for now. But the meeting had, as always, exhausted him. It was like trying to wage war with armies composed of wicked delinquent children.

Grateful for the fresh quiet, Noburu crossed the big room and opened the drape, conscious that his aide was watching him, squinting at the intensity of the sunlight. Until recently, the suite had belonged to a high-ranking Soviet officer. Now the last Soviet reoccupation forces were gone from Azerbaijan, and there was only scattered guerilla resistance in Armenia and Georgia, as the rebels and the forces of the Islamic Union pushed northward as far as the Kalmuck steppe. In the east, the Soviets had been expelled from Tadzhikistan, from Kirghizistan, Uzbekistan, and Turkistan. And they were almost gone from the vast expanse of Kazakhstan. Everywhere, the Soviets were on the run. Noburu mused that, if the Soviets regretted any single thing at this juncture, it must be their too-successful crusade to ban nuclear weapons. They had overestimated by far their ability to maintain a conventional hegemony on the Eurasian land mass. Now they were being dissected.

Of course, the technology still existed to construct nuclear weapons anew. But the Soviets were out of time. All they could do, he thought mockingly, was to ring up the poor Americans for help.

Well, it would all go well. Despite the sort of men Japan had chosen as allies. Everything would be fine. It was really a great day for Japan.

Beyond the oversize window, the cluttered hillside fell away to the density of Baku and the golden-blue sea beyond. A long way from home, he thought. In the southern sunlight, the autumn day still held the sort of warmth that felt so good on an old man's back. And the city lay in a midday swoon. It was a handsome, peaceful vista, where not long before all of the non-Moslem Soviet residents had been massacred in the streets by the maddened Azerbaijanis.

How had the Russians been so blind, for so long? Or had they merely been obstinate? Had they seen the inevitable and simply put it out of mind, dreaming away the danger in the slumber of their long decay?

Nightmare sleep. You woke, and there was your brother with a knife.

"
Tell me,
"
Noburu said suddenly, turning away from the panorama of green and white, of brown, blue, and gold,
"
what do you make of these contacts between the Soviets and the Americans, Akiro?
"
He wanted to hear the voice of Tokyo, of his own people, explaining it all to
him one more time.

The aide gave a verbal command that froze the flow of data on the monitor.
"
The Americans?
"
he said, surprised. Clearly, his thoughts had been elsewhere.

"
Yes. The Americans,
"
Noburu said.
"
What could they possibly offer the Soviets?
"

"
Sympathy?
"
Akiro said with a tight smile, dismissing the issue.
"
The Americans have given up. All they want is to be left alone in their bankrupt hemisphere. And to sell a few third-rate goods here and there. To those who cannot afford ours.
"

"
It's well known that the Americans have been working hard to catch up militarily. And their strategic defense system is very good.
"

"
They'll never catch up,
"
Akiro said in a tone of finality that was almost rude.
"
They're racially degenerate. The Americans are nothing but mongrel dogs.
"

Noburu smiled, listening to his aide speak for the General Staff and the man in the Tokyo street.
"
But, Akiro, mongrel dogs are sometimes very intelligent. And strong.
"

"
America is the refuse heap of the world,
"
the aide replied, reciting from half a dozen Japanese bestsellers.
"
Their minorities merely drag them down. In the years of the pestilence, they even had to order their own military into their cities. And the military could barely meet the challenge. For all of their 'catching up,' they still cannot completely control the situation in Latin America. In Mexico alone, they'll still be tied down for a generation. The Americans are finished.
"
Akiro made a hard face, the visage of a warrior from a classical Japanese print.
"
Perhaps they can take in a few Soviet refugees, as they took in the Israelis.
"

Noburu, an officer of legendary selfcontrol, crossed the room and broke his promise to himself. He poured himself a Scotch, without measuring.

"
It simply occurs to me,
"
Noburu said quietly,
"
that Japan underestimated the Americans once before.
"
And he let the bitter liquor fill his mouth.

12

Omsk

2 November 2020

Taylor stared at the face on the oversize briefing
screen, searching the features for any trace of vulnerability. Marks of weakness, marks of woe, he told himself, the words singing briefly through his memory. He had become a careful observer of men's faces, and he was convinced that you could tell a great deal about your enemy from his appearance. The primitive cultures in which the belief prevailed that photographs stole away the soul were, in Taylor's view, closer to the truth than Western man realized. There, captive within the boundaries of the big screen, was his enemy, unable to resist this silent interrogation. And Taylor already sensed weakness in the features, although he still could not pin down the precise physical clue. The mouth was trim and strong, the skin smooth. The foreign contours of the eyes made it difficult for Taylor to see into them. The hair was dark and impressively youthful. No, he could not point to the perceived vulnerability as he might point to a spot on the map. But it was there. He was sure of it.

"
All right, Merry,
"
he told his intelligence officer.
"
You can go on.
"

Meredith briefly scanned the rows of waiting officers, then settled his gaze back on the colonel.

"
This,
"
he repeated,
"
is General Noburu Kabata, the
senior Japanese officer in the theater of operations.
"
His words echoed in the cold gloom of the warehouse.
"
Kabata is a senior Japanese Defense Forces general officer, with broad experience both in field positions and in staff jobs related to defense industry. If you look at the ribbons on his chest—just there,
"
Meredith gestured with his laser pointer,
"
in the third row—that sand-and-green ribbon indicates that he served with the Japanese advisory contingent in South Africa, during our . . . expedition.
"

Taylor almost interrupted Meredith a second time, anxious to ask for specific details. But he caught himself. He would wait until the S-2 finished his pitch. He did not want to risk revealing a sign of his weakness in front of his subordinates. Africa was far from their concerns at the moment.

"
Kabata has always been involved with heavy forces and cutting edge technology,
"
Meredith continued.
"
He's not only aviation-qualified, but he was reportedly a test pilot for a while. When he was younger, of course. Speaks excellent English, which he perfected as an exchange student at the British staff college at Camberly, class of 2001. Reputation as an Anglophile. Even flies to London to have his suits tailored. Kabata's
not
in the military because he needs a job. His family's wealthy, although they took a beating when we nationalized all of the Japanese-owned real estate in the United States. Their holdings were rather extensive. Anyway, the guy's from a powerful old family, with a long military tradition.
"
Meredith paused for a moment, chewing the air.
"
But not everything tracks. His wife's a professor of linguistics, and they have two children, a son and a daughter. The daughter works in publishing. Son's a chemical engineer. And that's what doesn't follow. This family has been military since Christ was a corporal, and Kabata's had a career that's been highly successful by any standards. Yet, he reportedly discouraged his son from becoming an officer.
"

We're alike in that, Taylor thought. If I had a son, he would never be a soldier.

"
Other than Africa,
"
Meredith went on,
"
the highlights of his professional career include a voluntary tour on the United Nations' team that assessed damage and helped
supervise the evacuation of the last Israelis to the United States. He was one of the few inspectors willing to enter the dead zone around Tel Aviv and the nuclear wastelands surrounding Damascus, Latakia, and the other sites targeted by Israeli retaliatory strikes.
"

"
Merry,
"
Lieutenant Colonel David Heifetz, the regiment's operations officer, interrupted.
"
I met him, you know. In Israel. It was only the briefest of meetings. He was on a committee of the UN that was sent to receipt for our weapons. Before we could get on the planes. He did not seem at all a bad man to me. Very much a decent sort of man. I felt . . . well, you know, he is a soldier. As we are all soldiers. And I felt that he understood what I was experiencing. Watching and counting as my men turned over their arms. It was a very bad day for me, and I felt that he did not want it to be any worse. That's all. I wish I could remember more. But other things were important to me then.
"

"
Dave,
"
Taylor said coldly, before Meredith could resume,
"
if he's such a great guy, why is he dumping nerve gas on refugee columns?
"

Heifetz looked down the row of chairs toward Taylor, his face set even more earnestly than usual.

"
I don't know,
"
he said, voice tinged with genuine regret.
"
I cannot answer that question.
"

Taylor switched his attention back to Meredith.
"
All right, Merry. Tell us more about this . . . man.
"

Merry shrugged.
"
He's the sort of officer who seems to do everything well. Even writes. His reports on collateral damage from the Middle East were repeatedly cited at the International Conference on the Immediate Elimination of Nuclear Weapons the Soviets sponsored in New Delhi. That was,
"
Merry said,
"
perhaps the last time Soviet and Japanese interests coincided. Over the past few years, he's been a key player in the Japanese program to equip and train the Islamic Iranian Armed Forces and the military arm of the Islamic Union. This operation is the culmination of his work. Yet, there are persistent rumors in the military
attaché
community in Tokyo of problems between him and the General Staff.
"

"
What kind of problems?
"
Taylor asked sharply.

"
Unknown. And the reports may be unsubstantiated. Other than that, we don't have much on him. Drinks Scotch, in moderation. Loves to play golf. But so does anybody who's anybody in Japan. Whenever he's in London, he goes to the theater.
"

"
Whore around?
"

Merry shook his head.
"
Nothing the Brits thought worth mentioning.
"

"
Merry,
"
Taylor said, careful to maintain a tone of relative nonchalance,
"
did you happen to pick up anything else about his service in Africa? Was he ... an active participant?
"

"
Sir, I don't know. All we have on that is the ribbon on his chest. He could have received that for sitting in Capetown.
"

"
Or ... for any number of things.
"

"
Yes, sir.
"

It didn't matter, Taylor told himself. He had the man now. General Noburu Kabata. Who flew around the world to dress up in another man's heritage. Whose preferred drink was Scotch. Who encouraged his son to break with tradition in a land where tradition still mattered.
"
Reputation as an Anglophile,
"
as Merry put it. But the chosen mask was unimportant. Taylor recognized the type. If not an Anglophile, then a Francophile, or Germanophile. It did not matter. Anything to get out from under the burden pressing down on him since birth. Anything, in order to be anyone other than the man he had been condemned to be.

I can beat him, Taylor insisted to himself, hoping it was true.

He looked at Meredith, who was waiting for any further questions. The assembled officers shifted and rustled, and Taylor knew that they were cold and anxious to return to their own subordinates, to solve the inevitable last-minute problems. And the briefing had only begun. Well, he would not waste too much of their time.

"
You know, Merry,
"
Taylor began. The small noises ceased as the collected officers leaned to hear the commander's words.
"
There's just one thing I can't for the life of me understand. It nags at me. I know the Japanese have

a reputation as being hard sonsofbitches. But I just don t get the chemicals. What's the point? What is it in this bastard that makes him do such a thing? With his goddamned English suits and his golf clubs.
"

Merry touched a control and the big screen went blank. At once, there seemed to be a greater silence in the room, a visual silence.