by Doug Walker
"You've got the clout with the Japanese. How much help are you getting over there?" Baker asked.
"They've placed their Defense Forces under Admiral Blades. There had been some hesitation, some reluctance to respond. As you know, Japan is not exactly a democratic society. It's basically a one-party system. Has been since 1955, and that party is run by factions. So the factions are extremely important. Minister Yoshimoto was, or is, a member of the prime minister's faction, the second most important member. It's a bitter pill for them to swallow that he's not only a murderer, but the leader of anything like the Fuurin Kazan. They are helping us, but is their heart really in it? Do they believe? I can't answer that."
"I've heard they're intensely peace loving," Baker said.
"Well, yes," the President replied. "Ever since World War Two. For more than 50 years they've harped on a peace culture, holding up Hiroshima for all the world to see. At times they've almost seemed to reverse roles with us, that the war was our fault, that Hiroshima was all our crime, the despicable act of a bloodthirsty people. It's brought them tremendous prosperity and created us as their best customer. But now China's more productive. Sometimes I feel like I'm not the President of the U.S., but the head consumer, the chief shopper."
"You're not alone. We too are one of their markets. By the way, would you like me to send you some more Israeli wine?"
A brief silence, then the President said, "I wish you wouldn't. As it is we have wine from California, New York, Virginia and Ohio, to name just four states. If anybody caught me drinking foreign wine, no matter how I got it, it's just a problem I don't need. But I'll send you a few jugs from California."
"I wouldn't mind that," Baker said.
***
Admiral Guy Blades had sought a suitable land base for his flag staff, which now included several Japanese, two Israelis and one Aussie. Finding none, he found himself once more on a Belknap-class guided missile cruiser, this time smack in the middle of the Tsugaru Strait.
Blades was operating under the theory that the warheads had been delivered and that the missiles would be fired from somewhere underwater in the area of the Strait. If there were a firing, every missile under his command would be used to down the renegade. Other vessels would move in to depth charge and use homing torpedoes on the firing area.
In the meantime, he had one improved LA-class submarine prowling the Strait and CINPACFLT was speeding a Seawolf-class sub to the area. These were the best the U.S. Navy had to offer, their systems a complex of sophisticated computer programs, microprocessors and sensors. Both advanced hydrophones and sonar were fully operational on the two attack subs. Blades knew if the Fuurin Kazan were successful in launching missiles, one or both of the attack subs might be badly damaged, or lost, in the onslaught of fire that would follow. It was a chance he was prepared to take.
***
Silently the scuba divers of the Fuurin Kazan worked beneath the Strait. Using floatation belts and lift bags, they gently removed the warheads from the barge one by one and swam them back to the massive airlocks that housed the missiles. Once inside, the outer doors were eased shut, water was expelled, and technicians began uncrating the warheads and fitting them to the waiting missiles.
***
Digger and Nana hitchhiked with Blades' staff to the Strait and wheedled their way on board the cruiser. Cheddar prevailed upon the admiral to let them take a small boat and get a first-hand look at the Strait. So the three of them were in a small boat, a coxswain at the tiller, plying the choppy waters of the Tsugaru Strait.
They had been at it for the better part of an hour, going aimlessly this way and that, without a clue to what they were looking for.
Digger glanced at Cheddar, who had been unusually quiet for the last fifteen minutes. "I say, Myte. You look a bit green around the gills." The words "green" and "gills" made Cheddar shudder. He hunched over lower, his head resting against the gunwale, and hoped he would throw up and get it over with. Had his father really enjoyed this life for all those years?
Nana snuggled the foul weather jacket close to her chin and felt the raw wind of the Strait on her face. At least she was doing something. She felt salt on her lips, the misty spindrift, and wondered where Watanabe was at this moment.
CHAPTER 47: Sword of the Samurai
Finance Minister Yoshimoto was feeling good. The ceremony had gone well, everyone had shouted "banzai" at the end and he had drawn his Sword and flourished it in the air. The samurai robes had been a good idea. Everyone had been impressed and of course everyone had drunk too much sake.
In his apartment he found a petulant Yoko Kaji waiting for him.
"Really, Yoshimoto-san, I sit here with nothing to do while you go to some sort of costume party. There isn't even television here. At least no reception, just a couple of videotapes. And what trash they are, samurai dramas. Why are we here?"
"Isn't it enough that we're together, Yoko-chan? You have your Akira, and in a few days, with a little patience, you'll be surprised how good things will be."
"I doubt that. All I really wanted was a trip to Hawaii. I don't think that's too much to ask."
"It isn't too much, Yoko-chan. You will have that and much more. I'm almost sorry we were intimate so soon." Yoshimoto moved to a sideboard and poured himself sake. "Perhaps we should have saved that ecstasy for our wedding night. You are so young. I suppose my charisma overpowered you."
"Wedding night! Wait a minute. There's been no talk of marriage. I think maybe I should get out of here. This place is scary. I'm going home tomorrow."
"Yoko-chan," Yoshimoto shouted. "Your place is by my side. I have decided. You will do my bidding."
"That's a little old fashioned, isn't it?" she shouted back. "Besides, you're three times my age and I would never marry you!" She stamped her foot for emphasis then walked across the room and stared at the wall.
"But we are lovers, Yoko-chan," Yoshimoto implored.
"I have plenty of lovers. I have a sushi chef near the office. He said he would take me to Hawaii!"
"You've been seeing a sushi chef? You slept with a sushi chef? Where? In your apartment?" Yoshimoto was enraged.
"No, at least he had the decency to take me to a love hotel. And he's only thirty years old."
"And there have been others?" Yoshimoto demanded, blind with rage.
"There's the office manager on the new job you assigned me."
"You made love to a finance ministry clerk at love hotels?" Yoshimoto was amazed.
"No, in the supply room, unless things are busy. Then we go into the broom closet."
"Broom closet," Yoshimoto bellowed. "You make love standing up?"
"He stands up, I kneel down. There's plenty of room."
"Why did I trust you?" Yoshimoto shouted to the walls. "You blow a clerical employee in the broom closet!"
"That's a vulgar term," Yoko protested. "It's called oral sex and it's wonderful because there's absolutely no danger of pregnancy. What could be better?"
"Yoko," Yoshimoto demanded, "how long have you been having sex? When did it start?"
"Grandpa, your friend, violated me when I was thirteen. He's done it regularly ever since, but he's a nice old guy and he always leaves me a present. Candy and trinkets when I was young. More recently money. Sometimes as much as two thousand yen."
"Two thousand yen is nothing," Yoshimoto bellowed. "They charge twenty or thirty thousand yen in the soaplands. I was ready to marry, to actually marry, after all these years, a two-thousand yen whore."
Yoshimoto was beside himself with anger. Some of his friends had seen the girl. Did they know what she was? He had shut out Kyoko. For what? He had made an ass of himself. And what timing! A time when his triumph was almost assured, when he should be the soul of dignity and decorum. The Seventh Samurai had rolled in the gutter with a common whore. And there she stood, defiant before him.
In his rage, Yoshimoto drew his short sword and lunged toward Yoko. The nimble girl dodged and he wen
t crashing into the wall. He turned and chased her across the room, flailing at her with his sword. She screamed and ran, putting the bed between herself and what seemed to be a madman. He moved slowly around the bed, panting from the activity, ready to thrust his blade into the core of her body. She cowered against the wall, lips quivering, then scrambled across the bed.
Yoko raced for the door, frantically twisting the knob. Yoshimoto had locked it on the way in. She turned slowly, aware of what waited her.
The sharp blade slid between her ribs, just below the left breast. Yoshimoto had gone for the heart. She died almost instantly, eyes fogging over, muscles relaxing. Yoshimoto dropped the sword and Yoko crumpled to the floor, coming to rest on her side. In that position she looked like a very small, very young girl, who had put on her mother's makeup.
Yoshimoto turned and sobbed. He was no longer drunk, no longer angry. His hands were shaking. He had one thought. He must find Kyoko Suzuki. She would know what to do and she would comfort him. She had been right. He was a foolish old man.
CHAPTER 48: Washington D.C.
In the Oval Office, President Black had called his National Security Advisor Kipp Pell. He was laying out a ticklish situation that just days before had been unthinkable. "You see, Kipp, if these birds are able to trigger a global nuclear firestorm we should be doing much more about it."
"I'm keenly aware of that, Mr. President, I sent you a memo on courses of action."
"Yes," President Black responded, "one hundred and twenty pages. I read the one-page synopsis. I'm not concerned with those details, although I know they're important. I am concerned with two things. First, if the American public finds out what's really going on there'd be widespread panic. Try as you might to second-guess a situation, the outcome is totally unpredictable. Secondly, if we decide to try some orderly plan to remove people from our population centers and get as many as possible into shelters, the rest of the world would take that as a message that we might be ready to attack."
"In light of our behavior in the last few years a lot of the global community might think that. Some wonder where we will strike next. But with our military short handed and occupied in various adventures, a nuclear war might be considered an option."
"Nonsense, Kipp."
"I'm strictly talking perception, Mr. President. How we are perceived through the eyes of say the French. They just don't know which way the cat's going to jump. But my point is we must do something."
"We are doing something, Kipp. Admiral Blades is the best man we have for the job. We've concentrated our forces and concentrated our firepower on the Tsugaru Strait. It's my understanding that if there are missiles and if they fire them individually, we have a good chance of getting every one of them. If they have the ability to gang fire them? If they do that, that's another matter."
"It would be best to find them before they're fired."
"Of course it would," the President shot back. He had never realized how stupid his security advisor was. But he calmed down quickly. He was using Pell, really, to think out loud.
"Going in we never realized how large the Tsugaru Strait is and how vast the tunnel is. It's thirty-three miles long and there are many side tunnels, escape routes. It's a hairy maze. If they've blocked the access to their secret tunnel it might take us a year to find it."
"But they've got to eat and they've got to breathe," Pell exclaimed.
"I know that and they do too," Black said wearily. "They've had years to plan out every detail. What I think we should do at this end is quietly dust off the old Civil Defense plans, have everyone at the Pentagon know just exactly what he is to do if an actual bomb falls, then sit back and wait."
"We've already done that," Pell replied.
"Good," the President nodded. "Make certain they're taking it seriously. Some type of quiz might be in order. And anything else along those lines, but quietly, quietly, no leaks."
"The press is already asking a lot of questions. Our Navy activities haven't gone unnoticed. Or the airlift of Army Engineers. And Navy Seal units."
"Let them ask. And let the Internet chatter lead only to confusion. There's so many opinions making the rounds, so many blogs, one doesn't know what to believe. I don't think they can guess this one unless someone tells them directly. Keep in touch, Kipp."
CHAPTER 49: The Sea Locks
Watanabe and Suzuki had hardly gone twenty feet when they were challenged by the guard at the end of the hall.
"I am the Geisha," Kyoko responded angrily. "I go where I please."
"I'm sorry, Geisha-san, but I have orders. I am merely asking where you are going." The guard eyed Watanabe warily and was about to ask for his identity when Kyoko responded.
"If you must know, my friend and I are going to play a game of pool."
"There is no harm in that, Geisha-san. Go right ahead."
They continued down the corridor and Kyoko used a coded card to open a door. A few more steps and they came to a room large enough for a pair of pool tables. "So, you weren't joking," Watanabe said.
"A small number of people have been here for many years. They must have recreation. There is a pool room, there are video tapes, there is a library and now and then even prostitutes."
"I suppose it would get boring." Watanabe picked up a pool cue, hefted it, returned it to the rack and picked up another. He tried a shot, missed the mark and scratched the cue ball.
"Boring, indeed. It's like living in a cave, but underwater. If you think about that it can get to you. One or two people have lost their minds, gone berserk. One did considerable damage, but that was more than a year ago."
"What did you do with them?" Watanabe tried another shot. This time he managed to knock the seven ball into a corner pocket, but the cue ball followed it in. He wondered how long they had to pretend to play pool before they could move on.
"What could we do with them?" Kyoko asked. "We couldn't kill them. That would be bad for tunnel morale. I mean everyone would have known if you get a little flaky, you get shot. No, we still have them. We found we had to build a little jail. There were fights among guards, scraps over prostitutes, that sort of thing. So the jail is for crazies, or short-term discipline. We have all the problems of a small city - waste disposal, refrigeration, an infirmary. The only thing we've avoided is children and schools."
"And maybe religion," Watanabe said.
"No, we have that. We have a Buddhist temple and a Shinto shrine. Our people tend to be sustained by religion and love of country. If we could go public, this would make a great social study, a society cooped up in a cave. And not just Japanese, Israeli intellectuals. We have a small kosher kitchen, three rabbis, and the Jews have their women here. In retrospect, it's just incredible. The people's money we have poured into this place!"
Watanabe sensed that one part of Kyoko remained loyal to the Fuurin Kazan and the secret army she had built up over the years. How long would her anger toward Yoshimoto endure? "Can we go to the sea locks?" he asked.
"We can try. Follow me." When they left the poolroom, Watanabe kept his pool stick with him. It was the heaviest one he could find and it felt something like a kendo stave in his hand. They continued down the hall, then climbed a set of dank concrete stairs ill lit by dim electric bulbs and wide enough for only one person to pass at a time. At the top of the stairs was a small guardroom with a slightly brighter bulb.
A heavy set guard, surprised to see anyone at this hour, jumped to his feet and drew his revolver. Kyoko read his name, printed in kanji on a plastic rectangle pinned to his jacket.
"Do not be alarmed, Ishida-san. It is only I, the Geisha, and a friend, out for a stroll."
The guard bowed slightly. "I am honored by your presence. But no one must go beyond this point. The gates to the sea are out there, a dangerous place."
"But I would like to show my friend," Kyoko said.
"It is not possible at this time, Geisha-san. We are under full security, and my orders are strict." He bowed aga
in, regretting that he had to turn down a request from the Geisha herself, but knowing that he must follow orders. And, when he did bow, Watanabe whirled the cue stick like a flash, striking the guard in the head and knocking him senseless.
Kyoko surveyed the scene coolly. The guard sprawled on the gray concrete floor, Watanabe holding a cue stick. "Well, it would be hard to explain this one," she said. "I suppose I am committed to helping you escape with all the consequences."
"Thank you, Suzuki-san." Watanabe found handcuffs and trussed the man around a steel pipe. Then he stuffed the man's pistol into his belt. "Which way do we go?"
Kyoko led the way through a short passage, then up more narrow stairs, concrete walls sweating water that made it wet and slippery underfoot. At one point she stopped, half turned and whispered, "I've only been here once before."
"Are we going to the place where the missiles are kept," Watanabe asked.
"No. They are farther down. The large doors open on the sea floor where the tracks and launching apparatus have been installed. We couldn't possibly get into that area. It must be a place of frantic activity just now. There are probably missiles ready for launching already."
"Then they won't launch them as they get them ready?" Watanabe felt certain that if a missile had been launched, they would know. In fact, Kyoko had told him they would play the "Kimigayo," the Japanese national anthem, over the public address system to mark the launching.
"No, the plan is to launch them in two large groups. This will add to the confusion in the world and make detection and destruction almost impossible. Once aloft, they will home to their various targets." She took a deep breath and continued up the stairs.