by Joe Weber
The President flexed his legs. "I'm not surprised."
"The planning for these assemblages," Eaglehoff went on, "is usually extremely detailed, but this appears to be an emergency meeting of the enterprise group."
"What do you figure is on their agenda?"
"My guess," Eaglehoff answered gruffly, "considering the festering hostilities between us, is that Japan will opt to put us in a monetary bind to get our attention."
"You really think so?"
"It's a real possibility," Eaglehoff answered without showing any emotion. "The world has changed a lot since September of '45. I think the Japanese are finally fed up with playing second fiddle."
The President lowered his head and stretched his neck muscles. "Did you read the article in the Post?"
"About our crime and decay?"
"Yes," the President answered with a disgruntled look.
"Yeah, I read it," Eaglehoff replied. "The Japanese have a point. Their kids don't carry guns to school, they can walk the streets at night without looking over their shoulders, and their subways operate safely and on time."
"The ethics issue," the President said bitterly, "made my blood boil. Ethics, my ass. They have the unmitigated gall to talk about ethics when they repeatedly violate the Buy-American Act and then lie about it."
The enactment required the U. S. military to give preference to goods made by American companies.
"They ship tens of thousands of crates of Japanese-made products to their companies here," the President said venomously, "then relabel the containers 'Made in the USA,' slap a Machine Tool Association sticker on the side, and then sell the products to our military.
"Hell," he went on, "we've got billions of dollars' worth of Japanese-made equipment at our air bases, naval installations, and even in our nuclear facilities."
He looked at his Chief of Staff and lowered his head. "We can't get anyone to do a goddamn thing about it," he said contemptuously, "because the Japanese have the most powerful lobby in Washington--most of whom are former U. S. trade officials or members of the Department of Commerce."
Eaglehoff sighed. "When Tokyo has over twelve hundred lobbyists in Washington, and spends over 140 million annually in this city, a lot of influential people get on the gravy train."
"Scott," the President began sadly, "the Japanese are absorbing us like a sponge, and we're sitting here with our heads up our asses."
"It's the same old argument," Eaglehoff suggested. "If we could ever get government and business to work hand in hand instead of bashing each other over the skull, we'd be the epitome of capitalism again. The Japanese look at us and wonder how such incompetent people rose from our apathy to crush them during World War Two."
"I'll admit," the President responded uncomfortably, "that we have some improvements to make, but the Japanese aren't doing themselves any favors by poking us in the eye. They should take a long look in the mirror and be grateful for the position they're in today."
"In their minds," Eaglehoff added, "they've suffered the consequences of their sins long enough, and I don't think they're in the mood to pay further penance to the United States. The Japanese now own the home, and we're the renters."
The President gave his Chief of Staff a curious glance. "So you think they'll squeeze our financial balls until we learn our lesson?"
Eaglehoff loosened his tie. "Financially, they could put us on our knees. If the Japanese pulled the rug out from under us, we'd have a national bankruptcy on our hands."
"The wizards at the think tanks," the President said with false indifference, "have been discussing that scenario for the past several days. They have come up with some interesting possibilities . . . and I think it's time to give Japan something to consider."
"A wake-up call?"
"I would classify it as a visual reminder," the President responded cryptically. "Something to think about while they're puffing out their chests."
EAST CHINA SEA
Commander Hayama Shimazaki stood on the bridge of the Aegis destroyer Kongo and watched the jet fighters being catapulted from the deck of the Nimitz-class nuclear-powered carrier Abraham Lincoln.
Shimazaki was the commander of a small detachment of Japan's Maritime Self-Defense Force ships operating near the southern extremity of the Ryukyu Islands. The Kongo was flanked by the replenishment oiler Tokiwa and the destroyer Asagiri.
Shimazaki had received orders to cruise in close formation with the American carrier battle group after the crew of a Shin Meiwa flying boat radioed the position of the huge flattop to Tokyo.
The orders explained that the high command wanted Shimazaki's flotilla to solidify the Japanese presence in the East China Sea until more Self-Defense Force ships and submarines could reach his position.
Shimazaki and the officers in his command surmised that the latest instructions came about because of the degenerating relations between their country and the U. S. They were concerned about the worsening situation and talked in private about the possibility of a military conflict.
Although Shimazaki was uncomfortable about shadowing the Americans, the career naval officer carried out his orders as he expected his men to do. However, with tensions on the high seas ripe for hostilities, Shimazaki had . Elected to interpret his orders in a cautious way and give his ships plenty of room to maneuver.
Dusk was settling over the carrier group when Lieutenant Commander Peggy Rapoza taxied her F/A-18 Hornet onto the number-one catapult. She carefully checked her flight controls, then watched the cat officer give her the full-power signal.
Shoving her throttles forward, Rapoza felt the sudden adrenaline surge, verified her engine gauges were normal, snapped a salute to the "shooter," braced her head against the top of the ejection seat, and sucked in a breath of cool oxygen.
Seconds later, Rapoza was nailed to the back of the seat as her vision blurred under the excruciating g-forces. The punishing catapult shot abruptly ended with what felt like a sudden deceleration as the Hornet went off the end of the flight deck.
Although Rapoza's powerful fighter was still accelerating at a tremendous rate, the first few seconds down the catapult track felt like she had been shot out of a cannon.
With her heart rate finally slowing, Rapoza flipped the landing gear lever up, waited for the speed to increase, raised the wing flaps, then checked her engine instruments and caution lights.
Satisfied that all systems were normal, the seasoned flight leader eased back the power and waited for her wingman to rendezvous on her right side. After a brief air-combat-maneuvering session, the pilots were scheduled to practice refueling from a KA-6D Intruder tanker before making a night landing.
When the last fighter plane raced down the catapult and climbed into the darkening sky, Captain Perry Wiggins gave the order to turn the group to their reciprocal heading and steam downwind until it was time to recover aircraft.
While the mammoth carrier was turning to the new course, the flight deck personnel were repositioning aircraft in preparation for the next recovery period. Clad in various brightly colored pullovers, the sailors performed their demanding tasks with a degree of finesse that was honed by experience and constant training.
Once the ships had steadied on course, Wiggins went to his at-sea cabin for a quick dinner and a short chat with his executive officer.
Peggy Rapoza's F/A-18 Hornet was accelerating through 430 knots when she heard a bang and felt a tremble in the airframe. Something was wrong, and her intuition told her to slow down and evaluate the situation.
"Flash," she radioed to her wingman, Lieutenant Charlie Gordon. "Let's knock it off and join up. I'm slowing to three hundred indicated."
Her partner could tell from the inflection in Rapoza's voice that all was not right.
"Roger," came the terse reply. "I'm at your eight o'clock and closing. What's the problem?"
Rapoza glanced over her left shoulder and spotted the pulsating anticollision light on Gordon's fighter. "I'm not sure
what's happening. Ah, I heard a strange noise, and then the fuselage shuddered. I think something may have broken in the engine compar--"
At that moment an engine right caution light illuminated, followed by a fire-warning light. Her eyes widened as she gawked at the engine gauges.
"Flash, I've got a fire-warning light!"
"Any secondaries?"
"Yeah. I'm shutting it down," Rapoza exclaimed while she secured the engine, fired the extinguisher, and then jettisoned her external stores and started dumping fuel.
"Peg, you've got a steady stream of black smoke pouring out of the right engine."
Rapoza stared at the glowing fire-warning light like it was a coiled rattlesnake. The extinguishing system had not controlled the raging blaze.
"Flash, switch to Pri-Fly."
"Switchin'," he said excitedly while they turned for the nearby carrier.
Primary Fly was the carrier's control tower where the Air Boss and his assistant "Mini-Boss" coordinated all aviation operations in the air and on the carrier.
"Boss," Rapoza radioed Pri-Fly, "Stinger Three-Oh-Three has an engine fire and I need an emergency pull-forward." Seconds passed before anyone replied. "Say again." "Stinger Three-Zero-Three has an engine fire and I need to return to the boat. I need to trap immediately!"
"Copy." More time passed. "We're clearing the deck and getting ready to turn into the wind."
"Roger that," Rapoza said while she descended and quickly covered the checklist items. She flinched from the sudden tightness in her chest and then reviewed her single-engine emergency procedures. A night carrier-landing was difficult enough with two good engines and no distractions, but this situation was the toughest she had ever faced in her flying career.
The navigator aboard Kongo stepped next to Commander Shimazaki and spoke softly. "Sir, we need to make a course change before we get too close to the islands. We don't want to get squeezed between the Americans and Ishigaki."
The skipper agreed and told the officer who had the conn to cross behind the carrier battle group and take up station on the opposite side.
Peggy Rapoza was having difficulty seeing the curved wake of Abraham Lincoln as the big carrier heeled over in the turn. She set up for a downwind approach so she could roll on short final once the ship completed the turn.
Before she was abeam the flattop, she stopped dumping fuel and lowered her landing gear and tailhook. After configuring the aircraft for a single-engine landing, she checked her ejection seat fittings, then said a silent prayer.
"Peggy, you've got flames!" Gordon bellowed. "I see flames comin' from the tailpipe!"
A cold shiver ran down Rapoza's back. "Stinger Three-OhThree needs a clear deck! I've got visible flames!"
"You've got a ready deck," the Air Boss instantly replied. "Paddles is up."
Paddles was a nickname from the days when Landing Signal Officers used bright-colored paddles to "wave" pilots aboard the carriers.
Rapoza started her unconventional approach to the ship while it was still turning and called the LSO when she saw the bright "meatball" on the primary optical landing aid. "Hornet Three-Oh-Three, on the ball, seven-point-eight."
Something in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she glanced up for a split second. Rapoza thought she saw the lights of another ship on a collision course with the carrier, but there wasn't time to confirm her suspicions. She had to concentrate on getting the ,Hornet down in one piece.
"Roger ball," the LSO said calmly from his platform on the aft portside of the ship. He could see bright, reddish-orange flames licking around the tail of the fighter, but he wasn't going to say anything to the pilot at this stage of the emergency. "You're lookin' good, Stinger. Keep it comin' and give me a little power."
Rapoza tweaked the left throttle forward and concentrated on making the approach the best she'd ever flown. "Come on, Three-Oh-Three, stay together just a little longer."
Captain Wiggins stepped into the bridge of Abraham Lincoln at a moment when utter chaos was erupting around him. The officer of the deck had turned toward the Japanese vessels to avoid the U. S. ships on the other side of the carrier. He felt confident that Abe could safely make the 180-degree turn without jeopardizing any of the vessels. He hadn't anticipated the Kongo turning toward the carrier.
The radar operators had been the first to notice that both warships were rapidly closing on each other. Everyone on the flattop's bridge was shouting when Wiggins told the helmsman to tighten his turn and then stared at the oncoming navigation lights of the Aegis destroyer.
"Sound the collision alarm!"
Hayama Shimazaki had already caught the blunder and was attempting to turn away from the enormous carrier. He stood transfixed as feelings of confounded amazement and sheer terror flashed through his mind.
Everyone on the bridge silently stared as the bows of the two ships crossed head-on for an instant. To a person, they knew the supercarrier could crush them like a rowboat. The sailors cringed as the huge flattop suddenly grew into a massive image.
Seconds later, Kongo collided with a flight-deck elevator on the side of the carrier as the ships brushed sides.
Working hard to keep the bright "meatball" even with the green datum lights, Peggy Rapoza concentrated on lineup as the blazing jet flashed over the carrier's ramp and slammed into the steel deck.
She was thrown against her shoulder straps when her tail-hook snagged the number-three wire. After the aircraft came to a sudden stop and rolled back a few feet, she opened the canopy and quickly secured the left engine.
Peggy saw the fire truck and the silver-clad "hot-suit" rescue personnel racing toward her while the aircraft handlers hurried to chock her wheels.
Rapoza was halfway out of the cockpit when she was engulfed in a sea of thick foam as the firefighters hosed down the burning jet. She hurried out of the way, then stopped to thank God as the medical corpsmen surrounded her.
Chapter 20.
HONOLULU
The FBI office was crowded and noisy when Steve walked in to meet Susan. He waited patiently while she finished her conversation with another agent, then greeted her with a friendly smile. "Good morning."
"It is a good morning." She beamed and picked up her coffee cup. "We've got some information about crew cut."
"That sounds promising."
"It is. The car he was driving was stolen," she explained. "The HPD found it abandoned next to the Punahou High School."
"Maybe I was wrong," Steve admitted.
"How's that?"
"A professional hit man wouldn't steal a car to go eliminate someone. It's too risky."
"Maybe he doesn't operate like other hired guns." "That's the scary part."
Steve pointed at the neatly arranged bulletin board containing the FBI composite drawings of the well-groomed, gap-toothed Japanese "house-sitter" and the young assailant with the grotesque ear. "These came out better than I thought they would."
"Everyone has a copy of the composites," Susan went on, "so the enforcer shouldn't be too difficult to locate unless he finally left the island. Not too many people have a right ear that looks like it's been partially chewed off."
Susan greeted another associate and turned to Steve. "Let's go to our private office."
"Lead the way."
They walked down the hallway to the storage room Susan had been using since they first arrived on the island.
"Steve," she began sadly, "I just talked to another agent who works in our office in San Francisco. There's an epidemic of Asian-bashing spreading across the country."
"I know," he said ruefully. "Some of the National Guard units are being called out."
"This isn't the usual Japan-bashing," she continued gravely. "All Asians are being harassed. People are shooting Asians--and they're shooting back, especially the Koreans."
Steve shook his head. "It's going to get worse as long as these terrorist attacks continue."
Steve and Susan stared at each other fo
r a few seconds, realizing how close they had become.
"Are you going to Tokyo?" he asked.
"I sure am. I still believe the answer to the attack on the cruise ship lies in Japan. However, I'm not going in an official capacity."
"What?"
She tore the top sheet of paper from her legal pad and looked at her notes. "There's a major controversy raging in the National Police Agency--they supervise all of Japan's law-enforcement services--and they've reversed course in regard to allowing the FBI to work with them on this particular investigation."
"Are you saying," Steve asked with a perplexed look, "that you can't even get access to any of the information they may have uncovered?"
"That's correct. Our Attorney General is really steamed, but the official protests to the NPA are being handled by the Department of Justice and the State Department."
"This is crazy," Wickham protested. "Both countries are clubbing each other to death, and we can't get law-enforcement agencies to cooperate with one another. Totally fucking insane."
"That may be true," Susan conceded with a degree of surprise at Steve's outburst, "but the fact is that the Japanese feel very strongly about this, and they made it clear that we are not welcome to join them in the investigation."
She folded the piece of paper. "I don't know what the reason is. It could be the open antagonism between our countries, or maybe they know something we don't.
"Or," she speculated, "it could be a matter of saving face if they believe Japanese citizens were involved in the scheme. We know there were at least three Japanese linked to the crime here. We know one died in the helicopter crash, but can we solve the case?"
"We will eventually," Wickham answered with a sense of determination. "I guess we need to make some travel plans and get under way."
"I took the liberty of making travel arrangements for both of us," Susan admitted with a slow smile. "I'm going to Singapore before I go to Tokyo."