by Joe Weber
Tidwell laced his fingers, turned his hands backwards, then stretched his arms and hands. "Use the Uniting for Peace Resolution and play some hardball with these weenies."
The statement elicited a crooked smile from the Chief of Staff, but he didn't interrupt his friend.
"Which means," Tidwell continued, "that if the Security Council, because of a lack of unanimity of the permanent members, fails to exercise its primary responsibility, the Peace Resolution provides an avenue for the General Assembly to immediately consider the issue."
Eaglehoff gave him a skeptical look. "Do you really believe they'd do anything, since we're talking about the U. S. and Japan? This isn't Bosnia or Somalia . . . where they can put up a smoke screen and howl in protest."
"If it seems like a threat to the peace," Tidwell answered slowly while he contemplated the options of the General Assembly, "which the Japanese feud with us certainly does, or an act of aggression, which it isn't yet, the General Assembly should invoke the clearly stipulated obligation to do something to correct the problem, including the use of armed force."
Tidwell looked at Eaglehoff and chuckled self-consciously. "End of lecture."
Eaglehoff didn't appear to be convinced. "You're right about one thing: when you deal with the General Assembly marshmallows, one of the key words is should."
"Scott, if we take this to the edge," Tidwell continued in a pleasant tone, "it will force the U. N. to establish a Peace Observation Commission to observe and report on our situation. By definition, the current circumstances--international tension that is likely to endanger global peace and security--is exactly what the commission was designed to deal with."
Eaglehoff thought about all the ships crowding the Strait of Malacca. "It would definitely buy us some time to work with the Japanese on a one-on-one basis without having everyone label us bullies."
"True." Tidwell cracked a smile. "And you know how slow a commission moves."
The telephone rang and Scott Eaglehoff answered it, then handed it to Tidwell. "It's someone from your staff." The recently installed phone was connected to the White House switchboard.
"Thanks."
Eaglehoff watched his friend's face turn crimson. Whatever the problem was, the news wasn't good.
"Patch me through to him," Tidwell blurted and cupped the receiver. "We've already got a problem with the Anchorage team--my understudy is being his usual asinine self."
The Chief of Staff listened to only one side of the brief conversation, but there was no doubt about the outcome. Bud Tidwell, the consummate statesman, was a firm, calm man most of the time--but this was not one of those times. The experienced academic and political expert, who normally exercised leadership with a great deal of self-discipline, was enraged at the man who had been forced on his staff.
"I'd fire that pompous ass," Tidwell said curtly after he terminated the call, "if the President didn't owe him a political favor."
Eaglehoff wasn't fond of the Under Secretary of State either, but he kept his thoughts to himself while the White House operator connected Tidwell with the Japanese Ambassador.
When he heard Koji Hagura's voice, Tidwell tried to sound pleasant.
"Ambassador Hagura, Secretary Tidwell," he announced lightly. "I deeply apologize for the misunderstanding with Envoy Isoroku, and I assure you that we will fully cooperate with your advance team in Anchorage."
After the brief conversation, he placed the receiver down and turned to Eaglehoff. "I'm already extinguishing fires in Anchorage--and the meetings haven't even started."
SINGAPORE
Promptly at 11:30 A. M., Steve parked the rental car in a position to view the main entrance to the Port of Singapore Authority building. He placed a Tiger Beep windshield sunscreen over the dashboard and checked his Beretta, then glanced in the rearview mirror and studied the area around the building.
Alternately looking at his wristwatch and peeking through two small holes he had punched in the sunscreen, Wickham grew more apprehensive as noon approached. With each sweep of the second hand, his anxiety rose to match his doubts about whether or not this whole thing was such a good idea.
His thoughts turned to Susan and he wondered what was happening at the Hyatt Regency. In an effort to avoid a one-on-one confrontation if the stalker appeared at the hotel, Susan and Steve had enlisted the aid of two private security officers. They had also asked two members of the Hyatt management team to monitor the switchboard for any inquiries about the arrival of the American agents.
Steve stretched his arms and legs in an effort to ease his tension, but it merely increased. As the minutes ticked off, he grew more impatient and began to question his own logic about a leak in the FBI or CIA.
At ten minutes after the hour, Wickham decided to enter the building and see if crew cut was inside. He leaned over to grab his sunglasses and Wallaby sun hat, then glanced in the rearview mirror and froze.
"Sonuvabitch'," he said under his breath as his pulse quickened and he felt a fleeting stab of pain from the sudden adrenaline surge.
The Asian with the short haircut and mangled ear had just stopped his rental car twenty meters behind him.
With feelings of outrage about the breach of security at Langley, Steve shifted into survival mode. Did he see me?
Wondering if the stalker was waiting for him to make a play, Wickham eased his Beretta across his lap and flipped the safety to the off position. He couldn't afford to allow his thinking to be clouded by his desire to find the weasel in the Agency. He would have to deal with that later. His sole priority had to focus on defending himself and capturing the hired killer.
He obviously doesn't know I'm here, Steve thought as the hit man cautiously looked around. I'm going-to have to confront him while I have the element of surprise on my side.
Wickham breathed deeply and slowly exhaled. Be aggressive, and if he tries to escape, take him out.
Without a moment's hesitation, Steve shoved the driver's door open and leaped out. He grasped the Beretta with both hands and placed the sight on the driver, then realized he'd made a tactical blunder. The Asian's engine was running and the man had already reacted to the unexpected assault. With the rear tires screeching, crew cut was barreling straight toward Wickham.
Steve took quick aim and squeezed off two shots before he dove back into the front seat of his car. He was scrambling out the passenger-side door when the hit man's car slammed into the open driver's door. The grinding impact tore the door off the car and blew out the left front tire.
Wickham belly-crawled to the front of the badly damaged vehicle and got off one shot before the stalker careened around a corner and vanished.
Shaken by the incident, Steve had calmed down externally by the time the local authorities arrived. He absently went about discussing the incident with the local police while his insides boiled. He vowed to capture or kill his assailant, then find the traitor at Langley and the bastard who was paying for the information.
From behind her concealment near the registration counter, Susan watched Steve walk into the spacious lobby of the Hyatt Regency. She could tell by his impatient stride that something had gone awry.
She rushed out to meet Wickham and gave him a faint smile. "Are you okay?"
"Couldn't be better," he joked feebly.
Her concerned gaze quickly sobered him.
"Susan, our leak is at Langley," he confided with a look of disdain etched on his face. "I'd have to bet that he's in a very senior position. Access to almost anything."
"What happened?" Susan asked and cautiously looked around the hotel lobby.
"He showed up at the Port Authority."
"And . . ."
"I blew it," Steve said with a disgusted shake of his head. "He's still out there . . . waiting for us--me----to make another dumbass mistake."
"Steve," Susan began with genuine concern in her voice, "let's arrange for a couple of agents--FBI, CIA, or a combination--to join us as backup."
"
Susan, I don't want to run anything through the Agency," he said emphatically. "We've got a spineless weasel locked on to every move we make."
Feeling a little awkward, she sighed and nodded her understanding. "I know you feel rotten and betrayed, and I don't blame you, but we need to get to Tokyo and track down the lead about the insurance company."
"You're right," Steve conceded with a long face. "If you want to bring in more FBI agents, that's fine with me."
"It's the safe thing to do," Susan suggested.
"I know it is. But just one favor, okay?"
"Sure," she replied and hesitated a moment. "If it's within reason.
"I want to personally capture the sonuva bitch who is stalking us," Steve said contemptuously, "and find out who his Agency connection is."
CAMP DAVID
The bright rays from the late-morning sun filtered through the trees as the gleaming Marine helicopter approached the sprawling presidential retreat, then flared for a smooth landing on the helo pad. After the Sikorsky VH-60's main rotor blades began slowing, Scott Eaglehoff hurried from the helo to the President's private quarters.
The Chief of Staff had had a lengthy breakfast meeting with the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, the National Security Advisor, the Director of the CIA, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The President was ending a conference call when Eaglehoff was ushered into the richly appointed study.
"Well, Scott," the President said glumly as he dropped the receiver in its cradle, "our media watchdogs are saying that the proverbial shit is hitting the fan in Japan, and that I'm going to have splatters all over me."
"I'm afraid"--the President's closest adviser grimaced--"that we're going to take some heat, sir."
"No doubt," the President replied with a crooked smile, "but I'm not too concerned. I look forward to getting to Anchorage and facing Koyama, the snide sonuvabitch."
Eaglehoff, known as a two-fisted gunslinger around the Beltway, was disappointed by the President's drift toward a casual, contentious personality. Uncharacteristically low in spirits, Eaglehoff had even thought about tendering his resignation in order to salvage his future prospects in Washington.
"Scott," the President went on and propped his feet on an upholstered footstool, "the stakes are getting higher. I think we've got to take some bold steps if we're going to head off a confrontation in Anchorage and a possible military clash with Japan."
"Sir," Eaglehoff began tentatively, "I recommend that you convene the Cabinet as soon as possible and take a strong stance about the course you wish to pursue. Otherwise no one has any idea which way you want to jump or how far you'll go to force the Japanese to back down."
The President rubbed his temples. "Yeah, I've been thinking about it since I woke up this morning."
Eaglehoff frowned and blew his nose. "We're facing an ominous, challenging situation where our adversary could become unpredictable. Once bloodied, Japan may lash out and ricochet in many directions."
The President tossed the remains of his cheeseburger on the plate. His mood turned dark. "How'd the meeting go this morning? Any worthwhile ideas?"
"We had a productive session," Eaglehoff dutifully reported. "I think we're making progress in understanding how to deal with the Japanese."
The President glanced away. "What's the situation at the moment?" he snorted.
"Not exactly good," Eaglehoff said stiffly, and nervously cracked his knuckles. "There have been a number of bomb threats directed at Japanese and American airlines, the Japanese are fleeing from Oahu and the other Hawaiian islands as fast as JAL can provide flights, there's a tremendous exodus of all races from the Los Angeles area because the Asian protest has turned into an open rebellion, North Korea is rattling swords and flying reconnaissance missions close to Japan, and the Joint Chiefs and Bud Tidwell believe we should immediately withdraw our military forces from Japan and advise U. S. citizens to do likewise."
"Okay. Now tell me the bad news." The President grinned and walked to the liquor cabinet.
Eaglehoff sat in startled silence while he watched the President do something he hadn't seen him do before: drink straight whiskey out of a water glass.
Chapter 29.
TOKYO, JAPAN
Precisely one minute before the scheduled arrival time, the spotlessly clean train came to a smooth stop in the railway station. The forty-mile trip from Narita International Airport to Tokyo had been smooth and comfortable, with the exception of the offensive looks Steve continued to receive from the Asian passengers.
During the flight from Singapore, Steve and Susan had discussed at length his altercation with the Asian hit man and concluded that it would be best to keep quiet for the time being. They had no idea who the CIA informer was, and one miscalculation could easily get them killed.
They were relieved to know where the leak was originating, but Wickham was humiliated that the information was coming from someone in the Agency.
Steve had thought about calling the Director on his SecTel secure phone, but he had reservations about discussing the breach of security at the Agency. He didn't trust Paul Holcomb, and he had begun to wonder if the Director had lied about the President requesting him for the unusual case.
When the train doors opened, Steve and Susan quickly hoisted their luggage and stepped out of the crowded car. They cautiously looked around, ready to react to any threat. Both had no doubt that the stalker had observed them board the airliner in Singapore.
"One more lap," Steve said with a determined look, "and we'll have it made, if we can catch a cab."
"I don't want to hurt your feelings," she responded with a self-conscious smile, "but I had better hail us a taxi, then you can slide in with me."
He hesitated a brief moment, unsure if she was putting him on. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Unfortunately, yes," she replied quietly and walked toward a waiting cab. "The animosity toward Americans is reaching a fever pitch."
Steve glanced around before he followed her. Many of the unsmiling strangers wouldn't even look at him, while others cast looks that made it clear that he was unwanted.
During the ride to the hotel, Wickham was surprised to see the crowds of militant protesters who were waving banners and shouting anti-American slogans through bullhorns. Steve made a mental note of the shouted sentiment characterizing Japan's part in World War II as a holy mission to liberate their Asian neighbors from the grasp of Western colonialism.
They had canceled their original hotel reservations and checked into the Keio Plaza Inter-Continental Hotel under assumed names.
While Susan contacted her friend, a fraud investigator for various Japanese insurance companies, Wickham went to a pay phone and called the Agency. He received an updated briefing on world events, including the meeting in Anchorage and the current global military situation. He kept the conversation light and never gave the slightest hint that anything was wrong.
Steve also had a message from the director of the CIA. Paul Holcomb wanted results and he wasn't being subtle about his demand. What Wickham didn't know was that his supposedly secure-link conversation was being traced in a quiet room at Langley.
Steve was walking around the uncrowded 7th-floor swimming pool and garden terrace when Susan joined him. They sat down at an empty table and he looked around at the other non-Asians. No one seemed to notice them, or at least no one indicated any sign of disapproval of the mixed-race couple.
"Is your friend going to work with us?" Steve asked while thinking how else they might solve the mystery of the ownership of number three Matsumi Maru.
"He said he'd help us," she explained with a shrug. "He seemed rather uncomfortable when I explained the circumstances and the need for total secrecy."
Steve grew cautious and lowered his voice. "Are you sure we can trust him?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"One hundred percent?"
"I can't be one hundred percent sure," she admitted. "Why are you so jump
y about my friend?"
"We don't know how far the tentacles from Langley may reach," he remarked in a relaxed manner. "Your friend may already know something we don't, and we could be setting ourselves up for an unpleasant surprise."
"Steve, don't take this the wrong way, but I think you're starting to see shadows behind every corner."
"In this business"--he forced a smile--"it only takes one mistake to buy the farm."
Susan bristled at the implication that she was a novice. She raised an eyebrow and gave him an icy look. "I'm quite aware of the risks involved in this business."
Taken aback by the sudden personality change, Steve gazed steadily into her eyes. "I apologize if I offended you, but someone is trying to kill us, and they're getting information about our whereabouts from the CIA."
"No apology needed," she replied in a mildly derisive manner, then softened her tone. "Steve, I fully understand the gravity of the situation. I respect you very much, and I trust that you have the same respect for me . . . and for the way I perform my job."
"Of course I respect you," he proclaimed and reached for her hand.
Susan had doubts about her friend, too, but she didn't want to expose them. Hiroshi was their best bet to find the owner of the ship, and they had to have faith and follow through, no matter what.
Her brief flash of irritation quickly subsided and she smiled when Steve grasped her hand.
"Hiroshi Okubo," she explained, "has a solid reputation and was highly recommended when I worked with him. I don't think we have to worry about Hiroshi."
"Fair enough."
"Besides," Susan went on, "he has his honor to protect, and that is very important to the Japanese. I don't think he would risk his excellent reputation by doing something stupid."
"Like I said before," Steve responded with a serious look, "I trust your judgment."
"At any rate," she quickly finished, "Hiroshi said that he'll have an answer for us by tomorrow afternoon--one way or the other--on who owned the Matsumi Maru fleet."