He was captivated. Without speaking to her, he sought out her name, and by the time the stars began to appear had struck a deal with her father and bought Toshie for a sum that suddenly turned the struggling fisherman into the wealthiest man on the island and the owner of a new fishing boat loaded with the latest in state-of-the-art electronics.
At first Toshie was hysterical with shock and sorrow at having to leave her family, but gradually she became awed by Suma’s wealth and power and soon became attracted to him. In her own way she enjoyed her subservient role as secretary and mistress. He had her tutored by the best teachers he could hire, trained in languages, business, and finance, taught the ins and outs of high fashion, and coached in the finer subtleties of lovemaking.
She knew he would never marry her. There were too many other women, and Hideki was incapable of loving only one. But he was kind to her, and when the time came for her to be replaced, she knew he would be generous.
Kamatori, wearing a yellow yukata lounging robe with indigo bird patterns, sat nearby at a low black lacquered table directly opposite Roy Orita and sipped tea. Out of respect to their superior, both men patiently waited for Suma to speak first.
Suma ignored them for several minutes as he enjoyed the pleasure of Toshie’s foot manipulations. Kamatori avoided Suma’s angry stare and kept his eyes lowered. He had lost face for the second time that week and was extremely humiliated.
“So your team of idiots failed,” Suma said at last.
“There was a mishap,” Kamatori replied, still looking down at the surface of the table.
“Mishap!” Suma snapped. “Disaster would be closer to the truth.”
“Pitt, Admiral Sandecker, and the man called Giordino were very lucky.”
“There was no luck. Your assassins merely underestimated the Americans’ canny ability to survive.”
“Professional operatives are predictable,” said Kamatori, making a lame excuse. “Civilians do not adhere to the rules.”
Suma signaled Toshie to stop. “How many men did you lose?”
“Seven, including the leader.”
“None were captured, I trust.”
“All bodies were recovered and the survivors escaped before the local authorities arrived. Nothing was left behind to leave a trail.”
“Raymond Jordan will know who was responsible,” said Roy Orita.
“A matter of no concern.” Kamatori’s face took on an expression of scorn. “He and his pathetic MAIT team are no longer an effective force. The Japanese end of his operation has been terminated.”
Suma ignored the tea and took a small cup of saki offered by Toshie. “Jordan can still be dangerous if his operatives root out the location of our command center.”
“Jordan and Kern were at a dead end when I broke off contact twenty-four hours ago,” Orita said with assurance. “They had no clue to the site.”
“They’re attempting to trace the bomb cars,” Suma argued. “That much we know.”
Kamatori shrugged indifferently. “Jordan is chasing shadows in a smoked mirror. The cars are securely hidden and guarded. Until an hour ago, none had been found and confiscated. And even if his operatives stumble on a few and neutralize their bombs, it will be a case of too little too late. We’ll still have more than required to produce an electromagnetic shield over half the earth.”
“Any news from the KGB or the European community intelligence agencies?” asked Suma.
“They’re completely in the dark,” answered Orita. “For reasons unknown to us, Jordan hasn’t revealed his investigation to them.”
Kamatori sipped at his tea and stared over the cup at Suma. “You have beaten him, Hideki. Our robotic technicians have nearly completed the weapon system electronics. Soon, very soon, you will be in a position to dictate terms to the decadent Western world.”
Suma’s face was a stone mask carved in self-satisfying evil. Like so many men who were stained by money, Suma had advanced far beyond wealth to the highest form of addictive corruption—the overwhelming thirst for absolute power.
“I think it’s time,” he said in a tone edged with sadistic pleasure, “to begin enlightening our guests of the purpose behind their presence here.”
“If I may suggest,” said Orita with a slight bow of the head.
Suma nodded without speaking.
“The gaijins are impressed with status and power. Their psychology is easily measured by their reverence of entertainers and wealthy celebrities. You are the most important financial expert in the world. Allow the congresswoman and the senator to simmer in suspense and confusion while you remain aloof and out of reach. Send others to torment their curiosity by feeding them small pieces of bait until their minds are ripe for your honored appearance and divine orders.”
Suma considered Orita’s advice. It was a childish game that played on his ego, but one that was also practical. He looked at Kamatori. “Moro, I leave it to you to begin our guests’ initiation.”
Loren was lost. She had never been so lost in her life. She had been drugged almost immediately after being seized at the classic car race and had clawed her way back to full consciousness only two hours ago.
When she finally cleared the drug-induced haze from her mind, she found herself in a beautifully furnished bedroom with a lavish bathroom complete with sunken marble tub and bidet. It was furnished in a sort of South Pacific island decor with bamboo furniture and a small forest of potted tropical plants. The floor was light polished cedar, and the walls seemed to be covered with woven palm fronds.
It reminded her of a village resort where she’d once vacationed in Tahiti—except for two unusual features. There was no inside handle to the door and no windows.
She opened an armoire that stood against one wall and peered inside. Several expensive silk kimonos hung there. She tried one on and was pleasantly surprised to discover it was almost a tailored fit. She pulled open the lower drawers. They contained feminine underwear that was also in her exact size, as were the matching sandals on the floor of the armoire.
It beats hell out of being chained in a dungeon, Loren thought. Whoever captured her did not seem intent on torture or execution. The question of why she was abducted was pushed to the back of her mind. Making the most of an unwinnable situation, she relaxed in the tub and took a bubble bath. Then she dried and set her hair with the necessary dryer and styling odds and ends that were thoughtfully laid out on the bathroom counter along with a select array of expensive cosmetics and perfumes.
She was just slipping into a white and rose flowered kimono when there was a soft knock on the door and Kamatori stepped quietly into the room.
He stood there in silence a moment, his arms and hands buried in the sleeves of his yukata, a haughty look of scorn on his face. His eyes rose slowly from Loren’s bare feet, lingered on her breasts, and then lifted to her face.
Loren pulled the kimono tightly around her body and knotted the belt and turned her back to him. “Do Japanese men always enter a lady’s room without being invited?”
“My profound apologies,” said Kamatori with a noticeable hint of sarcasm. “I did not mean to show disrespect to a renowned American legislator.”
“What do you want?”
“I was sent by Mr. Hideki Suma to see that you are comfortable. My name is Moro Kamatori. I am Mr. Suma’s friend, bodyguard, and confidant.”
She replied decisively, “I guessed he was responsible for my kidnapping.”
“The inconvenience is only temporary, I promise you.”
“Why am I held hostage? What does he expect to gain besides hatred and vengeance from the American government?”
“He wishes your cooperation in delivering a message to your President and Congress.”
“Tell Mr. Suma to insert a sharp stick up his rectum and deliver the message himself.”
Brassiness born from vulnerability, Kamatori mused. He was pleased. He decided to pierce Loren’s first line of defense. “How coincidental. Alm
ost the exact words of Senator Diaz, except his terms were much saltier.”
“Mike Diaz?” Loren’s brave front suffered a widening crack. “You kidnapped him too’?”
“Yes, you were brought here together.
“Where is here?”
“An island resort off the coast of Japan.”
“Suma is insane.”
“Hardly,” Kamatori said patiently. “He is a very wise and perceptive man. And in a few days he will announce his rules for the Western economies to follow in the future.”
A tinge of red anger flushed Loren’s face. “He’s even a bigger lunatic than I gave him credit for.”
“I think not. No man in history has accumulated as much wealth. He did not accomplish this out of ignorance. Soon you will come to believe that he can also wield absolute control over your government and its economy.” Kamatori paused, and his eyes turned down, gazing at the rounded flesh of Loren’s breasts that were pressing against the upper folds of the kimono. “In view of the coming transition, you might do well to consider a new turn of loyalty.”
Loren could not believe she was hearing such gibberish. “If anything happens to Senator Diaz or me, you and Mr. Suma will suffer. The President and Congress will not stand by and do nothing while we’re held hostage.”
“Moslem terrorists have been taking American hostages for years and you do nothing.” Kamatori’s eyes showed amusement. “Your President was informed within an hour of your disappearance, and was told who was responsible. Trust what I say. He has ordered that no rescue attempt be made and no word be leaked to the news media. Your aides, relatives, and fellow congressmen—none are aware that you were flown secretly to Japan.”
“You’re lying. My friends wouldn’t keep quiet.”
“By friends, do you mean Dirk Pitt and Alfred Giordino?”
Loren’s mind was in a ferment. She was teetering off balance. “You know of them?”
“Yes, they meddled in affairs that were not their concern and had an accident.”
“Were they injured?” she stammered.
“I don’t know, but it’s safe to say they did not escape unscathed.”
Loren’s lips trembled. She searched for something to say. “Why me? Why Senator Diaz?”
“You and the senator are mere pawns in a strategic game of economic power,” Kamatori continued. “So do not expect deliverance until Mr. Suma permits it. An assault by your Special Forces would be a wasted effort, because your intelligence agencies haven’t the slightest clue to your whereabouts. And if they did, there is no way for an army to penetrate our defenses. In any case, you and the Senator will be free and on a flight to Washington the day after tomorrow.”
The bewilderment in Loren’s eyes was what Kamatori hoped for. He removed his hands from the wide sleeves of his yukata, reached out suddenly, and pulled Loren’s kimono down around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.
Kamatori smiled sadistically. “I’ll do everything at my command to make your short stay enjoyable. Perhaps I might even give you a lesson on how women should defer to men.”
Then he turned and gave two heavy raps on the door. It opened from the outside by an unseen guard, and Kamatori was gone, leaving little doubt in Loren’s mind of what was in store for her before she would be released.
43
“THERE SHE IS,” said Mel Penner as he yanked the cover off a large table with the flourish of a magician, revealing a three-dimensional model of an island surrounded by a blue plaster-of-paris sea and inlaid with tiny trees and buildings. “Soseki Island, known in the past as Ajima,
“You did a marvelous job,” Stacy complimented Penner. “It looks so real.”
“I’m an old model railroad buff,” said the Director of Field Operations proudly. “My hobby is building dioramas.”
Weatherhill leaned over the table examining the steep realistic cliffs rising from the sea. “What’s its size?”
“Fourteen kilometers long by five at its widest point. About the same configuration as San Miguel, one of the channel islands off the coast of California.”
Penner pulled a blue bandanna from a hip pocket and dabbed at the sweat rolling down his temples. The air conditioner kept a comfortable temperature inside the small building, not much larger than a hut actually, that stood in the sand of a beach on Koror Island in Palau, but the 98 percent humidity could not be overcome.
Stacy, dressed in snug shorts and a halter top, walked around the table staring at Penner’s exacting model. The rocky crags spanned by miniature Oriental bridges and the twisted pine trees gave the island a mystical quality. “It must be… ” She hesitated, groping for the right description. “Heavenly,” she said finally.
“Hardly the word that leaps to mind,” Pitt muttered while swilling a glass half filled with tequila, lime, and ice from a bottle he’d carried from Washington. He wore swimming trunks and a NUMA T-shirt. His long tan legs were propped on the back of the chair in front of him, his feet in leather sandals. “A garden spot on the outside, maybe, but with a monster lurking inside.”
“You think Suma’s nuclear arsenal and detonation control center is under the island?” asked Frank Mancuso, who was the last of the five team members to arrive at the South Pacific Information Gathering and Collection Point.
Penner nodded. “We’re sure of it.”
Stacy reached out and touched the sheer palisades climbing almost vertically from the sea. “There’s no place to dock ships. They must have brought in construction equipment by air.”
“How was it possible they built it without our spy satellites detecting the activity?” Weatherhill wondered aloud.
With a smug expression of pride on his face, Penner lifted off a section of the sea that ran from the island to the thick edge of the table. He pointed at a tiny tube running through the gray plaster. “A tunnel,” he explained. “Suma’s engineers constructed a tunnel that begins under the deepest subterranean level of Edo City and travels ten kilometers to the coast, and then another fifty beneath the seafloor to Soseki.”
“Score one for Suma,” said Pitt. “Our satellites didn’t spot any unusual movement because the earth dug from the tunnel was removed along with that excavated during the building of the city.”
“A perfect cover,” said Giordino, bordering on a pun. He straddled a chair and stared pensively at the scaled model. He sat cool in cutoff jeans and nothing else.
“The longest bore in the world,” said Penner, “exceeding the one the Japs built beneath the ocean from Honshu to Hokkaido.”
Weatherhill shook his head from side to side in amazement. “An incredible undertaking. A pity the effort wasn’t put to a more peaceful purpose.”
As a mining engineer, Mancuso could appreciate the enormous problems involved in such a massive project. “Working only from one end, it must have taken a good seven years,” he said, highly impressed.
Penner shook his head negatively. “Working around the clock with newly designed boring equipment, Suma’s engineers finished the job in four.”
“All the more fantastic knowing it was accomplished in total secrecy.” Stacy’s eyes had never left the model since its unveiling.
Penner now lifted off a section of the island, revealing a miniature labyrinth of passageways and rooms, all spreading like spokes from one large spherical chamber.
“Here we have the interior layout of the facility. The scale may be slightly off, but I did what I could from the rough sketches Jim Hanamura got through to us.”
“I think you did a sensational job,” said Stacy, admiring Penner’s handiwork. “The detail is so precise.”
“A lot is pure guesswork, but Kern put a design and engineering team to work and they drafted the dimensions pretty close to what we expect from the original.” He paused to pass out a stack of folders to the four MAIT team members in the hut. “Here are the plans of the Edo City end of the tunnel and the control center as expanded and detailed by Kern’s people.”
&nb
sp; Everyone unfolded the drawings and studied the layout of the facility that represented the worst threat the free world had faced since the Cuban missile crisis. No one spoke as they traced the passageways, memorized the labels describing the rooms, and examined the dimensions.
“The center must be a good three hundred meters below the island’s surface,” observed Mancuso.
“There’s no airstrip or dock on the island,” Stacy murmured in concentration. “The only entry is by helicopter or from Edo City through the tunnel.”
Pitt drank the last of his tequila. “No way in by sea unless the assaulting force were professional mountain climbers. And at that, they’d be picked off by Suma’s defense systems like ants crawling up a white wall.”
“What are those buildings on the surface?” asked Weatherhill.
“A luxury retreat for Suma’s top management. They meet there for business conferences. It also makes an ideal location for secret meetings with politicians, government bureaucrats, and underworld leaders.”
“Shimzu’s painting showed an island barren of plant life,” said Pitt. “Half the island appears covered by trees.”
“Planted by Suma’s landscape people over the past twenty years,” explained Penner.
Mancuso scratched his nose thoughtfully. “What about an elevator between the retreat and the control center?”
Penner shook his head. “Nothing showed on the plans. We can’t risk penetration down the shaft if we don’t have a location.”
“An underground facility of this scope requires outside ventilation.”
“Our engineering team believes several of the houses within the resort area are dummy covers for air vents and exhaust ducts.”
“We might give that a try.” Weatherhill laughed. “I’m good at ducts.”
Penner shrugged. “Again, not enough information. It’s possible air is pumped in from Edo, and the foul returned and vented along with the city’s outflow.”
Pitt looked at Penner. “What are the chances Loren and Diaz are held prisoners on the island?”
Penner gave an unknowing shrug. “Fair to good. We haven’t tracked them down yet. But resortlike accommodations on an impregnable island would certainly make an ideal safe house to hide hostages.”
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