“Because of DuVerlie?”
“We didn’t know that.”
“But you made the connection.”
“Yes.”
“But did nothing,” McGarvey said, his stomach knotting up. “You didn’t warn Swissair. Hell, you didn’t even hold your own people from taking the flight.”
“We warned Interpol that there might be trouble on an international flight out of France.”
McGarvey could no longer sit down. He got to his feet. “That was fucking big of you. The public be damned.”
“I don’t set policy, McGarvey.”
“Who does?”
Carrara looked away.
“You sonsofbitches ignored it all, and because of it more than a hundred fifty innocent people are dead.” McGarvey went to the window and looked outside at the beautiful day. “There were other considerations, weren’t there? Sources that would have been revealed if you’d warned the public.” He turned back. “Christ, to what end, Phil? Tell me, have you or I or the entire CIA made even the slightest difference on how events have turned out over the past fifty years?”
Carrara looked up at him. “I have to believe we have, McGarvey. Else why do we do our jobs?”
The conviction that his entire life had been nothing but an exercise in futility suddenly welled up in McGarvey’s breast. “Christ,” he said softly, Mati’s face rising up in his mind’s eye. It took everything within his control not to turn on Carrara.
“Jim Shirley, our chief of station in Tokyo, was murdered on Friday by two as yet unidentified Japanese,” the DDO said. “We learned overnight that Ed Mowry, our acting chief of station, may be next on their list.”
McGarvey was listening with one part of his mind, while with another he was still thinking about Marta. Her mistake had been falling in love with him. It had cost her her life.
“Shirley had apparently been conducting a series of meetings with a man by the name of Armand Dunée, who supposedly was a spy for a Belgian bank operating in Tokyo. But he was an imposter.”
In the beginning, in Lausanne, Mati had been a diversion. His real work had been the bookstore and his research on the French writer-philosopher Voltaire. But he’d been deluding her and everyone else, including himself. Once a spy, always a spy. Hadn’t he heard that line somewhere?
“We have a blind source there who may have spotted one of Shirley’s assassins following Mowry.”
Mati had wanted him to give it up, as did Kathleen. But neither of them understood the thing inside of him that was his driving force. His sister had come close a number of years ago when she’d pleaded with him not to sell their parents’ ranch in western Kansas after they had died. She’d inherited the cash and securities, but he had been given the land. “There’s nothing wrong with being tied to the land,” she’d argued. “A piece of ground cannot be tainted. Not that way.”
But he’d disagreed, and had sold his parents’ property without going back to see it. Daughters are not guilty of the sins of their fathers, he’d told another of his women. But what about the sons?
“We have a team in Tokyo, but no doubt they’ve been spotted. You might have a better chance of not only protecting Mowry, but finding out who wants to kill him and why.”
McGarvey turned around. “Have you warned him?”
“He’s been told that he may be a target. I sent over some help from Technical Services. But you’ve got to understand that we’re limited in what we can overtly do just now. The Japanese authorities are very touchy.”
“Have you told him about your blind source?”
Carrara looked uncomfortable. “Of course not.”
“So Mowry doesn’t specifically know that he’s being tailed?”
“No.”
“How about the Technical Services team?”
“We’re keeping the need-to-know list to a minimum.”
McGarvey shook his head. “What the hell is going on, Phil? The Company never did this sort of thing before.”
“The world has changed,” Carrara replied tightly.
“And that’s it? The world has changed?”
Carrara said nothing.
“What’s going on in Tokyo? Why was your chief of station killed, and why the blind asset?”
“I’m sending a briefing book with you so that you can familiarize yourself on the flight over. But in broad strokes we were asked to investigate the possibility that a Japanese corporation, or consortium of corporations, were going to institute an all-out technological-economic war on us. Specificially in the military-aerospace electronics field. First they would mount an espionage operation against U.S. companies doing research and development in order to find out to what point we’d taken the technology. And then they would simply better it.”
“To what end?”
“Economic blackmail. Either we buy their new developments or they’d sell them on the world market.”
“Shirley was killed because he was on to them?”
“It may not be that simple, Kirk. It may be that Shirley was involved in kickbacks. We’re just not sure. But what’s at stake here amounts to billions of dollars.”
“Maybe they’re after improvements in nuclear technology as well.”
“ModTec is not the only manufacturer of those switches, nor are they the best.”
“Assuming Shirley got caught in the middle, why target Mowry?” McGarvey asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps he was involved as well, or they think he was. Either way we’d like you to find out.”
“What about your blind asset?”
Carrara handed McGarvey a photograph of Kelley Fuller. “She works as an interpreter for the USIA at our embassy under the name Yaeko Hataya. She was Jim Shirley’s lover.”
“Shit,” McGarvey mumbled half under his breath as he studied the photograph. She was a good-looking woman.
“You’re going to have to stay out of the way of the Tokyo police. Needless to say they won’t be sympathetic.”
“Do you think the government is involved?”
“I don’t know. I hope not, but I don’t know.”
“What’s the girl’s situation? How will we make contact?”
“Mowry has put her up in one of our safehouses. Once you’re settled in Tokyo she’ll get word to your hotel. She knows you’re coming.”
“But Mowry knows nothing about this?”
“That’s right.”
McGarvey had to shake his head. “When do I leave?”
“Immediately,” Carrara said.
27
IT WAS DAWN. IGARSHI PARKED THE BLUE AND WHITE POLICE van at the end of the block from the apartment building on Sakurada-dori Avenue, and watched the activity on the street for a few moments. Already traffic was getting heavy. In another hour the area would be a madhouse, and therefore anonymous.
He studied the apartment building through binoculars. The shutters on the second-story windows were still tightly closed and there was no sign of activity yet. But Mowry would be showing up sometime this morning. He wouldn’t be able to leave his whore for long. At least in that aspect all Americans were alike.
A uniformed police officer came up the street on foot from the direction of the Imperial Palace. Igarshi started the van’s engine. He did not want to be caught here.
“What’s wrong?” Kozo Idemitsu asked from the back.
“A policeman is heading toward us.”
“Ido?”
“I think so, but I’m not sure,” Igarshi said. He raised the binoculars and studied the approaching figure. At first he couldn’t quite tell, but then the cop raised his head, and Igarshi had him. “It’s Ido.”
“Something must have gone wrong. Contact Tanaka again and see if there has been any change.”
As of ten minutes ago their observers near the American embassy in Minato-ku had reported that Mowry was still inside. There was little likelihood that he could have gotten out without being spotted, but if he was on his way now it could make things
difficult.
Igarshi picked up the bulky secure walkie-talkie lying on the seat next to him, and keyed the READY TO TALK button.
“Tiger, this is lion,” he said. “Has hummingbird departed yet? We may have a developing situation.”
He pressed the TRANSMIT button, and his digitally-recorded words were encrypted, compressed into a one-microsecond burst, and sent out.
“Stand by, lion. It looks as if his people have just pulled up out front.”
“Any sign of hummingbird?”
“Not yet. Are you in position?”
“Yes, but Ido has broken his cover and is approaching us.”
“See what the idiot wants, then get rid of him.”
“Stand by,” Igarshi radioed. Ido Meiji was the koban police officer assigned to this neighborhood. He was supposed to have provided them with a diversion if they ran into trouble. Later he would give his superiors false descriptions of the assailants he’d so bravely tried to stop. But his story wouldn’t hold up if someone remembered seeing him talking with the officers in the van.
Igarshi rolled down his window as the cop stopped to check the locked security shutter in front of a shop. He turned and came over to the van.
“I thought it was important for you to know that the woman left the apartment early this morning,” Ido Meiji said breathlessly.
“Are you sure?” Igarshi asked.
“Yes, of course. I watched the entire thing. She went around the corner to the telephone box and made a call of twenty-seven seconds duration, and then returned to the apartment.”
“She’s back now?”
“Yes. But maybe she suspects something. Perhaps she telephoned a warning.”
“Return to your position,” Igarshi ordered, making his decision. Mowry was the prime target. They couldn’t let anything get in the way.
“You mean to continue?”
“Yes. Now, go.”
The cop half bowed, then turned and walked off. Igarshi snatched the walkie-talkie and hit the READY TO TALK button.
“Tiger, this is lion. Ladybird left the apartment this morning and made a brief telephone call to an unknown party.”
“Never mind that,” Tanaka radioed. “Hummingbird is getting into his car now. We’ll be on our way in under a minute.”
“The woman may have seen something. She might have warned him.”
“In that case she would have remained inside the apartment and used that telephone,” Tanaka shouted. “Remain at your position. I’ll advise you of any change in plans.”
“Roger,” Igarshi said, and he tossed the walkie-talkie aside in disgust. They were dealing with a deadly business here. There was no room for mistakes, and even less room for blindness.
“This won’t be so good if the girl warned somebody,” Idemitsu said.
“Don’t be a fool,” Igarshi countered impatiently. “What does it matter?”
“You said yourself that she got a good look at you.”
“I was mistaken.”
“How can you say that?”
“Are you ready back there?” Igarshi shouted.
“Yes,” Idemitsu said after a moment. “I am ready now.”
“Then nothing has changed.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“She’s just an empty-headed whore. After today she will be dead.”
Kelley Fuller watched the street through the slats in the bamboo shutters that covered the window in the tiny living room. The cop had crossed the street from the police van and was heading past the apartment back to the corner. It was the same koban cop who’d followed her to the telephone, she was certain of it.
Which meant what? she asked herself, trying to think it out. That the Tokyo Police had mounted a surveillance operation on her? Or more likely on the apartment?
Phil Carrara had warned her that the Japanese authorities were extremely agitated over Shirley’s assassination. It wasn’t so much the brutal nature of the killing that was disturbing them as it was the fact he’d been CIA. Communist China and North Korea were just across the narrow Sea of Japan. No one wanted a new battle in the old Cold War to erupt here with those enemies so close at hand.
If Mowry were being identified as CIA—which was entirely possible given the present apparent state of security at the embassy—then his coming here to a secret apartment would raise some embarrassing questions.
It would also mean that her effectiveness would be at an end. They might never find Shirley’s killers, or their real reason for targeting the CIA, beyond the public speculation that the incident had been an act of anti-American terrorism.
Again the ghastly picture of his body on fire rose up in her head and she closed her eyes.
A bullet in the head would have been one thing. But the way Shirley had been murdered had been a message. A strong message. But from whom?
From the man on the motorcycle who’d followed them here? His eyes had been hauntingly familiar to her. And she’d felt in her heart that he’d been one of the two in front of the Roppongi Prince that night.
“Help me,” she said softly. She didn’t know what to do.
The man Carrara had sent from Washington had touched down at Narita Airport earlier this morning. By now he’d be in place at the ANA Hotel Tokyo near the embassy. He would have to be warned, as would Mowry. But then what?
Mowry had no real idea what he was up against. None of them did.
From her vantage point she could just make out a figure behind the wheel of the van, but little else. It was obvious they were waiting for something, or somebody.
She picked up the phone and dialed the embassy’s number. When the operator answered she asked for Mowry’s extension. his secretary came on.
“Three five eight.”
“Please, may I speak with Mowry-san. This is Yaeko Hataya.”
“I’m sorry Miss Hataya, but Mr. Mowry is not here.”
“I see,” Kelley said. “Can you tell me, is he in the embassy, or has he left?”
“He’s gone,” Mowry’s secretary said.
“I see. Thank you,” Kelley said. She broke the connection and called the ANA Hotel Tokyo. “Please connect me with the room of Mr. Kirk McGarvey. He is a registered guest of yours who was due this morning.”
“I’m sorry, madame, but Mr. McGarvey has not yet arrived,” the hotel operator said after a moment. “Would you care to leave a message?”
“No. That will not be necessary.”
Kelley hung up and looked out the window again. The police van was still in place. Mowry was undoubtedly on his way here, which didn’t give her much time. But the only thing she could do now would be lead the police away from the apartment. Everything could be sorted out later.
28
THE TAXI DROPPED MCGARVEY OFF IN FRONT OF THE IMPERIAL Palace’s Outer Garden East Gate, the morning coming alive with traffic. Already the first of the joggers were starting their three-mile runs around the palace. Everyone ran the course counterclockwise. It was tradition, on which the Japanese were very big.
Although he’d gotten plenty of rest on the long flight over the Pacific, his body clock was still telling him that it should be the middle of the evening, not first thing in the morning. He’d taken a shuttle bus from the airport to catch the train into Tokyo’s Keisei-Ueno Station, and from there a cab to his hotel where he dropped off his bag with the bellman.
His gun had come through customs in a diplomatic pouch, the package returned to him on the other side of the barrier. The weapon was a comfortable weight at the small of his back, though if the local authorities discovered he was armed, he would face immediate arrest and deportation.
He crossed the moat and entered the relative peace of the garden. There were so many people packed in such close quarters in Tokyo that parks and gardens were places revered almost at a religious level.
Reading between the lines of Carrara’s report, McGarvey had come to the conclusion that Jim Shirley had been the only effective field offic
er here, but that even he had been suspect in the end.
Mowry was an administrator and Kelley Fuller, A.K.A. Yaeko Hataya was starting to fall apart, which left a very big and dangerous blind spot when it came to Japan. He couldn’t help compare the situation to the days before Pearl Harbor, when there’d been another serious lapse in hard intelligence on what the Japanese were up to.
Rightly or wrongly there was a growing paranoia about exactly just where the Japanese were headed these days. As Carrara pointed out, it wasn’t so much that they seemed to want to buy everything they could get their hands on in the States—the British owned nearly twice as much property in the U.S. as the Japanese did. But it was what the Japanese were buying, and how they were going about it.
Owning a building in midtown Manhattan was one thing, but buying out a major communications industry, including a movie production company and a major book publisher, was another. As was a rumored move to buy out a major U.S. aircraft company. In each case the Japanese promised not to make any changes in company policy. That, of course, was forgotten the moment the ink was dry on the contracts.
“We can’t afford anti-Japanese sentiment, but neither can we afford a Japanese buyout of what’s vital to this country,” Carrara said.
Finding out who was behind the assassination of Shirley, and how that connected to Carrara’s sweeping generalizations was a tall, if not an impossible order. One which McGarvey had his doubts about being able to fulfill. And there was still the nagging suspicion at the back of his mind that somehow the Japanese were connected with Spranger and his group of ex-STASI officers.
At the south end of the gardens the ornate Sakuradamon Gate crossed another moat to the end of Sakurada-dori Avenue. A couple dozen joggers were warming up in the courtyard between the portals of the gate. McGarvey stopped just inside the garden.
On the corner was the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Building, and across the street was the Ministry of Justice housed in a nondescript old brown brick building. This area was the heart of the Japanese government. Within a few blocks were the Ministries of Foreign Affairs, Education, International Trade and Industry.
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