An hour later, he called Patrick back in. He had another cigarette dangling from his lips despite the large Kin’en sign above his desk. His usual air of distant serenity while working had been replaced by look of bewilderment that creased his face as he pointed to the screen.
“Before I defected to South Korea, I installed a backdoor virus on the Bureau 39 computer system. A backdoor allows you to get into a system undetected, and Bureau 39 seemed a good place to start looking for a North Korean connection. A little while ago I used it to get into their system, but they must have some new kind of firewall. I can’t just roam around in their old files, but I did manage to find an email exchange from the other day between 39 and someone else whom I can’t identify. Not yet, anyway. At any rate, I think I may have found a connection between 39 and the attacks.”
“Bureau 39, you sure?” Patrick asked excitedly.
Choy rocked his head from side to side equivocally. “Possibly. Best not to say anything until I can be sure. For one thing, Bureau 39 was disbanded and outlawed by the new government, so if there really is a 39 connection, it’s got to be people who are operating illegally. Which is kind of ironic considering that illegal is what 39 was all about.”
“Alright, I won’t tell anyone till you give the okay. So what was the email? What did it say and who sent it?”
“I can’t figure out who it came from—they must have sent it to the 39 computer from a virtual private network that’s hiding their Internet Protocol number. IP numbers are unique to every computer, but the private network keeps it hidden. It just said, ‘Congratulations on Budokan gold medal.’ It looks an awful lot like a reference to the attack. Why would someone be congratulating Bureau 39 about Budokan unless it had something to do with the attack?”
“Well, from what I’ve seen of Bureau 39, they’re evil enough to find something to celebrate,” Patrick said. “Can you figure out exactly who in 39 was being congratulated and by whom?”
“That’s what I’m going to look for now. I’m going to pose as the person in 39 who got congratulated and send an email back to the original sender thanking them for it. But I’m going to embed another backdoor virus I wrote so that if they open the email I’m sending, I can get into their system and have a look around.”
“Are you sure that won’t blow your cover? What if the original person at 39 sends a thank you email to them too? Wouldn’t that look suspicious?”
“I can just say, ‘Thanks, more later’ in the subject heading and leave it at that. It’s more than likely that they’ll still open it to see if there’s anything else in the body of the email, but then figure they’ll hear back when they don’t see anything. That way, if someone else from 39 writes, it could look like they’re sending a more elaborate thanks to the one I’m sending. There’s no guarantee that this will work, but from the looks of things with the attacks, we’ve got to try every angle to find out what’s going on and what might happen next. Do I have your okay?”
Patrick replied without hesitation. “Absolutely. It sounds like a good plan to me, and like you say, we’ve got to do something fast about these attacks.”
“Alright, let me send that now. If and when they reply, I might be able to get into their system and find out who these people are. And maybe even who their Bureau 39 connection is.”
CHAPTER 15
American embassy
July 23
In light of the attacks on SDF soldiers at the Budokan and Yasukuni Shrine, as well as the attempted attack on Tokyo Tower that off-duty SDF members had thwarted, Patrick requested an emergency meeting with JIA Director Hayashida and CIA Station Chief Norm Hooper to take up the obvious North Korean connection. He would hold off on any mention of Bureau 39 until Choy had confirmed the association. The last thing anyone needed was another communication screw-up. Hayashida rushed into Hooper’s office having just come from a meeting with Prime Minister Adegawa. He was trailed by his assistant, Minoru Kaga.
“I’m very sorry to keep you waiting,” he said breathlessly.
“Quite alright, Mister Hayashida,” Hooper said. “Can I get you some tea? Water?”
“Nothing, thanks,” Hayashida said. Hooper held up a bottle of water to Kaga, who bowed his polite refusal.
Hayashida looked at Hooper and Patrick, and his eyes became guarded.
“If I may begin,” Patrick said, “it’s very clear that the attacks we’ve had…so far…have had a connection to North Korea. And every indication points to further attacks. My question is, when will the public be alerted? I ask in my capacity as chief security consultant for the Olympics.”
Hayashida sucked air through his teeth while nodding vigorously. “That is actually the same question I put to the Prime Minister this morning, Mister Featherstone.” He gave no indication of a follow-up statement.
“And?” Patrick asked, not attempting to hide his impatience.
“Well, it’s a little difficult,” Hayashida said.
“What’s so difficult?” Hooper asked, no less irritated than Patrick at Hayashida’s seeming inability to give a straight answer.
“Well, none of the targets so far have been civilians. And we can’t really say for a fact that the attacks have been on specifically Olympic sites. Tokyo Tower and Yasukuni Shrine, for example…”
Patrick cut him off. “Tokyo Tower was one of the main viewing areas for the carrying of the Olympic torch that day. And the attack on Yasukuni Shrine was aimed at contestants in the judo competition who…”
Hayashida cut him off in turn. “…who are members of the Self-Defense Force. Similarly, the attempted attack on Tokyo Tower involved a gunfight with members of the SDF. There is no way to know if these attacks were aimed at Olympic sites or at the Self-Defense Force.”
“But so what?” Patrick said, his voice rising in frustration.
Hayashida kept his voice level. “At our meeting, the Prime Minister reaffirmed his stance that these Games be an opportunity to lift the spirits of the Japanese people and to show the world what the Prime Minister likes to call ‘Japan’s Gross National Cool.’ We can’t allow a situation where people are too frightened to even come to the events.”
Patrick and Hooper stared at him agog. Patrick spoke. “Begging your pardon, Mister Hayashida, but how ‘cool’ would it be to have the Olympic stadium littered with dead bodies if whoever is behind these attacks decides not to confine themselves to military targets? I mean, the Opening Ceremony is tomorrow.”
“I’m very sorry, Mister Featherstone, the Prime Minister has made up his mind. There will be no official announcement on the alleged North Korean connection to the alleged attacks on the Olympics. I am telling you that as your immediate superior.”
“Alleged?” Hooper thundered. “How much more evidence do you need?”
Hayashida’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and hurriedly mimed excusing himself as he left the room. A pained look crossed Kaga’s face as he trailed his boss out the door. He looked at Patrick and opened his mouth as if to say something but checked himself.
Hooper and Patrick watched the door close behind them.
“So you were born in this country, huh?” Hooper said wearily after it became clear that they would not be returning.
Patrick nodded. “Yes. But that’s not to say I understand it.”
“Tell me about it,” Hooper muttered as he went over to the coffee urn.
“Japan is never what it seems,” Patrick sighed wistfully. “Then again, it’s never anything else either.”
Hooper’s arm was halfway to pouring a cup of coffee, but he stopped in midair and looked back at Patrick. “You and Japan are made for each other. I have no idea what you just said.”
Patrick shrugged. “That’s why I couldn’t live anywhere else.”
Hooper shook his head and poured his coffee in total bafflement.
A moment later, Hooper broke the silence. “Hayashida said ‘no official announcement,’ correct?”
Patrick turned to him with the barest hint of a smile creasing his lips. “I believe he might have been referring to the NHK Broadcasting Corporation.”
Hooper nodded. “The government’s mouthpiece.”
That afternoon
Tokyo
(AP) “An unconfirmed source has told the Associated Press that the attacks at the Budokan and at Yasukuni Shrine have a possible connection to North Korea. Again, this information is unconfirmed. Stay tuned for updates on this breaking development.”
Tokyo
NHK Broadcasting Corporation
“Contrary to a report this morning, the Prime Minister’s office has categorically denied any evidence of a North Korean connection to yesterday’s attacks on the Budokan and Yasukuni Shrine. Minister of State for the Cool Japan Strategy Takeo Miki dismissed the reports as ‘irresponsible.’ We’ll have more on this story later today.”
American embassy
“Are they serious?” Kirsten Beck said as members of the combined security command watched the NHK news report in Hooper’s office. Director Hayashida had sent Minoru Kaga as his representative to the meeting. “They have an actual Minister of State for ‘the Cool Japan Strategy’?”
“I’m afraid so, Ms. Beck,” Kaga said. “It’s aimed at presenting a more modern image of Japan to the world.”
“Well,” Kirsten said, raising her eyebrows and choosing her words carefully, “I’m not sure how ‘modern’ it is to sit on information that might save lives.”
“I agree with you,” Kaga said. “The same thing happened before Fukushima.” Kaga’s hometown, ten miles from the Fukushima nuclear power plant, had to be forcibly evacuated after the Japanese government failed to take measures to prevent the 2011 explosion at the plant.
CHAPTER 16
July 23
After giving himself a fresh buzz cut and donning a torn motorcycle jacket, Yun Tae-sen, a.k.a. “Tyson,” admired himself in the mirror and drove a mini truck to a neighborhood in the Yotsuya section of Tokyo. Among assorted college dormitories, eating establishments, and condominiums sat a squat, single-story cinderblock building painted bright blue. He parked and locked the truck, went to the front door, and pressed the intercom button. The person on the other end mumbled almost inaudibly, “Hikari no Kami” (“Light of the Gods”). Tyson lowered his voice to a growling bass and said that he had heard about the organization and was interested in finding out more.
A disheveled man in his mid-forties shuffled to the door a moment later and ushered Tyson inside. He introduced himself as “Sekitori,” no first name given, and explained that due to a recent ruling by the unjust Japanese judicial system, his organization was under heavy surveillance. Tyson nodded sympathetically and told Sekitori that he and his family had defected from North Korea years earlier because they could no longer stand the microscope the government kept them under. He also told the man that he was searching for meaning in life, and Sekitori launched into a long discourse on Hikari no Kami, including its previous iteration as Aum Shinrikyo, founded by the infamous Shoko Asahara.
They talked long into the afternoon, first about the group’s roots in Christian, Buddhist, and Hindu teachings, then about Aum Shinrikyo’s 1995 attack on the Tokyo subway system using sarin nerve gas. As he detailed the attack, Sekitori’s voice and demeanor became agitated, and spittle went flying from his lips. He told Tyson that Shoko Asahara had been the first savior of mankind, and that he, Sekitori, was the last, now that Asahara had been executed. He then told of an apocalypse that he prophesied would coincide with the upcoming Olympics. Toward the end of his peroration he stood, and with an unblinking gleam in his eye, he again declared himself the savior of the world with supernatural powers. He told Tyson that only his followers would be spared, and he vowed revenge for Asahara’s 2018 execution.
Tyson listened with rapt attention throughout the long harangue. Mr. Lee had emphasized the importance of establishing rapport with his contact, and he gave every impression of being Sekitori’s newest and most eager acolyte. So when Sekitori stood and declared himself the Messiah, Tyson jumped up and bowed at his feet, blubbering convincingly, something he had practice doing from the 2011 state funeral of Kim Jong-il.
“I’ve found my home! I’ve found my home!” he shouted over and over. Then he imparted some important information: perhaps the Messiah would be interested in some materials that might hasten the apocalypse?
July 24
6 p.m.
Many commuters in Japan wear surgical masks to avoid catching or spreading germs, especially since the Covid-19 pandemic, and thus a solitary masked man on this day in late July attracted no undue attention as he entered the Sendagaya station of the Tokyo Metro. Security directly around the Olympic Stadium had been massively beefed up after the double assassination, as well as the attacks on the Budokan, Yasukuni Shrine, and Tokyo Tower, but the station is a twelve-minute walk from the stadium and not as heavily guarded as the stadium area itself.
Unlike most of the other commuters, the man in the mask had purchased a paper ticket at an automatic vending machine as opposed to using a Pasmo or Suica commuter card, which are more convenient but contain detailed information on the date, place, and time of purchase. The man carried in his hand a shopping bag from an upscale depaato nearby, but the items inside the bag were unavailable at that or any other department store.
After inserting his ticket into the receiving slot on the ticket gate, he hurried along with the others in the rush-hour crowd to the escalators leading to the trains. Once on the platform he waited three minutes for the local to Shinjuku Station and got on with the others. A few minutes later the train arrived in Shinjuku, and all but the solitary man alighted. He rushed over to a highly prized seat near the door, and as the train filled with a sea of humanity headed in the opposite direction to the Olympic stadium, he reached under his seat to his shopping bag and unscrewed the lids of two jars. When the train pulled back into Sendagaya Station a few minutes later, he poured the contents of the containers into a large metal can, which began bubbling and emitting smoke. When the door of the train opened, he kicked the bubbling can onto the middle of the platform and ran off toward the escalator, where he began pushing others aside and sprinting up the moving stairs, disappearing among the crowds. The Opening Ceremony began in an hour.
CHAPTER 17
Earlier on the same day
Beginning on the day after the double assassination, Patrick had taken to walking the perimeter of the stadium every morning at daybreak, like a pilot inspecting a plane before takeoff. And because he had missed any hint that an assassin had been hiding inside the stadium, he now also included a walkthrough of the inside, up and down the stairs, around the track and playing field, scanning the empty seats with binoculars for anything unusual. He had been assured by a JIA technician that their AI security would pick up any anomalies, but that hadn’t been enough to save the two assassination victims.
As a sniper, Patrick had painstakingly practiced for months picking out details that might seem even minutely out of place. He had had an easier time than most because he had studied with the most exacting of teachers for his sumi-e ink-brush painting, where a turn of the brush even a millimeter too soon or a millisecond too late can render an entire painting worthless. Kan, his teacher had called it, the intimate connection between sight and mind that receives everything without prejudgment before a stroke is executed. The lesson was easily transferrable to his sniper’s “eye.” Only after intuiting the sight picture in his sniper’s scope would he make a judgment to pull or not pull the trigger.
On this morning of the Opening Ceremony he had awoken at 3 a.m. for his walkaround and was greeted by a cacophony of electrical tools wielded by workers absorbed in the task of making the stadium ready for the world in
a few hours. Although Japan had hosted two Winter Olympics in the past half century, the 1964 Games had been its reentry into the civilized world after its murderous rampage through Asia less than two decades previous. Now, with the 2021 Games, Japan hoped to present to the world its new image of “Cool Japan,” a paragon of political tranquility, technological ingenuity, and its enviable omotenashi, the hospitality even the most jaded world traveler cannot help but be awed by.
By now a fixture in the stadium, Patrick’s foreign appearance elicited no surprise or alarm among the workers, and he freely paced the stadium floor with his eyes roaming from side to side. One of the main lessons he had learned in sniper training was that nothing in nature is regular. Now as he scanned the seats, aisles, and exits, he looked for anything that was even remotely irregular, since everything about the Olympics was designed to be a model of attention to detail.
He finished up his security inspection of the lower reaches of the stadium just as day was breaking, and he trained his binoculars up to the roof oculus one last time before heading over to his JIA office. He had a meeting at the American embassy later in the day, but he needed to sign off on paperwork before heading over. Today they would be meeting with Jack “Fitz” Fitzroy, another alleged “cultural attaché” who was actually a CIA spycraft expert, with dirty tricks as a specialty. It was Fitz who had outfitted Patrick with the Griffin 1-A flying suit on its inaugural mission to North Korea four years earlier. Without Fitz, he probably wouldn’t have been able to save Yumi.
Several hours later as he was finishing up at his JIA office, his phone pulsed with an incoming text. Patrick smiled, thinking it was from Yumi who often texted him around this time of day. It was not. He squinted at the phone.
“Discern what cannot be seen with the eye.”
The American embassy
Tokyo
A small group had assembled in CIA Station Chief Norm Hooper’s office, which had been designated the forward operating base of the combined security command for the Olympics. CIA Case Officer Harmon Phibbs and FBI Analyst Kirsten Beck sipped coffee at the round table that dominated the room, while JIA Director Kazuo Hayashida sat off by himself, hoping to avoid a repeat of the scene in Hooper’s office where he had been reamed by Hooper and Patrick for not sufficiently alerting the public of danger during the Games. After a while Hooper looked at his watch and spoke.
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