Dragon

by Clive Cussler

  A widower in his late forties, Diaz was the only senator who lived full time in his office. He kept a small private bath and a side room with a bed, refrigerator, stove, and sink. Over the twenty-five years he had been called the hardest-working politician on the hill, his work patterns had remained unchanged. His wife had died of diabetes shortly after he was elected to his first term. They were childless, and since her death he never gave a thought to remarrying.

  His hair was pure black and swept back in a high pompadour, the face round and brown with dark umber eyes and a mouth that easily flashed white perfect teeth. As an Army helicopter pilot in Vietnam he had been shot down and wounded in the knee. Captured and carried to Hanoi, he spent two years as a POW. His jailers had never properly attended to his leg, and he limped, walking with the aid of a cane.

  A hard-liner against foreign influence and involvement in American affairs, Diaz had fought for trade restrictions and high tariffs, and against what he saw as unfair trade and investment practices by the Japanese government. He saw the fight with Japan as more than an economic battle but as a financial war, with the United States already the loser.

  "Mr. Chairman?"

  Diaz nodded at an attractive female member of the committee. "Yes, Congresswoman Smith, go right ahead."

  "Mr. Tsuboi," she began, "you previously stated that the dollar should be replaced with the yen. Don't you think that's a bit extreme?"

  "Not when you consider Japanese investors finance fifty-five percent of your budget deficit," replied Tsuboi with an airy wave of one hand. "Conversion of your currency to ours is only a matter of time.'

  Congresswoman Loren Smith of Colorado couldn't believes he was hearing such talk. Tall, striking, with cinnamon hair cut long to frame her prominent cheekbones and violet eyes, she represented a district west of the continental divide. Tight-packed with energy, she was as elegant as a lynx and daring as a tomboy. Respected for her political cunning, she carried a great degree of clout in the house.

  Many powerful men in Washington had tried to win her favors on and off the House floor, but she was a private person and dated only men who had nothing to do with business and politics. She carried on a loose secret affair with a man she deeply admired, and was comfortable with the thought that they could never live together as intimate friends or as husband and wife. They both went their separate ways, meeting only when it was convenient.

  "How can we become closer than we are now?" asked Loren. "The assets of Japanese branch banks in the United States far outnumber the combined assets of American banks. Over a million Americans already work for Japanese employers in this country. Your lobbyists have for all practical purposes bought our government. You own eighty billion dollars' worth of prime U.S. real estate. What you mean, Mr. Tsuboi, is that our two nations become even closer so yours can dictate our economy and foreign policy. Am I correct? Please answer."

  Tsuboi was not used to being talked down to by a woman. The feminist movement is almost nonexistent in Japan. Women are dealt out of the business reward system. No Japanese man will take orders from a woman. His composure began to crack, and his advisers sat openmouthed.

  "The President and Congress can begin with assurances that you will never close your markets to our products or investments," Tsuboi answered evasively. "Also, you should allow us to enter your country without the inconvenience of a visa."

  "And if we don't entertain such suggestions?"

  Tsuboi shrugged and smiled venomously. "We are a creditor nation. You are a debtor, the largest in the world. If threatened, we will have no option but to use our leverage in favor of our interests."

  "In other words, America has become subservient to Japan."

  "Since the United States is in a state of decline and my nation is rising at an incredible rate, perhaps you should consider accepting our methods over yours. Your citizens should study our culture in depth.

  They might learn something."

  "Is that one reason why your vast operations outside of Japan are staffed by your own people and not by workers in the guest country?"

  "We hire local personnel," Tsuboi replied as if hurt.

  "But not for top positions. You hire low-end managers, secretaries, and janitors. I also might add, very few women and minorities. And you've been very successful at excluding unions."

  Congresswoman Smith had to wait for an answer while Tsuboi conversed in Japanese with his people.

  They were either unknowing or uncaring that their hushed voices were being recorded and translated. A constant stream of transcriptions was laid in front of Senator Diaz within minutes.

  "You must understand," Tsuboi finally answered. "We are not prejudiced, we simply do not consider it good business practice to permit Westerners who are not versed in our methods, and who have no loyalty toward our native customs, to hold highlevel positions in our foreign facilities."

  "Not a wise course, Mr. Tsuboi," said Loren tersely. "I think I speak for most Americans when I say we don't care to be treated with contempt by foreign nationals in our own backyard."

  "That is unfortunate, Congresswoman Smith. Speaking for my people, I do not condone such interference as you imply. We merely wish to turn a profit without stepping on toes."

  "Yes, we're well aware of Japanese business's blatant selfinterest. The selling of strategic military and computer technology to the Soviet Bloc. To corporate executives like yourself, the Soviet Union, East Germany, Cuba, Iran, and Libya are merely customers."

  "International ideological and moral issues do not concern us. To put them ahead of practical matters concerning economic trade makes little sense to our way of thinking."

  "One more question," said Loren. "Is it true you have proposed that your government buy the entire State of Hawaii so they can balance United States trade deficits with Japan?"

  Tsuboi did not consult with his aides but fired right back. "Yes, I proposed that measure. Japanese people make up the majority of the population of Hawaii, and our business interests now own sixty-two percent of the real estate. I've also suggested that California be turned into a combined economic community shared by Japan and America. We have a vast labor pool we can export, and our capital can build hundreds of manufacturing facilities."

  "I find your concepts most distasteful," said Loren, fighting back a rising anger. "The rape of California by the Japanese business community will never happen. Unfortunately, many of Hawaii's residential neighborhoods are already for Japanese only, and a number of resort and golf clubs are off limits to American citizens." Loren paused to stare Tsuboi in the eye, before continuing through tight lips. "I for one am going to fight further encroachment with every means of my office."

  A murmur of approval ran through the room. A few hands clapped as Diaz smiled and lightly tapped his gavel for quiet.

  "Who is to say what lies in the future." Tsuboi smiled patronizingly. "We do not have a secret plan to take over your government. You have lost the economic game by forfeit."

  "If we have lost, it is to corporate body snatchers backed by Kanoya Securities," snapped Loren.

  "You Americans must learn to accept the facts. If we buy America, it's because you're selling it."

  The few spectators allowed in the session and the numerous congressional aides shuddered at the veiled threat, hostility growing in their eyes. Tsuboi's strange mixture of arrogance and humility, politeness and strength, gave a disturbing and frightening atmosphere to the room.

  Diaz's eyes were hard as he leaned over the desk counter toward Tsuboi. "At least there are two benefits for our side in this unhappy situation."

  For the first time Tsuboi's expression turned puzzled. "What benefits are you speaking of, Senator?"

  "One, step too far and your investments, which are mostly words on paper and computer monitors, will be erased. Two, the ugly American is no more," Diaz said, his voice cold as an Arctic wind. "He's been replaced by the ugly Japanese."

  <<25>>

  After he le
ft Pitt at the Federal Headquarters Building, Giordino took a cab to the Department of Commerce on Constitution Avenue. Leaning on a friend, who was Assistant Secretary of Domestic and International Business, he borrowed a file on Murmoto auto import inventories. Then he taxied to Alexandria, Virginia. He stopped once to check an address in a phone book. The building he was looking for housed the distributing network of the Murmoto Motor Corporation for a five-state district.

  He called the number and asked the operator for directions.

  It was late afternoon, and already a chilly breeze of early fall swept through the trees and began tearing away the leaves. The cab stopped at the curb in front of a modern redbrick building with large bronze glass windows. A sign with copper letters on the lawn identified it as the Murmoto Motor Distribution Corp.

  Giordino paid off the cabbie and stood for a moment studying the parking lot. It was filled entirely with Murmoto cars. Not one American or European make was in sight. He walked through the double front doors and stopped before a very pretty Japanese receptionist.

  "May I help you?" she asked sweetly.

  "Albert Giordino, Commerce Department," he answered. "I'd like to talk to someone regarding new car shipments."

  She thought for a moment, and then checked a book of personnel. "That would be Mr. Dennis Suhaka, our director of transportation. I'll tell him you wish to see him, Mr. Giordano."

  "Giordino, Albert Giordino."

  "I'm sorry, thank you."

  Less than a minute later a tall, attractive secretary of Asian parentage but with a surgical job to remove the eye folds came out to the lobby and escorted Giordino to Suhaka's office. As he walked down a long, richly carpeted hallway, Giordino was amused at the titles on the doors. No manager, no superintendents, no vice presidents, everyone was a director of something or other.

  Suhaka was round and jolly. He wore a grand smile as he came from behind his desk and shook Giordino's hand. "Dennis Suhaka, Mr. Giordino. What can I do for the Commerce Department?"

  To Giordino's relief, Suhaka didn't question his unshaven appearance or ask him for identification. "No big deal. Typical bureaucratic paper shuffling for statistical records. My supervisor asked me to stop by on my way home and check the number of cars imported and shipped to your dealers against the figures given by your headquarters in Tokyo."

  "For what period of time? We bring in an enormous number of cars."

  "The past ninety days."

  "No problem," said Suhaka, going out of his way to be accommodating. "Our shipment lists are all computerized, and I can have them for you in ten minutes. They should tally. Tokyo almost never makes mistakes. Would you care for a cup of coffee while you wait?"

  "Yes," said a weary Giordino. "I could use one."

  Suhaka ushered him into a small empty office, the pretty secretary brought the coffee, and while he was sipping it, she returned with a neat stack of inventory sheets.

  Giordino found what Pitt had sent him to find in less than half an hour. He sat back then and dozed, killing time to make it appear he was simply a drone in the great bureaucracy doing his job.

  Precisely at five o'clock Suhaka entered the room. "The staff is going home, but I'll be working late. Is there anything I can help you with?"

  "No," Giordino replied, closing the files. "I'd like to get home too. I've put in my seven hours. Now I'm on my time. Thank you for being so helpful. Your import unit figures will be programmed into that great government computer in the sky. For what purpose? Only some little clerk in a basement office knows for sure." He picked up the file from the Commerce Department and was halfway through the door when he turned as if something had occurred to him, in perfect Peter Falk-Columbo fashion. "There is one thing."

  "Yes?"

  "A small inconsistency hardly worth mentioning."

  "Yes?"

  "I happened to run across six cars that are shown on your incoming inventory list as having been off-loaded in Baltimore from two different ships, but they're not accounted for on the export list from your Tokyo headquarters."

  Suhaka genuinely looked to be at a loss. "It was never called to my attention. May I compare it against your figures?"

  Giordino spread out the accounting sheets he'd borrowed from his friend at the Department of Commerce and placed them next to the ones given him by Suhaka's secretary. He underlined the cars itemized on his list but missing on the one from Tokyo. All six were SP-500 sport sedans.

  "Speaking officially, we're not concerned with the discrepancy," said Giordino indifferently. "As long as you accounted for them upon entry into the country, your company is clean with the government. I'm sure it's only an error in your Tokyo accounting department that's since been cleared up."

  "An unforgivable oversight on my part," Suhaka said, as though he'd dropped the crown jewels down a sewer. "I put too much faith in the home office. Someone on my staff should have caught it."

  "Just out of curiosity, what dealers received those particular cars?"

  "One moment." Suhaka led Giordino to his office, where he sat down at his desk and poked at the keys on his desk computer. Then he sat back and waited. As the data flashed across the screen, his smile abruptly vanished and a paleness showed in his face.

  "All six cars were hauled to different dealers. It would take several hours to track each down. If you'd care to check with me tomorrow, I'll be glad to give you their names."

  Giordino turned up his palms in a lukewarm gesture. "Forget it. We both have more pressing business to worry about. Me, I've got to fight the rush hour traffic, get cleaned up, and take my wife out to dinner.

  It's our anniversary."

  "Congratulations," said Suhaka, relief obvious in his eyes.

  "Thank you. And thanks also for your cooperation."

  Suhaka's grand smile was back. "Always glad to help. Goodbye."

  Giordino walked four blocks to a gas station and dialed a pay phone. A male voice answered with a simple hello.

  "This is your friendly Mercedes salesman. I have a model I think you'd be interested in."

  "You're out of your district, sir. You should be selling closer to the waterfront or, better yet, out in the Pacific Ocean."

  "Big deal," grunted Giordino. "If you can't afford a good German car, try a Murmoto. I have a lead on six SP-Five Hundred sport sedans that are specially discounted."

  "One moment."

  A voice came over the line that Giordino immediately recognized as Donald Kern's. "Despite the fact you've stepped out of your territory, I'm always in the market to save money. Tell me where I can see your special discounts."

  "You have to get that information out of the Murmoto distributorship in Alexandria. Their computer records show six cars that came into the country but didn't leave the factory. I suggest you hurry before word gets out and someone else beats you to them. Half the cars were off-loaded at the customs dock in Baltimore on August fourth. The other three came in on September tenth."

  Kern quickly translated Giordino's meaning. "Hold on," he ordered. He turned to his deputy, who was listening on the speaker. "Get on it. Gain access to Murmoto's computer system and dig out their shipping records for the whereabouts of those six cars before they get wise and erase the data." He returned to Giordino. "Nice work. All is forgiven. By the way, how did you happen to stumble onto the bargains?"

  "The idea came from Stutz. Have you heard from him?"

  "Yes, he called half an hour ago," replied Kern. "He discovered the source of the problem."

  "I sort of thought if anyone could troubleshoot a riddle, he could," said Giordino, referring to Pitt's canny talent for discovering an unknown. "It takes a devious mind to know one.

  <<26>>

  It was dark when Yaeger dropped Pitt off at the old hangar on the far corner of Washington's International Airport. The structure was built in 1936 and once covered the planes of an old air carrier long since purchased by American Airlines. Except for the headlights of Yaeger's Taurus, the only ot
her illumination came from the glow of the city across the Potomac River and a solitary road lamp fifty meters to the north.

  "For someone who hasn't been home for four months, you sure travel light." Yaeger laughed.

  "My luggage lies with the fishes," Pitt mumbled through halfclosed eyes.

  "I'd love to see your car collection again, but I have to get home."

  "It's bed for me. Thanks for the lift. And thank you for this afternoon. A fine job as always."

  "Love doing it. Finding the key to your brain twisters beats solving the mysteries of the universe any day." Yaeger waved, rolled up his window against the cold night air, and drove off into the darkness.

  Pitt took a spare transmitter from his pants pocket that he kept in his NUMA office and punched in a series of codes that shut down the hangar's security system and turned on the interior lights.

  He unlocked the old, badly weathered side door and entered. The polished concrete floor of the hangar looked like a transportation museum. An old Ford trimotor airplane was parked in one corner next to a turn-of-the-century railroad Pullman car. Over fifty automobiles covered the remaining 10,000

  square meters. European exotica such as a Hispano-Suiza, a Mercedes-Benz 540K, and a beautiful blue Talbot-Lago were sitting across from magnificent American classics like a Cord L-29, a Pierce-Arrow, and a stunning turquoise-green Stutz town car. The only piece that seemed oddly out of place was an old cast-iron bathtub with an outboard motor attached to the backrest.

  He tiredly walked up a circular iron stairway to his apartment overlooking the collection. What had once been an office, he had redecorated into a comfortable one-bedroom apartment with a large combination living room-study whose shelves were filled with books and glass-encased models of ships Pitt had discovered and surveyed.