"Six million Yankee dollars."
It was a quiet Japanese voice in halting English with a trace of a British accent, courtesy of a British tutor.
Loren and Diaz turned and looked at Hideki Suma with no small feeling of nervousness. They identified him immediately from pictures in hundreds of magazine and newspaper articles.
Suma moved slowly into the cavernous room, followed by Kamatori. He stared at them benignly for a few moments with a slight inscrutable smile on his lips. " `The Legend of Prince Genji,' painted by Toyama in fourteen eighty-five. You have excellent commercial taste, Senator Diaz. You chose to admire the most expensive piece of art in the room."
Because of Suma's awesome reputation, Loren expected a giant of a man. Not, most certainly, a man who was slightly shorter than she.
He approached, gave a brief bow to both of them, and shook hands. "Hideki Suma." His hands were soft but the grip firm. "And I believe you've met my chief aide, Moro Kamatori."
"Our jailer," Diaz replied acidly.
"A rather disgusting individual," said Loren.
"But most efficient," Suma came back with a sardonic inflection. He turned to Kamatori. "We seem to be missing two of our guests."
Suma had no sooner spoken when he felt a movement behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Pitt and Giordino were being hustled through the dining-room entrance by two security robots. They were still clad in their flying suits, both with huge garish neckties knotted around their necks that were obviously cut from the sashes of kimonos they'd declined to wear.
"They do not show respect for you," Kamatori growled. He made a move toward them, but Suma held out a hand and stopped him.
"Dirk!" Loren gasped. "Al!" She rushed over and literally leaped into Pitt's arms, kissing him madly over his face. "Oh, God, I've never been so happy to see anyone." Then she hugged and kissed Giordino. "Where did you come from? How did you get here?"
"We flew in from a cruise ship," Pitt said cheerfully, hugging Loren like the father of a kidnapped child who had been returned. "We heard this place was a four-star establishment and thought we'd drop in for some golf and tennis."
Giordino grinned. "Is it true the aerobics instructors are built like goddesses?"
"You crazy nuts," she blurted happily.
"Well, Mr. Pitt, Mr. Giordino," said Suma. "I'm delighted to meet the men who have created an international legend through their underwater exploits."
"We're hardly the stuff legends are made of," Pitt said modestly.
"I am Hideki Suma. Welcome to Soseki Island."
"I can't say I'm thrilled to meet you, Mr. Suma. It's difficult not to admire your entrepreneurial talents, but your methods of operation fall somewhere between Al Capone and Freddie from Elm Street."
Suma was not used to insults. He paused, staring at Pitt in puzzled suspicion.
"Nice place you've got here," said Giordino, boldly appraising Toshie as he edged toward the bar.
For the first time, Diaz smiled broadly as he shook Pitt's hand. "You've just made my day."
"Senator Diaz," Pitt said, greeting the legislator. "Nice to see you again."
"I'd have preferred meeting you with a Delta team at your back."
"They're being held in reserve for the finale."
Suma ignored the remark and lowered himself into a low bamboo chair. "Drinks, gentlemen?"
"A tequila martini," ordered Pitt.
"Tequila and dry vermouth," answered Toshie. "With orange or lemon peel?"
"Lime, thank you."
"And you, Mr. Giordino?"
"A Barking Dog, if you know how to make it."
"One jigger each of gin, dry vermouth, sweet vermouth, and a dash or two of bitters," Toshie elaborated.
"A bright girl," said Loren. "She speaks several languages."
"And she can make a Barking Dog," Giordino murmured, his eyes taking on a dazed quality as Toshie gave him a provocative smile.
"To hell with this social crap!" Diaz burst out impatiently. "You're all acting like we were invited to a friendly cocktail party." He hesitated and then addressed himself to Suma. "I demand to know why you've brazenly kidnapped members of Congress and are holding us hostages. And I damn well want to know now."
"Please sit down and relax, Senator," Suma said in a quiet but iceberg tone. "You are an impatient man who wrongly believes everything worth doing must be done immediately, on the instant. There is a rhythm to life you people in the West have never touched. That is why our culture is superior to yours."
"You're nothing but an insular race of narcissists who think you're a super race," Diaz spat. "And you, Suma, are the worst of the lot."
Suma was a classic, thought Pitt. There was no anger in the man's face, no animosity, nothing but a supreme indifference. Suma seemed to look upon Diaz as little more than an insolent toddler.
Kamatori, though, stood there, his hands clenched at his sides, face twisted in hatred of the Americans, of all foreigners. His eyes were almost closed, his lips taut in a straight line. He looked like a maddened jackal about to spring.
Pitt had earlier sized up Kamatori as a dangerous killer. He moved casually to the bar, picked up his drink, and then eased subtly between Kamatori and the senator with a you've-got-to-get-past-me-first look. The ploy worked. Kamatori turned his anger from Diaz and stared at Pitt through circumspect eyes.
With timing near perfection, Toshie bowed with her hands between her knees, the silk of her kimono rustling, and announced that dinner was ready to be served.
"We shall continue our discussion after dinner," said Suma, cordially herding everyone to a place at the table.
Pitt and Kamatori were the last ones to sit down. They paused and gazed at each other unblinkingly, like two boxers trying to stare each other down during the referee's instructions before a fight. Kamatori flushed at the temples, his expression black and malevolent. Pitt poured oil on the fire by grinning contemptuously.
Both men knew that soon, very soon, one would kill the other.
<<47>>
The dinner was begun by an ancient form of culinary drama. A man Suma described as a shikibocho master appeared on his knees beside a plain board holding a fish that Pitt correctly identified as a bonito.
Wearing a costume of silk brocade and a tall pointed cap, the shikibocho master displayed steel chopsticks and a wooden-handled long straight knife.
With hands moving the implements in a dazzling blur, he sliced up the fish using a prescribed number of slashes. At the conclusion of the ritualistic performance, he bowed and withdrew.
"Is he the chef?" asked Loren.
Suma shook his head. "No, he is merely a master of the fishslicing ceremony. The chef who specializes in the epicurean art of seafood preparation will now reassemble the fish, which will be served as an appetizer."
"You employ more than one chef in your kitchen?"
"I have three. One, as I mentioned, who is expert in fish dishes, one who is a master at cooking meats and vegetables, and one who concentrates his talents on soups only."
Before the fish was served, they were given a hot salty tea with sweet cookies. Then steaming oshibori towels were passed out for everyone to cleanse their hands. The fish was returned, the slices delicately replaced in their exact position, and eaten raw as sashimi.
Suma seemed to enjoy watching Giordino and Diaz struggle with their chopsticks. He was also mildly surprised to see Pitt and Loren eat with the twin ivories as though they were born to them.
Each course was served ably and smoothly by a pair of robots whose long arms picked up and set dishes with incredible swiftness of movement. Not a particle of food was dropped nor the sound heard of a dish clatter as it met the hard tabletop. They only spoke when asking if the diners were through with a particular course.
"You seem to be obsessed with an automated society," Pitt addressed Suma.
"Yes, we take pride in our conversion to a robotic empire. My factory complex in Nagoya is the largest in the world. There, I h
ave computerized robotic machines building twenty thousand fully functioning robots every year."
"An army producing an army," said Pitt.
Suma's tone became enthusiastic. "Unwittingly, you've touched a chord, Mr. Pitt. We have already begun Japan's new robotic military forces. My engineers are designing and constructing completely automated warships without human crews, aircraft flown entirely by robots, robotic-operated tanks that drive and fight by remote command, and armies composed of hundreds of thousands of armored machines armed with powerful weaponry and long-range sensors that can leap over fifty meters and travel at sixty kilometers an hour. Their ease of repair and their highlevel sensory capabilities make them nearly invincible. In ten years, no superpower military force will be able to stand against us. Unlike your Pentagon generals and admirals, who rely on men and women to fight, bleed, and die in combat, we'll be able to fight large-scale battles without a single human casualty."
A solid minute passed as the Americans at the table attempted to imagine the magnitude of Suma's revelation. The concept seemed so vast, so futuristic that they all had trouble accepting the fact that robotic armies were about to become a here and now proposition.
Only Giordino appeared indifferent to the immense scope of cyborg warfare. "Our mechanical chaperon claims he was consecrated," he said, casually picking at the fish.
"We combine our religion, Shintoism, with our culture," answered Suma, "believing that inanimate, as well as animate, objects are blessed with a soul, an advantage we have over you in the West. Our machines, be they industrial tools or a samurai's sword, are revered as humans. We even have machines that teach many of our workers to behave as machines."
Pitt shook his head. "Sounds self-defeating. You're taking jobs away from your own people."
"An archaic myth, Mr. Pitt," replied Suma, tapping his chopsticks on the table. "In Japan, men and machines have developed a close relationship. Shortly after the turn of the century, we'll have a million robots doing the work of ten million people."
"And what happens to the ten million people who are laid off?"
"We export them to other countries, just as we export our manufactured goods," said Suma quietly.
"They become good law-abiding citizens of their adopted nation, but their loyalty and economic connections will still be tied to Japan."
"A kind of worldwide brotherhood," said Pitt. "I've seen how it works. I recall watching a Japanese bank being built in San Diego by Japanese architects, Japanese developers, Japanese construction workers, all using Japanese equipment and Japanese building supplies imported aboard Japanese ships.
The local contractors and suppliers were cut out completely."
Suma gave an uncaring shrug. "Economic conquest has no rules. Our ethics and morals come from a different breeding ground than yours. In Japan, honor and discipline are knotted tightly to loyalties to the Emperor, family, and the corporation. We are not bred to venerate democratic principles or charitable generosity. The United Way, volunteer work, charity events to raise money for starving people in Africa, and organizations for providing aid to foster children in third-world nations are virtually unheard of in my country. We concentrate our benevolent efforts on taking care of our own." He paused, and then motioned to the robots as they re-entered the room balancing trays. "Ah, here comes the next course."
The bonita was followed by individual wooden trays that held unpeeled ginkgo nuts threaded with pine needles and a pyramid of sliced abalone. Then came a flower soup, a clear broth with single orchids floating in the bowls.
Loren closed her eyes as she savored it. "It tastes as wonderful as it looks," she said.
Suma nodded. "Japanese haute cuisine is created to delight the eye as well as the palate."
"A successful attempt at visual and taste perfection," Pitt observed.
"Are you a bon vivant, Mr. Pitt?" asked Suma.
"I enjoy the pleasure of a gourmet meal, yes."
"Are your tastes varied?"
"If you mean, do I eat most everything, the answer is affirmative."
"Good." Suma clapped his hands. "Then you're in for an exciting and harmonious treat."
Loren thought the dinner was half over, but it had barely begun. A truly exceptional display of tasty dishes, their ingredients artistically arranged, arrived in a steady stream. Figs in sesame sauce, rice with basil, another soup with egg yolk, neatly sliced conger eel, radish, and mushrooms accompanied by roe of sea urchin, several kinds of fish, including turbot, snapper, pike, and squid wrapped in a collage with varied types of seaweed, and lotus root mixed with intricately cut mussels, cucumber, and zucchini. A third soup was served with pickled vegetables, rice, and sesame. At last, dessert was presented, consisting of several sweet fruits, and the feast concluded with the inevitable cup of tea.
"A final meal for the condemned?" Diaz asked harshly.
"Not at all, Senator," Suma replied in a congenial voice. "You and Congresswoman Smith will be returning to Washington within twenty-four hours on board my private jet."
"Why not now?"
"You must be instructed of my goals first. Tomorrow I will personally conduct you and Congresswoman Smith on a tour of my Dragon Center and demonstrate the source of Japan's new might."
"A Dragon Center," repeated Diaz curiously. "For what purpose?"
"You don't know, Senator, about the nuclear bomb cars our host has spread around half the world?"
Pitt asked provokingly.
Diaz was uncomprehending. "Bomb cars?"
"Suma, here, wants to play hardball with the big boys, so he's dreamed up a blue-ribbon extortion plot. As soon as his highly touted Dragon Center is completed, he can push a button and cause the detonation of a nuclear bomb at any location his robots park a car with a built-in bomb."
Loren's eyes went wide with shock. "Is this true? Japan has secretly built a nuclear arsenal?"
Pitt nodded at Suma. "Why don't you ask him?"
Suma stared at Pitt like a mongoose eyeing a cobra. "You're a very astute man, Mr. Pitt. I'm told it was you who put Mr. Jordan and his intelligence people onto our method of smuggling the warheads into your country."
"I freely admit that hiding them in automobile airconditioning compressors was a cagey act of genius on your part. You almost got away with a clean operation, that is, until a bomb accidentally exploded aboard your auto transport ship."
Frowning, baffled, Loren asked, "What do you hope to gain?"
"Nothing deep and unfathomable," answered Suma. "Using your slang, Japan has always been on the short end of the stick. Raw universal antiJapanese prejudice is deeply ingrained in the white West. We have been looked down on as an odd little Oriental race for three hundred years. The time has come to grasp the dominance we deserve!"
An angered flush crept into Loren's face. "So you'd launch a war that would slaughter millions of people for nothing but false pride and greed. Didn't you learn anything from the death and destruction you caused in the nineteen-forties?"
"Our leaders went to war only after the Western nations strangled us to death with trade embargoes and boycotts. What we lost then in lives and destruction, we've since surpassed in expansion of economic power. Now we are being threatened again by international ostracism and world enmity merely due to our diligent efforts and dedication to efficient trade and industry. And because our great economy is dependent on foreign oil and minerals, we can never again allow ourselves to be dictated to by Washington politics, European interests, or Middle East religious conflict. With the Kaiten Project we have the means to protect ourselves and our hard won economic gains."
"The Kaiten Project?" Diaz repeated, never having heard of it before.
"His sordid plan to blackmail the universe," Pitt explained caustically.
"You're flirting with fire," Loren said to Suma. "The United States, the Soviet Union, and Europe will band together to destroy you."
"They will back off when they see what it will cost them," Suma said confid
ently. "They'll do little but hold press conferences and declare they will solve the problem through diplomatic means."
"You don't give a damn about saving Japan!" snapped Diaz suddenly. "Your own government would be horrified if they were aware of this monster you've created. You're in this for yourself, a personal power grab. You're a power-mad maniac."
"You are right, Senator," Suma said in quiet control. "In your eyes I must appear as a maniac intent on supreme power. I won't hide it. And like all the other maniacs of history who were driven to protect their nation and its sovereignty, I won't hesitate to use my power to guide expansion of our race around the globe while protecting our culture from the corruptions of the West."
"Just what do you find so corrupting about the Western nations?" demanded Diaz.
A look of contempt came into Suma's eyes. "Look to your own people, Senator. The United States is a land of drug addicts, Mafia gangsters, rapists and murderers, homeless and illiterates. Your cities run rampant with racism because of your mixed cultures. You are declining as did Greece and Rome and the British Empire. You've become a cesspool of deterioration, and the process is unstoppable."
"So you think America is undermined and finished as a superpower," said Loren in an annoyed voice.
"You do not find such decay in Japan," Suma replied smugly. "God but you're hypocritical." Pitt broke out laughing, turning every head at the dining table. "Your quaint little culture is rife with corruption in the highest political levels. Reports of scandals fill your newspapers and TV stations on a daily basis. Your underworld is so powerful it runs the government. Half your politicians and bureaucrats are on the take, openly receiving money for political influence. You sell highly secret military technology to the Communist Bloc for profit. Living costs are ridiculously out of sight for your own people, who pay twice what Americans pay for goods manufactured by Japanese corporations. You steal hightech advancements wherever you can find them. You have racketeers who regularly disrupt company meetings to extract payoffs. You accuse us of racism when your best-selling books promote anti-Semitism, your department stores display and sell black Sambo manikins and dolls, and you sell magazines on street newsstands depicting women in bondage. And you have the gall to sit there and claim you have a superior culture.
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