The Patriot Attack (23 page)

Northeastern Japan

Y
ou can’t just kidnap me, throw me in the back of a plane, and steal my invention!” Max Wilson said, pulling the collar of his leather jacket tighter around his neck and looking into the dense forest surrounding them.

“I don’t understand why you keep saying that to me when it’s pretty clear that I can,” Randi replied impatiently.

That man was a good four inches shorter than her, with a heavy build, callused hands, and a nose that looked like it had been broken more than a few times. Not a person you’d guess had PhDs from both Stanford and Cal Tech.

His father had died in an accident in a West Virginia mine when Wilson was only twelve. Out of what seemed like an extremely misguided sense of loyalty, he’d followed in the old man’s footsteps—dropping out of high school and descending into those same shafts.

It hadn’t taken long before the mining company’s engineers noticed that young Max seemed able to come up with solutions to problems that were cheaper, more workable, and more elegant than their own. And then there was the matter of his hobbies: number theory, quantum mechanics, and paleomagnetism. Apparently, he was a pretty fair bowler too.

One of the company’s geologists recommended Wilson to his alma mater, and he was immediately accepted. He spent the next ten years in academia but eventually returned—in his own way—to the mines.

“Well, you
are
smoking hot. So I suppose that’s some consolation.”

“Thank you, Dr. Wilson. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Call me Max. And you are?”

“Randi.”

“Randi…”

“Just Randi.”

“Government,” he muttered.

“You came highly recommended by Greg Maple.”

This time his words were too low to fully understand but she was pretty sure they had something to do with kicking his colleague’s ass when he got back to the States.

Randi put a hand on his back and led him deeper into the trees, winding along until they reached an area that had been covered with a camouflage canopy.

“Where are we anyway?”

“The woods,” Randi replied.

“Not American, though. Too long a flight.”

“It’s not important.”

“That’s because you know where you are. And you weren’t kidnapped.”

She shrugged. Hard to argue the logic.

They came over a rise and Wilson stopped short. Just ahead was a silver cylinder about twenty yards long and a little less than two in diameter. It had been in multiple pieces when it arrived, making it a hell of a lot easier to smuggle into the mountains of middle-of-nowhere, Japan, but the five kids swarming around it almost had it back together.

“Hey!” Wilson said. “Those are my grad students!”

“I thought you might appreciate the help.”

He spun toward her, obviously infuriated, and she countered with what she hoped was a disarming smile. It would have to do. Her normal methods of persuasion were completely off limits with civilian academics.

“Help with what?” he said, his voice straining with anger.

Randi pointed north. “Tunneling through that mountain.”

His face went blank. “You can’t be serious.”

“Don’t I look serious?”

“It’s a goddamn prototype! It’s never even gotten dirty.”

“Yeah, but your last version got dirty and worked pretty well from what I hear. It’s my understanding that this model’s even better.”

Wilson’s invention was a next-generation tunneling machine. On the surface, it didn’t seem much different from the ones currently in use, but the similarities ended pretty quickly when you looked deeper. Traditionally designed machines ejected enormous amounts of dirt that had to be hauled away, and braces had to be placed at intervals to keep the shaft from collapsing. And then there were the massive power cables necessary to keep them running.

Wilson’s system did away with all those complexities. It had a nuclear core that powered the diggers. The excess reactor heat was used to fuse the earth lining the tunnel into a substance stronger than concrete. The unit he was ultimately working toward would be larger than a locomotive, but this much smaller prototype was perfect for the very stupid idea she and her team had settled on.

“There’s no way to power it,” Wilson protested. “You wouldn’t believe the red tape I have to deal with to get nuclear fuel from the government.”

“I had it gassed up before it was shipped.”

“Bullshit.”

Again, Randi shrugged. “When I ask for something, I get it, Max. You should keep that in mind.”

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment and then jogged toward his invention. When his students saw their professor approaching, they abandoned what they were doing and surrounded him, all talking at once in panicked voices that were a little too loud.

Randi watched for a few seconds and then turned and started back through the trees, angling toward a small table where Eric Ivers and Vanya were poring over a topographic map. Reiji had taken Karen on another of their endless supply runs. Everything had to arrive in small shipments so as not to attract attention.

“How are we looking?”

Vanya gave her a worried glance and Ivers just laughed.

Neither reaction was difficult to understand. They were halfway up the side of a mountain that contained a nuclear storage facility that they believed housed the most dangerous weapon ever built by human hands. Their plan? If you can’t get in the front door, bust a window and go in the back.

“So not good?”

“No, no,” Ivers said. “We’ve got this by the ass. All we have to do is crawl through two miles of extremely hot tunnel, hand-dig the last bit so no one in the facility hears Wilson’s little underground nuclear missile, and then leap out and yell
Freeze! You’re under arrest!
”

“What could possibly go wrong?” Randi said.

Vanya winced. Obviously, her attempt at humor had fallen flat. “What couldn’t? You think that a prototype digging machine put together by a bunch of students in the woods isn’t going to break down? You think Takahashi doesn’t have seismic sensors that are going to lock onto us a mile away? And how are we going to hand-dig the last portion? Half that mountain is solid rock. But let’s, for a moment, ascribe to the fantasy that we actually get into that facility. How many guards are we going to be up against? Is the layout still what’s on the original plans we have or has Takahashi changed it? What weapons are they armed with?”

He fell silent, though Randi knew he probably could have gone on for another hour.

No one spoke for a long time. Vanya had said what they were all thinking, but what alternatives did they have? As inconceivable as it was, Klein had been clear that her team was the best hope of averting the greatest humanitarian disaster in history. She knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn’t be able to live with stepping to the sidelines. For her, it would be better to go down fighting. But that wasn’t necessarily true of the people who had gotten stuck with this detail.

“Look,” Randi started. “Normally when I say this I don’t mean it. But today, I do. If you want out, no one’s going to think any less of you. Hell, most likely no one’s going to be around to think any less of you.”

Vanya thought about it for a few moments. “I’d be dead twice over if it weren’t for Mr. Klein. I will see this through. No matter how it ends.”

“Eric?”

His normally broad grin faltered. “I knew this was a shitty job when I signed on, Randi, but that thing Wilson built is a grave digger and you know it. We’re going to die in that tunnel and no one’s ever even going to know. No parades or newspaper articles or statues at the academy. Just a cozy hole in the side of a Japanese mountain and a few friends to share it with.”

“So you’re out.”

He shook his head. “Karen says she won’t leave. And since she’s the only family I have, I figure we might as well die together.”

Oval Office
Washington, DC
USA

W
hen Castilla entered the Oval Office, General Keith Morrison, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, leaped to attention. The president noted that he looked a little dazed and hoped it was just the fact that he probably hadn’t slept for days.

Castilla offered his hand and nodded toward the thick dossier the soldier was holding. “Are you bringing me good news, Keith?”

Morrison’s expression turned from dazed to a bit ill.

“Sit,” Castilla said, pointing to the sofa. “Please.”

Three days ago, he’d personally handed the general a full account of his meeting with Takahashi, Covert-One’s analysis of that meeting, and everything Greg Maple had come up with on Hideki Ito’s weapon. His orders had been for Morrison to very quietly double-check and flesh out the analyses. No one beyond a few select experts was to be told—not the secretary of defense, not the CIA, and sure as hell not the NSA. At this point, secrecy was paramount, and with the exception of Fred Klein, Morrison was the only person he felt he could trust. Not only was the man an honest-to-God war hero, but he also had a master’s from Harvard and seemed physically incapable of not following the orders of his commander in chief. Perhaps even more important, he had known Masao Takahashi for over twenty years.

Morrison started to open the folder in his hand but then seemed to lose strength. Finally, he just laid it on the table between them. “May I ask where you got the analysis you gave me, sir?”

“No,” Castilla responded simply.

The soldier nodded. “Well, it was a hell of a job. I wish whoever did it worked for me.”

The president had had plenty of time to prepare for this meeting so he was able to keep his expression impassive. He’d hoped that Morrison was here to tell him that Klein and Takahashi were completely full of shit, but the truth was that neither man ever had been before.

“Tell me about Takahashi,” Castilla said. This was one of Klein’s few blind spots. He could lay out the intel better than anyone, but he’d never worked with the Japanese general. Never gotten drunk with him.

Morrison chewed his lip for a moment. “Masao is a complicated man. He’s brilliant—there’s no question of that. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of history but manages to avoid getting bogged down in it. He’s always leaned toward a progressive view of the military…” His voice faded for a moment. “But I wasn’t aware it was this progressive.”

“Let me ask you a question, Keith. Do you like the man? Do you consider him a friend?”

Morrison shook his head. “I’ve always admired Masao, but when you get to know him, you come to understand that he has a dark side.”

“Explain.”

“First of all, let’s be clear that he blames the US not only for the defeat of Japan, but for what he sees as Japan’s weakness over the last three-quarters of a century. And on a personal level he holds us responsible for the deaths of a number of his family members during and after war, including his mother.”

“So the fact that after everything the Japanese did, we helped rebuild them into a major economic power doesn’t hold any water with him at all?”

“He doesn’t see that as generosity. He sees it as fear.”

“Fear of what?”

Morrison didn’t respond immediately, obviously wanting to choose his words carefully. “In addition to history, Masao has a keen interest in genetics. And while he’s never come out and said it directly, I can tell you that he believes the Japanese people are—”

“Please don’t say the master race,” Castilla said, starting to feel a little ill. The world had been down this path before.

“As much as I want to say no, that’s an accurate portrayal. In his mind, we singled out Japanese Americans for internment during World War Two because we subconsciously acknowledge that they’re a homogeneous, superior group that has to be suppressed. He sees our rebuilding of their country as a desperate attempt to control them. To make them dependent on us and prevent them from reestablishing a military capability.”

“Jesus, Keith. Why am I just hearing this now?”

“Because Takahashi’s personal feelings were never important before. He doesn’t run the country and Japan is an ally with virtually no offensive capability. Or so we believed.”

Castilla didn’t immediately respond. The thought of Takahashi using his new arsenal against the American mainland had made his mouth go dry. “If he thinks the Japanese are at the top of the genetic hierarchy, can I assume that he thinks the Chinese are at the bottom?”

“Unquestionably.”

“So where do we slot in, Keith?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that, sir. My gut says that we aren’t in his crosshairs. The Chinese have a deep hatred for the Japanese and they’re pushing the entire region hard.”

Castilla nodded knowingly. If he’d been the prime minister of Japan instead of the president of the United States, it would be an issue that consumed him. The situation between China and Japan was starting to parallel that of the United States and Soviet Union during the Cold War. Except that Japan had to trust the US to intervene on its behalf. A very precarious position to be in.

“Okay. But why escalate this, Keith? Why not demonstrate their capabilities publicly—put China in its place?”

“That would just maintain the status quo, sir. Takahashi is more ambitious than that. With his only real rival in Asia out of the way and a demonstration of his military superiority, he has the ability to take control of the entire region. Japan is a resource-poor island with a relatively small, aging population. He needs territory, people, and raw materials.”

“What’s his endgame?”

“Based on what I know about the man, I would say that his goal is to wipe out China and overtake the US as the world’s primary superpower.”

It was time for a drink. Castilla walked to his desk and pulled out a bottle. Morrison was a devout Mormon, so he didn’t offer, though the man looked like he could use it.

“Then it’s your opinion that he will attack.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How?”

“There’s no question in my mind that he’ll lead with the nanotech. I’d introduce it quietly and by the time the Chinese realize what’s happening, their military and civilian infrastructure will be in full collapse. Assuming they discover who’s behind it and they’re still capable of mounting a counterattack, it’ll be easily handled by Japan’s defenses.”

Castilla poured himself a glass of bourbon and leaned against his desk for support. It was hard to even comprehend. Hundreds of millions of people going into winter with no electricity or shelter, no food or transportation. Cities full of people fighting for whatever scraps they could find in the rubble. And a planet suddenly robbed of a massive economic power that manufactured an enormous amount of its goods and consumed trillions of dollars’ worth of products and services. In all likelihood the world would be plunged into a massive depression and the United States and Japan would spend the next fifty years battling for supremacy.

“We’re talking about the extermination of hundreds of millions of people, Keith. Of civilians. Women and children. How do we stop him?”

“Militarily?”

Castilla nodded.

“We can’t, sir. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not acceptable. America isn’t going to sit by while people are slaughtered. That’s not who we are as a country.”

“I understand, sir. But it’s my duty to give you my unvarnished opinion.”

“And that is?”

“We can’t win. But we can lose big.”

“You’re telling me that a country that spends more on its military than the next ten countries combined is helpless?”

“Essentially, yes. We have a number of insurmountable problems in a confrontation with Japan. The first is that we would have to rely heavily on our navy and I don’t think there’s any question that their self-cavitating torpedo technology is what Takahashi says it is.”

“So all those aircraft carriers the admirals keep telling me I need are useless because of a few video game–controlled torpedoes?”

“Our fleet wasn’t designed to defend against a swarm of autonomous torpedoes traveling at three hundred knots, sir. In the end, our carriers are as big as cities and move just about as fast. We’d have to keep them well out of range and we aren’t certain what that range is. In a worst-case scenario, all of our carrier groups could be taken out within a few hours.”

“Submarines?”

“We assume that these would be much harder for Takahashi to neutralize.”

“Then we could use their missiles?”

Morrison nodded. “The only chance I can see of defeating Japan would be a preemptive nuclear strike done in waves, preferably from land and sea and preferably in a coordinated effort with China.”

Castilla took a long pull on his drink, focusing for a moment on the sensation of it burning down his throat. What Morrison was talking about was the annihilation of every living thing on the island of Japan in an attack that the world would see as completely unprovoked. All on the assumption that Takahashi was indeed going to move against China and that he had the weapons he said he did.

“There could be drawbacks we’d need to consider, though, sir.”

“Really?” Castilla said, his voice rising uncontrollably. “Drawbacks to turning Japan into a radioactive cinder? Who would have thought?”

He caught himself and let out a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

“I understand, sir. I think I yelled almost the exact same thing at one of my staff just this morning.”

“I assume you’re talking about Japan’s retaliation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The nanotech.”

“I’m not so sure that would be in Takahashi’s best interest. The destruction of the US would be devastating to the civil and economic stability of the world—something Japan would feel the effects of for the next century.”

“Then what?”

“You have to understand that the US is completely undefended against an attack by a sophisticated enemy. We can assume that Takahashi would know the moment we launched, and based on what he told us we can surmise that his missile defense system will protect Japan for at least a few days.”

“And in those few days, what could we expect?”

“Certainly an extremely sophisticated cyber attack. We’d lose communications, Internet, and most of our power grid. If it were me, I’d also have charges set up at strategic points in our grid to make sure it would take months to get power back to the entire country. Further, if Takahashi has a nuclear weapons program, we can assume he’s created suitcase nukes and has brought a number of them into the US.”

“What the hell makes you think that?” Castilla said. “He never said anything about suitcase nukes.”

“Because it’s what I’d do, sir. We developed them years ago but abandoned the technology because we have an incredibly effective intercontinental delivery system. Miniaturized nukes dovetail perfectly with Takahashi’s philosophy of small, cheap, and independent.”

“Do we have any way to find them? Where would they be?”

“There is no practical way to find them,” Morrison responded. “And as far as where they’d be, certainly Washington. In order to make it convenient for lobbyists and bureaucrats, we’ve chosen to concentrate our entire government in a very small geographic location. Of course, he’d cover other major cities and major military facilities. Then, too, there’s the possibility of a biological attack, though I would bet against it for strategic reasons. Not fast acting enough.”

“Jesus” was all Castilla could manage to get out. He was starting to feel numb. “So you’re telling me that we just have to sit back and watch?”

“We’ve known each other for a long time, Mr. President. You know how hard this is for me to say, but yes. We can’t win this fight. And even if we could, we can’t be certain it would do anything to help the Chinese. The nanotech may already have been deployed. The best thing we can do is start drawing up plans for humanitarian efforts in the aftermath. Beyond that, our hands are tied.”