The Patriot Attack (8 page)

Northeastern Japan

G
eneral Masao Takahashi sat silently in the open vehicle, looking ahead at the rail it rode on disappearing into the gloom.

The tunnel was almost perfectly round and five meters in diameter, dug into a mountainside in a remote part of Japan. Widely spaced overhead lights intermittently illuminated the rock walls and the security detail seated around him. Beyond that, there was nothing.

They would descend nearly a kilometer into the earth before arriving at a set of blast doors leading to what had originally been conceived as a storage facility for Japan’s nuclear waste. After the Fukushima disaster, though, many of the country’s plants had been shut down, leaving the complex largely idle.

It was then that he’d had control transferred to the defense forces under the cover of making certain the radioactive refuse was secure. The real reason was that he needed a replacement for the Reactor Four lab that had been lost. A replacement that offered both foolproof containment and distance from prying eyes.

It took another ten minutes to reach the entrance, and Takahashi could feel the cold from the cave beginning to penetrate his uniform. Or maybe it wasn’t the temperature at all. Maybe it was something more.

The massive doors opened automatically as the vehicle approached and they glided to a stop inside. Before his takeover of the facility, this section had been lined with concrete. All that was gone now, replaced by the natural dirt and rock.

As they continued deeper into the earth on foot, the passageway constricted until it was only two meters across. Ahead, one of his men paused at a turn and then signaled that it was safe to proceed. Living surrounded by constant security made Takahashi feel like a coward, but there was little choice at this point. Most of his meetings were now being held at his heavily secured home. This trip, though, had been unavoidable. Moving Dr. Ito was becoming too difficult to do with the required efficiency and anonymity.

They finally came to a door made of a reddish woven material—the same material his limousine had been constructed of. His men fanned out, taking up strategic positions along the corridor while he pressed his thumb against a screen set into the wall.

Inside, the light was much better, though the walls remained the necessarily unadorned dirt and rock. The only furniture was a wooden table surrounded by similarly constructed chairs. The two men seated in them immediately stood and bowed.

Takahashi returned the bow, nodding at his intelligence czar, Akio Himura, and then walking over to Hideki Ito. He put a hand warmly on the scientist’s back. “How are you, Doctor?”

“I’m well, General. Thank you for asking.”

Of course it wasn’t true—a reality that was very unfortunate for their cause. Ito was entirely bald from successive rounds of chemotherapy, and his face seemed to have collapsed in places, creating strange hollows where the muscles had selectively atrophied. The pigmentation in his skin also seemed to have been short-circuited by the massive dose of radiation he’d received in Reactor Four, leaving light and dark splotches of various sizes on his cheeks and bare scalp.

The two people assisting him that day were dead—though not by natural causes as Ito had been told. They’d simply not been valuable enough to warrant the cost of dealing with their radiation injuries. Hideki Ito was quite a different matter, though. There were no limits to what Takahashi would do to keep the man alive and working.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” the general said, pulling out a chair and holding it as the frail scientist sat, a grateful smile on his peeling lips.

Takahashi took his place at the head of the table and looked at Himura. He seemed nervous. As he should be.

“It’s my understanding that you’ve identified the man who escaped with Randi Russell?”

“Yes, sir. His name is Jon Smith. Though we found him through his personal connection with Russell and not through the CIA.”

“He’s not an agent, then?”

“No, sir. He’s an army doctor stationed at Fort Detrick. A microbiologist and virus hunter.”

“What was a virus hunter doing in a Japanese fishing village collecting reactor samples?”

“We don’t know, sir. He has a Special Forces background, which explains how he was able to kill a number of our men and make it to the water, but there’s very little additional information available on him. Suspiciously little.”

“Military intelligence?”

“That’s my assumption, though we can’t find any connection between him and that division in the US Army’s computer files.”

Takahashi’s first order of business when he’d begun designing Japan’s clandestine remilitarization program over thirty years ago had been building Japan’s cyber warfare unit. Computers were still crude and largely unconnected at the time, but he’d predicted with uncanny accuracy their proliferation and how critical they would become to modern warfare. He’d pulled together Japan’s top minds and, with that head start, put together a system that was now a decade beyond anything even America’s NSA could bring to bear. With a few notable exceptions, Himura’s people could bypass the security of any private or government database in the world. Or so he’d thought.

“Maybe our abilities aren’t as advanced as I’ve been led to believe.”

“I don’t think that’s the case, sir. While our access fluctuates when our targets upgrade or change systems, it’s quite good right now. More likely Smith is involved in a unit that’s kept off the books.”

The danger signals continued to grow.

“Any leads on finding either him or Russell?”

Himura’s mouth tightened. “Not yet. Russell is on paid leave awaiting an inquiry relating to the killing of an American citizen in Egypt. Smith is on paid medical leave for injuries that officially occurred in a scuba accident. He has not, however, received care at any army facility.”

Takahashi nodded. “Why him? Why Smith?”

“He’s a scientist,” Himura responded.

“But not in this field.”

“Nanotechnology has many similarities to virology,” Ito interjected.

“Agreed,” Himura said. “The specific field of nanotech is fairly obscure. It’s unlikely that the Americans would have anyone with the exact mix of skills necessary. Smith may have been their best choice.”

“So it’s possible that the Americans suspect nanotechnology was present at Fukushima,” Takahashi said, trying to keep his voice calm.

“I’ve gone back through every security protocol and haven’t been able to find a breach that could have led to that kind of knowledge,” Himura said. “But anything is possible.”

“All right, then. Who would he take it to, Doctor? Who are America’s top people in the field?”

“There are a number of them. Most are pure academics working at universities.”

“Dr. Ito’s already provided us with the names, General, and we’re watching all of them as well as the military’s top materials engineers in case they don’t suspect what caused the damage and are just looking for a starting point. Nothing so far.”

Takahashi knew that there was no point in raising his voice or making threats. Despite his recent string of failures, Himura was eminently competent and would do everything in his power to perform his duty. Even laying down his life if necessary.

“And the assassination attempt?”

His intelligence czar didn’t bother to hide his relief at the change of subject. “The JPF continues to deny involvement. The evidence against them is solid, but it’s all circumstantial. Certainly nothing that couldn’t be fabricated by the Chinese intelligence apparatus.”

“Do you believe that’s what happened?”

“I’m becoming increasingly convinced. But it will be extremely difficult to prove. Despite our penetration into their information systems, there is no indication of any move against you. When it comes to operations this sensitive, the Chinese tend to work completely off the grid. Orders are given in whispers to men with no official government positions.”

Takahashi leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the stone walls for a moment. “The Chinese are obviously getting bolder. The Americans are doing what they can to broker peace, but I’m not convinced they’re going to succeed. And frankly, I’m not sure we can trust them. The time has come to face the possibility of war and to assess our readiness.”

“Surely passions can be calmed,” Ito said, obviously shaken by the thought of a military confrontation. The man’s unparalleled genius had allowed him to rise from a small, largely experimental cog in Takahashi’s machine to his chief technological officer. There was no denying, though, that Ito was weak. It had been easy to ply him—indeed, blind him—with unlimited research funds and unfettered access to cutting-edge technology, but he had no real patriotism or political conviction. He was a man whose interests lay only in the things his magnificent mind could create.

“Of course we will do everything possible to promote peace, Doctor. But while it’s comfortable to hope for the best, it’s wise to plan for the worst, no?”

“Of course. I understand.”

“And on that subject, is the demonstration of our drone technology still on schedule for this week?”

“It is,” Ito said submissively. “I think you’ll find the software to be an order of magnitude more sophisticated than prior generations. We’ve also made intermediate strides in range, speed, and maneuverability.”

“I look forward to it. Now I don’t think there’s any reason to keep you from your work any longer. It’s been good seeing you as always. I’m glad you’re well.”

Ito was typically anxious to go and stood quickly, giving a short bow before leaving the room. Takahashi remained silent for a long time, considering the dangers and opportunities presented by the quickly shifting landscape.

“You told me it would be possible to fabricate evidence that implicates the Chinese in the attempt on my life, Akio.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can I assume you’ve created a plan to do just that?”

“I have.”

“Good. Leak just enough to get the press speculating about a possible link to Beijing.”

Himura wiped a hand nervously across his mouth before responding. “I would advise against it.”

“Why?”

“First, creating something like this out of whole cloth was extremely complicated. Our efforts could be discovered. And second…” His voice faded.

“Speak up,” Takahashi prompted.

The intelligence chief gave a jerky nod. “Sir, you understand that this…” Again he hesitated. “Dr. Ito is right. Passions are running high. Very high.”

“I trust it’s not lost on you that US military intelligence has physical evidence from Fukushima. And just as important, Ito’s health is failing. I don’t know how much longer our doctors can keep him alive. I assume that you agree his presence would be desirable in case there are problems with the deployment of his weapon?”

“Yes, sir. But—”

“We don’t have the luxury of waiting any longer,” Takahashi said, standing and smoothing his uniform. “Do it immediately.”

Beijing
China

K
aito Yoshima walked to the bar in the corner of his living room and poured two drinks. Randi hung back. She had her phone in her hand and her thumb hovering over the touchscreen but was still starting to regret suggesting coming back to the condo. Who knew what surprises he’d built into the place? She’d given him the home-field advantage.

He walked over to her and held out a crystal glass filled with what was undoubtedly very good scotch. She just shook her head.

“It’s not drugged, Randi. You have my word.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Kaito. Of course not. It’s the calories, you know?”

He smiled and fell onto a sofa, patting the cushion next to him. She took a chair opposite, keeping a heavy coffee table between them.

“So can I assume you’re here because the CIA suspects that I had something to do with the attempt on Masao Takahashi?”

It was a good bet, but she actually had no idea what agency analysts had come up with on that. It did provide a convenient way into this interrogation, though. A bit of misdirection.

“Shouldn’t we?”

He waved a hand dismissively as though the attempted assassination of Japan’s ranking soldier was too trivial a topic to dwell on. “We don’t get paid enough for this, Randi. More and more we’ve become the eminently expendable pawns of insane and stupid men whose only interest is to cling to power.”

“You won’t get any argument from me.”

“Have you ever thought about leaving the government and taking your skills private?”

“It occasionally crosses my mind.”

“I think about it more and more every day. And now…” He fell silent for a moment. “They’re going to lose control of this situation, Randi. And when they do, millions are going to die. For nothing. For a piece of political theater meant to keep people’s minds off their real problems.”

“Pick a category of people and tell the masses that everything wrong with their lives is that group’s fault,” Randi said. “It’s been a winning message for thousands of years.”

“With terrible consequences even when humans were limited to swords and clubs.” He took a sip of his drink. “My country has always been difficult to govern. Too big, too diverse, too opportunistic. Frankly, too racist. The government has bribed the population with economic growth but that growth is unsustainable. And now that it’s beginning to falter we face a very dangerous situation. Perhaps even the breakup of China. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And if your country broke up, where would you go, Kaito?”

He crossed his legs and spread his arms across the back of the sofa. “I thought perhaps Japan, but I don’t belong there either. I don’t belong anywhere.”

“So, a mercenary.”

“What better job for a man without a country?”

Randi nodded silently. As was so often the case with Yoshima, what was most interesting about this conversation was what was missing: a denial of his involvement in the Takahashi assassination attempt.

“China’s banging the war drum,” Randi said. “But like you say, it’s only for show. Everybody knows it except—”

“General Takahashi,” Yoshima said, finishing her thought. “He’s a brilliant man. His grasp of technology, strategy, history, and the art of war is unparalleled. In many ways he’s a perfect military being. If he’d led the Japanese during World War Two, I wonder if things would have gone as well for America.”

“Lucky we were allies by the time he enlisted.”

Yoshima finished his drink and reached for the one he’d poured Randi. “His family was one of the wealthiest and most powerful in Japan before the war. MacArthur considered them part of the feudal system that had created Imperial Japan and stripped them of everything. Did you know that? Takahashi’s childhood was one of cold and hunger. His family was forced to find shelter with former servants and do hard labor just to survive.”

“I guess you can’t keep a good man down.”

“Clearly. His father began rebuilding his empire almost immediately—during the American occupation. At first his business affairs were less than legal but eventually he managed to legitimize them. Now the family is once again one of the wealthiest and most powerful in Japan.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Kaito. If Takahashi’s as smart as you make out, why isn’t he playing the game? Why is he courting a confrontation that would turn into a disaster for his country?”

“I admit that it’s perplexing. Perhaps his mind is going. Sometimes the past looms large to the elderly. The defeat at the hands of the Americans, the years of humiliation, the loss of self-determination.” He smiled. “All things too complex to be considered by crude weapons like ourselves, right, Randi? Now, where were we before I was diverted into this subject? I believe it was our business enterprise.”

“And what enterprise is that?”

“Think about it, Randi. You and me. Hanging out our…roof tile.”

“Shingle.”

“Of course. Shingle. We would name our own price and be turning away work within twenty-four hours of moving into our luxury office suite. I was thinking Dubrovnik. Lovely place. But of course I’m open to suggestion. Paris? Rome? Istanbul? The world is our…Help me. I find American idioms so challenging. It’s not clam…”

“Oyster.”

“Precisely.”

The dull thump of helicopter rotors became audible and Yoshima laid down his drink to walk to the window. “We’d have the power to choose our jobs. Think of it. Nothing we aren’t interested in. Nothing we don’t believe in. I’d rather trust my own conscience than—”

Suddenly he was in motion, diving to the right and slamming a hand into what looked like a blank section of wall. A moment later a series of steel curtains fell from the ceiling, covering the windows.

Startled, Randi grabbed the Glock from her bag but then spun at the sound of a battering ram hitting the front door. The crack of splintering wood accompanied the first impact, but the second blow generated the dull ring of steel on steel. Clearly not the stock condo door.

When she turned back, Yoshima was calmly punching a code into a safe set into the floor. He pulled out a Sig Sauer and a small bag that Randi assumed was full of passports, fake credit cards, and cash. She had similar bags stashed all over the world.

“You must have been recognized at the airport. I was afraid that might happen.”

“Then why the hell did we come back here?”

“Where better? Besides, I thought perhaps we’d have a few drinks, some conversation…” He studied her for a moment. “Who knows where it might have led?”

The hammering on the door continued, growing louder as the men holding the ram became increasingly frustrated. The sound of machine-gun fire erupted outside and the metal curtains billowed inward with the impact. She dived over a chair and flattened herself against the floor, slithering forward to see if Yoshima had been hit.

He was just standing there, looking calmly down at her.

“It’s an internal security helicopter,” he shouted over the sound of bullets slamming into steel. “I assure you that I’m quite familiar with them and they don’t have anything on board powerful enough to penetrate.” He pointed toward the door behind her. “That, though, could be a problem.”

She stood and looked back, seeing that the door was now bowing dangerously with every impact.

“Can I assume you have a way out?”

“Maybe,” he said, starting for the kitchen with her close behind. “But more important, what do you think about my proposal?”

“Which? Going into business together or going to bed together?”

He paused for what seemed like an inordinately long time in their current situation. “Both.”

She had to admit that he was an attractive guy and intriguing as hell. “Bed, maybe. But I’m thinking no on the business idea.”

He smiled and went for a pantry-sized cabinet next to the stove. “It’s an answer I can live with.”

The machine guns out front fell silent but the hammering on the door got even louder, and the shouts of the men on the other side were no longer fully muffled.

“That remains to be seen, Kaito.”