The Patriot Attack (11 page)

Prince George’s County, Maryland
USA

F
red Klein rose from his chair when Randi charged into his office, but Smith had finally managed to find a comfortable position and stayed put.

“Is Yoshima dead?” she asked by way of greeting.

“We believe so. Reports are that his body was taken away by Chinese authorities, but we haven’t been able to find out anything more.”

She stood frozen in the middle of the floor. “And me?”

“It appears that you were identified, but the Chinese government isn’t sure yet how to handle the situation. After all, you were the one who was attacked and you showed impressive restraint. My guess is that the Chinese will be happy to let this just fade away.”

“You said we had to move on this thing,” Randi explained unnecessarily. “Yoshima seemed like our best lead.”

“I agree.”

It was clear that she was blaming herself for the man’s death, and Smith sympathized. He’d been in the same position more times than he wanted to remember. “It’s not your fault, Randi. If anyone understood the risks of this kind of life it was Kaito. I’m not even sure he cared.”

Her face fell a bit and she eased silently into a chair.

“Were you able to learn anything?” Klein prompted.

“I’d say he was behind the attempt on Takahashi’s life. But he didn’t know anything about Fukushima.”

“You’re sure?”

“Not a hundred percent. He could have been playing me but my gut says he wasn’t.”

Klein let out a long breath and reached for his pipe. “So not back to square one, but close.”

“None of this makes sense to me,” Smith said. “No matter how many ways I look at it, I can’t get the pieces to fit.”

“How so?” Klein said.

“According to your people, there’s no damage at the other Japanese nuclear plants, right?”

“We went over all of them looking for any sign of the kind of structural weakness you and Greg Maple described and came up empty.”

“So the Chinese develop some kind of new weapon and they use it on that particular plant and
only
that plant.”

“It could have just been the first one,” Randi interjected. “Then the tsunami hit.”

“But why Japanese nuclear power plants? What was their play?”

“To discredit them?” Klein said. “Make them lose face?”

“A serious nuclear incident would also keep the Japanese pretty well occupied,” Randi added. “And let’s not forget that killing Takahashi would throw a wrench into their defense forces’ readiness. Maybe they were setting up an attack.”

Klein shook his head. “The Japanese have other competent generals—and let’s not forget our treaty. In a war with Japan, the Japanese defense forces are the least of China’s problem. I can tell you that the president intends to honor our agreement to protect the Japanese in the event of an attack. We already have two carrier groups in the area as a display of that commitment.”

“I agree,” Smith said. “The Chinese government is drumming up all this hysteria to divert attention from the slowdown in their economy, not because they want to go to war. But they’re not entirely wrong to be worried about Takahashi. A remilitarized Japan would completely disrupt the balance of power in the Pacific, and the general isn’t exactly a dove.”

“So you think they could have been trying to quiet things down by taking out Takahashi?” Randi said.

“There’s a certain twisted logic to it.”

They sat in silence for almost a minute before Klein spoke again. “Something we need to remember is that whatever happened at Fukushima, it wasn’t seen through to its conclusion. The tsunami intervened. Could it have been a terrorist group? The JPF has been escalating their attacks. What about an antinuke group? Japan has their share of those for obvious reasons.”

“It’s unlikely,” Smith said. “We’ll know more after Greg finishes his analysis, but at this point the technology used looks well beyond what you’d expect from a terrorist group.” He leaned forward to ease the pressure on his back. “Hell, from what I’ve seen so far, it may be beyond us.”

Tokyo
Japan

W
hen General Takahashi entered the office, the two men inside immediately stood. Prime Minister Fumio Sanetomi walked quickly toward him and bowed before extending his hand—an American custom he’d adopted in recent years.

“How are you, General? I’m happy to see that you look well despite your recent ordeal.”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking, sir. I was extremely lucky. Many others weren’t.”

Sanetomi nodded gravely and swept a hand toward the other man in the room. “You know Akio Himura.”

Takahashi bowed respectfully to Japan’s intelligence czar. Of course, the prime minister had no idea of their close relationship. Politicians were men without honor who came and went with the whims of the Japanese people. Admittedly, Sanetomi was better than most. His economic policies had accelerated Japan’s escape from recession, and he seemed to have at least a vague notion of his country’s potential to again rise to world prominence. Like his predecessors, he had supported the growth of Japan’s defense forces—but also like his predecessors, he had been kept in the dark as to the full scope of that growth. In the end, neither his conviction nor his courage could be counted on.

“Please,” the prime minister said. “Sit with me.”

Takahashi and Himura did as they were told. Sanetomi poured them tea.

“I think you both know that I believe it’s time for Japan to step out of America’s shadow to pursue its own interests. And I’ve taken whatever political risks are necessary to start us down that path.”

Takahashi fought back a smirk.
Political risks.

It was considered the grandest of sacrifices by people in Sanetomi’s profession. Takahashi thought of the two pilots who had happily died to carry out the test of their new air defense system and felt sickened by the man sitting before him.

While the veneer of politeness demanded by their culture obscured it, Takahashi despised the prime minister and was certain that the politician felt the same way about him. It mattered little, though. The power and wealth of the Takahashi family combined with his popularity would make it political suicide to try to remove him from his position as the commander of the defense forces.

The prime minister put down the teapot and continued his thought, choosing his words carefully. “You’re pushing too hard, General. You’re fanning flames that could consume us all.”

Takahashi responded only with a brief, properly contrite nod.

“And you,” Sanetomi said, shifting his gaze to Himura. “The leak from your organization that China may have been involved in the attempt on the general’s life was unforgivable. Demonstrations in China and at home have grown in size and intensity. There are concerns of civil unrest.”

“My apologies, Prime Minister. I assure you that we’re doing everything in our power to track the source of the leak.”

Sanetomi leaned back in his chair and examined both men for a moment. “It matters very little at this point. The damage is done and I find myself forced to be the first to pull back from the brink. After all, we can’t have the Chinese making another attempt on the general’s life. He is far too important to Japan for us to lose.”

Takahashi nodded the appropriate acknowledgment of the man’s words, but saw them as a hollow piece of flattery. “And what will that entail, Prime Minister?”

“I’m working directly with President Castilla to put together a series of concessions on both sides in order to calm the situation.”

“Concessions?” Himura said.

“We will propose that the Chinese use their censorship capabilities to extinguish anti-Japanese sentiment on the Internet and to crack down on demonstrations. They’ll pull back their military from the Senkakus and agree to join us in face-to-face talks regarding those islands. They’ll also cancel their most offensive anti-Japanese television programs and agree to work with some of our entertainment people to develop ones with a more modern outlook.”

Takahashi didn’t bother hiding his contempt. After everything that had happened, the prime minister’s answer was to develop television programs? It was beyond absurd.

“I assume we will have to provide similar concessions,” Himura said, clearly concerned that Takahashi wouldn’t be able to control his tongue. And on this occasion, the intelligence chief might have been right.

“It’s the nature of politics, I’m afraid,” Sanetomi said calmly. “We will publicly remove a number of the people they consider war criminals from the Yasukuni Shrine. We will work with their historians to rewrite the sections of our school history books in order to…” His voice faded for a moment as he again considered his phrasing. “To more neutrally reflect our soldiers’ actions during the war.”

Takahashi opened his mouth to protest, but the politician silenced him with a raised hand. “Further, we’ll promise to agree to some level of resource sharing with regard to the Senkaku Islands. And finally, we will agree to scrap our new battleship out of respect for their concerns about its offensive potential.”

General Takahashi’s jaw clenched, but beyond that he kept his face opaque. More apologies. More crawling. Mao had eradicated the opium dens from his worthless country, but his people had simply replaced that addiction with a new one: endless Japanese penitence. And like all addicts, the more they filled their veins, the more they needed.

“Am I to understand that you find this arrangement acceptable?” Takahashi said.

“I find it inescapable,” Sanetomi replied. “And if you’ll excuse my frankness, your behavior is not an insignificant part of what put me in this position.”

“My behavior? The Chinese government creates a constant stream of lies to divert attention from their own towering incompetence and corruption, and
I
am responsible? For what? For believing in my country? For honoring those who’ve given their lives for it? For not having the courtesy to die at the hands of their assassins?”

Himura gave him a cautioning stare and he knew the man was right. Soon, none of this would be of any importance. Still, some insults were too great to swallow.

Sanetomi stared into his teacup as silence once again returned to the room. “You must accept my apologies, General. I did not call this meeting to assign blame. I called it to discuss a situation that’s spiraling out of control more quickly and more dangerously than either of you know.”

“Sir?” Himura prompted.

“I recently received a disturbing call from the Americans. They’ve found evidence of possible sabotage at Fukushima Reactor Four. The structure was weakened in a way that they don’t yet fully understand.”

“Do we have samples for our own analysis?” Himura asked smoothly.

“Unfortunately, no. The debris on our end has been disposed of and the Americans haven’t offered to provide any of theirs. We’ve examined all the other reactors in the country, though, and found no problems. So for now it appears to have been isolated to that single reactor at Fukushima.”

Takahashi remained silent, satisfied to let the intelligence man control the conversation. The prime minister was completely ignorant of the fact that Dr. Ito had been using Reactor Four as a lab and of what was being developed there.

“This is most serious,” Himura said. “It could have been an attack by Chinese sa—”

“We cannot allow ourselves to jump to conclusions,” Sanetomi interrupted. “The Americans haven’t yet determined the cause of the damage. It could have been some kind of chemical or radiation issue, or even some unexpected result of the tsunami.”

“How did they get these samples?” Himura probed.

“I’m not sure why that’s important, Akio. The Americans are our allies and are keeping us fully informed.”

Takahashi leaned forward in his chair. “Both Akio and I would be negligent not to bring up the possibility that this was the first salvo in a Chinese attack. It’s completely plausible that the tsunami interrupted their plans and that now, with the attempt on my life, they’re moving forward again.”

“Again, I caution you about jumping to conclusions. Having said that, I’ve spoken to President Castilla about that very possibility and he’s reaffirmed America’s commitment to us. In fact, he’s moving another carrier group into the area to join the two here already.”

“So you trust the Americans to intervene on our behalf against their most significant trading partner and the country whose loans keep their government from collapsing?”

Sanetomi gave a short, confident nod. “I do. But I’m not as naive as you believe me to be, General. It’s clearly time to do a detailed assessment of your forces’ ability to defend us from a Chinese attack. While I believe that President Castilla is a man of his word, the Americans have a limited presence in this part of the world. Even with them fully committed, we will not abdicate our right—and our responsibility—to defend ourselves.”

“I will begin immediately,” Takahashi said, surprised that the politician was even willing to go this far.

“But quietly, General. No. Silently. I’m not ready to put our defense forces on any kind of alert. The Chinese have agreed in principle to talks that I believe may de-escalate this situation. We can’t afford to do anything to jeopardize that.”

“I believe that to be extraordinarily unwise,” Takahashi said, only because Sanetomi would expect it. The idea of putting their forces on alert in the traditional sense was a quaint anachronism now that they consisted largely of computer networks and autonomous systems. “The Chinese may just be agreeing to negotiations in order to further lull us into complacency.”

“It’s a risk worth taking, General. And I’m sure that I don’t have to remind you that it’s my decision to make.”

Takahashi gave another contrite nod. The prime minister could play whatever political games he wished. They no longer had any meaning. While it appeared that the Americans hadn’t yet discovered the truth about Fukushima, they would soon enough.

The point of no return had been crossed.

Outside Washington, DC
USA

J
on Smith opened the cardboard container and scooped an unidentifiable tangle of Chinese food onto his plate. Across the coffee table from him, Randi was gnawing on an egg roll with one hand and compulsively spinning a chopstick across the backs of her fingers with the other.

“I’m empty,” Smith said. “You want another beer?”

“I’ll get them.”

He managed to stand before she did and started toward the kitchen. “No, it’s good for me to get up and move around.”

“Doctor’s orders?” she said sarcastically.

He ignored her and dug around in the fridge, finding a couple of Fat Tires at the back.

“Thanks again for putting me up,” he said, popping the tops and starting back for the living room.

“Mi casa es su casa.”

She was wearing an old Columbia University sweatshirt and a pair of military-issue boxer shorts that he suspected had belonged to her late husband. Her bare feet were propped on a fossil stone coffee table—one of the many expensive upgrades Klein had signed off on out of guilt for getting her shot in the back.

“Interesting choice of cuisine,” he said, easing back onto the couch and shoveling some noodles into his mouth.

“Don’t get Freudian on me, Jon. I was in the mood, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

They ate in silence for a while, him trying to find a comfortable position on the sofa and her staring off into space. She’d hardly said anything on the drive over from their meeting with Klein, which was unusual. When in the throes of an operation, she was usually a ball of nervous energy.

“You okay, Randi?”

The sound of his voice snapped her back into the present. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You seem a little…detached.”

“Maybe being stuck in the middle of something that could turn into World War Three has me a little on edge.”

Doubtful, he knew. She thrived on this kind of thing. The bigger and uglier the better.

“It’s Kaito, isn’t it?”

The egg roll stopped short on its way to her mouth. “Yoshima? What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Smith went back to eating. Pushing would just piss her off. And he was in no condition to deal with a pissed-off Randi Russell.

She was the first to break the silence. “Maybe going to see him wasn’t such a great idea.”

Smith shrugged. “Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and charge.”

“I guess.” She scooped some food from the carton onto her plate. “As much as I hate to admit it, I kind of liked the guy. He wasn’t a scumbag like a lot of them. I honestly don’t know what he was.”

“Bat-shit insane as near as I could ever tell.”

“Yeah. But who wouldn’t be if they’d grown up like that?” She kicked her feet back up onto the table. “Klein was stuck for the first time I’ve ever seen and I had an angle. I keep asking myself if I was just showing off. If I dived in without completely thinking through what I was doing.”

Smith chewed thoughtfully. Her willingness to throw herself at things full guns was her greatest strength. In truth, though, sometimes a hammer wasn’t the right tool for the job.

“He wasn’t involved in Fukushima,” she said. “So I got him killed for nothing.”

“Jesus, Randi. You’re acting like he was the pope or something. On top of everything else he’s done in his career, he just tried to assassinate the head of Japan’s military and managed to take out a lot of innocent people in the process.”

“Yeah. But I’m guessing a bunch of Chinese politicians came up with the bomb idea. Not his style. And I’m not sure Takahashi doesn’t need killing. All he seems interested in doing is throwing gas on this thing.”

Smith shrugged. “Are you even sure you got Kaito killed? He botched the assassination. You might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another blonde bimbo holed up in his apartment when the Chinese government decided he’d outlived his usefulness.”

She threw a fortune cookie at him, bouncing it off his chest. “Bimbo, huh?”

“I meant that in the most positive way possible.”

“I have a bad feeling about all this, Jon. You know how these things can go: one minute everyone’s flipping each other the bird from the deck of their ship, and the next a million people are dead. Delicate situations just aren’t my forte.”

When he laughed, the pain wasn’t quite as bad as it had been over the last few days. “You said a mouthful there.”