Jack Du Brul - Vulcan's forge

“Why, though? Why is he even involved?”

“His motivation may be revenge. He was asked to join the NOAA survey crew aboard the Ocean Seeker , but he was out of the country. I asked Paul Barnes for the background check the CIA did on him before the mission to Iraq. Maybe there’s something there that’ll help.”

“And what about the letter from Takahiro Ohnishi?”

“Look at any newspaper today and it seems that every small ethnic group in the world is declaring their independence, no matter how long they have coexisted with their neighbors. Africa, Europe, even Asia. Who’s to say we’re immune? The majority of the people of Hawaii are of Japanese ancestry, most of whom have never seen the continental states. Maybe we don’t have the right to govern them with our Western ideas. I don’t know.”

“Dick, do you know what you’re saying?”

“I do, Mr. President. I don’t like it, but I do know what I’m saying. You might be confronted with a situation only once before faced by a President.” Henna stood to go. “But, sir, that situation started a war that lasted five years and caused more deaths than all the wars in American history combined. Lincoln walked away a hero, but maybe only because he was martyred.”

Takahiro Ohnishi scraped a Frank Lloyd Wright- designed stainless fork across the Limoges plate, piling rich Bernaise sauce around a cut of Kobe beef. He brought the food to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Honolulu’s mayor, David Takamora, watched the elderly industrialist with well-hidden distaste.

Ohnishi chewed for several more seconds, then leaned over and spit the thick mass of meat into a silver wine bucket, already a quarter filled with his chewed but indigestible meal. Ohnishi patted his lips delicately and waved a butler over to clear the plates.

“Tell the chef that the asparagus was a bit wilted and the next time it happens, he’ll be fired.” There was no malice in his withered voice, but a man of his position needed none to ensure that his orders were carried out. “I can’t believe you didn’t eat more, David. That beef was flown in this morning from my farm in Japan.”

“My appetite isn’t what it used to be.” Takamora shrugged.

“I hope my condition doesn’t upset you.”

“Not at all,” the mayor denied too quickly. “It’s just the pressure I’m under right now. Planning a silent coup isn’t all that simple, you know.”

At home, Ohnishi usually used an electric wheelchair to get around easier. Now he wheeled away from the mahogany table. Takamora tossed his napkin onto the table and followed, silently cursing the revolting spectacle of Ohnishi’s eating practices.

Though still in his fifties, Takamora’s face was developing the languid cast common to many elderly Japanese men. His eyes had begun to retreat behind permanent bags. His body, once slender and toned from years of exercise, had paunched and bowed, so his trunk now appeared too large for his thin legs to support.

Warm light glinted off the frames of the paintings and brought out the beautiful burnish of the cherry wood paneling of Ohnishi’s private study. Takamora took the leather winged-back chair as Ohnishi wheeled behind his broad ormolu-topped desk.

“Smoke if you wish,” Ohnishi invited.

Takamora wasted no time lighting a Marlboro with a gaily colored disposable lighter.

“What have you to report?”

From behind a blue-gray cloud of smoke, Takamora spoke slowly to mask the tension he felt whenever he was in Ohnishi’s presence. “We are nearly ready to send the ultimatum to the President. I have two full divisions of loyal National Guards ready to blockade Pearl Harbor and the airport. The governor will return from the mainland next week; we will detain him as soon as he lands. Our senators and representatives can be called back from Washington with only a moment’s notice. If they resist our plans, they too will be detained — however, Senator Namura has already expressed an interest in joining us.

“I have full assurances from all the civic organizations involved that they are prepared to do their part with the strikes and marches. The press, too, is ready. There will be a full blackout for forty-eight hours after the start date. The news will be broadcast as usual, but will make no references to the coup.

“I have here,” Takamora reached into his jacket pocket and removed a sheet of paper, “the names of the satellite technicians on the islands who could broadcast unauthorized stories. I will have them detained or their equipment destroyed, whichever is necessary.”

“And the phone service?”

“The main microwave transmission towers and the mainland cable junction will be taken and controlled by our troops. It’s inevitable that some news of the coup will escape before we’re ready for our own broadcasts, but it will be largely unconfirmable.”

“You have done well, David. All seems to be in order, but there is a slight problem.”

“What is that?” Takamora asked, leaning forward in his chair.

The study door opened and the menacing form of Kenji, Ohnishi’s assistant/bodyguard, moved to stand behind the mayor’s chair, his steel-hard hands held at his sides.

“And what is that problem?” Takamora repeated, a bit more nervously, after a glance at the newcomer.

“The letter I had written as an ultimatum to the President has been removed from my office. I can only assume it has been sent to Washington.”

Takamora couldn’t hide his surprise. “We still need more time, why did you send it?”

“I did not say, David, that I sent the letter. I said that it had been removed from my office. The only person to know of this letter and to have spent time in my office alone is you. Therefore, I must ask if you sent the letter to the President without my authorization?”

“I have only seen that letter once, I swear.” Takamora quickly realized the danger he was in. “I would never take it from you.”

“I want to believe you, David. I really do, but I find that I can’t. I don’t know what you wished to gain from your action, but I assure you that I know its results.”

“I swear I didn’t take the letter.” Sweat beaded against Takamora’s waxen skin.

“You are the only person to have any access to this room and to know the location of my safe. I must congratulate you on your safecracking abilities. Most impressive.” There was no admiration in Ohnishi’s voice. “If you think your act will cripple my efforts in any way, you are very wrong.

“As we speak, arms are being readied for transit here. I have made arrangements for a highly motivated mercenary army. Of course, it would be easier to use your National Guard troops, but I will manage without them.

“David, you could have been the President of the newest and possibly most wealthy nation on the planet if you hadn’t become greedy and crossed me.”

“I didn’t.” Desperation edged Takamora’s voice up an octave.

“I find it admirable that you retain your innocence even to the end,” Ohnishi said sadly.

With those words, Kenji struck.

He whipped a thin nylon cord around David Takamora’s neck in a lightning-quick maneuver. With amazing strength, he torqued the cord into the mayor’s throat. Takamora clawed at the garrote as it bit deeper and deeper, his tongue thickening as it thrust between his tobacco-stained teeth. His chokes came as thin reedy gasps as the life was pulled from him.

Ohnishi sat neutrally as the grisly murder took place, his wrinkled fingers laced perfectly on the cool desktop.

Kenji pulled tighter as Takamora’s struggles diminished. After a few moments all movement ceased. Mayor David Takamora was dead.