Thomas Hoover - Project Daedalus

"Yuri, you've got a point. None of this makes any sense."

"Damned right it doesn't. And there's more. You should see the ECM equipment on this thing, the electronic countermeasures for defeating hostile surveillance and defense systems. It's all state of the art."

Andrei Androv's dark eyes clouded. "Why wasn't I informed of any of this?"

"Your propulsion team, your aeronautics specialists, all your technical people have been given green eyeshades and assigned neat little compartments. Nobody's getting the whole picture. Besides, I don't know anybody here who's really on top of the latest classified Stealth technology."

"Well, the truth is none of us has had time to think about it." The old man had never seemed older.

"Let me tell you a secret." Yuri lowered his voice to something approaching a whisper. "Lemontov has thought about it. Our little project kurirovat, that CPSU hack, thinks he's going to take this plane back home and copy the design to build a fleet of hypersonic-whatever you want to call these-invisible death machines, maybe. He hinted as much to me about four nights ago."

"I absolutely won't hear of it." Andrei Androv's eyes were grim with determination.

"My dear father," Yuri used the affectionate Russian diminutive, "you may not have a damned thing to say about it. I'm convinced Lemontov or whoever gives him his orders has every intention of trying to convert this vehicle into a weapons delivery system, and Mino Industries, I also now believe, has already built one. Right here. It's ready to go. But whichever way, space research is way down everybody's list. So the real question is, who's going to try and fuck who first?"

"I guess the last person able to answer that question is me." The old man's eyes were despondent as he ran his fingers through his long mane of white hair.

Yuri laughed and draped his arm around his father once again. "Well, nobody else around here seems to know either. Or care."

"But what are we going to do?"

"I've got a little plan cooking. I don't want to talk about it now, but let's just say I'm going to screw them all, count on it."

Tuesday 9:31 A.M.

When Michael Vance walked into the third-floor trading room of Kenji Nogami's Westminster Union Bank, it had just opened for morning business. Computer screens were scrolling green numbers; traders in shirtsleeves were making their first calls to Paris and Zurich; the pounds and dollars and deutsche marks and yen were starting to flow.

Nogami, in a conservative charcoal black suit, nervously led the way. His glassed-in office was situated on the corner, close to the floor action, with only a low partition to separate him from the yells of traders and the clack of computers. It was his Japanese style of hands-on management, a oneness with the troops. England, the land that virtually invented class privilege, had never seen anything remotely comparable with this.

But there was something ominous about his mood as he rang for morning tea. Vance noticed it. The openness of the previous afternoon was gone, replaced by a transparent unease.

A uniformed Japanese "office lady" brought their brew, dark and strong, on a silver service with thin Wedgewood cups.

Vance needed it. His nightcap with Eva at the Savoy had lasted almost two hours, but when it was finished, part of the play was in place. First thing this morning, still recovering from last night's encounter, they had shared a pot of English Breakfast, and then she'd gone back to work on the translation of the protocol. He was still waking up.

"Michael, I received a reply." All Nogami's synthetic British bonhomie had evaporated. "I think he is willing to talk. However, there are terms. And his people want to see you. He also mentioned 'all parties.' I take it others are involved."

"There is someone else." His hangover was dissipating rapidly now, thanks to the tea. "But I think she's had all the contact she's going to have with his 'people.' "

Nogami glanced up sharply. "I don't know what this is about, but the meeting could be held on neutral ground. I assure you there would be nothing to fear."

"Tell him he can forget it."

"You're free to telex back your own conditions." He shrugged, then tried to smile. "I'm merely the messenger here. I have no idea what this is about and I don't think I really want to know."

"I'll try my best to keep you out of it, but that may not be entirely possible."

"Michael, I've handled my part of our bargain. I've set up the dialogue." Nogami's voice was barely audible above the din of traders. "What about yours?"

"I'm still working on it."

"There isn't much time." His brow wrinkled. "Some kind of preliminary offering has to be scheduled tomorrow, the day after at the latest."

"Well, why not get rolling? Doing that should help smoke out an answer for you. For everybody."

"What do you mean?"

"If the bonds are really-but first let's see what Tokyo's got to say. Is there a deal or not?"

"Perhaps his reply will give you some idea." He removed a shiny sheet of paper from a manila envelope and passed it over. "It's why I rang you so early. It was telexed here, using our secure lines, during the night. See what you make of it. I must admit I find it a trifle cryptic."

As Vance took the sheet, it reminded him fleetingly of the 'paper' Alex Novosty had given him that morning atop the Acropolis. The heading was exactly the same. Yep, he thought, we've hit paydirt. Across the top was one line of type, bold and assertive.

Advisory received 2315 hours. CEO has reviewed and requests direct contact with all parties immediately. The money must be received by Shokin Gaigoku no later than close of business tomorrow, Tokyo time. Authorize reply through secure facilities at Westminster Union. No other communication channel acceptable.

"Looks like he went for it." Vance handed back the sheet.

"If you want to reply, you can use our telex here, just as he asks."

"Ken, how good is his word? If he agrees to lay off, will he stick to it? Or should I be expecting a double cross?"

"You know his style of operation pretty well. What do you think? For my own part, I've always been able to trust him. He has a reputation for doing what he says."

"Maybe that's all about to change. He's always played for big stakes, but this time it's a whole new level. It's global, and I've got a feeling he's not going to let niceties stand in the way. It could be his last big score."

"And the Eurodollar debentures he wants me to underwrite?" Nogami studied him. "You already know what they're for, don't you?"

"I think I might have a rough idea."

"I suspected as much," he sighed. "All right then, how do you want to handle this?"

"To begin with, no direct contact. Everything goes through third parties. You can send the reply. I'm not going to start out using his rules. Bad precedent. And I want him to know that if anything happens to either of us, he gets nailed. The protocol goes to the newspapers."

"The protocol?" Nogami's brow furrowed again.

"He'll know what I mean. We just need to use the word."

"As you wish. And the message?"

"That if he'll keep his end of the bargain and lay off, then he can access the money. But part of the deal is, I plan to keep a line on it, at least for the time being."

"What do you mean?"

"To start out, it's going to be handled in the tried-and- true hot-money way. The hundred million will be used to purchase British gilts, which will then be held here at the bank and used as collateral for a loan."

"The standard laundry cycle," Nogami smiled. "Almost makes me nostalgic for the old days."

"It's only going to be standard up to a point. After that the setup gets a twist. The loan will then be used to acquire a special hundred-million first issue of those Mino Industries corporate debentures you're supposed to float, to be bought entirely by me."