Clive Cussler - Dragon

“You are most kind,” said Tsuboi with a bow. “The Machiavellian intrigue of arranging secret funding to build a clandestine nuclear weapons plant came as a great challenge.”

“Soviet and Western intelligence know we have the capacity,” Kamatori said, bringing a realistic bent into the conversation.

“If they didn’t know before the explosion,” added Suma, “they do now.”

“The Americans have suspected us for several years,” said Suma. “But they have been unable to penetrate our security rings and confirm the exact location of our facility.”

“Lucky for us the fools keep searching horizontal instead of vertical.” Yoshishu’s voice was ironic. “But we must face the very real possibility that sooner or later the CIA or KGB will track the site.”

“Probably sooner,” said Kamatori. “One of our undercover agents has informed me that a few days after the Divine Star explosion, the Americans launched an all-out covert operation to investigate our involvement. They’ve already been sniffing around one of Murmoto’s automotive distributors.”

A worried crease appeared on Yoshishu’s face. “They are good, the American intelligence people. I fear the Kaiten Project is in jeopardy.”

“We’ll know before tomorrow just how much they’ve learned,” said Kamatori. “I meet with our agent, who has just returned from Washington. He claims to have updated information.”

The worry in Yoshishu’s mind deepened. “We cannot allow the project to be endangered before the command center is fully operational. The consequences could spell the end of our new empire.

“I agree,” said Tsuboi grimly. “For the next three weeks we are vulnerable while the warheads sit useless. One leak and the Western nations would band together and strike us from all sides, economically as well as militarily.”

“Not to worry,” said Suma. “Their agents may stumble onto our nuclear weapons manufacturing plant, but they will never discover the whereabouts of the Kaiten Project’s brain center. Not in a hundred years, much less three weeks.”

“And even if fortune smiled on them,” said Kamatori, “they can never neutralize it in time. There is only one way in, and that’s fortified by massive steel barriers and guarded by a heavily armed security force. The installation can take a direct hit by a nuclear bomb and still function.”

A tight smile cut Suma’s lips. “Everything is working to our advantage. The slightest hint of an attempted penetration or an attack by enemy special forces, and we could threaten to detonate one or more of the auto warheads.”

Tsuboi wasn’t convinced. “What good is an empty threat?”

“Hideki makes a good point,” said Kamatori. “No one outside this room or the engineers in the command center knows our system is three weeks away from completion. Western leaders can easily be bluffed into thinking the system is fully operational.”

Yoshishu gave a satisfied nod of his head. “Then we have nothing to fear.”

“A guaranteed conclusion,” Suma stated without hesitation. “We’re making too much out of a nightmare that will never happen.”

Silence then in the richly decorated office, the four men sitting, each one with his own thoughts. After a minute, Suma’s desk interoffice phone buzzed. He picked up the receiver and listened a moment without speaking. Then he set it down.

“My secretary informs me that my chef has dinner prepared in the private dining room. I would be most happy if my honored guests will dine with me.”

Yoshishu came slowly to his feet. “I happily accept. Knowing the superb culinary qualities of your chef, I was hoping you’d ask.”

“Before we break off,” said Tsuboi, “there is one other problem.”

Suma nodded. “You have the floor, Ichiro.”

“Obviously we can’t go around exploding nuclear bombs every time an unfriendly government rattles a saber over trade restrictions or increased import tariffs. We must have alternatives that are not so catastrophic.”

Suma and Kamatori exchanged looks. “We’ve given that very situation considerable thought,” said Suma, “and we think the best solution is abduction of our enemies.”

“Terrorism is not the way of our culture,” objected Tsuboi.

“What do you call the Blood Sun Brotherhood, my son?” asked Yoshishu calmly.

“Crazy fanatical butchers. They cut down innocent women and children in the name of some vague revolutionary dogma that makes no sense to anyone.”

“Yes, but they’re Japanese.”

“A few, but most are East Germans, trained by the KGB.”

“They can be used,” Suma said flatly.

Tsuboi was not sold. “I do not advise the slightest association with them. Any suspected connection, and outside probes will be launched into areas we dare not have opened.”

“Hideki is not advocating assassination,” elaborated Kamatori. “What he is suggesting is that abduction of unharmed hostages be blamed on the Blood Red Brotherhood.”

“Now that makes more sense.” Yoshishu smiled. “I think I understand. You’re advocating the silken prison.”

Tsuboi shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“From the old days,” explained Yoshishu. “When a shogun did not want an enemy assassinated, he had him abducted and placed secretly in a prison of luxury as a sign of respect. Then he set the blame for the disappearance on his prisoner’s jealous rivals.”

“Exactly.” Suma nodded. “I have built such a facility on a small but modern estate.”

“Isn’t that a bit risky?” inquired Tsuboi.

“The obvious is never suspected.”

Kamatori looked at Tsuboi. “If you have candidates for oblivion, you need only give me their names.”

Tsuboi’s eyes turned down, unseeing. Then he looked up. “There are two people in the United States who are causing us much grief. But you must be most careful. They are members of Congress, and their abduction will certainly cause a storm of outrage.”

“A Blood Red Brotherhood kidnapping and ransom situation should make a good cover for their sudden disappearance,” said Suma as if he was describing the weather.

“Who precisely do you have in mind?” asked Kamatori.

“Congresswoman Loren Smith and Senator Michael Diaz.”

Yoshishu nodded. “Ah, yes, the pair who are promoting a total trade barrier against us.”

“Despite our lobbying efforts, they’re gathering enough votes to force their legislation through both houses. Eliminate them and the drive would fall apart.”

“There will be great outrage in their government,” Suma warned. “It may backlash.”

“Our lobby interests have acquired a powerful influence on Congress and will direct the outrage toward a terrorist conspiracy.” Tsuboi’s anger at his treatment by the select subcommittee had not cooled. “We have lost enough face at the hands of American politicians. Let them learn their power no longer protects them from harm.”

Yoshishu stared out the window unseeing for a few moments. Then he shook his head. “A great pity.”

Suma looked at him. “What is a great pity, old friend?”

“The United States of America,” Yoshishu spoke “She’s like a beautiful woman who is dying of cancer.”

28

MARVIN SHOWALTER SAT on a train traveling through Tokyo’s clean and efficient subway. He made no attempt to act as if he was reading a newspaper or a book. He calmly stared at his fellow passengers, “making,” as they say in the trade, the two Japanese secret service agents who were keeping him under surveillance from the next car.

Showalter had walked from the U.S. embassy shortly after a boring meeting with junketing congressmen over Japan’s refusal to allow American construction equipment to be used on a new building ready to go up for an American oil company. It was simply another case of throwing up protectionist barriers, while the Japanese could freely enter the United States and raise buildings with their architects, foremen, materials, and equipment without major problems over government restrictions.