The room itself bustled with agents from every division, many stood around in groups discussing the crisis. Drake just hoped they weren’t already deciding which poor bastard would take the fall for all this.
Several large TVs and monitors had been hastily erected above the stage, each one showing the face of an important-looking individual, depicted by their uniforms, medals and bearing.
Dahl pointed to the dais. “You know any of those men?”
“No more than you. Vice President Dolan in the flesh. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Sanford, on telly. I bet those guys are the other Joint Chiefs. Not sure about the rest.”
Dahl nodded to a sandy-haired man to the far right. “I know him. Commandant of the Marine Corps, Tom Liddell. Good man.”
Drake glanced across the room and headed over to the water table. Several jugs were scattered about and he helped himself to a glass. As he drank, the Vice President rose and called for quiet. The casual unceremonious way in which he did it confirmed as much as anything the level of threat they were up against.
“My friends, I don’t have long here. The Secret Service are about to whisk me off.” He waited until every last murmur subsided. “They would rather I be long gone already. But I wanted to say — this will not stand. This is free American soil, my friends, and no one will dictate to us our way of life. This is free American soil, hard-fought for by every serviceman and woman every day of their lives. This is free American soil, and we will fight for it tooth and nail, blood and bone, until every last breath has been forced from our bodies. We will fight and we will never stop, for our way of life, for our dignity, our honor, and for our children.”
The Vice President nodded and turned away, quickly surrounded by the Secret Service. The room erupted into applause. Drake put down his glass to join in, and Dahl clapped loudly at his side. After a minute, another man spoke, the Deputy Secretary of Defense, William Massey.
Massey, on camera, held up a remote control and flicked it at his own screen. A blank TV at the front of the room glimmered into life. “This is what happened a few minutes ago.”
Drake watched as, unbelievably, Dmitry Kovalenko, seated beside President Coburn, calmly laid down a four-word challenge to every serviceman, cop or gung-ho citizen in the United States.
“Come and get me.”
Massey leaned into the camera, but another voice spoke up first. The voice of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, John Sanford.
“It must never be said that the United States watched indolently when we were tested. We will not stand in disarray and watch a public execution. By God, we will accept that bastard’s challenge and go get our president.”
Now Massey held up a hand. “But first we need your input.” He acknowledged every man and woman in the room. “You were all brought here today — and yes, some are still en route — because of your past service to this country and the special skills you can bring to the table. This—” he clicked an unseen button. “Is the blueprint of the Hotel Dillion. It is overlaid with every known facelift and upgrade. Put your heads together, gentlemen. We’re going in to get President Coburn within the hour.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Mai Kitano turned her back on the small picturesque bridge where she had met Gyuki only when she was sure the master assassin had left the area. She made her way warily out of the park and around to the prearranged meeting point with Dai Hibiki. The terse little Japanese agent was waiting for her and spoke as soon as she approached the open window of his car.
“What did he say?”
Mai waited until she had climbed into the front seat and sat down. She remained suspicious. The parking area was very public, jam-packed with dog-walkers, shoppers and people on their lunch breaks, but such manic activity could just as easily hide a tail as reveal one.
“They have my parents. They won’t let me go, Dai.”
Her friend gripped the bridge of his nose. “Your parents? Good God. Even Chika doesn’t know where they are.”
“Chika disowned them when she found out what they had done to me. That decision only piled one more heartbreak upon them. It doesn’t matter why or how, it only matters now that the Clan have them.”
“Where?”
“Their village.” Mai shrugged. “I have no idea where it is.”
“But you do have a plan?”
“Yes and no.” Mai sighed. “It’s not only my parents they are threatening. It’s Chika, and you. And me. If I follow my plan to the end, a lot of people will get hurt, and not all of them deservedly.”
“This may help.” Hibiki switched the car’s radio on. A news channel, NHK World Radio Japan, was reporting that the President of the United States had been abducted and played a recording of Dmitry Kovalenko’s challenge. Mai stared through the car’s windscreen and into the middle distance, unseeing.
“I should be there. It is bad enough that I do not know the fate of all my friends. Now, they also have to deal with this.”
Hibiki squeezed her shoulder. “There is no shame in fighting here too. You are still fighting for your family and friends.”
Mai nodded. “You’re right. My fear is unfounded.” She put a hand out and patted his knee. “Be careful, my friend. Keep Chika safe and look after yourself.”
Hibiki scowled. “What does that mean? Surely you can’t—”
“I’m doing this alone.” Mai said quietly and forcefully. “For one, you need deniability. And more, I need you with Chika. If this goes down the way I see it… you may never see me again, Dai.”
Hibiki swallowed hard but said nothing.
Mai reached for the door catch, still clutching the file Gyuki had given her and already planning her next move. She paused as Hibiki began to speak.
“I remember you,” he said softly. “From the first few months around the office to that damn Coscon where you took out the whole of the local Yakuza. I was there, I know, and I helped, but you came through, Mai. You took the risks, you stole the show. Deservedly, you became a legend.”
“Thank you.”
“That damn costume,” he chuckled. “When you walked into the station dressed in that cosplay outfit there wasn’t a stick of work done for a whole six minutes. And even when you were kicking the Yakuza from here to hell and back, not one of them knew whether to worship, fight or photograph you. An honorable respectful real-life super hero.”
Mai cracked open the door.
“Whatever you have to do,” Hibiki said to her back. “Make it moral and honorable, and make it count.”
Mai travelled by taxi to Tokyo Bay, ignoring the file Gyuki had provided, instead gazing through the grimy window at the busy sidewalks and streets she knew so well. Barely an inch of road was visible beneath the myriad buses, cars, bicycles and minivans which flew in all directions. Trees lined the streets, masses of scooters parked beneath their overhanging branches. Long, colorful banners hung down the side of every shop front and from the buildings above, advertising everything from sex to sushi. The noise was filtered by the closed window, but Mai’s ears still reverberated from the din outside. The taxi driver had the radio tuned into NHK so Mai asked him to turn it up.
“No further details at this point, though it is known that Vice President Dolan is currently in crisis talks with the Joint Chiefs and members of the Cabinet. To recap, the YouTube broadcast by the man known as the Blood King, Dmitry Kovalenko, subsequently removed, is thought to be genuine. We—”