The man behind the ornate desk shook his head. "I don't think so, but if it happens, I can take it. I want orders to go out for our forces to stand down, defensive action only."
"Good."
"It's going to be a long while before things return to normal."
Jack nodded. "Yes, sir, but we can still manage things in as civilized a way as possible. Their citizens were never behind this. Most of the people responsible for it are already dead. We have to make that clear. Want me to handle it?"
"Great idea. Let's talk about that tonight. How about you bring your wife in for dinner. Just a private one for a change," the President suggested with smile.
"I think Cathy would like that."
Professor Catherine Ryan was just finishing up a procedure. The atmosphere in the operating room was more akin to something in an electronics factory. She didn't even have to wear surgical gloves, and the scrub rules here were nothing like those for conventional surgery. The patient was only mildly sedated while the surgeon hovered over the gunsightlike controls of her laser, searching around for the last bad vessel on the surface of the elderly man's retina. She lined up the crosshairs as carefully as a man taking down a Rocky Mountain sheep from half a mile, and thumbed the control. There was a brief flash of green light and the vein was "welded" shut.
"Mr. Redding, that's it," she said quietly, touching his hand.
"Thank you, doctor," the man said somewhat sleepily.
Cathy Ryan flipped off the power switch on the laser system and got off her stool, stretching as she did so. In the corner of the room, Special Agent Andrea Price, still disguised as a Hopkins faculty member, had watched the entire procedure. The two women went outside to find Professor Bernard Katz, his eyes beaming over his Bismarck mustache.
"Yeah, Bernie?" Cathy said, making her notes for Mr. Redding's chart.
"You have room on the mantel, Cath?" That brought her eyes up. Katz handed over a telegram, still the traditional way of delivering such news. "You just bagged a Lasker Award, honey." Katz then delivered a hug that almost made Andrea Price reach for her gun.
"Oh, Bernie!"
"You earned it, doctor. Who knows, maybe you'll get a free trip to Sweden, too. Ten years of work It's one hell of a clinical breakthrough, Cathy."
Other faculty members came up then, applauding and shaking her hand and for Caroline Muller Ryan, MD, F.A.C.S., it was a moment to match the arrival of a baby. Well, she thought, almost…
Special Agent Price heard her beeper go off and headed to the nearest phone, taking the message down and returning to her principal.
"Is it really that good?" she finally asked.
"Well, it's about the top American award in medicine," Katz said while Cathy basked in the glow of respect from her colleagues. "You get a nice little copy of a Greek statue, the Winged Victory of Samothrace, I think, the Goddess Nike. Some money, too. But mainly what you get is the knowledge that you really made a difference. She's a great doc."
"Well, the timing is pretty good. I have to get her home and changed," Price confided.
"What for?"
"Dinner in the White House," the agent replied with a wink. "Her husband did a pretty good job, too." Just how good was a secret from nearly everyone, but not from the Service, from whom nothing was secret.
"Ambassador Whiting, I wish to apologize to you, to your government, and to your people for what has happened. I pledge to you that it will not happen again. I also pledge to you that the people responsible will answer to our law," Koga said with great if somewhat stiff dignity.
"Prime Minister, your word is sufficient to me and to my government. We will do the utmost to restore our relationship," the Ambassador promised, deeply moved by the sincerity of his host, and wishing, as many had, that America had not cut his legs out only six weeks earlier. "I will communicate your wishes to my government immediately. I believe that you will find our response to your position is highly favorable."
"I need your help," Yamata said urgently.
"What help is that?" Tracking down Zhang Han San had taken most of the day, and now the man's voice was as cold as his name.
"I can get my jet here, and from here I can fly directly to—"
"That could be viewed as an unfriendly act against two countries. No, I regret that my government cannot allow that." Fool, he didn't add. Don't you know the price for this sort of failure?
"But you—we are allies!"
"Allies in what?" Zhang inquired. "You are a businessman. I am a government official."
The conversation might have gone on with little point, but then the door to Yamata's office opened and General Tokikichi Arima came in, accompanied by two other officers. They hadn't troubled themselves to talk with the secretary in the anteroom.
"I need to speak with you, Yamata-san," the General said formally.
"I'll get back to you," the industrialist said into the phone. He hung up. He couldn't know that at the other end the official instructed his staff not to put the calls through. It would not have mattered in any case.
"Yes—what is it?" Yamata demanded. The reply was equally cold.
"I am ordered to place you under arrest."
"By whom?"
"By Prime Minister Koga himself."
"The charge?"
"Treason."
Yamata blinked hard. He looked around the room at the other men, now flanking the General. There was no sympathy in their eyes. So there it was. These mindless automatons had orders, but not the wit to understand them. But perhaps they still had honor.
"With your permission, I would like a few moments alone." The meaning of the request was clear.
"My orders" Arima said, "are to return you to Tokyo alive."
"Huh?"
"I am sorry, Yamata-san, but you are not to avail yourself of that form of escape." With that the General motioned to the junior officer, who took three steps and handcuffed the businessman. The coldness of the steel startled the industrialist.
"Tokikichi, you can't—"
"I must," It pained the General not to allow his…friend? No, they'd not been friends, not really. Even so it pained him not to allow Yamata to end his life by way of atonement, but the orders from the Prime Minister had been explicit on that score, and with that, he led the man from the building, off to the police station adjacent to his soon-to-be-vacated official quarters, where two men would keep an eye on him to prevent any attempt at suicide.
When the phone rang, it surprised everyone that it was the phone, and not Burroughs' satellite instrument. Isabel Oreza got it, expecting a call from work or something. Then she turned and called, "Mr. Clark?"
"Thank you." He look it. "Yes?"
"John. Mary Pal. Your mission is over. Come on home."
"Maintain cover?"
"Affirmative, good job, John. Tell Ding the same thing." The line went dead. The DDO had already violated security in a major way, but the call had taken only few seconds, and using the civilian line made it even more official than the covert sort could.
"What gives?" Portagee asked,
"We've just been ordered home."
"No shit?" Ding asked Clark handed the phone over.
"Call the airport. Tell them that we're accredited newsies and we might just get a priority." Clark turned "Portagee, could you do me a favor and forget you ever saw me?"
The signal was welcome though surprising. Tennessee immediately turned due east and increased speed to fifteen knots for the moment, staying deep. In the wardroom, the gathered officers were still joshing their Army guest, as was also happening with the enlisted men.
"We need a broom," the engineering officer said after some deep thought.
"Do we have one aboard?" Lieutenant Shaw asked.