Only then did Pitt contact Sandecker and Giordino and report that he was on his way toward Dennings’ Demons.
68
IT WAS MIDMORNING in Washington when Jordan took the message from Sandecker, ten time zones to the west. The President had returned to his bedroom in the upstairs White House for a shower and a change of clothes. He was standing in front of a mirror knotting his tie when the call came from the Situation Room.
“Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. President,” said Jordan respectfully, “but I thought you’d like to know the drop was successful. Pitt and the Deep Sea Mining Vehicle are in motion.”
“Nice to start the day with some good news for a change. How soon before they reach the bomber?”
“An hour, less if the seafloor is flat and doesn’t hold any geological surprises.”
“And detonation?”
“Two hours to remove the bomb and another three to reach the explosion site, set the detonators, and give the DSMV enough time to get safely out of the area.”
“There were no problems?” asked the President.
“Admiral Sandecker reported the fall through water was a bit hairy for a while, but the DSMV survived the impact in good shape. The only other hitch, if you want to call it that, is Pitt somehow arranged to leave Giordino behind and is conducting the operation on his own.”
The President was secretly pleased. “That doesn’t surprise me. He’s the kind of man who would sacrifice himself before endangering a friend. Any late developments on the bomb cars?”
“The task force engaged in the search have turned up twenty-seven.”
“Yoshishu and Tsuboi must know we’re breathing down their necks. If they had the code to explode the bombs, we’d have heard from them.”
“We’ll know shortly if we’ve won the race or not,” Jordan said soberly.
The President’s special assistant, Dale Nichols, rushed up to the President as he stepped out of the elevator. The President immediately recognized a look of urgency on Nichols’ face.
“You look like you’re standing barefoot on an anthill, Dale. What’s going down?”
“You’d better step into the communications lounge, Mr. President. Ichiro Tsuboi has somehow entered our safe system and opened up communications on the video entry.”
“Is he on view now?”
“Not yet. He’s on hold, demanding he talk only to you.”
“Alert the Situation Room so they can tune in the conversation.”
The President entered a room down the hall from the Oval Office and sat in a leather chair on one end of a small stage backed by a giant rectangular opening in the far wall. He pressed a button on a console in the armrest and waited. Suddenly time and space melted into one place, one moment, as a life-sized three-dimensional image of Ichiro Tsuboi materialized on the other side of the stage.
Thanks to the magic technology of photonics—fiber-optic transmission—and computer wizardry, the two men could sit and converse as though they were in the same room. The detail was so amazing that Tsuboi’s image appeared sharply defined and solid without the faintest indication of fuzzy transparency.
Tsuboi was kneeling stiffly on his knees on a bamboo mat, his hands loosely clenched and resting on his thighs. He was dressed in an expensive business suit but wore no shoes. He bowed slightly as the President’s image appeared on his end of the transmission.
“You wish to establish dialogue, Mr. Tsuboi?” said the President for openers.
“That is correct,” replied Tsuboi, rudely refusing to address the President by title.
The President decided to shoot from the hip. “Well, you certainly got my attention with that nuclear blast in Wyoming. Was that supposed to constitute a message?”
The impact of the President’s words was heightened by his seeming indifference. The consummate politician, the President was a shrewd judge of human character. He quickly detected a perceptible tenseness in Tsuboi’s eyes and deduced the Japanese was not dealing from a solid power base.
The international financial wizard and heir apparent to Suma’s underworld and industrial empire tried to appear calm and in control, but the President’s prior silence on the explosion had produced an unsettling effect. He and Yoshishu could not understand why the chief executive had virtually ignored it.
“We can save many words, Mr. President,” said Tsuboi. “You know of our technical advances and superiority in defensive technology, and by now Senator Diaz, Congresswoman Smith, and your intelligence people have provided you with information on our facility on Soseki Island.”
“I’m quite aware of your Dragon Center and the Kaiten Project,” the President countered, mindful that Tsuboi failed to mention Hideki Suma. “And if you believe I won’t order massive retaliation should you insanely detonate any more of your bomb cars, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Our original intent was not to kill millions of people,” Tsuboi insisted.
“I know what you intended, Mr. Tsuboi. Try it and Armageddon is yours.”
“If you wish to go down in history as the greatest monster since Adolf Hitler for a totally irrational act, then there is little more to say.”
“You must have wanted to say something, or why else did you contact me?”
Tsuboi paused, then pressed on. “I have certain proposals to throw on the table.”
“I’m willing to hear them.”
“You will call off your search of the cars. If any more are seized, the signals will be sent to detonate. And since you once dropped such a weapon on my people, I assure you I will not hesitate to explode the remaining bombs in populated cities.
The President fought hard to suppress his growing anger. “A standoff then. You kill a few million of us, we decimate your entire population.”
“No, you won’t do that. The people of the great White Christian American nation will not condone such butchery.”
“We’re not all white or Christian.”
“The minorities that undermine your culture will never back your stand.”
“They’re still Americans.”
“Nevertheless, my people are committed and prepared to die for the new empire.”
“That’s a damned lie,” the President shot back. “Until now, you and Suma and the rest of your gangland mob have operated in secret. The Japanese people have no idea you’ve placed their lives on the line for world economic dominance. They won’t risk the devastation of their nation for a cause based on greed by a few criminals. You don’t speak for them or your government.”
The barest trace of a smile crossed Tsuboi’s face, and the President knew he had been sucked in. “You can avoid this horrible holocaust on both our countries by simply accepting my proposals.”
“You mean demands.”
“As you wish.”
“State your case,” said the President, his voice beginning to sound strained. He’d lost his edge and was angry with himself.
“There will be no nationalization or takeover of Japanese owned companies, nor judicial interference with any of our projected corporate or real estate buy-outs.”
“That’s no big deal. Nationalization has never been in the interests of the United States. No legislation has ever been considered on such an unconstitutional premise in our two hundred years. As to the latter, no Japanese firm that I know of has been barred by law from purchasing a business or land in the United States.”
“Japanese citizens will not be required to present visas when entering the United States.”
“You’ll have to battle Congress on that one.”