The President was silent, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he said slowly, “You’re right, I’d be forced into making excuses no one would believe.”
“Time is on our side as long as no one but our MAIT team and the three of us knows what’s going down,” Jordan continued.
“Good thing,” Kern muttered. “If the Russians knew their landscape was littered with foreign warheads, they wouldn’t hesitate to threaten a full-scale invasion of Japan.”
“And we don’t need that,” the President said quietly.
“Nor do the innocent Japanese, who have no idea of Suma’s insane threat,” said Jordan, hammering in another nail.
The President came to his feet, ending the briefing. “Four days, gentlemen. You have ninety-six hours.”
Jordan and Kern exchanged tight smiles.
The assault on Suma had been planned before they walked into the Oval Office. All it took was a phone call to set it in motion.
39
AT FOUR O’CLOCK in the morning the small landing strip on a government reservation near Woodmoor, Maryland, looked to be deserted. There were no lights bordering the narrow band of asphalt. The only guide to a pilot making a night landing was a triangle of blue mercury vapor streetlights arched over an intersection of two dirt roads that pointed to the south end of the runway.
Then the early morning stillness was broken as the whine of throttled-back jet engines cut the still air. A pair of headlights flashed on, their beams falling across the center of the landing strip. The Gulfstream jet transport with CIRCLEARTH AIRLINES painted across the top of the fuselage touched down and taxied to a stop beside a Jeep Grand Wagoneer station wagon.
Less than three minutes after the passenger door opened and two men and their luggage were on the ground, the plane rolled toward the end of the runway and was airborne again. As the roar faded in the black sky, Admiral Sandecker shook hands with Pitt and Giordino.
“Congratulations,” he said warmly, “on a very successful operation.”
“We haven’t heard the results,” said Pitt. “Did the photos of the painting Mancuso transmitted match an existing island?”
“Right on the money,” replied Sandecker. “Turns out the island was called Ajima by fishermen after one of them became stranded on it in the seventeen-hundreds. But it remained on the charts as Soseki Island. And like many geographical sites connected with local folklore, the name Ajima was eventually lost.”
“Where’s the location?” asked Giordino.
“About sixty kilometers off the coast due east of Edo City.”
Pitt’s face suddenly became etched with anxious concern. “What word of Loren?”
Sandecker shook his head. “Only that she and Diaz are alive and hidden in a secret location.”
“That’s it?” Pitt said, irritated. “No investigation, no operation to free them?”
“Until the bomb-car threat is eliminated, the President’s hands are tied.”
“Bed,” mumbled Giordino, cagily changing the subject to cool Pitt down. “Take me to my bed.”
Pitt dipped his head at the little Italian. “Get him. His eyes haven’t been open since we left Germany.”
“You made good time,” said Sandecker. “Have a pleasant flight?”
“Slept most of it. And with the jet lag working in our favor flying west, I’m wide awake.”
“Frank Mancuso remained with the art objects’?” Sandecker inquired.
Pitt nodded. “Just before we took off, he received a message from Kern ordering him to pack up the Japanese embassy art and fly it to Tokyo.”
“A smoke screen to pacify the Germans.” Sandecker smiled. “The art is actually going to a vault in San Francisco. When the time is ripe, the President will present it to the Japanese people as a goodwill gesture.” He gestured to the seats of the Jeep. “Get in. Since you’re so bright and bushy-tailed, I’ll let you drive.”
“Fine by me,” Pitt said agreeably.
After they threw their bags in the luggage compartment, Pitt slid behind the steering wheel as the admiral and Giordino entered from the opposite side. Sandecker took the front passenger seat, Giordino the back. Pitt shifted the running engine into drive and wheeled the Jeep down a dark road to a gatehouse that stood hidden in a grove of trees. A uniformed security guard stepped out, peered inside the car a moment, then saluted Sandecker and waved them through to a back-country highway.
Three kilometers later, Pitt turned the Jeep onto the Capital Beltway and headed toward the lights of Washington. Traffic at that time of morning was almost nonexistent. He set the cruise control on 110 kilometers and sat back as the big four-wheel-drive rolled effortlessly over the pavement.
They drove in silence for several minutes. Sandecker stared absently through the windshield. Pitt didn’t need a strong imagination to know the admiral didn’t leave a warm bed to meet them without a good reason. The huge Havana was strangely missing from his mouth, and his hands were clasped across his chest, sure signs of inner tension. His eyes were like ice cubes. He definitely had something heavy on his mind.
Pitt decided to give him an opening. “Where do we go from here?” he asked.
“Say again,” Sandecker mumbled in mock distraction.
“What does the great eagle have in store for us next? A nice week’s vacation, I hope.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not, but you’re going to tell me, right?”
Sandecker yawned to prolong the agony. “Well, I’m afraid you two are off on another airplane ride again.”
“Where?”
“The Pacific.”
“Where exactly in the Pacific?”
“Palau. The team, or what’s left of it, is to assemble at the Information Gathering and Collection Point for new instructions from the Director of Field Operations.”
“Without the bureaucratic title crap, what you’re saying is we’re meeting with Mel Penner.”
Sandecker smiled, and his eyes softened considerably. “You have a deft manner of slicing to the gut of the matter.”
Pitt was wary. He could see the axe was about to fall. “When?” he asked quickly.
“In precisely one hour and fifty minutes. You’re taking a commercial airline out of Dulles.”
“A pity we didn’t land there,” Pitt said sourly, “and saved you the drive.”
“Security reasons. Kern thought it best if you arrive at the terminal by car, pick up the tickets, and board like any other tourists flying to the South Seas.”
“We could use a change of clothes.”
“Kern sent a man to pack clean things in suitcases. They’ve already been checked through.”
“Very thoughtful of him. I must remind myself to change my security alarms when I return—”
Pitt broke off and studied the reflection in his rearview mirror. The same pair of headlights had been on the Jeep’s tail since they swung onto the beltway. For the last several kilometers they had maintained an exact distance. He punched off the cruise control and increased speed slightly. The lights dropped back and moved forward again.
“Something wrong?” asked Sandecker.
“We’ve picked up a tail.”
Giordino turned and peered through the big rear window. “More than one. I make out three vans in a convoy.”
Pitt stared thoughtfully into the mirror. The beginning of a grin drew across his face. “Whoever is after us isn’t taking any chances. They’ve sent a full platoon.”
Sandecker snatched a car phone and dialed the MAIT team safe line. “This is Admiral Sandecker!” he snapped, ignoring any attempt at procedural codes. “I’m on the Capital Beltway heading south near Morningside. We are being followed—”