She opened an armoire that stood against one wall and peered inside. Several expensive silk kimonos hung there. She tried one on and was pleasantly surprised to discover it was almost a tailored fit. She pulled open the lower drawers. They contained feminine underwear that was also in her exact size, as were the matching sandals on the floor of the armoire.
It beats hell out of being chained in a dungeon, Loren thought. Whoever captured her did not seem intent on torture or execution. The question of why she was abducted was pushed to the back of her mind. Making the most of an unwinnable situation, she relaxed in the tub and took a bubble bath. Then she dried and set her hair with the necessary dryer and styling odds and ends that were thoughtfully laid out on the bathroom counter along with a select array of expensive cosmetics and perfumes.
She was just slipping into a white and rose flowered kimono when there was a soft knock on the door and Kamatori stepped quietly into the room.
He stood there in silence a moment, his arms and hands buried in the sleeves of his yukata, a haughty look of scorn on his face. His eyes rose slowly from Loren’s bare feet, lingered on her breasts, and then lifted to her face.
Loren pulled the kimono tightly around her body and knotted the belt and turned her back to him. “Do Japanese men always enter a lady’s room without being invited?”
“My profound apologies,” said Kamatori with a noticeable hint of sarcasm. “I did not mean to show disrespect to a renowned American legislator.”
“What do you want?”
“I was sent by Mr. Hideki Suma to see that you are comfortable. My name is Moro Kamatori. I am Mr. Suma’s friend, bodyguard, and confidant.”
She replied decisively, “I guessed he was responsible for my kidnapping.”
“The inconvenience is only temporary, I promise you.”
“Why am I held hostage? What does he expect to gain besides hatred and vengeance from the American government?”
“He wishes your cooperation in delivering a message to your President and Congress.”
“Tell Mr. Suma to insert a sharp stick up his rectum and deliver the message himself.”
Brassiness born from vulnerability, Kamatori mused. He was pleased. He decided to pierce Loren’s first line of defense. “How coincidental. Almost the exact words of Senator Diaz, except his terms were much saltier.”
“Mike Diaz?” Loren’s brave front suffered a widening crack. “You kidnapped him too’?”
“Yes, you were brought here together.
“Where is here?”
“An island resort off the coast of Japan.”
“Suma is insane.”
“Hardly,” Kamatori said patiently. “He is a very wise and perceptive man. And in a few days he will announce his rules for the Western economies to follow in the future.”
A tinge of red anger flushed Loren’s face. “He’s even a bigger lunatic than I gave him credit for.”
“I think not. No man in history has accumulated as much wealth. He did not accomplish this out of ignorance. Soon you will come to believe that he can also wield absolute control over your government and its economy.” Kamatori paused, and his eyes turned down, gazing at the rounded flesh of Loren’s breasts that were pressing against the upper folds of the kimono. “In view of the coming transition, you might do well to consider a new turn of loyalty.”
Loren could not believe she was hearing such gibberish. “If anything happens to Senator Diaz or me, you and Mr. Suma will suffer. The President and Congress will not stand by and do nothing while we’re held hostage.”
“Moslem terrorists have been taking American hostages for years and you do nothing.” Kamatori’s eyes showed amusement. “Your President was informed within an hour of your disappearance, and was told who was responsible. Trust what I say. He has ordered that no rescue attempt be made and no word be leaked to the news media. Your aides, relatives, and fellow congressmen—none are aware that you were flown secretly to Japan.”
“You’re lying. My friends wouldn’t keep quiet.”
“By friends, do you mean Dirk Pitt and Alfred Giordino?”
Loren’s mind was in a ferment. She was teetering off balance. “You know of them?”
“Yes, they meddled in affairs that were not their concern and had an accident.”
“Were they injured?” she stammered.
“I don’t know, but it’s safe to say they did not escape unscathed.”
Loren’s lips trembled. She searched for something to say. “Why me? Why Senator Diaz?”
“You and the senator are mere pawns in a strategic game of economic power,” Kamatori continued. “So do not expect deliverance until Mr. Suma permits it. An assault by your Special Forces would be a wasted effort, because your intelligence agencies haven’t the slightest clue to your whereabouts. And if they did, there is no way for an army to penetrate our defenses. In any case, you and the Senator will be free and on a flight to Washington the day after tomorrow.”
The bewilderment in Loren’s eyes was what Kamatori hoped for. He removed his hands from the wide sleeves of his yukata, reached out suddenly, and pulled Loren’s kimono down around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.
Kamatori smiled sadistically. “I’ll do everything at my command to make your short stay enjoyable. Perhaps I might even give you a lesson on how women should defer to men.”
Then he turned and gave two heavy raps on the door. It opened from the outside by an unseen guard, and Kamatori was gone, leaving little doubt in Loren’s mind of what was in store for her before she would be released.
43
“THERE SHE IS,” said Mel Penner as he yanked the cover off a large table with the flourish of a magician, revealing a three-dimensional model of an island surrounded by a blue plaster-of-paris sea and inlaid with tiny trees and buildings. “Soseki Island, known in the past as Ajima,
“You did a marvelous job,” Stacy complimented Penner. “It looks so real.”
“I’m an old model railroad buff,” said the Director of Field Operations proudly. “My hobby is building dioramas.”
Weatherhill leaned over the table examining the steep realistic cliffs rising from the sea. “What’s its size?”
“Fourteen kilometers long by five at its widest point. About the same configuration as San Miguel, one of the channel islands off the coast of California.”
Penner pulled a blue bandanna from a hip pocket and dabbed at the sweat rolling down his temples. The air conditioner kept a comfortable temperature inside the small building, not much larger than a hut actually, that stood in the sand of a beach on Koror Island in Palau, but the 98 percent humidity could not be overcome.
Stacy, dressed in snug shorts and a halter top, walked around the table staring at Penner’s exacting model. The rocky crags spanned by miniature Oriental bridges and the twisted pine trees gave the island a mystical quality. “It must be… ” She hesitated, groping for the right description. “Heavenly,” she said finally.
“Hardly the word that leaps to mind,” Pitt muttered while swilling a glass half filled with tequila, lime, and ice from a bottle he’d carried from Washington. He wore swimming trunks and a NUMA T-shirt. His long tan legs were propped on the back of the chair in front of him, his feet in leather sandals. “A garden spot on the outside, maybe, but with a monster lurking inside.”
“You think Suma’s nuclear arsenal and detonation control center is under the island?” asked Frank Mancuso, who was the last of the five team members to arrive at the South Pacific Information Gathering and Collection Point.
Penner nodded. “We’re sure of it.”
Stacy reached out and touched the sheer palisades climbing almost vertically from the sea. “There’s no place to dock ships. They must have brought in construction equipment by air.”