It was obvious that Peyton knew the number. He nodded. "Wait here." He turned and went down the broad stairhall and entered a room.
He was back in less than two minutes and beckoned for Carter, who followed him into a book-lined study. Peyton closed and locked the door.
"Care for a drink?" he asked.
"A little brandy," Carter said. "But I don't have much time, sir. I have a plane to catch in a couple of hours."
Peyton poured them both a drink, and they sat down across from each other in leather armchairs. "The White House gives you high marks, Mr. Carter, but they wouldn't tell me exactly who you are. Can you?"
"No, sir. But I came to talk to you about the Soviet submarine base at Svetlaya and the Petrograd-class boats."
Peyton thought a moment. "You've obviously had access to my reports."
"Yes, sir, but there wasn't much there."
"We don't have much information, Mr. Carter. And it's a damned shame. If something isn't done, and soon, we'll be in a real jam."
"That's why I've come to see you." Carter put down his drink. "Whatever is said cannot leave this room. Under any circumstances."
"I understand," Peyton said, nodding.
"It's possible that we may be able to recover a Petrograd computer chip."
Peyton's eyes lit up. "Where, in God's name?"
"I can't say. But a Soviet naval officer attempted to defect to the West. He and his contact officer were killed. Before that happened the Russian told us that he had brought the Petrograd's chip with him."
"And you're to go after it?"
"Yes, sir. But no one seems to be able to tell me exactly what I'll be looking for. How big is it? What does it look like? How will I be able to recognize it?"
Peyton sighed deeply. "I'm afraid I can't help you, Carter. No one knows."
"I understand that, but if anyone could guess, it would be you."
Peyton nodded thoughtfully. "The chip itself will be small. Maybe twice the size of a postage stamp. But it will have to be kept in a pretty stable environment. My guess is that it might be contained in something the size of a small suitcase. Something in which temperature and humidity could be controlled. It might even need a small steady current flow for the memory circuits. But I'm only guessing."
"It would be fragile?"
"Yes."
"A bullet through the suitcase would ruin it?"
"Almost certainly," Peyton said. "But God in heaven, man, if you find the thing, don't let any harm come to it! The thing is vital, absolutely vital! If there were a chance…"
"There's only a slim chance that I'll be able to find it, before… the competition does. But I have another question. What do you know about the security at Svetlaya?"
"Nothing more than is in my reports. It's tough. Probably more closely guarded than any installation anywhere in the world."
"You can't add anything else?"
Peyton shook his head. "You're not planning on trying to get in there, are you?"
"One last question, sir. Exactly where in the submarine would the chip be located?"
Peyton sighed deeply. "Somewhere in the vicinity of the conning tower, in and amongst the boat's ECMs… electronic countermeasures equipment. You'd need to have the carrying case for it, though."
"Could you design such a case?"
Peyton nodded slowly. "You are planning on going after it."
Carter got to his feet. "One way or the other, sir. Call that same number when you've finished. They'll know what to do with the case. And please, sir, no one must know that we have met, or what we have discussed."
"Your life will depend on it, I know."
"Thanks for your help."
"Good luck," Peyton said, but Carter was already out the door and had not heard him.
Two
Tokyo was across the International Dateline, fourteen hours later than Washington, D.C. What should have been late morning for Carter was just past midnight when his 747 touched down. The weather was cool, and rain clouds threatened inland. The city smelled of exhaust; it was the same smell as New York, or London, or Paris, and yet there was a difference here. This was the Far East. The mysterious Orient.
Kazuka Akiyama was waiting for him outside customs. She was a petite woman with delicate features. Tonight she was dressed in a tailored gray suit, an ivory silk blouse, and black pumps.
They had not seen each other in a couple of years. When they had parted they had been lovers, and friends. Now, however, her reception seemed cool. It hurt a little, though Carter did not want to admit it to himself.
"You had a good flight, Nicholas?" she asked formally.
"Long," Carter replied tiredly.
"I have a car just out front," she said, and she turned and led Carter across the busy terminal, down the broad escalator, and finally outside across to the pickup area where her red Datsun 300ZX was parked.
He tossed his bags in back, then climbed in on the passenger side as she put on her seat belt and started the engine. The entire airport area was lit up like day and was very busy even at that hour.
"Put on your seat belt, Nicholas," she said. "It's always much safer that way, especially in Tokyo traffic."
Something in her manner, in the tone of her voice, the way she held herself, suddenly struck Carter. He cursed his own stupidity as he buckled up. The Russians were here in force. They knew Kazuka, or certainly were able to guess that she was more than she presented herself to be, and now they'd be on Carter. They were, doubtless, very close at that moment.
Kazuka took off, pulling around a mini-bus and an airport limousine, and then pushed the pedal to the floor, the turbo-charged engine coming to life with a sudden, angry snarl.
She just made the light at the far side of the Pan Am terminal, and several startled people had to jump back up on the sidewalk.
Carter looked back in time to see a gray Mercedes pull away and come after them.
"We've picked up a tail," he said.
"A Mercedes?"
"Right."
They raced up the overpass that led south to Yokohama and north into Tokyo itself, tires squealing as she took the thirty-mile-per-hour curve at seventy-five.
They shot out of the access ramp onto the six-lane superhighway that was dense with traffic despite the hour, Kazuka expertly handling the powerful car, cutting between trucks, sometimes crossing four lanes of traffic in a split second with a flick of her tiny wrists.
Twice again Carter looked back. The first time he could see the Mercedes way back, but the second time the German car was no longer in sight.
"We've lost them," he said, turning back.
Kazuka's skirt had hiked up, exposing most of her shapely legs and thighs. She glanced over at him and smiled when she realized what he was looking at.
"It's nice to know that you haven't changed," she said.
Carter laughed. "I was beginning to wonder about you back there."
"They've been following me around like glue ever since Paul Tibbet got himself killed. They had a parabolic antenna on us back there, picking up every word we were saying to each other. I spotted them on the way in."
She glanced in the rearview mirror.
"They would have known I was here sooner or later," Carter said. "Have you been able to find out anything?"
"Not a thing," Kazuka replied, shaking her head. Her long dark hair was pinned up in the back, exposing her delicate neck and tiny ears. "I've got most of the crew watching them. But I don't think the Russians themselves have any idea where the lieutenant hid the chip."
"Did your office have any advance notice of the meeting?"
"Not a word, Nick. Everyone at the embassy has been running around for the past two weeks getting ready for the President's visit. I hadn't seen Paul for at least a month. Evidently this came out of the blue."