The combination was so ostentatious you scarcely noticed the wearer. Bergin's shirt cuffs were tailored short to optimize the impact.
Fitzduane eyed his visitor.
"Mike," he said dryly, "clothes really do make the man. You are unrecognizable. You look like you run a small Southern bank and wash drug money for the Medellín cartel. You're probably on your third wife and she'd thirty years younger than you are. Alternatively, you produce pornographic movies."
Begin spread his hands in a mock gesture of modesty and his wrists glinted in the light. Fitzduane poured him a drink and the two men sat in armchairs on either side of a low table. The blinds were drawn and the room had been electronically swept.
"Everything ready, Hugo?" said Bergin.
"Pretty much," said Fitzduane. "The hunt is going to take place as scheduled, with a full attendance as planned. It's now a matter of finalizing the rules. I don't want the CIA too unhappy. Kilmara and I work with you people too often for that to be neighborly."
Bergin took off his blond wig and scratched his head. "Horrible things," he said.
"Lice love them," said Fitzduane helpfully.
"Which brings us back to Schwanberg," said Bergin. He drank some wine and then looked directly at Fitzduane. "We've been finalizing his case. It's a rough estimate, but it looks like he and his cronies have lifted, one way or another, the best part of a hundred and twenty million dollars."
"And who says the U.S. can't succeed in the Japanese market?" said Fitzduane. "So now you're going to arrest him and bring him to trial."
Bergin looked pained. "Really, Hugo," he said. "You can't be serious."
Fitzduane smiled grimly. "Schwanberg had Adachi killed," he said. "That is not something I am likely to forgive or forget. But how it's done is the issue. He's your operative."
"The director feels it would be more appropriate if it's handled in-house," said Bergin. "Caught in the cross-fire, killed in the line of duty, something of that nature. So I'd like to hitch a ride and take care of matters personally. I'm rather fond of balloons, you know."
Fitzduane looked at his friend thoughtfully. "You know, Mike, I never saw you as a practitioner of extreme prejudice."
"That was the general idea, Hugo," said Bergin with a regretful smile, "and mostly I'm not. But every so often there is a requirement and, really, Schwanberg has been running around long enough."
"Too long," said Fitzduane quietly. "Not a personal criticism, Mike. More a truth we share. Isn't that so?"
Bergin nodded his agreement. He felt uncomfortable, perhaps even ashamed. The simple truth was that Schwanberg had been under suspicion for some time and only the reflex bureaucratic desire to prevent scandal had prevented action. And meanwhile people had died.
Cover-ups were not confined to Watergate. In the real world of big government and big business, they were the norm. Exposure was the exception. The price was just a cost of doing business.
Fitzduane emptied the bottle into their glasses. "Drink up and listen, Mike. If you're going to be flying with us, there a few extra angles you should know. Preparation for the unexpected. What the training manuals call ‘making an appreciation of the situation.’"
He ran through what was necessary, and as he spoke Bergin's eyes widened. Bergin wasn't altogether displeased. At his age he had not been sure they could do that anymore.
24
Tokyo, Japan
July 12
The entire perimeter was sealed off as they approached a side entrance of the military base at Atsugi.
Security floodlights pierced the darkness.
Located just outside Tokyo, Atsugi was the headquarters of the elite Airborne Brigade of the Japanese Defense Forces, and it was there they were to board the airship.
With a pang, Fitzduane thought of Adachi, who had trained and operated from there. It was appropriate, he mused, that retribution against the policeman's killer should originate from that location as well. He felt a great sadness when he thought of Adachi, and there was that familiar twinge of guilt which so often seemed to accompany the death of a comrade: why him and not me? He pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind. Right now, there were more urgent issues to consider. What they were about to do was intricate and dangerous and would require all his concentration.
The black Tokyo MPD limousine containing the police driver, the Spider, Yoshokawa, and Fitzduane was stopped at a striped pole barrier and they were asked to leave the car while each man's credentials were checked thoroughly.
Beyond the token barrier of the striped pole, Fitzduane saw retractable spiked metal anti-ram barricades and two well-camouflaged interlaced machine-gun posts.
The airborne troopers were taking security seriously. Other troops with blackened faces and in full battle order patrolled the perimeter and all key installations. Apart from being a military installation, Atsugi was also the training area for the kidotai, the antiterrorist riot police, and, as such, was a prime terrorist target.
The white-helmeted gate guards waved them through and held salutes as they drove past. Five minutes later, they could see the black silhouette of the airship in the distance. It looked impossibly large in the darkness and brought to Fitzduane's mind the image of some vast, menacing space monster.
"It's awesome," breathed Yoshokawa, as they emerged from the limousine. "And beautiful in a rather sinister way. But what a creation!"
"It's quite small by traditional airship standards," said the Spider modestly. Actually, he was proud of the Tokyo MPD airship. "It's about seventy feet high, fifty feet in diameter, and two hundred feet long. That is big enough to hold just under a quarter of a million feet of gas."
It's going to be like flying in a mobile city block, contemplated Fitzduane. He was used to smaller things buzzing around in the skies. On the other hand, he tried to have a reasonably open mind.
Yoshokawa was lost in thought. The engineer and inventor in him was fascinated. "When I think of airships," he mused, "I always think of zeppelins and then the horrible crash of the Hindenburg. I saw it on an old newsreel when I was a boy. A truly dread-inspiring sight to see that large balloon burst into flames and incinerate all those people."
"It did not do a lot for airship sales," said Fitzduane dryly. "And I would add, with respect, Yoshokawa-san, that such stories don't do a lot for me. In case you had forgotten, I'm going up in this particular one tonight."
"Oh," said Yoshokawa. "Oh, dear!" He was quite disconcerted. Then he recovered somewhat and went into damage limitation. "But I was talking about the past, Fitzduane-san. Airships are much safer now."
"Well, I should hope so, Yoshokawa-san," said Fitzduane with a straight face. "I have no desire to descend lightly toasted or maybe even resembling a well-done steak. I think you should know that."
There was a strange noise from the Spider. Yoshokawa looked at Fitzduane, then at the Spider. Finally, the Spider could not contain himself any longer and a belly laugh emerged.
It was only the second time Fitzduane had heard the Spider laugh. The first time had been back in Ireland in his castle. It had been merely a matter of weeks, but it seemed a different age.