"That's not so far from the way it is," said Fitzduane. "Though the final use can be less domestic. The stuff is used for all kinds of critical applications – including weapons."
"Gas, concrete, and weapons-grade steel," said Kathleen, "in a heavily guarded remote base. This does not sound like a good thing."
"Maybe not," said Fitzduane. "But they all constitute elements in a high-tech oil research facility – and that is exactly what this is supposed to be."
"What are they doing there?"
"Tecuno is mostly on a plateau," said Fitzduane. "High desert. In that part of the world, that translates into rocky, shale-festooned, waterless terrain. Blazing hot days. Freezing nights. The Badlands of New Mexico, only much worse. Most of the country is deserted since the Tuscalero Indians were wiped out. So what are you left with?"
"Oil," said Kathleen. "I don't just read the backs of cereal packages."
"Oil," agreed Fitzduane. "And a very large quantity of it. Only, some of it is locked into porous rock formations and the big question is how to get it out. So one idea is to force something or other in so that the oil comes out. Like steam or gas, for instance. Lots of stuff like that, only under high pressure. You are trying to force the stuff out of rock, after all. And rock is bloody hard stuff even when geologists describe it as porous. If I hit you on the head with a porous rock you would not be pleased."
"I'd kick you in the balls," said Kathleen, "and with precision. As to all this high-pressure stuff, I assume that is an application for maraging steel."
"So they say," said Fitzduane. "So there's your answer."
"Why did they kill Patricio?" said Kathleen.
"Maybe they didn't," said Fitzduane. "The killers were all Japanese."
"Which brings us back to Reiko Oshima," said Kathleen. "Who is supposed to be dead but seems to have surfaced. Where was she seen?"
"Tecuno," said Fitzduane, "by the CIA."
Kathleen looked genuinely puzzled. "I thought the CIA would not talk to Cochrane's people. They regard the Task Force as an impertinence. A congressional sub-committee should not be involved in counterterrorism."
"That is the official line," said Fitzduane. "But they also read and use the Task Force's stuff. Otherwise, how old they know what Cochrane and his boys are up to? Even more to the point, institutions aren't monolithic. Hell, some CIA even talk to the FBI, though only in parking lots with paper bags over their heads. Or so they tell me."
"This is cuckoo land," Said Kathleen.
"It's Washington," said Fitzduane, "a land of shifting alliances. A kind of architecturally superior Wonderland. And Maury is certainly the Mad Hatter."
"So who gets their head chopped off?" said Kathleen without thinking.
It broke the mood. There was a break in the conversation.
"That, unfortunately, we already know," said Fitzduane grimly after the pause. "But who or where is to be next is an open question."
"Why do these people do these things?" said Kathleen quietly.
"Because for a host or reasons we let them," said Fitzduane. Because they can."
He put his arms around her.
I am glad you turned them down, Hugo, said Kathleen silently. You have done enough. It's not your war. I want you alive with me and our children. I need you alive.
Let someone else do it.
4
Chifune Tanabu regarded the serried ranks of Kidotai drawn up in full riot and combat gear in the narrow lane and sighed.
In their kendo-like helmets and body armor and shields, it appeared almost as if a company of medieval samurai had invaded suburban Tokyo. They looked truly magnificent.
Unfortunately, seventy-five fine, upstanding members of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's heavy squad was not exactly what she had in mind when she had called for backup.
The good-looking young – very young – police inspector who was her new liaison with the security unit was carrying his protective streak too far. Evidently, he had not much faith in her ability to look after herself, even though he had been briefed that she was a senior agent in Koancho, the Japanese internal security service, and had dealt with more armed terrorists than he had years in the force.
Well, Japanese men. What else could you expect? Sexism did not even begin to describe it. They did not seem to realize that times were changing. A Japanese woman today did not have to set her sights on becoming an office decoration while waiting for the right salaryman to marry. Some even carried guns, and right now Chifune felt very much like using hers on that well-meaning idiot.
She breathed in and out a few times, resolved to keep her temper under control, checked her automatic, and replaced it in the holster in the small of her back. Her suit jacket hung over it nicely. She looked like an elegant career woman in her mid-thirties, she hoped, since that was exactly what she was supposed to be. Not the kind of threat who might alarm the suspect.
On the other hand, if she arrived at the meeting with seventy-five robocops clanking behind her, even the dumbest contact might suspect something.
Inspector Oga, standing beside Tanabu- san, chuckled to himself quietly, thought there was no physical change of expression on his face except his eyes.
He had first encountered the Koancho agent while acting as bodyguard to the gaijin Fitzduane, and since it had been a notably successful partnership, they had been assigned to continue to work together. People continually underestimated the beautiful and decidedly feminine Chifune, he reflected, and quite a few undesirables were with their ancestors as a result. She looked a mere slip of a thing, but appearances in this case were deceptive. This was one tough and resolute human being. Oga, happily married to a good strong countrywoman though he was, was devoted to her.
Chifune beckoned the Kidotai sub-inspector to come over to her. He was huddled with his sergeants, and there was much saluting as he broke up the semicircle.
She fought to remember his name. She had christened him ‘Apple Cheeks’ for obvious reasons, and that she could recall, but it did not seem quite the right name with which to preface a little lecture. Also, to call him by such a nickname in front of seventy-five macho security police would make him an enemy for life. She had enough problems without adding to them. And they were supposed to be on the same side.
No, a degree of tact was called for, though she would not overdo the pleasantries. This young policeman had to learn. This mission was not riot control, where the main threat was having your armor dented by a brick. Their current targets were terrorist suspects, and that was a serious business. These people could kill you.
"Oga- san," she hissed. "What is…?"
Oga leaned toward her. He was used to this. Chifune rarely forgot anything about a case, but she had a terrible memory when it came to the social conventions. "His men call him Apple Cheeks," he said, "but his real name is Noda."
Chifune raised her eyebrows. "Really, they call him ‘Apple Cheeks’ too? Maybe they are not as dumb as they look."
Oga made a noise that managed to convey the polite disapproval of a concerned colleague both at Chifune's remarks about the Kidotai, and the fact that she was talking near them. Oga rated the unit highly whatever his reservations about any individual officer.
Chifune turned to Oga and flashed her devastating smile in acknowledgment of his protectiveness, then turned serious as Sub-Inspector Noda clanked over to her. She had never seen so much equipment on one man. He looked massive in his helmet, body armor, and webbing, but he was probably a mere shrimp.
Sub-Inspector Noda saluted before Chifune could stop him.
"Sub-Inspector Noda- san," said Chifune formally, her eyes slightly narrowed. She was furious, but it was important to respect his dignity. Chewing out a subordinate in the brutal manner seen so often in American police movies was not the Japanese way unless there was extraordinary provocation.