Under the glare of the television crew’s klieg lights, Takamora appeared much more handsome than he did in person. The lights and makeup hid the pocks of adolescent acne on his face and darkened the thin strands of silver that wove through his thick hair. He held his body erect and confident, showing off a lean stomach that was nothing more than a girdle and a continual holding of his breath. The effort would inevitably cause severe back pain after the speech.
Such small hoaxes can be forgiven in most men in their fifties if they did not go deeper than the surface. In Takamora’s case, it would take more than a little makeup to hide the flaws in his personality and morals.
Pathologically ambitious, Takamora had turned to the darker side of politics to gain his current office. From the very beginning of his career as a board member of the city’s building commission, he had made it clear to any developer who cared to listen that he would almost joyfully take bribes to help a project gain quick approval.
He amassed several hundred thousand dollars in just a few years and used that money as a war chest to battle for the mayor’s office. Some said that he cut so many deals to get on the ballot that he kept a knife on his desk rather than a pen. He waged one of the ugliest campaigns for mayor of any American city in history. His main opponent, a councilwoman of excellent standing, withdrew from the race when her daughter was brutally raped after leaving a Honolulu nightclub. Takamora didn’t know if the rape was coincidence or the act of an overzealous assistant.
Now he stood poised to go far beyond his own ambition. He was the last of the speakers at this pro-Referendum 324 rally, and the crowd was already roused to a fever pitch.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Takamora said, quieting the crowd with hand gestures. He spoke in Japanese. “Ladies and gentlemen, a little over a year ago you gave me a mandate when you elected me to help this city prosper, to create new jobs and security for our way of life. Since then I have done everything in my power to make this happen. But I’ve found myself limited by the very office with which you entrusted me.
“While we’ve been able to attract Japanese companies to our city, state and federal regulators have stalled our efforts. When Ohnishi Heavy Industries wanted to build a computer assembly plant in Honolulu, the government in Washington refused to allow import permits for the machinery needed to set up the plant. When I wanted to privatize our police force, with the blessing of you, the voters, the Supreme Court called that an unconstitutional act because it might be construed as a private militia.
“Now I want to see our tax dollars stay here on Hawaii rather than disappear into the federal cesspit, and I’m being called a secessionist. Referendum 324 does not equal secession, it means parity. Our state is now wholly self-sufficient. We trade more with Japan than we do with California, so why shouldn’t we be entitled to keep the tax revenue from our own labor? I no longer see any benefits from Washington, just inept meddling. I see us helping to prop up a system that has simply gotten away from itself, and I say: Don’t take us with you.
“While the mainland sinks into a bottomless pit of crime and drug abuse, where drive-by shootings no longer make the news, where teenage pregnancy accounts for thirty percent of the children born, where welfare assistance has turned into a crutch for those too lazy to work, we have prospered.
“Do you think it fair we should pay for their corruption?”
The frenzied crowd shouted a defiant, “No!”
“Is it right that we must pay for their excesses?”
Again, with one hate-filled voice the crowd screamed, “No!”
“Last night, the vice president of the United States branded me a secessionist.” The crowd was transmuting into a mindless mob, barely kept in check by Takamora’s voice. “I say, Don’t tempt me.”
Takamora’s last words were spoken in a low hiss, then he ducked from the stage, wearing the adulation of the crowd like a cloak. An aide handed him a bottle of beer and a towel. He took a quick swig and wiped the greasy makeup from his face.
“Listen to them,” he said to the assembled aides. “They’re ready for anything.”
As Takamora leaned into the sound of the crowd beyond the maroon curtain, an aide slid a ringing cellular phone from his pocket, listened for an instant, then handed it to Takamora.
“Yes.”
“Congratulations, David, a rousing speech.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ohnishi, I’m pleased you were able to hear it.” The microphones in the convention center had been wired into a transceiver and the signals sent to Ohnishi’s house. “Can you still hear the crowd, sir?”
“Yes, you are certainly the man of the hour.”
“Only with your help, Mr. Ohnishi,” Takamora replied honestly, acknowledging the massive support given to him by the aging industrialist.
“I think now is the time to step up our campaign, don’t you?” Ohnishi’s comment was not really a question, it was a command.
“I agree, sir,” Takamora replied, keeping the pretense of a free will. “What do you have in mind?”
“A few bombings, better arms for the youth gangs, and a little more selectivity to their targets. Our day is rapidly approaching, so we must be more organized. Kenji will contact you in the morning with all the particulars.”
“But the vote for Referendum 324 is still a week away — aren’t we jumping the gun slightly?”
“Some unforeseen contingencies have arisen that may force me to abandon the subterfuge of Referendum 324. Who cares if the people won’t be allowed their vote? We will give them what they want anyway. What I want to know is if your National Guard troops will maintain their loyalty throughout our campaign.”
“You can count on them, sir, at least those units that I’ve personally built up since taking office. As you know, the crack units here in Honolulu are made up of Japanese-Americans, young men and women who feel the same as we do. It is only a matter of time until the governor calls them out, unwittingly putting more of our people on the streets. I guarantee that they will not interfere with your gangs.”
“And if the President calls out federal troops?”
Takamora hesitated for an instant. “The guardsmen will be willing to take them on. Remember, the military presence on the island represents the greatest source of antagonism among our people. It is the same here as it was on Okinawa following the rape of that little girl in 1996.”
“Good, and, David, never question me again.” Ohnishi’s tone was saccharine, but hard edged.
Takamora shut off the phone with a snap, angered that his euphoria of a few moments ago had been chilled by Ohnishi. He tried to look composed as he handed the phone back to his assistant, but failed miserably.
Arlington, Virginia
The faint chime of the Tiffany alarm clock woke Mercer instantly. His hand snaked out from under the tangle of sheets and blankets and silenced the antique piece. He pushed aside the bed coverings and swung his legs to the floor. His deep gray eyes were already bright and clear. Mercer’s eyes reacted to light much quicker than the average person’s. He barely squinted at bright lights and adjusted to darkness with the speed of a cat. It was an ability he fully exploited in the subterranean world of hard-rock mining.
He shaved and took a quick shower before heading down the circular stairs to the rec room, passing through the library on the way. The built-in dark oak shelves were full of plain beige boxes containing his vast collection of reference books. For the thousandth time, Mercer promised himself he’d unpack the books and place them properly on the shelves. He also wanted to hang the dozens of pictures and paintings he had collected over the years, which currently lay crated in one of the brownstone’s two spare bedrooms.
Cup of coffee in hand, he went to the front door and grabbed the morning Washington Post. He was just turning to the stories beneath the fold as he made his way to the bar in the rec room.