The Expediter (45 page)

“They won’t have much choice.”

“Anything else come in during the night?”

“The Chinese have apparently backed off their rhetoric for now,” McGarvey said. “And CNN is reporting that the White House postponed recalling our ambassador.”

“Dick must have said something at the briefing to make Haynes change his mind.”

“I’m sure he did,” McGarvey said. “He bought us some time.”

“It’s a start,” Todd replied. “You said last night that we were going in with one slight advantage. What’d you mean?”

“He thinks that I’m coming to arrest him and turn him over to the Chinese.”

“But we’re not.”

“No.”

They were served a decent breakfast of steak, hash browns, and eggs from the aircraft’s tiny galley by a taciturn ex-Air Force staff sergeant who was used to flying with anyone from an Agency VIP visiting a foreign station to field officers either going into or coming out of some dangerous assignment somewhere. No one appreciated questions.

They landed at Kadena in the southern part of the long, narrow island a few minutes past seven, and taxied across the field to where a Navy C-2A(R) Grumman Greyhound Carrier Onboard Delivery twin-engine turboprop aircraft was parked, its propellers turning.

Their pilot, John Tillotson, turned in his seat as the attendant opened the cabin door and lowered the stairs. “Do you want us to wait here for you, Mr. Director? My instructions were to follow your orders unless we were recalled to Washington.”

“If we’re not back in twenty-four hours you can get out of here,” McGarvey told him.

“Good luck, sir,” the pilot said. “And we’ll be expecting you back first thing in the morning. The champagne will be on ice.”

“Good man,” McGarvey said.

He and Todd hefted their heavy duffle bags and went down the
stairs, the morning bright and breezy. They were met at the bottom by an Air Force chief master sergeant who was driving a Humvee. His name tag read Johnson.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Anything else of yours we need to transfer?”

“This is it,” McGarvey said.

“Then if you’ll climb aboard I’ll turn you over to the Navy.”

The inside of the Grumman was starkly bare and utilitarian after the Lear. Once their gear was stowed, and the aircraft taxied out to the runway a chief petty officer in a flight helmet helped them don inflatable life vests before he made sure that they were properly strapped in. He gave them helmets and showed them where to plug in so that they could communicate.

“The name’s Decker, sir,” the crewman said. “Have either of you landed aboard a carrier in one of these buckets?”

“A couple of times,” McGarvey said.

“Yes, sir. Then you’ll know to tighten down your harness when we go in. It gets a little bumpy right there at the end.”

“That it does,” McGarvey said.

“It’s three hours to the Big G. If you need anything give me a shout, I’ll be forward,” Decker said. He nodded toward a pocket on the seat backs. “Burp bags.”

“How far out is she?”

“About twenty miles by the time we get up there. The old man’s looking forward to having you aboard, sir.”

McGarvey had to smile. “I’ll bet he is.”

The flight up was noisy, but much smoother than the last flight McGarvey had taken aboard one of these things. Tokyo Bay appeared on the horizon, framing the
George H.W. Bush
that had been turned into the wind. On deck the Nimitz-class carrier was huge, more than one
thousand feet long, but coming in for a landing it seemed impossibly small.

The Greyhound pilot searched for the groove, right and left, the slewing motion sickening, but suddenly they were down, very hard, and moments later the arresting wires snagged and they came to a bone-jarring halt.

Decker came aft and opened the cargo hatch as McGarvey and Todd unstrapped and took off their helmets. “Not so bad, huh?” he shouted over the noise of the Greyhound’s still-turning engines.

“Piece of cake, chief,” McGarvey told him. “Thank the pilots for us, if you would.”

“Will do.”

Chief of Fleet Intelligence Commander Leonard Stiles met them on deck and introduced himself. “Good morning, Mr. Director. How was your flight up from Kadena?”

“Long,” McGarvey said.

“The captain would like to have a word with you before we get squared away.” The giant aircraft carrier was turning to starboard, her deck obviously canted. It was impressive.

McGarvey and Todd followed the officer across to the island then down a labyrinth of corridors to the captain’s quarters.

“We’ll be docking in a couple of hours so he’s got only a few minutes to spare for you.”

“Have you been briefed on what we’re doing out here?” McGarvey asked.

“Only that we’re to give you just about anything you need, and not to ask too many questions.”

“This could be ground zero,” Todd said. “I’m surprised that you guys aren’t beating feet for the open ocean.”

“It’s supposedly a show of confidence for the Japanese that we don’t think this situation will go nuclear,” Stiles told them though it was obvious he had a different opinion. “The president ordered us to return to port.”

They came to the captain’s quarters, the Marine guard standing watch snapping to attention. He was wearing his battle dress uniform, and was armed with an M-16.

“The captain is Thom Turner. Black Shoe Navy, but a straight shooter.”

“Has he been briefed?” McGarvey asked.

“Yes, and he’s likely to tell you that he thinks that you’re certifiable, and that he doesn’t like CIA people aboard his ship.”

“What do you think?” Todd asked.

“I think that the pot out here has been stirred enough. If the Japanese out you guys—doing whatever it is you’ve come out here to do—we’re all going to be in a serious world of shit.”

“We already are, Commander,” McGarvey said.

Except for the uniform with the eagles on the collar, Thom Turner could have passed for the executive of a Fortune 500 company, not a career fighting man. He was seated on the arm of a couch talking to someone on a telephone when they walked in. “They’re here, I’ll be up in a few minutes,” he said, and he put the phone down and stood up.

“Captain, these are the gentlemen from the CIA,” Stiles said.

“Yes, I met Mr. McGarvey once, when he gave a briefing on bin Laden to the president in the situation room, right after 9/11.”

“I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Captain,” McGarvey said. “Those were busy days.”

“We’re busy just now too,” Turner said. “The sooner you tell me what you want, the sooner I’ll see that it gets done and the sooner you’ll be off my ship.”

“Fair enough,” McGarvey told him. “We’re going to have to use some of your assets and personnel tonight and it will get a little hairy. Somebody could get hurt, and your people would be in the middle of a mess with the Japanese authorities.”

“We’ve been in messes here before. Will my people have to shoot anybody?”

“No. And when it’s over you can fly us back to Kadena.”

The capain was not happy. “I see,” he said tightly. “What exactly is it you want from us?”

“If you have a map of Tokyo, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Minoru had spent most of the day packing for their departure to Australia and sterilizing the house and grounds of anything that might be incriminating should the Japanese authorites, for whatever reason, decide to issue a search warrant. He’d paid off the staff and let them go, leaving only him and Hatoyama alone in an empty house.

Despite his troubles as a young man, he liked Japan and would miss the bustle of the cities and the orderliness and beauty of the countryside. But it seemed increasingly likely that the entire region would soon go up in flames, for reasons Turov had never explained. This went well beyond the insanity of Kim Jong Il, yet Minoru could think of no reason for the coming war. He only knew that it was time to get out.

Turov had walked down the hill shortly before ten to take the train into the city, and when he came back around five he called for his chief of staff to have a drink. He seemed to be in a good mood, happy about something.

“What time does McGarvey’s flight arrive at Narita?” he asked.

Minoru was confused. “I’m sorry, Colonel, I thought you would have been in contact with your people there and at Dulles.”

“They were supposed to telephone you direct.”

“No one has called.”

Turov went to his study for the Nokia and made the call to Dulles, but he didn’t like what he was hearing. “Check all the connecting flights no matter how long it takes and then call me.” He broke the connection. “He hasn’t shown up at Dulles.”

“Maybe he left from Baltimore,” Minoru suggested. “Either way he’d have to land at Narita.”

Turov called his Narita contact, and briefly spoke in fluid Japanese, his mood deepening, and he hung up.

“No sign of him, Colonel?”

“No,” Turov said. He walked back out to the deck and stared at the fishpond for a long minute or so.

“Maybe he’s not coming after all,” Minoru suggested.

“I don’t believe it.”

“There were others with him at the safe house when we attacked. Perhaps they were his friends, and one or more of them were seriously injured. He may have remained in Washington to be with them.”

Turov glanced at his chief of staff. “Do you think that Mr. McGarvey is a sentimental man?”

“It’s possible.”

“It’s not possible for a man such as him. In that much at least he and I are alike.” Turov shook his head. “He will show up here tonight.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel, but how can you be sure?” Minoru asked. He was straying very close to the line, beyond which Turov was capable of reacting instantly and with deadly force.

“Did you see the news this morning? The Chinese have decided to keep their ambassador in Washington for another thirty-six hours to negotiate with the White House for a settlement of the North Korean issue.”

“Pulling him out would have been nothing more than a symbolic gesture. Washington is in no danger of being attacked.”

“I might agree with you except for two things,” Turov said. His anger was just below the surface, and he was doing everything within his power to remain calm. Minoru could see it in the colonel’s posture, and the set of his mouth.

“Yes, sir?”

“Beijing may believe, or at least suspect, that the U.S. was behind the assassination.”

“But Daniel was nothing more than a middleman.”

“Yes, but for whom?” Turov asked.

“Don’t you know?”

Turov shook his head. “I have some ideas, but none of them really make much sense except that his money came from somewhere within the U.S.”

“Then the Chinese might be right.”

“I don’t think so,” Turov said. “But they must have been given or shown something to make them back off for now.”

“McGarvey.”

“Exactly. He planted a seed of doubt, and he promised to hand me over to them.”

“Within thirty-six hours,” Minoru said. But then he had another thought. “He’s been here, he’s seen the compound, and has to believe that we have men stationed outside the walls. If he means to take you alive he’ll have to bring help, and a lot of it.”

“The CIA doesn’t have that sort of manpower here in Tokyo,” Turov said. “In any event I’m sure that the PSIA has most of them spotted. They couldn’t make a move, especially now, without picking up a tail.”

“They may have flown in a team directly from Washington. Andrews Air Force Base.”

“They’d have the same problem landing anywhere in Japan,” Turov said.

“If he’s coming for you, as you believe, he has to land somewhere,” Minoru said. “Where could a man like that, bringing a team of shooters with him, land in Japan without the Japanese authorities knowing about it?”

Turov looked at the fountain softly lit now as the daylight began to fade.

“Have you talked to your police contact? Maybe he’s heard something—”

“Pizdec,”
Turov suddenly swore in Russian. “Pack whatever you don’t want to leave behind. I’ll call the hanger and have the jet fueled and preflighted. We’re getting out of here immediately.”

“What about Hatoyama?”

“Get rid of him.”

“I thought we were waiting for McGarvey.”

“He’s coming,” Turov said. “Tonight, and he’s bringing help because I know how he got to Japan.”

Minoru was at a loss. “How?”

“The U.S. Navy. The new carrier put in at Yokosuka early this afternoon and he’s aboard.”