The Patriot Attack (15 page)

Tokyo
Japan

W
hen Masao Takahashi entered, the four men in the room bowed respectfully and then took seats at the conference table. He returned their silent greeting before positioning himself at one end.

The commanders of the Japanese self-defense forces and the director of the country’s intelligence efforts had been called there by the prime minister to discuss China’s continued hostile stance. The possibility that Japan could be forced to defend itself from its massive neighbor had finally become too obvious for even the politicians to ignore.

The meeting was supposed to start at precisely 1500 hours, but half an hour after that they were still waiting. It was to be expected—a cheap power play on Fumio Sanetomi’s part, but one that would have no effect on the men in this room. Undoubtedly, someone on the prime minister’s staff had been ordered to quietly watch them and report back any sign of discomfort. They were wasting their time. Each man sat in silence with eyes fixed straight ahead. They would do so for as long as was required.

Sanetomi finally entered forty-five minutes late.

“Good afternoon, Prime Minister,” Takahashi said with a bow.

“My humble apologies, gentlemen,” Sanetomi said, his refusal to acknowledge the general’s greeting undoubtedly meant to signal his displeasure. “I received an unexpected call from President Castilla and our conversation only now finished.”

Takahashi smiled passively at the intentional insult and then sat unbidden. The photos of Japan’s dead sailors were being displayed on every news channel across the world and there was little doubt that the prime minister knew who had leaked them. But what could the politician do? As the threat to Japan grew, people looked away from the circus performers they had elected in favor of the military men who actually had the expertise and resolve to protect them.

“Everyone understands that this meeting is not officially happening,” Sanetomi said as he took a chair at the head of the conference table. “Is that clear?”

All nodded. The prime minister locked his eyes on Takahashi. “No leaks will be tolerated.”

The general bowed an acknowledgment, safe in the knowledge that he was untouchable. Sanetomi was completely ignorant of the inevitability of the path they were on. Even the men around him—men whose loyalty the prime minister thought he could count on—were not what he believed them to be. All had sworn their loyalty to Takahashi. And to an emergent Japan.

“We’ll begin with the investigation into the sinking of the
Izumo
. Admiral?”

Sachio Inoue cleared his throat before beginning. “It was undoubtedly a torpedo, sir. Analysis of the damage and chemical residue, as well as the reports of the surviving sailors, are consistent with it being fired from the Chinese submarine that we know was in the area.”

“And the Americans?”

“We turned over our data to them and they concur.”

Takahashi watched the prime minister’s face fall at the news. Of course, Admiral Inoue had altered the evidence as necessary before handing it over to the US Navy. The one factor they had struggled to control was the difference in the sound of their torpedo and that of the Chinese Yu-4. Those recordings had been modified after the fact and the Chinese were trying to use their own tapes to support their claim of innocence. The world, though, wasn’t inclined to listen.

“Could it have been an accidental launch? Perhaps a rogue captain?”

“There is no way to know,” Takahashi interjected. “And it makes little difference to the final outcome. Our sailors are dead and the Chinese military is on high alert.”

Sanetomi glared at him for a moment and then turned back to the admiral. “Is there any other plausible explanation?”

Inoue shook his head.

“Why would they do this? What advantage is it to them?”

Akio Himura, the director of intelligence, responded. “We believe that the economic problems in China are worse than we and the rest of the world suspect. Their banking industry has been allowed to hide a great deal of debt, and it may be that they are on the verge of a financial catastrophe. Given that the collapse will be a direct result of the massive corruption of the Chinese political class, they could be facing a potential revolution. It may be that a physical confrontation is the only thing substantial enough to divert attention from their own crimes.”

“But this isn’t just a war with us. It’s a war with America.”

“Is it?” Takahashi said.

Sanetomi immediately held up a hand to silence him. “We’re all fully aware of your childhood and your deep-seated issues with America, General. But I’ve spoken to their president and he’s assured me that they intend to honor their treaty with us. At the very least, you must find some comfort in the fact that they’ve sent multiple carrier groups into Asian waters?”

“I don’t, Prime Minister. China controls their debt, it holds over a billion potential customers for American companies, and Chinese sweatshops keep stores stocked with the cheap goods the American people demand. Our importance to the US pales by comparison.”

“Enough! I’m not here to debate politics or economics. If I were, I would have invited people with knowledge of those disciplines. Your job is to defend this country should it become necessary. That’s all. Am I understood?”

Takahashi gave a practiced nod. In all likelihood, the military would control the country after all this was done. The question was whether it would be more advantageous to let this little man continue on as a figurehead or whether his public execution for treason would be more beneficial.

“President Castilla has offered to personally host face-to-face talks between myself and China’s leadership. I’ve agreed to attend, as has President Yandong. Every effort will be made to bring a peaceful solution to this situation, and I believe those efforts will be successful. However, I have to consider the possibility that they will not. In light of that, we need to discuss our readiness.” He turned to Himura. “Let’s begin with intelligence.”

Himura gave a jerky nod and sat a bit straighter in his chair. “With regard to cyber warfare, our penetration into civilian and government systems is excellent. I expect to be able to shut down seventy percent of the Chinese power grid within minutes of them launching an attack. The Internet will become virtually useless and phone communication should see around a forty percent degradation. We’re hampered there due to the archaic technology used in much of their landline network.”

“And military computers?”

“Obviously, the systems are much more heavily guarded. The access we have, combined with the loss of public power to a number of the bases, should be enough to cause significant chaos in the chain of command. It will also reduce their missile launch capacity by at least twenty percent.”

Sanetomi turned to the head of their air defenses. “And what will come of the other eighty percent?”

“Our missile shield has been a priority for obvious reasons,” General Tadao Minami, the director of the country’s air defenses, replied. “We expect to be able to intercept virtually all of the incoming projectiles and to create a zone in which enemy aircraft—as well as our own, unfortunately—will not be able to operate.”

Sanetomi’s reaction was understandably subdued despite what, on the surface, seemed like an excellent prognosis.

The Americans had focused on the bullet-hitting-a-bullet strategy of missile defense, but all of Ito’s research suggested that this was a dead end. Even if it could be made to work under idealized test conditions, effective countermeasures were almost comically simple for the enemy to deploy. The only realistic solution was to create massive electromagnetic pulses that short-circuited the electronics of anything entering Japanese airspace.

The only way they’d found to achieve that goal was with a very specialized set of tactical nuclear weapons. The airbursts themselves weren’t particularly powerful—far less so than that of the bombs used to attack Hiroshima and Nagasaki—but the radioactive aftermath was quite innovative. Countless microscopic particles would persist in the atmosphere for days, shielding Japan in an impenetrable radioactive cloud.

“And the danger to civilians?”

“Acceptable,” Takahashi said, once again cutting in. “Even when we suffered a nuclear attack during World War Two, radiation casualties were largely caused by people ingesting radioactive ash through drinking from the river. Our water supply is now protected from that kind of contamination. We expect to see twenty percent higher cancer rates nationwide for the next generation, as well as higher levels of birth defects, but this is unavoidable. And certainly preferable to the alternative.”

“What about our air-to-air drones?” Sanetomi asked, unwilling to even look at his chief of staff.

“Of little use,” General Minami replied. “We’ve only recently completed testing and there hasn’t been time to ramp up manufacturing. Obviously, we have conventional fighters that will be able to patrol our territory when it’s feasible to fly. Overall, we believe it will be enough to limit casualties to around a million.”

“A million,” Sanetomi said, seeming to have trouble processing the number. “That’s a success?”

“In a country of one hundred and thirty-five million under attack by the second-largest military power in the world, yes,” Minami said. “In fact, I consider it a near miracle.”

Sanetomi turned again to Admiral Inoue. “What about our sea defenses?”

“As you know, our self-cavitating torpedoes are in their third generation and have proven extraordinarily effective. We have hundreds covering Japanese waters as well as Chinese ports and sea-lanes. We’ll rule the sea within hours of your attack order.”

“That’s a great deal of confidence, Admiral.”

“Well warranted, I assure you. Neither the Chinese nor the Americans are aware that this technology has been perfected, so they haven’t developed any defense against it. Our system is virtually flawless in the face of current countermeasure technology.”

Sanetomi turned to the only person in the room who hadn’t yet spoken, a gray-haired man almost Takahashi’s age. “And our ground forces?”

“Due to our sea and air capabilities, it is unlikely that we’ll be in a position to have to fight an invading army,” General Zenzo Kudo said. “Our preparations are primarily for disaster relief in the areas hit by Chinese weapons and for keeping civil order. On both counts, I’m confident that we will be extremely effective.”

Sanetomi leaned back in his chair and stared blankly ahead for a few moments. “What if the Chinese decide to use their nuclear arsenal?”

“In that extremely unlikely event, our missile defense will defeat the majority of their attack,” Takahashi said. “And even
I
agree that if we see a nuclear escalation, the Americans will intervene with whatever force is necessary.”

“I wonder if it wouldn’t be wise to announce to the world that we’ve created an electromagnetic pulse–based missile defense system. If we launch our shield, it could be misconstrued as a nuclear attack and prompt retaliation from the Chinese.”

“It would be a serious breach of international treaties,” Takahashi said. “And it could serve to escalate the situation further. I would recommend that we wait. If the situation escalates to the point where we might be forced to deploy our shield, we’ll announce then.”

Sanetomi nodded reluctantly but didn’t immediately speak further.

Of course they had discussed only Japan’s defensive systems, continuing the policy of keeping Sanetomi in the dark about their offensive capability. Ito’s people had succeeded in shrinking a twenty-kiloton nuclear bomb—almost exactly the same power as the weapon used against Hiroshima and Nagasaki—into a container that could easily be carried by a single man. Thirty-three had been buried across China as well as in strategic points throughout America, Europe, and Asia.

In all likelihood, though, none of the weapons in Japan’s nuclear arsenal—including its missile defense system—would ever be deployed. In the face of Ito’s nanoscale weapon, atomic bombs were all but obsolete.

“What role would we need the Americans to take in all this?” Sanetomi asked.

“Limited,” Takahashi said. “They’re unlikely to take offensive action against the Chinese mainland in a conventional war, and their naval power is unnecessary in light of our torpedoes. Their fighter aircraft could potentially be useful in engaging Chinese sorties, but if our missile shield has been deployed they won’t be able to approach our airspace.”

“So the best-case scenario is a stalemate where a million of our people die. And the worst-case scenario is that this could descend into nuclear war in which millions on both sides die. All for no reason at all.”

Takahashi remained expressionless, but inside he felt as though an electrical current were running through every nerve in his body. It wouldn’t be millions. It would be tens of millions. And it wouldn’t be for no reason. China would be completely decimated—left scraping at the dirt like animals just to find enough food to survive.

At the same time, the rest of the world would enter a new age. The age of Japan.

Outside Portland, Oregon
USA

T
ry it again,” Jon Smith said, leaning a little farther under the hood of the rusting AMC Gremlin.

Randi twisted the key and the engine turned over, but it wouldn’t catch.

The wind picked up, tearing colorful leaves from the trees lining the empty rural road and depositing them in the dead motor. Smith brushed them off the air cleaner cover and began unscrewing the wing nut that held it in place.

“What’s wrong with it?” Randi said, leaning out the open window.

“It’s a forty-year-old piece of shit is what’s wrong with it. Couldn’t you steal a better car?”

Randi had gotten in the habit of taking cars from airport long-term parking when she needed something untraceable. She always got them back before the owners returned to find their vehicle detailed and full of premium gas.

“Fujiyama said that if I showed up in anything modern, he’d walk.”

Smith let out a frustrated breath and dug around in the carburetor with a stick. Eric Fujiyama had agreed to talk to them, but under conditions that even a paranoid schizophrenic would consider excessive. They couldn’t just talk on the phone or get together at a Portland restaurant with a decent microbrew selection. No, they had to drive an ancient car with shovels in the back to the middle of nowhere. And what about those shovels? Smith seemed to be the only person who was concerned that the host of their clandestine meeting in the woods requested that they bring tools suitable for digging graves.

“Kick it again.”

This time the starter sounded a little sick but the engine caught. After replacing the air filter, Smith slammed the hood and ran around to the passenger seat.

“Whatever you do, don’t stall it.”

Randi scowled and pulled out with her eyes on a map taped to the dash. According to the highlighted route, their turn was just ahead. She eased right onto a rutted dirt road, the geriatric suspension protesting loudly enough to overcome the Steely Dan flowing from hidden speakers. Smith tried again to silence the stereo but the volume knob was broken and the eight track resisted every attempt at ejection.

“Slow down, Randi.”

“What are you talking about? We could walk faster than this.”

“And that’s what we’re going to be doing if you break what’s left of this thing’s axles.”

“What’s up your ass today?”

He flipped her off and turned toward the window to watch the trees creeping by. What was up his ass was that being crammed into this car had reinserted the dagger in his shoulder blade. But it was more than that. He’d been lucky enough to inherit a nearly ideal set of genes from two extremely athletic parents and had spent his life honing those natural gifts with a workout regimen that would make a Navy SEAL squirm. Feeling like Superman was his natural state and he was damn well ready to go back to it.

It took another twenty excruciating minutes, but they finally dead-ended into a small clearing. Smith slid a Sig Sauer from between the seats and scanned the shadows in the surrounding forest while Randi did the same. Fujiyama had insisted on no phones, GPS, or radios. So there wasn’t going to be any backup should things go south.

“Does this seem inordinately stupid to you?” Smith said as they stepped out and crouched on either side of the vehicle.

“Come on, Jon. You love this stuff. You’re just in a snit today.”

He frowned and examined the clearing through the sights of his gun. Nothing but wilderness. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. With the complexity of the terrain and the dense foliage, there could be an army out there and they wouldn’t know it until the shooting started.

Instead of shots, though, an engine became audible on the road they’d come up. He and Randi both took cover in the trees and watched in silence as an Asian man in his late thirties pulled up in an open CJ5.

Eric Fujiyama released his seat belt and leaped out, doing a full turn in the middle of the clearing. “Randi! Where are you?”

Smith looked over at her and shrugged. The man was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with no indication of a weapon.

“I’m here,” Randi said, stepping out of the trees and walking casually toward Fujiyama with her gun tucked into the back of her pants.

“Hey,” he said, nodding toward the Gremlin. “You can follow instructions. Good.”

“Well, I can follow
some
instructions.”

Smith appeared from the trees with his Sig Sauer hanging loosely from his hand. Fujiyama froze for a moment and turned to run but Randi grabbed him by the collar.

“Relax, Eric. We’re just here to talk.”

“Who the hell is he? I told you to come alone!”

“I know. And I apologize. He insisted on tagging along.”

Smith took a seat on the bumper of the jeep and gave Fujiyama a disarming smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Eric.”

He didn’t seem particularly happy about the change in the meeting’s dynamic, but understood that there wasn’t a lot he could do about it at this point.

“So, let me guess. Masao Takahashi is suddenly starting to look a little crazy and Laurel and Hardy can’t figure out why. Now the CIA’s worried and you need the help of the guy you fired because you thought he had a tinfoil hat in his desk drawer.”

“I didn’t fire you,” Randi clarified. “I’d never even heard of you until a few days ago.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

Smith laid his gun down on the bumper and pushed it to a less intimidating distance. “You nailed it on the head, Eric. Takahashi seems to be almost anxious to start trading blows with an eight-hundred-pound gorilla. And sure, we’re obligated to help out, but Japan’s still going to get the shit kicked out of it. What’s his angle?”

“What’s his angle,” Fujiyama repeated with a smirk. “Did you know that Japan, a country with no official military, has the fifth-largest defense budget in the world?”

“I did know that, actually.”

“What you
don’t
know is that the published figure is probably less than half of their actual expenditures. It’s one of the reasons their recession lasted so much longer than anyone predicted.”

“That would put it pretty close to equal with China,” Randi pointed out. “Doesn’t seem like they’re getting value for their money.”

“No it doesn’t, does it? The Japanese are famous for their efficiency and yet they manage to spend over a hundred billion dollars a year on defense and not have much to show for it.” His voice took on a sarcastic edge. “Who would have thought?”

“So you’re saying that they
do
have the weapons,” Smith said. “We just aren’t aware of it.”

“Seems like we’d notice all those ships and tanks,” Randi said, baiting him. Based on what they knew about the nanotech, it was obvious where Fujiyama was headed with this.

“The Japanese don’t have the option of building an old-school military. There’s the cultural push-pull inside the country relating to what happened in World War Two, the constitution MacArthur wrote for them, the possibility that it would create an Asian arms race—”

“And they don’t have the population base or natural resources to support it,” Smith said, finishing his sentence.

“Ding! Give that man a cigar! So they had to create something new.”

“What about the battleship they put to sea?” Randi said. “That was pretty standard stuff.”

“The one that’s on the bottom of the ocean now? It was just a diversion. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Takahashi sank that thing himself.”

Smith opened his mouth to question him on that point, but the young analyst seemed to be warming up to his subject. Better to just let him talk.

“Look, do you remember back in the day when all the cool technology came out of Japan? Betamax, DVDs, video games, portable music players…”

“Sure,” Randi said.

“What happened?” Fujiyama asked rhetorically. “Suddenly, right around the time Takahashi went to work as an aide to the former head of the Japanese defense forces, that innovation started to fade and America took over. Where did all those brilliant people go? The CIA seems to think they just went up in smoke.”

“But you don’t,” Randi said. “You think Takahashi got hold of them and paid them to develop a next-generation arsenal.”

Smith kept his face passive, but his mind was trying to churn through what he was hearing. The pieces were starting to fall into place. And the picture they created was terrifying.

“Let’s talk Akito Maki,” Fujiyama continued.

“Who?” Randi said.

“He’s was a young chemical engineer who in the early nineties was on his way to increasing the stored energy in a given amount of rocket fuel by an order of magnitude. Then he went to work for one of the Takahashi family’s companies and doesn’t seem to have produced anything salable. Or Genjiro Ueda, a materials engineer who was combining carbon fiber and ceramics into incredibly tough materials. He went to work for a private contractor and makes an excellent living not producing anything. Then there’s granddaddy of them all: Hideki Ito.”

Smith glanced at Randi at the mention of the familiar name. To her credit, her expression didn’t even flicker.

“Ito’s one of the fathers of nanotech. Decades ago he was doing really interesting things with it and then he went to work for himself and no one really ever heard from him again. And that’s only a
few
of the programmers, biologists, engineers, and nuclear physicists who’ve just kind of faded into Japan’s woodwork over the last three decades.”

“Do you have any evidence to back up what you’re telling us?” Smith asked.

Fujiyama stared at him, looking a bit uncertain. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision and motioned with his head to a tall, tree-covered knoll to the east. “A bunch of files buried up there in a safe I designed myself.”

“Files?” Randi said. “You mean, paper? Why wouldn’t you just keep it on an encrypted disk?”

Fujiyama laughed. “Did you wonder why I wouldn’t let you contact me over e-mail? Why I said no modern cars or electronics?”

“You think the Japanese are using them?”

“Are you kidding? I guarantee it. They say they really don’t have much of an intelligence network, but Takahashi recognized how important computers would become when we were still churning out slide rules. What modern car or electronic device doesn’t contain something either designed by or made by the Japanese? You know all this large-scale hacking that we blame on the Chinese?”

“You’re saying that it’s actually the Japanese intelligence network?”

“Of course it is! China is a mess—they still farm with donkeys, for Christ’s sake. And while they’re definitely starting to flex their muscles, they’re an inward-looking people by nature. Not the Japanese, though. They’re always peeking out from that little island of theirs at what their neighbors have that they can use.”

“Okay then,” Randi said. “Can we assume you asked us to bring the shovels because you’re agreeable to letting us make some copies?”

Again his expression turned uncertain, and again his reticence didn’t last long. “Yeah. I know your rep, Randi. But you didn’t get any of this from me, right?”

“Never heard of you,” she said, opening the hatch on the Gremlin and pulling out two of the three shovels inside. She handed one to Fujiyama, who immediately pointed at Smith. “What about him?”

“He’s going to hang back, watch the cars, and keep an eye on our six.”

She set off with Fujiyama hustling to keep up with her and Smith said a silent thanks. Normally, he’d think a knoll like that looked good for running a few laps. Today it looked like Mount Everest.

Randi knew she was going too hard up the steep grade but getting her blood pumping helped her think. She had one hand wrapped around a shovel and the other around a Beretta, but was still starting to wish she hadn’t let Smith off the hook. They were exposed as hell—no electronics, no backup, and in terrain that favored an ambush.

That wasn’t what scared her the most, though. What had her charging up the mountain at a pace few people could follow was the fact that the wild tale they’d just heard seemed completely plausible. She almost wanted to turn around and drive away. To never have to look at a stack of paper that told her World War III was winding up a few thousand miles to the east.

She couldn’t hear Fujiyama’s ragged breathing anymore and she slowed to let him catch up.

“Is it all the way at the top?” she asked as he dropped his shovel and bent at the waist to breathe. A weak nod.

“Why here?” she said, starting out again, this time at a slower pace.

“No reason,” he managed to get out. “That’s the point. No trail to lead here.”

It took another fifteen minutes to cover what she estimated at about five minutes’ worth of ground, but without him she wasn’t going to find much. When they finally crested the top, Fujiyama pulled out a compass and a measuring tape, starting to make calculations based on a jagged rock set into the ground next to a stump.

Randi watched in silence as he crawled around, making marks in the dirt and then setting his bearing from them to get to the next point. A GPS would have sped things up, but he obviously wasn’t interested in taking the risk that the device could be tracked.

It took about five minutes, but Fujiyama finally jammed a stick in the ground as a marker and went for his shovel.

“This is the spot?” Randi said, walking over to help.

“Yeah. It’s about four feet down, though, and I remember the ground not being all that soft.”

They each picked a side and started attacking the dirt. Unfortunately, he was right about the digging. Roots and grass had tangled the area since he’d buried his little treasure, slowing their progress.

The fall air wasn’t cool enough to counteract the sun coming directly overhead. Sweat dripped off Randi’s nose as she slammed the shovel repeatedly into the ground and tossed the dirt onto an ever-growing mound behind her.

Fujiyama was trying to keep up, but his side of the hole was barely enough to trip over, while she was down almost a foot and a half. As bad as the hike up had been, standing on top of this knoll under clear skies was making her feel even more exposed. Better to get this thing and get the hell out of Dodge.