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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: High Flight
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Kamiya noisily sipped his tea and looked at McGarvey with amusement. “Two days ago you might have had some small chance of success. But not now. By coming here you have damaged your credibility with your government, especially after your performance last night. The authorities in this country are very harsh with murderers, and especially harsh on foreigners. Yet you were released and all the charges against you wiped clean.”
“Those things can be explained.”
“Not after this morning, Mr. McGarvey. You will be leaving here in about an hour. Afterward you will be of no concern to me.”
McGarvey looked again toward the house, then measured the distance across the table to the old man. He would have to keep Kamiya between him and the house.
“Don't forget the garden,” Kamiya said, a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth.
“If they miss me, they will hit you.”
“Not.”
“Can you be so certain?”
Kamiya's smile widened. “The system has been tested, Mr. McGarvey. But if you wish to try it, please do so. It might prove to be amusing.”
 
Isaacs steadied his arm on the bole of a small tree as he aimed the parabolic dish directly at McGarvey and the other man. He pressed the headset close against his ear, but there was nothing except what sounded like wind in the trees or a waterfall, but a long way off. The receiver was supposed to be foolproof. Aiming the dish with his left hand, he raised the binoculars with his right and focused on the two men. They were talking. He could make out the Japanese man's lips, but he was getting nothing except the goddamned waterfall in his headset. Shit. He put the dish aside and picked up the walkie-talkie.
“Rover one, copy?”
There was no answer.
“Rover one, this is two, do you copy, over?”
Still there was no answer.
 
“Your most intelligent observers in Washington are correct in their thinking about one thing,” Kamiya said.
“What's that?” McGarvey asked, his frustration mounting.
“These attacks are not directed by my government. They are trying to stop me, though secretly they admire what I am doing. They are frightened.”
“I don't blame them,” McGarvey said.
 
The repeaters were finished. There was the possibility that they would be discovered before the operation, so Louis had designed and built them to look like something completely different, so ordinary looking that even if they were spotted they might not be disturbed.
“The technicians will think that the janitors put them out, and the janitors will think that the technicians did
it.” Louis giggled. “It's not much, but it might give us a little margin of safety. Nobody will want to touch them.”
“Roach Motels?” Reid asked in wonderment.
“That's right.”
The seven repeaters, each a couple of times bigger than a pack of cigarettes, were covered in simulated-wood brown paper, the Roach Motel logo on the side of each box. Reid picked one up and hefted it.
“It's a little heavier than I would think one of these should be.”
“So who's the expert on Roach Motel weights?” Louis asked.
Reid looked through it. “It's hollow, except for the baffles.”
Louis giggled again. He was very proud of his handiwork. “The circuitry is on a board sandwiched between the top layers of cardboard. And the ion-exchange battery, which I designed, is sandwiched between the bottom layers. What do you think about that?”
Reid lowered the box and shook his head slowly. “What do I think?” He shook his head again. “I think you're more of a genius than anyone has ever guessed.”
 
“Rover two, this is Rover one. What's going on up there?”
Isaacs keyed his walkie-talkie. “Rover one, this is two, do you copy now?”
“Rover two, negative contact. If you copy, maintain your position. I'm coming up.”
“Good luck,” Isaacs muttered, laying the walkie-talkie down. Bob Ireland was in no shape to make the climb. He'd be a basket case by the time he got up here. If he made it this far, Isaacs figured he'd end up carrying his partner back down the mountain.
He started to raise the binoculars when someone grabbed him from behind and yanked him away from the tree. He pawed for his weapon, but something smashed into his neck, cutting off his air, a thousand stars bursting in his head.
Isaacs was conscious long enough to understand he was being lifted off the ground by someone very strong, and then he was hurtling over the edge of the cliff and falling toward the rocks five hundred feet below.
“
G
oddammit, Carrara, the sonofabitch has done it now!”
Phil Carrara had expected Ryan, but not so soon. The book cable from Tokyo Station had come less than an hour ago. “It's too early to draw any conclusions.”
“Conclusions, my ass. I warned you about this.”
“As you may recall, I asked if you wanted Tokyo Station to bring him in. You said no. Gates is not back from the lodge and Steve Pelham admits his information is preliminary at best.”
Ryan's left eyebrow rose. “Your signature was on the return cable …”
Carrara flared. “I don't work for you, Ryan.”
“Authorizing the operation to contact him. He's left Tokyo. Any word on him?”
“Not yet. All we're doing is following him to see who he meets with. He's done nothing wrong—at least he's broken none of our laws.”
“Come off it. He killed at least three people, and now he's disappeared.”
“The Japanese police released him. That tells us something.”
“He's got powerful friends. He didn't fly over on vacation. Can you say for certain what he's involved with?”
Carrara averted his gaze for a moment. Ryan had
come charging into his office loaded for bear. While the CIA was in the business of intelligence gathering, the politics of influence often was the major factor in an operation. Ryan was the consummate political animal. He had the trust and respect of the director, and he had friends on the Hill and in the current White House administration. He was a dangerous man. “We know he's involved with something we don't understand, Mr. Ryan. I'll admit that much. But what we don't know yet is exactly what that might be.”
“Bring him in. Ask him.”
“Not so easy a job.”
Ryan's lips compressed. “Are you saying that the man is out of control? He's above the law? The bastard can come and go as he pleases?”
“Self-defense …” Carrara said, and Ryan cut him short.
“McGarvey is a trained assassin. It was this agency that trained him, and we did a good job of it. Without exception every time he gets involved with something there are fatalities. These three in Tokyo are just the latest. Can you guarantee there won't be more?”
“They'd be justified.”
Ryan smirked. “No possibility he's turned?”
“Turned into what?” Carrara demanded. He was tired of Ryan's amateurism. The man was a lawyer and politician, but he was not an intelligence officer, though he liked to think he was. He used sophomoric terminology.
“Into a double by the opposition.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Ryan came closer to Carrara's desk, his eyes glittering. “The President is concerned that nothing affect his summit meeting in Tokyo.”
“I wouldn't know.”
“I do. It's my job. The General will want my recommendations. What do I tell him?”
“Operational briefs come from this office.”
“My office is responsible for oversight.”
“For the legal ramifications of our operations.”
“Congressional relations as well. And we all know what that means to this administration.”
“Do your job, Counselor, and let me do mine.”
Ryan held up his hands in a peace gesture. “Let's not be at odds, Phil, I'm not the enemy. But if I'm to do my job effectively I need the cooperation of all the deputy directors.”
“You have mine.”
“All I'm saying, Phil, is that I don't trust or like Kirk McGarvey. I think the man is dangerous, not only to this agency, but to the interests of the United States. A view that is shared by a number of important, well-informed people.”
“I don't happen to agree.”
“I appreciate that. Out of friendship, or whatever, I concede your point that we ought to go slow with McGarvey.” Ryan stepped even closer for emphasis. “But let's get with it. The timing is becoming critical. I would like a handle on the situation before it gets out of control. Do you know what I'm saying?”
Carrara nodded. Pissant or not, the Agency counsel was correct in his concerns. The situation with McGarvey was developing into something that promised to become even more deadly. “The follow-up from Tokyo should be coming in soon. When it does I'll put it together with what we've already got and bring it up.”
“Fair enough. But I want you to remain objective. Can you do that for us, Phil?”
“Sure.”
Ryan took the elevator back up to the seventh floor. The general was expected in a few minutes. In the meantime Deputy Director Lawrence Danielle was free. Carrara, he thought, would have to be eased out. The DDO was very good at what he did, but like a scientist or an engineer the man had developed tunnel vision. He could not see beyond his own office, which in this day and age was not good enough. No longer were our enemies clearly defined. It was a fact that Ryan had tried
to get across to Carrara on more than one occasion. Shades of evil existed everywhere, including at home. Even here in this building. But the bastard wouldn't listen to him. In fact Carrara was becoming increasingly difficult. It was as if he thought he owned Operations. Just like in Cuba, or Nicaragua, or Chile, Hispanics were basically unstable. It was, he supposed, genetic.
“I thought you were gone for the day,” Danielle said from his desk.
“I had a few last-minute items to go over. Have you seen the latest from Tokyo?”
“McGarvey is at it again.”
“I think he should be brought in. I'm going to recommend it to the General.”
“What's Phil's reading?” the DDCI asked.
“Wait and see. Don't upset the apple cart. Same old same old.”
“A view you do not share.”
“No,” Ryan said. “In fact I think Phil may be in left field on this one. Old friends and all that. I mean, it's understandable, but it does not alter the fact that just now Japan is important to us, and McGarvey's meddling is creating an unlevel playing field.”
Danielle gave Ryan an owlish look. “Phil Carrara is a bright, capable man.”
“I didn't mean to imply anything different.”
“Very well, Howard. But you know as well as I do that McGarvey will come in only of his free will.”
“Unless he's charged with something,” Ryan suggested slyly.
Danielle's intercom buzzed. “The Director has arrived,” his secretary said.
“Tell him that Howard and I have something for him.”
“Very well.”
Danielle and Ryan walked across to the DCI's office. “Has something come in from Tokyo Station?” Murphy asked.
“Phil is expecting an update momentarily,” Ryan
replied. “But it's possible they'll turn up a blank. Tokyo is a big city, and if McGarvey has help it'll make things doubly difficult.”
“Has anyone spoken with Al Vasilanti or David Kennedy in Portland?”
“Not that I'm aware of, General,” Ryan admitted.
“Lawrence?” Murphy turned to his DDCI.
“I'd feel better if we had a chance to ask McGarvey a few questions. But he won't come in on his own.”
“We charge him with obstruction of justice,” Ryan suggested. “The NTSB is considering the outside possibility that Guerin's crash at Dulles may have involved sabotage. McGarvey could be a material witness. At the very least he is withholding potentially important information. Air safety is on everyone's minds these days. Considering Air Force One is a Guerin 522, I think we need to talk to anyone and everyone concerned. With or without their cooperation.”
“It's an approach,” Danielle agreed.
Murphy nodded after a moment. “Instruct Tokyo Station that McGarvey is to return to Washington immediately.”
“He'll certainly object.” Ryan's eyes glittered.
“Immediately,” Murphy said.
 
Like their lunch date a few days ago, Chance Kennedy had no intention of accepting Yamagata's dinner invitation, yet at the last minute she had given in. She was fascinated, despite the danger signals. She felt like a foolish schoolgirl, out of her league, but David was wrapped up with the new project, and she was so bored she wanted to scream. Yamagata was after information. But that cut both ways if she could keep her head.
“It was lovely, Arimoto,” Chance said over after-dinner drinks.
“Thank you, but it's not over. I have a surprise for you.”
Chance smiled wanly. She glanced out the bay windows that looked through the woods toward the resort's
cabins, each with its own private path from the main lodge and dining room. “I wondered how you would approach that.”
“You accepted my invitation.”
“For dinner,” Chance said, turning back. His smile was devastating. “But not bed.”
“Tea,” he said, studying her face.
She looked at him quizzically.
He caressed the rim of his champagne flute with a finger. “You're here for the same reason I am, Chance. Information. I would like to know more about Guerin Airplane Company's will and determination to survive, and you want to know about Japan's interests and intentions.” He looked up. “In order for you to succeed you must first understand the Japanese.”
“By drinking tea with you?”
“Cha-no-yu.
It's a ceremony, but it amounts to us drinking tea together. Two small cups for you, and two for me. Afterward you return to the city if you wish.”
“That's it?”
He smiled again and nodded. “I've rented a cha house—actually it's just the living room in one of the cabins—but I've made preparations. It's taken two days.”
“Just tea?”
Yamagata helped her with her chair. “Just tea,” he assured her.
They got their coats and headed down one of the paths. Chance could scarcely believe that she was going along with him. But whatever Yamagata was, she didn't think he was a rapist. She was a big girl, fascinated but not befuddled. She had a good husband who was simply going through a bad time. She was not going to jeopardize her marriage.
“Humility, cleanliness, and simplicity, these are very important to a Japanese,” Yamagata explained. “Everything springs from these three virtues. From these comes beauty, elegance, and the courage to live not only the present but to face the future.”
“You're different from us,” Chance said foolishly.
Yamagata took her arm as they neared the cabin, which was a chalet-type structure with a sharply sloping roof. The smell of wood smoke drifted on the still night air. Small yellow lights softly illuminated the path, which had been swept clean of snow. “You cannot imagine how different. But after tonight you will understand some things about us for the first time.”
A few yards from the chalet's front deck, Chance pulled up short, beginning to wonder if this situation was getting out of control. Not only had the path been cleared, but the snow on either side of the path for as far as she could see into the darkness had been meticulously raked into patterns of gentle swirls and graceful ridges that caught the light from each lantern and reflected it at lovely angles.
“I'm pleased that you notice,” Yamagata said, watching her. “Humility springs from simple labors, the results of which are cleanliness and simplicity not only of surroundings but of one's inner self.”
“It could have snowed again and covered your work. Or the wind could have destroyed it.”
“Then I would have begun again.”
Inside, he hung up their coats and had her take off her shoes, which he put with her purse and his shoes out of sight. A small table in the entry hall held a broad earthenware bowl filled with water. To the left were two white cloths and to the right a beautiful arrangement of flowers.
“First we cleanse our fingers,” Yamagata said, showing her how to dip her hands into the water, then dry them.
The short carpeted corridor opened to the living room, a fire burning on the grate the only light. Normally the room was furnished with sectional couches, chairs, coffee tables, television and stereo, and a dining-room arrangement. But all of the furniture had been removed. The only items in the big room were a very low table placed in front of the fireplace in the center of a
five-by-eight tatami. The table held a cast-iron pot of water simmering on an intricately fashioned charcoal brazier, a porcelain pot, a tiny handleless cup, a bamboo spoon and bamboo whisk, and a small lacquered box.

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