The Korean Intercept (26 page)

"I understand."

"Never forget the fate of your illustrious predecessor. The death certificate for Kentaro Kurita reads natural causes, but you and I know the truth. We know the old man's true fate, and why he had to die. I only wanted to use his connections with the Harbor Patrol to smuggle in guns. He refused. He confused honor with legalities. And now he is gone, and it is you, Anami-san, who shall provide the cover of Kurita Industries. This will serve me well when I import what was aboard the
Liberty
into Japan. It would be unwise of you to cause me any inconvenience."

Anami swallowed hard. "I had no intention of doing so. I most respectfully submit, Ugaki-san, that Galt is our greatest threat. The man you ordered killed today, this Barney Markee, was a close personal friend of Galt's. Add this to his wife being one of the crewmembers aboard the shuttle, and consider that this is a man who owes no allegiance save to his objective. He is a dangerous enemy."

"Enough," said Ugaki. "On to more important matters. Colonel Sung in North Korea has reported that he's close to gaining possession of the shuttle. As for Galt, he will soon be as dead as his friend in the wheelchair. No
gaijin
, no outsider—no
keto
, no hairy Western barbarian—will survive this. He will be dealt with."

Anami despised his moral weakness, his addiction to gambling, which had brought him to this point. He had foolishly overextended his credit on enormous gambling debts with the Red Scorpion Clan. This had suited Ugaki quite nicely because the
Oyabun
, Anami soon came to realize, had never wanted his money. Ordinarily such a sizeable unpaid debt could have cost him his life, as an example to others. But his life had been spared when he agreed to divert Kurita Industries' resources toward the duplication, development and world marketing of the technology that Ugaki would supply via this audacious scheme that was so grand in scale, world powers were on a probable military collision course because of it. Ugaki had personally flown by private helicopter to the remote North Korean province to oversee that end of the operation.

"We will not fail," Anami said, and he tried to believe the words he spoke.

"Trevor Galt has come to our country only to meet his death," said Ugaki. "Japan is the domain of
yakuza
. I will achieve my goals, no matter the cost. Now, for the reason I summoned you. Tonight's presentation is a matter requiring impeccable correctness, Anami-san. Let us prepare."

 

When she felt that she had accomplished everything she presently could at the computer in her father's office, Meiko left the factory grounds, politely requesting Sachito Kurita's waiting chauffeur to return home without her. She then walked for several blocks through the industrial area, following a gate guard's directions toward the nearest subway station. A block from the factory, she tapped in a number on her cell phone. She and Trev, through the nature of their separate professions, each had access to highly secure phone numbers that were inaccessible to most. They had agreed to never use these numbers for communication except in the cases of extreme importance, and neither had communicated via this number.

Galt answered on the first ring.

"Hello, Meiko." His caller ID tabbed her, of course. "Are you all right?" Concern rippled beneath his words across the connection.

"I've been busy."

She spoke as she walked. She passed a lumberyard where a forklift made beeping sounds as it backed up.

"I thought you were going to spend the day with your stepmother," said Galt, hearing the beeping as the sound receded. "Doesn't sound like you're at a wake."

"I'm not. I went to work, Trev, investigating. I need to see you. We need to talk."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"I have something. I don't care how secure this line is. I need to tell you. I need to see you."

Hesitation brought crisp dead air across the connection.

"All right," he said finally. "I'm here with a friend. We were under hostile surveillance, so we initiated evasive measures. I'm not in Tokyo, but I'm close. Okay, here's where I am. And make sure you're not followed."

"All part of my investigative training." She tried to sound light, but could hear the apprehension in her own voice.

He gave her an address. They disconnected. She walked on to catch the
shosen
, the Tokyo subway, which was mobbed as usual. She transferred to the commuter line to Yokohama. An electric, super-express "bullet train" departed every twelve minutes. Despite this, the train she rode was so packed that she had to stand the whole way among chattering, swaying passengers crowding in against her from every side. Twenty minutes later, she was hurrying down the steps of the Yokohama Station, and was soon in a taxi heading south on the parkway along the edge of the immense harbor. She checked periodically with a trained eye, but could discern no trace of anyone following her.

Yokohama and its harbor were shrouded in the city's ever-present metallic gray smog. Many people she saw wore surgical masks as part of their standard attire. Tokyo Bay was crammed with shipping and small craft, from foreign vessels of trade to pleasure yachts and ferries to the ancient, ageless sampans. Row upon row of freighters were lined up, waiting at busy docks that bustled with cranes and work crews.

The "safe house" was a one-story warehouse of corrugated steel, located one block in from the docks, anonymous amid the commercial hubbub of the busy waterfront district. A modest, CIA-fronted import-export business made a show of picking up and then delivering the same stepvan full of crates, twice per week. The safe house was primarily a CIA message drop operated by Todd Smathers who, with his straw hair and freckles, had all the field seasoning of a military school cadet. Smathers had seemed somehow intimidated, and managed to make himself scarce after showing them the place, leaving a key like a realtor sealing a deal. This was fine with Galt. The interior of the warehouse was cavernous. Wooden crates were stacked along one wall. There was a small office with a desk, sofas and a coffee table. A pair of sleeping bags was rolled up in one corner; in another was a locked, oblong box that held weaponry ranging from pistols to rifles, with ammunition. The back wall of a "clothes closet" was the doorway to a small, hidden room, the message center and communications relay drop, crammed with miniature electronic equipment.

Galt and General Turtle were in the office, standing over the desk and studying maps and paperwork spread out across the desk's surface, when the code sounded from the buzzer at the side door, around the corner from the presently closed-off loading dock facing the street. When he opened the door to let her in and she brushed close by him, Galt was aware of the way his senses seemed to sharpen as they always did in her presence. Something about this beautiful woman stimulated him at every level, even at a time like this. She had changed from the funeral black he had last seen her in to a sedate, Western-style skirt and black blouse. He glanced out along the backtrack, but saw no sign of anything suspicious in the alley running alongside this warehouse. He closed and locked the door, then turned to embrace her.

"How are you doing, Meiko?"

"I haven't slowed down enough yet to find out."

They naturally broke the embrace. She exuded her usual air of crisp efficiency. But he knew her well enough to see in her eyes her grief for her father. Yet the coolheaded keenness in her eyes was real, too. She wore a small black purse by a shoulder strap, and held a standard-sized business envelope.

Tuttle approached, having allotted them sufficient personal time. It had taken some explaining from Galt, about his relationship with Meiko, to justify his telling her about the location of this safe house. The general hadn't made a row but he hadn't looked comfortable with it either, and he didn't look pleased now, as Galt made the introductions.

Tuttle did not extend his hand. "I wish I could be more cordial, miss, but I don't like the security of this safe house compromised by the presence of a representative of the news media." He spoke the term as if it were an epithet, with a harsh glance at Trev. She had obviously interrupted a heated debate.

She lifted her chin, and locked eyes with the general. "I can assure you, sir, that your security is not compromised."

"We'll see."

"The information I have will better enable you to carry out your mission."

Turtle was clearly impressed with the forthright response, but remained gruff. He sent Galt a sideways glance. "This whole damn operation is unorthodox."

Galt chuckled. "I hear resignation in your voice, sir." He looked at Meiko, and got serious. "So you've been at work. Something we have to hear in person, and here you are."

"Here's what I have." She handed the envelope to Galt. "Hardcopy to save you time."

She told them about overhearing the conversation in the cemetery between Anami and Ugaki. She told them that Ugaki was
Oyabun
of the Red Scorpion Clan, that the conversation between them at the cemetery, after Galt left, was confrontational, had seemed to her to be obscenely improper at her father's funeral. She concluded by telling them the key words she had overhead: her father's name, the word "intercept" spoken in Japanese, and the word "
Liberty
," spoken in English.

Turtle frowned when she was done. "The 'intercept' part is new."

"They intercepted the shuttle," she said as a statement, not a question. She locked eyes with Galt. "Was my father involved?"

"We don't know yet. But we do know that Ota Anami is in bed with the
yakuza
."

She looked disappointed. "You knew about the
yakuza
?"

"Sorry. We've been tracking that connection since Houston, but so far without much success. They used a stripper from one of their Tokyo joints to set up a NASA scientist as part of the operation to bring down the shuttle."

"I saw the news on TV in the terminal on my way here," she said, "but there was nothing about the shuttle's disappearance being engineered. Is such a thing possible?"

"It's not only possible," Galt told her, "it's what happened. That's why we're here."

Her eyes clouded. "Did you use my father's death and our relationship just as a cover to come to Japan?"

"Hey," Tuttle growled, "this is no time for a spat between lovebirds," he glared at Galt, "no matter how justified. And everything about the shuttle is classified information, Miss Kurita, and you are a journalist."

"Hey yourself," said Meiko, sharply. "My leave of absence has been cancelled. Hakura News has me on a Concorde tonight, flying back to the States. They wanted me on an earlier flight, but I held off long enough to personally deliver to you the information I uncovered. All right, Trev and I can pass on the personal matters for now. But my point is that I didn't go to Hakura News with what I learned about Anami and the
yakuza
. Believe I've earned a right to be trusted."

"She's right, General," said Galt. Before Tuttle could respond, he continued to Meiko, "We've just received a background package on the
yakuza
. The Red Scorpion Clan is quite old. Their traditional power base has always been right here in Yokohama Harbor."

"Then the Red Scorpion
yakuza
is involved in the downing of the shuttle?"

"We decided to get out of Dodge, I mean Tokyo, for awhile," Tuttle said in a stiff voice. "We came here to process intel, organize and strategize."

"Sounds impressive," said Meiko, obviously not impressed in the least, "and rather vague." She scrutinized Galt, watching for his reaction. "Is Kurita Industries involved?" she asked. She swallowed hard. "Was my father involved?"

"We're going to Tokyo tonight to find out," said Galt, "as soon as it gets dark."

 

The penthouse conference room was atop the Tanaga Building, a thirty-four-story structure of tinted glass, chrome and smooth stonework towering above Exchange Avenue in downtown Tokyo. Branches of American corporations, ranging from Coca Cola to the Chase Manhattan Bank, were located in this neighborhood that was dominated architecturally by the Sony Building, which resembled the UN. Building and was nearly as large.

Galt and Tuttle crouched in the murky shadows atop a canopied entrance to the building's underground parking garage. Each man wore casual civilian attire that just happened to be dark so as to meld with the murky shadows. Galt wore a 9mm Beretta concealed in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. Tuttle carried an innocuous-appearing tote bag over one shoulder. Their position was some fourteen feet off the ground, separated from a side street by a circular blacktop driveway used for deliveries during business hours.

Lights were on in the Tanaga Building, office workers putting in overtime. The night was alive with traffic noise and the miscellaneous sounds of every city at night. But their position atop the canopy was a pocket of isolation.

They had climbed atop the canopy without effort. Despite his age and longtime desk jockey status, the general kept himself in prime physical shape.

Tuttle glanced up along the sleek, incredible height of the building. "You can't even see the penthouse from down here. It's like Jack's beanstalk on steroids."

"Pardon me, sir, but this is no time for idle pissing and moaning. If I want to listen in on that meeting, I'd better start climbing."

The CIA man, Smathers, had facilitated the highly illegal monitoring of cell phone traffic between Ugaki and the new CEO of Kurita Industries, Anami. Codes were obviously used in their conversation, and it had been reported that afternoon by Smathers' street operatives that the two men met in preparation for some sort of conclave scheduled to be held in this executive penthouse on this night. Of that much, Smathers' intelligence analysts were certain. Turtle, of course, had instructed Smathers that not a hint of this be leaked to any member of any Japanese law enforcement agency. What could be learned at tonight's meeting was exactly what Galt had come to Japan to find, and he was in no mood to share. Doing so would stack the odds against him. Like any good crime boss, Ugaki would have moles and bought-off corrupt cops on his payroll and would cancel the meeting had lie gotten even a whiff that law enforcement was aware of it. Ugaki would set an ambush if he'd learned that Galt was coming to eavesdrop. Either of these developments would be counter-productive in the extreme. A shuttle was down. Military powers were rattling sabers, positioning for conflict. And the ones who had conspired to bring this about so as to reap illicit profits in the untold billions of dollars were gathering to discuss the next phase of their operation. Galt could hardly allow this opportunity for intelligence gathering to slip by.