“Ray Jordan is no dummy,” Sandecker said dryly. “He knew that.”
“Okay, so she was a gift for services rendered.”
Toshie set the tray on the running board of the Stutz next to the admiral. “Tea, gentlemen?”
“Yes, thank you,” Sandecker said, rising to his feet.
Toshie smoothly settled to her knees and performed a brief tea ceremony before passing the steaming cups. Then she rose and admiringly stared at the Messerschmitt.
“What a beautiful airplane,” she murmured, overlooking the grime, the flattened tires, and the faded paint.
“I’m going to restore it to its original state,” said Giordino quietly, mentally picturing the dingy aircraft as it looked when new. “As a favor to Dirk.”
“You talk like he’s going to be resurrected,” Sandecker said tightly.
“He’s not dead,” Giordino muttered flatly. Tough though he was, his eyes grew moist.
“May I help?” asked Toshie.
Giordino self-consciously wiped his eyes and looked at her curiously. “I’m sorry, pretty lady, help me what?”
“Repair the airplane.”
Giordino and Sandecker exchanged blank glances. “You’re a mechanic?” asked Giordino.
“I helped my father build and maintain his fishing boat. He was very proud when I mended his ailing engine.
Giordino’s face lit up. “A match made in heaven.” He paused and stared at the drab dress Toshie was given when she was released from Jordan’s custody. “Before you and I start to tear this baby apart, I’m going to take you to the best boutiques in Washington and buy you a new wardrobe.”
Toshie’s eyes widened. “You have much, much money like Mr. Suma?”
“No,” Giordino moaned sorrowfully, “only lots of credit cards.”
Loren smiled and waved over the lunch crowd as the maître d’ of Washington’s chic restaurant Twenty-One Federal led Stacy through the blond wood and marble dining room to her table. Stacy had her hair tied back in a large scarf and was more informally dressed in an oatmeal cashmere turtleneck sweater under a gray wool shawl with matching pants.
Loren wore a plaid wool checked jacket over a khaki blouse with a taupe wool faille skirt. Unlike most women, who would have remained seated, she rose and offered her hand to Stacy. “I’m glad you could come.”
Stacy smiled warmly and took Loren’s hand. “I’ve always wanted to eat here. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“Will you join me in a drink?”
“That cold wind outside stings. I think I’d like a manhattan straight up to take the chill off.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t wait. I already went through a martini.”
“Then you’d better have another to fight the cold when we leave.” Stacy laughed pleasantly.
Their waiter took the order and went off toward the elegant bar.
Loren replaced her napkin in her lap. “I didn’t have a proper chance to thank you on Wake Island, we were all so rushed about.”
“Dirk is the one we all owe.”
Loren turned away. She thought she had cried herself out after hearing the news of Pitt’s death, but she still felt the tears behind her eyes.
Stacy’s smile faded, and she looked at Loren with sympathy. “I’m very sorry about Dirk. I know you two were very close.”
“We had our ups and downs over the years, but we never strayed very far from each other.”
“Was marriage ever considered?” asked Stacy.
Loren gave a brief shake of her head. “The subject never came up. Dirk wasn’t the kind of man who could be possessed. His mistress was the sea, and I had my career in Congress.”
“You were lucky. His smile was devastating, and those green eyes—God, they’d make any woman melt.”
Suddenly Loren was nervous. “You’ll have to forgive me. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I have to know.” She hesitated as if afraid to continue and fidgeted with a spoon.
Stacy met Loren’s eyes evenly. “The answer is no,” she lied. “I came to his place late one night, but it was on orders from Ray Jordan to give Dirk instructions. Nothing happened. I left twenty minutes later. From that moment until we parted on Wake Island it was strictly business.”
“I know this must sound silly. Dirk and I often went our own ways when it came to seeing other men and women, but I wanted to be sure I was the only one near the end.”
“You were more deeply in love with him than you thought, weren’t you?”
Loren gave a little nod. “Yes, I realized it too late.”
“There will be others,” Stacy said in an attempt to be cheerful.
“But none to take his place.”
The waiter returned with their drinks. Stacy held up her glass. “To Dirk Pitt, a damned good man.”
They touched glasses.
“A damned good man,” Loren repeated, as the tears fell. “Yes… he was that.”
75
IN THE DINING ROOM of a safe house somewhere in the Maryland countryside, Jordan sat at a table having lunch with Hideki Suma. “Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?” asked Jordan.
Suma paused, savoring the delicate flavor of a noodle soup with duck and scallions accented by radish and gold caviar. He spoke without looking up. “There is one favor.”
“Yes?”
Suma nodded at the security agent standing guard by the door and at his partner who served the meal. “Your friends will not allow me to meet the chef. He is very good. I wish to offer him my compliments.”
“She apprenticed at one of New York’s finest Japanese restaurants. Her name is Natalie, and she now works with the government on special assignments. And no, I’m sorry but you cannot be introduced.”
Jordan examined Suma’s face. There was no hostility in it, no frustration at being isolated in heavily guarded confinement—nothing but a supreme complacency. For a man who had been subtly drugged and then forced to endure long hours of interrogation over four weeks, he showed almost no sign of it. The eyes were still as hard as onyx under the shock of graying hair. But that was as it should have been. Through post-hypnotic suggestion from Jordan’s expert interrogators, Suma did not recall, nor did he realize he had provided a team of curious engineers and scientists a wealth of technical data. His mind was probed and scrutinized as neatly as by professional thieves, who after searching a house left everything as they found it.
It had to be, Jordan mused, one of the few times American intelligence actually obtained foreign industrial secrets that could prove profitable.
“A sadness.” Suma shrugged. “I would have liked to hire her when I leave.”
“That won’t be possible,” Jordan said frankly.
Suma finished the soup and pushed the bowl aside. “You cannot continue holding me like a common criminal. I am not some peasant you arrested out of the gutter. I think you would be wise to release me without further delay.”
No hard demand, merely a veiled threat from a man who was not informed that his incredible power had vanished with his announced death throughout Japan. Ceremonies had been performed, and already his spirit was enshrined at Yasukuni. Suma had no idea that as far as the outside world was concerned, he no longer existed. Nor was he told of the deaths of Tsuboi and Yoshishu, and the destruction of the Dragon Center. For all he knew, the Kaiten Project’s bomb cars were still safely hidden.
“After what you attempted,” said Jordan coldly, “you’re lucky you’re not up before an international tribunal for crimes against humanity.”
“I have a divine right to protect Japan.” The quiet, authoritative voice came to Jordan as if it was coming from a pulpit.
Irritation flushed Jordan’s temples. “Besides being the most insular society on earth, Japan’s problem with the rest of the world is that your business leaders have no ethics, no principles of fair play in the Western sense. You and your fellow corporate executive officers believe in doing unto other nations as you would not allow others to do unto you.”