Ambassador Hagura studied the President's expression, then spoke in a quiet, measured voice. "We will be happy to convey your desire to the Prime Minister."
"I'll be looking forward to hearing from you." The President rose from his chair.
The surprised diplomats quickly rose to their feet. There was no doubt when a meeting with this President was. Over.
Koji Hagura maintained his serene composure. "Thank you, Mr. President. I will be in touch with you as soon as I have an answer."
The President forced a conciliatory smile. "We appreciate your cooperation, and I assure you that we will leave no stone unturned until we find the person who attacked the cruise ship in Hawaii."
The President turned to Tidwell. "Bud, would you mind escorting our guests out? And set a time for your staff to meet with them."
"Yes, sir," Tidwell replied and made a small gesture toward the entrance to the Oval Office. "Gentlemen."
The two men graciously bowed to the President and quietly followed the Secretary of State to the reception room.
The President reached for his fountain pen, then wrote himself a reminder to call the families of the California retirees who had been killed in the Osaka massacre.
Chapter 6
By the time United Airlines flight 187 landed at 10:37 A. M., the damp fog that had been covering the city was beginning to dissipate. A few rays of bright sunlight filtered through the cool haze and warmed the shivering tourists at Fisherman's Wharf and Chinatown.
When the lumbering jet stopped at the boarding gate, Steve Wickham placed his magazine in the seatback pouch in front of him and turned to Callaway.
"Marcus, how about some fresh seafood and San Francisco sourdough bread?"
Callaway looked at his watch. "What time are we scheduled to leave?"
"Eleven fifty-five," Steve advised. "We've got over an hour to kill."
"You twisted my arm."
Steve rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle. He glanced at the slight Japanese passenger who had been sitting across the passageway. The man turned away from Wickham and closed his briefcase, then patiently waited for the other travelers to walk past his seat.
"The restaurant we're going to," Steve advised, "is definitely above average for an airport slop chute."
"Sounds good." Callaway stretched his legs and flexed his arms. "If I can find Susan, we'll take her to lunch."
"Sure," Steve said as they walked off the airplane. "I'm anxious to meet her."
After they exited the jetway, Steve went to secure a table in the restaurant while Marcus stayed in the waiting area to see if he could spot Susan Nakamura.
Fifteen minutes later, while Steve was reading the San Francisco Chronicle, Marcus and Susan walked in and caught his attention. He rose to greet them and was surprised when she eagerly extended her hand. He shook hands and seated her next to him.
Steve found her very attractive. She seemed poised and mature and had captivating almond eyes. Her nose was thin and delicate, and her cheekbones were high. She wore very little makeup and only a trace of lipstick adorned her small, perfectly formed mouth.
Susan's dark brunette hair was arranged in a stylish bob that underscored her sense of authority. She had a friendly yet reserved air about her, but always displayed a quick smile.
Her grace and natural beauty made people look at Susan, glance away, then look again. There was some hidden quality, some spark in her steely calm personality that made both men and women want to seek her out, to talk to her, to try to find out what made her such an alluring woman.
With degrees in accounting and criminology, Susan Nakamura was a promising candidate when the FBI, confronted by a multitude of discrimination suits, was forced to hire more female and minority agents. She overcame the sexual harassment and formidable obstacles in the male-dominated environment and graduated in the top 20 percent of her class. Now, after twelve years of law enforcement experience, she was one of the most respected special agents in the Bureau.
When the threesome finished lunch, Marcus excused himself and left to phone his office. There was a moment of hesitation before Steve turned to Susan.
"Would you care for some dessert?"
"I'd love some." She laughed casually. "But I've disciplined myself to forgo the calories."
Steve glanced at her eyes and forced himself not to stare at her smooth face. "I wish I could be that disciplined, but I guess everyone has their vices."
She let the remark linger for a moment, then looked straight at Wickham. "You don't seem to have any bad habits, other than driving too fast."
Steve gave her a questioning look. "Excuse me?"
"Our files," she continued evenly, "don't indicate any abnormalities in your background. Just a couple of speeding tickets to your credit."
Wickham laughed aloud and then noticed that a few customers were looking his way curiously. He leaned closer to Susan. "My dark side has obviously been well concealed."
She arched her eyebrows. "I hear that you're a great asset to the Agency."
"Well, don't believe everything you hear."
She decided not to challenge his remark. "Who do you think was flying the helicopter at Pearl Harbor, and where do you think the pilot and helo are now?"
"I don't have any idea," he admitted and let his eyes linger on her face. "However, I think we should start by contacting the FAA and getting a complete list of past and present rotary-wing qualified pilots, along with a list of registered helicopters."
Susan raised her attache case, zipped it open, then handed him the list of pilots that had been supplied by the Federal Aviation Administration. Many of the helicopter jockeys were also rated as fixed-wing pilots. She also had a copy of the FAA Register of Aircraft and a Bell Aircraft maintenance-support database for locating all their helicopters.
Wickham was impressed, and a bit embarrassed that he had underestimated Susan's capabilities. "Excuse me while I wipe the egg off my face."
"You've been traveling," she said pleasantly and reached for her notes. "I've been working all night, and we've got a lot going on. We're currently tracking down every rotary-wing pilot and the location of each registered helo like the one used in the attack, but I think we're going to find a number of loopholes."
Steve nodded and thought about the helicopter assault. "It wouldn't be too difficult to take an airliner from the mainland, attack the tour boat, hide the helicopter, jump back on a flight, and be back on the West Coast in short order."
"Especially," Susan stated calmly, "if you came over on the red-eye, hit the tour ship early in the morning, then caught a midday flight back to the Coast."
She stopped to analyze her logic. "People on the mainland who had seen the pilot late one day would again see him late the following day.
"A perfect alibi," she said evenly. "If it appears that the pilot was on the mainland when the crime took place in Hawaii, then that's a pretty good defense."
Wickham studied the long list of pilots. "If someone was going to try the airline approach, an alias and a good disguise would make it virtually impossible for us to trail them."
"Correct," she declared with an underlying excitement in her voice. "I think the helicopter is still on Oahu, or one of the neighbor islands, but it's probably been repainted by now."
Steve handed the FAA list to Susan. "Let's discuss the possibilities — the 'what-ifs.' Do you have any information on what kind of helo we're talking about? I know it's a Bell, but I don't know the model or type."
"Right here," she answered and pulled out another folder. "A number of experienced helicopter pilots have viewed the videos, and every one of them agreed that the helo is a Bell 206B JetRanger identical to the one operated by the television station."