"What do you figure is on their agenda?"
"My guess," Eaglehoff answered gruffly, "considering the festering hostilities between us, is that Japan will opt to put us in a monetary bind to get our attention."
"You really think so?"
"It's a real possibility," Eaglehoff answered without showing any emotion. "The world has changed a lot since September of '45. I think the Japanese are finally fed up with playing second fiddle."
The President lowered his head and stretched his neck muscles. "Did you read the article in the Post?"
"About our crime and decay?"
"Yes," the President answered with a disgruntled look.
"Yeah, I read it," Eaglehoff replied. "The Japanese have a point. Their kids don't carry guns to school, they can walk the streets at night without looking over their shoulders, and their subways operate safely and on time."
"The ethics issue," the President said bitterly, "made my blood boil. Ethics, my ass. They have the unmitigated gall to talk about ethics when they repeatedly violate the Buy-American Act and then lie about it."
The enactment required the U. S. military to give preference to goods made by American companies.
"They ship tens of thousands of crates of Japanese-made products to their companies here," the President said venomously, "then relabel the containers 'Made in the USA,' slap a Machine Tool Association sticker on the side, and then sell the products to our military.
"Hell," he went on, "we've got billions of dollars' worth of Japanese-made equipment at our air bases, naval installations, and even in our nuclear facilities."
He looked at his Chief of Staff and lowered his head. "We can't get anyone to do a goddamn thing about it," he said contemptuously, "because the Japanese have the most powerful lobby in Washington — most of whom are former U. S. trade officials or members of the Department of Commerce."
Eaglehoff sighed. "When Tokyo has over twelve hundred lobbyists in Washington, and spends over 140 million annually in this city, a lot of influential people get on the gravy train."
"Scott," the President began sadly, "the Japanese are absorbing us like a sponge, and we're sitting here with our heads up our asses."
"It's the same old argument," Eaglehoff suggested. "If we could ever get government and business to work hand in hand instead of bashing each other over the skull, we'd be the epitome of capitalism again. The Japanese look at us and wonder how such incompetent people rose from our apathy to crush them during World War Two."
"I'll admit," the President responded uncomfortably, "that we have some improvements to make, but the Japanese aren't doing themselves any favors by poking us in the eye. They should take a long look in the mirror and be grateful for the position they're in today."
"In their minds," Eaglehoff added, "they've suffered the consequences of their sins long enough, and I don't think they're in the mood to pay further penance to the United States. The Japanese now own the home, and we're the renters."
The President gave his Chief of Staff a curious glance. "So you think they'll squeeze our financial balls until we learn our lesson?"
Eaglehoff loosened his tie. "Financially, they could put us on our knees. If the Japanese pulled the rug out from under us, we'd have a national bankruptcy on our hands."
"The wizards at the think tanks," the President said with false indifference, "have been discussing that scenario for the past several days. They have come up with some interesting possibilities… and I think it's time to give Japan something to consider."
"A wake-up call?"
"I would classify it as a visual reminder," the President responded cryptically. "Something to think about while they're puffing out their chests."
Commander Hayama Shimazaki stood on the bridge of the Aegis destroyer Kongo and watched the jet fighters being catapulted from the deck of the Nimitz-class nuclear-powered carrier Abraham Lincoln.
Shimazaki was the commander of a small detachment of Japan's Maritime Self-Defense Force ships operating near the southern extremity of the Ryukyu Islands. The Kongo was flanked by the replenishment oiler Tokiwa and the destroyer Asagiri.
Shimazaki had received orders to cruise in close formation with the American carrier battle group after the crew of a Shin Meiwa flying boat radioed the position of the huge flattop to Tokyo.
The orders explained that the high command wanted Shimazaki's flotilla to solidify the Japanese presence in the East China Sea until more Self-Defense Force ships and submarines could reach his position.
Shimazaki and the officers in his command surmised that the latest instructions came about because of the degenerating relations between their country and the U. S. They were concerned about the worsening situation and talked in private about the possibility of a military conflict.
Although Shimazaki was uncomfortable about shadowing the Americans, the career naval officer carried out his orders as he expected his men to do. However, with tensions on the high seas ripe for hostilities, Shimazaki had. Elected to interpret his orders in a cautious way and give his ships plenty of room to maneuver.
Dusk was settling over the carrier group when Lieutenant Commander Peggy Rapoza taxied her F/A-18 Hornet onto the number-one catapult. She carefully checked her flight controls, then watched the cat officer give her the full-power signal.
Shoving her throttles forward, Rapoza felt the sudden adrenaline surge, verified her engine gauges were normal, snapped a salute to the "shooter," braced her head against the top of the ejection seat, and sucked in a breath of cool oxygen.
Seconds later, Rapoza was nailed to the back of the seat as her vision blurred under the excruciating g-forces. The punishing catapult shot abruptly ended with what felt like a sudden deceleration as the Hornet went off the end of the flight deck.
Although Rapoza's powerful fighter was still accelerating at a tremendous rate, the first few seconds down the catapult track felt like she had been shot out of a cannon.
With her heart rate finally slowing, Rapoza flipped the landing gear lever up, waited for the speed to increase, raised the wing flaps, then checked her engine instruments and caution lights.
Satisfied that all systems were normal, the seasoned flight leader eased back the power and waited for her wingman to rendezvous on her right side. After a brief air-combat-maneuvering session, the pilots were scheduled to practice refueling from a KA-6D Intruder tanker before making a night landing.
When the last fighter plane raced down the catapult and climbed into the darkening sky, Captain Perry Wiggins gave the order to turn the group to their reciprocal heading and steam downwind until it was time to recover aircraft.
While the mammoth carrier was turning to the new course, the flight deck personnel were repositioning aircraft in preparation for the next recovery period. Clad in various brightly colored pullovers, the sailors performed their demanding tasks with a degree of finesse that was honed by experience and constant training.
Once the ships had steadied on course, Wiggins went to his at-sea cabin for a quick dinner and a short chat with his executive officer.
Peggy Rapoza's F/A-18 Hornet was accelerating through 430 knots when she heard a bang and felt a tremble in the airframe. Something was wrong, and her intuition told her to slow down and evaluate the situation.
"Flash," she radioed to her wingman, Lieutenant Charlie Gordon. "Let's knock it off and join up. I'm slowing to three hundred indicated."
Her partner could tell from the inflection in Rapoza's voice that all was not right.
"Roger," came the terse reply. "I'm at your eight o'clock and closing. What's the problem?"
Rapoza glanced over her left shoulder and spotted the pulsating anticollision light on Gordon's fighter. "I'm not sure what's happening. Ah, I heard a strange noise, and then the fuselage shuddered. I think something may have broken in the engine compar—"