Without a moment's hesitation, Steve shoved the driver's door open and leaped out. He grasped the Beretta with both hands and placed the sight on the driver, then realized he'd made a tactical blunder. The Asian's engine was running and the man had already reacted to the unexpected assault. With the rear tires screeching, crew cut was barreling straight toward Wickham.
Steve took quick aim and squeezed off two shots before he dove back into the front seat of his car. He was scrambling out the passenger-side door when the hit man's car slammed into the open driver's door. The grinding impact tore the door off the car and blew out the left front tire.
Wickham belly-crawled to the front of the badly damaged vehicle and got off one shot before the stalker careened around a corner and vanished.
Shaken by the incident, Steve had calmed down externally by the time the local authorities arrived. He absently went about discussing the incident with the local police while his insides boiled. He vowed to capture or kill his assailant, then find the traitor at Langley and the bastard who was paying for the information.
From behind her concealment near the registration counter, Susan watched Steve walk into the spacious lobby of the Hyatt Regency. She could tell by his impatient stride that something had gone awry.
She rushed out to meet Wickham and gave him a faint smile. "Are you okay?"
"Couldn't be better," he joked feebly.
Her concerned gaze quickly sobered him.
"Susan, our leak is at Langley," he confided with a look of disdain etched on his face. "I'd have to bet that he's in a very senior position. Access to almost anything."
"What happened?" Susan asked and cautiously looked around the hotel lobby.
"He showed up at the Port Authority."
"And…"
"I blew it," Steve said with a disgusted shake of his head. "He's still out there… waiting for us — me — to make another dumbass mistake."
"Steve," Susan began with genuine concern in her voice, "let's arrange for a couple of agents — FBI, CIA, or a combination — to join us as backup."
"Susan, I don't want to run anything through the Agency," he said emphatically. "We've got a spineless weasel locked on to every move we make."
Feeling a little awkward, she sighed and nodded her understanding. "I know you feel rotten and betrayed, and I don't blame you, but we need to get to Tokyo and track down the lead about the insurance company."
"You're right," Steve conceded with a long face. "If you want to bring in more FBI agents, that's fine with me."
"It's the safe thing to do," Susan suggested.
"I know it is. But just one favor, okay?"
"Sure," she replied and hesitated a moment. "If it's within reason.
"I want to personally capture the sonuva bitch who is stalking us," Steve said contemptuously, "and find out who his Agency connection is."
The bright rays from the late-morning sun filtered through the trees as the gleaming Marine helicopter approached the sprawling presidential retreat, then flared for a smooth landing on the helo pad. After the Sikorsky VH-60's main rotor blades began slowing, Scott Eaglehoff hurried from the helo to the President's private quarters.
The Chief of Staff had had a lengthy breakfast meeting with the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, the National Security Advisor, the Director of the CIA, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The President was ending a conference call when Eaglehoff was ushered into the richly appointed study.
"Well, Scott," the President said glumly as he dropped the receiver in its cradle, "our media watchdogs are saying that the proverbial shit is hitting the fan in Japan, and that I'm going to have splatters all over me."
"I'm afraid" — the President's closest adviser grimaced—"that we're going to take some heat, sir."
"No doubt," the President replied with a crooked smile, "but I'm not too concerned. I look forward to getting to Anchorage and facing Koyama, the snide sonuvabitch."
Eaglehoff, known as a two-fisted gunslinger around the Beltway, was disappointed by the President's drift toward a casual, contentious personality. Uncharacteristically low in spirits, Eaglehoff had even thought about tendering his resignation in order to salvage his future prospects in Washington.
"Scott," the President went on and propped his feet on an upholstered footstool, "the stakes are getting higher. I think we've got to take some bold steps if we're going to head off a confrontation in Anchorage and a possible military clash with Japan."
"Sir," Eaglehoff began tentatively, "I recommend that you convene the Cabinet as soon as possible and take a strong stance about the course you wish to pursue. Otherwise no one has any idea which way you want to jump or how far you'll go to force the Japanese to back down."
The President rubbed his temples. "Yeah, I've been thinking about it since I woke up this morning."
Eaglehoff frowned and blew his nose. "We're facing an ominous, challenging situation where our adversary could become unpredictable. Once bloodied, Japan may lash out and ricochet in many directions."
The President tossed the remains of his cheeseburger on the plate. His mood turned dark. "How'd the meeting go this morning? Any worthwhile ideas?"
"We had a productive session," Eaglehoff dutifully reported. "I think we're making progress in understanding how to deal with the Japanese."
The President glanced away. "What's the situation at the moment?" he snorted.
"Not exactly good," Eaglehoff said stiffly, and nervously cracked his knuckles. "There have been a number of bomb threats directed at Japanese and American airlines, the Japanese are fleeing from Oahu and the other Hawaiian islands as fast as JAL can provide flights, there's a tremendous exodus of all races from the Los Angeles area because the Asian protest has turned into an open rebellion, North Korea is rattling swords and flying reconnaissance missions close to Japan, and the Joint Chiefs and Bud Tidwell believe we should immediately withdraw our military forces from Japan and advise U. S. citizens to do likewise."
"Okay. Now tell me the bad news." The President grinned and walked to the liquor cabinet.
Eaglehoff sat in startled silence while he watched the President do something he hadn't seen him do before: drink straight whiskey out of a water glass.
Chapter 29
Precisely one minute before the scheduled arrival time, the spotlessly clean train came to a smooth stop in the railway station. The forty-mile trip from Narita International Airport to Tokyo had been smooth and comfortable, with the exception of the offensive looks Steve continued to receive from the Asian passengers.
During the flight from Singapore, Steve and Susan had discussed at length his altercation with the Asian hit man and concluded that it would be best to keep quiet for the time being. They had no idea who the CIA informer was, and one miscalculation could easily get them killed.
They were relieved to know where the leak was originating, but Wickham was humiliated that the information was coming from someone in the Agency.
Steve had thought about calling the Director on his SecTel secure phone, but he had reservations about discussing the breach of security at the Agency. He didn't trust Paul Holcomb, and he had begun to wonder if the Director had lied about the President requesting him for the unusual case.
When the train doors opened, Steve and Susan quickly hoisted their luggage and stepped out of the crowded car. They cautiously looked around, ready to react to any threat. Both had no doubt that the stalker had observed them board the airliner in Singapore.
"One more lap," Steve said with a determined look, "and we'll have it made, if we can catch a cab."
"I don't want to hurt your feelings," she responded with a self-conscious smile, "but I had better hail us a taxi, then you can slide in with me."