"Not yet, sir. Admiral Landesman is attempting to get permission to have a boarding party search the sub for any indication that they fired torpedoes."
"Bryce" — the President lowered his voice—"tell the Admiral that he has my permission to do whatever he needs to do. I want an answer about the torpedoes and I want to find out if the Iranians were involved in sinking the carrier."
"Yes, sir."
"You and Bud keep everyone entertained until I get back." Mellongard nodded. "Will do."
Steve and Susan knew they didn't have a second to waste as they ran for the elevator. The CIA agent glanced back when they heard Takahashi yell for the security detail. The small, dapper man who had been in charge of the brutal attack at Pearl Harbor sounded panic-stricken.
Steve was jabbing the elevator door button when he saw Takahashi race into the chairman's office.
Tadashi Matsukawa, initially paralyzed by the sudden confusion surrounding him, was shocked by the disclosure of the true identities of his two visitors. He cursed himself for waiting to murder Takahashi. Now, if he didn't kill the two agents, he was tied directly to the Pearl Harbor massacre.
Matsukawa quickly reached into his desk and withdrew a stainless-steel 9-millimeter Sig Sauer and rushed into the hallway.
"Call security!" he bellowed at the receptionist. "Get security up here!"
The frightened woman triggered an alarm that began howling throughout the building, prompting Steve to take Susan by the arm. "We've got to go down the stairs!"
They raced to the end of the hallway and instinctively ducked when two rounds ricocheted off the wall near the stairwell. Steve looked back and saw Matsukawa and the receptionist vanish behind her counter — Takahashi had disappeared.
Steve pushed Susan around the corner and into the staircase, then reached under his coat and drew his Beretta from the small of his back.
"Start down and I'll cover you!" he yelled and squeezed off three rounds at Matsukawa as the billionaire scrambled back to the safety of the counter.
Steve spun around to follow Susan, almost knocking her down. "Let's go! Move!"
"They're coming up the stairs," she told him in a strained voice and yanked her Smith & Wesson from her purse. "We better identify ourselves."
"It won't do any good." He fired a round down the hallway. "Matsukawa owns these guys! They don't give a shit who we are!"
Another shot rang out from the hallway as the alarm system wailed with a pulsating, high-pitched warble.
"Sonuvabitch," Steve swore under his breath and glanced at the short flight of stairs leading to the top of the building. "We've got to try the roof. Maybe there's a fire escape." "If there isn't," Susan protested, "we'll be trapped."
"We don't have many choices. Get up to the roof and I'll cover you."
He fired twice while Susan scurried up the steep steps. The door leading to the roof was locked.
"We can't get out," she yelled as she struggled with the lock. "We've got to take our chances and go back down!"
Wickham leaped up the steps and took a quick look at the obstacle that was blocking their path.
"Stand back," he barked while he braced himself against the railing and kicked the door as hard as he could. He kicked again, then in desperation another time when he heard the excited voices getting louder.
"Hold this," Steve said stiffly as he handed Susan his weapon and used his hands to brace himself. He leaped up and smashed the stubborn door with both feet, crashing to the stairs when the door flew open.
Susan handed him his Beretta as they rushed outside to see if there was any means of escape. It was quickly apparent that there was only one way down, short of jumping off the roof, and that was the same way they had come up.
"We're trapped," Steve said bitterly, "and these goons aren't going to allow us to give up. Trust me."
An eerie silence hung in the room after the Secret Service agents and their Japanese counterparts replaced the barricade to the restaurant and lounge. The two leaders, who shared a sense of anxiety and animosity, sat down at a table overlooking the spectacular mountains.
"Prime Minister Koyama," the President began earnestly, "we need to reach an agreement about a couple of major issues or this conference will be seen as a waste of everyone's time and energy. We've got to bring our people and our countries closer together."
Genshiro Koyama stared into the distance for a long moment before turning to the President. "Your major concern is our expanding military, is that not correct?"
"That's true," he answered slowly, "and we're not the only ones who are becoming alarmed. With the decline of U. S. and Russian activity in Southeast Asia, the waters of the China Sea, the northeast Indian Ocean, and the western Pacific have become a more complex operating environment."
The President saw a glimmer of annoyance flash across Koyama's rigid face.
"We're trying to organize," the President explained, "a Western Pacific Naval Alliance, similar to our NATO allies in the North Atlantic region. We see Japan as a cornerstone of this type of coalition."
The President paused, hoping Koyama might embrace the idea. The Prime Minister gave the impression of being bored.
"However," the President said at last, "there's a perplexing issue to deal with before we can pour the foundation for the alliance. As I said, many countries, including the members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, are worried about the growing military forces of Japan."
"They should be worried about their own affairs," Koyama snapped, "and leave Japan to our own designs."
Angered by the bruising confrontation, the President felt his pulse rise. "Regardless of how you feel, we're going to have to deal with this military problem."
Koyama's eyes narrowed and he glowered at the American President. The gesture sent an undercurrent of tension through the room. "We will make the decisions about our military," he hissed.
"You know there's a lot of sensitivity attached to the issue," the President said firmly, "and I'm determined to alleviate the problem."
Koyama's raspy voice became harsh. "As you know, we've been reviewing the 1946 Constitution. We feel that certain changes have to be made in the interest of Japan."
"That's what concerns us," the President replied as pleasantly as possible.
"Mr. President," Koyama shot back indignantly, "the Japanese people resent being ruled by a document written by foreigners. We should have a military to match our status as world leaders, and the Emperor should be declared the head of state, not just an empty symbol, as required by the postwar constitution."
"Prime Minister Koyama," the President said politely in an effort to show sincerity and concern, "before we discuss a review of Japan's constitution, I'm going to put my cards on the table."
Koyama's dark eyes reflected the contempt he felt toward Americans in general and this President in particular.
"I was reading about Japanese military exploits," the President declared with a friendly smile, "and discovered a basic philosophy about camouflage that I hadn't realized before."
The Prime Minister became wary and exuded a sense of growing irritation.
"If you only move an inch at a time," the President went on with a touch of a drawl, "you can move great distances before the enemy realizes you've even moved. It apparently takes the mind a while to triangulate the clever subterfuge."
Koyama suddenly looked disgusted. "And you believe that's how Japan again became a military power." He fixed his eyes on the man he had grown to despise.
"Let's just say that we haven't been as diligent as we should have been," the President countered dryly, "and your country has taken advantage of the situation and ignored the constitutional ban on the existence of a military in Japan."