"What kind of idiots run their police force?" the President blurted. "They should have cleaned out the terrorists years ago."
Tidwell sat down in one of the three chairs that had been arranged in front of the cherrywood desk. The Japanese Ambassador and a special envoy, who normally dealt with the U. S. Ambassador to Japan and the Under Secretary of State, were waiting to meet with the President and his Secretary of State.
The American Ambassador, who was considered a has-been figurehead by many members of the Administration, had suddenly fallen ill and was recuperating during an extended leave of absence.
"I agree about taking a strong stance where the terrorist group is concerned," Tidwell replied in his usual confident tone, "but I would like to cover a few unrelated issues before we speak with the Ambassador."
"This ongoing flap about the trade issues?" the President shot back with a disgusted look.
"I'm afraid so," Tidwell lamented, "and the continuing plutonium shipments from France."
Robert S. "Bud" Tidwell was a consummate statesman who believed in a no-nonsense approach when dealing with foreign governments. "We need to talk about those problems, and the information and telecommunications infringement on the previous agreements we signed."
Tidwell removed his spectacles and allowed his shoulders to sag. "You've gotta know the lights in the Kasumigaseki district have been burning through the nights while their leaders are doing the same thing we're doing… debating the next steps to take in this latest standoff."
"I'm sure you're right, Bud," the President said emphatically. "Both sides are eventually going to have to face these things head-on."
He swiveled in his chair to look outside, then turned back to Tidwell. "However, the incidents at Pearl and Osaka have ripped open some deep wounds from the past, and the prevailing mood has the potential to set off a series of major international confrontations."
"No question about it," Tidwell cautioned and took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "We're sitting on a giantpowder keg, and I think it's time we push for a summit."
"Bud" the President smiled approvingly—"I was thinking the same thing. These guys have continued to stonewall under the guise of political revolution. I thinks it's time to call their bluff."
A rare smile creased Tidwell's face. "This is an excellent time to bring up a summit."
"As good as any," the President replied firmly. He glanced at his daily appointment schedule lying on the middle of the desk, then moved it aside and thought for a moment. "What's the current situation?"
"Not good, I'm afraid."
Tidwell opened his flat carrying case and retrieved two pieces of paper. "We have received an avalanche of reports about the violent anti-American protests in many cities in Japan, and we're seeing a groundswell of Japan-bashing beginning to take shape in some of our larger cities, especially in California. The media has seized on the attacks and it's the current hot topic on the talk shows."
The seasoned statesman, who often soothed the bruised egos of those individuals who crossed swords with the President, slid the papers back into his portfolio.
"Sir, these protests and racial clashes are becoming a firestorm that is feeding on itself while the goddamn media fan the flames."
"We can always count on the media vultures," the President said with a touch of sarcasm, "to take a bad situation and make it worse."
"They're all falling over each other trying to compete," Tidwell offered.
The President paused to sort through his options. "Bud, we need to stop the violence before we tackle the other problems with Japan. If we allow this situation to get out of control, it could really hurt us domestically."
"That's true." Tidwell nodded. "We've got to get a grip on things or we'll be dead in the water. I just received confirmation of three drive-by shootings in L. A.'s Little Tokyo district.
"Four Japanese-Americans are dead," Tidwell went on sadly, "and three others are in critical condition. People are canceling athletic and entertainment events because of the potential for outbreaks of racial violence."
The President, who was convinced that relations with the Japanese would only become more acrimonious, didn't want to continue the discussion. "Bud, let's talk about our options during the Cabinet meeting, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Right now," the President went on with undisguised irritation, "I want to get this game of posturing with the Japanese out of the way."
Tidwell quietly acknowledged the statement while the President touched the button that signaled his staff assistant in the reception room. Less than half a minute later the administrative aide escorted the two Japanese diplomats into the Oval Office.
FBI Special Agent Susan Nakamura glanced at her watch as she drove her white Toyota Camry southwest on Market Street. After working all night on the latest information about the Pearl Harbor attack, Susan was running late for her flight to Honolulu.
She reached forward and selected an easy-listening FM station as she neared Golden Gate Avenue. A few moments later she saw a large crowd of people moving into the street near the Civic Center.
She began to slow down when she saw the flashing lights from four police cars approaching from the opposite direction. Another anti-Japanese demonstration was forming.
The traff slowed to a crawl as the mob of angry Caucasians charged a group of young Japanese protesters.
Susan was attempting to turn around when she saw an assortment of bottles, sticks, rocks, and other debris fly through the air. Heavily outnumbered, the Japanese were defenseless as the police began to fire tear gas into the unruly crowd.
Blocked in front and back by other cars, Susan sat helpless as the enraged mob broke and ran in her direction. She made sure her windows were up and the doors were locked, then reached for the 10-millimeter Smith & Wesson in her purse.
Two scraggly men who appeared to be drunk stopped by the hood of her car.
Susan stared straight at them and slid her weapon next to her leg. "Move on and do yourself a favor," she said through gritted teeth.
"Hey, looky here," laughed a skinny man with a birthmark on his face. "We got us a stinkin' Jap bitch drivin' a Japmobile."
"Yeah, man," his pal chuckled and put his hands on the hood and leaned forward. "Hey, bitch, how about doin' us both for the price of one?"
Susan's temper flared and she gripped the Smith & Wesson with a renewed strength. "You morons."
The man with the birthmark reared back and kicked the left front fender as hard as he could, almost losing his balance. "Whad'ya think about that, Tokyo Rose?"
Susan flipped her badge on the dashboard where they could be sure to see it, then gripped her weapon with both hands and slowly raised it above the steering wheel.
"Shit, man!" birthmark exclaimed. "A fuckin' cop!"
Both of the vagrants ran through the traffic and disappeared into the crowd east of the Civic Center.
After the adrenaline shock wore off, Susan's heartbeat finally slowed to normal as she continued toward the airport. She turned the radio off and thought about the escalating conflict between the Japanese and the Americans.
Ambassador Koji Hagura was a short, rubbery-faced man who epitomized the etiquette of the Japanese lifestyle and ancient traditions. Always the polite gentleman, Hagura never directly contradicted anyone. Instead, he would go out of his way to find an indirect and conciliatory way to express his view.
Educated at Boston College and Stanford, Hagura would occasionally smile at a particularly amusing story or joke, but he never laughed in front of the Americans. His mission was serious, and he was a proud man who relished being the Japanese Ambassador.