Like Carter she was concerned that a joint operation would have a good chance of running into trouble, especially if it were big and noisy.
It was well after midnight by the time they had made it to the airstrip, had the plane serviced and warmed up, and finally got airborne for the six-hundred-mile return trip.
Despite the protests of the Japanese government, Carter suspected that the Russians would still be doing a good job covering Tokyo. An inbound flight of a Cessna 310 from the north at three or four in the morning would be unusual enough for someone to take notice. Instead they skirted Tokyo to the east, flying over Tokyo Bay and landing at Yokosuka, some thirty miles to the south.
The first trains departed for Tokyo at around five, so they had plenty of time to arrange for the airplane to be stored and to take a cab over to the depot. They did not think it wise to travel together, so Kazuka took the first train.
"Be careful, Nicholas," she said.
"You too. All hell is going to break loose around here when we make the grab. They snatched you once; the next time they might kill you."
She kissed him on the cheek. "Sayanora, Carter-san."
Carter took the next train, which left eight minutes later. Already the station was starting to fill with people who commuted into Tokyo to work.
Aboard the train, tea and coffee was served by pretty hostesses. Despite the crowding, everyone was polite and orderly.
It was just a little after six-thirty when Carter got off the train in Tokyo's Hongo section. He found a public telephone and called Arnold Scott at the embassy residence. Carter's name was not mentioned in case the telephone was tapped.
"We've been expecting you. Where are you?"
"Same place you dropped me off."
"Right," Scott said, and he broke the connection.
Carter stepped away from the phone booth, walked across the street, and slipped into a quiet park. No one was there at that hour of the morning, though the area would soon begin to fill with students.
Twenty minutes after his call, a blue windowless van turned the corner and cruised slowly up the street. Carter did not recognize the driver, but Arnold Scott was seated on the passenger side.
Carter let the van pass and turn the corner; he held his position within the park. If Scott was any good at all, he would have made sure he was not being tailed — or had lost his tail — before showing up.
Five minutes later no other vehicles had driven past the park and the blue van came down the block again. This time Carter stepped out from the park. The van pulled up, the side door slid open, and Carter jumped inside.
"Were you being tailed?" Carter asked as he slid the door closed and they took off.
"We were at the embassy but managed to ditch them down in Asakusa before we swung around up here," Scott said.
"How have things been over the past thirty-six hours?"
"Noisy," Scott said. "They found a couple of dead Russians floating in the river the other night. You didn't happen to have anything to do with that, did you?"
"How are you and Major Rishiri getting along?"
Scott just looked at Carter for a long time. He finally shook his head. "Not well. But you and I are going to have to work together on this one…"
"I know. Has Tom Barber shown up yet?"
Scott's eyes widened. "How did you find out about Tom?"
Carter shrugged. "Has he shown up yet?"
The driver, a rugged-looking man Carter guessed to be in his mid to late thirties, glanced up at the rearview mirror, then stuck a hand back over his shoulder.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carter. I've heard quite a bit about you."
"Not bad," Carter said, smiling. He shook the man's hand. "When did you get in?"
"A couple of hours ago. I brought something along for you."
"The carrying cases?"
"Two of them. I understand you ran into a little trouble."
"I had to ditch the one I was carrying," Carter said. Barber looked fit enough. Carter hoped he would be up to the job.
Seven
The Russians were set up on the sixth floor of an office building half a block from the U.S. embassy. From their vantage point they could watch the comings and goings from the front and side entrances. Despite their perch and their sophisticated equipment, however, they could not detect the presence of someone in the back of a windowless van.
Carter was given a chance to clean up in the embassy residence, and then he was brought up to the secure room where Scott, Barber, and several other men were waiting. The room was long and narrow, dominated by a highly polished conference table. Heavy wire mesh covering the windows provided electronic security from monitoring devices.
Scott made the introductions.
On the right beside Barber were Edward Forester, a Navy lieutenant commander who was an expert on shipboard computers, and Chuck Hansen, a Navy captain and an expert on the Soviet navy. Both men were in their thirties. Barber, who was ex-Navy himself, had handpicked these two for the mission.
On the opposite side of the table were Bob Wilson, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a slight paunch, who was chief of security from Washington for the President's upcoming Tokyo visit. Next to him was Hans Fosse, deputy chief of consular affairs.
Forester and Hansen, Carter could understand, though just barely. But the other two had no business being there and he said so.
"I think we'll be the judge of that," Wilson said pompously.
"How much have they been told?" Carter asked Scott.
"Nothing, other than the fact that we're planning a Japanese-based mission against the Soviet Union."
"Which is why we're here, Carter," Wilson snapped. "To get briefed."
"Then I suggest they be asked to leave," Carter continued, looking at Scott.
"See here…" Wilson sputtered.
Carter turned to him. "Why are you here in Tokyo, Mr. Wilson?"
Wilson's eyes narrowed. "To provide security for the President's visit."
"Then I suggest you get on with it. What we are about to discuss here this morning has no bearing on the President's visit."
Wilson smiled, the gesture not friendly. "I dare say that I outrank you, Mr. Carter."
Carter, who had not yet sat down, nodded toward the telephone at the far end of the conference table. "Telephone him."
"What?"
"Telephone the President. Ask him if you should be included in this meeting," Carter said. He turned again to Scott. "He can get a secure circuit to Washington from this telephone, can't he?"
Scott nodded.
"I don't have to call anyone to know what my authority is."
Carter came fast around the table, and Wilson shrank back. "Then I'll do it." Carter picked up the telephone. "Communications," he snapped.
Wilson looked from Fosse — who had not said a word — to Scott and then back up at Carter.
"I need an encrypted circuit to Washington. Code Red-four. The number is…" Carter gave the President's private number.
Wilson recognized the number and stiffened. "Wait," he said quietly.
Carter looked down at him.
"Just a minute, Mr. Carter."
"Hold on that circuit," Carter said into the telephone. He held his hand over the mouthpiece. "Now, Mr. Wilson, we have a lot of work to do. What you already know is classified Top Secret, Presidential Access. I suggest you say nothing about what you have seen or heard here… especially who you have seen here."
Wilson got to his feet and scurried out of the room. Fosse also got to his feet. "I have my hands full with the President's visit. I had no business at this meeting in the first place. "He left.
Carter cradled the receiver. Scott was looking at him.
"You didn't even dial," Scott said.