Step by step they were literally taking Tokyo apart, a Herculean task into which they had thrown themselves with a frenzy.
And there were troubles because of it. Besides the Russian killed in the Shinto park across from their embassy, two Japanese dockworkers had been killed in Nihonbashi when they had attempted to stop two unidentified men from coming aboard a vessel that had come from the Soviet Union five days earlier. Tokyo police didn't know who the killers were, though Rishiri's people did. But they had orders only to follow and to observe, not to interfere unless the Russians actually found the chip.
By eight the opportunity Carter was waiting for finally came. The timing was cutting it close, but he had wanted to make sure.
A small riot had broken out in the Ginza between a couple of Russians and several dozen Japanese teen-age toughs. Rishiri hurried off to see what he could do to calm things down without bringing too much police attention into play.
Carter and Scott left the hotel a couple of minutes later, separating in front. Scott had his instructions for the pickup. He didn't like the idea very much, but he was enough of an old field man to understand — considering the pressure of time — that there weren't many options.
Scott went for his car while Carter headed on foot directly over to the Soviet embassy. The building was lit up like a three-ring circus and was just as busy, teams coming and going.
Kojimachi-ku was a modern district of Tokyo. It was mostly well lit and busy with traffic.
It look Carter nearly ten minutes to make it over to the embassy. He stationed himself once again across the street near the entrance of the Shinto park, though for the moment he hid himself in the shadows.
The Russians wanted him, if for nothing else than the fact that one of their men had been killed on his behalf.
At the agreed-upon time four minutes later, Carter stepped out of the shadows so that he was in plain view of the embassy. A car came out of the gate. Carter pulled out a notebook and wrote down its license number.
He started toward the food stand a moment later — and saw a pair of agents rushing out of the embassy. Carter turned and pulled out his Luger at the same moment he saw Scott's car turning the corner.
Carter raised his gun and squeezed off a shot high. He was playing a dangerous game here. His life depended now upon the fact that the two KGB agents across the street were professionals and knew how to shoot.
They opened fire, three rounds catching Carter high in the chest, driving him backward, off his feet.
Traffic was screeching to a halt, and people were shouting and screaming.
Scott pulled to a stop a split second later and rushed to where Carter lay. The Russians had stepped back into the embassy compound and were watching from the shadows as Scott hurriedly dragged Carter back to the car and unceremoniously dumped him into the back seat.
Scott stopped a moment to look across at the embassy, then he jumped into his car and took off as police sirens began to sound in the distance.
Four
"We have a casualty here! Carter's been hit!" Scott shouted into the radio.
"Roger that," the operator at their surveillance center in the Hilton radioed. "Where are you?"
"We're heading out of Kojimachi-ku. But I think we might have a tail."
"Do you need some help?"
"Negative, negative," Scott said. He hauled the car around the corner, then shot up a ramp and headed east on the freeway.
"Unit one, give us your exact location," the radio blared.
Scott reached out and shut it off. He glanced in his rearview mirror. "How are you doing back there?"
"I've felt better," Carter said, sitting up stiffly. He looked back the way they had come. It seemed clear, though it was hard to tell. There was a lot of traffic at that hour.
"You were taking one hell of a chance back there," Scott said.
Carter's chest ached where the three bullets had hit the Kevlar vest. "I want my body on the next plane back to the States."
"The box will go out first thing in the morning. But Rishiri might want to see it."
"If your people move fast enough, he won't have the time to force anything," Carter said, taking off his jacket and unstrapping the bulletproof vest. "If you run into too much trouble, call Hawk. He'll be able to pull some strings."
Scott was having some trouble accepting what was happening. "Can you tell me who you're working with here in Tokyo? Who make the arrangements for you to get up to Hokkaido?"
"No, I can't."
"There's no way for me to get in touch…"
"Listen, Scott," Carter said, sitting forward. "I don't want you people trying to come after me. I don't want anyone at my back door. This is going to be difficult enough as it is."
"Crazy, if you ask me."
"Just convince everyone I'm dead."
"Including Major Rishiri."
"Especially him," Carter said.
It was well after nine o'clock by the time Scott dropped Carter off in Hongo on Tokyo's far north side. They had made a big circle around the city to make absolutely certain they were not being followed.
"I can't say as I like this, Carter. If and when you make a big splash somewhere, Rishiri will know I lied to him. It'll be tough working with him after that."
"I know. But this is important."
"Right," Scott said, resigned. "Well, good luck."
Carter just looked at him for a moment, then he shook his head, turned, and walked off.
Hongo was a relatively quiet section of the city at night because this, was the area where most of the schools and colleges were located.
It took Carter nearly ten minutes to find a cab to take him back into the city where Kazuka had left him a small Honda in a parking ramp. He circled the area a couple of times on foot, then got into the car and drove immediately east out of the city.
According to Kazuka, the Hachioji Commercial Aviation Field was all but defunct, its facilities old-fashioned and run-down. A couple of Japanese barnstormers, flying old Steerman biplanes brought from the States, were the only ones to use the field on a regular basis. An old couple lived at the far end of the strip in a small house. They maintained the grass runways, made sure the lights worked, and kept the fuel tanks full.
Carter turned off the secondary highway and drove slowly down the dirt road that led back to the airfield. A mile in, his headlights flashed on the gate, which was open. He stopped. Kazuka had given him a key for the gate. But now it was open.
He got out of his car and walked up to the fence, which was illuminated in his headlights.
The lock hung from a heavy chain. It was open. He picked it up and examined it in the light. It hadn't been forced, though it could have been picked. He looked up. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.
Back in his car, Carter doused the headlights, drove through the gate, and headed across the field toward the terminal building, which was dark.
On the far side of the field, he could see the dim lights of the caretaker's house, but on this side of the strip, even the lights on the hangars were out.
Coming around the nearest hangar, Carter spotted a twin-engine Cessna 310 sitting on the apron in front of the terminal building, and he pulled up short.
The plane was dark, and from where he was he couldn't see if anyone was inside or nearby. For a moment or two he just sat there, but then he put the car in reverse and backed up behind the hangar where he shut off the engine and got out.
The Russians had followed Kazuka all over Tokyo. It was possible she had not been able to shake them this time, and they had tracked her out here.
Carter pulled out his Luger but then thought better of it. He stuffed the gun back in its holster. Officially, he was dead. He didn't want the police coming out here to investigate a gun battle. He flicked out Hugo, the stiletto's blade glinting in the starlight as he headed on foot around the hangar.