"No word from my people."
"How do you interpret that?" the President asked anxiously.
"Knowing them," Smith said tonelessly, "if they haven't intervened in the Yuma Emergency by now, I must conclude that they are either dead or incapacitated."
"The chairman of the join Chiefs is pressuring me to take out Yuma," the President said after a pause.
"I wish I could offer you some hope," said Smith, "but there is something to the admiral's argument. As a last resort, of course."
The President was silent for a long time. Smith broke in reluctantly.
"Mr. President, I saw the recent transmission. That man who called himself Regent of Yuma is the man I've been trying to locate for you, Nemuro Nishitsu, head of the Nishitsu Group."
"How could a conglomerate mount an invasion?"
"If you are asking me how in operational terms," Smith replied, "the answer to that is that they have the resources of a small country. In fact, it would not be far from the truth to categorize Nishitsu as a country without borders. Thanks to its many offices and factories, it has a presence in virtually every developed nation. I have been looking into the company's background. There is a disturbing pattern. Nemuro Nishitsu founded the firm shortly after World War II. At first, it was an electronics firm. It began expanding during the days of the transistor revolution. They made cheap radios, things of that sort. By the early seventies they had subsidiaries manufacturing cars, computers, VCR's and other highticket items. More recently they have branched out into global communications and military equipment. You might remember the attempt by one of their subsidiaries to buy out an American ceramics company last year. You yourself stopped it when it was brought to your attention that this company manufactured critical nuclear-weapons components."
"I remember. There was no way I could allow that to happen. "
"Unfortunately, this is also the company you permitted to manufacture the Japanese version of the F-16."
"Oh, my God," the President gasped. "That explains how they were able to outfight us in our own fighters. Their pilots had trained in the Japanese version."
"Regrettable, but true."
"What about Nishitsu himself?"
"He was, by all accounts, a fanatic follower of the emperor during the war. He has become something of a recluse in recent years, with a history of psychiatric and medical problems dating from the time he was extracted from the Burma jungle. These were thought to have been temporary. Once he had been reassimilated in Japanese society, he was considered perfectly normal."
"Does he have a wife, a family? Someone we could contact. Maybe he could be talked out of this."
"No family. They died when the atomic bomb fell on Nagasaki. If you're looking for a motive for his actions, you might not go any further than that."
"I see," the President said distantly. "Then there is nothing you can do for me. "
"I am sorry, Mr. President."
"Of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make one of the most difficult decisions of my presidency." The President woodenly hung up the red telephone. He turned on his heel and walked in his tennis shoes to the Situation Room. He felt his gorge rise just thinking about the decision he faced. But he was the nation's commander in chief He would not shirk his responsibilities to America, or to the people of Yuma.
Chapter 19
Bartholomew Bronzini was adamant.
"Absolutely, positively, no fucking way!" he bellowed. Then he screamed and fell to his knees. He clawed at the dirt outside the meetinghouse on the Sun On Jo reservation. His eyes were wide with pain but he couldn't see anything except a kind of visual white noise. "Arrgghh!" he cried.
A stern voice intruded upon his agony. It was the voice of the tiny Oriental, Chiun.
"Since you do not appear to understand the enormity of your position, Greekling, then I will repeat it," Chiun was saying. "The Japanese leader has offered the lives of the children of any school I choose in return for you. This tragedy is your doing. If you have any honor, you will agree to be handed over to this man."
"I didn't know," Bronzini squeezed out through set teeth. "I had no idea this was gonna happen."
"Responsibility has nothing to do with intent. Your innocence is obvious. Otherwise you would not be fleeing from this army. Still, you will do as I say."
"Please, Mr. Bronzini, they're only children." It was a girl's voice. That publicity girl, Sheryl. "Everyone thinks of you as a hero. I know that's only in movies, but none of this would have happened if it wasn't for you."
"All right, all right," Bronzini groaned. The pain went away. Not slowly, the way pain sometimes recedes. But abruptly, as if it hadn't ever existed in the first place.
Bronzini stood up. He checked his left wrist, the focal point of his pain. There was no mark or cut. He looked at the long fingernails of the tiny Korean who called himself Chiun as they disappeared into his sleeves.
"I want you to know I didn't say yes because of the pain," he said stubbornly.
"Whatever you tell your conscience is your business, Greekling," Chiun sniffed.
"I just had to get used to the idea," he insisted. "And why do you call me Greek? I'm Italian."
"Today you might possibly be Italian. Before, you were a Greek."
"Before what?"
"He means in another life," Sheryl said. "Don't ask me why, but he thinks you were Alexander the Great in a previous life."
Bronzini looked his skepticism. "I've had worse things said about me," he said dryly. "Most people think I crawl out of the La Brea Tar Pits once a year to make a movie. "
"Do you have a cold?" Sheryl suddenly asked, "Your voice sounds real nasaly."
"How can you tell?" Chiun sniffed.
"I resent that!" Bronzini said. "Okay, never mind. Let's just get this over with."
Chiun turned to Bill Roam, who was standing with his arms folded. "The woman stays with you," he told the big Indian. "If we do not return, I ask you a favor."
"Sure. What?"
"When this is over, if I have not returned, go into the desert and recover the body of my son. See that he receives a proper burial."
"Done."
"Then you will avenge us both."
"If I can."
"You can. I have seen the greatness in you."
And without another word, the Master of Sinanju pushed Bartholomew Bronzini to the waiting tank. "You will drive," he said.
"What happens if they just kill us?" Bronzini wondered.
"Then we will die," said Chiun. "But we will cost them dearly."
"I'm with you on that," Bronzini agreed as he eased into the driver's cockpit. Chiun climbed onto the turret like a nimble monkey. He ignored the open hatch and assumed a lotus position beside it.
Bronzini looked back and remarked, "You're gonna fall off."
"See to your driving, Greekling," Chiun said sternly. "I will attend to my balance."
Bronzini started the tank. The engine made wounded mechanical sounds, but eventually the machine turned on one track toward the reservation gate.
"What do you think they'll do to me?" he wondered aloud.
"I do not know," Chiun replied. "But the one named Nishitsu desires to see you very much."
"Maybe he's got some kind of Japanese Oscar for me," Bronzini grunted. "I hear I'm a sure bet for best supporting idiot in a movie gone amok."
"If so, be certain to shake his hand," Chiun said.
"I meant it as a joke," Bronzini said. He sneezed before Chiun could reply.
"You do have a cold," Chiun said.
"I have a cold," Bronzini said sourly.
"Yes," Chiun said, a faraway light in his eyes. "When you meet this man, be certain to shake his hand. Do not forget. For it is not too late for you to atone for what you, in your ignorance, have brought to pass."