It took him twenty minutes after Cross called to get from his home at Fort McNair to the Pentagon, and he used the time in the car to get things rolling as his driver zipped through Washington streets. By the time he got to his office he had spoken with Cross again and also received confirmation of this supposed madman’s flight plan. Cross had that correct but it meant nothing. Every airliner in the sky filed a flight plan. And he couldn’t just send fighters out and shoot this 747 out of the sky. At this point it was nothing more sinister than an official of Japan’s civilian air transportation system making a training flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles. Talk about an international incident! Shoot down a plane like that even if there were no passengers on board and it’s open season on every U.S. passenger plane flying over foreign lands. And it would test the U.S. relationship with Japan. Scrubb was going to use his head for awhile before he used his trigger finger.
A Cross aide called everyone and briefed them before they got to the White House. He also sent for Paula Newnan to keep track of things, and the others summoned their own aides. When everyone arrived in the clothes they found handy it looked more like a gathering for a camping trip than a group called together by the president of the United States to handle an international crisis.
Secretary of State Hollis Hill said he had someone trying to reach the Japanese and U.S. ambassadors, but as it was Saturday night in Tokyo response could be slow. “Don’t know who we’ll get. Maybe somebody at Ministry of Transport. If this Yoshida’s a vice-minister, and it’s him flying that 747, they can tell us something. I’m not convinced yet there’s a crisis here. What’s interesting about this, Mr. President, is that you got this call yourself. How did that happen?”
Cross was hesitant to answer. “Cam Warfield called me. He’s been on it in Tokyo.”
Earl Fullwood bolted out of his chair. “Warfield? Mr. Pres’dent, you have got to be kiddin’! Haven’t you had enough of him? He’s already screwed up FBI operations at least once. I don’t put a dime’s worth of credibility in anything he says. Warfield’s nothin’ but a glory-seeker, wants to make a name for himself. He’s a has-been, and he knows it. And Senator Abercrombie’s committee? You remember that! They shut down Warfield’s Lone Elm operation after he interfered with us at the border crossin’ from Turkey into Iraq. And since then, I think he’s been hitting the bottle a little too much.”
Cross looked away for a second, questioning his judgment in requesting Fullwood’s presence. “Earl, I’m not interested in your views on Warfield. If you’ve got anything constructive to add, let’s hear it.”
Komeito was still missing. When Aoki got to the hotel Warfield hopped in and told him to drive to the Ministry of Transport building. Aoki had delivered pizza there and knew where it was, five minutes from the hotel. Warfield pulled out the notes Komeito had scribbled when he talked with Yoshida’s office and read Mrs. Nakamura’s name to Aoki. Luckily, Aoki vaguely remembered delivering pizza to her up in the Bureau of Civil Aviation offices. The main entrance to the building was locked but a security guard stood inside the atrium-like lobby. He smiled recognition of Aoki, carrying a large pizza box, and opened the door. They chatted for a moment before the guard asked Aoki who had ordered pizza so late on a Saturday.
“Mrs. Nakamura.”
The guard didn’t call her for confirmation and told Aoki to proceed. Warfield had slipped a Guido’s shirt over his own and the guard looked him over as he followed Aoki but said nothing. Now Warfield hoped Nakamura was still in her office. She would at least know how to reach top MOT officials.
Mrs. Nakamura was sitting at her desk when Aoki and Warfield rushed in, startling her. As Warfield had instructed, Aoki now told her there was an extreme emergency and Yoshida’s life was in danger, and that Warfield, an American working with Japanese officials, must speak with someone at the top of M.O.T. this moment. There was not time to go through proper channels. Warfield was impressed with Aoki’s performance.
Nakamura was small and wiry. Her strong voice signaled self-confidence but she was hesitant now. She didn’t know Aoki that well and this was too much to comprehend on top of the day she’d already been through. But Aoki convinced her that failure to comply could result in disaster. She said Minister of Transport Saito was working late in his office and took them there.
Saito spoke English well enough. He was volatile about the invasion of his office, by a pizza boy and a gaijin no less, and was further incensed by the accusation that one of his senior executives hatched such an impossible plot as Warfield painted. He told Warfield the activity in Hangar 23 was in preparation for a new airline coming to Narita and threatened to call security to have the men removed from his office, but Warfield convinced him that could delay things to the critical point and that he had nothing to lose by checking Warfield’s story with a quick visit to Hangar 23.
Warfield had never talked more convincingly, or had such a degree of disaster pivoting on quick success. Saito reluctantly agreed to drive to the hangar and see the conditions firsthand but refused Warfield’s demand to send someone there to check for radioactivity until he knew more. Saito, Warfield and Aoki climbed into the minister’s official car and headed to Hangar 23. The flashing lights and crying siren seemed to announce Saito’s mood, Warfield thought, rather than his belief that a problem existed.
When Saito flew out of the car and paraded to the hangar’s personnel door, Warfield knew the angry official was primarily interested in embarrassing him with the truth. Saito walked ten steps inside, stopped and looked around the hangar and up to the roof. His swagger melted. “Yoshida spent millions renovating this hangar,” he said. “Where is it?”
Aoki pointed to where the big plane sat for so long and told Saito about the three Russians who worked there. He then led him to the office area and showed him the destroyed computers and other damage. While Saito tried to comprehend it all, Warfield checked behind the chain link fence, and there he stopped dead in his tracks. The tarp he’d seen rolled-up outside the office area when he was there earlier was now spread open. Two bodies lay entangled in the bloody fabric.
“Saito!” Warfield yelled, bending to check for a pulse. He and Aoki told Saito the tarp was rolled up earlier. The bodies might have been inside it then, but they weren’t visible. Who had been there since?
Saito was in a fog, ignoring Warfield’s demands that he call police and hazmat. He stood there for a moment and walked toward the partitioned corner where the Russians maintained their living quarters. He went in first with Warfield and Aoki behind him.
Warfield heard the shot before realizing anyone was hit. Blood sprayed from Saito’s head, and a second shot came as the minister crumpled to the floor. Warfield dropped and wheeled around to pull Aoki down, but a bullet caught Warfield. He put his hand to the hot area at the side of his head.
“Get down, kid,” were the last words he mumbled before everything faded into darkness.