Kenji did not reply, but his gaze darted furtively to the face of his Rolex.
“Those arms are supposed to be here in a few hours, and we don’t know what type of planes will be flying them in or the recognition codes the pilots will transmit. If we don’t get those codes, we can’t clear the runways.
“We are approaching a critical point. Soon people will begin to lose their fervor and want the violence to end. We must get those weapons and the rest of our mercenaries. The President of the United States will respond soon, I’m sure. The forces at Pearl may be bottled up for now, but they can be unleashed very quickly indeed.”
“The President wouldn’t dare order those troops to open fire. He’d be risking a sympathetic revolt on the mainland. Every ethnic minority in America would be behind us. Anarchy would reign in every town and street.”
“He has other options, Kenji, an attack against me, for example. He knows of my involvement in this coup. He could target me alone and wait for the violence to die with me. Mobs like this only stay active with someone to control them. If we don’t stay in contact with our lieutenants around the islands, they will quickly lose their fire.”
“True,” Kenji agreed, “and we must also think of Kerikov’s response.”
“I don’t worry about him. His powers are severely limited.”
“But the coup was his idea and was only supposed to happen on his orders. Surely he has a plan to stop it. We are jeopardizing his control of the volcano. He must have a way of protecting it in such a contingency.”
Ohnishi smiled paternally. “You have always only thought of my protection, Kenji, and that is most admirable, but I believe that we are quite secure. There is no way Kerikov can stop us.”
Kenji seemed relieved to hear his master’s confident tone. “What will we do when we can’t produce Takamora to lead the people?”
“Senator Namura is currently hiding outside Washington, D.C. He was my choice to lead the coup if Takamora had refused, so he will become the new leader. He has already accepted the honor. One of my private jets will fly him here as soon as it’s safe for him to move.”
“And Takamora’s death?”
“We’ll blame the U.S. military. Don’t worry so, Kenji, all is working out well. Suleiman’s weapons will arrive along with mercenaries to augment your forces. Namura will probably be here within twenty-four hours to place a stamp of legitimacy on what we’ve started. Neither the President nor Kerikov will have the time or fortitude to launch any major opposition.”
From the corner of one eye, Kenji noticed a dark figure dart across the lawn toward the main house. The first man was quickly followed by two more racing from the shadowed protection of the jungle. Kenji crossed his legs casually, belying the instinctive tightening of his muscles. His hand rested naturally against his ankle.
“Maybe all contingencies have been thought of,” he remarked. “I never thought we would actually get this far. Just a few months ago, a coup in Hawaii seemed like such a far-fetched idea.”
“It really wasn’t so outrageous even then. The state was ripe for it — racism and tension were building. We only heightened it with our acts and now orchestrate its crescendo.”
The explosion wasn’t strong enough to shatter the thick glass skin of the mansion, but it did rattle the balcony and startle a flock of dark pelicans into flight across the vast lawn. Ohnishi whirled around in his wheelchair, scanning his surroundings for a frightened moment. When he turned to his faithful assistant, Kenji had already sprung to his feet. The snub-nosed revolver from his ankle holster was held firmly in his hand.
The barrel was pointed directly between Ohnishi’s wide staring eyes. “Don’t move, old man,” Kenji sneered.
Takahiro Ohnishi’s age-weakened bladder released into his trademark black Armani suit.
The White House
Staff Sergeant Harold Tompkins was about as nervous as a human being could get. He was on duty in the Situation Room when the video images from Pearl Harbor faded from the high-definition screen. He fiddled with the satellite feeds under the combined stares of the President, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the secretaries of State and Defense, and the directors of the CIA, NSA, and FBI.
One moment the image of Pearl Harbor was crisp and vivid and the next, the screen had gone blank. Had this been a commercial transmission, a “Please stand by” sign would have flashed and those assembled gone off for snacks or to use the bathroom. But this was not a commercial transmission; Pearl Harbor had just come under attack when the image had faded and these men expected Tompkins to get the video feed back on line.
“Anything?” Admiral C. Thomas Morrison asked.
“No, sir, not yet,” Tompkins managed to squeak.
“Jesus Christ.”
The air was thick in the twenty-by-twenty-foot vault buried four floors below the White House. A blue pall of smoke swirled from the cigarettes that these men would never admit to in public. Even the President, where he sat hunched at the head of the large refractory table, had a Marlboro hanging from the corner of his pensive mouth.
“If my wife sees me like this, she’s going to kill me,” he said to lighten the mood. The answering laughter had a nervous edge.
Despite the cigarettes, the hands made twitchy by endless cups of coffee and the grizzled stubble that covered their faces, these men were still as sharp as they’d been when called to the situation room twelve hours earlier. An aide entered from the single elevator and walked straight to Sam Becker, the head of the National Security Agency.
“Sir, here’s the latest from the KH-11 flyby.” He handed over a sheaf of infrared photographs taken by an orbiting spy satellite. “Just like the photos taken from the SR-1 Wraith, I’m afraid the analysts couldn’t make much out of them. The heat signature from the volcano makes it impossible to locate any other thermal images.”
“Damn,” Becker said, leafing through the photos. “If my men didn’t see a Russian nuclear sub, I don’t see how Mercer could have. The NSA has the best photo interp people in the world. I hope you’re right about him, Dick.”
Henna looked up from the fan of papers spread before him. “I’ve got no guarantees, but so far the man hasn’t disappointed. He told me over the phone that he had the John Dory pinpointed at the volcano site.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t we just order him to tell us where that was?” asked Paul Barnes.
“Christ, Paul, you met him. Do you think he would have told us anything?”
“I agree with Dick on this one,” the President remarked, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “The deft touch is what’s needed here, not a heavy hand.”
“I think I have it, sirs,” Tompkins interrupted. The men turned to the screen.
An image came into focus, a handsome Oriental man dressed in jungle camouflage. Behind him, marines were firing at an unseen enemy from the protection of sandbag bunkers. Two Abrams tanks sat squarely on a wide expanse of asphalt, their turrets pointed toward the main gates of Pearl Harbor. Their 120mm cannons were silent, but machine-gun fire spat from their coaxially mounted Brownings. It was a macabre scene because there was no audio.
Tompkins pressed a few more buttons on his console and the clamor of battle assaulted the room. The ferocity was stunning.
“Repeat your message, Colonel. We lost your transmission for a few minutes,” Morrison said.
Over the sound of the battle, words matched the officer’s moving lips. “…about ten minutes ago, sir.”
“Colonel Shinzo, this is Admiral Morrison, please repeat,” the admiral asked a second time.
“Sir, about ten minutes ago all hell broke loose. Without warning, the guardsmen and locals outside the gate opened fire. Small arms mostly, but the guardsmen do have rocket launchers and TOW antitank missiles. They are not making any move for an assault yet, but it’s only a matter of time, sir.”