To Free a Spy (32 page)

He lay still for a full minute before rising to the small window to look out. No one was in sight, not even Komeito. Warfield weighed his options for a moment, which were of course limited by his inability to speak Japanese. He pulled out the Guido’s receipt he’d stuffed into his pocket when Aoki delivered Yoshida’s diary, dialed Guido’s number and asked for Aoki. He was prepared to try his luck with Norio if Aoki wasn’t there but that wasn’t necessary. Aoki answered.

“It’s Warfield, the American. I need your help. Very important. You willing?”

“Hai! Willing.”

“Can you clear it with Norio, be away for a while?”

“Yes, no problem.”

“Come to the Holiday Inn in the delivery car. I’ll watch for you. Make it quick!”

Plantar Scrubb had seen
his share of crises in the three years since he’d become chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and he always jotted a code in his daily journal when they first hit his desk. A letter
C
with a circle around it when he thought it would prove to be an actual crisis, and a
T
when he smelled political overreaction. While listening to the president explain this particular incident, Scrubb sketched the outline of a block letter T in the journal and shaded it in, which meant he expected he’d be able to keep his regular tee time at his golf club this afternoon. The last time he tallied the Cs and Ts he was batting .710, but that was just a game he played. He didn’t make Joint Chiefs chairman by pre-judging the smoke signals.

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.”

* * *

YOSHIDA’S ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL MINUS NINETY-ONE MINUTES

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.

* * *

ETA MINUS FIFTY-FOUR MINUTES

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.

* * *

Cross was fielding questions and suggestions in the Situation Room. Otto Stern said, “We could be faced with shooting the plane down before we have all the data. This is a no-win, Mr. President.”

Cross knew that was true but a president who preceded him had faced that frightening possibility in the dark hours of 9/11. While they waited for news from Warfield or the ambassador, others in the White House kept an eye on Fox News and CNN. If word of this got out they might need to release a statement to assure the public.

Cross counted on Scrubb and Stern to weigh the incoming information he would use in making a final decision. Earl Fullwood realized he’d been sidelined. He picked up his attaché case and marched off, stopping at the door to glare for a moment at the president, who didn’t seem to notice.

* * *

At the Pentagon, Plantar Scrubb huddled with the Joint Chiefs in the Pentagon room known as the Tank, reserved for use by the chiefs.

* * *

ETA MINUS FORTY-EIGHT MINUTES

Flying the 747-400 was as appropriate a way to spend the final hours of his life as Fumio Yoshida could imagine. Unlike the -400 series, earlier versions of the 747 couldn’t be flown by one pilot alone. The 747-400 was by far the most magnificent airplane Yoshida had ever encountered. Several planes like the one Yoshida’s father had flown to his death could be parked on each of its wings. There was more space inside the cabin than in a dozen houses like Yoshida’s and it could carry more than five-hundred passengers if so configured. The tail was six stories tall and the plane could fly eight-thousand miles non-stop. Four Rolls Royce RB211-524G engines powered the plane Yoshida was flying and it could carry many times the weight of the bomb that now occupied it. Fumio Yoshida knew the specs by heart. His only regret in this whole plan of his was that it was necessary to sacrifice such a beautiful aircraft.

The fate of the Russians didn’t bother Yoshida much. Ivan had worried him all along. Petrevich said he was critical to the project but in the end Ivan was Petrevich’s undoing. Maybe Ivan never gave much thought to what he and Petrevich and Mikhail were building, or perhaps the reality of the ultimate purpose of their effort never hit him. Until now. Ivan couldn’t have been blind to it all, but maybe he rationalized it would never happen. After all, he and Petrevich and their counterparts back in Russia built all those nuclear weapons, tens of thousands of them, and as far as Yoshida knew not one of them was ever used against other human beings.

But then hours ago something came over Ivan when it was time for he and Petrevich to show Yoshida the two simple procedures he would have to perform to release the bomb. Sure, there were more efficient ways to deliver nukes but Yoshida wanted to replicate the Hiroshima and Nagasaki attacks as closely as possible

Ivan had waited until after Petrevich explained it all to Yoshida. How to release the safety system that prevented unintended detonation; and how to arm the trigger that would detonate the bomb at the required time. Ivan then smiled and calmly informed Yoshida he had decided to sabotage the work they had done. It stalled Yoshida for a moment but he was not unprepared for such an occurrence. He fired the .25 from inside his pants pocket and hit Ivan twice in the chest at near point-blank proximity. Petrevich yelled out in a combination of surprise and terror but Yoshida had the gun on him and Mikhail before they could react.

Yoshida ordered Mikhail to bind Petrevich’s hands behind his back and tie him to the chain link fence that bordered the hangar office. Perhaps anticipating death anyway, Mikhail swung around as he finished tying Petrevich. He had picked up a wrench and swung it at Yoshida’s head. Yoshida was surprisingly agile. He dodged it and fired, hitting the Russian in front of his left ear; he fired a second shot into the back of his head after he fell. Then he leveled the pistol at Petrevich, who was cursing Yoshida with all of his breath, and fired his fifth bullet.

Petrevich’s limp body slumped from the fence, to which Mikhail had tied his hands. Yoshida jammed the muzzle of the .25 to the bridge of Petrevich’s nose and pulled the trigger again, but this time there was only a click. Then, another click. He threw the gun at Petrevich but the Russian’s body was still. Yoshida had not planned to kill any of them but had no regrets. Nothing would undermine his mission.

He cut the rope that suspended Petrevich and thought about loading the bodies onto the plane but they were too heavy for him to manage. He retrieved the tent cloth Petrevich had put up around his office area and rolled all three men up in it. Someone would find the bodies in the next day or so but by then it would make no difference.

* * *

Fumio Yoshida checked the time. Forty minutes to go. He was at peace with what was about to happen but nevertheless a little jittery from the adrenaline his excitement had generated. He saw the silhouette of a plane in the distance. Was it another airliner, or had the U.S. authorities found him out somehow? He had thought about the possibility that his plan might be discovered in Tokyo before it was complete, in which case he would encounter the U.S. military, but it wasn’t going to matter. They might buzz his plane and try to intimidate him but U.S. authorities wouldn’t think of shooting down a Japanese airliner, at least until it clearly posed a threat to life and before they did a lot of checking with authorities in Japan, which would be difficult on Saturday night.