The Patriot Attack

  “Understood. I have a jet with a medical team waiting not far away. For now our priorities have shifted. We need to get Jon out of harm’s way and stabilized. We’ll talk about the rest later.”

  14

  Outside Tokyo

  Japan

  General Masao Takahashi stood on the broad deck of his home watching the sun set over meticulously tended gardens that seemed to extend to the horizon. The pain in his shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat but other than that his injuries had turned out to be trivial. Nothing more than a few deep bruises and four stitches above his right knee.

  His enemies had made a great error in failing to kill him. Takahashi had always drawn strength from adversity, and this event was already an example of that. It demonstrated to him that he had become careless with his own life—something a man in his position could not afford.

  The unavoidable weakness in the elaborate operation beginning to unfold across the world stage was its dependence on a single man. No one else had the combination of history, knowledge, and authority necessary to carry out his plan. No one else had the resolve it would take to change the world order at its very foundation.

  If he had been killed, everything he and so many others had spent their lives working toward would collapse. His great country and its people would be doomed to continue their descent into irrelevance.

  He had doubled his security detail and would from now on take varied routes and modes of transportation when he was forced to travel. The men allowed close to him had been whittled down to those whose loyalty was entirely beyond question. Even his food was now being purchased from randomly selected suppliers by a man who had been with his family for the last thirty-five years.

  Momentum was building at an exponential rate, and soon it would be beyond anyone’s ability to control. Until then he needed to keep his hand firmly on the rudder.

  Takahashi descended the time-worn steps to a gravel pathway, limping along it as he admired the perfect order of the landscape. The property had originally belonged to his father and he’d changed nothing since the man’s death. In many ways he saw it as a shrine not that different from Yasukuni—a place to honor not the soldiers, but the industrialists who had transformed a defeated island nation into a power that would once again challenge the entire world.

  As he walked through the flowering trees and stone gardens, it was still hard to believe that it all belonged to him. His father had suffered a rare moment of speechlessness when young Masao had told him his plans to join Japan’s fledgling defense forces. Of course his father had been a great patriot and had given everything to the war effort, but the defense forces were weak and would be kept that way by the obscene constitution forced on the country by Douglas MacArthur. A brilliant man, Takahashi’s father saw the future of Japan as economic and wanted his eldest son by his side, helping him build a new kind of world power.

  In the end, though, he had given his blessing. There were many ways to serve and he’d respected his son’s decision to choose his own path.

  It was a great tragedy that he’d died when he had. Japan was still mired in a decades-long recession, its people continued to bow and scrape over long-dead history, and China was becoming a superpower in its own right with a massively expanding economy and military. After a lifetime of devotion, he had passed with eyes filled by Japan’s weakness.

  Now, though, things were finally changing. The recession was finally losing its grip and a generation with no firsthand knowledge of the war was refusing to take responsibility for the supposed sins of their fathers. Most important, though, Japan’s ability to defend itself—so long abdicated to America—was quietly reemerging.

  For centuries the Japanese had been the masters of their own destiny, and soon they would be again. His plans didn’t end there, though. The mistakes of the past would not be repeated. This time Japan would take its rightful place as the planet’s supreme power.

  Takahashi heard footsteps approaching from behind and turned to watch Akio Himura, the director of Japan’s intelligence apparatus, moving quickly along the path.

  “The trees are very beautiful this afternoon,” he said, bowing.

  Takahashi returned the bow. “Walk with me, Akio.”

  They remained silent for a few moments, admiring the evening light fading around them. It was Takahashi who finally spoke. “What has the media been able to obtain?”

  “Very little, sir. There appears to be no video of the actual explosion—though as you know, significant documentation of the aftermath does exist. It’s gotten extensive coverage on both national and international news networks.”

  The general nodded. The advent of cell phones and the Internet made it virtually impossible to prevent the dissemination of information. Instead, it was necessary to master the much more subtle art of shaping it.

  “And my limousine?”

  “The clearest images are relatively low resolution, and the car is intermittently hidden by smoke. It is, however, possible to see the lack of damage compared with the completely destroyed vehicles around it as well as the destruction of the front of the building it was thrown through.”

  “Has anyone publicly spoken to that?”

  “Not specifically. The assumption is that the blast wasn’t properly focused. People tend to see what they expect to see and only look for familiar explanations. The media’s calling it a miracle you survived, and my people are building on that to further increase your stature.”

  Takahashi gave a silent nod, losing himself for a moment in the rhythm of their footsteps. His survival had been anything but a miracle—something that would be painfully obvious to anyone willing to open their eyes. His personal vehicle had been built from a next-generation carbon fiber–ceramic alloy. For its weight, the new material was an order of magnitude stronger than steel and six times as resistant to heat.

  A far lesser version of it had been sold for hundreds of millions to the Americans for inclusion in their laughable F-35 fighter program, but they were completely unaware of its inferiority. And that ignorance was something Takahashi was very interested in maintaining. For now.

  “Its removal went smoothly, then?”

  “As soon as the fire was under control, our men covered it with tarps so no more photographs could be taken. Less than twenty more minutes passed before we airlifted it out.”

  “And the reaction to that?”

  “As expected, we’ve had a few complaints that the defense forces seemed to be prioritizing the vehicle over casualties, but rescue efforts were well in hand and we’ve told the press that we needed it for the investigation. The complaints are already largely buried and the car is safe at the north base.”

  “I trust that you’ll continue to handle the situation with your normal competence,” Takahashi said. “Now tell me about this investigation. Where has it led?”

  Himura smoothed his tie nervously. “To the Japanese Patriotic Front.”

  The general’s expression darkened. The JPF was a far-left terrorist group responsible for a series of recent bombings. Among other things, they demanded the immediate defunding of the defense forces, the nationalization of numerous businesses including those owned by Takahashi’s family, and the continued penitence of the Japanese people.

  The JPF was the only group of people in the world Takahashi despised more than the Chinese. They sabotaged their own homeland, attacked their own people, and insulted the men who had worked tirelessly to build the country that kept them safe and put food in their bellies.

  Himura’s people had expended considerable resources hunting them over the past two years, all to no avail. It was suspected that these traitors lived almost entirely off the grid, perhaps even abroad. The possibility of foreign funding had also been broached but no evidence of that existed. In truth, nothing existed. Despite the combined efforts of Himura, the police, and Interpol, the JPF remained a ghost.

  “I don’t know, Akio. Based on their history, this seems too bo
ld for them. And the civilian casualties are far beyond what they’ve tolerated in the past.”

  “I agree, but we have to acknowledge that the severity of their attacks has been escalating. At first it was just unoccupied buildings. But their bombing of the defense force convoy last year killed two soldiers and injured eight others. You’re a significant target. Perhaps they thought the costs were justifiable.”

  “You believe this?”

  “What I know is that all leads thus far point in their direction. Having said that, they are denying responsibility, which is also unprecedented. The press is speculating that it’s because collateral damage was worse than they’d expected.”

  “It would be hard not to anticipate the casualties.”

  “Again, I agree. And these things lead me to be skeptical of their involvement.”

  “China, then.”

  “I think that’s the most likely answer, but finding sufficient evidence to make an accusation may be impossible.”

  “What about fabricating evidence?”

  Himura was understandably surprised by the question. “It would be dangerous. Tensions are running higher than they have since the war. I fear we’re in danger of crossing a line from which we won’t be able to return. I’m not sure we’re ready—”

  “I’m not interested in your analysis of our tactical situation,” Takahashi said, letting a hint of anger creep into his voice. “I asked only if it was possible.”

  “Please accept my apologies for overstepping my boundaries,” Himura said with a submissive bow. “It was inexcusable. Yes, I believe it’s possible.”

  Takahashi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There’s more, isn’t there? I know you too well, Akio. I can see it in your face.”

  “Yes, sir. Randi Russell and the injured man…” His voice faltered.

  “Go on.”

  “They escaped.”

  Takahashi stopping short, feeling the pain flare in his injured knee. “What? How?”

  “The car transporting them was attacked. It was a professional job. Our chase cars were blocked by traffic and four of our men were killed. It appears that the entire assault lasted only a few seconds and that there was sufficient electronic interference to prevent anyone from recording it.”

  “Were you able to track them?”

  Himura’s fearful silence answered the question.

  “And the debris from Reactor Four?”

  “Noboru Ueno didn’t have it. Either the injured man lost it in the sea or he had it on him when he escaped.”

  Takahashi felt the rage building inside him but allowed only a hint of it to read on his face. The Americans now had samples from Fukushima, and there was no way to predict how long it would take for them to understand what they were looking at.

  He felt the sweat break on his forehead and began walking again, letting the breeze cool what felt like a sudden fever. “Find them, Akio. Find them now.”

  15

  Outside Busan

  South Korea

  Jon? Can you hear me? Jon!”

  A woman’s voice. Familiar, but too distant to place.

  “Jon!”

  Smith opened his eyes and squinted against the fluorescent lights. Randi’s face was hovering above him and he could feel the warmth of her hand in his.

  “Good to have you back. I swear you’ve been nothing but trouble lately.”

  “You get what you pay for,” he mumbled, trying to figure out where he was and how he’d gotten there. He remembered Randi coming to rescue him and the wheels falling off that operation pretty quickly. Then a car trunk and after that nothing.

  “Jon? How are you feeling?”

  A man’s voice. This time he was able to process it without too many skipped beats. He let his head loll to the left and saw Fred Klein standing there in his ever-present rumpled suit. His mouth was curled into a disapproving frown but Smith sensed it wasn’t aimed at him.

  “I think…I think I’m okay.”

  “My people had to do a little more work on your back and reinflate your lung again but they said the screws in your shoulder blade were fine and the broken ribs will heal on their own. Until they do, though, I’m told they’ll hurt like hell.”

  Smith nodded weakly and turned back to Randi, who seemed genuinely worried. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s making me nervous. How did you get us out of the trunk?”

  She released his hand and backed away, the expression of concern turning uncertain.

  “I was having her followed,” Klein said when it became clear she wasn’t going to answer. “We set up an ambush, took out the men in the car, and then flew you here.”

  Smith looked around him at the windowless hospital room. “Are we back in the States?”

  “I’m afraid not. We had a doctor and equipment on the jet but you were having a lot of trouble breathing. We had to make an emergency landing in South Korea.”

  “Seoul? What hospital are we at? I know the director of…”

  He fell silent when Klein shook his head and walked to the door. Smith leaned forward as far as he could when the director of Covert-One opened it. The building beyond was nothing more than the rotting carcass of an abandoned warehouse. Rain fell through the collapsed roof, and the rusted top of a crane jutted from the floor twenty feet below. A dangerous-looking man with Eastern European features and an Israeli assault rifle glanced back at them and then returned his attention to the warehouse floor.

  Klein quietly closed the door and took a seat next to a table, its only purpose seeming to be to hold an enormous flower arrangement. “We have places like this set up all around the world specifically for these kinds of situations. It’s the first time we’ve used this one.”

  “The president will be happy his money wasn’t wasted,” Smith managed to get out.

  Klein nodded. “We just need you to concentrate on healing, Jon. No one can get to you here, so you don’t have anything else to worry about.”

  Smith tried to sit up, but the attempt wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped. He motioned to Randi and she helped ease him forward. A few extra pillows kept him there.

  “I’m still not clear on how we got out of the trunk. Your guys just started shooting on a public road?”

  Klein’s irritation was immediately visible and Randi retreated again.

  “Not only a public road, but a crowded public road. Randi discovered you were alive and went after you without telling me. By the time I found out, I didn’t have the luxury of anything subtle.”

  “You sent Jon to Japan,” Randi said, defensively. “You implied he was dead.”

  “I implied that because I believed it to be likely.”

  “What you believed doesn’t make any difference. How could I be sure you didn’t set him up? That you weren’t setting me up?”

  Klein let out a long, frustrated breath. “Randi, you’re as talented as anyone I’ve ever worked with, but without trust this relationship isn’t going to work.”

  “You’re lecturing me about trust? I notice you were having me watched.”

  “And where would you be if I hadn’t? In my experience, trips that start in car trunks rarely end well.”

  “Fred’s right,” Smith said. “And he walks the walk, Randi. He’s always been there for me. And frankly he’s always been there for you, too.”

  “The past is no guarantee of the future.”

  “If you want guarantees, you’re in the wrong business.”

  Her face tightened as though she’d just swallowed something toxic. “Fine. I screwed up and I apologize.”

  Klein nodded. “Apology accepted. Now let’s put it behind us and start fresh.”

  She crossed the room and offered her hand. “Deal. But if you ever decide to cross me or Jon, make sure you finish the job.”

  He held her hand in his grip. “And if you ever decide to cross me, I suggest you do the same.”

  She gave an almost imperceptible nod and it was done.


  “Now that we finally have that out of the way,” Smith said. “Could someone tell me what the docs said about my prognosis?”

  “Sorry,” Klein responded. “You should have a full recovery but it’s going to take time and a fair amount of work. There’s a medical rundown in the folder on the table next to you. You’ll understand it better than I would. Having said that, I don’t need a medical degree to know that you were lucky as hell.”

  Smith nodded. “The bolt got slowed down by a boat hull before I got hit. If it hadn’t been, it would have gone right through me.”

  “And that reminds me,” Klein said. “One issue we haven’t discussed is that you had some fairly highly radioactive material in your pocket for an undetermined amount of time. It’s all in the folder, but the doctor said it could cause problems with reproduction and that you should get regular cancer screenings going forward.”

  Smith would have laughed if he didn’t know how excruciating it would be. “I think the family ship has sailed for me, Fred. And if I keep working for you, I doubt I’ll live long enough to have to worry about cancer.”

  Klein seemed a little bothered by that and changed the subject. “I appreciate you getting the evidence out. There was no second chance on this.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I have it locked down at the marina waiting for you.”

  “Any thoughts on who attacked me? And who convinced Randi’s friend to turn on her?”

  “We don’t need to talk about this right now, Jon. You should save your strength.”

  “I’m awake and I’m guessing the TV’s in Korean. Give me something I can think about to take my mind off my back.”

  “It had to be someone powerful,” Randi offered. “Noboru isn’t some small-time crook. I’d put his net worth at around a quarter of a billion dollars and his IQ high enough to know better than to piss me off. Now that I know you’re okay, I’ll be going back to Japan so he and I can have a little chat.”

  “That might be problematic,” Klein said, retrieving an iPad from the table next to him. He tapped in a few commands and the television bolted near the ceiling came to life with video of a sprawling mansion overlooking the ocean. The flames consuming it looked to be rising more than a hundred feet in the air.