by Jeff Gulvin
Shikomoto shook his head at her. ‘As far as I am aware, only two innocents have died.’
‘Until today. There’s been three more today.’
‘Unfortunate. Fachida will mourn them. He will atone for them in the next life, but, right now, his honour is more important than anything.’
Logan stood up then and paced behind him. She bent over his shoulder so her mouth was close to his ear. ‘Tetsuya,’ she said softly. ‘If we understood what this honour thing was about, maybe we could figure out something to do for you.’
‘The only thing you can do is release me. Fachida will not stop until either you do or he is dead.’ He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘That’s how seriously he takes the restoration of his honour.’
‘Restoration.’ Swann said. ‘Has Harada’s honour been tainted?’
Shikomoto looked at him then and his eyes were narrow slits in his head. ‘I will tell you what I know, and if you do not agree to Fachida’s demands, I will make it public in this prison. Word will spread and every fear that is plaguing your citizens will be realised. When that happens, you will have a civil war on your hands.’ He leaned his elbows on the table. ‘After we attacked your embassy in 1986, the faction was all but disbanded. Shigenobu led us to the enclave in North Korea.’
‘We figured that much,’ Logan said. ‘So what?’
‘North Korea, the great Communist stronghold that has proved so irksome to the Americans over so many years. How many of your soldiers died fighting the Chinese?’
Swann was staring at him now.
‘The FBI was hunting me after I had been identified by the CIA. But they did not know about Fachida.’ Shikomoto’s voice was quieter now. ‘Both of us escaped to North Korea with Shigenobu. He had amassed a fortune from the PLO and Qaddafi. I had no time for this act of pure capitalism. It made him as weak as those he was fighting. I was a warrior. Like Mishima, I was samurai. I took a new name and returned to Japan. I obtained work, married and had a family in Osaka. Fachida remained behind. Shigenobu did not want anyone leaving the enclave, ensuring he had warriors for the future. But I slipped across the border to China, travelled through Manchuria and crossed the Sea of Japan in a fishing boat. Fachida remained in the enclave for three months, but then he, too, grew tired of the existence and vowed to follow me.’
‘Did he get to Japan?’
Shikomoto shook his head. ‘He was captured by CIA agents in Shanghai. They had discovered he was the second man and they monitored his movements.’
Logan was staring at him now. ‘What happened?’ she said.
‘They offered him a choice.’ Shikomoto looked sour now, as if his mouth was suddenly rancid. ‘They showed him pictures of his sister in Kobe and told him of the unforeseen accident she would be having, while he was being handed to the FBI. You see, they had wanted an asset in North Korea for years and years. Fachida was free to move about the country. He was in a position to gather intelligence.’ He broke off for a moment, then said: ‘I think that time was his weakest. The old ways were gone and, with them, all form of ideals. The Communist ideal had been a good one, but Shigenobu did not adhere to it. We had become fat cats of capitalism, yet under the red flag. Fachida returned to the enclave for the sake of his sister and for four years he worked for the CIA. Then he took his share of the money and escaped to Japan.’
Logan stared at him. ‘You’re telling us that Fachida Harada was a CIA asset?’ she said.
‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you.’ Shikomoto laughed then. ‘He is every bit the government agent gone wrong that the militia are proclaiming. Think about it, Logan. If either he or I make this public, the worst fears of the militia will be realised. Those fears will translate to the general public and you will have war in your country.’
Swann nodded slowly. ‘So his honour went when he succumbed to the CIA,’ he said.
Shikomoto looked witheringly at him. ‘Of course it did. Fachida spent time in the enclave, then escaped them and did everything a warrior might to try and re-establish his line. He married into the Yanagawa-gumi. He became sokaiya with money he took from Shigenobu. He thought the yakuza would protect his sister from the Americans. For a while this was successful, but then the CIA found him again. They came for him a second time and showed no regard for his yakuza employers. Fachida was foolish. The Yanagawa-gumi would not fight the Americans.’ He paused long enough to fish another cigarette from the packet. ‘The FBI had been hunting me for ten long years and they really wanted me badly. Fachida succumbed for a second time. You see, unfortunately, he is not a strong man. He could never have fought in open combat; always with him it was ninja.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I had been living in Osaka since 1989. I had married. I had a family. I had been true to the ways of the master.’ Again, he looked beyond them. ‘Fachida gave me up to the FBI. And after that, the CIA left him alone.’
‘His honour gone for all time.’
Shikomoto looked at him again. ‘Not quite,’ he said.
Logan had been looking through him, hearing his words and not hearing them. In her mind’s eye, she could see the crowds of angry, salivating people by the Washington Monument, and in the parks and outside the White House. She could hear Smylie’s words about the militia and Tatenokai. Harada was a government agent gone wrong. Shikomoto was right: if that ever came out, their worst fears could be realised.
They flew back to Washington in silence, sitting side by side on the twenty-four-seater plane. ‘I hope the Hostage Rescue Team weren’t called out,’ Swann said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Right now, he missed London. He missed his own job and, above all, he missed Charlotte and Joanne, his children. Logan was linked into the SIOC via her laptop computer and was getting an update on the situation in D.C. So far, she had not imparted their discovery to anyone. If it leaked, the repercussions did not bear thinking about. As far as she was concerned, it was for Tom Kovalski’s ears only. She tapped the keys of her laptop and then looked round at Swann.
‘They’re beginning to get things under control. The Indian Head EOD team were hoping to perform a con-ex on the Interstate 66 car bomb, but it blew before they could send in a robot.’
‘Is there much damage?’
She shook her head. ‘A lot more than before. But they’re still not massive bombs, nothing like Oklahoma City. They’re there to cause minimum casualties and maximum disruption.’ She snorted. ‘Judging by how jammed up the Bureau switchboard is, they’re proving pretty effective.’
Swann leaned his head against the edge of the window. ‘He’s using the terrorist’s greatest weapon, Cheyenne. Fear. He’s showing everyone exactly what he can do and just how easily.’
‘Both the National Airport bomb and the one at Kennedy stadium were in the men’s rooms,’ Logan interrupted him, ‘The same with the Smithsonian. The initial reports from the explosives’ officers say that they were behind the cistern inspection hatches.’ She looked at Swann. ‘Jack, they could’ve been there for weeks, months even.’
‘They probably were. It’s what I said to Kovalski earlier. Harada’s got access to some very sophisticated timing and power units.’
It was late when they got back to the field office, but most of the task force were still there, taking phone calls, some of them with sightings of Harada, but most of them from people screaming vitriol at the FBI’s ineptitude. BobCat Reece was on prime-time TV again, and, across the country, militia leaders’ views were being aired. People were calling for a suspension of Congress and the arrest of the President. The FBI, ATF and just about every other federal agency were being publicly castigated, and not just by the extremists.
The following morning, Kovalski took Logan and Swann down the road to Pennsylvania Avenue and the Hoover building. They went up to the Director’s office and were confronted by the mayor, the chief of police, the head of the Washington office of the Federal Emergency Management Agency and the national security adviser. Kovalski looked at the gathering, shook his head an
d took the Director to one side.
Two minutes later, only the three of them remained, plus the Director and the President’s national security adviser. Kovalski told them what Logan and Swann had learned and everyone was silent. ‘Sir,’ he said, at length. ‘I’m not one for doing deals with terrorists, but if this story gets out, I believe the whole situation could spiral out of control. The country has seen happen everything the radicals ever said would happen—Hong Kong troops, the taking of weapons, black helicopters, abductions, citizens being murdered. Now they see an Asian bombing the capital. Half of them already believe that we’re behind it. If Harada or Shikomoto goes public, then we’ve got a state of emergency on our hands.’
Robert Jensen, the national security adviser, sat in his chair with his arms folded. ‘We don’t do deals, Mr Kovalski. We will not be held to ransom. The whole world is looking on. We’ve got a foreign policy mess to clear up in the Balkans, and we can’t afford to be seen to be weak when dealing with threats in our own capital city.’
Kovalski nodded. ‘Ordinarily, I’d agree with you, sir. But I think it’s equally politically damaging to fight a civil war. If we ignore the realities of this, then we’re really fucking stupid.’ He looked at each of their faces. ‘Yesterday at two o’clock, Harada gave us twenty-four hours. We’ve had eighteen of them already.’
Jensen frowned across the desk at him. ‘Then you have six left to find him.’
21
‘SIX HOURS,’ LOGAN WAS saying as they rode up in the elevator. ‘What does he think we are—miracle workers?’
Kovalski looked round at her. ‘No, but he thinks we need to be.’
McKensie was waiting for them as they came in. ‘Sir,’ she said. ‘Mr Mayer’s been on the line from New Orleans. He wants you to contact him immediately. He was going to page you through the SIOC, but I told him you were with the national security adviser.’
Kovalski breezed into his office and dropped his leather briefcase on the desk. Logan and Swann followed him. ‘You want some privacy, Tom?’ Logan asked him.
Kovalski laughed out loud. ‘Fuck privacy, Cheyenne. Hell, take a seat.’ He flicked through the Rolladex on his desk and located the New Orleans number.
‘Charlie Mayer, please,’ he said. ‘Tom Kovalski.’ He sat back, one foot up, swivelling from side to side. ‘Charlie, it’s Tom,’ he said, when Mayer came on the line. ‘What can I do for you?’
Then he sat up straighter. ‘Right. OK. Can you get me the details right away? Thanks, Charlie.’ He hung up the phone again.
Logan was watching him, and the colour had drained from his face. He worked his tie loose at the collar. ‘What’s up, Tom?’
‘Shut the door, Cheyenne.’
Logan did as she was asked and both she and Swann moved over to Kovalski’s desk.
‘Have you heard of the Freight Train Riders of America?’ he asked.
‘The freight train murders,’ Swann said. ‘Jean Carey, an Englishwoman. Her son was killed in Louisiana.’
‘Right!’ Kovalski pursed his lips. ‘New Orleans put Harrison on to the trains undercover, because they thought the gang was using the freight network to haul class A narcotics to their dealers.’
‘And were they?’ Swann said.
‘No. They’re shipping military-grade weapons to the militia.’
For a few moments, the three of them just sat there.
‘Harrison witnessed the transfer of C-4 explosives from members of the FTRA to a man called Randy Meades,’ Kovalski went on. ‘Meades is an active member of the New Texas Rangers.’
‘Militia,’ Swann said.
Kovalski nodded. ‘This is about the worst news I coulda heard today.’
‘You think they’re preparing for a showdown?’
‘Well, it’s not a Sunday school picnic’ He made a face. ‘But if they’ve got any sense, they won’t create any kinda stand-off situation. No, they’ll be preparing for a new hit-and-run campaign, much like they’ve been doing already, but on a larger scale. The big difference is the military ordnance, that and public opinion.’
‘Who is behind the murders of their leaders, Tom?’ Swann asked.
‘I don’t know. If I did, we could do something about public opinion.’
‘Maybe it is rogue agents,’ Logan said. ‘Maybe there really is a New World Order, a global conspiracy. Who knows?’
Kovalski curled his lip. ‘Whoever it is, they’re destabilising this society like it’s never been done before.’
‘I can’t help thinking that this all blew up at the same time,’ Swann said. ‘Harada, the Asians killing militia leaders. Is there a link between Harada and the militia? They’ve both got access to military-grade ordnance.’
‘You’ve heard the rhetoric, Jack,’ Kovalski said. ‘Read the newspapers. BobCat Reece claims they’ve got proof that Harada’s a government agent. He’s not working with them.’ He stood up. ‘New Orleans is gonna co-ordinate a nationwide task force with this FTRA thing. We have to stop the militia getting those weapons.’
‘Another thought occurs to me,’ Logan said.
He nodded. ‘I know. Where are the weapons coming from in the first place?’
Harrison left Jean again and this was the hardest parting yet. He could feel himself falling for her badly, something he had not wanted to do. They made love into the night, and in the morning she woke him with the softness of her hand across his thighs, and they made love again. He buried himself deep inside her, her ankles crossed tight behind his back. He lay for a moment, breathing hard and sweating, the Texas heat rising outside, though it was still early morning.
Jean lifted herself on one elbow. ‘Are you OK, John?’ It was as if she could sense something, feel the sudden pain he was going through.
He sat up and got out of bed. ‘I’m fine, Miss Lady Mam.’ He turned then. ‘I guess I’m just getting old, is all,’
‘You and me both.’
‘You’re not old, Jeanie. You’re young.’
‘I’m almost forty-five.’ She looked up at him then; the sheet thrown back so that only part of one leg was covered.
Harrison shook his head and smiled. ‘I gotta tell you, you are one beautiful lady.’
She was. Her skin was smooth and youthful; just a few lines across her lower belly which she had gained in childbirth.
Harrison sat down again and let his fingers fall on to her thighs, where the wisps of black pubic hair lifted. He could feel himself getting aroused once more, but knew he had to get going. He touched her lips with his, then stepped into the shower.
‘Are you going back to New Orleans?’ he asked, when he was dressed in his old clothes with the wire fixed under his shirt.
She made a face. ‘I’m not sure. Part of me wants to, but another part doesn’t.’ She touched his cheek. ‘I don’t like to think of you all alone out here. If I’m driving around, then I’m sort of still with you.’
Harrison kissed her fingers. ‘Then drive around some more. Shit, I’ll miss the hell outta you if you go back to New Orleans.’ He shouldered his pack. ‘Jean, do what you need to do. I’ll understand. If you do head back, though, just leave the truck at the field office. And give the cellphone to Penny.’
‘OK.’
They looked at one another for a long time and then Harrison stepped outside. He closed the door quietly and stood for a moment, plucked a cigarette from his shirt pocket and then walked to the roadside. A hundred yards out of town, a truck rolled by and he stuck out his thumb.
He met Hooch and Carlsbad first. They were running across country south of Dallas. Harrison had been on two trains, crisscrossing the counties, with his black bandana tied about his throat. He picked up the train heading east for Louisiana and was trotting alongside an open-topped boxcar when Carlsbad shouted at him from another, further back down the train. Harrison waited for the car to catch up, then grabbed Carlsbad’s outstretched arm.
‘Hey, bro. What’s happening?’ Carlsbad said as he hauled him
up. ‘Where you been hiding?’
Harrison squinted at him. ‘Nowheres, buddy. Sidetrack told me we was splitting up after the drop.’ He was acutely aware of the wire taped across his flesh and eased himself over to the far side of the car. ‘Where you been at?’
‘On vacation.’ Carlsbad grinned at Hooch. ‘You oughtta come with us next time.’ He smiled lopsidedly. ‘We always take a little holiday after a big one.’
‘You lost me, bro. You’re gabbling.’
‘A drop-off, man. Like the one to the Texas Rangers.’
‘Oh, right.’ Harrison rolled his cigarette. ‘What the fuck are they gonna do with so much C-4, anyways?’
Carlsbad shrugged. ‘Blow something up.’
Harrison sucked smoke. ‘Tell me about the vacation, Hooch. Carlsbad’s not making any sense.’
‘He’s talking about the whorehouses.’ Hooch sat more upright. ‘We like to get laid some, after we’ve been working hard. We’ve got a good trail of whorehouses right across southern Texas. All kindsa gals in there.’
‘Next time, I might just tag along with you.’
‘So where did you get to?’ Hooch asked him.
Harrison shrugged. ‘Nowhere really. I kinda didn’t know what to do. I was all for heading north, when you guys decided to beat the fuck outta me at Saratoga. Then you take me halfway across Texas with a load of fucking explosives.’
Hooch laughed. ‘Four-String, you’re FTRA now. You’ll get used to it. Sometimes we is all running together and sometimes we split up. We’re regular hobos, man. The tracks are in our blood. We just come together so we can make a little money.’
‘Yeah,’ Carlsbad said. ‘And bust a coupla heads.’
Harrison squinted at him. ‘When I first ran into you guys, I noticed how the regular hobos didn’t stick around too long.’
Hooch nodded. ‘Except you, you asshole.’ He pinched forefinger and thumb together. ‘You know, man. You was this close from getting wasted.’
‘You figure, huh?’
