The Patriot Attack

by Robert Ludlum

  Ito nodded miserably. “And he won’t stop there. His vision is the same as his father’s: the rebirth of Imperial Japan. But this time, because of me, he will succeed.”

  51

  Outside Tokyo

  Japan

  General Masao Takahashi walked alone through the stone-and-earth corridor, feeling a familiar resentment. It was an insult to him and the men loyal to him that they had been literally forced underground. It wouldn’t be long, though. Soon, the Japanese people would understand what he had accomplished.

  The door in front of him slid open without his bidding, having read various biometric markers as he approached. Inside, he found the heads of the three branches of his defense forces as well as Akio Himura, the director of Japanese intelligence.

  Takahashi chose not to sit and indicated for his men to dispense with the customary greeting of their superior. The meeting was, after all, a formality. Plans for the attack on China had been carefully laid over years, and every detail of those plans was being meticulously adhered to. As the day finally approached, though, it was appropriate—even in the new technological era he had ushered in—for the men leading the war effort to meet face-to-face. Perhaps for the last time in this place.

  “It’s my understanding that all defensive measures are in place and ready to be deployed. That includes civilian rescue missions in the event an attack reaches our soil.”

  The men seated around the table in front of him all nodded.

  “To reiterate. There are no problems that I’m unaware of?”

  More nods. Despite having known the answers to his question already, seeing his staff’s acknowledgment allowed him to relax a bit.

  “Then we’re waiting on Ito. He’s completing the individual canisters containing specifically targeted nanotechnology. They’ll be smuggled into China and released in all major cities, military bases, and power installations.”

  “Do we have an updated estimate of the time to failure on the dam?” Admiral Inoue asked.

  The Three Gorges Dam across the Yangtze River would be the first structure attacked. Its collapse would unleash a flood that they projected would kill millions as well as cutting electricity to critical sections of the country. The catastrophe would overwhelm China’s military and civilian network as they carried out rescue efforts and tried to determine the cause of the failure.

  While the country was consumed with that disaster, the rest of their infrastructure would quietly disintegrate. When their machines began to fail and their cities crumbled, the Chinese would have no idea of the cause. And even if they did, it would be too late.

  “We expect a full breach within six weeks of deployment,” Takahashi said. “The rest of China will be three weeks behind that.”

  “And the Americans? What of your meeting with President Castilla?” Tadao Minami asked. He was too brilliant a soldier to remove as head of the air defenses, but Takahashi considered him the weakest of the group. He saw Japan’s future as one of the most powerful members of the international community, while the others shared a vision of Japanese dominance.

  Takahashi crossed his arms over his still-powerful chest. “Their reaction is difficult to predict. While their president seems intelligent enough to understand his country’s new subordinate position, I’m not sure of the depth of that understanding. Further, we have to acknowledge that he’s only one facet of the American government and that the congress he answers to is largely populated with half-wits and fanatics. In light of that, we have to be prepared for America to act stupidly.”

  The faces of the men in the room darkened. Some carried more than a hint of apprehension, but it was something Takahashi was prepared to tolerate. History created a powerful current in Japan, and they all remembered the consequences of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, gentlemen. I’ve made it abundantly clear to the president that this is not an attack on America and that we have no intention of mounting one unless we’re provoked.”

  “And if we are?” Minami said. “They’re the cornerstone of the current world order and account for almost a quarter of the world’s gross domestic product—something that will be even more important to us when China’s economic output disappears. How much damage can we really afford to inflict on them?”

  Takahashi was unaccustomed to being challenged and stiffened perceptibly at what he saw as an attack. “If the Americans side with the Chinese, we will respond. Is that understood?”

  His men all responded in the affirmative, but the concern persisted on their faces. While he would deeply enjoy crushing the United States for what it had done to Japan, it was admittedly impractical. In the end, the pleasure of slowly bleeding it of its power and influence—watching its arrogant population face the reality that their every action was subject to approval from Tokyo—would be so much more satisfying.

  “As you well know, I understand and appreciate the importance of America to Japanese interests,” he continued, making an effort to moderate his tone. “I’ve created a slowly escalating battle plan against them that should prove a sufficient deterrent without the use of Ito’s weapon.”

  “And does that plan involve an attack on their mainland? Against their civilian population?”

  Again Takahashi stiffened. He had responded to Minami’s concerns but now the man was courting insubordination. “We’ll destroy America’s naval capability in the Pacific. If they don’t immediately disengage, yes, we’ll move against their homeland. The American people are weak and unable to endure even the mildest discomfort. We’ve identified a series of fourteen individual power stations that are protected by nothing more than chain-link fences. If destroyed, virtually the entire country will go dark for a minimum of three weeks. After only a few hours of that, the country’s citizens will be demanding that their politicians agree to an unconditional surrender.”

  “And if they’re stronger than you give them credit for?” Minami pressed.

  “Then America will cease to exist!” Takahashi shouted. “We will release Ito’s weapon there and watch it rot! Is that understood?”

  Minami looked down at the floor, unwilling to meet his superior officer’s glare. “Of course, General. I understand completely.”

  Takahashi looked around the room and, finding no further dissent, gave a short bow before leaving. There was no more to say. He’d chosen his men well. Even Minami would die before he failed to carry out his duty to Japan.

  The general hesitated at a T in the corridor. He had matters in Tokyo that demanded his attention, but instead of turning left toward the exit, he turned right. The grade steepened, sinking farther into the earth as he traveled its considerable length.

  The door at the end didn’t automatically slide open at his approach like the other. He had to put his hand against a glass plate and punch his personal code into a keypad.

  Inside, the walls were painted stark white with the exception of the one at the back, which was floor-to-ceiling glass. Through it, Takahashi could see what appeared to be sixteen normal thermoses, each containing millions of Ito’s nanoscale weapon. In the next few days the scientist would fill another ninety-six. One for every target in China.

  Takahashi moved forward reverently, finally stopping and leaning in close to the transparent barrier. The political summit in Australia was complete, and President Castilla had done his job admirably. Tensions between China and Japan were calming. Prime Minister Sanetomi had been to the Japanese news outlets and convinced them that the profits they were generating by whipping up hysteria would be of no use with a sky full of missiles. And China was following suit, using its iron-fisted control of its media to moderate anti-Japanese messages.

  Sanetomi had even scheduled a trip to Beijing. The rumor was that he would make yet another apology for World War II atrocities and that China would formally accept that apology.

  Takahashi continued to stare at the innocent-looking thermoses, his breath rhythmically fogging the glass in fron
t of his mouth. He’d hoped to provoke an outright attack by China in order to provide a plausible defensive motive for its annihilation. But it wasn’t to be.

  In the end, it was unimportant. The rules of engagement, illusions of morality, and international law were irrelevant to war. They were institutions of the weak. And Japan would feign weakness no longer.

  52

  Northeastern Japan

  You can’t just kidnap me, throw me in the back of a plane, and steal my invention!” Max Wilson said, pulling the collar of his leather jacket tighter around his neck and looking into the dense forest surrounding them.

  “I don’t understand why you keep saying that to me when it’s pretty clear that I can,” Randi replied impatiently.

  That man was a good four inches shorter than her, with a heavy build, callused hands, and a nose that looked like it had been broken more than a few times. Not a person you’d guess had PhDs from both Stanford and Cal Tech.

  His father had died in an accident in a West Virginia mine when Wilson was only twelve. Out of what seemed like an extremely misguided sense of loyalty, he’d followed in the old man’s footsteps—dropping out of high school and descending into those same shafts.

  It hadn’t taken long before the mining company’s engineers noticed that young Max seemed able to come up with solutions to problems that were cheaper, more workable, and more elegant than their own. And then there was the matter of his hobbies: number theory, quantum mechanics, and paleomagnetism. Apparently, he was a pretty fair bowler too.

  One of the company’s geologists recommended Wilson to his alma mater, and he was immediately accepted. He spent the next ten years in academia but eventually returned—in his own way—to the mines.

  “Well, you are smoking hot. So I suppose that’s some consolation.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Wilson. That’s very kind of you to say.”

  “Call me Max. And you are?”

  “Randi.”

  “Randi…”

  “Just Randi.”

  “Government,” he muttered.

  “You came highly recommended by Greg Maple.”

  This time his words were too low to fully understand but she was pretty sure they had something to do with kicking his colleague’s ass when he got back to the States.

  Randi put a hand on his back and led him deeper into the trees, winding along until they reached an area that had been covered with a camouflage canopy.

  “Where are we anyway?”

  “The woods,” Randi replied.

  “Not American, though. Too long a flight.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “That’s because you know where you are. And you weren’t kidnapped.”

  She shrugged. Hard to argue the logic.

  They came over a rise and Wilson stopped short. Just ahead was a silver cylinder about twenty yards long and a little less than two in diameter. It had been in multiple pieces when it arrived, making it a hell of a lot easier to smuggle into the mountains of middle-of-nowhere, Japan, but the five kids swarming around it almost had it back together.

  “Hey!” Wilson said. “Those are my grad students!”

  “I thought you might appreciate the help.”

  He spun toward her, obviously infuriated, and she countered with what she hoped was a disarming smile. It would have to do. Her normal methods of persuasion were completely off limits with civilian academics.

  “Help with what?” he said, his voice straining with anger.

  Randi pointed north. “Tunneling through that mountain.”

  His face went blank. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Don’t I look serious?”

  “It’s a goddamn prototype! It’s never even gotten dirty.”

  “Yeah, but your last version got dirty and worked pretty well from what I hear. It’s my understanding that this model’s even better.”

  Wilson’s invention was a next-generation tunneling machine. On the surface, it didn’t seem much different from the ones currently in use, but the similarities ended pretty quickly when you looked deeper. Traditionally designed machines ejected enormous amounts of dirt that had to be hauled away, and braces had to be placed at intervals to keep the shaft from collapsing. And then there were the massive power cables necessary to keep them running.

  Wilson’s system did away with all those complexities. It had a nuclear core that powered the diggers. The excess reactor heat was used to fuse the earth lining the tunnel into a substance stronger than concrete. The unit he was ultimately working toward would be larger than a locomotive, but this much smaller prototype was perfect for the very stupid idea she and her team had settled on.

  “There’s no way to power it,” Wilson protested. “You wouldn’t believe the red tape I have to deal with to get nuclear fuel from the government.”

  “I had it gassed up before it was shipped.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Again, Randi shrugged. “When I ask for something, I get it, Max. You should keep that in mind.”

  He eyed her suspiciously for a moment and then jogged toward his invention. When his students saw their professor approaching, they abandoned what they were doing and surrounded him, all talking at once in panicked voices that were a little too loud.

  Randi watched for a few seconds and then turned and started back through the trees, angling toward a small table where Eric Ivers and Vanya were poring over a topographic map. Reiji had taken Karen on another of their endless supply runs. Everything had to arrive in small shipments so as not to attract attention.

  “How are we looking?”

  Vanya gave her a worried glance and Ivers just laughed.

  Neither reaction was difficult to understand. They were halfway up the side of a mountain that contained a nuclear storage facility that they believed housed the most dangerous weapon ever built by human hands. Their plan? If you can’t get in the front door, bust a window and go in the back.

  “So not good?”

  “No, no,” Ivers said. “We’ve got this by the ass. All we have to do is crawl through two miles of extremely hot tunnel, hand-dig the last bit so no one in the facility hears Wilson’s little underground nuclear missile, and then leap out and yell Freeze! You’re under arrest!”

  “What could possibly go wrong?” Randi said.

  Vanya winced. Obviously, her attempt at humor had fallen flat. “What couldn’t? You think that a prototype digging machine put together by a bunch of students in the woods isn’t going to break down? You think Takahashi doesn’t have seismic sensors that are going to lock onto us a mile away? And how are we going to hand-dig the last portion? Half that mountain is solid rock. But let’s, for a moment, ascribe to the fantasy that we actually get into that facility. How many guards are we going to be up against? Is the layout still what’s on the original plans we have or has Takahashi changed it? What weapons are they armed with?”

  He fell silent, though Randi knew he probably could have gone on for another hour.

  No one spoke for a long time. Vanya had said what they were all thinking, but what alternatives did they have? As inconceivable as it was, Klein had been clear that her team was the best hope of averting the greatest humanitarian disaster in history. She knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn’t be able to live with stepping to the sidelines. For her, it would be better to go down fighting. But that wasn’t necessarily true of the people who had gotten stuck with this detail.

  “Look,” Randi started. “Normally when I say this I don’t mean it. But today, I do. If you want out, no one’s going to think any less of you. Hell, most likely no one’s going to be around to think any less of you.”

  Vanya thought about it for a few moments. “I’d be dead twice over if it weren’t for Mr. Klein. I will see this through. No matter how it ends.”

  “Eric?”

  His normally broad grin faltered. “I knew this was a shitty job when I signed on, Randi, but that thing Wilson built is a grave digger
and you know it. We’re going to die in that tunnel and no one’s ever even going to know. No parades or newspaper articles or statues at the academy. Just a cozy hole in the side of a Japanese mountain and a few friends to share it with.”

  “So you’re out.”

  He shook his head. “Karen says she won’t leave. And since she’s the only family I have, I figure we might as well die together.”

  53

  Oval Office

  Washington, DC

  USA

  When Castilla entered the Oval Office, General Keith Morrison, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, leaped to attention. The president noted that he looked a little dazed and hoped it was just the fact that he probably hadn’t slept for days.

  Castilla offered his hand and nodded toward the thick dossier the soldier was holding. “Are you bringing me good news, Keith?”

  Morrison’s expression turned from dazed to a bit ill.

  “Sit,” Castilla said, pointing to the sofa. “Please.”

  Three days ago, he’d personally handed the general a full account of his meeting with Takahashi, Covert-One’s analysis of that meeting, and everything Greg Maple had come up with on Hideki Ito’s weapon. His orders had been for Morrison to very quietly double-check and flesh out the analyses. No one beyond a few select experts was to be told—not the secretary of defense, not the CIA, and sure as hell not the NSA. At this point, secrecy was paramount, and with the exception of Fred Klein, Morrison was the only person he felt he could trust. Not only was the man an honest-to-God war hero, but he also had a master’s from Harvard and seemed physically incapable of not following the orders of his commander in chief. Perhaps even more important, he had known Masao Takahashi for over twenty years.

  Morrison started to open the folder in his hand but then seemed to lose strength. Finally, he just laid it on the table between them. “May I ask where you got the analysis you gave me, sir?”