Rings of Fire

by Gregory Shepherd

  Hayashida opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a color photo of a twisted piece of metal, which he set in front of Kaga.

  “This is a fragment of a license plate from the attack on Yoyogi Gymnasium.” Kaga picked it up and held it close.

  “Were they able to get any information from it, sir?”

  “I’m expecting a report any minute.”

  “Shall I alert Mister Featherstone? He might be able to have the young FBI lady analyze it at their labs….” Hayashida was already shaking his head emphatically as Kaga spoke.

  “No, I don’t think so. I want the JIA to be solely in charge of this angle. We don’t have to take a backseat to America all the time.” Kaga looked at him with his lips parted.

  “As for Mister Featherstone,” Hayashida continued, “I was the one who recruited him as the chief security consultant for the Olympics. But that was before I or anyone else had any idea that there would be these attacks. I hired him for several reasons: One, of course, is that he was one of the top operatives in the American JSOC. He also happens to be bilingual. I thought it would be a good idea to have someone of his reputation in that very visible position with strong ties to Japan but who isn’t actually a Japanese citizen. The international angle of the Olympics. I think the Americans call it ‘optics.’ My other reason, which is between you and me, is that I wanted to demonstrate the transparency of our Agency after what happened with the previous director.”

  “The office building, sir?”

  Hayashida’s predecessor had purchased a North Korean-owned building in Tokyo for far less than it was worth, leading to questions about his loyalty to Japan.

  “Yes. But now Featherstone is acting much too independently and actually second-guessing me and the Prime Minister. I guess he really is an American at heart, despite having been born here.” He probed Kaga’s face for a reaction, but Kaga’s expression didn’t change, and he gave no indication of either agreeing or disagreeing with Hayashida. Hayashida had hoped for a bit more toadying from his underling, but he pressed on.

  “The latest indication of trouble was when he threatened to resign over the Prime Minister’s refusal to knuckle under to the terrorists. I find it somewhat unfortunate that he’s not following through with his threat.”

  “Actually, sir, I’m fairly sure he was against the Prime Minister’s decision not to issue a warning after the earlier attacks. He thought it might have saved lives.”

  Hayashida wasn’t prepared to be contradicted and it showed in his tone. “Actually, the Prime Minister and I were against releasing it for fear that it would cause undue panic and keep people away from the Games. There was no way of predicting the attack on Yoyogi Gymnasium. And the Prime Minister’s and my main concern has always been showing Japan to the world in the best light possible.”

  Kaga said nothing. Hayashida leaned in.

  “I’d like you to work closely with Featherstone. Offer your services, that kind of thing. Just don’t let on that I put you up to it. It doesn’t look as though he’s all that close to the CIA people at the American embassy, but that might work in our favor. He’ll probably want someone to confide in.”

  “It sounds like you want me to spy on him, sir.”

  Hayashida shrugged and affected a weary look on his face. “Whatever you want to call it. I just need to have a closer sense of what he and the other Americans are up to. I have a feeling he’ll want to pick your brain to find out more about what we’re doing at the JIA, so you’ll be in a good position. When people ask questions, they reveal what they don’t know.”

  Hayashida went over to the trolley on the side of his desk and poured them both a cup of tea. He set one in front of Kaga, who bowed in his seat.

  “I realize now that I dug myself into a deep hole by hiring him. Featherstone is not a team player—that much is clear. Don’t you think?”

  Kaga looked away while nodding his head half-heartedly. His body language was not lost on Hayashida.

  “But I know you are a team player, right, Kaga?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kaga said with no discernible uptick in enthusiasm. Hayashida turned his head and side-eyed his underling.

  “Kaga, what was your job at Cabinet Intelligence and Research?”

  “I reported to the director of the International Division, sir. Since I lived for a while in the U.S., I was recruited to analyze any intelligence that the American CIA shared with us.”

  “And would you say they shared a lot?”

  Kaga lowered his eyes and smiled weakly. “Almost all of what I learned from them I had already read in the newspaper. They were very nice, but I’m afraid any modest talent I might possess was not really being fully utilized.”

  Hayashida nodded vigorously. “That’s what I mean when I say we need an inside eye on what’s going on there, and that’s where you’ll come in. It must have been frustrating for a man of your talents.” He picked up Kaga’s dossier and scanned through it. “Your English is perfect, you were second in your class in marksmanship at the Academy, and it says here that you are a ‘dogged investigator.’ Plus, you’re very good-looking. Do you agree with that assessment?”“Well, sir, based on the scores I was able to achieve in all those areas, I humbly accept the compliment. As for the latter…”

  Hayashida was placing the dossier carefully back on his desk, aligning its corners with the edges of his desk as Kaga spoke. “Too bad you’re a bachelor,” he said, cutting him off. “Actually, I’m glad. You’ll be working long and irregular hours for a while, so no time for hostess bars and the like.” Kaga’s face blanched.

  “Another thing: between you and me, the real reason the Prime Minister and I proposed using the American embassy as security headquarters for the Olympics was so that we could keep an eye on them. We knew they’d be meddling in Japan’s affairs as they always do, and this was a way of keeping tabs on them. With you keeping Featherstone in your sights, we’ll have an even closer look.” He held Kaga’s eye before continuing.

  “By the way, you were involved in a little incident at Yale when you were doing graduate work, is that correct? Something to do with a party and cocaine…and compromising positions with a faculty member’s wife?”

  Kaga’s face darkened. “Sir, my apology was accepted, and…”

  “No need for the details, Kaga. It’s between you and me.” Hayashida moved his head closer to Kaga. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Kaga said dourly. He did not say “sir.”

  “Good.” Hayashida stood and went to his office window overlooking Hibiya Park.

  “On one side I have the Prime Minister who thinks I’m his little errand boy, on the other I have all these second-level bureaucrats who hate me because the PM put me in charge of this agency. But it’s not my fault that my predecessor sold out to the North Koreans and these bureaucrats were part of his inner circle. After the Olympics, assuming any of us survive the stress, I will be looking into just how dirty their hands are. For now, though, you’re the only one I trust. And I know I can trust you, Kaga,” he said, looking back at Kaga steadily. He turned back to the window. “The Americans think I’m completely useless. Did you find them to be arrogant when you lived there?”

  “Only some of the people in charge, sir. Not the ordinary people.”

  “Hm. Just like here, then. One thing in our favor in Japan, though, is that the ordinary people and the people in charge are all Japanese. We don’t have all that racial nonsense going on.” He sat back down at his desk and began neatly arranging a stack of files.

  “That might be because there’s really only one race in Japan, sir,” Kaga said.

  “Exactly. How long can it continue like that, though? Our birth rate is too low, and twenty percent of the population is over seventy, but we can’t bring in immigrants without losing our uniqueness. I know that flies in the face of the whole ‘internationalism’ theme
of the Olympics, but I can’t help it, I’m from a different generation. Maybe your generation will find a way to keep Japan going without turning it into the chaos they have in America.”

  “Sir, to tell you the truth, I didn’t find a lot of chaos over there, at least not where I was. In my opinion our news media likes to focus on the worst things that happen there in order to make Japan look good by comparison.”

  Hayashida looked up at Kaga. “Really? I’m glad to hear that.” His gaze turned inward. “Maybe.”

  He stood again and went back to the window.

  “I was born during the Great Pacific War with the Americans. I don’t know what they’re teaching in our schools these days about the war, but I have a feeling it’s more leftwing propaganda to rub our noses in defeat. Why is it that only Western countries got to establish colonies, anyway? Didn’t the Americans do that in the Philippines? The French in Morocco and Vietnam? But when we did it in Korea and China, we were suddenly ‘aggressors,’ when actually we were bringing the enlightenment of Japanese culture to backward places. Don’t you agree, Kaga? Don’t worry, you can speak freely.”

  “Well, I’m not sure how enlightened it was to chop off people’s heads when they disagreed, sir.”

  Hayashida snorted. “Gross exaggerations from socialist TV commentators. Oh well, as I say, I’m from a different generation. I suppose it’s natural that we disagree. Don’t worry, I won’t chop your head off, though,” he said with a smile, which Kaga didn’t return. Then his phone rang. He picked it up, listened, grunted, and hung up.

  Hayashida regarded Kaga unblinkingly. “That was our forensics lab. They couldn’t find anything of value on that license plate fragment.” Kaga checked himself from suggesting that perhaps agencies other than the JIA might have better luck.

  “I know that deep down inside you’re a loyal Japanese,” Hayashida said. “Please keep me apprised of what’s going on with the Americans. You may go.”

  Kaga bowed and left without a word.

  CHAPTER 32

  The White House

  August 4

  Director of National Intelligence Jay Garvida entered the Oval Office. He did not look forward to the next twenty minutes. The president was pacing behind his desk. Garvida waited to be acknowledged. Finally, Dillard looked up from the ground. His face was ashen.

  “Seventy-three Americans? Is that number correct, Jay?”

  “Actually, Mister President, I’m sorry to report that it’s gone up to seventy-nine overnight.”

  Dillard took a long, slow inhalation and released it in a loud sigh. “Jesus. What the hell’s going on with security over there? Didn’t those earlier attacks light a fire under their asses?”

  “According to our Agency station chief in Tokyo, the Japanese thought they had all the members of Chosun Restoration rounded up.”

  “Well, obviously they missed a few,” Dillard said heatedly. He turned his back to Garvida. “What do you suggest?” he said to the fireplace in a somber tone.

  “Well, sir, it’s Japan’s Olympics, and…”

  Dillard spun around. “And those were American lives, Jay! What’s the situation over there, isn’t there some kind of joint task force between us and the Japanese for the Olympics?”

  “That’s correct, sir, they’re calling it the combined security command. The problem as I see it, though, is that no one person is really in charge. That guy Featherstone was hired by the Japanese government to be the chief security consultant, but from what I gather, he’s being shafted by the bureaucracy.”

  Dillard sniffed. “Imagine that,” he muttered. He turned back to the fireplace and thought for a long minute. Then he turned back to Garvida.

  “I’m sending Garrett Proctor over. We need results fast. ‘A new broom sweeps clean,’ and all that.” Dillard sat down at his desk, took out a legal tablet, and swiveled his chair away from Garvida.

  “Yes, sir,” Garvida said to his back. He didn’t move. Dillard swiveled back around.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Sir, I’m just wondering about this ‘China Solution’ thing. It seems to me that if anyone can rein in the North Koreans, it’s China. If they could establish a protectorate in North Korea, I’d bet they could get to the bottom of this Chosun Restoration group and shut them down. They’re pretty efficient that way.”

  “I don’t doubt that they are, Jay, but I’m worried that it might just be a ruse to bring back the Kim family. Still, maybe they’re sincere, I don’t know. I haven’t taken it totally off the table, but I want to see if Proctor can do something about these North Korean attacks in Japan before committing to something as drastic as letting China to run North Korea.”

  “Understood, sir,” Garvida said. He turned and left.

  CHAPTER 33

  Hooper hung up the phone. He was wincing. “That was Langley Seventh Floor. After the Yoyogi explosion, the president figured we weren’t doing an effective job with this terrorist group, especially after all those Americans were killed. He’s sending over someone from the National Counterterrorism Center. The guy’s been given full authority and is reporting to the president directly. Turf war alert.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Kirsten Beck. “He’s one of your guys.”

  “Actually, he isn’t. Ours is the CIA Counterterrorism Center. Two different entities.”

  Kirsten shook her head from side to side. “No wonder things get siloed and screwed up. Couldn’t they even have made them sound like two different agencies?”

  Dillard rubbed his face. “I’ve given up trying to fathom why Washington does anything anymore,” he said in a weary voice. “It’s not worth the effort, and it won’t change a thing. At any rate, they’re sending over this guy named Garrett Proctor. He was one of the main people behind TIDE.”

  “Acronym translation, please,” Patrick said in an irritated voice without looking up from the messages he was checking on his phone.

  Jack “Fitz” Fitzroy answered for Hooper. “TIDE is the Terrorist Identities Datamart Environment. It’s a database of a million or so probable terrorists. This guy Proctor’s a piece of work. Norm, have you met him?”

  Hooper shook his head. “I’ve only heard of him. That was enough.”

  Fitz continued. “I had the pleasure two years ago. Prepare to have your toes stepped on at the very least. He carries a chip on one shoulder and a china shop on the other.”

  ___________________

  Garrett Proctor, fifty-two years old, won the Navy’s “Chris Dobleman Most Improved Boxer Award” in his senior year at Annapolis following a humiliating defeat to a much lower ranked pugilist in his junior year. His defeat, he was convinced, came as a result of a prank. One of his teammates had told him before the match that his opponent that day was an undefeated boxer from Naval Base San Diego who had knocked out his last four opponents. Proctor charged the opponent at the opening bell of the first round, but quickly found himself on the ropes as his teammate’s words about his opponent ran through his head. The opponent scored point after point in the first round, but when Proctor returned to his corner, the offending teammate frantically told him he had been joking and that the opponent was actually a no-account palooka, the goat of his brigade. Emboldened by his success in the first round, the palooka managed to stay fairly even with Proctor in the final two rounds and took the bout on points. Although Proctor had to settle for the Most Improved Boxer award the following year, when he had been aiming for the Grand Championship, he took from the whole experience the importance of skepticism of received wisdom coupled with unflinching aggression. The Marine first lieutenant who recruited him out of Annapolis assured him that his worldview was wholly consistent with the philosophy of the Corps.

  After he earned a master’s degree in Russian studies from the University of Pennsylvania with a thesis on Ivan the Terrible, Proctor�
�s military career eventually took him to Afghanistan for two year-long tours of duty. But with three weeks to go before the end of the second tour, the helicopter in which he was riding was struck by a shoulder-launched missile that nicked the tail rotor and sent a hot shard of steel into his right eye. The missile was later determined to have come from the CIA’s Operation Cyclone, which armed the mujahedin against the Soviet Union. Proctor’s opinion of the Company plummeted and never recovered, especially after his eye had to be removed and fit with a prosthesis.

  As the plane carrying Proctor and four others made its final descent into Tokyo’s Haneda Airport just outside the city, Proctor gazed out the window and tried to pick out Olympic landmarks he had memorized from looking at Google Maps on the flight over. Directly below was the Olympic Village and further to the west were the remains of Yoyogi Gymnasium not far from the Olympic Stadium. He braced for the “Navy landing” he had requested of the pilot, one that came down hard on the runway and left some rubber as a calling card, as if coming down hot on an aircraft carrier. Not for him the wimpy Air Force landing that all-too-gently featherbedded the plane back on earth with barely an impact. When the wheels hit even harder than he was expecting, Proctor let loose with an unbridled and wholly uncharacteristic “Hooyah!” and enthusiastically punched the unoccupied seat in front of him with the heel of his hand. Then his face reverted to kick-ass mode, his emotional dial set on “grim determination.”

  Rather than a simple ride to the American embassy, Proctor had ordered a three-Humvee motorcade that bulled its way through downtown Tokyo and came to a stop behind the main gate of the embassy. A Marine guard rushed over to open the door of his Humvee just as Proctor was exiting it of his own accord. The fifty-two-year-old, 230 pounds and built like a clenched fist, still sported a high and tight haircut ten years after his retirement from the military. He strode assuredly to the main door of the building, where CIA Station Chief Norm Hooper was waiting. Seeing the set in Proctor’s jaw, Hooper changed his game plan and walked down the stairs to meet him. Like most people, he was disoriented by the steady gaze of Proctor’s glass eye contrasted with the slatelike glare of his good one. His enemies dubbed him “Cyclops,” but only in private.