Rings of Fire

by Gregory Shepherd

  “How is that shrine part of ‘fielded military’?” Tyler asked skeptically.

  “The shrine is dedicated to Japanese soldiers and sailors who were killed in battle. Then there was the failed attack on Tokyo Tower and the subway nerve gas attack, which could be the second ring: ‘terrorizing the population.’ The third ring is ‘infrastructure,’ and that could have been Yoyogi Gymnasium, if you think of it as Olympic infrastructure.” She read off her phone. “The fourth ring is ‘system essentials.’ What’s more essential than water?”

  “So you mean the attempt to blow up the Blue Sluice Gate,” Patrick said. “It’s not exactly a clear line, but for the sake of argument, let’s suppose you’re right. That’s four rings so far. What’s the fifth one?” Patrick asked.

  Kirsten scrolled down her phone and stopped. Then she held it up for him to see.

  Patrick read off her phone: “Warden’s Fifth Ring is ‘Destroying the Leadership.’”

  He jumped up out of his chair.

  “Who’s scheduled to be here today?” he shouted as he ran over to his desk. Then he read off his list of dignitaries who would be seated in the VIP box for the Closing Ceremony.

  ___________________

  In the interest of solidarity on the day of the greatest potential threat to the Olympics, Hooper called Patrick at 6:15 a.m., suggesting a truce between Patrick, Hayashida, and Proctor. Everyone needed to put their differences aside for this final day of the Games, Hooper argued. Patrick reluctantly agreed. The peace that Hooper was brokering made perfect sense in terms of unity, but it didn’t lessen the intense dislike the three men had for each other. They agreed to meet a short while later at the embassy. As Patrick and his team were going over the VIP list, Choy called them into his little room off of Patrick’s office. Phibbs remained in Patrick’s office, dozing.

  “Whoever has been communicating with the bogus Bureau 39 just sent a new message,” Choy said when they gathered around his computer.

  “Was it encrypted?” Patrick asked.

  “No. I posed as the person they communicated with and sent an infected reply email. They opened it and emailed me back right away, so I now have a backdoor into their system.” Choy peered closer to his computer and read the Chinese characters on screen. “It says ‘People’s Central Bank.’”

  “Who specifically sent it and who at the bogus Bureau 39 is it directed to?” Kirsten asked.

  “The sender is identified only as ‘Z,’ and the recipient is ‘LJT.’ Probably people’s names. The subject heading is ‘Sky Heart.’”

  “That ‘Sky Heart’ thing again. But what the hell is it?” Patrick asked.

  Phibbs came alive when he heard the word and entered Choy’s small office. He looked fully refreshed from his nap. “Did you say Sky Heart? That’s one of the things the Chinese diplomat I was grooming kept saying. I thought it was broken English.” He typed the word into his phone. “Got it!” he called out a moment later. “This is off a classified Agency intel report: ‘Sky Heart is an office of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army based in the Western Hills of Beijing.’ Well, there’s your connection. The PLA works hand-in-hand with the People’s Central Bank in surveillance and intelligence gathering.”

  Patrick turned to Choy. “Can you get anything more from the files in their system?”

  Choy shot him a look. “You mean the 4,862 files in this compressed file folder? Oh, I’m sure I can find all sorts of things. Just give me a year or two.”

  “Sorry,” Patrick said. He looked at the wall clock. “We’ve got to get over to the embassy for the meeting with the others, especially if Kirsten’s right and there’s going to be an attack on leadership. The emperor of Japan is going to be there today, people.”

  “As is the president of the United States.” Everyone turned. In the doorway stood Garrett Proctor, flanked by Hooper, Fitz, and Hayashida. “You people were late coming to the embassy, so we came over here,” Proctor said. The four men walked into the room. Kirsten filled them in on her working theory about Warden’s Five Rings and the possible attack on the world leaders at the Closing Ceremony.

  “Sounds pretty thin to me,” Proctor said.

  “What else do we have to go on?” Kirsten insisted.

  Hayashida spoke up. “I would like to remind everyone that the Prime Minister is adamant that the Games not be disrupted in any way, especially today when the whole world is watching. We have a state-of-the-art AI system, and we will use it to screen everyone who comes into the stadium. Our Japanese technology can distinguish identical twins apart as well as people who have had plastic surgery. It can also pick up the tiniest traces of explosives and sharp weapons.”

  “But that only works if they enter through the gates,” Patrick said. “What about the sniper three weeks ago? He got in undetected, and the AI was fully functional at the time. I hope you’re right about how wonderful your system is, but if it isn’t, we’ll be the backup.”

  He then signaled for everyone to gather around his computer. “Take a look at this photo. These are at least some of the Chosun Restoration people behind the attacks.” He proceeded to tell them about Toyama Storage, the Yokohama corpse hotel.

  “When was this taken,” Hayashida asked.

  “A week or so ago,” Patrick said.

  “A week? Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Hayashida demanded.

  “Why wasn’t I informed of the license plate you found after Yoyogi?” Patrick countered.

  “I already told you it was untraceable.”

  “But you didn’t know that at the time. You held back from me, Mister Hayashida, so you’re in no position to complain.”

  Fitz looked up from the photo. “I bet you these young guys are just the cannon fodder. It’s gotta be the older guy here who’s behind it.” He pointed to Pung.

  “I disagree, Fitz,” Patrick said. “That guy tried to kill me in North Korea, but he’s just the tail of the kite.”

  “Patrick’s right, that’s Pung Min-ho,” Choy added. “He was Comrade Moon’s main enforcer. Nasty guy, but he’s no leader, at least not of these attacks. It’s got to be someone else in charge.”

  Patrick said, “There’s one other person involved in this, probably the top guy, who’s not in this photo. I saw him at the corpse hotel, but only briefly. I think I can still ID him, though.”

  Proctor had been keeping uncharacteristically quiet through this exchange, but now he spoke.

  “It would be nice and neat if we could predict what they’re going to do next, but the fact is, we have no idea. No offense, Agent Beck, but that theory of yours is pure speculation, and we need a lot more than that.” Kirsten said nothing, but her jaw tightened. Proctor looked at his watch. “It’s now 0643. The marathon begins in seventeen minutes. Before we go, there’s one thing I want to make clear. As you know, I have Predator and Sentinel drones on hot standby. If it becomes necessary, I intend to use them.”

  Everyone instinctively turned to Hayashida who, predictably, had turned ashen.

  “Mister Proctor, I have already told you that the Prime Minister has the final say in the use of this type of weapon. These are the Japanese Olympics, not the American Olympics, and certainly not your Olympics. Any use of that sort of weapon will go through the Prime Minister first, and I demand your acceptance of those terms.”

  All movement stopped in the room. Proctor turned to Hayashida. “Mister Hayashida, I’ll make this as brief as I can. We don’t have much time, obviously.” He took a deep breath and began. “Back in early summer of 2001, a Predator flight that one of my predecessors ordered over Afghanistan produced probable sightings of Osama bin Laden. My predecessor lobbied for a targeted killing with Hellfire missiles. But he received so much pushback from people who were offended by the fact that he had gone over their heads that the president didn’t give authorization until September 4 of that year. By t
hat time bin Laden was gone. I think we all know what happened a week later.”

  “Be that as it may, Mister Proctor, I am not authorizing you to use those weapons on Japanese soil or in Japanese airspace. I’ll say it again: these are not your Olympics.”

  Hayashida and Proctor stared each other down. Finally, Proctor spoke.

  “Let’s saddle up and get outside. The crowds were pouring through the gates when we were coming in here. Check weapons.”

  Everyone hurriedly complied before the confrontation could begin anew. For good measure, Patrick slipped an M9 knife into his boot.

  Before leaving, Patrick spoke to Choy. “Jung-hee, I know there’s a lot of files in that compressed folder, but can you stay here and see if you can find anything else on them that might narrow down who’s behind this?”

  Choy sighed. “Sure. Never mind that I didn’t sleep at all last night and haven’t eaten since yesterday. Can you please reach into the refrigerator and grab me the sandwich in there?”

  Patrick turned to the refrigerator and brought a giant sandwich to Choy. “Smells good,” he said as he handed it to Choy.

  “Best bulgogi in town,” Choy said as he went into the back room and resumed his search while devouring half of the sandwich in two bites.

  When everyone else was armed and ready, they assembled and made their way to the door, walking wordlessly down the corridor until Phibbs broke the silence.

  “Showdown at the hoedown, folks,” he said, but his voice lacked its characteristic bluster.

  CHAPTER 47

  Olympic stadium

  7 a.m. start of marathon

  Several members of the Olympic security team, including hardened agents of the Japan Intelligence Agency, practically jumped out of their skins when the starting gun went off to begin the marathon. They were still skittish from when the two security officials were cut down by a North Korean assassin’s bullets three weeks earlier.

  The marathon was the final event of the Games, and immediately at the sound of the starting gun, over a hundred runners glided around the track effortlessly despite a blistering pace that they would maintain and even surpass during the race. After some ungentle jockeying for position near the front of the pack, the runners settled into a single organism that bobbed up and down in unison with little if any wasted effort as they made their way out of the stadium to the main part of the course.

  Spectators lining the streets marveled at how easily these human gazelles made a sub-five-minute-mile pace look. At a little after 9 a.m., the runners who had survived the heat and humidity would face a steady 1 percent incline over the final mile-and-a-half return to the stadium, having completed the twenty-six-mile route that would take them past the Imperial Palace, around Sensoji Temple with its imposing Thunder Gate, past Tokyo Tower, and finally back to the stadium for a final quarter-mile lap around the track. The awarding of medals to the top finishers in the male and female divisions would double as the first event of the Closing Ceremony, while the expected capacity crowd of sixty-seven thousand would snack on sushi, dried squid, rice crackers, and “hotto doggu” purchased from the concession stands as they watched the runners’ progress on the Sony jumbotrons on opposite sides of the stadium. It was safe to say there was not a single citizen of Japan who wasn’t desperately praying at that moment that there would be no more attacks on this, Japan’s showpiece Games of the twenty-first century. The new emperor, Naruhito, had made an unprecedented fifteen-minute appearance in a hastily put-together TV special on the heightened security measures that had been taken which, he assured his subjects, had rendered the rest of the Games “impregnable.”

  After Patrick and the rest of the combined security command left for the stadium, Choy began to sift through the thousands of files he had accessed through the back door virus he had sent to the mysterious sender of the Sky Heart file. He shook his head in frustration at the sheer volume he had to choose from, most of which were spreadsheet or ordinary word processing files. But one caught his eye, a .gif image file which he clicked open. It looked a bit like the universal “six-pack” that police agencies around the world show to witnesses for them to identify suspects. Looking at the date and time it was last saved, he noticed that it seemed to be paired chronologically with a large compressed text file which he began to extract. The .gif file was of six grim-faced older Asian men in military uniforms which he printed out in color while waiting for the compressed file to open. When he saw the military men, he decided to bring it immediately to Patrick along with the first twenty pages he had been able to print of the text file. As he was exiting the office, he stopped. The other half of the giant bulgogi sandwich called out to him, and he grabbed it on his way out the door.

  As the combined security command fanned out around the stadium field, Patrick felt his phone vibrate. He looked at the screen: “The spirit of fire is relentless.” He called over the others and showed it to them. “Here’s the latest Miyamoto Musashi text.” After some discussion, Proctor hit on an idea and pointed to the center of the field.

  “Take a look at the fireworks display they’re setting up. I’ve heard of those things being repurposed as WMDs.” Everyone’s eyes went to the six men on the field from a private company who were preparing a portion of the pyrotechnics for the Closing Ceremony. Hayashida spoke into his sleeve and ordered JIA agents disguised as course marshals to go over and interrogate them. Sure enough, a short time later one of the JIA agents radioed back that two of the fireworks operators did not have proper credentials to be on the field. Hayashida ordered that portion of the fireworks to be shut down and for all other launch points to be thoroughly checked out.

  There was a qualified sense of relief on the part of the combined security command, but Tyler was having none of it.

  “Let’s not spike the ball on the five-yard line, folks. The text about fire and then it being the fireworks is just too obvious. I’m betting it’s a misdirect, if anything.”

  Choy trotted out of breath onto the field, holding the copy he had printed of the six-pack photo along with the twenty pages of the text file he’d been able to extract so far. The CSC members gathered around him. A prickle of sweat broke out on Patrick’s back as Choy held up the photos. He pointed to one of the headshots. “This one here is the guy with the limp from the corpse hotel.””

  Tyler peered intently at the photo of the man Patrick had just identified. The face looked vaguely familiar. Then it hit him.

  “Sempai, I know this guy. You remember I told you I was sick before coming out here?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what happened. I went to the casino for some blackjack and sat down at the table. This guy in the photo bought me a drink at the bar, and next thing I remember, I was back in my apartment.”

  “Were you missing anything? Sounds like you got rolled.”

  “Just any memory of what happened. But I’m sure it was this guy. He must have spiked my drink.”

  Choy translated the caption under the photo. “This is General Liu Jintao of the People’s Liberation Army of China.”

  “Well, whatever his name is,” Kirsten said, “I’m not taking the chance that the next attack isn’t on leadership, just like it says in Warden’s Five Rings.” And with that she began running toward the VIP box halfway up the stands.

  Proctor called after her. “Hang on, Agent Beck, we need to maintain unity of command.”

  Patrick interrupted him. “Let her go, Proctor, if anyone’s going to be issuing orders in this stadium, it’s me.”

  Proctor turned to him. Like most people, Patrick found it disorienting to look at one eye that was motionless and devoid of expression while the other was animated with emotion—in this case, self-righteous indignation. Proctor pointed to the VIP box. “The President of the United States is going to be in that box, Featherstone, and that’s m
y operation, not yours. If anything you do or don’t do leads to any harm to that man, I will personally come after you with everything I’ve got.”

  Tyler listened to the confrontation and decided not to get involved. He could do no good by taking sides, as if he would take any side but Patrick’s. He began a fast-walk off the infield and up to where Patrick had assigned him his position for the day: a recessed gap between the nosebleed seats at the top of the stadium and the rafters of the oculus. The gap was originally scheduled to be used for TV cameras during the Games, but Patrick had commandeered it as a sniper’s hide. It was the same hide where the Type 58 rifle had been found, the rifle that Pung had used to gun down the security officials on either side of Patrick three weeks earlier.

  But before Tyler got far, his phone rang. He looked at the incoming number. It was a familiar area code. Las Vegas. He answered it. The person on the other end was not big on social niceties.

  “Kang.”

  “Colonel Bartoe. What an unexpected surprise.” It was Tyler’s CO at Creech AFB outside of Vegas.

  “The surprise was all mine, Kang, when I got a call from Yokota Air Base a short while ago. They said that the remote-control capability on one of their MQ Predators was taken over using your security credentials. It was hijacked to an unknown location.”

  Tyler went numb. “Hijacked? With my security credentials? How is that possible, sir?”

  “I was hoping that you would clear up that mystery.”

  “Well, I’m as mystified as you are, Colonel. Did they say how the drone was accessed?”

  “We’ve checked on our side here, and the breach didn’t come from any of our modules. The guy I spoke to at Yokota seemed to think it was accessed by phone GPS with the access codes fed into a classified app. They’re checking on that now. You were working on creating a phone app like that, were you not?”