Zero. Part 36

"We go back to the beginning, don't we? To Tokyo, to a time before BITE had even been born." Hadley shook his head, let out a sigh. "What's been happening here, Jonas?"

"You mean tonight?"

"It's not just tonight," Hadley said. "Tonight's a disaster that unfortunately has been six years in the making." Jonas thinking, Oh Christ, he's seen the report. "Just how bad is it?"

Jonas told him all he knew.

"Good Christ," Hadley said. "If the Russians have that information, our intelligence has been set back-what?-a decade, maybe more." He shook his head.

"Even the sleepers? Oh Lord."

He stood up and began to pace. "Who's the mole, Jonas? Only someone inside BITE had the requisite security codes to access the central file and then delete the data."

"There are only a few people it could be," Jonas said. "Even most of the top-level executives don't have the delete codes."

Hadley frowned. "Why delete the data at all? Why not just steal it? The computer wouldn't have flagged that as it did the deletion of core data. It meant we'd get onto it quicker."

"Maybe," Jonas said, "that's the point. Maybe whoever the mole is wants us to know what he did. Which would mean he's already bolted. I'll get on it right now. Full priority." He was reaching for the phone when Hadley waved him off.

"That won't be necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"We're old compatriots," Hadley said. "More, we're old friends. Maybe it'll be less difficult coming from me." He stopped his pacing, stood in front of Jonas as if he were about to make a last request. "It's the end, Jonas." There was sadness in his eyes. "I'm bringing in new people. Fresh blood. BITE has gotten old, stale; it's been infiltrated. Its time has pa.s.sed."

Jonas felt dizzy. There was a buzzing in his ears. He felt as if he was having a heart attack. "Sir, you can't-"

"I'm truly sorry," Hadley said, "but the orders have been cut and implemented.

The president has been informed, and my men are already sealing the building.

My investigators will be here momentarily. So you see, you can relax. There's nothing more for you to do. As of this moment, BITE has ceased to exist."

Jonas, white as chalk, keeled over in his chair.

Ude, keeping the boy against his chest, withdrew the steel shaken from an inside pocket of his overalls. He was at the foot of the mobile stairs. The crowd had turned into a screaming, milling ma.s.s. Ude could smell the hysteria in the air, like a pungent perfume; it excited him.

The armed guard who had chased after Michael and Eliane was fairly close. Ude flicked his wrist, and the guard's eyes opened wide as the throwing star embedded itself in his chest. He fell to his knees, reached out to support himself, toppled sideways.

Ude ran to where the guard lay, gathered up the fallen pistol. He checked the chambers, filled the two empty ones from the extra bullets on the guard's belt.

There were three more guards-or perhaps policemen- running out through the security gate. Ude aimed and squeezed the trigger and they went down, one, two, three, like ducks in a shooting gallery. He had no time to waste with their meddling, but he was careful to count the bullets used.

He scrambled underneath the carriage of the DC-10. This was Maui, and it would take some time, he knew, for more police to make their appearance. But evenso, he had a finite amount of time. The thing was to get on with it.

On the far side of the jet, he found both the servicing and the luggage compartment doors open. He shoved the boy onto the tarmac. With a grunt, Ude levered himself up into the dark, chill luggage bay.

Stuffing the gun inside his overalls, he reached up, fingertips searching for the seam that would define the inner panel that would give him access into the cabin itself. The bulkhead, as in all such planes, was constructed of aluminum. Every ten or fifteen inches, vertical struts supported the thin sheets that were welded together. Found the panel, and began exploring with his fingertips. Felt the tiny circular ridges that told him there was no way he could open it by conventional means; it was screwed in from the opposite side.

Ude dug into his overalls, found what he had gotten from Ome's people, who had met him outside the bar in Wailuku early this morning. It had been his chosen method of getting into the house in lao Valley. Ude had discovered through his local contacts where Eliane Yamamoto had rented a house. It was there that Ude had planned to kill Michael. Now that Michael was holed up inside the DC-10, this same method would do quite nicely-for the same purpose.

Working quickly, he extracted a roll of what appeared to be thick tape. It was a quarter-inch wide, a sickly pale-white and had the consistency of plasticene. As he unrolled the Primacord, Ude pressed it just inside the panel's reinforcing structure, which was clearly outlined from inside the bay.

When the Primacord was in place, Ude cut the end with a pocket knife, dropped the roll. Now he searched around. He dragged a crate over to a spot directly beneath the access panel. Wedging two pieces of Samsonite luggage on top did it. Now the Primacord was both braced and covered by the makeshift wall.

Explosions, like all such forces of nature, tended to take the path of least resistance. Had Ude not taken the trouble to brace the Primacord, the bulk of what was about to happen would blow through the bay, most likely killing him.

Crouching down behind the crate, Ude lit a match. Put it to the Primacord, which was, in effect, string plastique.

Whoomp!

The DC-10 shuddered, and Ude was up, climbing on the crate. He had no fear of hot metal, since aluminum's thermal coefficient was so high, it lost heat immediately. Dragged himself through the ragged hole where the access panel had been.

Squeezed off two more shots as two of the crew members ran toward him. They crumpled, and he raced past them. He could see them now. They were just turning toward the aft section of the main cabin, where the explosion had taken place.

Michael: the objective.

The Yamamoto Heavy Industries main factory complex took up six square blocks in the outskirts of the port city of Kobe, just south of Tokyo. The conglomerate's offices were so vast that a precise network of shuttle scooters-manufactured by Yamamoto, of course-was needed to ferry personnel from one industry module to another.

When Masashi arrived, his face was checked against a master list by a uniformed security guard. He was directed to park in the main lot. Once there, Masashi found a blue-coded shuttle waiting to take him to the aeros.p.a.ce module.

Yamamoto Aeros.p.a.ce occupied the most southeasterly quadrant of the complex.

Its ferroconcrete superstructure rose twelve stories into the smog-laden air.

But whereas other sectors of Yamamoto Heavy Industries occupied spirelike towers, the aeros.p.a.ce division-or kobun-was housed in a vast series of horizontal buildings.

The shuttle left Masashi at the entrance, where his ident.i.ty was again checked. A guard was a.s.signed to him, both to guide him to his destination and to keep an eye on him. This was standard company procedure, and Masashi could admire the severity of the conglomerate's internal-security code.

The guard led Masashi inside what at first appeared to be the world'slargest-and barest-warehouse. Once Masashi's eyes grew accustomed to the dimness of the light-for there was not even one window-he recognized the s.p.a.ce for what it was: an airplane hangar.

n.o.buo Yamamoto was standing in the center of the s.p.a.ce. Beside and above him loomed a shrouded shape. Immediately, Masashi's pulse began to race. This is it, he thought. This is our agent of destruction. The great winged steed that would bring glory to j.a.pan.

As Masashi began to walk toward n.o.buo, he could see that the ma.s.sive shape was draped in tarpaulins. n.o.buo's face was hidden in the shadows cast by the shape.

"Is this it?" Masashi asked. "Is it ready?"

n.o.buo nodded curtly. "We are ready for the test run. The first and only. Every component has been exhaustively tested on its own, both before it became part of the whole and afterward."

Masashi's eyes were shining. "I want to see it," he said in the thick tone of voice a man uses when he wants to see his lover's naked body.

n.o.buo, watching Masashi's reactions, felt only disgust. For this man, whose greed was seemingly boundless, and for himself for being so weak as to provide Masashi with this instrument of Armageddon. For surely, n.o.buo thought, that is what will ensue if Masashi's mad plan reaches fruition.

But what am I to do? He has my granddaughter. Am I to sacrifice her tender life in order to defeat a madman? Will her mother understand that I made the decision that the child must give up her life for her country?

n.o.buo was in a frenzy of indecision. Convulsively, his fingers closed around a cord hanging from the near corner of the tarp. He gave a tug.

And the sleek, futuristic shape of the Yamamoto FAX jet fighter was revealed.

Its fusilage was stubby, tapered at the nose, blunt and ugly at its rear, where a cl.u.s.ter of cylinders circled its quad tailpipes. Its wings, too, were of a radical shape: wide and impossibly short for a plane, curving down at a steep angle at their tips.

"Is it ready?" Masashi repeated.

"We'll see now," n.o.buo said. His heart was encased in ice, his limbs felt numb and it seemed to him that someone else was speaking. As the FAX ground crew began preparations for takeoff, he said, "The cruising speed is Mach-four, but of course, it is capable of bursts upward of Mach-six."

The pilot was being a.s.sisted into the c.o.c.kpit. The canopy slid shut, and as soon as everyone was out of the way, the engines started up.

"But it's not only speed that makes this jet special," n.o.buo said. "Not by a long shot."

The far end of the hangar slid open to reveal a concrete runway. The FAX taxied out onto it, came into position and paused. They could hear the whine of its jets cranking up to speed. Blue-black smoke drifted from it, and the heat of the jets made the air ripple behind it.

n.o.buo led Masashi to a makeshift command post. They stood in front of a working radar screen that had been set up on the tarmac. "We're ready," n.o.buo said. He nodded his head to a man with headphones, who spoke into the mouthpiece.

The FAX leaped forward. It raced down the runway at breakneck speed. One moment it was racing along the tarmac, the next it was airborne.

Upward it streaked, a soaring eagle, its shape strange and ungainly.

Masashi could not tear his gaze away from the jet fighter. "When?" he asked breathlessly.

"The pilot will activate the device in fifteen seconds," n.o.buo answered. "As soon as the plane has enough height to be picked up by radar." He eyed the screen, saw the blip come up right on schedule. "There she is." He found that despite his profound fears, the excitement of antic.i.p.ation ran through him.

The FAX was his creation, after all.

". . . four, three, two, one," he said, following the flight path of the FAX on the radar screen.

And in that instant, the plane disappeared from the screen."Buddha!" Masashi breathed.

The two men stared into the CRT screen, which was free of blips. The cloaking device works, n.o.buo thought. No radar can pick up the FAX. But the plane is there. Now Masashi will use it to drop his nuclear payload on China, and there isn't a thing anyone can do about it until it's too late.

When the explosion came, Eliane was taking a look at Michael's battered nose.

It had begun to bleed again during the fight with Ude.

"Michael!" Eliane was saying. "You've had enough. You're no match for-"

Then the ignited Primacord blew open the access panel to the aft luggage bay.

White noise, white heat, white smoke, permeated the cabin of the DC-10 at almost the same time.

"What-!" Michael said. His body ached, and his head was spinning. It was taking a great deal of concentration to keep the pain from overwhelming him.

"Ude!" Eliane cried.

Heard the gunshots, saw two of the uniformed crew go down. Eliane turned to the captain, who was emerging from the flight deck with the emergency first-aid kit that she requested he bring for Michael's wounds. "Start up the engines!" she said.

The captain stared at her, dumbfounded. "What was that-"

"Get back into the c.o.c.kpit and get us rolling!" Eliane ordered.

"But we're low on fuel," the captain protested.

"Is there enough to get us off the ground and circling?"

"Yes, but with the luggage-bay doors open-"

"Then keep us low," she said. "Just do it! Now!" Shoving Michael down, moving quickly away from him.

The captain ducked back, sat down and began flipping switches. The heavy whine of the jets starting.

Michael crouched painfully behind a seat back. He could not see Eliane. The DC-10 began to move. Ude's head popped up. The pistol's muzzle was like a black gaping maw as he leveled it at Michael.

Dived sideways even as he saw the bright flash. The bullet spannnged! off the metal frame of the seat top behind which Michael was crouched.

The jet was beginning to taxi now. Fleetingly, Michael wondered how the captain was explaining to the tower about their unscheduled movement. The huge DC-10 in from the mainland was not far away, and the interisland traffic was pretty much constant.

Another shot from Ude, and Michael ducked behind another seat. Again he lurched into the aisle. Again shots ricocheted through the cabin. But Michael was halfway down the cabin, and as he moved again, he heard the click of gun's hammer striking an empty chamber. No shot! Ude's gun was empty.

Michael, already sprinting, closing the gap between them, heard Eliane's warning too late. He saw Ude's hand suddenly filled with the glint of sharp metal. The arm was c.o.c.ked, the shaken, the steel throwing star, already being released.

Desperately, Michael tried to check his forward momentum. He managed to hurl himself out of the way of the whirring shaken, but in the process, he slammed into the corner of the bulkhead.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because he was abruptly aware of Ude dragging him down into the rent the explosion had made in the cabin floor.

He summoned up what reserves of energy he possessed. Then the DC-10 lurched left and he was pulled all the way through, down into the aft baggage hold.

He cried out as he hit the edge of a crate. There was little light here. But enough came from the open door out onto the blurred tarmac, speeding by, that he could see Ude crouched down. He was wielding a length of metal chain with a pair of wooden bandies.

Michael could see that Ude's lips were pulled back in a combination of smile and reaction to shock and pain. "Now we will see," Ude said, "who is the sensei." As he spoke, he whirled the chain in front of him.

Ude, grinning fiercely, held up the dark-red braided cord. "Can't you get up?

Here it is, come and get what your father left behind! It will do you littlegood after I kill you!"

Michael had no strength left. He prepared himself to die.

Then Ude turned away; his expression had changed entirely. Eliane stood before him. She had dropped down through the rent in the floor, and now she confronted the big man.

"You," Ude said. "Well, I don't mind at all. I'll kill you first, then finish off what I started."

Eliane did not respond. She did not speak; she did not move. It was as if she were made of stone. But her mind was alive. It was concentrated on iro.

Normally, iro meant color, but in the martial arts it referred to the intention of the opponent: the color of his mind. Now, as Eliane concentrated, she divined that Ude's intention was for the one killing blow. And knowing that this was Ude's iro, she followed it.

All the way to the end.

Ude, intent on strangling Eliane, dropped the braided cord at his feet. It was a gesture of disdain for bis opponent. And a distraction. He rushed in, bringing the chain in low and straight on. Eliane did nothing. She had not a.s.sumed the attack pose, had not raised her fists. As a result, Ude was already exulting in his victory, already picturing Eliane writhing at his feet, the chain cutting off her breath.

Whirling at the last instant, Eliane slapped at the chain so that its center dipped down, touching the floor. At that instant, she tramped down on it. The chain snapped out of Ude's hands. Eliane took one step forward and began her own killing blow.