He rang off and set the receiver in an armrest cradle and looked at Suma. “Admiral Itakura at our embassy in Washington. His sources have confirmed the White House is aware the explosion was nuclear and originated with the Divine Star.”

Suma gave a stoic shrug. “Has the President launched a formal protest with Prime Minister Junshiro?”

“The American government has remained strangely silent,” answered Kamatori. “The Norwegians and British, however, are making noises about the loss of their ships.”

“But nothing from the Americans.”

“Only sketchy reports in their news media.”

Suma leaned forward and tapped Toshie’s nyloned knee with his forefinger. “A photo, please, of the explosion site.”

Toshie nodded respectfully and programmed the necessary code into the computer. In less than thirty seconds a colored photo rolled out of a fax machine built into the divider wall separating the driver from the passenger compartment. She passed it to Suma, who turned up the interior car lights and took a magnifying glass from Kamatori.

“The enhanced infrared photo was taken an hour and a half ago during a pass by our Akagi spy satellite,” explained Toshie.

Suma peered through the glass without speaking for a few moments. Then he looked up questioningly. “A nuclear hunter-killer submarine and an Asian junk? The Americans are not acting as I expected. Odd they didn’t send half their Pacific fleet.”

“Several naval ships are steaming toward the explosion point,” said Kamatori, “including a NUMA ocean survey vessel.”

“What about space surveillance?”

“American intelligence has already gathered extensive data from their Pyramider spy satellites and SR-Ninety aircraft.”

Suma tapped a small object in the photo with a finger. “A submersible floating between the two vessels. Where did that come from?”

Kamatori peered over Suma’s finger at the photograph. “Certainly not the junk. It must have come from the submarine.”

“They won’t find any sunken remains of the Divine Star, ” Suma muttered. “She must have been blown into atoms.” He tossed the photo back to Toshie. “A readout, please, of auto carriers transporting our products, their current status and destinations.”

Toshie looked up at him over her monitor as if she’d read his mind. “I have the data you requested, Mr. Suma.”

“Yes?”

“The Divine Moon finished off-loading her auto cargo last night in Boston,” she reported, reading the Japanese characters on the display screen. “The Divine Water… she docked eight hours ago in the Port of Los Angeles and is off-loading now.”

“Any others?”

“There are two ships in transport,” Toshie continued. “The Divine Sky is scheduled to dock in New Orleans within eighteen hours, and the Divine Lake is five days out of Los Angeles.”

“Perhaps we should signal the ships at sea to divert to ports outside the United States,” said Kamatori. “American agents may be alerted to search for signs of radiation.”

“Who is our undercover agent in Los Angeles?” asked Suma.

“George Furukawa directs your secret affairs in the western states.”

Suma leaned back, obviously relieved. “Furukawa is a man. He will be alert to any hardening procedure.” He turned to Kamatori, who was speaking into the phone. “Divert the Divine Sky to Jamaica until we have more data, but allow the Divine Lake to proceed to Los Angeles.”

Kamatori bowed in acknowledgment and reached for phone.

“Aren’t you running the danger of detection?” asked Toshie.

Suma tightened his lips and shook his head. “American intelligence agents will search the ships, but they’ll bombs. Our technology will defeat them.”

“The explosion on board the Divine Star came at a bad time,” said Toshie. “I wonder if we’ll ever know what caused it.”

“I am not interested nor do I care,” Suma said coldly. The accident was unfortunate, but it won’t delay completion of our Kaiten Project.” Suma paused, his face etched in a brutal expression. “Enough pieces are set in place to destroy any nation which threatens our new empire.

19

VICE PRESIDENT GEORGE FURUKAWA took the phone call from his wife in his plush office at the prestigious Samuel J. Vincent Laboratories. She reminded him of his dental appointment. He thanked her, said a few words of endearment, and hung up.

The woman on the other end of the line was not his wife but one of Suma’s agents who could imitate Mrs. Furukawa’s voice. The dental appointment story was a code he’d received on five prior occasions. It meant a ship transporting Murmoto automobiles had arrived in port and was preparing to unload.

After informing his secretary that he would be having his teeth worked on the rest of the afternoon, Furukawa stepped into the elevator and punched the button for underground parking. Walking a few paces to his private stall, he unlocked the door to his mid-engined Murmoto sports car and sat behind the wheel.

Furukawa reached under the seat. The envelope was there, placed in his car after he came to work by one of Suma’s people. He checked the contents for the proper documents to release three automobiles from the unloading dock area. The papers were complete and correct as usual. Satisfied, he turned over the potent 400-horsepower, 5.8-liter, 32-valve V-8. He drove up to the thick steel barrier that rose from the cement drive and slanted menacingly at the front end of the Murmoto.

A smiling guard came out of the gatehouse and leaned down. “You checking out early, Mr. Furukawa?”

“I have a dental appointment.”

“Your dentist must own a yacht that’s been paid for by your teeth.”

“How about a villa in France,” Furukawa joked back.

The guard laughed and then asked the routine question. “Taking any classified work home tonight?”

“Nothing. I left my attaché case in the office.”

The guard stepped on a switch to lower the barrier and gestured down the double drive leading to the street. “Swish a shot of gin around your mouth when you get home. That’ll deaden the pain.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Furukawa, shifting the six-speed transmission into first. “Thank you.”

Situated in a tall glass building hidden from the street by a grove of eucalyptus trees, Vincent Labs was a research and design center owned by a consortium of space and aviation companies. The work was highly classified and the results carefully guarded, since much of the funding came from government contracts for military programs. Futuristic advances in aerospace technology were conceived and studied, the projects with the highest potential going on to design and production, while the failures were put aside for future study.

Furukawa was what is known in intelligence circles as a sleeper. His parents were two of the many thousands of Japanese who immigrated to the United States shortly after the war. They quickly melted in with the Japanese-Americans who were picking up the pieces of their interrupted lives upon release from the internment camps. The Furukawas did not come across the Pacific because they’d lost their love of Japan. Far from it. They hated America and its multicultures.

They came as solid, hardworking citizens for the express purpose of raising their only son to become a leader of American business. No expense was spared to give their child the finest education the nation could offer, the money arriving mysteriously through Japanese banks into family accounts. Incredible patience and long years of maintaining the facade paid off when son George received a Ph.D. in aerodynamic physics and eventually achieved a position of power with Vincent Labs. Highly respected among aviation designers, Furukawa was now able to amass enormous quantities of information on America’s finest aerospace technology, which he secretly passed to Suma Industries.