“That’s just it, Fred. For the first time in three-quarters of a century, we don’t. Takahashi has no particular love for the US—he blames us for a lot of Japan’s problems. He’s not stupid, though. He knows that we account for more than a fifth of the world’s economic activity. We’re necessary to keep the world from complete economic collapse and to maintain the status quo to the degree it’s possible. All he asks of us is that we stand back and watch him butcher millions of women and children. Simple, right?”

Castilla reached into his pocket and pulled out a small case, retrieving a single cigarette from it. The president had been carrying that cigarette around since he quit smoking twelve years ago. For emergencies, he liked to say.

Klein was going to voice his disapproval but instead remained silent as his old friend flicked a lighter to life.

“I don’t sleep too well,” Castilla said, letting the smoke roll from his mouth. “But one of the few things that let me catch a few hours here and there was knowing that if everything went pear-shaped, I had the most powerful military on the planet. Now you’re telling me that it was all bullshit.”

Klein put his palms flat on the table in front of him. “We still do, Sam. A modern military isn’t just a tool to destroy an enemy. We use ours to rebuild countries after they’ve been devastated. We’re the most effective disaster relief organization in the world. We provide security, we promote stability. We create technology that trickles down to private industry and moves the world forward. And let’s face it, Takahashi has a point. We provide jobs and fund defense contractors. What you have to understand is that Japan hasn’t built a twenty-first-century military. They’ve built a twenty-first-century war machine.”

49

49

Northeastern Japan

Randi Russell paused at the entrance to the kitchen and looked around. The shades were drawn and the only light was coming from a lamp hanging over a tiled island in the room’s center. The house was a bit dilapidated, but also large and isolated, which was what she’d asked for. Besides, it had power and heat, so it was one step above most of the places she’d haunted over the last decade.

She watched the four people inside run their fingers along a map spread out on the island and talk in hushed tones. On the left were Eric and Karen Ivers, Covert-One operatives she’d known since she’d first signed up. In fact, they’d snatched her at gunpoint and taken her to her first meeting with Fred Klein.

The man in the middle was probably six feet five, blond, and wiry. Since Klein had sent him despite the fact that he would stick out like a sore thumb in Japan, it seemed likely that he had serious skills.