Takahashi moved forward reverently, finally stopping and leaning in close to the transparent barrier. The political summit in Australia was complete, and President Castilla had done his job admirably. Tensions between China and Japan were calming. Prime Minister Sanetomi had been to the Japanese news outlets and convinced them that the profits they were generating by whipping up hysteria would be of no use with a sky full of missiles. And China was following suit, using its iron-fisted control of its media to moderate anti-Japanese messages.

Sanetomi had even scheduled a trip to Beijing. The rumor was that he would make yet another apology for World War II atrocities and that China would formally accept that apology.

Takahashi continued to stare at the innocent-looking thermoses, his breath rhythmically fogging the glass in front of his mouth. He’d hoped to provoke an outright attack by China in order to provide a plausible defensive motive for its annihilation. But it wasn’t to be.

In the end, it was unimportant. The rules of engagement, illusions of morality, and international law were irrelevant to war. They were institutions of the weak. And Japan would feign weakness no longer.

52

52

Northeastern Japan

You can’t just kidnap me, throw me in the back of a plane, and steal my invention!” Max Wilson said, pulling the collar of his leather jacket tighter around his neck and looking into the dense forest surrounding them.

“I don’t understand why you keep saying that to me when it’s pretty clear that I can,” Randi replied impatiently.

That man was a good four inches shorter than her, with a heavy build, callused hands, and a nose that looked like it had been broken more than a few times. Not a person you’d guess had PhDs from both Stanford and Cal Tech.

His father had died in an accident in a West Virginia mine when Wilson was only twelve. Out of what seemed like an extremely misguided sense of loyalty, he’d followed in the old man’s footsteps—dropping out of high school and descending into those same shafts.

It hadn’t taken long before the mining company’s engineers noticed that young Max seemed able to come up with solutions to problems that were cheaper, more workable, and more elegant than their own. And then there was the matter of his hobbies: number theory, quantum mechanics, and paleomagnetism. Apparently, he was a pretty fair bowler too.

One of the company’s geologists recommended Wilson to his alma mater, and he was immediately accepted. He spent the next ten years in academia but eventually returned—in his own way—to the mines.

“Well, you are smoking hot. So I suppose that’s some consolation.”

“Thank you, Dr. Wilson. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Call me Max. And you are?”

“Randi.”

“Randi…”

“Just Randi.”

“Government,” he muttered.

“You came highly recommended by Greg Maple.”