The Japanese constitution prevented the country from building a military or projecting power by force, but that clause had always been open to interpretation and now was coming under increasing criticism. In reality, Japan was one constitutional convention away from tossing three-quarters of a century of codified pacifism into the dustbin of history—something China would not take sitting down.

Castilla waved his beer can a little frantically. “And do you know who’s right in the middle of this shit storm? Me. Because we have a treaty saying in no uncertain terms that the United States will protect Japan if it’s ever attacked. If the Chinese decide they don’t like the direction the political winds are blowing in Japan—even though they’re partially to blame—what then? Do they sink that fancy new battleship? Mark my words, Fred, I’m in the process of getting painted into a very tight corner.”

The strength seemed to go out of him and he fell back into the cushions. He didn’t speak again for almost a minute. “Still no word on Jon?”

Klein hadn’t been prepared for the sudden change in subject and he didn’t immediately respond. Thoughts of Smith continued to tie knots in his stomach. Klein was responsible for sending him to Japan and now he found himself second-guessing that decision. Smith had been his best man, but he’d had no real experience operating in that theater. Had Klein made an error sending him there? Was Jon Smith’s disappearance his fault?

“Nothing yet.”

“I’m sorry.”

Castilla stared down at the can in his hand, but he was clearly just waiting for the right moment to speak again. The president of the United States didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the fate of a single man. Even one like Jon Smith.

“Where does this leave your investigation into the Fukushima nuclear disaster, Fred?”

“It’s been a serious setback,” Klein admitted. “Our informant’s dead and the evidence he brought out of Reactor Four is missing along with Jon. After more than two years, I’m afraid we’re back to square one.”

7

7

Prince George’s County, Maryland
USA

How are you doing?”

Maggie Templeton stood from behind her impressive bank of computer monitors, concern deepening the lines etched into her face by time.

“Good. Why wouldn’t I be?” Randi said, continuing toward an open door at the back of the spacious outer office.

Fred Klein also stood when she entered—a reflex bred into him at a time when formality and manners still mattered.

“How are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine, okay?”