Текст книги "Dragon"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

“Nice place you’ve got here,” said Giordino, boldly appraising Toshie as he edged toward the bar.

For the first time, Diaz smiled broadly as he shook Pitt’s hand. “You’ve just made my day.”

“Senator Diaz,” Pitt said, greeting the legislator. “Nice to see you again.”

“I’d have preferred meeting you with a Delta team at your back.”

“They’re being held in reserve for the finale.”

Suma ignored the remark and lowered himself into a low bamboo chair. “Drinks, gentlemen?”

“A tequila martini,” ordered Pitt.

“Tequila and dry vermouth,” answered Toshie. “With orange or lemon peel?”

“Lime, thank you.”

“And you, Mr. Giordino?”

“A Barking Dog, if you know how to make it.”

“One jigger each of gin, dry vermouth, sweet vermouth, and a dash or two of bitters,” Toshie elaborated.

“A bright girl,” said Loren. “She speaks several languages.”

“And she can make a Barking Dog,” Giordino murmured, his eyes taking on a dazed quality as Toshie gave him a provocative smile.

“To hell with this social crap!” Diaz burst out impatiently. “You’re all acting like we were invited to a friendly cocktail party.” He hesitated and then addressed himself to Suma. “I demand to know why you’ve brazenly kidnapped members of Congress and are holding us hostages. And I damn well want to know now.”

“Please sit down and relax, Senator,” Suma said in a quiet but iceberg tone. “You are an impatient man who wrongly believes everything worth doing must be done immediately, on the instant. There is a rhythm to life you people in the West have never touched. That is why our culture is superior to yours.”

“You’re nothing but an insular race of narcissists who think you’re a super race,” Diaz spat. “And you, Suma, are the worst of the lot.”

Suma was a classic, thought Pitt. There was no anger in the man’s face, no animosity, nothing but a supreme indifference. Suma seemed to look upon Diaz as little more than an insolent toddler.

Kamatori, though, stood there, his hands clenched at his sides, face twisted in hatred of the Americans, of all foreigners. His eyes were almost closed, his lips taut in a straight line. He looked like a maddened jackal about to spring.

Pitt had earlier sized up Kamatori as a dangerous killer. He moved casually to the bar, picked up his drink, and then eased subtly between Kamatori and the senator with a you’ve-got-to-get-past-me-first look. The ploy worked. Kamatori turned his anger from Diaz and stared at Pitt through circumspect eyes.

With timing near perfection, Toshie bowed with her hands between her knees, the silk of her kimono rustling, and announced that dinner was ready to be served.

“We shall continue our discussion after dinner,” said Suma, cordially herding everyone to a place at the table.

Pitt and Kamatori were the last ones to sit down. They paused and gazed at each other unblinkingly, like two boxers trying to stare each other down during the referee’s instructions before a fight. Kamatori flushed at the temples, his expression black and malevolent. Pitt poured oil on the fire by grinning contemptuously.

Both men knew that soon, very soon, one would kill the other.

47

THE DINNER WAS begun by an ancient form of culinary drama. A man Suma described as a shikibocho master appeared on his knees beside a plain board holding a fish that Pitt correctly identified as a bonito. Wearing a costume of silk brocade and a tall pointed cap, the shikibocho master displayed steel chopsticks and a wooden-handled long straight knife.

With hands moving the implements in a dazzling blur, he sliced up the fish using a prescribed number of slashes. At the conclusion of the ritualistic performance, he bowed and withdrew.

“Is he the chef?” asked Loren.

Suma shook his head. “No, he is merely a master of the fishslicing ceremony. The chef who specializes in the epicurean art of seafood preparation will now reassemble the fish, which will be served as an appetizer.”

“You employ more than one chef in your kitchen?”

“I have three. One, as I mentioned, who is expert in fish dishes, one who is a master at cooking meats and vegetables, and one who concentrates his talents on soups only.”

Before the fish was served, they were given a hot salty tea with sweet cookies. Then steaming oshibori towels were passed out for everyone to cleanse their hands. The fish was returned, the slices delicately replaced in their exact position, and eaten raw as sashimi.

Suma seemed to enjoy watching Giordino and Diaz struggle with their chopsticks. He was also mildly surprised to see Pitt and Loren eat with the twin ivories as though they were born to them.

Each course was served ably and smoothly by a pair of robots whose long arms picked up and set dishes with incredible swiftness of movement. Not a particle of food was dropped nor the sound heard of a dish clatter as it met the hard tabletop. They only spoke when asking if the diners were through with a particular course.

“You seem to be obsessed with an automated society,” Pitt addressed Suma.

“Yes, we take pride in our conversion to a robotic empire. My factory complex in Nagoya is the largest in the world. There, I have computerized robotic machines building twenty thousand fully functioning robots every year.”

“An army producing an army,” said Pitt.

Suma’s tone became enthusiastic. “Unwittingly, you’ve touched a chord, Mr. Pitt. We have already begun Japan’s new robotic military forces. My engineers are designing and constructing completely automated warships without human crews, aircraft flown entirely by robots, robotic-operated tanks that drive and fight by remote command, and armies composed of hundreds of thousands of armored machines armed with powerful weaponry and long-range sensors that can leap over fifty meters and travel at sixty kilometers an hour. Their ease of repair and their high-level sensory capabilities make them nearly invincible. In ten years, no superpower military force will be able to stand against us. Unlike your Pentagon generals and admirals, who rely on men and women to fight, bleed, and die in combat, we’ll be able to fight large-scale battles without a single human casualty.”

A solid minute passed as the Americans at the table attempted to imagine the magnitude of Suma’s revelation. The concept seemed so vast, so futuristic that they all had trouble accepting the fact that robotic armies were about to become a here and now proposition.

Only Giordino appeared indifferent to the immense scope of cyborg warfare. “Our mechanical chaperon claims he was consecrated,” he said, casually picking at the fish.

“We combine our religion, Shintoism, with our culture,” answered Suma, “believing that inanimate, as well as animate, objects are blessed with a soul, an advantage we have over you in the West. Our machines, be they industrial tools or a samurai’s sword, are revered as humans. We even have machines that teach many of our workers to behave as machines.”

Pitt shook his head. “Sounds self-defeating. You’re taking jobs away from your own people.”

“An archaic myth, Mr. Pitt,” replied Suma, tapping his chopsticks on the table. “In Japan, men and machines have developed a close relationship. Shortly after the turn of the century, we’ll have a million robots doing the work of ten million people.”

“And what happens to the ten million people who are laid off?”

“We export them to other countries, just as we export our manufactured goods,” said Suma quietly. “They become good law-abiding citizens of their adopted nation, but their loyalty and economic connections will still be tied to Japan.”

“A kind of worldwide brotherhood,” said Pitt. “I’ve seen how it works. I recall watching a Japanese bank being built in San Diego by Japanese architects, Japanese developers, Japanese construction workers, all using Japanese equipment and Japanese building supplies imported aboard Japanese ships. The local contractors and suppliers were cut out completely.”

Suma gave an uncaring shrug. “Economic conquest has no rules. Our ethics and morals come from a different breeding ground than yours. In Japan, honor and discipline are knotted tightly to loyalties to the Emperor, family, and the corporation. We are not bred to venerate democratic principles or charitable generosity. The United Way, volunteer work, charity events to raise money for starving people in Africa, and organizations for providing aid to foster children in third-world nations are virtually unheard of in my country. We concentrate our benevolent efforts on taking care of our own.” He paused, and then motioned to the robots as they re-entered the room balancing trays. “Ah, here comes the next course.”

The bonita was followed by individual wooden trays that held unpeeled ginkgo nuts threaded with pine needles and a pyramid of sliced abalone. Then came a flower soup, a clear broth with single orchids floating in the bowls.

Loren closed her eyes as she savored it. “It tastes as wonderful as it looks,” she said.

Suma nodded. “Japanese haute cuisine is created to delight the eye as well as the palate.”

“A successful attempt at visual and taste perfection,” Pitt observed.

“Are you a bon vivant, Mr. Pitt?” asked Suma.

“I enjoy the pleasure of a gourmet meal, yes.”

“Are your tastes varied?”

“If you mean, do I eat most everything, the answer is affirmative.”

“Good.” Suma clapped his hands. “Then you’re in for an exciting and harmonious treat.”

Loren thought the dinner was half over, but it had barely begun. A truly exceptional display of tasty dishes, their ingredients artistically arranged, arrived in a steady stream. Figs in sesame sauce, rice with basil, another soup with egg yolk, neatly sliced conger eel, radish, and mushrooms accompanied by roe of sea urchin, several kinds of fish, including turbot, snapper, pike, and squid wrapped in a collage with varied types of seaweed, and lotus root mixed with intricately cut mussels, cucumber, and zucchini. A third soup was served with pickled vegetables, rice, and sesame. At last, dessert was presented, consisting of several sweet fruits, and the feast concluded with the inevitable cup of tea.

“A final meal for the condemned?” Diaz asked harshly.

“Not at all, Senator,” Suma replied in a congenial voice. “You and Congresswoman Smith will be returning to Washington within twenty-four hours on board my private jet.”

“Why not now?”

“You must be instructed of my goals first. Tomorrow I will personally conduct you and Congresswoman Smith on a tour of my Dragon Center and demonstrate the source of Japan’s new might.”

“A Dragon Center,” repeated Diaz curiously. “For what purpose?”

“You don’t know, Senator, about the nuclear bomb cars our host has spread around half the world?” Pitt asked provokingly.

Diaz was uncomprehending. “Bomb cars?”

“Suma, here, wants to play hardball with the big boys, so he’s dreamed up a blue-ribbon extortion plot. As soon as his highly touted Dragon Center is completed, he can push a button and cause the detonation of a nuclear bomb at any location his robots park a car with a built-in bomb.”

Loren’s eyes went wide with shock. “Is this true? Japan has secretly built a nuclear arsenal?”

Pitt nodded at Suma. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Suma stared at Pitt like a mongoose eyeing a cobra. “You’re a very astute man, Mr. Pitt. I’m told it was you who put Mr. Jordan and his intelligence people onto our method of smuggling the warheads into your country.”

“I freely admit that hiding them in automobile air-conditioning compressors was a cagey act of genius on your part. You almost got away with a clean operation, that is, until a bomb accidentally exploded aboard your auto transport ship.”

Frowning, baffled, Loren asked, “What do you hope to gain?”

“Nothing deep and unfathomable,” answered Suma. “Using your slang, Japan has always been on the short end of the stick. Raw universal anti-Japanese prejudice is deeply ingrained in the white West. We have been looked down on as an odd little Oriental race for three hundred years. The time has come to grasp the dominance we deserve!”

An angered flush crept into Loren’s face. “So you’d launch a war that would slaughter millions of people for nothing but false pride and greed. Didn’t you learn anything from the death and destruction you caused in the nineteen-forties?”

“Our leaders went to war only after the Western nations strangled us to death with trade embargoes and boycotts. What we lost then in lives and destruction, we’ve since surpassed in expansion of economic power. Now we are being threatened again by international ostracism and world enmity merely due to our diligent efforts and dedication to efficient trade and industry. And because our great economy is dependent on foreign oil and minerals, we can never again allow ourselves to be dictated to by Washington politics, European interests, or Middle East religious conflict. With the Kaiten Project we have the means to protect ourselves and our hard won economic gains.”

“The Kaiten Project?” Diaz repeated, never having heard of it before.

“His sordid plan to blackmail the universe,” Pitt explained caustically.

“You’re flirting with fire,” Loren said to Suma. “The United States, the Soviet Union, and Europe will band together to destroy you.”

“They will back off when they see what it will cost them,” Suma said confidently. “They’ll do little but hold press conferences and declare they will solve the problem through diplomatic means.”

“You don’t give a damn about saving Japan!” snapped Diaz suddenly. “Your own government would be horrified if they were aware of this monster you’ve created. You’re in this for yourself, a personal power grab. You’re a power-mad maniac.”

“You are right, Senator,” Suma said in quiet control. “In your eyes I must appear as a maniac intent on supreme power. I won’t hide it. And like all the other maniacs of history who were driven to protect their nation and its sovereignty, I won’t hesitate to use my power to guide expansion of our race around the globe while protecting our culture from the corruptions of the West.”

“Just what do you find so corrupting about the Western nations?” demanded Diaz.

A look of contempt came into Suma’s eyes. “Look to your own people, Senator. The United States is a land of drug addicts, Mafia gangsters, rapists and murderers, homeless and illiterates. Your cities run rampant with racism because of your mixed cultures. You are declining as did Greece and Rome and the British Empire. You’ve become a cesspool of deterioration, and the process is unstoppable.”

“So you think America is undermined and finished as a superpower,” said Loren in an annoyed voice.

“You do not find such decay in Japan,” Suma replied smugly.

“God but you’re hypocritical.” Pitt broke out laughing, turning every head at the dining table. “Your quaint little culture is rife with corruption in the highest political levels. Reports of scandals fill your newspapers and TV stations on a daily basis. Your underworld is so powerful it runs the government. Half your politicians and bureaucrats are on the take, openly receiving money for political influence. You sell highly secret military technology to the Communist Bloc for profit. Living costs are ridiculously out of sight for your own people, who pay twice what Americans pay for goods manufactured by Japanese corporations. You steal high-tech advancements wherever you can find them. You have racketeers who regularly disrupt company meetings to extract payoffs. You accuse us of racism when your best-selling books promote anti-Semitism, your department stores display and sell black Sambo manikins and dolls, and you sell magazines on street newsstands depicting women in bondage. And you have the gall to sit there and claim you have a superior culture. That’s garbage.”

“Amen, my friend,” said Diaz, raising his teacup. “Amen.”

“Dirk is one hundred percent right,” Loren added proudly. “Our society isn’t perfect, but people to people, our overall quality of life is still better than yours.”

Suma’s face altered into a mask of wrath. The eyes were as hard as topaz on the satin-smooth face. His teeth were set. He spoke as if cracking a whip. “Fifty years ago, we were a defeated people, reviled by the United States! Now, all of a sudden, we are the winners, and you have lost to us. The poisoning of Japan by the United States and Europe has been stopped. Our culture will prevail. We will prove to be the dominant nation in the twenty-first century.”

“You sound like the warlords who prematurely counted us out after Pearl Harbor,” Loren reminded him curtly. “The United States treated Japan far better after the war than we’d have expected if you were the victors. Your armies would have raped, murdered, and pillaged America just as you did China.”

“Besides us, you still have Europe to contend with,” warned Diaz. “Their trade policies are not nearly as tolerant and patronizing as ours toward Tokyo. And if anything, the new European Common Market is going to dig in against your economic penetration. Threatened by nuclear blackmail or not, they’ll close their markets to Japanese exports.”

“Over the long term, we will merely use our billions of cash reserves to slowly buy up their industries until we have a base that is impregnable. Not an impossible operation when you consider that the twelve largest banks in the world are Japanese, constituting almost three quarters of the total market value of all the rest of the foreign banks. That means we rule the world of big money.”

“You can’t hold the world hostage forever,” said Pitt. “Your own government and people will rise up against you when they discover the world’s warheads are aimed at the Japanese islands instead of the United States and the Soviet Union. And the possibility of another nuclear attack becomes very real should one of your car bombs accidentally detonate.”

Suma shook his head. “Our electronic safeguards are more advanced than yours and the Russians’. There will be no explosions unless I personally program the correct code.”

“You can’t really start a nuclear war,” Loren gasped.

Suma laughed. “Nothing as stupid and cold-blooded as what the White House and Kremlin might attempt. You forget, we Japanese know what it’s like to suffer the horror of atomic warfare. No, the Kaiten Project is far more technically sophisticated than masses of missile warheads aimed at cities and military installations. The bombs are designed to be set off in remote strategically unpopulated areas to create a massive electromagnetic force with the potential of destroying your entire economy. Any deaths or injuries would be minimal.”

“You really plan to do it, don’t you?” said Pitt, reading Suma’s mind. “You really intend to set off the bombs.”

“And why not, if circumstances warrant it. There is no fear of immediate retaliation, since the electromagnetic force will effectively close down all American, NATO, and Soviet communications and weapons systems.” The Japanese industrialist stared at Pitt, the dark eyes cool and tyrannical. “Whether I take that step or not, you, Mr. Pitt, won’t be around to find out.”

A frightened look swept Loren’s face. “Aren’t Dirk and AI flying back to Washington with Senator Diaz and me?”

Suma exhaled his breath in a long silent sigh and shook his head very slowly. “No… I have made them a gift to my good friend Moro Kamatori.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Moro is an expert hunter. His passion is tracking human game. Your friends and the three intelligence operatives who were captured during their attempt to destroy the center will be offered a chance to escape the island. But only if they can elude Moro for twenty-four hours.”

Kamatori gave Pitt a subzero stare. “Mr. Pitt will have the honor of being the first to make the attempt.”

Pitt turned to Giordino, the trace of a grin on his saturnine face. “See, I told you so.”

48

“ESCAPE,” MUTTERED GIORDINO, pacing the small cottage under the watchful eye of McGoon, “escape” where? The best long distance swimmer in the world couldn’t make it across sixty kilometers of cold water swept by five-knot currents. And even then, Suma’s hoods would be waiting to gut you the minute you crawled onto a mainland beach.”

“So what’s the game plan?” asked Pitt between pushups on the floor.

“Stay alive as long as possible. What other options do we have?”

“Die like stouthearted men.”

Giordino raised an eyebrow and stared at Pitt suspiciously. “Yeah, sure, bare your chest, refuse the blindfold, and puff a cigarette as Kamatori raises his sword.”

“Why fight the inevitable.”

“Since when do you give up in the first inning?” Giordino said, beginning to wonder if his old friend had suffered a brain leak.

“We can try to hide somewhere on the island as long as we can, but it’s a hopeless cause. I suspect Kamatori will cheat and use robotic sensors to track us down.”

“What about Stacy? You can’t stand by and let that moonfaced scum murder her too.”

Pitt rose from the floor. “Without weapons, what do you expect? Flesh can’t win against mechanical cyborgs and an expert with a sword.”

“I expect you to show the guts you showed in a hundred other scrapes we’ve been through together.”

Pitt favored his right leg as he limped past McGoon and stood with his back to the robot. “Easy for you to say, pal. You’re in good physical shape. I wrenched my knee when I crash-landed into that fishpond and I can barely walk. I stand no chance at all of eluding Kamatori.”

Then Giordino saw the wily grin on Pitt’s face, and a dawning comprehension settled over him. Suddenly he felt a complete fool. Besides McGoon’s sensors, the room must have had a dozen listening devices and video cameras hidden in and around it. He figured Pitt’s drift and played along.

“Kamatori is too much a samurai to hunt an injured man. If there’s a morsel of sporting blood in him, he’d give himself a handicap.”

Pitt shook his head. “I’d settle for something to ease the pain.”

“McGoon,” Giordino hailed the sentry robot, “is there a doctor in the house?”

“That data is not programmed in my directive.”

“Then call up your remote boss and find out.”

“Please stand by.”

The robot went silent as its communications system sent out a request to its control center. The reply came back immediately. “There is a small staff in a clinic on the fourth level. Does Mr. Pitt require medical assistance?”

“Yes,” Pitt answered. “I’ll require an injection of a painkiller and a tight bandage if I’m to provide Mr. Kamatori with a challenging degree of competition.”

“You did not appear to limp a few hours ago,” McGoon flagged Pitt.

“My knee was numb,” Pitt lied. “But the pain and stiffness have increased to where I find it difficult to walk.” He took a few halting steps and tensed his face as though experiencing a mild case of agony.

As a machine that was completely adequate for the job, Murasaki, alias McGoon, duly relayed his visual observation of Pitt’s pathetic display to his directorate controller somewhere deep within the Dragon Center and received permission to escort his injured prisoner to the medical clinic. Another roboguard appeared to keep a video eye on Giordino, who promptly named the newcomer McGurk.

Playing his fake condition as though an Academy Award was in the offing, Pitt shuffled awkwardly through a labyrinth of corridors before being hustled into an elevator by McGoon.

The robot pressed a floor button with a metal finger, and the elevator began to quietly descend, although not as silently as the one in the Federal Headquarters Building.

Too bad the MAIT team didn’t have intelligence on an elevator that dropped from the island’s surface to the underground center, Pitt thought during the ride. Penetration from the resort might have been carried off with a higher chance of success. A few moments later the doors spread and McGoon prodded Pitt into a brightly lit passageway.

“The fourth door on your left. Take it and enter.”

The door, like every piece of flat surface in the underground facility, was painted white. A small red cross was the only indication of a medical center. There was no knob, only a button set in the frame. Pitt pushed it and the door noiselessly slid open. He limped inside. An attractive young lady in a nurse’s uniform looked up from a desk through serious brown eyes as he entered. She spoke to him in Japanese, and he shrugged dumbly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I only speak English.”

Without another word she stood and walked across a room with six empty beds and disappeared into an office. A few seconds later a young smiling Japanese man wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater under the standard white coat with a stethoscope hanging from his neck approached with the nurse at his heels.

“Mr. Pitt, Mr. Dirk Pitt?” he inquired in West Coast American.

“Yes.”

“I was informed you were coming. Josh Nogami. This is a real honor. I’ve been a fan of yours since you raised the Titanic. As a matter of fact, I took up scuba diving because of you.”

“My pleasure,” Pitt said almost bashfully. “You don’t sound like a local boy.”

“Born and raised in San Francisco under the shadow of the Bay Bridge. Where are you from?”

“I grew up in Newport Beach, California.”

“No kidding. I served my internship at St. Paul’s Hospital in Santa Ana. I used to surf at Newport every chance I got.”

“You’re a long way from your practice.”

“So are you, Mr. Pitt.”

“Did Suma make an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

The smile went cool. “I’m also an admirer of Mr. Suma. I joined his employ four years ago without being bought.”

“You believe in what he’s doing?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Pardon me for suggesting that you’re misguided.”

“Not misguided, Mr. Pitt. Japanese. I’m Japanese and believe in the advancement of our intellectual and aesthetic culture over the contaminated society America has become.”

Pitt was in no mood for another debate on lifestyle philosophies. He pointed to his knee. “I’m going to be needing this tomorrow. I must have twisted it. Can you deaden the pain enough so I can use it?”

“Please roll up your pant leg.”

Pitt did so and made the required grimaces and quick expulsions of breath to simulate hurt as the doctor felt about the knee.

“Doesn’t appear swollen or bruised. No indication of a torn ligament.”

“Hurts like hell, though. I can’t bend it.”

“Did you injure it when you crashed into Mr. Suma’s retreat?”

“News travels fast here.”

“The robots have a grapevine that would make San Quentin prison inmates proud. After I heard of your arrival, I went up and viewed the remains of your airplane. Mr. Suma wasn’t happy that you killed over four hundred thousand yen worth of his prized carp.”

“Then you know I’m the opening act for the massacre tomorrow,” said Pitt.

The smile left Nogami’s face and his eyes went dark. “I want you to know, though I may follow Mr. Suma’s commands, I don’t favor Kamatori’s murderous hunting games.”

“Any advice for a condemned man?”

Nogami motioned around the room. “The walls have more eyes and ears than a theater audience. If I dared cheer for your side, I’d be forced to join you out on the field. No thanks, Mr. Pitt. I’m greatly saddened by your predicament, but you have nobody to blame but yourself for dipping your oars in dangerous waters.”

“But you will see what you can do for my knee.”

“As a doctor I’ll do my best to ease your pain. I’m also under orders by Kamatori to see that you’re fit for the chase tomorrow.”

Nogami shot Pitt’s knee with some unpronounceable drug that was supposed to deaden pain and wrapped it with athletic tape. Then he gave Pitt a small bottle of pills. “Take two of these every four hours. Don’t overdose, or you’ll become groggy and make an easy mark for Kamatori.”

Pitt had carefully watched as the nurse went back and forth into a small supply room for the tape and pills. “Do you mind if I borrow one of your empty beds and relax for a while. Those Japanese sleeping mats aren’t built for these bones.”

“Okay by me. I’ll notify your guard robot that I’m keeping you under observation for an hour or two.” Nogami looked at him steadily. “Don’t even think of trying to escape. There are no windows or rear exits in here, and the robots would be all over your ass before you took two steps toward the elevator.”

“Not to worry,” Pitt said with a friendly smile. “I fully intend to save my strength for tomorrow’s fun.”

Nogami nodded. “Take the first bed. It has the softest mattress. I use it myself. The one Western vice I refuse to give up. I can’t stand those damn tatami mats either.”

“The bathroom?”

“Through the supply room to your left.”

Pitt shook the doctor’s hand. “I’m grateful to you, Dr. Nogami. A pity we see things through a different lens.”

After Nogami returned to his office and the nurse sat back down at her desk with her back to him, Pitt hobbled to the bathroom, only he didn’t enter but merely opened and closed the door with the required sounds to allay any suspicions. The nurse was busy filling out papers at her desk and did not turn to observe his actions through the door of the supply room.

Then he quietly searched the drawers and shelves of medical supplies until he found a box of plastic bags attached to thin tubes with eighteen-gauge needles on their ends. The bags were marked CPDA-1 Red Blood Cells with anticoagulant solution. He removed one of the bags from the box and shoved it inside his shirt. It didn’t make even the slightest bulge.

A mobile X-ray unit stood in one corner of the room. He stared at it briefly, an idea forming in his mind. Using his fingernails, he worked free a plastic manufacturer’s nameplate and used it to unscrew the rear panel. He rapidly twisted off the connectors to a pair of six-volt dry-cell rechargeable batteries and removed one, slipping it down the front of his pants. Then he ripped out as much of the electrical wiring as he could without an excess of suspicious sound and wrapped it around his waist.

Finally he stepped softly into the bathroom, used it, and flushed the toilet. The nurse didn’t even look up as he settled onto the bed. In his office, Nogami seemed absorbed, talking in hushed tones on the phone.