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"Right on the money," replied Sandecker. "Turns out the island was called Ajima by fishermen after one of them became stranded on it in the seventeen-hundreds. But it remained on the charts as Soseki Island. And like many geographical sites connected with local folklore, the name Ajima was eventually lost."
"Where's the location?" asked Giordino.
"About sixty kilometers off the coast due east of Edo City."
Pitt's face suddenly became etched with anxious concern. "What word of Loren?"
Sandecker shook his head. "Only that she and Diaz are alive and hidden in a secret location."
"That's it?" Pitt said, irritated. "No investigation, no operation to free them?"
"Until the bomb-car threat is eliminated, the President's hands are tied."
"Bed," mumbled Giordino, cagily changing the subject to cool Pitt down. "Take me to my bed."
Pitt dipped his head at the little Italian. "Get him. His eyes haven't been open since we left Germany."
"You made good time," said Sandecker. "Have a pleasant flight?"
"Slept most of it. And with the jet lag working in our favor flying west, I'm wide awake."
"Frank Mancuso remained with the art objects'?" Sandecker inquired.
Pitt nodded. "Just before we took off, he received a message from Kern ordering him to pack up the Japanese embassy art and fly it to Tokyo."
"A smoke screen to pacify the Germans." Sandecker smiled. "The art is actually going to a vault in San Francisco. When the time is ripe, the President will present it to the Japanese people as a goodwill gesture." He gestured to the seats of the Jeep. "Get in. Since you're so bright and bushy-tailed, I'll let you drive."
"Fine by me," Pitt said agreeably.
After they threw their bags in the luggage compartment, Pitt slid behind the steering wheel as the admiral and Giordino entered from the opposite side. Sandecker took the front passenger seat, Giordino the back. Pitt shifted the running engine into drive and wheeled the Jeep down a dark road to a gatehouse that stood hidden in a grove of trees. A uniformed security guard stepped out, peered inside the car a moment, then saluted Sandecker and waved them through to a back-country highway.
Three kilometers later, Pitt turned the Jeep onto the Capital Beltway and headed toward the lights of Washington. Traffic at that time of morning was almost nonexistent. He set the cruise control on 110
kilometers and sat back as the big four-wheel-drive rolled effortlessly over the pavement.
They drove in silence for several minutes. Sandecker stared absently through the windshield. Pitt didn't need a strong imagination to know the admiral didn't leave a warm bed to meet them without a good reason. The huge Havana was strangely missing from his mouth, and his hands were clasped across his chest, sure signs of inner tension. His eyes were like ice cubes. He definitely had something heavy on his mind.
Pitt decided to give him an opening. "Where do we go from here?" he asked.
"Say again," Sandecker mumbled in mock distraction.
"What does the great eagle have in store for us next? A nice week's vacation, I hope."
"Do you really want to know?"
"Probably not, but you're going to tell me, right?"
Sandecker yawned to prolong the agony. "Well, I'm afraid you two are off on another airplane ride again."
"Where?"
"The Pacific."
"Where exactly in the Pacific?"
"Palau. The team, or what's left of it, is to assemble at the Information Gathering and Collection Point for new instructions from the Director of Field Operations."
"Without the bureaucratic title crap, what you're saying is we're meeting with Mel Penner."
