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Frick stared around the concrete walls, focused on the ventilator Weatherhill had wormed through, then looked down at the barely discernible tire marks on the epoxy-coated floor. Finally he shook his head. "This is the place, all right. It matches the description from Central Intelligence."
A short nuclear physicist with a full beard pushed his way past Frick and stared at the emptiness.
"How am I supposed to disarm the bombs if they're not here?" he said angrily, as if the disappearance of the cars was Frick's fault.
Without answering, Frick walked swiftly through the underground parking area to a command truck.
He entered, poured himself a cup of coffee, and then opened a frequency on the radio.
"Black Horse, this is Red Horse," he said in a tired voice.
"Go ahead, Red Horse," answered the Director of the FBI's field operations.
"We've struck out. The rustlers got here first."
"Join the club, Red Horse. Most of the herd has come up dry too. Only Blue Horse in New Jersey and Gray Horse in Minnesota found steers in the corral."
"Shall we continue the operation?"
"Affirmative. You've got twelve hours. Repeat, twelve hours to track your herd to a new location.
Additional data is being faxed to you, and all police, sheriff, and highway patrol units have been alerted to stop any trucks and semitrailers matching descriptions provided by Central Intelligence."
"I'll need a helicopter."
"You can sign for an entire fleet if that's what it takes to find those bomb cars."
Frick switched off his radio and stared at his coffee. "Too bad they don't fax instructions on how to find a needle in a million square kilometers of desert in twelve hours," he mumbled to himself.
As Yoshishu emerged from the Maglev train at the end of the tunnel from Edo City, Tsuboi was waiting on the platform to greet him.
"Thank you for coming, old friend," said Tsuboi.
"I want to be here at your side when we are ready to play our hand," said the old man, his step more sprightly than Tsuboi had seen in months.
"The blast went off in a midwest state as planned.
"Good, good, that should send a shiver of fear through the American government. Any signal of reaction at the White House?"
Tsuboi's face had a concerned expression. "Nothing. It's as if they're trying to cover it up."
Yoshishu listened impassively. Then his eyes brightened. "If the President hasn't ordered a nuclear warhead against us, then he has a great fear of what he sees in his future."
"Then we have won the gamble."
"Perhaps, yet we cannot celebrate the enormity of our triumph until the Kaiten Project is ready.
"Takeda Kurojima promises to have the program on-line sometime tomorrow evening."
Yoshishu placed his hand on Tsuboi's shoulder. "I think it's time we opened a direct line of communication to the President and informed him of our terms for the new Japan."
"And a new America," Tsuboi said pompously.
"Yes, indeed." Yoshishu looked proudly at the man who had become his chief disciple. "A new Japanese America."
The Lockheed C-5 Galaxy, the largest cargo plane in the world, settled with all the awkward grace of a pregnant albatross onto the Wake Island airstrip and rolled to a stop. A car approached and braked under the shadow of one enormous wing. Pitt and Giordino left the car and entered the aircraft through a small hatch just aft of the aircraft wheel wells.
