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The lunacy, combined with the cold reality of the situation, suddenly seemed ridiculous to Jordan. He saw it was useless trying to make a dent in Suma. Perhaps the madman was right. America ultimately would become divided into separate nations governed by race. He brushed the uncomfortable thought from his mind and rose from the table.
"I must go," he announced curtly.
Suma stared at him. "When can I return to Edo City?"
Jordan regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Tomorrow."
"I would like that," said Suma. "Please see that one of my private planes will be waiting at Dulles Field."
The guy had gall, Jordan thought. "I'll make arrangements through your embassy."
"Good day, Mr. Jordan."
"Good day, Mr. Suma. I trust you will forgive me for any inconvenience you've suffered."
Suma's lips compressed in a thin menacing line and he squinted at Jordan through halfclosed eyes.
"No, Mr. Jordan, I do not forgive you. Please rest assured you will pay a stiff price for my captivity."
Then Suma seemingly dismissed Jordan and poured another cup of tea.
Kern was waiting as Jordan stepped past the armored doors separating the entry hall from the living room. "Have a nice lunch?"
"The food was good but the company was lousy. And you?"
"I listened in while eating in the kitchen. Natalie made me a hamburger."
"Lucky you."
"What about our friend?"
"I told him he would be released tomorrow."
"I heard. Will he remember to pack?"
Jordan smiled. "The thought will be erased during tonight's interrogation session."
Kern nodded slowly. "How long do you think we can keep him going?"
"Until we know everything he knows, unlock every secret, every memory in his gray matter."
"That could take a year or two." So.
"And after we've sucked him dry?"
"What do you mean?"
"We can't keep him hidden from the world forever. And we'd be cutting our own throats if we set him free and allowed him to return to Japan."
Jordan stared at Kern without a flicker of change in his expression. "When Suma has no more left to give, Natalie will slip a little something extra into his noodle soup."
"I'm sorry, Mr. President, but in your Western idiom, my hands are tied."
The President looked across the cabinet room conference table at the smiling little man with the short-trimmed white hair and defiant brown eyes. He seemed more a military commander of a tough infantry battalion than the political leader of Japan.
Prime Minister Junshiro, who had come to Washington on an official state visit, sat flanked by two of his ministers and five staff aides. The President sat opposite with only his interpreter by his side.
"I'm sorry too, Prime Minister, but if you think you're simply going to sweep the tragedies of the past weeks under the rug, you've got another think coming."
