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Showalter nodded. "That's pretty slick."
"Even our Japanese brothers have to take a back seat to our home-grown eavesdropping technology."
Hanamura smiled widely. "The relay transmitter, which is about the size of a golf ball, sends all conversations, including telephone or intercom calls from the office bugs, to one of our satellites, and then beams them down to Mel Penner and his Team Chrysler on Palau."
Orita stared into the water. "Do we know for certain if they're picking up Suma's conversations?"
"The system is fully operational," Showalter assured him. "I contacted Penner before I left for our meeting. He's receiving the signals loud and clear. And so are we. A member of my team at the embassy is also tuned in on Jim's listening gear."
"You'll alert us, I hope, if any information comes through that we can use in the investigation."
"Absolutely." Showalter poured himself another saki. "As a matter of interest, there was an intriguing conversation going on between Suma and Korori Yoshishu when I left the embassy. Too bad I only caught the first couple of minutes of it."
"Yoshishu," muttered Hanamura. "Good lord, is that old crook still alive?"
"Ninety-one and rotten as ever," answered Showalter.
Hanamura shook his head. "The master criminal of the age, personally responsible for more than a million deaths. If Yoshishu is behind Suma and a worldwide organization of hidden nuclear warheads, we're all in deep, deep trouble."
An hour before dawn a Murmoto limousine pulled to a stop and a figure stepped from the shadows and quickly ducked through the opened door. Then the car crawled slowly through the narrow back streets of Asakusa.
"Mr. Suma's office is bugged," said Orita. "One of our agents po
sing as an art dealer hid sophisticated listening devices in the frame of a painting, an easel, and the draw pull of the window blinds."
"Are you certain?" demanded a stunned Kamatori. "The dealer produced an original Shimzu."
"A fake painted from a satellite photo."
Kamatori hissed. "You should have informed me sooner."
"I only learned of it a few hours ago."
Kamatori said nothing but stared at Orita's face in the semi darkness of the limousine as if reinforcing his trust.
Like George Furukawa, Roy Orita was an intelligence sleeper, born in the United States of Japanese parents and groomed for employment in the CIA.
Finally Kamatori said, "Much was said this afternoon that could prove damaging to Mr. Suma. There can be no mistake about this?"
"Did the dealer say his name was Ashikaga Enshu?"
Kamatori felt shock mingled with shame. His job was to protect Suma's organization from penetration.
He had failed miserably and lost much face.
"Yes, Enshu."
"His real name is James Hanamura. The other half of my team whose job is to investigate the source of the nuclear car bombs."
"Who fathomed the tie between the cars and the warheads?"
"An amateur by the name of Dirk Pitt. He was borrowed from the National Underwater and Marine Agency."
"Is he dangerous to us?"
"He might cause trouble. I can't say for sure. He's not assigned to the investigative operations. But he does have an awesome reputation for successfully carrying through impossible projects."
Kamatori sat back and idly stared out the window at the darkened buildings. At last he turned to Orita.
