"Tallerico may have been buying industrial secrets from a San Francisco

  psychologist named Jeanne Shepard, who was the psychologist for an

  engineer by the name of Louis Zerkel. Zerkel worked for InterTech until

  he disappeared. Point is InterTech builds some electronic components for

  Guerin airplanes. The company may have a connection with a Japanese

  microchip supplier. But Zerkel's psychologist and his immediate

  supervisor and the man's family were all murdered, and an InterTech

  facility was broken into, a night watchman killed, and the place set on

  fire." "Through Tallerico another possible tie with Reid."

  Whitman nodded. "Louis Zerkel's brother, Glen, is an environmental

  terrorist on our top twenty-five." :'All of it very, very circumstantial," Wood said. 'But there's so much of it," Whitman countered.

  "I'll take it up with the director in the morning. But you're going to

  have to have some help."

  "That's for sure, Ken, because besides Reid, I want to go after

  McGarvey."

  "I didn't hear you drive up," Louis Zerkel said.

  His brother Glen looked tired and disheveled. "I hitched a ride from town

  and hiked up from the highway. Where's everybody?"

  "The German left right after supper, and Mr. Reid went back to the city

  a couple of hours ago. Around ten, I

  HIGH FLIGHT 379

  think. Are you okay, Glen? Was there any trouble in Portland? Did you find out what Mr. Reid wanted?"

  "I found out enough to know that if we go through with this we'd better

  get it right, because afterward the sky is going to fall in. Guerin

  Airplane Company is a hell of a lot bigger than I thought it would be.

  I mean intellectually I knew the figures, but, Louis, you ought to see

  it. Christ, half the city belongs to them. Half the state." "What happened out there?" Louis asked.

  "I had to take out a night watchman. But that's beside the point. If we

  take on Guerin like Mr. R. wants us to do, it'll be more than a federal

  rap. Every agency in the country will be gunning for us. And whether you

  know it or not there's a lot of fucking good talent out there. This won't

  be like hitting a ski resort or an open pit mine, this'll be like the

  Munich Olympics, or the Marine barracks in Beirut, only bigger. Much

  bigger." "Did anybody see you?"

  "No. I don't think so. And if we're lucky the local cops will handle the

  case as a break-and-enter. Happens all the time out there. One guy in a

  bar offered me a job. Told me that's how he made his living. Stealing

  shit from Guerin. They don't even miss it." "You said no one saw you."

  "Nobody important. The guys I talked to sure as hell won't blow any

  whistles." "What guys? How did you find them?" Glen shrugged. "They're around. You just find them."

  Louis needed time to think it out. Circuit design and analysis were easy

  by comparison. He wished that he could talk it over with Dr. Shepard. She

  would understand.

  "How is your end coming?" Glen asked. "Can we do it without leaving a

  trail back here?" "I think so."

  "Don't think man," Glen shouted. "You'd better be goddamned sure. Our

  asses are on the line, you understand? Come out of the drift factor,

  Louis. Can we do it without leading them back to us?"

  380 DAVID HAGBERG

  "When I'm finished no one will be able to electronically trace the

  signals back here. But we have another problem."

  "I know," Glen said. "Mr. R. has no intention of paying us off. He's

  going to have Mueller kill us. That's why I'm going to kill the bastard

  before we push the switch. On his own Mr. R. will have to keep his word

  to US. V,

  "Besides that, I think Mr. Reid may be under investigation by the FBI,"

  Louis blurted.

  "Oh, Jesus Christ." Glen pulled a chair over to where Louis sat by one

  of the terminals and slumped down on it. "Did you get into the Bureau's

  system?"

  "There's nothing in the system, but Mueller thinks it's possible because

  of that German who called here from Paris." "Karl Schey? Did he show up here?"

  "Yes, and Mueller killed him. He told Mr. Reid that Schey would never

  have left Germany unless he was in some kind of trouble. If that were the

  case, Interpol and probably the FBI would be looking for him. The

  investigation might include Mr. Reid. What do you think about that?"

  "We either get the hell out of here now, or we get on with it as fast as

  possible." "I've got nowhere to go, Glen."

  "We have to get out of the country, that's for damn sure. And to do that

  takes money. So let's get on with it and hope that Reid has enough

  connections to stall the feds until we're out of here."

  Mueller presented himself at the Visitors Information Bureau at Oakland International Airport a minute before 3:00 P.m. and handed the young woman behind the counter his business card, which identified him as Thomas Reston, a freelance writer for High Technology Business and Aviation Week & Space Technology magazines.

  "Have you an appointment, sir?" the receptionist asked.

  HIGH FLIGHT 381

  "I telephoned the Tower Chief, Mr. Franklin, and he promised someone

  would be meeting me here." "Let me call for you."

  Mueller had lightened his hair and wore blue contact lenses, which along

  with a lightweight silk suit, Italian tie, and a butter-soft leather

  briefcase made him appear successful and at least ten years younger than

  his actual age.

  InterTech was nearby, but he felt no unease returning to the area so

  soon. Even if someone had seen and identified him last week it was

  unlikely the police would expect him back, nor would he be recognizable

  to anyone who didn't know him intimately. He'd had the business cards

  printed at a Kinko's shop in San Francisco and had done a few hours

  homework at the periodicliterature section of the public library.

  "That's all right, Tammy," a short man with gray hair and a gray beard

  said, coming across the lobby. His complexion was sallow as if he'd spent

  most of his life indoors.

  "Mr. Franklin?" Mueller asked, stepping away from the counter.

  "No. R.C. sent me over. I'm Bill White, chief air traffic control

  instructor here. Mr. Reston?"

  "Yes, that's right." Mueller handed the man a card and they shook hands.

  "I'm a little vague on what you'd like to know. Maybe you can fill me in

  on the way over to the tower. I'm assuming you want to see what we're

  doing in approach and departure control. But I can tell you right now

  that our progress since you people were out here last month is bang on."

  "That's good to hear. I'm assuming then that your IBM Initial Suite

  Sector System is up and fully operational." "It is.,,

  There'd been a lot written about the new air traffic control network in

  this country. It was called the Advanced Automation System Project and

  was part of a Washington-driven capital investment plan to spend

  382 DAVID HAGBERG

  around thirty billion dollars by the year 2000. IBM had helped design it.

  During the five-minute drive across to the tower, White was silent.

  Before they went up, however, he stopped Mueller. "Just what are you

  looking for this time? You know the situation out here. We're being

  squeezed both ways. High tech costs big bucks, and in the middle of it

  all we need the controller. The human voice talking to human pilots. That

  hasn't changed and won't." "The National Airspace Plan . .

  "That's a worn-out joke, and everybody knows it," White said. "You're

  dealing with big egos here. Controllers are hotshots, so what's new? But

  you've got to tell me why you really came out here today. You're after

  something specific, so you play straight with me, and I'll play straight

  with you." "The AAS . . ."

  "You've already asked about that, and I told you that we're on track. No

  problems there. What are you driving at?"

  Mueller was at a loss. From his reading he'd gathered that there was a

  lot of infighting going on between the airline industry, the Federal

  Aviation Administration, and the management commissions of the various

  large U.S. airports. But like in most bureaucratic entanglements more was

  said and written between the lines than was stated openly. His homework

  had been extensive enough to understand that such a situation existed,

  but not enough to come up with the answers that a man who claimed to be

  a technology writer should have. He had stumbled into dangerous

  territory, with no easy way to escape.

  A hint of suspicion was beginning to show in White's eyes. He was waiting

  for the right answer. But the man had admitted that his own ego was big.

  Mueller shrugged. He would have to guess. "I was going to feel you out

  first, Bill, before I mentione'd' it. I didn't want you to bite my head

  off."

  HIGH FLIGHT 383

  "About what?"

  "What they're doing at Haren near Brussels Interriational Airport."

  "Europe's supposed Central Flow Management Unit plan, is that what you're

  talking about?" White asked. "Come with me and I'll show you why it's the

  only way for them to go, but would be totally useless and a damned big

  waste of money in this country."

  Sokichi Kamiya had come to think of himself as a segregationist. There were those who maintained a more accurate description might be isolationist, but they were wrong. Japan could not exist in a vacuum, and he had never preached such a doctrine. International trade and cooperation were facts of life, although that fool Ichiro Enchi had gone completely over the edge with his announced Japan Free World Trade Zone. If the prime minister's plan were somehow to come to pass, Japan would go bankrupt and probably drag the U.S. down with it.

  He stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Imperial Hotel's

  thirtieth-floor suite looking out across the Imperial Gardens. How

  Western a spot in which to meet, he thought. And yet how Japanese the

  view. Storm clouds were gathering in more than just a figurative manner.

  The horizon to the northwest was ominously black. The coming days

  promised to be bleak.

  He was a man who understood that the soul of Japan hung in the balance.

  There were two hemispheres and two races that mattered. He would see to

  it that the purity of his remained intact, even if he had to carry on the

  fight singlehandedly. But the timing was wrong. Other forces were out

  there, meddling. Everything was coming to a head faster than he thought

  possible, which left him only two choices: either step aside and let

  events take their natural course or proceed as planned-much faster than

  planned. One choice, actually, he told himself. "We are reasonable men, Kamiya-san. Between us we

  384 DAVID HAGBERG

  will find a way," Tadashi Ota said from the buffet across the room.

  "Not by giving away our hard-won advantage," Kamlya grumbled. He turned

  away from the window.

  "My dear old friend, if you mean by that our financial position against

  that of America's, then your concern is as touching as it is misplaced."

  Ota was twenty years younger than Kamiya, and neither as an old friend

  nor as Deputy Director General of Defense was he directly involved with

  the government's finances. "Then why are you here?" "To ask for your help, of course, Kamiya-san. "Who directed you to speak with me?"

  Ota smiled wanly. "A delicate situation has arisen that involves a ...

  disciple of yours."

  Kamiya's left eyebrow rose. He turned back to the window. The trouble had

  always been that Japan's population was concentrated in a few cities. The

  nation's international commerce was gathered into definable regions that

  the military would term primary targets. Japan was an easy mark for

  destruction. Not a day went by that some event or some comment would not

  trigger his memories of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He knew exactly what he'd

  been doing on those days, at precisely those instants when the bombs had

  burst. It was the same in America. Depending upon what generation you

  spoke with, they either remembered the day Pearl Harbor was attacked or

  the day on which President Kennedy was assassinated. Those events had

  become national benchmarks. Pearl Harbor had given Americans the resolve

  to enter the war. Kennedy's assassination had jarringly awakened the

  nation to a new era. On that day the earth had shrunk by a quantum leap.

  But the nuclear destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had made Japan a

  shy nation. It wasn't so much that her people had become peace-loving

  overnight; it was that they had embraced the attitude of the loser. We

  cannot win, so let us not fight. It was the very reason that Japan had

  become so stunningly successful at rebuilding herself in the fifty years

  since the war, at creating a vibrant

  HIGH FLIGHT 385

  economy out of the ashes. Her national energy went from war to commerce. Japan became, in a few short decades, one of the leading economic powers in the world. That, of necessity since the end of the Cold War between the Soviet Union and United States, put Japan on a collision course with America. Like a marriage going bad, the danger existed that the husband would vent his anger at his wife by striking her down. In Kamiya's analogy Japan was the bride at her most vulnerable point. Enchi's offer to create a free trade agreement was the same last-ditch conciliatory gesture a frightened wife might make to her husband in an effort to save the failing marriage. It would not, could not, work.

  "I have no disciples," Kamiya contradicted. "What am I being taken for?"

  "We have spoken with Yabe Takagi. Actually he was quite open with

  investigators, I am told."

  Kamiya again turned back from the window to face the deputy director

  general. "He is a teacher, certainly not my student."

  "He is sensei of that hothead Seijii Kiyoda, a relationship you cannot

  deny you arranged."

  "I know the lieutenant commander and his family very well. His father was

  a personal friend of mine. But Seijii Kiyoda commands a submarine. He

  works for you, not me."

  ",Until a couple of days ago Lieutenant Commander Kiyoda was under arrest

  for treason."

  "House arrest, Minister Ota. Odd for such a serious allegation."

  "You are not chief justice of this nation," Ota blurted in vexation. "Nor are you."

  "Kiyoda was responsible for sinking a Russian naval vessel in the Tatar

  Strait, contrary to standing orders. It was Kiyoda who took the

  initiative. It was Kiyoda who maneuvered his vessel and his crew into a

  situation where the Russians had to defend themselves or die." "He should have been stopped."

  386 DAVID HAGBERG

  "A submarine at sea, submerged, is nearly autonomous."

  "Then his arrest should have been handled with greater care." "You interfered."

  "A charge I categorically deny, Deputy Director General," Kamiya

  asserted. "You arranged our meeting, you selected this place, and you say

  you have come to ask for my help. 'We are reasonable men. Between us we

  will find a way.' Your words. Is this meeting official?"

  Ota looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Not entirely, Kamiya-san. But

  I am asking for your help not only on behalf of the navy, but on behalf

  of our country." "With what?"

  "Stopping that hothead Kiyoda from doing irreparable damage. Damage that

  would put us in grave danger. We need time to bridge the differences

  between us and the United States. It is time Prime Minister Enchi is

  buying. It is time Kiyoda is stealing from us by his latest insane

  adventure." "Time for what?"

  "You read about the young woman's murder in Yokosuka and about the

  murders of ordinary Japanese tourists in New York and Los Angeles. You

  read about the gathering in front of the U.S. embassy not far from this

  very spot. And you have undoubtedly read about the growing anti-Japanese

  sentiment in the United States. These events and trends are nothing short

  of alarming. As the Prime Minister said . . ."

  "I know what that foot has said," Kamiya interrupted. "But I will ask you

  again, Deputy Director General, you need time for what? For this

  so-called free trade nonsense to be put into effect? For the so-called

  economic summit next month? Is that what you fools honestly expect me to

  help you with?"

  Ota was a diminutive man with sharp features, obsidian eyes, and very

  thick black hair. He was not unlike many Japanese men. Like rabbits,

  Kamiya thought. The

  HIGH FLIGHT 387

  spirit had been eroded in men such as Ota. No bushido here.

  "We will uncover the connection between you and the group that calls

  itself Rising Sun, be assured of that, Kamiya-san. - "That is not possible, because no connection exists."

  "Just as we will uncover your direct links with MITI, which has allowed

  you to use the ministry as your personal tool of aggression." "Get to the point, you fool."

  Ota took a couple of steps closer. "And we shall ultimately discover the

 

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