High flight kirk mcgarve.., p.50
High Flight (Kirk McGarvey 5), page 50
part #4 of Kirk McGarvey Series
of the United States. A view that is shared by a number of important,
well-informed people." "I don't happen to agree."
"I appreciate that. Out of friendship, or whatever, I concede your point
that we ought to go slow with McGarvey." Ryan stepped even closer for
emphasis. "But let's get with it. The timing is becoming critical. I
would like a handle on the situation before it gets out of control. Do
you know what I'm saying?"
Carrara nodded. Pissant or not, the Agency counsel was correct in his
concerns. The situation with McGarvey was developing into something that
promised to become even more deadly. "The follow-up from Tokyo should be
coming in soon. When it does I'll put it together with what we've already
got and bring it up."
"Fair enough. But I want you to remain objective. Can you do that for us,
Phil?" "Sure.,,
Ryan took the elevator back up to the seventh floor. The general was
expected in a few minutes. In the meantime Deputy Director Lawrence
Danielle was free. Carrara, he thought, would have to be eased out. The
DDO was very good at what he did, but like a scientist or an engineer the
man had developed tunnel vision. He could not see beyond his own office,
which in this day and age was not good enough. No longer were our enemies
clearly defined. It was a fact that Ryan had tried
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to get across to Carrara on more than one occasion. Shades of evil existed everywhere, including at home. Even here in this building. But the bastard wouldn't listen to him. In fact Carrara was becoming increasingly difficult. It was as if he thought he owned Operations. Just like in Cuba, or Nicaragua, or Chile, Hispanics were basically unstable. It was, he supposed, genetic.
"I thought you were gone for the day," Danielle said from his desk.
"I had a few last-minute items to go over. Have you seen the latest from
Tokyo?" "McGarvey is at it again."
"I think he should be brought in. I'm going to recommend it to the
General." "What's Phil's reading?" the DDCI asked.
"Wait and see. Don't upset the apple cart. Same old same old." "A view you do not share."
"No," Ryan said. "In fact I think Phil may be in left field on this one.
Old friends and all that. I mean, it's understandable, but it does not
alter the fact that just now Japan is important to us, and McGarvey's
meddling is creating an unlevel playing field."
Danielle gave Ryan an owlish look. "Phil Carrara is a bright, capable
man." "I didn't mean to imply anything different."
"Very well, Howard. But you know as well as I do that McGarvey will come
in only of his free will."
"Unless he's charged with something," Ryan suggested slyly.
Danielle's intercom buzzed. "The Director has arrived," his secretary
said.
"Tell him that Howard and I have something for him." "Very well." Danielle and Ryan walked across to the DCFs office.
"Has something come in from Tokyo Station?" Murphy asked. "Phil is expecting an update momentarily," Ryan
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replied. "But it's possible they'll turn up a blank. Tokyo is a big city, and if McGarvey has help it'll make things doubly difficult."
"Has anyone spoken with Al Vasilanti or David Kennedy in Portland?" "Not that I'm aware of, General," Ryan admitted. "Lawrence?" Murphy turned to his DDCI.
"I'd feel better if we had a chance to ask McGarvey a few questions. But he
won't come in on his own."
"We charge him with obstruction of justice," Ryan suggested. "The NTSB is
considering the outside possibility that Guerin's crash at Dulles may have
involved sabotage. McGarvey could be a material witness. At the very least
he is withholding potentially important information. Air safety is on
everyone's minds these days. Considering Air Force One is a Guerin 522, 1
think we need to talk to anyone and everyone concerned. With or without
their cooperation." "It's an approach," Danielle agreed.
Murphy nodded after a moment, "Instruct Tokyo Station that MeGarvey is to
return to Washington immediately." "He'll certainly object." Ryan's eyes Zlittered. "Immediately," Murphy said.
Like their lunch date a few days ago, Chance Kennedy had no intention of accepting Yamagata's dinner invitation, yet at the last minute she had given in. She was fascinated, de~pite the danger signals. She felt like a foolish schoolgirl, out of her league, but David was wrapped up with the new project, and she was so bored she wanted to scream. Yamagata was after information. But that cut both ways if she could keep her head.
"It was lovely, Arimoto," Chance said over afterdinner drinks. "Thank you, but it's not over. I have a surprise for YOU."
Chance smiled wanly. She glanced out the bay windows that looked through
the woods toward the resort's
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cabins, each with its own private path from the main lodge and dining room. "I wondered how you would approach that." "You accepted my invitation."
"For dinner," Chance said, turning back. His smile was devastating. "But
not bed." "Tea," he said, studying her face. She looked at him quizzically.
He caressed the rim of his champagne flute with a finger. "You're here
for the same reason I am, Chance. Information. I would like to know more
about Guerin Airplane Company's will and determination to survive, and
you want to know about Japan's interests and intentions." He looked up.
"In order for you to succeed you must first understand the Japanese." "By drinking tea with you?"
-Cha-no-yu. It's a ceremony, but it amounts to us drinking tea together.
Two small cups for you, and two for me. Afterward you return to the city
if you wish." "That's it?"
He smiled again and nodded. "I've rented a cha house-actually it's just
the living room in one of the cabins-but I've made preparations. It's
taken two days." "Just tea?"
Yamagata helped her with her chair. "Just tea," he assured her.
They got their coats and headed down one of the paths. Chance could
scarcely believe that she was going along with him. But whatever Yamagata
was, she didn't think he was a rapist. She was a big girl, fascinated but
not befuddled. She had a good husband who was simply going through a bad
time. She was not going to jeopardize her marriage.
"Humility, cleanliness, and simplicity, these are very important to a
Japanese," Yamagata explained. "Everything springs from these three
virtues. From these comes beauty, elegance, and the courage to live not
only the present but to face the future."
HIGH FLIGHT 457
"You're different from us," Chance said foolishly.
Yamagata took her arm as they neared the cabin, which was a chalet-type
structure with a sharply sloping roof The smell of wood smoke drifted on
the still night air. Small yellow lights softly illuminated the path, which
had been swept clean of snow. "You cannot imagine how different. But after
tonight you will understand some things about us for the first time."
A few yards from the chalet's front deck, Chance pulled up short, beginning
to wonder if this situation was getting out of control. Not only had the
path been cleared, but the snow on either side of the path for as far as
she could see into the darkness had been meticulously raked into patterns
of gentle swirls and graceful ridges that caught the light from each
lantern and reflected it at lovely angles.
"I'm pleased that you notice," Yamagata said, watching her. "Humility
springs from simple labors, the results of which are cleanliness and
simplicity not only of surroundings but of one's inner self."
"It could have snowed again and covered your work. Or the wind could have
destroyed it." "Then I would have begun again."
Inside, he hung up their coats and had her take off her shoes, which he put
with her purse and his shoes out of sight. A small table in the entry hall
held a broad earthenware bowl filled with water. To the left were two white
cloths and to the right a beautiful arrangement of flowers.
"First we cleanse our fingers," Yamagata said, showing her how to dip her
hands into the water, then dry them,
The short carpeted corridor opened to the living room, a fire burning on
the grate the only light. Normally the room was furnished with sectional
couches, chairs, coffee tables, television and stereo, and a diningroom
arrangement. But all of the furniture had been removed. The only items in
the big room were a very low table placed in front of the fireplace in the
center of a
458 DAVID HAGBERG
five-by-eight tatami. The table held a cast-iron pot of water simmering on an intricately fashioned charcoal brazier, a porcelain pot, a tiny handleless cup, a bamboo spoon and bamboo whisk, and a small lacquered box.
The wooden floor gleamed richly in the flickering firelight, and the
entire room, walls, rafters, ceiling, every single surface was spotlessly
clean. The effect was overwhelming. Intimidating on one hand, strangely
reassuring, even comforting on the other. Yamagata, or someone he had
hired, had gone to a great deal of effort to make everything perfect. But
he'd said simple labors made for humility, and that he'd worked two days
on the preparations. He did all this, and Chance was impressed. Yet the
overall effect was alien. Different. NonWestern.
She stepped back, stumbling into his arms. "Oh." She looked up into his
eyes, her heart beginning to pound.
-Cha-no-yu, " he said, reassuringly. "I think you are beginning to
understand. But wait."
He led her to the low table where she had to hike up her dress to sit on
the mat. He gracefully lowered himself across from her. She was
mesmerized by him, by the surroundings. Everything within her wanted to
get up and leave, but she could not.
"I ask if you would like to take tea, and you reply that it would be a
great honor, but I should not go to any trouble."
"It would be a great honor," Chance said. The words wanted to catch in
her throat. "But please don't go to any trouble for me." "It is no trouble. It is my honor."
His voice was soft, his motions slow and precise. She could believe that
each movement had been practiced often. He opened the lacquered tea caddy
and using the bamboo spoon placed a measure of green tea powder into the
cup. Replacing the spoon to its precise position, he poured hot water
into the cup, replaced the iron pot on the brazier, and using the whisk
delicately mixed the powder and water. Next he added a spoon of cold
water
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from the porcelain pot, stirred the mixture again, and replaced the spoon as before.
He picked up the cup in both hands, bowed to Chance, and offered it to her.
"Return my bow, take the cup, and drink three times. Delicately. Leaving
just a little."
She did as she was instructed. The tea was at perfect drinking temperature,
but tasted odd. Like flowers, with a hint of some unidentifiable spice or
spices, not unpleasant. She looked up. "Finish it, and return the cup to me."
She did so, languidly as if in a dream, and he repeated the ritual, making
a second cup of tea that he again offered to her.
"Refuse. Tell me that I should taste the tea myself," Yamagata said.
She complied, and he studied the contents of the cup for a long moment
before he sipped three times, rested for a few seconds, the expression on
his face serene, and finished the tea.
He made a third cup in precisely the same fashion as the first two, which
Chance took, and a fourth cup, which he drank.
She was floating. The odors of the fireplace, the charcoal brazier, and the
tea were distinct and separate in her senses, wonderfully soothing.
Sensual. She was beginning to understand.
Yamagata helped her away from the table and undressed her, his movements
just as slow and precise as they had been making tea.
He was seated naked in front of her, and he brushed rose petals against the
erect nipples of her breasts. The effect was hypnotizing. She was seduced
into a gently swirling whirlpool. Warmth. Pleasure. Caressing her body,
pulling her beyond anything she had ever experienced or dreamed of.
They were sitting, half reclining, side by side, and he was inside her from
behind, motionless, yet waves of sexual pleasure coursed through her body.
She began to
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understand that he was increasing and decreasing the size of his penis, rhythmically, and she began to contract the muscles of her vagina in sync with him.
"I love it," she murmured. She did not want to break the spell. She never
wanted it to end. He kissed her neck, increasing her pleasure tenfold.
Then his fingers found her clitoris and in consort with everything else,
even with the music that seemed to be playing somewhere, he teased and
played with her until she did understand. Everything. She never wanted it to end. "I love it," she said again.
"Talk to me, Chance," Yamagata said into her ear. "I will listen."
Louis Zerkel had become increasingly nervous over the past twenty-four hours. He had diverted his attention from testing the heat monitor subassembly until he'd finished the repeaters and the closed-circuit television shunt Mueller had requested. The Faraday cage had been completed, and the monitor they had stolen from InterTech along with one of the repeaters was safely protected within its electromagnetic confines. Whatever signals were generated by the system would remain within the system. No one wanted an uncontrolled repeat of the Dulles crash.
Louis had not figured out what the extra circuitry in the CPU was used
for. All of his diagnostic tests had come up with nothing. He'd hoped
that by having the actual unit to test, figuring out what was going on
would be easy. But it still made no sense to him, and his inability to
accomplish something he thought was little more than basic electronics
was frustrating him.
He'd expected to see a modified signal coming from the monitor when the
keying pulse was sent, decoded, and processed. A reversal in polarity of
some of the critical temperature-monitoring sensors, for example, would
cause the engine to rapidly overheat and destroy itself while sending
indications to the Flight Management Computer in the cockpit that engine
temperatures
HIGH FLIGHT 461
were well within parameters. But there were no feedback signals into that section of the subassembly. "How much longer?" Mueller asked.
"I don't know," Louis admitted. "I'll know better after this test. The
entire system is on line this time." Louis had set up his Faraday cage
and subassembly test breadboard in the basement. Extra lights had been
strung up, and some of his test instruments had been brought down along
with a computer terminal connected to his mainframe upstairs. Wires
snaked across the dirty concrete floor, indicators blinked, the audio-
pulse generator connected to the encoding sequencer warbled and beeped,
and a white-noise generator that protected the low-frequency sections of
the subassembly hissed like a radio tuned off station. But something was
missing, Louis thought. Some critical part of the destructive mechanism. "When will you finish tits test?" Mueller asked.
Louis flipped on the computer monitor and watched as the encoding
multiplexer homed in on the correct pulse, and seconds later locked on.
The heat monitor subassembly was cocked. "Now," he said.
Mueller stepped aside. Reid was in Washington, and Glen was asleep in one
of the upstairs bedrooms. It was just the two of them down here.
Louis adjusted the oscilloscope connected to the input and output
sections of the CPU, timing it against the subassembly's GO-One clock,
then keyed the walkietalkie shunted directly to one of the repeaters.
"Boom," he said into the mike. After a short phase delay the CPU
delivered a modulated spike to the extra ground wire. Louis stared at the
scope. The output signal was less than ten milliseconds duration, but
information had been piggybacked onto it. A message had been sent to the
engine sensor frame. "Was that it?" Mueller asked. Louis continued to stare at the scope. "Does it work?",
462 DAVID HAGBERG
The system was incomplete, Louis thought. One more test. He had to make
absolutely certain. He needed to know one more thing for sure. There
could be no room for error.
He turned to the German. "You have to go back to San Francisco, or
Portland. I need the engine sensor frame and wiring harness."
Mueller's expression was unreadable. "Is this necessary?" "Yes," Louis said. "Then I will wake your brother and we'll get it for YOU."
Louis turned his gaze to the monitor. "What do you think about that?" he
mumbled.
"Who do you work for?" McGarvey asked. "Does it matter?" Eto responded.
They were headed out of the mountains to Narita Airport. McGarvey's bag
was in the trunk. His passport had been exit-stamped with today's date.
