flying at the moment," Susan announced and underlined the television station's phone number. "They expect her back in about an hour and fifteen minutes. I'll see if I can speak with her when she lands."
Callaway ran a finger through the dust on one of the desks. "I want to check out the drug smuggler. and then go over the reports from the eyewitnesses."
Steve's glance slid to Susan. "I need to make arrangements for a military helicopter, then I'd like to sit in on your discussion with the--"
"Sky Nine pilot," she said easily. "Theresa Garney."
Chapter 9.
NEAR MARCO ISLAND, FLORIDA
Tadashi Matsukawa stood on the afterdeck of the Gochi Nyorai, his new 204-foot Feadship named after the five Buddhas of Wisdom and Contemplation. The gleaming white ship with the polished brass fittings and golden teak decks was considered the Rolls-Royce of superyachts.
Built in the Dutch seafaring tradition and hailed as a world-cruising masterpiece, Gochi Nyorai had been designed and equipped for any sea conditions, any season of the year. She could easily negotiate Drake Passage while rounding Cape Horn in the worst of storms.
Matsukawa was especially pleased with the absence of noise and vibration in the sturdy hull. With 38,000 gallons of fuel and 14,600 gallons of water in her bowels, the stately yacht had the ability to take the captain of Japanese industry anywhere in the world.
While Tadashi Matsukawa mingled with the 170 guests aboard Gochi Nyorai for the afternoon cruise, three chefs manned the huge barbecue on the afterdeck. The men slathered various sauces on the wide variety of meats while a second vessel trailed the yacht with freshly butchered livestock for the sizzling grill.
The CEOs of Fortune 500 companies chatted easily with members of Congress and professional influence peddlers. The core of lobbyists especially enjoyed the assemblage of female celebrities, well-known models, and highly paid call girls who were attending the extravagant party.
The primary topic of conversation centered around the ongoing investigation into the crash landing of the JAL flight at Los Angeles. A videotape taken by an amateur photographer near the airport clearly showed the highly visible tracer rounds impacting the airplane. Although the quality of the picture was poor, the frantic dive for the deck and subsequent hard landing and explosion had been captured on film.
Matsukawa was about to have another glass of champagne when Yoshio Okura, his aide for eleven years, stepped close to him and silently signaled to him. Okura never appeared in the midst of a social gathering unless the reason was extremely important.
Smiling and chatting cordially, Matsukawa slipped into a wide passageway and followed his assistant to the master suite. The lavish stateroom was connected to a private, state-of-the-art communications center.
"What is it, Yoshio?"
The chunky man backed toward the door for a quick exit. More than a dozen times, Yoshio Okura had borne Matsukawa's violent anger when the businessman had received bad news.
"The Ambassador is on your private line."
"Hagura?"
The nervous man nodded and inched backward.
Matsukawa thanked his aide and waited until Okura left the suite, then sat down in a leather chair by the phone with the blinking yellow light.
The billionaire had nurtured a friendship with Ambassador Koji Hagura in order to have another direct line of communication to the U . S . government. Considered a plodder by many, Hagura was much more than a dull functionary. Under th e t utelage of Tadashi Matsukawa, the Ambassador had developed excellent politico-business instincts.
"Konnichi wa, Hagura-san." Good afternoon, Mr. Hagura. Matsukawa never used the word "ambassador" when he talked with Hagura. "Ogenki desu ka?" How are you?
"Genki desu. Arigatoo gozaimasu." Very well, thank you.
Matsukawa drummed his stubby fingers on the edge of the Chippendale desk. "What can I do for you, Hagura-san?"
"The President has
Callaway ran a finger through the dust on one of the desks. "I want to check out the drug smuggler. and then go over the reports from the eyewitnesses."
Steve's glance slid to Susan. "I need to make arrangements for a military helicopter, then I'd like to sit in on your discussion with the--"
"Sky Nine pilot," she said easily. "Theresa Garney."
Chapter 9.
NEAR MARCO ISLAND, FLORIDA
Tadashi Matsukawa stood on the afterdeck of the Gochi Nyorai, his new 204-foot Feadship named after the five Buddhas of Wisdom and Contemplation. The gleaming white ship with the polished brass fittings and golden teak decks was considered the Rolls-Royce of superyachts.
Built in the Dutch seafaring tradition and hailed as a world-cruising masterpiece, Gochi Nyorai had been designed and equipped for any sea conditions, any season of the year. She could easily negotiate Drake Passage while rounding Cape Horn in the worst of storms.
Matsukawa was especially pleased with the absence of noise and vibration in the sturdy hull. With 38,000 gallons of fuel and 14,600 gallons of water in her bowels, the stately yacht had the ability to take the captain of Japanese industry anywhere in the world.
While Tadashi Matsukawa mingled with the 170 guests aboard Gochi Nyorai for the afternoon cruise, three chefs manned the huge barbecue on the afterdeck. The men slathered various sauces on the wide variety of meats while a second vessel trailed the yacht with freshly butchered livestock for the sizzling grill.
The CEOs of Fortune 500 companies chatted easily with members of Congress and professional influence peddlers. The core of lobbyists especially enjoyed the assemblage of female celebrities, well-known models, and highly paid call girls who were attending the extravagant party.
The primary topic of conversation centered around the ongoing investigation into the crash landing of the JAL flight at Los Angeles. A videotape taken by an amateur photographer near the airport clearly showed the highly visible tracer rounds impacting the airplane. Although the quality of the picture was poor, the frantic dive for the deck and subsequent hard landing and explosion had been captured on film.
Matsukawa was about to have another glass of champagne when Yoshio Okura, his aide for eleven years, stepped close to him and silently signaled to him. Okura never appeared in the midst of a social gathering unless the reason was extremely important.
Smiling and chatting cordially, Matsukawa slipped into a wide passageway and followed his assistant to the master suite. The lavish stateroom was connected to a private, state-of-the-art communications center.
"What is it, Yoshio?"
The chunky man backed toward the door for a quick exit. More than a dozen times, Yoshio Okura had borne Matsukawa's violent anger when the businessman had received bad news.
"The Ambassador is on your private line."
"Hagura?"
The nervous man nodded and inched backward.
Matsukawa thanked his aide and waited until Okura left the suite, then sat down in a leather chair by the phone with the blinking yellow light.
The billionaire had nurtured a friendship with Ambassador Koji Hagura in order to have another direct line of communication to the U . S . government. Considered a plodder by many, Hagura was much more than a dull functionary. Under th e t utelage of Tadashi Matsukawa, the Ambassador had developed excellent politico-business instincts.
"Konnichi wa, Hagura-san." Good afternoon, Mr. Hagura. Matsukawa never used the word "ambassador" when he talked with Hagura. "Ogenki desu ka?" How are you?
"Genki desu. Arigatoo gozaimasu." Very well, thank you.
Matsukawa drummed his stubby fingers on the edge of the Chippendale desk. "What can I do for you, Hagura-san?"
"The President has
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