His injuries were temporarily forgotten as Clausen reverently walked between the planes and into the flight quarters and maintenance repair areas. As his eyes became adjusted to the darkness, he became amazed at the neat orderliness. There was no sign of a hurried departure. He felt the pilots and their mechanics were standing at inspection in the field above and expected back at any time.
He entered a state of rapture when it struck him that all the wartime artifacts were on his property, or under it, and belonged to him. The worth of the aircraft to collectors and museums must have ranged in the millions of deutsche marks.
Clausen made his way back to the edge of the underground pool. The tractor looked a sorry sight with only the steering wheel and upper tires rising out of the water. Once more he gazed up at the hole to the sky. There was no hope of climbing out on his own. The opening was too high and the walls too steep.
He wasn’t a tiny bit worried. Eventually his wife would come looking for him and summon neighbors when she found him standing happily in their newly discovered subterranean bonanza.
There had to be a generator somewhere for electrical power. He decided to search out its location. Perhaps, he thought, he might be able to fire it up and light the cavern. He squinted at his watch and figured another four hours would pass before his wife became curious over his prolonged absence.
He hesitated, thoughtfully staring into the far end of the cave that sloped into the forbidding pool, wondering if maybe another cavern waited in the darkness beyond the flooded depths.
32
“IF THE PUBLIC only knew what goes on behind their backs, they’d burn Washington,” said Sandecker as the Virginia countryside flashed past the heavily tinted and armored windows of the customized mobile command center disguised as a nationally known bus line.
“We’re in a war right up to our damned teeth,” the MAIT team’s Deputy Director, Donald Kern, grumbled. “And nobody knows but us.”
“You’re right about the war,” said Pitt, contemplating a glass of soda water he held in one hand. “I can’t believe these people had the guts to abduct Loren and Senator Diaz on the same day.”
Kern shrugged. “The senator stepped from his fishing lodge at six o’clock this morning, rowed out into a lake not much bigger than a pond, and vanished.”
“How do you know it wasn’t an accidental drowning or suicide?”
“There was no body.”
“You dragged and searched the entire lake since this morning?” Pitt asked skeptically.
“Nothing so primitive. We diverted our newest spy satellite over the area. There was no body floating on or below the water.”
“You have the technology to see an object as small as a body underwater from space?”
“Forget you heard it,” Kern said with a slight grin. “Just take my word for the fact that another Japanese team of professional operatives snatched Diaz in broad daylight along with his boat and outboard motor, and they managed it within sight of at least five other fishermen who swear they witnessed nothing.”
Pitt looked at Kern. “But Loren’s abduction was witnessed.”
“By Al and Frank, who guessed what was going down, sure. But the spectators in the stands were concentrating on the race. If any of them happened to glance in Loren’s direction during the excitement, all they saw was a woman entering the limo under her own free will.”
“What screwed up the abductors’ well-laid plan,” said Sandecker, “was that you men knew she was being seized and gave chase. Your alert action also confirmed the Japanese connection behind Senator Diaz’s kidnapping.”
“Whoever masterminded the separate plots was good,” Kern admitted. “Too good for the Blood Sun Brotherhood.”
“The terrorist organization,” said Pitt. “They were behind it?”
“That’s what they want us to think. The FBI received a phone call by someone who said he was a member and claiming responsibility. Strictly a red herring. We saw through the facade in less than a minute.”
“What about the helicopter that controlled the limousine?” Pitt asked. “Did you track it?”
“As far as Hampton Roads. There it blew up in midair and fell in the water. A Navy salvage team should be diving on it now.”
“A bottle of scotch they won’t find bodies.”
Kern gave Pitt a canny look. “A bet you’d probably win.”
“Any trace of the limousine that got away?”
Kern shook his head. “Not yet. It was probably hidden and abandoned after they transferred Congresswoman Smith to another vehicle.”
“Who’s in charge of the hunt?”
“The FBI. Their best field agents are already forming investigative teams and assembling all known data.”
“You think this is tied to our search into the bomb cars?” asked Giordino, who along with Pitt and Mancuso had been picked up by Kern and Sandecker a few miles from the accident site.
“It’s possible they could be warning us to lay off,” answered Kern. “But our consensus is they wanted to shut down the Senate investigating committee and eliminate the legislators who were ramrodding a bill to cut off Japanese investment in the U.S.”
Sandecker lit one of his expensive cigars after clipping the end. “The President is in a hell of a bind. As long as there’s a chance Smith and Diaz are alive, he can’t allow the abductions to leak to the news media. God knows what hell would erupt if Congress and the public found out.”
“They have us over the proverbial barrel,” Kern said grimly.
“If it isn’t the Blood Sun Brotherhood, then who?” Giordino asked as he lit a cigar he’d stolen from Admiral Sandecker’s supply in Washington.
“Only the Japanese government has the resources for an intricate abduction operation,” Pitt speculated.
“As far as we can determine,” said Kern, “Prime Minister Junshiro and his cabinet are not directly involved. Very possibly they have no idea of what’s going on behind their backs. Not a rare occurrence in Japanese politics. We suspect a highly secretive organization made up of wealthy ultranationalist industrialists and underworld leaders, who are out to expand and protect Japan’s growing economic empire as well as their own interests. Our best intelligence from Team Honda and other sources points to an extremely influential bastard by the name of Hideki Suma. Showalter is certain Suma is the kingpin behind the bomb cars.”
“A very nasty customer,” Sandecker added. “Shrewd, earthy, a brilliant operator, he’s pulled the strings behind Japanese politics for three decades.”
“And his father pulled them three decades before him,” said Kern. He turned to Mancuso. “Frank here is the expert on the Sumas. He’s compiled an extensive file on the family.”
Mancuso was sitting in a large swivel chair drinking a root beer, since no alcoholic beverages were allowed on the National Security Agency’s command bus. He looked up. “Suma, the father or the son? What do you wish to know?”
“A brief history of their organization,” answered Kern.
Mancuso took a few sips from his glass and stared at the ceiling as if arranging his thoughts. Then he began speaking as if reciting a book report to an English class.
“During the Japanese conquest of World War Two, their armies confiscated an immense hoard of loot from religious orders, banks, business corporations, and the treasuries of fallen governments. What began as a trickle from Manchuria and Korea soon became a flood as China and all of Southeast Asia, Malaya, Singapore, the Dutch East Indies, and the Philippines fell before the onslaught from the empire of the rising sun. The total of the stolen gold, gems, and priceless artifacts can only be speculated, but estimates have put it as high as two hundred billion, repeat, billion, dollars at current values.”
Sandecker shook his head. “Inconceivable.”
“The gold bullion alone was figured at over seven thousand tons.
“It all went to Japan?” asked Giordino.
