Power and Empire

Most of the heavy-weapon portion of the vehicle package would be staffed by Japanese police, yet the Secret Service still had two armored limos and a number of their own follow-ups and staff vehicles. When they did move on the ground, the motorcade would be a staggering forty-three vehicles long — not including the motorcycle escorts that would provide rolling roadblocks prior to every intersection. The helos from HMX-1 were already on the ground as well, with backup air support in the form of two CV-22 Ospreys that had recently been stationed at Yokota.

The fifteen-minute trip on Marine One from Yokota Air Base to downtown Tokyo would be a hell of a lot better than a forty-minute drive. Mitzi Snelson, lead advance for the detail, advised that the Palace Hotel — the location of POTUS’s bi-lat with the Chinese president — was buttoned up tight. She would meet them on the roof.

Montgomery looked at his watch and then knocked on the office door.

“Mr. President,” he said. “Wheels down in five minutes.”

Ryan’s voice came back through the door. “Very well. Everything good to go on the ground?”

“We’re all set, sir,” Montgomery said, though he couldn’t help but feel like he was forgetting something. Decades on the job and this trip had him feeling like a damn rookie.

“Good,” Ryan said, opening the door. He was wearing a midnight-blue tie instead of the red one he’d had on when they left.

Montgomery bit his tongue and forced a smile.

Ryan saw his change in mood. “Is something wrong?”

“Not a thing, Mr. President.”

• • •

The Akasaka Guesthouse is very secure,” Yuki said. She was sitting beside Jack Ryan, Jr., on the Marunouchi subway line, heading back toward Tokyo Station and the Palace Hotel. Ryan’s chest needed stitches, but Adara had fixed him up with some superglue and a sticky bandage that stopped him from bleeding through his shirt.

The team had almost nothing to go on, aside from some cryptic phrases about a gang — and possibly the word “kill,” which was chilling in and of itself, if that’s what Chen had actually been saying. The fact that Chen was in town at all was bad news, and Jack tried to console himself that the man’s cadre was dead or in jail. Yuki’s superiors had told her the second gunman had survived and was in intensive care. Amanda Salazar and the man Ryan had knocked out were in police custody, refusing to talk. Their respective embassies had been notified and both would probably be released after all the visiting dignitaries left town — unless Yuki’s organization could find a reason to hold them.

“Thanks,” Ryan said. “I know you have plenty of work without me here having you run down a bunch of dead ends.”

Yuki smiled. “We have a saying here in Japan: Nokorimono ni wa fuku ga aru. Luck is in the leftovers.”

“I’m not sure what that means—”

“It means,” Yuki said, “that we must keep going. We find our luck by working through to the last.”

“I hope my friends have some luck with Chen’s computer.”

“I would be severely reprimanded for letting you tamper with that,” she said. “If my superiors were to find out.”

“I know,” Ryan said. “And like I said, I’m sorry to put you in this spot.”

The train rumbled to a stop at Kasumigaseki. They were two stops from Tokyo Station and the cars were getting crowded.

Three middle-aged women boarded and held the suspended rings in front of Ryan as the train began to move. His dad would not approve of his lack of chivalry.

“Japan has a load of cool proverbs,” he said. “But I don’t care for the custom of men sitting while women stand. I think I’ll offer one of these ladies my seat.”

Yuki put her hand on his arm and left it there. “Please,” she said. “It is more polite for you to sit.”

“Seriously?” Ryan said. “Because I might offend some other dude that didn’t think of it first?”

“No.” She smiled, leaning in close to share a secret. “You take up too much space.”

Ryan looked at her. She still hadn’t moved her hand off his arm, and he was fine with that. “Too much space?”

She squeezed his arm now, flirting a little, maybe. “You are quite bulky compared to most Japanese. I am embarrassed to say that some might think you kebukai yabanjin—a hairy barbarian.” She raised her eyebrows. “I do not think so, of course.”

“Of course.” Ryan gave her a slow nod, but he kept his seat until the train stopped at Tokyo Station.

Yuki led the way out of the Marunouchi tunnel. They opened their umbrellas against a steady rain and walked almost due west, past a water garden on the right, toward the Imperial Palace moat. Lots of water. Ryan had a lot of personal experience with the Secret Service. He was sure they’d already had scuba divers check the water features and run a couple dozen waterborne Attack on the Principal drills back on some lake near Beltsville.

They passed a small shrine, and a white castle across the water, the colors and edges of everything muted by the rain and mist.

“This country looks amazing when it’s wet,” he said.