Red Shark

“How quickly the tables turn,” Tokugawa said triumphantly. “Put down your weapon.”

Jefferson hesitated, the silenced automatic rock-steady in his fist.

“Do as I say!” Tokugawa barked, “or Ojima will kill her.” The old man’s veneer of civility had suddenly cracked.

Scott saw a twitch of resistance building in Jefferson’s stance — strained muscles, clenched jaw, tightened finger on the trigger. Scott chanced a move toward him with both palms up. Jefferson’s eyes flicked from Scott to Tokugawa to Ojima and Fumiko. “Put it down, McCoy,” Scott ordered. “He’ll kill her.”

Jefferson’s eyes flared like hot coals.

“Remember what you said, that it takes a shooter to lead a shooter?” Scott said. “Well, I’m the shooter. You owe me, and I’m calling it in. Now.”

At length Jefferson nodded, slowly stooped, and laid the pistol on the floor.

Tokugawa gave it a nudge with his geta, out of reach. “If you were dispatched to take Commander Scott into custody before he was arrested, you arrived too late. Now you are trapped. I could have all of you killed if I wanted to, and no one in Tokyo would ask any questions.”

Fumiko’s fingers clawed at Ojima’s arm around her throat. “They’ll ask plenty of questions after they trace those nuclear weapons to you and after they find out you murdered Higashi—”

Ojima cut her off with a brutal choke hold that snapped her head back.

“Ms. Kida seems to have made several incorrect assumptions,” Tokugawa said, pivoting toward Scott, his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

“Actually, she has most of it right,” Scott said, his gaze planted on her bruised face. “As you discovered, she’s a brilliant analyst. Also tough.”

“And you, Commander Scott, they tell me are a commander of submarines, that your record, too, is brilliant yet blemished by your nonconformist attitudes, that your exploits at sea are nothing short of mythical. But here you are, out of your element. Why? Why would your superiors send a submarine commander to do what a thug like Mr. McCoy can do?”

“It’s Jefferson, McCoy Jefferson,” said Scott. “I told you, I’m acting on my own.”

“So you said, but that’s not an answer. I was amused by Ms. Kida’s wild theories about nuclear weapons being smuggled into the U.S. by terrorists. Do you accept her theories?”

“She didn’t tell me everything she knows.”

“Ms. Kida thinks the North Koreans are capable of delivering such weapons by ship. What do you think?”

“Probably they can,” Scott said. “But North Korean ships are sometimes interdicted by the U.S. Navy. Seems to me they’d be pretty dumb to try it.”

“Yes, your Navy patrols Asian waters and tracks certain vessels. The North Koreans are not fools.”

“On the other hand, Meji Holdings has a fleet of ships that circle the globe. The weapons could be loaded in a container aboard one of your ships. You’ve got the motive and the means. The U.S. Navy is hardly going to board and inspect every merchant vessel you own.”

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Jefferson snapped.

“Didn’t Radford tell you?” Scott said.

“Tell me what, for Christ’s sake? He said you and the woman had broken into JDIH security files, that you were wanted by the Japanese, and that we had to get you out before a shit storm hit D.C. He sure as hell didn’t say anything about smuggled nukes.”

“I’ll spell it out. Tokugawa and Jin are going to launch a terrorist nuclear attack on the U.S. That’s right — you’re looking at the mystery man from Matsu Shan. Fumiko and I were out to prove his involvement with Jin. His people killed an innocent man — ran him down with a car — then almost killed us but instead snatched Fumiko. Then he sent one of his people to kill me at the hotel.”

“I was there, saw them take someone away that you’d shot,” Jefferson said. “That was Tokugawa’s man?”

“Now you know.”

“Everything you have said are lies fabricated by the U.S. to justify a preemptive attack on North Korea,” Tokugawa said sharply. “America has a reputation for concocting doomsday tales to justify its imperialist aims.”

As he stared at Tokugawa, Jefferson’s incredulity slowly turned to anger. His right hand, extended like a weapon, slowly rose. “You’re fucking insane, mister!”

“McCoy, don’t do it…” Scott grabbed Jefferson’s wrist.