Debt Of Honor by Clancy, Tom

commercial disagreements with America, but when the possibility of real

war exists, then we are concerned.”

Kimura was still pale at the prospect.

“What is your rank, Klerk-san?”

“I am a full colonel of the Seventh Department, Line PR, the First Chief

Directorate of the Committee for State Security.”

“I thought-”

“Yes, the new name, the new designation, what rubbish,” Clark observed

with a snort. “Kimura-san, I am an intelligence officer. My job is to protect

my country. I’d expected this posting to be a simple, pleasant one, but now I

find myself-did I tell you about our Project RYAN?”

“You mentioned it once, but-”

“Upon the election of the American President Reagan-I was a captain

then, like Chekov here-our political masters looked at the ideological be-

liefs of the man and feared that he might actually consider a nuclear strike

against our country. We immediately launched a frantic effort to discern

what those chances were. We eventually decided that it was a mistake, that

Reagan, while he hated the Soviet Union, was not a fool.

“But now,” Colonel Klerk went on, “what does my country see? A na-

tion with covertly developed nuclear weapons. A nation that has for no good

reason chosen to attack a country that is more business partner than enemy.

A nation which more than once has attacked Russia. And so the orders I

received sound very much like Project RYAN. Do you understand me

now?”

“What do you want?” Kimura asked, already knowing the answer.

“I want to know the location of those rockets. They left the factory by

rail. I want to know where they are now.”

“How can I possibly-” Clark cut him off with a look.

“How is your concern, my friend. I tell you what I must have.” He

paused for effect. “Consider this, Isamu: events like this acquire a life of

their own. They suddenly come to dominate the men who started them. With

nuclear weapons in the equation, the possible consequences-in a way you

know about them, and in a way you do not. I do know,” Colonel Klerk went

on. “I’ve seen the briefings of what the Americans were once able to do to

us, and what we were able to do to them. It was part of Project RYAN, yes?

To frighten a major power is a grave and foolish act.”

“But if you find out, then what?”

‘ ‘That I do not know. I do know that my country will feel much safer with

the knowledge than without. Those are my orders. Can I force you to help

us? No, I cannot. But if you do not help us, then you help to place your

country at risk. Consider that,” he said with the coldness of a coroner. Clark

shook his hand in an overtly friendly way and walked off.

“Five-point-seven, five-point-six, five-point-eight from the East German

judge . . .” Ding breathed when they were far enough away. “.Icsiiv John,

you arc a Russian.”

“You bet your ass, kid.” He managed a smile.

Kimura stayed on the dock for a few minutes, looking out across the hay at

the dormant ships. Some were car carriers, more were conventional con

lainer ships, with seamanlike lines to slice through the waves as they plied

Iheir commerce on the seas. This seemingly ordinary aspect of civili/ution

was almost a personal religion for Kimura. Trade drew nations together in

need, and in needing one another they ultimately came to find a good reason

to keep the peace, however acrimonious their relations might be otherwise.

Kimura knew enough history to realize that it didn’t always work that way,

however.

You are breaking the law, he told himself. You are disgracing your name

and your family. You are dishonoring your friends and co-workers. You are

betraying your country.

But, damn it! whose country was he betraying? The people selected the

members of the Diet, and their elected representatives selected the Prime

Minister-but the people really had had no say whatever in this. They, like

his ministry, like the members of the Diet, were mere spectators. They were

being lied to. His country was at war, and the people didn’t really know! His

country had troubled itself to build nuclear arms, and the people didn’t

know. Who had given that order? The government? The government had

just changed over-again-and surely the time involved meant. . . what?

Kimura didn’t know. He knew the Russian was right, to some extent any-

way. The dangers involved were not easily predicted. His country was in

such danger as had not existed in his lifetime. His nation was descending

into madness, and there were no doctors to diagnose the problem, and the

only thing Kimura could be sure of was the fact that it was so far over his

head that he didn’t know where or how to begin.

But someone must do something. At what point, Kimura asked himself,

did a traitor become a patriot, and a patriot a traitor?

He should have been resentful, Cook thought, finally getting to bed. But he

wasn’t. The day had gone exceptionally well, all things considered. The oth-

ers were praying for him to step on his weenie. That was plain enough, espe-

cially the two NIOs. They were so damned smart-they thought, Cook told

himself with a broad smile at the ceiling. But they didn’t know diddly. Did

they know they didn’t know? Probably not. They always acted superior, but

when crunch time came and you hit them with a question-well, then, it was

always on one hand, sir, followed by on the other hand, sir. How the hell

could you make policy on that basis?

Cook, on the other hand, did know, and the fact that Ryan was aware of it,

had instantly elevated him to de facto leadership of the working group,

which had been met with both resentment and relief by the others around the

table. Okay, they were now thinking, we’ll let him take the risks. All in all,

he thought he’d managed things rather well. The others would both back him

up and distance themselves from him, making their notations on the posi-

tions he generated to cover their asses should things go badly, as they se-

cretly hoped, but also staying within the group’s overall position to bask in

the light of success if things went well. They’d hope for that, too, but not as

much, bureaucrats being what they were.

So the preliminaries were done. The opening positions were set. Adler

would head the negotiating team. Cook would be his second. The Japanese

Ambassador would lead the other side, with Seiji Nagumo as his second.

The negotiations would follow a pattern as structured and stylized as Kabuki

theater. Both sides of the table would posture and the real action would take

place during coffee or tea breaks, as the members of the respective teams

talked quietly with their counterparts. That would allow Chris and Seiji to

trade information, to control the negotiations, and just maybe to keep this

damned-fool thing from getting worse than it already was.

They’re going to be giving you money for providing information, the

voice persisted. Well, yes, but Seiji was going to be giving him information,

too, and the whole point was to defuse the situation and to save lives! he

answered back. The real ultimate purpose of diplomacy was to keep the

peace, and that meant saving lives in the global context, like doctors but with

greater efficiency, and doctors got paid well, didn’t they? Nobody dumped

on them for the money they made. That noble profession, in their white

coats, as opposed to the cookie-pushers at Foggy Bottom. What made them

so special?

It’s about restoring the peace, damn it! The money didn’t matter. That

was a side issue. And since it was a side issue, he deserved it, didn’t he? Of

course he did, Cook decided, closing his eyes at last.

The engineers were working hard, Sanchez saw, back at his chair in Pri-Fly.

They’d repacked and realigned two bearings on the tailshaft, held their col-

lective breath, and cracked their throttles a little wider on Number One.

Eleven knots, edging toward twelve, enough to launch some aircraft for

Pearl Harbor, enough to get the COD aboard with a full collection of engi-

neers to head below and help the ChEng make his evaluation of the situation.

As one of the senior officers aboard, Sanchez would learn of their evaluation

over lunch. He could have flown off to the beach with the first group of

fighters, but his place was aboard. Enterprise was far behind now, fully cov-

ered by P-3S operating out of Midway, and Fleet Intelligence was more and

more confident that there were no hostiles about, enough that Sanchez was

starting to believe them. Besides, the antisubmarine aiUTiill hud dn>|>|x-d

enough sonobuoys to constitute a hazard to navigation.

The crew was up now, and still a little puz/led and angry They were up