Debt Of Honor by Clancy, Tom

then the smart thing to do was to deny them the information they wanted.

And it was easy to do, or so the radar-controller officers told themselves.

We’ll go closer in the next time, the aircraft commander told himself. First

electronics experts would have to examine the data and try to determine

what was and what wasn’t safe, betting the lives of fellow Air Force officers

with their conclusions. That was a happy thought. The crew relaxed,

yawned, and started talking, mainly about the mission and what they had

learned. Four and a half hours back to Elmendorf, and a shower, and some

mandated crew rest.

The Japanese controllers were still not completely sure that they’d had con-

tacts at all, but that would be determined by examining their onboard tapes.

Their patrol patterns returned to their normal monitoring of commercial air

traffic, and a few comments were exchanged on why the devil that traffic

still continued. The answers were mainly shrugs and raised eyebrows and

even more uncertainty than had existed when they’d thought they were

tracking contacts. There was just something about looking at a radar screen

for more than a few hours. Sooner or later your imagination took over, and

the more you thought about it, the worse it got. But that, they knew, was the

same for the other side in the game, too.

The central-bank heads were accustomed to VIP treatment. Their flights all

arrived at John F. Kennedy International within the same hour. Each was

met by a senior diplomat from their respective countries’ U.N. delegations,

whisked past customs control, and sent to the city in a car with diplomatic

tags. The common destination surprised them all, but the Federal Reserve

Chairman explained that for convenience the New York FBI office was a

better place for coordination than the local Federal Reserve bank, especially

since it was large enough to accommodate the directors of the major trading

houses-and since antitrust regulations were being suspended in the interest

of American national security. That notification bemused the European visi-

tors. Finally, they thought, America understood the national-security impli-

cations of financial matters. It had certainly taken them long enough.

George Winston and Mark Gant began their final briefing on the events of

the previous week after an introduction from the Chairman and Secretary

Fiedler, and by this time they had the presentation down pat.

“Bloody clever,” the head of the Bank of England observed to his (icr-

man counterpart.

‘ ‘Jawohl,” was the whispered reply.

“How do we prevent something like this from happening again’.'” one of

them wondered aloud.

“Better record-keeping systems for starters,” Fiedler replied alertly after

something approaching a decent night’s sleep. “Aside from that . . .? It’s

something we need to study for a while. Of greater interest are the remedial

measures which we must now consider.”

“The yen must suffer for this,” the French banker observed at once.

“And we must help you to protect the dollar in order to protect our own

currencies.”

“Yes.” The Fed Chairman nodded at once. “Jean-Jacques, I’m glad you

see it the same way we do.”

“And to save your equities markets, what will you do?” the head of the

Bundesbank asked.

“This is going to sound somewhat crazy, but we think it will work,” Sec-

retary Fiedler began, outlining the procedures that President Burling had not

revealed in his speech and whose execution depended to a large degree on

European cooperation. The visitors shared a common look, first of incredu-

lity, then of approval.

Fiedler smiled. “Might I suggest that we coordinate our activities for Fri-

day?”

Nine in the morning was considered an ungodly hour for the commencement

of diplomatic negotiations, which helped the situation. The American dele-

gation arrived at the Japanese Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue, N.W., in

private cars, the better to conceal the situation.

The formalities were observed in all particulars. The conference room

was large, with a correspondingly large table. The Americans took their

places on one side and the Japanese on the other. Handshakes were ex-

changed because these were diplomats and such things were to be expected.

Tea and coffee were available, but most just poured glasses of ice water into

crystal glasses. To the annoyance of the Americans, some of the Japanese

smoked. Scott Adler wondered if they did it just to unsettle him, and so to

break the ice he requested and got a smoke from the Ambassador’s chief

aide.

“Thank you for receiving us,” he began in a measured voice.

“Welcome, again, to our embassy,” the Japanese Ambassador replied

with a friendly if wary nod.

“Shall we begin?” Adler asked.

“Please.” The Ambassador leaned back in his chair and adopted a

relaxed posture to show that he was at ease and that he would listen politely

to the impending discourse.

‘ ‘The United States is gravely concerned with developments in the West-

em Pacific,” Adler began. Gravely concerned was the right turn of phrase.

When nations are gravely concerned, it usually means that they are contem-

plating violent action. “As you know, the inhabitants of the Mariana Islands

hold American citizenship, and do so because of their own wishes, freely

expressed in an election almost twenty years ago. For that reason the United

States of America will not under any circumstances accept Japanese occupa-

tion of those islands, and we req-no,” Adler corrected himself, “we de-

mand the return of those islands to U.S. sovereignty forthwith, and the

immediate and total removal of Japanese armed forces from the territories in

question. We similarly require the immediate release of any and all U.S. citi-

zens held by your government. Failure to comply with these requirements

will entail the most serious possible consequences.”

Everyone in the room thought the opening position statement was un-

equivocal. If anything it was a little too strong, the Japanese diplomats

thought, even those who deemed their country’s actions to be madness.

‘ ‘I personally regret the tone of your statement,” the Ambassador replied,

giving Adler a diplomatic slap across the face. “On the substantive issues,

we will listen to your position and consider its merit against our own security

interests.” This was a diplomat’s way of saying that Adler would now have

to repeat what he had just said-with amplifications. It was an implicit de-

mand for another statement, one that conceded something, in return for

which was the implied promise that there might be a concession on the part

of his government.

“Perhaps I did not make myself sufficiently clear,” Adler said after a sip

of water. “Your country has committed an act of war against the United

States of America. The consequences of such acts are very grave. We offer

your country the opportunity to withdraw from those acts without further

bloodshed.”

The other Americans siting at the table communicated without words and

without a look: Hardball. There had scarcely been time for the American

team to develop its thoughts and approaches, and Adler had gone further

than they’d expected.

“Again,” the Ambassador said after his own moment of contemplation,

‘ ‘I find your tone personally regrettable. As you know, my country has legit-

imate security interests, and has been the victim of unfortunate legal actions

which can have no effect other than severe damage to our economic and

physical security. Article 51 of the United Nations Charter specifically

recognizes the right of any sovereign nation to self-defense measures. We

have done no more than that.” It was a skillful parry, even the Americans

thought, and the renewed request for civility suggested a real opening lor

maneuver.

The initial discussions went on for another ninety minutes, with neither

side budging, each merely repeating words, with hardly a change of phrase.

Then it was time for a break. Security personnel opened the French doors to

the embassy’s elegant garden, and everyone went out, ostensibly tor fresh

air but really for more work. The garden was too large to bug, especially

with a brisk wind blowing through the trees.

“So, Chris, we’ve begun,” Seiji Nagumo said, sipping his coffee–he’d

chosen it to show how sympathetic he was with the American position; for

the same reason, Christopher Cook was drinking tea.

“What did you expect us to say?” the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State

asked.

“The opening position is not surprising,” Nagumo conceded.

Cook looked away, staring at the wall that enclosed the garden. He spoke

quietly. “What will you give up?”

“Guam, definitely, but it must be demilitarized,” Nagumo replied in the

same voice. “And you?”

“So far, nothing.”

“You must give me something to work with, Chris,” Nagumo observed.

‘ ‘There’s nothing to offer, except maybe a cessation of hostilities-before

they actually start.”

“When will that happen?”

“Not anytime soon, thank God. We do have time to work with. Let’s

make good use of it,” Cook urged.

“I’ll pass that along. Thank you.” Nagumo wandered off to join a mem-

ber of his delegation. Cook did the same, ending up three minutes later with