detonated under the pressure wave, and as such, Isamu literally had no means by which to experience the trauma that killed him outright, liquefying organs.
Others were not so lucky, as sailors were hurled into the frigid Antarctic waters. The poor men wouldn’t last long, twenty minutes if they managed to keep themselves afloat. Unfortunately broken arms and legs or deep concussions rendered those seamen helpless. Unable to hold their breath, several already were gone, breathing in ocean water and drowning instantly.
Four missiles took apart the Japanese whaler completely, bulkheads torn asunder. The 150-foot craft groaned in agony, the swelling oceans producing enough stress on the threadbare keel to snap it in two.
The Saburou Maru was merely the first of the Japanese research whaling craft to be lost in the space of three days. Three more, including one factory ship, were destroyed, lost at sea.
* * *
BARBARA PRICE STOOD at the center of the Computer Room in Stony Man Farm. She was surrounded by a sprawl of computer hubs, each built and personally designed by the four master information-gatherers that made up the Sensitive Operations Group’s cybernetic support crew. Between the four of them, if it could not be uncovered, it was beyond discovery.
Right now, Price was keeping her eye on the world map up on the video screen wall, also mirrored on her tablet computer.
In three days, four Japanese industrial ships had been lost. Casualties added up to nearly four hundred Japanese sailors; the rest of the whaling fleet being forced to abandon operations for the year. Already, the Tokyo stock market was reeling from the loss of manpower and matériel, even though no one had stepped forward to claim responsibility for the deadly attacks. The losses of the ships and manpower totaled up to $350 million U.S. dollars, adding another $24 million thrown into the mix due to the salaries of the crews not being paid out. At the thought of the damage wrought on four hundred different families, Price found herself feeling a little nauseated.
This was just the first round fired across the decks of the nation of Japan, and the carnage was on a scale of 9/11 to America, at least in loss of life. How many families would be forced into poverty and homelessness without wage earners? How many children would turn to crime to support themselves?
The effect on those people was of no interest to the twenty-four-hour cable-news cycles, no matter the political leaning of the network. Already cable news was bristling with the debate over the sinkings. On liberal channels, the mystery attackers were the vigilantes who finally struck a blow to end the barbaric practice of whaling. On more conservative channels, the debate turned toward unfair United Nations rules regarding national culture and business, as well as the economic impact on a national ally.
Aaron Kurtzman, Stony Man’s computer genius, motioned Price to his side.
“The team and I have developed some intel on the missiles,” Kurtzman told her.
Price took a look at the information as her tablet tapped into Kurtzman’s research. Already things were tangling into a twisted web of conspiracy. The Chinese missiles seemed to have been routed through Iran.
Akira Tokaido raised his hand. “We’ve got developments at the White House!”
Price grimaced and brought up Tokaido’s interface. Pennsylvania Avenue was alive and livid with anti-whaling protesters, all of whom were under surveillance by the army of Secret Service and Metro P.D. officers that secured the home of the leader of the Free World.
Of equal concern to Price was the fact that her superior and good friend Hal Brognola was also at the White House.
* * *
AMERICANS WERE BUZZING, especially since there was a Japanese delegation in Washington, D.C., visiting the White House. The President wanted to make a good impression upon the dignitaries, something that was made difficult by picketers parading across the lawn from the Oval Office, their placards decrying Japanese inhumanity to animals.
Harold Brognola, as usual, hung around the edges of the open meeting. As a major figure in the Justice Department, his presence usually went unnoticed, especially since he had the ear of the President across multiple administrations. His Justice Department position, however, was merely a smokescreen for his position as the liaison between the White House and the Sensitive Operations Group at Stony Man Farm.
The SOG was an extra-legal agency Brognola had helped to assemble person by person, carefully scrutinizing every support and field operative. While Stony Man operated outside the parameters of law enforcement or military, Brognola was aware that it would take a tight rein and an uncommon moral code to keep the ultra-covert agency from going the wrong way.
Indeed, Stony Man had battled not only foreign threats, but other agencies within the American establishment, rogue operations groups that didn’t have the concern for innocent bystanders or were fueled by blind, bigoted hatred or simply unchecked greed.
Right now, Brognola was especially interested in what the Japanese delegation wanted from the President. The attacks on their whaling operation were at the forefront of the conversation and there was more than sufficient tension in their voices to make Brognola worried.
Stony Man Farm was already on full alert, especially since the attack on the Japanese ships was carried out by high-technology craft and military-grade missiles. The cyber crew at the Farm had picked up on Australian naval investigations of the sinkings. The Australians had discovered surviving pieces of them that implicated both China and Iran.
The Farm was on full alert, ready to allocate its resources to tracking down the vigilantes. There was a good possibility the action was going to be the spearhead of an international terror campaign. Iran’s involvement already made Brognola tense.
“Hal?” Brognola’s wireless earpiece was connected to his secure smartphone. It proved to be a means to prevent interruption of high-level conferences while allowing him to keep his thumb firmly on the pulse of an international crisis. The voice was Barbara Price’s, the Stony Man mission controller.
“What’ve you got?” Brognola asked under his breath.
“We have the protesters under surveillance and a group of about twenty have wandered away,” Price answered. “So far, none of them look as if they’re armed, but confidence levels are low on that evaluation.”
“Wandered where?”
“Toward the secure exit from the White House grounds,” Price told him. “Secret Service chatter indicates they are aware of the potential threat.”
“Good to know the Farm has both sides on watch,” Brognola said. “Any idea of the identities of the protesters?”
“We’re looking at a mix of Greenpeace and PETA,” Price answered. “Known troublemakers for the group.”
“‘Breaking into chemical plants’ trouble?” Brognola asked.
“On the nose,” Price replied. “They have rap sheets, but none that actually equate to armed violence or bombings and sabotage designed to inflict injury. Still, there’s a first time for everything.”
“Keep me appraised,” Brognola said.
The Japanese delegation made the motions of leaving; standing, bowing their heads, offering hands for shakes. The White House press corps took plenty of pictures and video of the activity, most of which would be run constantly
