Читаем Barracuda: Final Bearing полностью

The DSC met at the headquarters of the Japanese Defense Agency at any point of crisis that could result in military action. Kurita had formed the DSC soon after being voted PM, and the council was made up of the five inner-circle cabinet ministers whom Kurita most trusted. The men were arranged by rank, determined by how close they were to Kurita. The PM and lizuka greeted each of the other council members — Foreign Minister Yoshida, the stereotypical diplomat; MITI Minister Uchida, a hardheaded hawk; and Minister of Finance Sugimoto, the elderly, dispassionate financial wizard recently brought over from industry, from Sanyo. At the end of the row, a newcomer waited, an elderly man with what looked like great physical strength, white hair, white mustache and a starched white high-collared tunic with gold-braided shoulder boards, ribbons on his breast, a gold rope slung over his shoulder. His pants were starched and white, his shoes white as well. At the man’s hip was a sword hanging off a gold hook that vanished into the tunic. The man’s face was creased with deep wrinkles, the tanned skin taut. Rather than the usual Japanese dark brown, this man’s eyes were light gray with flecks of green running radially from the irises. Some said he looked like a wolf. “Admiral Tanaka,” Kurita intoned as the men bowed to each other, “I am so glad that you were able to attend. Gentlemen, Adm. Akagi Tanaka, Supreme Commander of the Maritime Self Defense Force, will attend this meeting in addition to General Gotoh.” Standing a few meters from Tanaka was Gen. Masao Gotoh, the Chairman of the Self Defense Force Joint Staff Council, who functioned as the commander in chief of the entire military. Gotoh stood a distance from Admiral Tanaka, as if he wished to express a tacit disapproval of his own subordinate — remarkable within the tight framework of team cooperation inside the military. The men walked into an ornate room with a huge rare tigerwood table taken from Indonesia in the last world war. On the wall were oil paintings of Japanese military conquests from the previous millennia all the way to the fighting for the empire in World War II. Shields and swords hung at the corners, while glass cases enclosed antique ship models, the battleship Yamato over four meters from bow to stern, its guns pointed at the conference table as if leveling fingers demanding action from the council. The room seemed to be designed for war plans. The prime minister used notes, since in the ancient tradition of matomari, the honored vehicle of group decision-making, the leader was first obligated to summarize an issue, showing no opinion, so that the group could begin to discuss it. Since confrontation was unheard of, each man would reveal his opinion slowly, one thought at a time. The momentum of consensus would build slowly, the brakes of dissenting opinions applied gently. As the men began to see similar patterns of thought among their colleagues, their opinions would become more safe to expose, until finally consensus would be reached. Once the leader established agreement, action would be taken. Kurita stood and cleared his throat, his hands at rest at his sides. The ministers and military officers sat straight in their chairs, all eyes on Kurita. The hum of the presentation screen coming down was barely perceptible, accentuating the pin-drop silence in the room. “Good morning, gentlemen,” Kurita began as a map of Japan flashed on the screen. The Homeland was colored white. To the northwest Greater Manchuria was displayed in gray. “I hardly need mention the gravity of the Greater Manchurian situation. In the last twelve hours we have determined that here in Tamga”—a small dot in a valley near Lake Ozero Chanka pulsed in red— “is a storage depot for SS-34 missiles. General Gotoh will run the disk of our confirming penetration mission.” The disk played the scenes obtained from Major Na-muru’s mission into Tamga, up to the point where he said, “To the victory of Japan,” when the picture was darkened. The soundtrack, however, continued, the dual explosions loud in the enhanced acoustics of the room. The screen retracted into the ceiling. Kurita cleared his throat again. “It is clear that the SS-34 missiles are nuclear tipped. It is also clear that they are twenty-four minutes’ flight time away from us in Tokyo.” Kurita looked around the room. “Minister Yoshida, do you have any thoughts?” Yoshida, as foreign minister, was notorious for his relatively optimistic view of the world. “It is most regrettable that there appear to be offensive instruments of war in Greater Manchuria. However, it is our responsibility to the people of Japan to remember that these weapons may not be aimed at Japan at all. They may not even work. The Russians no doubt left them behind. They are not even loaded into those underground silos. It would be premature, I suggest, to assume the intention of aggression only on this.” Kurita thanked him, turned to General Gotoh.