Red Shark

“Doctor, you understand better than anyone,” Scott said, “the devastating effects nuclear weapons have had on the Japanese people and nation. It’s woven into the fabric of your history and your future. You’ve had to live with the consequences of nuclear war for over sixty years. Fumiko and I have little time left to prevent it from happening in the United States. If it does… well, I don’t have to explain.”

Kida uncovered his face, sat up, and looked beseechingly at his daughter.

“Father, please tell us what you know.”

Professor Kida kneaded both fists together into a ball. He glanced at the kotatsu, then back to Fumiko, whose gaze was unyielding.

At length Kida said, “Soviet designers had solved the problem of how to miniaturize nuclear weapons at least twenty years ago. Once they mastered the problems associated with casting and machining plutonium cores, they built a series of hydrogen bombs that fit on top of a missile designed to be fired from a mobile launcher or a submarine. They called the warhead a BX, and its design was almost identical to the U.S. W-88.”

“W-88s are fitted to Trident II D-5s,” Scott said, probing Kida’s knowledge of nuclear weaponry.

“Yes. U.S. submarine-launched Trident missiles carry eight such warheads. Like the W-88, the BX has a plutonium primary core the size of an egg but shaped like a watermelon. Below it is a spherical hydrogen fuel element. The design allows for a nose cone configuration about sixteen degrees wide and less than four feet high.”

“That’s smaller than a W-88,” said Scott.

“It has been rumored that plans for the BX were stolen from the Russians sometime in the midnineties by the JDIH. The Japan Self-Defense Force realized that it would be relatively easy to develop even more powerful miniature weapons, which could be hidden in silos around Japan. It has been said that this BX concept was to be secretly funded through Meji Industries and that with the treaty giving Japan access to U.S. missile technology, it would only be a matter of time before Japan had W-88-style nuclear weapons mated to U.S.-supplied missiles capable of reaching China and North Korea. But the prime minister balked at the plan because it was too close to elections, and the weapons were never built.”

“Meanwhile Tokugawa was sitting on this technology,” Scott said. “And at some point before the coup in North Korea, Tokugawa was approached by Jin to reinvent their nuclear arsenal.”

“And Tokugawa saw an opportunity to avenge his family and virtually take control of financial markets in Europe and Asia,” said Fumiko.

“I caution that these are rumors, Mr. Scott, only rumors.”

“The meeting on Matsu Shan that Fumiko told you about wasn’t a rumor.”

“Japanese and Koreans place a high value on face-to-face meetings, to demonstrate their loyalty to each other and their unwavering belief in causes they support,” Kida offered, as if having suddenly discovered a kernel of truth in what he’d heard.

Scott thought about that for a moment, then said, “North Korea has relatively large, crude nuclear weapons. What they want are small, powerful ones that are easy to conceal and small enough to put on one of their new Daepodong ballistic missiles.”

“Perhaps even smaller,” Kida said, “small enough to deliver by hand, like a suitcase.”

“A suitcase nuke,” Fumiko said, surprised by her father’s assessment. “Jake, is that possible?”

“It is if the warheads trucked to Najin ended up in Vladivostok and were miniaturized for use against the U.S. by terrorists.”

Scott saw it now: North Korean terrorists, or terrorists working for the North Koreans, would smuggle suitcase-sized nuclear weapons into U.S. cities and detonate them. The North Koreans would claim that they had had nothing to do with the attacks, and the U.S. would be hard-pressed to prove otherwise. Meanwhile, Tokugawa would be gearing up through his multinational companies, to help rebuild America’s devastated cities and shattered economy without interference.

“Then we’re too late, Jake,” Fumiko said. “By now the weapons could be anywhere.” Her eyes were red rimmed, dulled by fatigue and, now, fear.

Fumiko’s mother entered the tatami room on mincing steps and whispered something, first to her daughter, then to her husband. Fumiko sprang to her feet; Professor Kida rose and hurried from the room.

“What is it?” Scott said, on his feet too.

“Mother said she saw a stranger walk past the house. We have to get out of here.”

Mrs. Kida stood off to one side, wringing her hands, while Fumiko and her father investigated. Minutes later they returned, worry written all over their faces.

Fumiko grabbed her things. “Mother’s right. He’s at the end of the lane.”

“A stranger? How do you know he’s watching us?” Scott asked.