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crisis.

SIX
    Washington, D.C. Wednesday, 7:33 P.M.
    “What do we know about the hair up Shigeo Fujima’s nose?” Paul Hood asked.
    Hood, Bob Herbert, and Mike Rodgers were sitting in Hood’s office. It was the end of an uneventful day in the middle of an uneventful week. As much as Hood had often wished his plate were not so full, he felt restless when it was empty. Especially since he did not have a family to go home to. Ironically, it was his overpacked schedule that had cost him his family.
    Paul Hood’s question hung in the air like a high, arching fly ball. Shigeo Fujima was the head of the Japanese Intelligence and Analysis Bureau at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Fujima had helped Op-Center resolve a recent crisis in Botswana without explaining why he knew what he knew. Or why he was interested. That did not sit well with Hood. Especially since the young officer was not returning Hood’s calls.
    “We know nothing,” Herbert replied, finally calling the catch.
    “What have we done to find out?” Hood asked.
    “Last time I checked, which was about two hours ago, everyone in the tech lab, including Matt Stoll, had been unable to get into the IAB computers,” Herbert went on. “Stoll says that all the files we want to look at are apparently in dedicated systems.”
    “I’m not surprised,” Hood said. “The IAB does not play well with others.” Daphne Connors’s sandbox reference popped into his head. Maybe the woman had something there after all.
    “Do we want to send someone to Tokyo?” Rodgers asked. “Check the files after hours?”
    General Rodgers had recently established a human intelligence team at Op-Center. It consisted of international operatives who had worked with Op-Center in the past. Three of the members had distinguished themselves on the inaugural mission to Botswana.
    “Who would you assign?” Hood asked.
    “I’ve been talking to the guys we worked with during the Korean missile crisis,” Rodgers said. “They gave me the names of people they have used. I talked to several of them. One in particular seems a good candidate. Bibari Hirato. She’s based in Tokyo.”
    “This makes me nervous. What’s she got against her own country?” Herbert asked.
    “Japan isn’t her country,” Rodgers said.
    “I see,” Herbert said.
    “Bibari is the daughter of a Korean comfort woman. Her father is one of three or four hundred Japanese sol.diers who used her early in the war. Bibari’s mother gave her a Japanese name so she could go over if she chose to.”
    “And mess with them,” Herbert said.
    “In a word, yeah,” Rodgers said.
    “Objection withdrawn,” Herbert said.
    “Mike, why don’t we have Bob run a check on her?” Hood said. “If she’s clean from our point of view, let’s do it.”
    “It was on the to-do list for tomorrow,” Rodgers said.
    As the men were chatting, Hood’s phone beeped. Hood’s assistant, Bugs Benet, said Lowell Coffey was calling from Australia.
    “Thanks,” Hood said.
    “What time is it there?” Herbert asked.
    “Late tomorrow morning,” Rodgers said.
    “Too early for Lowell to have pissed off anyone at a breakfast meeting,” Herbert said.
    Herbert fell silent as Hood took the call.
    “Morning, Lowell,” Hood said. “How are things Down Under?”
    “Surprising,” Lowell replied. “I’m on my way to the airport.”
    “Why? What’s up?” Hood asked.
    “I’m not entirely sure,” Coffey said.
    “Lowell, Bob and Mike are here,” Hood said. “I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
    “Good,” Coffey said. “I may need their help.”
    Hood punched the button and sat back. “Go ahead, Lowell.”
    “A few minutes ago, I got a call from an aide to a Warrant Officer George Jelbart of the Maritime Intelligence Centre,” Coffey said. “He told me they have a hot situation up in Darwin. From what I was able to get over an unsecure line, ‘hot’ probably means one thing.”
    “Radioactive,” Hood said.
    “Right,”