Saint John frowned as the elevator ascended. He knew instinctively that Yahara, the Japanese business man who'd hired Santini Air for the charter that day was at the bottom of Jo's disappearance. It was the only thing that made sense. He didn't know how the security violation into the airspace around the nuclear plant figured in but it couldn't be good. He was glad he'd called his brother and updated him on where he was going before he'd ridden his motorcycle to Yahara's offices. He didn't know why but he had a strong feeling that he would need his brother backing him on this one. The elevator doors opened and he got out. He headed for a door and checked the name. This looked like it was the right place. There was nobody at the reception desk. He sighed and made for an open office door.

'Yes. Can I help you?' A small bald Asian man with a neat grey moustache turned to greet him. He was dressed in a smart suit every inch a business man.

Saint John took out the business card he'd found at Santini Air. 'I'm looking for a Mr Takeshi Yahara?'

The man indicated a seat in front of a large desk on the other side of the room which he began walking towards. 'I am he.'

'My name is Saint John Hawke, Mr Yahara. I'm with Santini Air.' Saint John sat down along with Yahara. 'One of our pilots a Miss Santini has disappeared.'

'How distressing.' The other man said politely.

'She…er…violated restricted airspace.' Saint John moved his hand closer to his gun seeing Yahara reaching for something below the desk.

'Chimunga, yes.' Yahara brought out a photo and but Saint John didn't relax. 'Please don't hold her responsible. She was acting under my instructions.'

'Mr Yahara…' Saint John began frowning at the other man's confession.

'Do you recognise anyone in this photograph?' Yahara cut in and placed the long print on the desk in front of him. 'The circled one? Is he familiar?'

Saint John examined the photo and instantly recognised the man Yahara had singled out. His eyes lifted to look into Yahara's. 'It's my father.' He admitted throwing the photo back across the desk. 'What's going on here?'

Yahara picked the photo up again. 'Navy Lieutenant Alan B Hawke, acting flight leader. To be more specific about time and place, the carrier Saratoga, 1945. Died coronary thrombosis five years ago. Am I correct?'

He wasn't, Saint John thought wildly. For a start, his father had been in the army not the navy and his dying of a coronary thrombosis five years ago? Saint John almost laughed. His father had died in a boating accident when Saint John had been a teenager. He didn't bother correcting the other man. 'That's enough games, Yahara. What's going on here?'

'I cannot tell you how sorry I am that your father is, shall we say, out of my reach. If you must know Miss Santini is my prisoner.' He sat back looking at Saint John smugly.

Saint John pulled his gun and pointed it at Yahara. 'Hand me that phone.'

'Death is an effective threat only to those who fear it, Mr Hawke. If you wish to see Miss Santini again, put the gun on the desk.' Yahara's eyes flickered to the office doorway and Saint John glanced over. A man stood there with an automatic weapon. Saint John put the gun down; Yahara had trapped him and he would need to wait for another chance to escape.