"OK," Blades said. "You'd get no engine noise from the Glory if its engines are dead. That checks. But you think there's been chaff, some distraction?"
"Yes, Sir, almost like our chaff. Like a decoy."
"Countermeasures. Are there any Navy ships in the area?"
"Negative, Sir," the chief replied. "I don't get a solid blip of a ship anywhere. I mean not for certain."
"How far are we away from what you think is the Glory, Chief?"
"Not far. Depends on our speed."
Blades glanced at the officer who was standing at his elbow. "Commander?"
The lieutenant commander glanced at a gauge on the bulkhead. They were doing better than their top speed. It stood at 34 knots. They could hear the churning and feel the vibrations as the huge vessel plowed the sea. "Fifteen minutes, Admiral."
Blades nodded. Whatever was up ahead, they would know soon enough. If the weather hadn't been so scuzzy they could have sent the chopper, or called in other air. As it was they would be almost on top of the Glory before they could make visual contact. Walking slowly and thoughtfully, Blades went on deck, made his way to the bow and stood by the captain. "Well, John, what do you think we'll find up ahead?"
"The Glory, of course the Glory. We got distress signals in English and I think in Hebrew. Plus mayday. What else could it be in this deserted part of the ocean?"
"Radar doesn't seem to be sure."
"Nonsense, Guy. Radar says there's something there. That confirms the signal."
"We'll know soon enough." The wispy fog was changing to drizzling rain. Blades glanced at Cheddar who stepped off to fetch rain gear. The admiral and the captain stood in silence for ten minutes. The captain was in contact with the bridge by small hand radio. Crewmembers were standing by the lifeboats and other emergency gear. The ship's entire compliment of marines had been turned out to make an armed boarding party. Horne had left nothing to chance. This was his show.
A freshening wind began to blow the fog away, but the rain increased. Cheddar returned wearing a hooded poncho and helped the admiral into one.
The tempo of the Winslow changed again, the bow wave vanished and the vessel settled into the water.
"We're stopping," Cheddar said.
Blades glanced at the captain and Horne talked into his radio. "What's happening?"
"The ship seems to be off to our starboard, Sir. About two thousand meters."
"Why aren't we steering for it?" he shouted.
"We are now, Sir. But the radio signal is still up ahead." The Winslow was underway again, slowly turning to the starboard.
"You mean the ship and the radio signal aren't together?"
"That is true, Sir. As best we can determine," came the halting reply. The Winslow picked up speed slightly as it completed its turn. Blades could overhear both sides of the captain's radio conversation. Horne wiped the rain from his forehead with the palm of his hand. He seemed pale. The Winslow churned ahead and in minutes dark forms began to take shape on the water in front of the ship.
"Full stop," the captain said into the radio.
They watched in silence as the ship drifted ahead and the dark shapes came into clear view through the rain. Blades spoke first. "They're like weather balloons, lashed together."
Horne nodded grimly. "With thin metal plates stuck on them with some kind of mastic. It's like we use for chaff. And they're beginning to break up."
"Yes," Blades agreed. "And the one with the radio must have drifted away some minutes ago. The wind did it."
"But they served their purpose, didn't they? They got me over here, miles south, while the Glory went north."
"Indeed she did, John. How do you suppose she fooled our radar?"
"I don't know, but she did. Partly, anyway. But she can't run fast enough for the Winslow." He shouted into his radio, "North, north, flank speed north. Follow the ghost image the chief was talking about.!" Turning to Blades, he said quietly, "We'll catch her, Guy. We'll get her."
"You'd better, John. You'd better." Horne caught the admiral's meaning. If he let a merchant ship fool him a second time, it would be a board of inquiry leading to his being cashiered. But there was no doubt in Horne's mind now, he knew where the Glory was and he would run her down!
Admiral Blades went to his flag command center and began moving a second network of ships to the north. He could hardly trust Horne a second time. If the Glory fled north, others would be waiting.
He knew now what a sly rogue this Captain Silverman was. In Italy a new power plant might have been installed. Certainly the screws were replaced with new models that ran almost silently. Then there was the chaff. So the Glory carried countermeasures and probably the best of modern radar and sonar, a top drawer operation. And now the weather was on their side, but only temporarily.
This Silverman is smart, too smart to think he can hide from the entire Pacific fleet, the admiral thought. That puzzled Blades.
CHAPTER 30: Watanabe Plans a Dive
Taro Watanabe's Tokyo counterpart, Detective Goro Maeda, had no sooner received the report on his grandfather's death than he was on the phone to Watanabe. "That's great work, Watanabe-san," he exclaimed. "I tried to get something, anything, on three separate occasions and never did get a clear answer. How'd you do it?"
"No problem, Maeda-san. The American bureaucracy is as bad as Japan's. Meters and kilometers of red tape. I asked a friend on the Boston police force. He got it without difficulty and faxed it to me. You think it will lead anywhere?"
"I'd like to give it a shot. What I need now is that list of war returnees that my grandfather interviewed during the few days before his death. As I see it, one of them is my only hope. One of them might know something, might be the murderer. I don't know. Whatever happens it would make me feel better that I had done something positive. It might soothe my grandfather's spirit, wherever it is."
"Where are your grandfather's bones?" Watanabe asked.
"That's a problem. Grandmother wanted the ashes interred in the family grave, but the Americans are big on flesh burials. They shipped the body back to the States and buried it in a military cemetery before she found out what happened. She did get to go there and visit the grave once before she died. It was a great comfort to her."
Watanabe glanced at his watch. He had an appointment in Kobe in an hour and the train took at least a half-hour. "Got to run now, Maeda-san. I'll get that list to you as soon as I can. And good luck on tracking down some of those old coots, or finding one alive."
"I'll do my best."
In Kobe, Watanabe called on an attorney named Jun Sumida. He gave Sumida all the information he had on the Tsugaru Strait incident, filled in details about the deaths of Ben Hardy and the other scuba divers, then asked Sumida's help.
"Let me get this straight," Sumida said. You want me and my friends to take an entire weekend, make the long trip to Tsugaru Strait and dive into unknown waters that have already claimed several lives? Is that what you're saying?" The attorney was smiling slightly.
"I suppose so, Sumida-san. As president of the Kobe Scuba club you were the logical person for me to turn to. Frankly, I could never get police authorization to do this officially. I've given you everything I know about the problem, or case, if you can call it that. If your members find nothing, maybe that would tell us something."
"Will you dive with us, Watanabe-san?"
Watanabe had to think about that for a moment. "I've never dived. I'm an average swimmer." He hesitated a moment, then said, "I will dive if you think I can master it quickly. Do you have extra equipment?"
"I'm sure I can find some. If you'll dive with us I can make a stronger case with the members. Life in Japan can be dull - the grind of work, the train rides, the small apartments. The club could use a little excitement. I'll do my best for you. In fact, we have a meeting the day after tomorrow. We'll put it to a vote and see how many volunteers we get."
"Wonderful, Sumida-san. In the meantime I'll read a book on sc
uba diving."
"And you'd better start jogging twice a day. Most of the police I know in Kobe aren't into physical fitness."
"I'll take power walks."
"Jogging," Sumida insisted.
***
That night Watanabe sat in the kitchen drinking Asahi beer and watching Nana prepare sashimi. She had assembled abalone, sea bream, squid, daikon, which is the giant Japanese radish that is served shredded, and, of course, wasabi, the strong Japanese horseradish that is often mixed with soy sauce. The main fish, tuna, was Nana's favorite. She sliced the raw fish less than half an inch thick and arranged them on two plates along with the daikon. As she worked, Watanabe told her of his plan to enlist the Kobe scuba club and spend a weekend at the Strait.
"Dangerous," Nana said, "but effective. You're going right to the source of the problem. Of course, I'll go too."
"I hadn't considered that. There's no reason for you to go. It will probably be uncomfortable."
"I'll go," Nana said flatly. She pushed a plate of the raw fish in front of Watanabe and got a large bottle of soy sauce from the cabinet. Watanabe withdrew his wooden chopsticks from their paper sleeve, twisted the sleeve into a type of chopstick rest and prepared to eat. The fish looked delicious. He knew it was no use to argue with Nana. "It will be a nice holiday for us, going to the Strait," she said She mixed wasabi and soy in a small dish and dredged a slice of tuna through it then popped it into her mouth. "Yummy."
"Well, you said it was dangerous. It doesn't sound like much of a holiday. They may let me dive."
Nana looked up from her sashimi and made a face. "You can't dive."
"I can dive," Watanabe insisted. "I just don't know how to yet. The head of the club, Jun Sumida, said it would be better if I dive too. Then the other members will feel better about it."
Nana flashed a look of suspicion. She did not have a poker face. "Is the head of the club a woman?"
"No. His name is Jun, not Junko."
"Sometimes you don't know," Nana said, pouring herself a glass of beer. "Some girls named Junko sign their names Jun. You don't know who they are."
"There are names that fit either male or female in English, too."
"I suppose," Nana said. "What shall I pack to take to the Strait." It wasn't meant as a question, she was already imagining placing clothing and other articles into a bag.
***
Watanabe got prompt service on the next bit of information from the States, the list of war returnees Sergeant Chalk had interviewed during the last days before his murder. Watanabe was pleased because he knew that Detective Maeda was anxious to get it after all these years.
He made a photocopy to mail to Maeda. Just before stuffing the original in his desk, he took a quick look. He was amazed to see the name Akira Yoshimoto among the very last men Chalk had interviewed. Could it be the finance minister of Japan had actually been interviewed by Maeda's grandfather? Or was it just someone with an identical name. Neither of the two names was unusual.
Watanabe wondered if Maeda would notice the coincidence, or if he was aware who the finance minister was. Japanese politicians move from job to job and are often difficult to track. For many years the system was one party controlled by politicos who juggled jobs among themselves. One man would lose favor and drop out of sight then later reemerge in another post. He made a note to call Maeda in a day or two and fill him in. If it was the same person, here is a man who is still alive and definitely in control of all of his faculties.
CHAPTER 31: That Girl is Trouble
Kyoko Suzuki burned with jealousy. She also burned with hatred. Both emotions were directed at the fresh, youthful figure of Yoko Kaji. She was certain the young woman was making a play for Akira Yoshimoto, but she was not certain how far the affair had gone, or if Yoshimoto had responded. She had no wish to offend her cousin-lover, but each day she had become more irritated. The aging politician spent more and more nights on the futon in his office, pleading the press of work.
During the times when she would visit Yoshimoto in his office during the day, she would see the young Yoko serving tea, arranging flowers, or hovering like a butterfly around the old man's desk.
When they were alone, she told her cousin, "Beware of that girl. She will cause trouble for you, for us, for the project. We have gone too far to be tripped up by an empty-headed piece of fluff."
Yoshimoto bristled. "What do you mean, Kyoko?"
"Yoko Kaji, of course. She is always near you. She will make a fool of you if you let her. We have built a strong organization with no flaws, a solid wall of like-minded people moving toward one purpose. This girl could prove a crack in the wall."
"That is nonsense. She is just an office girl, the granddaughter of a friend. She has no ambition, no skills. She will be a housewife someday. I'm sure, a good one."
"I am not the only one who has noticed what is going on, Akira. Everyone has eyes to see. An office romance will be costly for you."
"Costly in what way?" Yoshimoto shot back. "Is that some kind of threat?"
"No it is not. The price you pay will be the loss of the respect of your followers. You have a position. You are the Seventh Samurai, the leader of the Fuurin Kazan. A dalliance of this type, it does not fit the aesthetic lifestyle you have set for yourself, that we have set, like the Fuurin Kazan demands." Kyoko spoke of ideals, not the jealousy and hatred that was in her heart, which had been gnawing at her for days. She had given her life to this man and this cause.
Yoshimoto was sobered by her words. He knew she was right, whatever her motive. For a man his age to chase after a youngster like Yoko was unseemly. Yet he lusted after the young girl and was reluctant to let her go. In fact, wasn't it Yoko who had pursued him? Indeed, he could conduct the affair in total secrecy. At least, almost total, if it wasn't for Kyoko. But was she correct? Were others watching?
"I understand what you say, Kyoko. Even though this girl Yoko means nothing to me, except that I am her protector because of family friendship, I must avoid even the appearance of involvement. So I will be careful. I don't know what action I will take. Possibly transfer her to another office."
"That would be wise, Akira. In fact, I could take her into my office. I might even be able to train her into a useful employee, although the impossible is sometimes just that. She need only be smart enough to do the job and dumb enough to think it's important. The IQ of an eggplant would probably serve her admirably. As you say, she will make an excellent housewife."
"Your offer is most generous, Kyoko. But perhaps it would be best to transfer her to some post where there has been no prior judgment of her, pro or con."
"As always, you know best, Akira." Kyoko felt she had scored a victory and thought it best to take her winnings and retreat while she was still ahead. "I must go now, Akira. Your favorite meal will be waiting for you tonight."
Yoshimoto started to say that he would not be home, but thought better of it. "I am in good appetite."
After Kyoko was gone he sat for a long while and stared at the latest arrangement of fresh flowers. How to keep Yoko? He just couldn't set her up in an apartment. Too obvious. He of all people, an unmarried man! He should be free to do as he pleased. But here was Kyoko, much more enmeshed in his life than any wife would be And there was the pledge he had made many years ago. Perhaps one last fling with Yoko, then send her off. She had spoken about Hawaii and Los Angeles. He would think about it later. His mind was in a whirl.
And where were those warheads exactly?
CHAPTER 32: The Israeli Dilemma
Israeli Prime Minister Mordechai Baker had just hung up the phone after talking with the U.S. President when Eli Kotcher entered his office. The head of the Mossad came close to Baker's desk and said in a loud whisper, "It's Japan."
Baker smiled. He was in a semi good mood. He had just been convinced the world wasn't coming to an end, but he still felt like a man about to have his kneecaps shot at. "What's Japan?" he asked.
"The group we'r
e after. The group with no name. It's allied with a bunch of Japanese right-wingers. The warheads are headed for Japan."
"I see," Baker said quietly. "This does add a dimension. Gives us a beginning."
Kotcher was disturbed that Baker wasn't excited by his breakthrough. He should be calling the Japanese prime minister right now. Why so laid back? "Aren't you going to do anything?" His tone was one of exasperation.
"Yes I am. You and I both are. We're going to keep chipping away and we're going to start sending people to Japan and we're going to try very hard to cover our ass. I just talked to President Black. He assures me that a U.S. cruiser is in hot pursuit of the Pride of Dakar, or the Glory, or whatever it's called now. Everyone seems certain it's the ship we're after. So it's a matter of time before they catch her and board her."
"So it's all over," the Mossad chief said.
"Hardly," Baker tossed back. "It's just beginning. It means that the U.S. Navy will soon have in its custody twenty-five Israeli nuclear warheads, warheads that we have denied having. It also means that there will be survivors of this organization with no name and they must be rounded up. But can we bring them to open trial? We're supposed to be a democracy."
"Doesn't matter," Kotcher said. "We can administer justice without a trial. We're not a bunch of pansies."
"I'll ignore that statement for the moment. Let's go on. It also means that the Japanese group is still intact. There must be some Israelis in Japan with that group. If they were going to fit these warheads to missiles and fire them at someone, both groups are doubtless represented in some secret place. Technical people as well as ideological. We have to mop up that mess."