"You're a prisoner, and you're the Geisha that Shibata mentioned?"
"It is true," Suzuki said. She slumped into a chair.
"But why would Yoshimoto bring me here? What's going on? Has he uncovered some sort of plot?"
Suzuki was suddenly amused. "So you don't know yet, Watanabe-san. You didn't get my message, did you?"
"I got no message. What sort of message?"
"It doesn't matter. Not now. We'll have plenty of time to talk."
"I don't understand what's going on," Watanabe admitted.
"What's going on is we're both prisoners here. Yoshimoto is the Seventh Samurai. He saw you as a threat. There are others here in our same predicament, all waiting for the Event. It shouldn't be long in coming if it happens. If it doesn't happen we are all dead. If it does happen, we may also be dead. This isn't the time to make long-range plans."
"But they said I was an honored guest."
Suzuki laughed. "Yes, so am I. And you'll be the honored dead if you cause trouble, or don't come around to Yoshimoto's way of thinking. We're not locked in these rooms. We're free to move around through much of the hidden tunnel. There's no chance to escape this far under the sea. I'll show you to your room down the hall, then we might as well talk. It beats the pile of American video tapes they've given me to help me pass the time."
CHAPTER 42: Nana Calls Shibata
Watanabe had been gone all night, all the next day and into the next day, when Nana's anger faded into apprehension. He really wasn't like that. She decided to call his office. Someone there told her Detective Watanabe had been temporarily assigned to the Tokyo police department. This message served not to placate Nana, but to revive her anger. He had gone off on some sort of posh assignment and decided not to even let her know? She stewed about it most of the night, and after her classes on the following day decided to call Watanabe's boss.
Superintendent Supervisor Yasunobo Shibata was delighted to talk with her despite her poor Japanese. He had met her previously when she had accompanied Watanabe on a case in Hokkaido. Also, he thought she might shed some light on what Watanabe was doing in Tokyo. He found she didn't know either.
"I'm sorry, Liberman-san," he told the angry woman. "We had an official memo from the Tokyo police. It said Watanabe's services are needed on a temporary basis. I, like all others in the department, follow orders. I thought he might have called you."
"And I thought he would have called me," she replied. "Then I got this crazy message from some woman who calls herself the Geisha."
"The Geisha," Shibata repeated, remembering his trip with Watanabe to Tokyo and their conversation about the FUurin Kazan. "Perhaps you should give me this message and tell me how and when it arrived."
Nana read from her note about the tunnel, the Israeli connection and about some world danger akin to Hiroshima. She told him it was a telephone call and gave him the approximate time. Shibata made laborious notes, translated from her fractured Japanese.
The old cop could make little sense of the message, but because Nana had assisted Watanabe with his press release and already had a grip on the FUurin Kazan and the Seventh Samurai, he explained to her who the Geisha might be. Nana agreed to call Shibata if she learned anything further, and he agreed to call her if he learned of Watanabe's whereabouts. He would make such an effort.
After Shibata had finished on the phone he took the envelope he had received from Watanabe from his desk drawer and opened it once more. There was the scribbled note that Yoshimoto's fingerprints should be on the plastic enveloping the photo of Sergeant Chalk. The superintendent had meant to hold the package for Watanabe's return, but now realized that Watanabe had mailed it for a purpose. He knew at the time he would be out of touch.
Shibata went to Watanabe's desk and found the prints of the murder suspect that had been lifted from Sergeant Chalk's room long ago. He took everything to the police lab and turned it over to the fingerprint specialist. Then he returned to his desk and began calling Tokyo.
Nana was far from satisfied with her phone conversation with Shibata. She knew Watanabe had discussed this case with Digger, but where to phone the elusive Aussie was a mystery. She knew he was a habitu? of the Hawk & Thistle, and it was still early enough to take the train to Namba and walk to the pub.
The shopping street was jammed, crowded mostly with teenagers window shopping and greeting each other. Spotted among the numerous Japanese restaurants and shops was a Shakey's Pizza, a McDonald's and a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Japanese youngsters wore T-shirts with nonsensical English phrases on them, words some unknown Japanese must have looked up in a dictionary and strung together in a pattern such as English speaking youngsters might wear on a shirt emblazoned with inscrutable Oriental writing.
Nana struck out. Digger was not in the pub. After a pint of beer and some chatter with casual acquaintances, she boarded the Nankai train and returned home. She had been home not more than forty-five minutes and was finishing up some cold tofu with fish flakes and soy sauce when the phone rang.
"Nana? Digger here. G'dye. I've been trying to reach Watanabe for days."
"I was just at the Hawk looking for you. Watanabe's on some kind of assignment in Tokyo. No one seems to know what it is, not even his boss. And he hasn't called me."
"I'm surprised," Digger said. "He didn't explain it to you?"
"No! The rat. He is living here, you know."
"You didn't quarrel?"
"No. Frankly, I'm a little frightened. I got this weird message over the phone from some woman calling herself the Geisha. It was about danger and Israel and Hiroshima. I wrote it down, but it doesn't make much sense. But I might know who the Geisha is."
"You say it mentioned Israel?" Digger wondered if the line was tapped, but it didn't matter.
"Yes, an Israeli connection," Nana said. "And the tunnel, maybe I forgot."
"The tunnel?" the Aussie asked. "The Seikan Tunnel under the Tsugaru Strait?"
"I guess. That's all Watanabe's been thinking about lately."
"Who might the Geisha be?"
Nana explained that Shibata years ago had heard that the Geisha was a partner - the partner - of the Seventh Samurai, the leader of the mysterious Fuurin Kazan, which now seemed more a reality than it had a few days ago. "Shibata is trying to find out where Watanabe is and just what he's doing. I think the old man will, too. I'm hoping to know tomorrow. If Watanabe just forgot to call me he's going to be in deep shit."
"I understand," Digger said. "Whatever this thing is, I think it's getting out of hand. I know a little more now then when I talked with Watanabe. Look, there's a guy at the American consulate, Bill Marty. He can usually contact me. I'll go see Shibata tomorrow morning. I've got the germ of a plan, but I can't talk about it over this phone."
"Can I meet you somewhere tomorrow?"
"Probably not. Things might move fast. I'll try to call you. Remember, Bill Marty, if you learn anything more."
Nana brooded after Digger hung up. If he thought she was going to sit here and wait, he was nuts. She wished she had a gun. The one she had in America was beautiful, but she had to dispose of it. They were hard to come by in Japan. Regardless, she too would be at Shibata's office when the old man came in tomorrow.
***
As was his usual custom, Superintendent Supervisor Yasunobu Shibata stopped at the small snack room and purchased coffee from a coin-operated machine before going to his office. He was halfway through the paper cup when a junior detective approached him. "Superintendent, I thought you might like to know that two gaijin are waiting in your outer office."
"Two?" Shibata said. "This is unusual. Men or women?"
"One of each, Superintendent. They were here when I came in thirty minutes ago. I was afraid to approach them. I speak no foreign language and you never know what a gaijin will do. They are given to fits of temper, so I've been told."
"Yes," Shibata chuckled. "And they have an eye in the middle of their forehead. I suppose I should go and see them." He
downed the rest of his coffee and made his way to his office.
Both Nana and Digger gave the formal morning greeting when he entered the room. "Ohayo gozaimasu." To which Shibata responded with the much abbreviated form used by older men.
If Nana's Japanese was halting, Digger's was near perfect. Nana's listening comprehension was better than her speech. She understood almost everything. The superintendent had also met Digger during that exciting trip to Hokkaido, so neither one was a stranger.
"Liberman-san, Digger-san, welcome to my office. What brings the two of you at this hour?"
The two explained that they were concerned about Watanabe and might be able to fit a few pieces of the tunnel puzzle together. Nana's interest in the matter was obvious and Digger said he was still employed in the same profession as when they met in Hokkaido - an international intelligence consultant.
"Yes, I understand your work, Digger-san." At that moment, Shibata's phone buzzed and he picked it up. He listened for a few moments, then asked, "Are you certain of that?" Then hung up. He had a puzzled look on his face when he turned once more to the two foreigners. "I have just been given some surprise information, but first let's hear what you two have pieced together."
Digger explained what he had learned from the Mossad agent, Abe Lazarus, from his own sources through the U.S. Embassy, from Watanabe's work and now a message from the Geisha that, if legitimate, seemed to pull it all together. "Because of all this," he concluded, "I think we should take the Geisha's message seriously. I have some ideas, but this isn't the time or the place. Let me ask, where is Watanabe?"
"I'm at a loss," Shibata said. "I could find no police official who had requested Watanabe's help. The nearest I could come is that the request came from the Finance Ministry. It would have had to come from a high office."
"Finance Minister Yoshimoto?" Digger questioned.
Shibata put up his hands in a gesture of puzzlement. "That would explain it. And now that you have brought me what you have, this would not seem the time for secrets. I have just learned that fingerprints lifted from a room where an American Army sergeant was murdered just after the war ended were made by none other than Finance Minister Akira Yoshimoto. I have never in my career been so baffled, been so unsure of what course to follow."
"You must arrest him!" Nana insisted.
"Perhaps they were made innocently," Digger suggested.
"I'm afraid they are incriminating. The young lady has good instincts. But this is the finance minister of Japan arrested for an ancient murder on the basis of fingerprints? We in Japan have far too many scandals. Sometimes I wonder if my own people know right from wrong."
"I understand opportunity and motive are important in such crimes," Nana said.
"Another bulls eye. He had the opportunity and the motive is obvious - robbery."
"I can see the opportunity for scandal," Digger said. "But the fact is this Yoshimoto seems to be in the middle of whatever this tunnel plot might be. My suggestion is that you and I, Shibata-san, go to Tokyo and lay this whole thing before some people at the American Embassy. They're on top of it, along with Japanese intelligence. You wouldn't be circumventing your own people. What do you say?"
Shibata was thoughtful. When he spoke, he agreed with Digger. He reached for the phone and asked his secretary to make reservations on the first fast Bullet Train to Tokyo. He was interrupted by Nana who demanded three reservations.
"I'm coming too," she said, frowning, "If shit's coming down, I'm going to be there to watch it fall!"
"Just so it doesn't fall on us," Digger said.
Shibata hung up. "I was moved to agree with you, Digger. Because I checked the telephone call from Tokyo to Liberman-san's home. The one from the Geisha. It came from Kyoko Suzuki's cell phone, Yoshimoto's cousin. Now, she too, seems to have dropped from sight."
CHAPTER 43: The Warheads
Getting the first warhead had been like getting the first olive out of a bottle. From then on it became so easy that the crew became over confidant.
First, it was the superb seamanship of Captain Silverman that had put them in an ideal location. They had come south with a large seagoing barge, a heavy-duty helicopter lashed to its deck and two tough seagoing tugs.
The Japanese Defense Force vessels, manned by loyal members of the Fuurin Kazan, made good time until they approached the actual site of the wreck of the Glory. Captain Silverman eased the tugs and the barge through the coral outcropping and shoals, arriving as close as they could get to the Glory at dusk, just as planned.
Then the small inflatables went out to the Glory and Fuurin Kazan members began reassembling the helicopter and readying the airship for flight. On board the Glory the cargo decks were unbolted and wrapped with cables so they could be carried off. Then the Japanese divers went into the hold and, after a two-hour struggle, harnessed the first of the warheads to be hauled away. By two a.m. the helicopter was called into service. Working with spotlights, it lifted the deck sections piece by piece and dropped them nearby into the sea. Then it took the first warhead, neatly lifting it straight up from the hold and depositing it in the hold of the large, clumsy barge a few hundred feet away. Then it was all routine, with everyone smiling at the ease of the transfer until number nineteen came along.
The precious load had hardly cleared the deck of the Glory when the chopper slipped backwards, swinging the payload in a wide, low arc that smashed a man from the deck, then slowly swung back again, this time hitting the piece of the Glory that jutted above the water, smashing the warhead's harness and dropping the damaged piece of destruction into the sea.
One Japanese was killed outright, caught by the vicious lashing of the snapped harness cable. The warhead's crate was shattered, its plastic case cracked. Silently, invisibly, radiation oozed from the damaged casing as it rested at the Glory's side in the shallow sea bottom.
"There's a dropped warhead. It's in the water, cable broken. There's some radiation. Can't tell how much yet," an interpreter told a grim faced Captain Silverman.
Silverman nodded. "We've been lucky so far. There's nothing to do but try to offload the others, get them on the barge and get them the hell out of here before dawn." He knew the first tendrils of light would be in the eastern sky within an hour. "And, for the love of God, let's be a little more careful," he added, stating the obvious.
By noon the barge and its pair of attendant tugs were far from the Glory, heading north at their best pace. The area of the wrecked ship was radioactive, the dead man had been left in the water, and what contamination had gotten to the crew aboard the Glory could not even be guessed at. There was no equipment for that sort of assessment, but not a man complained. Members of the Fuurin Kazan were a dedicated lot.
CHAPTER 44: Tokyo Denouement
Lieutenant (j.g.) Cheddar was at the podium for a meeting of a strange mixture of people in the large conference room at the U.S. Embassy in Tokyo. In the chair nearby sat Vice Admiral Guy Blades, complete with new gold stripes glistening on his sleeves. He had been notified of his promotion when he arrived in Tokyo.
Cheddar let his eyes wander about the crowd. They rested momentarily on Nana Liberman, a pretty woman with long, straight taffy hair. Even from this distance he could tell her eyes were green. She was not skinny, but thin and on the tall side, taller than some of the Japanese men who were also in the room.
The admiral coughed slightly for Cheddar to stop wool gathering and begin.
"Admiral Blades has asked me to make what introductions there are, at least to put you all at ease that there are no spies in the room, at least no amateur spies." His quip drew a slight laugh, although Digger and Eli Kotcher were stone faced. "We are in the midst of, not a national crisis, but a global crisis. There is a real danger of a group - or groups - of fanatics, arming missiles with nuclear warheads and touching off WWIII, or the end of the civilized world, whatever you want to call it. We are not just sitting here in Tokyo while this is happening, believe me. There a
re military and non-military units working at this moment to find, capture, or destroy, these fanatics. There is a question of who they are and where they are." Cheddar paused and looked around the room.
"I'll make this as brief as possible," he continued. "We've waived certain security clearances because each person without a clearance in this room has some particular information to offer, or might profit from the information we have to share." He referred to a list on the podium and read the names of Japanese government officials present, U.S. Embassy people, Shibata and half a dozen others. "Now I'll turn the meeting over to Admiral Blades."
"We've been plagued with bad luck throughout this operation," Blades said, looking into every face in the crowd. "As some of you know, and as we learned too late, twenty-five nuclear warheads were stolen from a heavily guarded Israeli military facility. Naturally, the Israelis were reluctant to announce this to the world. They did give us a series of inklings and hints, and finally the entire truth came out, but all the information was given to us just a little too late. The warheads moved by ship through the Indian Ocean. When we found this out, the ship was out of reach." Blades paused and drank from a glass of water on the podium.
"We did in fact track the ship and run it down. But the captain, one of the best mariners in the world, a Captain Silverman, tricked us into believing the ship had escaped when actually it had been scuttled. I must confess to error here. I was aboard the Winslow, which was tracking it. My intention was to board the scuttled vessel, which had every earmark of a years-old wreck, to make certain it was not our quarry. Before I could issue those orders, I was called to Tokyo."
Blades slammed his fist down on the podium. "I had the warheads right there in my hand and let them go!"
He calmed himself and in a softer voice said, "I apologize for my error. Later, when the scuttled ship seemed the only answer to the warhead's disappearance, the U.S. Navy returned to the wreck. It was indeed the vessel we were seeking, but the warheads were gone, most of them. At least one had been smashed and was on the sea floor, maybe more. But most were gone, perhaps twenty-four. Frankly, there's so much radiation around the wreck that we're calling in special equipment to deal with it."