The Seventh Samurai

by Doug Walker

  "The Japanese can help us there."

  "Possibly," the prime minister said. "But the Japanese worship harmony. They're good at sweeping things under the rug and hoping for the best. We don't want a repeat of this incident, ever."

  "No we don't, but the ship hasn't been taken yet. How can you be certain the Americans will get it?"

  "Well," Baker smiled. "They've spent billions on weaponry. They spend billions to payroll their navy. How can a worn-down cargo ship be any match against the U.S. Navy? It's laughable."

  "Maybe," the Mossad chief said, "but I'll feel better when the ship's been taken, even if the Americans do get the warheads. This Captain Silverman is no fool. The Americans will give our warheads back, won't they?"

  "Why should they?" Baker asked. "We're not supposed to have them. It certainly wasn't me who insisted that we build them."

  "But they mean our very survival!" Kotcher exclaimed.

  Baker smiled a weary smile. "Let's let the boys in the Knesset agonize over that one. What I want is a thorough roundup of this no-name gang, plus first-rate intelligence on what's going on in Japan."

  "Japan's tough," Kotcher said. "In the first place, a foreigner has a tough time over there, so we have to depend on Japanese informants. Most Japanese at the level we're interested in aren't interested in a few extra yen. And we can't blackmail them with extramarital sex because it's an accepted way of life. There's a big problem when it comes to doing our thing in Japan."

  "Your problems, Eli. That's your job. I'll worry about how to deal with the Americans once they get their mitts on our warheads. You fuss with catching these right-wing lunatics from both countries. I want this mess cleaned up!"

  Baker had clearly ended the conversation. Kotcher nodded and left the room.

  CHAPTER 33: End of the Chase

  The crew of the Glory was exhausted, but jubilant. And still they labored on. They had eluded a Belknap-class guided missile cruiser and were headed north at top speed while it was heading south for the decoy made up of a series of large balloons and a radio signal. The Glory's radar system explicitly showed what was happening. Their deception had worked.

  Headed north, they had passed the Winslow well to the east. Captain Silverman had directed the crew to paint the port side of the vessel with an experimental substance Israel had developed to confound radar detection. It was a heavy black liquid that had the consistency and appearance of that used to seal driveways. Time made it impossible for the crew to paint the entire port side, but the substance worked, at least enough to fool the Winslow. The ship didn't turn toward the Glory when they were only a few miles apart, but instead picked up on the balloon decoy and the radio signal. Silverman guessed the radio signal had spelled the difference.

  He also knew that the Winslow would not be fooled for long and that it could travel in excess of thirty knots. In good weather, although that was no problem now, its reach was sharply lengthened by a helicopter. And there could be other Yank vessels closing in. He had put every available member of the weary crew to repainting the Glory, this time quite a different color. The nameplate had already been removed from her stern and cast into the sea.

  ***

  Rear Admiral Guy Blades spent the first hour of the new pursuit in his flag command center working over charts. He was convinced that they were indeed chasing the Glory as he called in ships from the north, east and west to block any escape route. He was also aware that Captain Horne was driving the Winslow beyond its top-rated speed and wondered how long the vessel could take the intense strain. He had not made calculations, but he guessed the ship's fuel consumption was well over what it might be at a more studied pace.

  Horne was obviously making a wild dash for the Glory in hopes of rectifying his earlier mistake in going for the decoy. But if Blades had been in command of the Winslow with the Glory not too far ahead and the fleet being brought in, he would have opted for caution.

  But he was not in command. The only orders he thought appropriate under the circumstances were the orders he issued to call his captains: Pursue the Glory as you see fit.

  After satisfying himself that a sufficient number of vessels would close in on the prey, Blades spent a few moments snacking on dried cranberries and drinking a glass of tepid tea. He liked the taste of the dried berries and had heard that they contained certain beneficial vitamins and maybe minerals, but he couldn't recall just which ones. He then set off for the Winslow's radar operations, closely trailed by Cheddar. Despite his distaste for life at sea, Cheddar was getting in the swing of things. A sense of excitement, a feeling of the chase charged the air of the cruiser.

  Captain Horne was also in the radar room. Blades nodded to him, but went directly to the station still manned by the same chief petty officer he had spoken to before. "You getting any better picture, Chief?"

  "Yes, Sir. It's a stern view. Merchant vessel. We're closing in, but not too fast considering our speed."

  Blades looked at the screen, but could tell nothing. Radar had always mystified him. In fact he had trouble sending and receiving e-mail. He looked at Horne. "Any chance of the weather clearing up, John?"

  "Probably tomorrow. Then we can get the chopper up if we haven't caught them yet. But we should have them by dawn."

  Blades motioned toward the radar screen. "She is traveling fast, isn't she?"

  Horne nodded in agreement. "Too fast for a merchant ship of her age. They've done something special to her power plant. And not at sea. Whatever the modifications, they had to be made in dry dock."

  "Italy," Blades said. "No expense was spared. They have a bagful of tricks." He wondered if during the time they were searching for her she could have offloaded her cargo. So many small islands, so many vagrant merchant ships. What a thought. She could be the decoy! He turned to the chief. "Why'd we miss her the first time, Chief?"

  "Good question, Sir. There's some stuff they're beginning to try on subs. You just paint it on. It coats the metal and confuses radar. That could be it. We did get a picture, but it wasn't your ideal profile. Far from it. Then there was chaff and the decoy and things were moving right along. A regular side show."

  "I understand," Blades said, although he wondered if a board of inquiry would. The admiral turned to the captain. "I think I'll go to the bridge, John. Do you care to join me?"

  When they were alone, Blades asked Horne if the Winslow's power plant was in good shape.

  "You mean will they take the strain of max speed for several hours? Yes, I think they will. I'd like to be the one to run down the Glory, Guy. I'm sure you know why."

  "Certainly," Blades replied.

  Few on board slept that night. Every member of the crew understood that the Winslow had been tricked by a merchant ship, and to reclaim its honor it must catch that ship. The engine room was a busy place, giving the bridge maximum power throughout the long night.

  The Winslow groaned and tossed a heavy bow wave through the skuzzy weather. Rain periodically pelted the ship and there was never a star to be seen in the sky. Only low, roily clouds, illuminated now and then by lightning.

  Toward dawn Blades had made another check of his flag command center to find all personnel on duty. Satisfied that his orders were being carried out throughout the fleet, although a destroyer south of Parece Vela had lost a man overboard, he retired to his cabin for a quiet cup of coffee with Cheddar.

  "There are always accidents at sea, Cheddar. Always have been, I suppose. Have you ever been to Macau?"

  "No, Admiral. I've heard it's a gambling place."

  "I suppose that's all it is to most tourists. The Portuguese started their colony there some 400 years ago. Since then it has reverted to China. It has a harbor like Hong Kong, but not like Hong Kong. Hong Kong has a wonderful deep-water harbor. Macau's is shallow, unfit for modern ships. So if you go to Hong Kong, you can take an excursion boat to Macau if you want to gamble. But there are a couple of other attractions there. There's an old church front, I suppose it was a
cathedral, and there's a smaller church with a cemetery for foreigners. If you walk through that cemetery you'll find the graves of more than one American seaman who died in Macau roads. The epitaphs read, 'fell from aloft.' Usually, they will also say that the headstone was purchased with money from his shipmates."

  Blades paused and sipped his coffee. "The sea was their home, shipmates were their families and a foreign grave is their final resting place. This is the business that the two of us are in. It has changed, but it remains the same."

  Cheddar wondered if Blades was trying to be a surrogate father to him. Nothing would please his real father more than his deciding to make the navy his career. He could return home on leave to Coronado occasionally and the two of them could watch reruns of "Victory at Sea" together. Cheddar was about to make some reply to Blades when the entire ship shuddered. It shuddered again, then came an awful jolt from the bow, their coffees went flying, a sickening grinding noise came from somewhere below, then the power failed and the lights went out. Cheddar was lying on the floor against the forward bulkhead, his legs over the trunk of Blades' body. "Holy Christ," he muttered. "Do you suppose the Glory carries torpedoes?"

  He could feel the admiral struggling to a sitting position. Finally, the older man said, "It's a possibility we haven't considered. I would put nothing past Captain Silverman. But we weren't torpedoed. One torpedo wouldn't do this to the Winslow. We've run aground."

  His words had a chilling impact on Cheddar. As a Navy brat and now an officer, he knew what it meant for a captain to run his ship aground, particularly with a full, well trained crew on board, relatively good weather and not in the confines of a harbor. "How could that be?" he questioned, sitting up.

  "You got me," the admiral said slowly, "but that fuckin' Horne managed to do it. His ass isn't worth shit. Do we have a flashlight around here?"

  "I don't think so," Cheddar relied. "I never expected the power to go out. We're listing, aren't we?"

  "To starboard, quite a bit," Blades said.

  "Could we be taking on water?" Cheddar asked. He suddenly became aware that they were miles from shore and in the middle of a mild storm. Going over the side into a lifeboat held little appeal. He suspected that his father back in Coronado would think him disgraced just because he was on a ship that ran aground. So much for a nautical career.

  "No," Blades said in disgust. "I don't think we're in any danger of sinking. I don't think the water's deep enough here." Clinging to the bulkhead, he struggled to his feet. "We better get to our flag command. We'll have to transfer the flag somehow to something a little more seaworthy."

  The two men started to feel their way along the passage, when somewhere a generator kicked in and dim lights came on.

  The two made their way to the bridge where they found Captain Horne. He was like a walking cadaver and a look of panic crossed his face when he saw the admiral. He rushed up to him, "Guy, you've got to help me. This didn't happen, not to me."

  "Quiet, John. " Blades glanced around at the others on the bridge. "I'll talk to you later." Horne seemed on the brink of a breakdown. "You'd better go to your cabin, John. I'll ask the exec to take over."

  Captain Horne nodded. He had about all he could take in the last 24 hours. His career was a shambles and he was nearly a basket case. "Thanks, Guy. I think I need some rest." His walk was almost a shuffle when he left the bridge.

  Blades talked to the executive officer, made certain proper damage assessment and repairs were underway, inquired how many men were injured and asked for a report from the sick bay, double checked the radio reports, then returned to his fleet command center. Luckily all radio equipment was in working order and there was no need for him to stand down while someone else took over the fleet.

  What had happened was obvious. They were in shoaling waters, areas of coral reefs and in some cases minor islands. Captain Silverman, with his shallower draft vessel and light cargo, had carefully led the Winslow into a box. The Winslow was watching the Glory on radar and the Glory was watching the Winslow. When Silverman had the Winslow in the right position he made a quick change of course. In his enthusiasm to run the smaller ship down, Horne ordered a course change before making proper note of reefs in the area. They were on the coral just as frantic warnings were being issued to the bridge.

  Once more the Glory had outwitted the Winslow, this time leaving it badly damaged and hung up on a reef. Without waiting for damage assessment, Blades knew by the list that it would take tugs to pull the vessel free of the coral. And what of the damage to the hull?

  He could use the Winslow as a stationary fleet flagship for now, but he would have his flag transferred long before the vessel was off the reef. He asked Cheddar to find out how difficult it would be to get the helicopter off the listing ship. Then Blades went to the radar station to determine the location of the Glory.

  "Sorry, Admiral," the chief said. "The grounding must have jarred loose some of our surface search equipment topside. We have full power back, but they're checking the wiring on the mast now. We should be back in business in an hour, or so."

  "We need a fix on that vessel as soon as possible, Chief."

  "Aye, Aye, Sir."

  Cheddar found the admiral and told him there's be no problem launching the chopper. "They're checking it for damage now. Then they have to simply block it up level. The crew chief said it'd be ready in half an hour."

  Blades stepped out on deck and checked the weather. There was still a heavy, low cloud cover. The helicopter was all-weather and could fly in this soup and possibly locate the Glory with its instruments, but maybe not visually. What Blades wanted was a good, visual sighting, someone who could get close enough to eyeball the Glory. He wanted to be absolutely certain what they were chasing.

  The rest of the fleet was closing in, but these waters with their coral atolls and frequent reefs were tricky. The Winslow's grounding had sent a chill note of caution through the fleet. It would be late evening at best even before the nearest ship could close with the Glory, and that only providing she kept her present course. So probably they were talking the following day, which would give the Glory plenty of leeway. The Winslow was close enough to keep track of her for the moment, if the radar was operational.

  Blades was beginning to feel a little grungy. He told Cheddar to have a breakfast brought to his cabin, that he was going to shave and clean up. He suggested that Cheddar do the same and join him for breakfast. Cheddar went off to do the admiral's bidding, wondering all the while if he would ever see his bunk again.

  During breakfast, Cheddar asked Blades if there was any chance that Horne could get out of the foul stew that he had cooked for himself. Blades cut a length of sausage with his fork, speared the smaller section and ate it. "Possibly. He has more than 20 years in, not a bad record, and he is an Academy graduate." He took a sip of coffee and two forkfuls of scrambled eggs. "They just might let him retire." Blades was eager to get back to the radar equipment.

  He was pleased to find it back in service. "Where's the Glory, Chief?"

  "No reading, Sir."

  "What does that mean, Chief?"

  "It's gone, Sir."

  Blades took a deep breath. "Your equipment isn't working right?"

  "As far as I can tell, it's working as well as ever. There's just no ship."

  "Could it have gotten out of range during the breakdown?" Blades asked sharply. There was a nightmarish quality about the last two days.

  "I don't see how, Admiral. But there is something near where we last had it."

  Another ghost? Blades thought. Another decoy, or have they painted the entire ship with an anti-radar substance. "What is it?"

  "It could be a small boat, but whatever it is, it's stationary, No movement."

  "Is it like one of those things you saw before? A decoy? A ship painted with a substance?"

  "No, Sir. This is a solid reading. A small ship. But too small for any large vessel profile. But it's not moving. I don't think it wi
ll move."

  "You've seen something like this before, anytime?"

  "Yes, Admiral. If I had to guess, I'd say it was a derelict, a wreck, mostly submerged, probably on a reef in fairly shallow water. Not unusual, Sir."

  "Then it could be the Glory! She too could have hit a reef and been ripped open and have gone under. It could happen."

  "I suppose so, Sir, but?"

  "But what?"

  "Well, Sir, this ship we're after is well skippered. A good skipper like that isn't going to run his ship onto a reef."

  Captain Horne did run his ship on a reef. All present, including Cheddar, had exactly the same thought. Nobody spoke it aloud.

  "We'd better get that helicopter aloft," Blades said. Then he headed for the bridge.

  CHAPTER 34: The Watch

  Watanabe remembered the watch when he was on his way to work. He had taken the train to the great station at Namba, then boarded the packed subway. He was one of the last on after running for the last car, always the most tightly populated. He had almost gotten his arm caught in the sliding door. He stood, unable to move, the press of the crowd against his back making it even difficult to breath. He had four stations to go: Shinsaibashi, near a couple of large department stores, hotels and a shopping street; Hommachi, in the middle of numerous companies, a magnet for the suit-and-tie workers that Japanese always referred to as "salarymen;" then Yodoyabashi, just across the Tosabori river from city hall and the prefectural library. At last the subway could pass under the two rivers, go near the U.S. Consulate and finally release Watanabe at the huge Umeda station, a cultural riot of hotels, other train lines, restaurants, department stores, the main post office and more hordes of people.

  Jammed on the subway, Watanabe found himself staring at a salaryman's wrist. On the wrist was a gold watch with a tinted crystal. The wrist was attached to a hand that was pushed against the glass, a prop that kept its owner from being pushed this way and that by the mob. A small light flashed in the back of Watanabe's head when he guessed that Sgt. Burt Chalk's watch, the one thought stolen so many years ago, was part of a plaque on Finance Minister Akira Yoshimoto's inner office wall.