Honorable Enemies (1994)

by Joe Weber

  It's not worth the Marines' lives!" Susan declared and gripped his arm tighter. "Can't you do something?"

  "You're right," he conceded while the two adversaries yanked their helicopters into a tight, low-speed turn. "I'll call him off and have the Air Guard scramble some armed fighters."

  Wickham was on the verge of running for his SecTel when the two helos appeared to collide. The JetRanger's tail rotor blade struck the gunship's right landing skid, then shattered into a dozen pieces while the Cobra pulled up and moved off to the side of the damaged helo.

  "He's going in. He's losing it," Steve said stiffly while the fuselage of the civilian helicopter slowly began to rotate under the main rotors.

  Without the stabilizing tail rotor to counteract the powerful main-rotor drive torque, the helo turned increasingly faster in the opposite direction of the main blades.

  The pilot of the JetRanger was desperately trying to salvage an autorotation to a crash landing, but the aerodynamic forces induced by the unique situation were causing the helo to oscillate out of control.

  Steve and Susan witnessed the craft tumble over and plummet nose-first toward the ground near the coast highway.

  Holding his bleeding shoulder, Marcus staggered up to them as the helicopter impacted with a spectacular explosion of jet fuel.

  "Judas Priest, how did things get out of control?" Callaway asked while he panted for breath.

  Chapter 16.

  NEAR MISSOULA, MONTANA

  There was a hushed sense of excitement in the rustic, woodsy restaurant nestled alongside a winding brook. The President of the United States was going to have a late lunch at the unpretentious cafe before he and his entourage continued their tour of northwestern Montana.

  Two Secret Service agents closely watched the preparation of the food and beverages in the kitchen, while other agents interviewed and carefully selected several "customers" who would have an impromptu, spontaneous chat with their Commander in Chief.

  CNN and NBC elected to tape the folksy luncheon for their prime time newscast. The combined noise of two generators, coupled with the rows of cables and the battery of satellite dishes, spoiled the otherwise tranquil valley.

  As the President's motorcade approached the quaint eatery, a Cable News Network reporter hurried over to one of the stone-faced security agents. After a short pause, the unsmiling agent walked straight to the President's limousine and informed him that CNN was preparing to broadcast a special report about the Pearl Harbor incident.

  The President smiled broadly and waved to the small crowd before he entered the CNN truck to view the news report with his top aides. A technician quickly slid a chair on rollers to the President as the "CNN Special Report" graphic flashed on the television screen.

  The familiar anchorwoman fumbled with her earpiece and looked into the eye of the camera. "Thanks for joining us. We have a breaking report just in from Honolulu, Hawaii. At least two helicopters have crashed during a joint exercise involving the FBI and the military. The details are sketchy at the moment, but we will update you as quickly as we receive the information.

  "I'm being told," the reporter continued, "that a team of agents from the CIA and FBI located the helicopter that was allegedly used in the assault on the tour ship at Pearl Harbor. During the attempt to capture the pilot and his passenger, a Marine Cobra helicopter crashed, killing its two-man crew. The names of the two crewmen have not been released pending notification of next of kin."

  Out of habit, the woman cleared her throat while the news director talked to her. "We now go live to David Kaiulani in Honolulu. Dave."

  The native Hawaiian correspondent was standing near the blackened wreckage of the JetRanger. The crash site had been roped off, and armed guards surrounded the mangled helicopter.

  "Loraine, I'm standing by the remains of what authorities believe was the helicopter used in the assault on the Star of Honolulu. Both people aboard the JetRanger perished in the fiery crash after their helo collided with a Marine gunship that was accompanying the downed military helicopter."

  The reporter turned sideways to allow the cameraman a good shot of the accident site.

  "Everyone is being cautious about what they say," Kaiulani continued, "but officials at the scene, who wish to remain anonymous, have told me they are certain this is the chopper that was used in the attack."

  Rising from his chair, the President thanked the CNN team and stepped outside with his Secretary of State and Scott Eaglehoff, his recently appointed Chief of Staff. The President waved everyone away while the three men walked to the edge of the street.

  "Scott," the President said with a grim set to his face, "I want all the particulars on this goddamn mess as soon as you can sort it out. Who was the pilot? Who owned the helicopter? And what the hell went wrong?"

  Eaglehoff nodded. "I'll turn the screws."

  Swarthy and morose, Scott Eaglehoff was by nature a reserved man, but the plump, pigeon-toed former federal judge enjoyed a unique reputation in Washington. He made things happen.

  THE MANSION

  Bureau laboratory personnel and photographers documented and analyzed everything in and around the estate before Steve and Susan were allowed to explore its interior.

  Marcus had been transported to the hospital and was reported to be undergoing surgery.

  The Bureau experts found that an entire section of the guest wing had been constructed with hinged walls.

  One person could quickly and easily swing the high wall partitions open, move the light pieces of furniture, then cover the wooden parquet floor with a heavy canvas.

  The final step in the transformation required two people to open the cleverly constructed entrance to the combination hangar/guest quarters.

  When the civilian helicopter was not concealed in the guest wing, the rooms looked perfectly normal, including the large, immovable bathing suite. Because of plumbing constraints, the bath and water closet were built long and narrow to allow room to work on the JetRanger.

  After the luxurious home--sans guest quarters--had been built by local crews, a special team of Indonesian construction workers was hired to build the hangar and make it appear like part of the original structure.

  The trio of men and their female interior decorator disappeared after a postconstruction drinking party. A week after the group was expected to return to Indonesia, law enforcement authorities in Jakarta asked the Honolulu Police Department to investigate. The HPD looked into the matter, assuming foul play, but they never found a single clue.

  Only two men knew the last whereabouts of the construction. workers. By the time the authorities were consulted, the foursome was a long way from where they had last been seen. Sharks make unpredictable course changes in their ongoing quest for food.

  "Well," Steve observed as he inspected the interior of the guest quarters-cum-helicopter hangar, "they were in a helluva hurry to get out of here."

  "Max panic mode," Susan deadpanned and looked behind one of the numerous drop cloths that was used to protect the walls, furniture, and fixtures during the hasty repainting of the JetRanger. "They apparently sprayed the camouflage design directly on the other paint scheme."

  "A quick makeover and out the door," Steve mused while he looked at the spray gun and paint containers. "They must have been on the verge of slipping the helo out of here when we paid our first visit."

  "No question about it."

  He glanced at her and then frowned. "Why do I have a feeling they knew we were on our way here?"

  "I don't know," Susan replied, careful not to jump to conclusions, "but I think you're right. And there's something else that puzzles me."

  "Me, too," Wickham confided, then turned to his attractive friend and focused his attention on her eyes. "I want to know where they planned to hide the helicopter."

  "Exactly," Susan answered and caught Steve's tense, restless look. "They were mighty anxious to get that helicopter off the premises."

  "So anxious that t
hey were willing to take major risks to get it out of here because they somehow knew that we had them nailed to the wall."

  "Someone"--she let her suspicions rise to the surface--"has been feeding them information about us. . . ."

  Wickham took a moment to review his thoughts about the strange turn of events. "That's a distinct possibility. We're going to have to be very cautious about everything we do from now on."

  Susan offered him a vague smile. "And not trust anyone until we know if our suspicions are correct."

  Steve nodded in agreement. "It looks like our basic logic has been on track, for the most part, so I think we have to continue following our instincts."

  "True," she remarked quietly and tilted her head to the side. "Where does your instinct think the pilot was headed?"

  "Well, someone threw a hell of a lot of money and effort into setting up the assault, so nothing is beyond the realm of possibility."

  Steve walked over to the window and looked out to sea. "I'd have to guess that the pilot was heading offshore . . ." "Headed for a ship or barge?"

  "That, or maybe he planned to dump the helo in the drink after he was out of sight of land."

  "With someone standing by to pick him up," Susan replied coolly.

  "Or kill him." Steve looked at his watch. "Dead men don't tell tales."

  "True."

  "Right after the crash, my ops coordinator asked the military to search the ocean around the island. I want to know the name and origin of everything big enough to land a helo aboard."

  "How soon will you have the information?"

  "They've promised to do a thorough job--low flybys for photos, et cetera--so I'm not sure when I'll get the final results. Probably sometime tomorrow."

  Susan gave Wickham a questioning look. "How'd you get so much influence with the Pentagon? You're the only person I know who can get the military to jump through hoops with a simple request."

  "Well," Steve replied with a faint grin, "I got lucky on a couple of difficult field assignments, then unlucky enough to get some notoriety in high places."

  "Amazing," she responded with a shake of her head. "You make it look easy."

  "Trust me, it isn't as easy as it seems. Getting the military to move on a moment's notice takes a lot of groundwork and a few persuasive words from the White House don't hurt."

  "Clean," a laboratory technician announced as he entered the room. "This place is antiseptically clean. They were well organized and didn't leave much to go on when they split."

  "The only glitch in their plan," Steve offered with obvious satisfaction, "was that we stumbled across their hiding place before the helicopter was gone."

  "That's true," the technician chimed in and looked around the unique hangar. "Once this place was restored to the guest house facade, you'd never know, with just a casual look, that it was once used as a hangar."

  Steve nodded in agreement and looked around the interior of the hangar. "They may have had plans for more airborne attacks--under the cover of darkness or in military camouflage--until someone tipped them off that we were on the trail."

  "Yeah, you're probably right." The man smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Somebody has been dreamin' in Technicolor, big time."

  "The thing that just doesn't fit," Susan began slowly and looked at Steve, "is why would these Japanese be involved in shooting innocent Japanese? Who would go to all this trouble and risk this expensive home to kill their own people?"

  Steve watched her law muscles tighten. "If you're right, and I think you are, they used a Caucasian to actually commit the attack. So I think--"

  "They did it," Susan interrupted with anger in her voice, "to set the Japanese people against the Americans."

  Wickham saw the anger in her eyes.

  "Susan," he said compassionately, "we should know who owns this place fairly soon. I expect the pieces will start falling into place in a couple of days."

  "I sure as hell hope so," she said with a trace of skepticism. "Because we don't have much to go on. We have the remains of the helicopter that we believe was used in the attack, we have the body of the pilot we think flew the attack, the other guy in the helo shot at us, this place looks suspicious as hell, and it wouldn't surprise me if we never see the 'house-sitter' again."

  "Relax," Steve said lightly and looked around the room. "He'll turn up."

  She ignored the comment and walked to a window overlooking the tennis court.

  "With what we have right now," Susan complained, "a good lawyer could shoot holes through the whole scenario."

  "You may be right," he reluctantly admitted, "but we've got to focus on the loose ends and pursue them until we get some straight answers."

  "You're right," she asserted with renewed enthusiasm. "Why don't you follow up on the air search while I see what I can uncover through the island grapevine?"

  Steve saw that special gleam return to her eyes. "What have you got in mind?"

  "I want to locate the son of--" Susan paused to select a more ladylike response. "I want to locate the individual who rammed my car and find out who owns this place."

  Chapter 17.

  TOKYO

  Tadashi Matsukawa awakened with a start, then closed his eyes and let the events of the previous evening slowly drift through his aching head. After the exhausting eleven-and-a-half-hour flight from Los Angeles, he had been totally inebriated when he lurched out of the first-class section and made his way to his limousine.

  His chauffeur, who had learned not to attempt a conversation with Matsukawa when he was drunk, silently drove him to the hotel. A second car would bring his luggage while his driver left to fetch Matsukawa's usual lover.

  He clearly remembered the sensuous and attractive hosutessu from the exclusive and very private kara oke bar. Michiko was a lithe and sexually stimulating hostess who always made herself available for Matsukawa. He had tried to persuade her to be his only sexual partner by offering her an expensive apartment to live in and a generous allowance, but Michiko, who thoroughly enjoyed the wild nightlife and her wealthy boyfriends, had repeatedly turned down the industrialist's offers.

  Although Michiko knew Matsukawa was a selfish lover who sometimes manhandled her, she always returned to his bed in the lavish suite he maintained at the Imperial Hotel. Spending a night with the wealthy businessman provided her more income than she could earn in a week at the exclusive club.

  He looked at the lighted clock on the nightstand and rubbed his aching temples while the memories and sensations slowly returned. Michiko had left a few minutes before sunrise and Matsukawa's weary chauffeur had driven her home.

  Between the jet lag, Michiko's boundless sexual energy, and the endless sips of warm sake, Matsukawa had slept longer than usual. There was much to accomplish today, and he was getting off to a late start.

  In less than a week he would be entertaining some of the most powerful and affluent businessmen in Japan. A quartet of young, carefully selected geishas would relax Matsukawa's guests with songs, dances, and conversations ranging from history to contemporary gossip. Geisha means "art person," and training for the unique profession, which has been a part of the Japanese culture since the 18th century, begins early with a demanding apprenticeship.

  The attractive women also play a string instrument known as a shamisen, and they serve rice wine to help the men unwind. After an appropriate period of time, the geishas would quietly slip away, and the power brokers would be free to discuss the future of Japan.

  Matsukawa intended to focus on the concerns of the present and former prime ministers in regard to the escalating fears about the United States. He felt confident that he could convince the leaders of Japan to coalesce and back the Prime Minister in his upcoming discussions with the Americans.

  Matsukawa knew that he would have to pound home his message to a few of the fainthearted: Japan must chart her own course and be accepted on an even keel by the United States, including militarily. The Japanese could no longer
afford to be the junior partner to the lazy, illiterate, and inefficient Americans.

  Once he convinced the cartel members, including the leaders of the Big Four Japanese securities firms, to follow his vision of the future, it would be easier to persuade Prime Minister Genshiro Koyama to take a firm stand and not back down from the arrogant Americans.

  After he called room service and ordered vinegared octopus and broiled chicken with rice, Matsukawa opened the drapes and gazed at the Marunouchi business district, where his main offices were located.

  He turned and started for the bathroom a moment before the phone rang. Not in the best of moods, he snatched the phone from its cradle. "Matsukawa."

  "This is Mishima. Are you alone?"

  "Yes," he replied with a visceral feeling of apprehension. "What's wrong?"

  "I'll be there in ten minutes."

  Matsukawa started to reply and the connection went dead.

  Mishima Takahashi was his closest and most loyal business partner. He was the man responsible for structuring the resort hotels along Tumon Bay on Guam, then overseeing them to completion. Takahashi was a key ingredient in the tremendous growth and success of Matsukawa's vast empire.

  WAIKIKI BEACH

  The warm, yellow-pinkish sun was just beginning to peek over the lush mountaintops when Steve Wickham reached for his copy of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin & Advertiser. Bold headlines and pictures of the crashed helicopters dominated the front page and most of the first section.

  Opening to the second page, Steve's eye caught another article capped with bold type.

  FIGHTER AIRCRAFT TO BE MOVED

  Associated Press

  WASHINGTON -- The Air Force said Wednesday it was temporarily relocating the fighter squadrons of the 432nd Fighter Wing attached to Misawa Air Base, Japan. The F-16 aircraft will be dispersed to the 18th Fighter Wing at Kadena Air Force Base, Okinawa, and to the 8th Fighter Wing at Kunsan in South Korea.