Honorable Enemies (1994)

by Joe Weber

  "No way we would let you off that easy," Susan told him with mock seriousness and handed him a strawberry milk shake. "How are you feeling?"

  "Oh, a little weak," he confessed and eagerly took a sip, "but I'm ready to get out of here and go home."

  "I'll bet." Steve chuckled.

  "Thanks for the shake," Marcus said and sucked on the straw.

  Susan winked at Callaway. "I remembered how much you like strawberries."

  "Where's your wife?" Steve asked as he walked to the opposite side of the bed.

  "She went to get a bite to eat," Marcus answered and then changed the subject. "What's the latest?"

  Susan sat down in the chair next to the bed. "The investigation is going slowly, but we're making progress. We'll keep you updated, I promise."

  "I appreciate it."

  She glanced up at the television mounted on the wall. CNN was on, but Callaway had pressed the mute button on his remote control switch.

  "Have you heard the latest news?" Susan asked.

  Marcus had indeed seen the live broadcast from Yokota Air Base. "Yes. I guess the attack on the C-5 blew the lid off this latest dispute with Japan. The last report I saw mentioned that one member of the Chukaku-Ha mortar team was killed by our special forces, but his partner got away."

  Callaway puffed up his pillow and sat up. "From what I understand, the military believes that the Chukaku-Ha is responsible for the crash at Misawa, the tour bus massacre, and the explosion on the carrier at Yokosuka."

  "That's what they're claiming, and there's more," Wickham said and glanced at Callaway's bandaged shoulder. "The White House and Tokyo have opened up with both barrels, and the accusations are flying back and forth. The Marines are guarding our ships at Sasebo and Yokosuka, plus the Third Marine Division and the First Marine Aircraft Wing are gearing up to move out. It looks like the President intends to turn up the heat."

  "Yeah." Marcus grimaced when he moved his shoulder. "And I heard that things are popping at Camp Pendleton."

  "So I've heard," Wickham said dryly. "Our relations with Japan have really degenerated in the last twenty-four hours, and I suspect it's going to get ugly."

  Callaway slid his shake onto the tray over his bed. "This afternoon the White House apparently leaked a rumor about sanctions against the Japanese, and Tokyo fired back with some broadsides of their own."

  "They sure did," Susan observed with a look of concern. "We've got a brushfire going on, and I think everyone is reacting too harshly. JAL has stopped flying to Los Angeles and San Francisco, and a spokesman for the Prime Minister said that Japan wasn't going to be pressured by the threat of sanctions or military intervention."

  "They've also been saying," Steve added, "that we're going to suffer from their countermeasures and retaliation if we keep pressuring them. So there is definitely an escalating deterioration in relations."

  Marcus shifted his focus to Susan. "I heard one of the reporters say the Asahi Shimbun had a headline that basically said Japan must stand her ground against the Americans."

  "That's true," Susan declared ominously. "The mood in Japan is becoming more sour by the minute. The leaders are fuming. They've made it clear that no one trusts Washington, and many Japanese investors are openly calling for a financial war with the U. S."

  Uncomfortable with the conversation, Susan rose from her chair and took Marcus's hand. "At any rate, you're going home and we're going to work."

  Callaway was hurt and it showed in his expression. "Aren't you going to stay and meet my wife?"

  "Marcus, we'd love to," Susan answered with a sincere smile, "but you know we don't have much time to spare. We just wanted to make sure that you're feeling okay and in good spirits."

  "Tell your wife hello for us," Steve said and shook hands with Marcus. "We'll stay in touch."

  A frown appeared on Callaway's face. "Take care of yourselves and call me if you get to Chicago."

  TOKYO

  The large communal bath was spotless when Tadashi Matsukawa walked in and dropped his towel on a wooden bench. Located in a soundproof room on the ground floor of his office building, the elaborately ornamented pool was occasionally used for informal business meetings. Anytime he wanted to relax in the pool, Matsukawa would call the caretaker and she would increase the temperature of the already extremely hot water and add a subtle fragrance.

  Japanese Foreign Minister Nagumo Katsumoto followed Matsukawa into the room and closed the door. Katsumoto was a small, slightly stooped man who wore a perpetual smile.

  The son of a prestigious member of the elite "wealthy cliques" known as enterprise groups or kigyo shudan, Katsumoto had cultivated a patriotic, low-key public image and was subsequently elected to the lower house of the Diet. He had retained his parliamentary seat in every selection and had held several Cabinet posts before becoming Japan's Foreign Minister.

  While the two men prepared for their bath, Matsukawa thought about his meeting with the person who had been responsible for coordinating the attack at Pearl Harbor and the JAL shooting at Los Angeles. He was deeply concerned about the close call Mishima Takahashi had experienced.

  By the time Takahashi had reached Matsukawa's hotel suite, the shaking executive was nearly incoherent. After he had explained the circumstances that caused the Hawaiian operation to be exposed, Takahashi broke down and cried.

  Matsukawa was reasonably sure that he was protected from being implicated in the Pearl Harbor attack, but a shadow of a doubt lingered in the back of his mind.

  It was impossible for him to believe that his operation had been uncovered only minutes before the JetRanger was ready to fly away. Every aspect of the assault had been thoroughly examined and gone over until it was second nature for the three people involved. The pilot flew two practice flights three weeks before the attack, and then the mechanic painted the helicopter with the Sky Nine logo.

  After that, Takahashi arranged for various holding companies to reward their employees with trips to Hawaii. Every group was scheduled for a tour of Pearl Harbor, and it had taken four attempts before the weather cooperated with the timing of the cruise. The pilot had needed a combination of rain clouds and low visibility along the Koolau Mountain Range to make the JetRanger "disappear," which he did with a great degree of finesse.

  While the two men lathered themselves with soap, Matsukawa shuddered when he thought about Mishima Takahashi's narrow escape from the American authorities. If his most senior executive had been caught .. .

  Matsukawa breathed a sigh of relief that he had taken extra precautions to isolate himself from the operation. Takahashi was set up to take the fall if the assault was exposed.

  The bottom line, as far as Matsukawa was concerned, was that the Pearl Harbor assault, the JAL crash landing, and the other attacks he had instigated using the Chukaku-Ha, had produced the desired results.

  According to the newspapers and the television polls, the vast majority of Japanese people were incensed, and the media were calling for the leadership to develop a foreign policy independent of pressure from the U. S. A large number of openly anti-American activists were also calling for an even more powerful Japanese military.

  After they thoroughly rinsed themselves, Matsukawa and the Foreign Minister plunged into the hot, fragrant water and seated themselves on the submerged bench along the side of the large pool. They relaxed for a few minutes before Matsukawa spread his arms on the ledge of the bath and looked at his friend.

  "I know you've been hesitant about the movement to step away from the U. S.," Matsukawa began in an understanding tone, "but look at the chaos that's ripping our country apart. Our relations with Washington are becoming more precarious by the hour, and we need to have a strong alliance before we confront the Americans."

  Matsukawa waited a moment to see if his friend would show any reaction. "I need your support when we meet with the kigyo shudan and the Prime Minister."

  The conservative politician stared into the water while he spoke. "For
a variety of reasons, we terribly misjudged the Americans once. In our wildest expectations, even with the countless miscalculations of the war, we never dreamed that historians would record that Japan was brought down by American atomic bombs."

  Katsumoto's normal smile was missing. "It could happen again. Imperial Japan was reduced to a second-rate country, and we've struggled long and hard to get where we are as a nation. We don't need a reversal of fortunes . . . not now. We must be patient and everything will settle down."

  Matsukawa let his arms slide into the hot water. "My friend, listen to me. We hid under the American umbrella during the Cold War. We needed them for protection and they needed Japan as a buffer zone against the Russians.

  "That has changed," he continued and tried to be patient. "Japan has to be an independent country again. We can't afford to live in a fantasy world forever."

  With so much at stake, Matsukawa forced himself to be calm. "Japan is like a fledgling bird, and the U. S. is going to throw us out of the nest at some point. We need to be the ones to cast our fate to the wind, not when they decide it's convenient."

  The Foreign Minister closed his eyes and leaned his head against the side of the pool. "If we are patient with the Americans, the process of separation will happen naturally and in controllable stages."

  "I strongly disagree," Matsukawa countered boldly. "Our governments are wasting time in their political minuet, politely, and not so politely, talking, talking, but not doing anything except lying to each other."

  Matsukawa stopped as his own participation in the events suddenly made him extremely pleased with himself. "Whatever happens to the Americans doesn't really matter. We have to be in charge of our nation--and our future."

  Opening his eyes, Katsumoto quietly stared at the far wall for a few moments. "My friend, this pent-up hostility is not good for you."

  Matsukawa didn't like the idea of using his influence on the Foreign Minister, but time was growing short and he needed Nagumo Katsumoto on the team; that, or make him unavailable for comment.

  "The vast majority of the heads of our enterprise groups," Matsukawa said slowly and clearly, "are in agreement that we should terminate the Treaty of Mutual Cooperation and Security and announce that Japan is going her separate way, including militarily. It is in the best interest of our country--and I suggest that it would be in your best interest--to endorse the idea and look into the future."

  Katsumoto shifted his gaze to the powerful and wealthy industrialist. "Sometimes it isn't wise to peer into one's future."

  HONOLULU

  "We may have something here," Steve exclaimed when Susan Nakamura walked into the brightly lighted room at Hickam Air Force Base.

  The FBI agent examined the aerial photographs spread around the table. The rest of the military reconnaissance photos were stacked on a desk next to Wickham.

  "I've gone through all of these ships," Steve declared, "and we can eliminate everything except this one."

  "It looks like a regular freighter to me," Susan murmured, "but I'm not an expert on ships."

  Steve tapped a pencil on the bow of the merchant vessel. "I thought the same thing until the photorecon experts pointed out the crane strapped to the deck."

  Susan studied the picture. "Oh yeah, I see where it's normally mounted."

  "You can't see it from an angle, but from directly overhead it's easy to spot."

  She looked up at Steve. "With the crane out of the way, you could easily land a small helicopter and then camouflage it with a tarp or something."

  "Exactly."

  Susan squinted at the picture of the ship's stern. "I can't make out the name."

  "It's the Matsumi Maru number three," Steve explained. He handed her a sheet of information about the vessel. "I called the Coast Guard Port Operations and they put me in touch with the people who oversee the arrivals and departures."

  "Let me guess," Susan said as she slumped into a chair. "The ship was docked in Honolulu until shortly before the JetRanger took off?"

  Steve gathered the photographs together and shoved them over to Susan. "It sailed on the tide the day before they attempted to fly the helicopter offshore. The freighter and a skeleton crew had been in port for almost two months with purported mechanical problems."

  Susan glanced at the pictures. "Where was the ship when they spotted it?"

  "Approximately forty-five miles northeast of the northern tip of the island. About a twenty-minute flight if they had managed to pull off the escape."

  "Do you have any idea"--she paused to examine the information page--"what course the ship is on or where it's headed?"

  "Not really," Steve admitted, "but after a few conversations with some of the people who work at the docks, I found out she's registered in Singapore, and it's also her home port.

  "I called the Port Authority in Singapore," Steve continued. "They told me the Matsumi Maru number three generally plied the waters of the South China Sea, but they wouldn't tell me who owned the ship. Something about not having the authority to supply any information about ownership."

  Susan remained quiet for a few seconds. "It does seem coincidental that the ship left hours before they tried to fly the helo to another location."

  "That's the way I see it," Steve agreed, then reached for another picture of the merchant vessel and studied it for a moment. "I think the next missing piece to this puzzle is in Singapore, and I'm heading there to see what I can find."

  "I think you're right," Susan said and looked at the freighter. "I'll bet the Matsumi Maru three will show up there before too long."

  Leaving Hickam Air Force Base, Steve followed Susan as they made their way toward Honolulu. He replayed the entire series of events relating to the attack on the tour ship and felt that he was overlooking a critical piece of evidence.

  Steve turned off the air conditioner and rolled the windows down. He breathed in the fresh air and relaxed, letting his mind drift.

  The afternoon traffic was beginning to become congested as they approached Ala Moana Park. Steve was intermittently glancing at Susan's car and watching the people in the park when he heard two loud reports.

  Snapping back to the moment, he was shocked to see Susan's sedan swerve to the right and skid to a stop. He saw a silver Continental Mark VIII almost collide with a panel truck as the car turned in front of oncoming vehicles and sped down a side street.

  Steve mashed the brake pedal and screeched to a halt behind Susan's car. He leaped out and immediately saw the shattered glass on the pavement. Susan had her Smith & Wesson drawn and was crawling out the passenger-side door when he reached her.

  "What happened?" Steve exclaimed at the same time he saw the small cuts on Susan's neck.

  "I was wrong," she gasped, "about the enforcer at the mansion--the guy who was driving the Pathfinder."

  "You're talking about the bodyguard with the crew cut and chewed ear?"

  "You got it," she declared wide-eyed. "Crew cut didn't go to Tokyo. He just tried to kill me!"

  Steve looked in the sedan and saw that the window on the driver's side had been blown inward. The front seat and dashboard were covered with glass particles.

  "Folks, please move along," Steve said to the onlookers and took Susan by the arm. "Are you okay?"

  She dabbed at her neck and looked at the traces of blood on her fingertips. "I think so."

  Susan cautiously looked over the hood and turned to Steve. "I only had a quick glance before I hit the brakes, but I'm positive it was the same guy."

  "The enforcer," Steve said while he examined Susan's neck, "knows that we're the only ones who can identify him."

  "That's right. He must have followed me to Hickam and never had an opportunity to get a clear shot until we left the base."

  "Susan, did you drive to the ba--"

  "That's it!" she interrupted when she remembered where she had seen the Continental. "The same car--the silver Mark eight--was pulling to a stop across the street from my home as I was
getting into my car."

  "You were set up by someone," Steve said caustically and looked up and down the boulevard. "Susan, call your office and give them the details, then have someone guard your home until we get there. We need to have a couple of agents stay at your place while we get hotel rooms under different names."

  "No argument from me." She breathed heavily. "Something is very wrong with this picture."

  "Yeah, and crew cut is getting information from someone, so we can't afford to tell anyone where we're staying."

  "What we need to do," she declared in a firm voice, "is catch that sonuvabitch."

  "I think we'll get our chance," Steve replied, then cautiously surveyed the streets and surrounding areas. "Only a high-risk taker would attempt something like this in broad daylight. The guy may not be very bright, but he's a professional hit man who won't give up."

  "Well," Susan replied while she brushed herself off, "you certainly have a reassuring way about you."

  He noticed long trickles of blood on the back and left side of Susan's neck. "The first thing we need to do is take you to the emergency room."

  "No," she said emphatically, "I don't need to go to the hospital."

  He gave her a disapproving look. "You have slivers of glass embedded in your neck."

  Susan started to touch the nape of her neck, then stopped. Inside, she was criticizing herself for being so stupid. She had been carefully trained to pay attention to everything happening around her, and she had let her guard down.

  "Okay, I'll go." She reached for her purse. "If I hadn't slammed on the brakes when I did, I could have rammed that sonuvabitch."

  "Or," Steve countered softly, "he could have shot you."

  Chapter 19.

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  The President was vigorously pedaling his stationary bicycle when his Chief of Staff walked into the well-equipped exercise room. "What have you got?" he asked breathlessly.

  Scott Eaglehoff took his usual seat near the rowing machine. "Holcomb told me the Agency is getting indications from many of their Asian sources that the hierarchy of Japan's industrial and financial giants are getting together for a major meeting in Tokyo."