by Joe Weber
"Great," Steve replied with genuine enthusiasm. "The sooner the better as far as I'm concerned."
"Any news from the Agency?"
"Nothing new about this case," he freely admitted, "but then again, I haven't really pried or said much because I don't have any idea who is setting us up."
"I understand," she said flatly. "This whole thing frustrates me as much as it does you."
"I know," Steve replied with a perfunctory smile before he glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone appeared to be trailing them. "The showdown in the Strait of Malacca is growing out of control. A number of the Agency's best analysts think that we should quietly glide out of there before we get waylaid."
She looked up at him with a sense of vulnerability. "It's coming back to haunt us, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Our military has been cut too far, and we're going to pay a price for it."
"Oh, yeah," he replied in exasperation. "We'll have to get our asses kicked by some two-bit military power before the light will begin to glow in Washington."
They walked in silence, both taking the impending hostilities between the Japanese and the Americans very personally. The image of a military confrontation with Japan, after more than half a century of peace, seemed surrealistic and incomprehensible to both of them.
"Hiroshi," Susan said at last, "went into his main data-bank and discovered that the records at Tokio Marine and Fire had been altered."
"Which records?"
"The official documentation that connected the insurance company to the Matsumi Maru fleet during the time frame when number seven collided with the Navy destroyer."
"That seems almost impossible," Steve commented and gave her a perplexed look. "Unless you've got someone working for you who is inside the organization."
"Nothing is impossible," she countered dryly, "when you're dealing with Japan's endless saga of political and business scandals. The politicians and senior executives manage to air their dirty laundry--payoffs, corruption, lying, and infighting--on a routine basis."
"Well"--he chuckled and shook his head--"the Japanese don't have the market cornered on graft and corruption. Take a look at our political system if you want to see blatant lying and open thievery."
"At any rate," she continued while they followed the paved path along the shoreline, "Hiroshi used his contacts at Tokio Marine and Fire to get the computer code to access the files that track the financial settlements."
"He must be well respected."
"And trusted. He placed himself in a delicate position for us."
"What'd he find?" Steve asked.
"Copies of two checks," she explained enthusiastically, "that were issued as a settlement from Tokio Marine and Fire to the owner of the Matsumi Maru fleet."
Steve was incredulous. "You're kidding me."
"No, I'm not kidding."
"That easy?"
She shook her head. "It wasn't that easy. The checks had gone to a holding company, which ceased to exist shortly after the ships had been sold. It was simply a shell game with a box number and some fancy stationery."
"The same method of operation," he inquired, thinking about the mansion on Oahu, "that we found in Hawaii?"
"For the most part." Susan cast her gaze across the picturesque lake. "Hiroshi vaguely remembered seeing the name of the holding company from a previous investigation. He searched his files for hours, then gave up and called me late last night."
"Let me guess," Steve automatically said. "He wanted the names of the holding companies involved in the Pearl Harbor scheme?"
"Yes," she answered and stopped walking, then turned to look at Steve. "He found a connection that frightened him--really frightened him."
Wickham's brow arched in question, creating lines on his forehead. "Connection?"
She quietly nodded. "After cross-referencing the company names I gave him with the enterprise that owned the ships, Hiroshi found monetary ties to the headquarters of a major Japanese corporation.
"The man who owns the company," Susan continued with a tremor of excitement, "is Tadashi Matsukawa."
A flash of recognition crossed Steve's face. "The billionaire who is methodically buying a sizable investment in our Congress."
"One and the same," she confirmed in a voice laced with concern. "Hiroshi was terrified when he made the discovery--really panic-stricken."
Steve closed his eyes and grimaced, then looked up. "He erased the files."
"Yes--because he knows too much about Matsukawa," Susan explained reluctantly, "and he knew that Matsukawa didn't have any idea that the fragment of evidence linking him to the Pearl Harbor attack was still in the computer system. Every other connection to Hawaii had been thoroughly purged."
Wickham vigorously rubbed his hands together in the chilled air. "Well, we know the master of concealment made a mistake, but proving it may be difficult."
"From the files," Susan went on, "Hiroshi saw that Matsukawa is a major shareholder in Tokio Marine and Fire"--she paused and lowered her eyes--"and that's how Matsukawa gained direct access to the computer records."
Susan felt a pang of guilt sweep over her. "Hiroshi was afraid that his unauthorized entry into the system might be traced, so he obliterated the evidence and scrambled his record of entry."
"Shit," Wickham said lightly and turned to Susan. "Sorry."
"Forget it."
Sunk in their disappointment, they walked to an empty park bench and sat down.
"Steve," she began quietly, "Hiroshi told me that Matsukawa is known to be a merciless, unforgiving bastard who many believe has killed--or arranged to have killed--a number of people who have opposed him."
"I wouldn't doubt that for a second," Wickham said while he studied the other park visitors. Why do I suddenly have an uneasy feeling?
"Two of his senior members of management," Susan went on, "who openly argued with him on separate occasions, have died in mysterious accidents. Insiders are convinced that Matsukawa had them killed. He is one of the most powerful and brutal men in Japan, and he has connections with the elite, including the Prime Minister."
"That's what I understand," Steve replied in hushed tones, "from the Intel briefs I've read about him. We have to assume that Matsukawa is the person behind the attacks in Hawaii and Los Angeles, not to mention the other incidents."
"I don't have any doubt," Susan said venomously. "We have to figure out a way to expose him for what he is . . . before the U. S. goes head-to-head with Japan."
"We'll work on it, trust me."
Susan looked up at the sky for a few moments. "We can thank Hiroshi for giving us the big break we needed."
"No question about it," Steve conceded.
Susan's compassion for Hiroshi Okubo's feelings was genuine and readily apparent. "He did us a giant favor, and now he fears for his life if things go wrong. Hiroshi didn't expect to find what he uncovered. We owe him the consideration to keep his name out of this."
"I agree with you. We'll be very cautious." He respected Susan's allegiance to her friend. "Why don't you meet him again and explain that as far as we're concerned, he doesn't exist?"
She turned and smiled. "I told him that before we left the restaurant."
"Good," he responded earnestly, then felt a moment of concern. "We're dealing with a shrewd operator. We can't nail Matsukawa if we don't have some solid evidence to connect him to the assault at Pearl."
"What do you suggest?" she inquired and reached into her jacket pocket for a pair of gloves.
"We'll see . . ." he trailed off for a moment, "if we can't interview Matsukawa for The Wall Street Journal."
Susan froze, then swung around and gave him a wide-eyed stare. "What are you talking about?"
"We're going to become journalists," he answered and cracked a smile. "Egoists like Matsukawa generally like to pontificate to the media, especially if it's a major publication and the subject happens to be about the global situation as the Interviewee sees i
t."
"More specifically, the current strained relationship between Japan and the United States," Susan added while she slipped her hands into her gloves. "I'm sure that would be a hot topic."
"Exactly. We'll make an appointment with Matsukawa and see what we can glean if he takes the bait. At least it will offer us an opportunity to provide some firsthand information to our agencies. Now that we know what we're looking for, who knows what we might find?"
"Steve," she said under her breath, "you better be careful. Matsukawa isn't careless. What if his office calls the Journal to verify the legitimacy of the interview request?"
He glanced at his watch. "I'll arrange it with someone I can trust at Langley. Tony will have one of our people go to the Journal, make the request, then stand by to verify it until we've completed our chat with him. We'll do it completely out of the normal loop at Langley, so the informer shouldn't get wind of our plan."
He saw the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. "Relax. It's fine."
"That may be easy for you to say," Susan murmured, "but this is unexplored territory for me."
"I can trust Tony," Steve reassured her, "and the Agency has thousands of contacts who front for the CIA, including a number of newspapers, so he'll get it done--even if it takes a couple of days to set it up."
Susan gave him a long, suspicious look. "When the article doesn't appear in the paper--when Matsukawa inquires about the interview--then what?"
"The paper denies it requested an interview," Steve answered matter-of-factly, "and blames the misunderstanding on a hoax. Routine procedure."
She gave him a double take. "I need a drink."
"I'm buying,". he offered and rose to his feet.
Susan started to rise, then abruptly grabbed his hand. "Sit down," she demanded, "and don't turn around. He's over by the aquarium."
Steve sat down and studied her wide eyes. "Is he next to it or out in the open?"
"Next to it," she answered and withdrew crew cut's 9-millimeter Taurus from under her jacket. "He's standing by the southwest corner."
"Okay," he said calmly and forced himself not to turn and look. "Let's walk toward the aquarium and see if he tries to--"
"He knows I saw him," Susan interrupted. "He's heading toward the monorail!"
Steve drew his Beretta and leaped up. "Come on!"
They raced after the fleeing man, then dove for the ground when he turned and fired at them. The hordes of people waiting to board the monorail began screaming and running away.
When the hit man headed for the monorail station, Steve and Susan chased him, and again had to sprawl on the grass when he began firing at them.
"You sonuvabitch," Steve swore to himself and squeezed the trigger three times, then stopped when he saw the man stagger backwards and clutch his upper leg.
Susan and Steve jumped up and ran after the wounded man as he limped toward the now-vacated station.
Reacting from instinct, Susan paused and took aim a second before the Asian turned to fire. She pumped two rounds into his upper torso, then fired again and missed.
Steve reached the hit man as he tried to drag himself into the monorail station. He kicked Susan's stolen Smith & Wesson out of the man's hand and aimed squarely at his face. "Don't move or I'll blow your fuckin' head off!"
Chapter 32.
USS KITTY HAWK
The windswept seas had calmed and a gentle rain washed the flight deck of the carrier. An unusual atmospheric disturbance had recently passed over the Strait of Malacca, leaving the ship and her escorts in dismal weather conditions.
On the flag bridge, Rear Admiral Isaac Landesman monitored the brightly clad men on the flight deck as they prepared for the second launch of the day. He had a great deal of respect for the youngsters who regularly worked twelve to sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, during flight operations.
Landesman would not admit it to anyone, but he was concerned about the foul weather and the experience level of some of the new pilots. Sixteen of the twenty-three aircraft scheduled for the next launch cycle carried live ordnance, and four of the planes with bombs and rockets were being flown by "nuggets"--qualified but inexperienced aviators.
While the pilots started their engines and the flight crews went through their checklists, the battle group commander raised his binoculars and studied the hazy horizon. He moved his head slowly, scanning the freighters and tankers before he stopped and watched two ASW helicopters in the distance.
Both of the SH-60 Seahawks appeared to be using their dipping sonars in an effort to detect foreign submarines. While one of the slate-gray helos was actually listening for intruders, the other one was trailing a wire and communicating with the attack sub La Jolla.
Isaac Landesman continued his vigilant sweep of the shipping lanes, focusing on the Japanese Maritime Defense Force flagship Hayasa and her escorts as they sailed toward the southern end of the strait.
Flanked by two Asagiri-class destroyers, the Aegis destroyer was 1,500 yards behind the minesweepers Hikoshima and Yurishima. Estimating the distance of the ships to be approximately four nautical miles, the Admiral noticed that the replenishment oiler was not with the small flotilla.
When the first aircraft began to taxi forward to the number-two catapult, Landesman lowered his binoculars and concentrated on the flight-deck personnel. He watched the yellow-shirted catapult officer walk to the deck-edge operator and kneel to talk to him.
A moment later, Landesman saw a flash in his peripheral vision. He turned his head and froze in stunned silence. Trailing a white plume of smoke from its launch canister on the Hayasa, the antiship missile was headed straight for Kitty Hawk. Landesman started to shout an order at the instant he heard, "Man your battle stations! Man your battle stations! This is not a drill!"
Landesman watched helplessly while the Harpoon missile's radar altimeter and computer guided the surface-to-surface missile at the desired sea-skimming height. The maneuver was designed to thwart the Vulcan Phalanx 20-millimeter Close-In Weapons System mounted aboard many ships.
The powerful CIWS defensive system incorporates two radars that provide information to an on-board computer to constantly correlate the target track and the CIWS projectile stream. Angular error is automatically calculated to correct the next burst as the system rapidly eliminates the difference between the tracks of the incoming and outgoing weapons.
CIWS is a last-ditch defense that spews a heavy volume of fire from a six-barrel Gatling gun. If an antiship missile is barely above the water, it makes radar acquisition more difficult for the Vulcan Phalanx system.
Seconds after the launch, the missile's frequency-agile homing radar locked on to the carrier and commanded a sudden pitch-up to place the weapon in an excellent position to strike the carrier from above. The maneuver also defeated the rapid-firing CIWS gun.
The air-warfare officer aboard the Aegis guided-missile cruiser Chancellorsville was paralyzed when the alarms sounded and he recognized that a missile had been fired at Kitty Hawk. He was in radio contact with the tactical-action officer aboard the Hayasa and was about to key his microphone when the console speaker blasted out a frantic call.
"Jiko! Jiko!" the excited voice screamed, then repeated himself in English: "Accident! Accident!"
A statement from an overzealous junior officer had been misinterpreted, resulting in the launching of the powerful anti-ship missile.
Although Chancellorsville's air-warfare officer missed a few of the Japanese words, the agonizing confession continued in a thin and high-pitched voice. "Accidental launching! Accidental launching! Machigai! Mistake--our mistake."
The AWO suddenly recalled when crew members of the aircraft carrier USS Saratoga accidentally fired two Sea Sparrow missiles that hit the Turkish destroyer Muavenet during a NATO exercise in the Aegean Sea. The incident killed five men, including the Captain of the warship.
The stunned air-warfare officer broadcast an order to the other American ships.
"W
eapons hold! Weapons hold!" the officer shouted while he tried to sort through the situation. "I repeat--weapons hold! Stand by."
The Japanese antiship weapon rocketed skyward before the Texas Instruments active radar system changed the setting of the cruciform rear fins. The missile made a high-g pitch-over and targeted its large prey.
Christ Almighty, Landesman thought while the missile arched down toward the congested flight deck, what the hell are they doing? They have to be crazy!
The Admiral saw a blur of desperate men race for the sanctuary of the ship's island structure a second before the Harpoon hit an F/A-18 Hornet loaded with fuel and ordnance. The blinding flash and thunderous explosion shattered the windows on the flag bridge and blew twenty-eight sailors over the side of the stricken flattop.
Shocked by the jolting blast and violent concussion, Landes-man stumbled backwards and tripped over an aide who tried to break the Admiral's fall. Collapsing heavily to the steel deck, Landesman felt his left wrist snap as he heard and felt a series of powerful explosions that shook the carrier from bow to stern.
With the help of his stunned aide, the battle-group commander forced himself up and lurched toward his chair overlooking the flight deck. He was appalled at the fire-swept carnage taking place in front of his eyes. Dazed men, some of whom were trying to extinguish their burning clothes, were crawling on their hands and knees in an effort to escape the fireball.
The F/A-18 Hornet's internal fuel tanks and wing-mounted drop tanks had erupted, spreading flames to other aircraft next to the destroyed fighter/attack airplane. The brisk wind sweeping over the deck caused the superheated inferno to spread rapidly, engulfing scores of airplanes in a huge, roiling conflagration.
The searing mass of flames detonated 1,000-pound bombs, 500-pound bombs, rockets, and other ordnance, ripping apart more aircraft and spilling thousands of gallons of blazing jet fuel. Another round of deafening explosions blew holes in the armored flight deck and sent debris and shrapnel ricocheting off adjacent airplanes.
A missile ignited under the wing of a Tomcat and shot straight into the fuselage of an A-6 Intruder that was taxiing forward out of the fire. The aircraft blew apart a moment after a 1,000-pound bomb was heaved over the side by a host of sailors. The singed bomb exploded when it hit the sea, throwing a wall of water over the firefighters who were standing on the lowered flight-deck elevator.