Devil's Gate nf-9

by Clive Cussler

  “But this man could be a threat,” Ren said. “He disrespects you.”

  “No,” Takagawa said wearily. “I have disrespected him. He is right to come here and find me. I am only ashamed, like an insect hiding underneath a stone.”

  Over Ren’s phone, a voice. “Ren, this is the security team. Do you need something? We’re right outside.”

  Ren looked at his father, who stared once more at the piece of metal.

  “If not for this man,” Takagawa said, “I would have burned to death thirty years ago when my ship went down. I would never have seen your face. Your mother gave birth to you while I was at sea, and there were no pictures yet.”

  Takagawa studied the carbon-charred metal placard. He’d given it to Dirk in thanks for saving his life and others on the crew. He looked at his right hand. Poking out from beneath the cuff was an area of burned and scarred skin, which Dirk knew ran halfway up Takagawa’s arm.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Ren brought the phone up to his mouth. “Yes,” he said finally. “A false alarm.”

  He hung up. Glared at Pitt for a moment, took a breath, and nodded in a bow of respect. “I apologize,” he said.

  “A son defending his father is nothing to apologize for,” Dirk said.

  Ren Takagawa stood back and pulled out his chair, offering the seat beside his father to Dirk.

  “Arigato,” Dirk said, sitting down.

  The hedge fund managers and the other members of the party still appeared confused.

  “This is highly irregular,” one of them said.

  “Please leave us,” Takagawa said gravely. “We have something more important than business to discuss.”

  “Look, Haruto,” one of them began. “I don’t know what this is—”

  A glance from Takagawa stopped him, and then one by one the group stood and left, some of them muttering under their breaths as they went.

  “I’ll talk to them,” Ren said. He followed them out, and the two old acquaintances were left alone.

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Dirk said.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Takagawa replied.

  “You know what I want,” Dirk said.

  Takagawa nodded.

  “Then why didn’t you just give it to my people?”

  For the first time, the wizened old man looked into Dirk’s eyes.

  “They came for the manifest,” he said. “I could have given it to them. But I would not do it because it would have misled you. And I was not willing to lie to you.”

  “So you gave them nothing,” Dirk said.

  Takagawa nodded. “There seemed to me some honor in not being overtly deceptive. If I said nothing, I have not lied. At least you would know to be concerned. But to tell you a falsehood after what you have done for me… I could not do such a thing and face you.”

  “Why not just tell me the truth?” Dirk asked.

  “My position in Shokara is not absolute,” Takagawa said. “Always there is palace intrigue to be dealt with. To tell you the truth would offend others. Perhaps even expose Shokara to liability. Or sanctions by your government.”

  Pitt didn’t blink. He needed answers. At this point the cost to Shokara Shipping did not concern him.

  “Haruto,” Dirk said, “three of my people were injured trying to stop the hijacking of your ship. Two more have been attacked since we began investigating, and one of them is now in a coma while his wife prays for him to come back to her. So forgive me for being blunt, but I don’t care what kind of problems it brings. If you’re the man I think you are, then you know it’s time to speak.”

  Takagawa looked at the twisted metal nameplate in front of him and then into Dirk’s eyes. He stared long and hard before speaking. “Perhaps you have saved me twice,” he whispered.

  With that, he reached for a briefcase at his feet and lifted it up to the table. He laid it flat, popped the latches, and opened it. Reaching inside, he pulled out a folder, which he handed to Dirk.

  “This is the information you seek,” he said.

  “What am I going to find in here?” Dirk asked.

  “The truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “The cargo on the Kinjara Maru was bound for Hong Kong. Most of it was standard bulk materials, but included in the mix and not listed on the manifest were three hundred tons of titanium-doped YBCO.”

  “What’s YBCO?” Pitt asked.

  “Yttrium, barium, copper, oxide,” Takagawa explained. “It’s an intricate crystalline compound that acts as a high-temperature superconductor. A newer, more advanced version has been developed that can be doped with titanium and iron peptides: the Ti version. It’s by far the strongest superconductor ever created.”

  “Strongest?” Pitt asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to explain it,” Takagawa said. “I’m just an old ship’s captain. But you must have people who will understand. The information I have on it is in there.”

  Pitt would get the information to Hiram Yaeger as soon as he returned to the office. “Why were you afraid to tell me that?” Pitt asked.

  “Because it’s not a naturally occurring compound,” Takagawa said. “It’s created in a lab. The Ti version is patented by an American corporation, and, more important, it’s listed as a restricted technology. Transfer to other nations, including China, is illegal. By allowing it onto our ship, Shokara is in violation of this law.”

  Now Pitt began to understand. With economic tensions between the U.S. and China always simmering, and claims, mostly substantiated, that the Chinese government and its corporations preferred espionage and theft to honest development, neither the Chinese nor the U.S. government would be happy to hear that this compound had been shipped to Hong Kong. But with both countries needing each other, the most likely candidate to be punished and made a scapegoat would be the shipper: Shokara.

  “Why would you be involved in something like this?” Pitt asked. “This country has been phenomenally good to you.”

  “I was not aware of it until after the Kinjara Maru went down,” Takagawa said.

  Dirk believed that. He sensed the heavy heart and the weight of dishonor that Takagawa felt.

  “I believe someone boarded that ship to steal something,” Pitt said. “It sounds like this YBCO was the most likely target.”

  “It is worth more than its weight in gold,” Takagawa said.

  “Do you know anything about the people who hit your ship?” Pitt asked. “Any rumors even?”

  Takagawa shook his head.

  There had to be something. “Where did you load the compound?”

  “Freetown,” Takagawa said. “Sierra Leone.”

  Dirk had been in Freetown ten years back when NUMA had consulted on a project to deepen the navigation channel. Though the country was still a shambles, Freetown was still one of the busiest ports in West Africa at the time.

  From what he’d heard, things had improved quite a bit under the autocratic leadership of its president, Djemma Garand, but it wasn’t exactly a hub of high-tech activity.

  “Could it have come from there?” he asked.

  Takagawa shook his head. “Sierra Leone has mines and mineral wealth, but, as I said, YBCO doesn’t come from the ground.”

  “So Freetown was a transfer point,” Pitt said.

  “It happens this way,” Takagawa said. “The loophole. You transfer to a country that is legally allowed to take the material and they send it to a third party without violating any of their own national laws. And then that third party sends it to Russia or China or Pakistan.”

  “Do you have any idea who the buyer is?” Dirk asked.

  “They will deny it, but it’s in there,” Takagawa said. “Certainly it does not matter now. They did not receive what they paid for.”

  Dirk’s mind was working overtime, playing catch-up. “What about the seller?”

  Takagawa shook his head. “Not known to me.”

&nbs
p; Dirk didn’t like the picture that was forming. “I need a favor,” he said respectfully.

  “I can give you no more.”

  Pitt stared at him. “Many of your crew died in flames, Haruto.”

  Takagawa closed his eyes as if in pain. His left hand went unconsciously to his right wrist and the scars. “Are you chasing them?” he asked.

  “I’m about to start,” Dirk said.

  “Then I will give you all I can find.”

  Pitt stood and bowed his head slightly. “Thank you,” he said. “I promise it will go no further.”

  Takagawa nodded but seemed unable to look directly at Dirk. Finally, Pitt turned to go.

  “I was wondering,” Takagawa said, “do you still have such wonderful cars? I collect them now myself.”

  Pitt stopped and turned back. “Yes, I still have them, and a few more.”

  “What one did you drive here tonight?” Takagawa asked, smiling just a bit, no doubt remembering how he and Pitt had discussed cars as a way to stay calm during their escape from the inferno thirty years back.

  Pitt shook his head. “I took a cab.”

  Takagawa seemed disappointed. “A pity.”

  “But the other day,” Pitt said, “I took my Duesenberg roadster out for a spin.”

  Takagawa’s face brightened, as if the thought of Pitt at the controls of the luxurious automobile warmed his heart somehow.

  “Friday,” Takagawa said.

  Dirk nodded. “It was a nice day for a drive.”

  30

  KURT AUSTIN SLID THE DOOR of the microvan open and stepped out onto the street fronting Praia Formosa. The night was quiet; he could hear the waves breaking on the beach just beyond. He offered a hand to Katarina, helped her through the door, and paid the driver.

  “Do you want to earn another fare?” he asked.

  “Sure,” the driver said, his round face lighting up.

  “Go around the block,” Kurt said, “and wait down the end with your lights off and watch for us.” In his hand Kurt held out a hundred-dollar bill. He ripped it in half and gave one piece to the driver.

  “How long do you want me to wait?” the driver asked.

  “Until we come back out here,” Kurt said.

  The driver nodded, put the vehicle in drive, and began to move away.

  “You sure we’re not putting him in danger?” Katarina asked.

  Kurt was pretty certain they’d lost whatever tails had tracked them to the restaurant. “He’s in no danger,” Kurt said confidently. “Neither are we, unless the French team wants to fight about the core sample they’ve taken.” “Not the French way,” she said.

  “Which house?” he asked, noticing several villas along the stretch of sand.

  “This way,” she said. She turned and began walking, stepping off the rough pavement and onto the grass. Kurt guessed that felt better on her bare feet.

  “We have to get you some shoes,” he said.

  “Or get rid of yours, and we’ll go for a walk on the beach,” she said, smiling at him.

  That sounded like more fun than waking up a group of scientists and accusing them of stealing.

  They arrived in front of a yellow-painted villa.

  “This is the one,” she said.

  Kurt knocked. And then knocked again. They waited.

  No answer.

  The place was dark. Even the outside lights were off.

  “You sure this is it?” Kurt asked.

  “They had a party here last night,” she said. “Everyone came.” Kurt knocked again, banging harder, not at all concerned that he might be waking the neighbors. As he pounded the door something strange happened. The outside light, which was off, flickered on for an instant with each strike of his fist.

  “What the…”

  He stopped hammering the door and turned his attention to the light. Reaching into the sconce, his hands found the bulb. It was loose. He twisted it and it came on. Two more turns sealed it tightly.

  “Doing some maintenance?” Katarina said.

  Kurt held up a hand, and she went quiet. He crouched down and studied the doorjamb. Gouges and scrapes around the lock told him more bad news.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Somebody forced the lock,” he said. “They unscrewed the bulb so no one would see them working it. Old thief’s trick.” Kurt tested the door. It was certainly locked now.

  He headed for the side of the house. Katarina followed.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  “Not a chance,” she replied.

  He didn’t have time to argue. He snuck past a hedge of tropical bougainvillea and moved toward the rear of the house. A sundeck beckoned. Kurt hopped up onto it and moved to a sliding glass door.

  Nothing but darkness inside.

  It took all of three seconds to pop the door up off its tracks and slide it open.

  “Did you used to be a burglar?” Katarina whispered.

  “Gifts from a misspent youth,” he whispered back. “Now, please stay here.” “What if someone starts to choke you again?” she asked “And I’m not there to save you?” Kurt guessed he wasn’t going to live that moment down. He snuck inside the house with Katarina right behind him. Right away he could tell something was wrong. The place was a shambles.

  Katarina winced suddenly, made a slight noise, and dropped down to her hands and knees.

  Kurt dropped down next to her. Aside from the two of them, nothing in the house was moving. “What’s wrong?” “Glass,” she said, pulling a sliver out of her foot.

  “Give me two minutes,” Kurt said.

  This time, she nodded and held her position.

  Kurt moved quickly, exploring the rest of the villa, and then returned with a grim look on his face.

  Back in the living room, he switched the lights on. The place looked as if it had been hit by a tornado; couches overturned, cabinets open, and items strewn about. A glass table lamp had been shattered, and shards of glass littered the floor.

  “We need to call the police,” Kurt said. He looked for the phone, spotted a pair of flip-flops by the door, and handed them to Katarina.

  “Put these on.”

  As she slipped her feet into the sandals, Kurt located the phone and picked up the receiver.

  No dial tone. He found the wall jack and realized the phone had been ripped out of it. The jack looked damaged. They’d have to find another one to plug it into. He headed for the kitchen.

  “What happened here?” Katarina asked.

  “The French habit of talking too much got the best of them,” Kurt said. He’d found another phone jack near the sink. He plugged the cord in, got a tone, and began dialing.

  As he waited for someone to pick up, he noticed an open drawer. Silverware and other utensils had spilled onto the floor, including a vicious-looking carving knife. It looked like the French had fought back.

  With his attention diverted, Kurt didn’t notice Katarina beginning to wander about. When he looked up, she was standing near the doorway to another room, reaching in as if to turn the light on.

  “Don’t,” Kurt said.

  Too late. The switch flicked, and the room lit up.

  Katarina gasped and turned away. Kurt put the phone down and grabbed her, as she looked as if she might faint.

  She glanced back in the room and then buried her face in his chest. “They’re dead,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to see that.” The entire French team had been murdered. Four bodies lay in the room, thrown disrespectfully against the wall like discarded junk. Bullet holes riddled one of the men, another looked as if he’d been strangled, based on the marks around his neck. The others were harder to see, and Kurt hadn’t gone that close. But even from the doorway Kurt recognized the man he’d plucked from the depths with too much weight on his belt.

  In Kurt’s arms Katarina trembled, a hand over her mouth, her eyes closed tight. Kurt turned her away and led her to the living room.
He righted the couch and sat her down.

  “I have to call the police,” he said.

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  As Kurt moved back to the open kitchen he kept an eye on Katarina. It was true men had already died that night, but they’d been men intent on killing or harming both him and her. And they’d gone off a cliff hidden in a car, all but unseen. This was different.

  These men were fellow scientists. Katarina had apparently shared drinks with them on at least one occasion.

  “How could the police not know already?” she asked.

  “It probably happened quickly,” Kurt said, hoping for the dead men’s sake it had. “The assailants probably had suppressors on their weapons and took these men by surprise.” “But why?” she asked. “Why would anyone—” “They had the core sample,” Kurt said. “From what I understand it could be extremely valuable, that’s why we’re here while the Spanish and Portuguese figure out who owns it and in what percentages. These guys were bold enough to take that sample illegally but stupid enough to talk about it.” “Too much wine,” she said. “Men like to brag when they’ve had too much wine.” The police finally answered and promised to send both investigators and the coroner. While he waited, Kurt searched in vain for the core sample. He found a long rectangular box filled with foam in a room with other equipment. It lay open and turned over. He guessed the sample had been inside.

  An hour of discussion with the police followed, and then Kurt and Katarina were allowed to leave.

  “What will you do now?” Katarina asked.

  “I have to get in touch with my ship,” Kurt said, raising his eyes toward the harbor and finding himself surprised at what he saw.

  “I have a radio set on my boat,” she said. “You could use that.” “I don’t think we’ll need it.” She looked up.

  “That’s my ship right there,” he said. “The one all lit up like a Christmas tree.” As Kurt wondered what the Argo was doing in port with every available light blazing he began looking around, hoping he and Katarina could bum a ride from one of the cops. All of a sudden a tiny van came zooming up.

  Kurt recognized the driver’s round, smiling face. “I thought the police would never let you go,” he said. “Ready?” Kurt figured a two-hour wait was more than enough to earn a hundred dollars. He fished the other half of the C-note out of his pocket and handed it over.