End of Enemies

by Grant Blackwood

  Suddenly Tanner remembered Ohira’s chart and the hunch he needed to pursue. “Do they?” he asked.

  “Salvage work? Not that I know of. They do build on contract, but I’m not sure what exactly. I had just started getting some of the things Umako wanted when he … when they killed him”

  “Where is that information now?” asked Tanner.

  Sumiko stood up, walked to the wall, removed a section of baseboard, and withdrew an accordion folder. She handed it to Tanner, “Recently Umako felt sure he was under suspicion, so he asked me to hide this.”

  “Could anyone have connected the two of you?”

  “No. He was very cautious. We both were. We met only here.” She smiled. “Umako would come at night and we would have dinner and talk. This was our place; it’s in my grandparents’ name. I keep another apartment downtown.”

  “Good. We need to talk about how this is going to work,” Tanner said. “We’ll use you as little as possible. It’s safer if you—”

  “I don’t care about safety. I want you to get men who killed Umako.”

  “I know you do, but it’s going to get complicated. The less you’re involved, the better. If we need to reach you, what’s the best way?”

  “Call here and leave a message; I will get it. We should agree on a phrase, shouldn’t we, so I’ll know it is really you?”

  They discussed it for a few minutes and agreed on a recognition code.

  “How can I reach you?”

  Briggs had already worked this out. He laid a small map of the Kobe area on the table. Each numbered red dot represented a telephone booth, he explained. To request a contact, Sumiko would first choose a booth then add the number four. She would then call the hotel and leave a message for Tanner such as, “Unable to make our 12:30 lunch.” By subtracting and multiplying by the variable, Tanner would know to call booth number eight in two hours.

  Tanner had her repeat the system to him, which she did flawlessly.

  “One last question,” Tanner said. “Do the words Toshugu and Tsumago mean anything to you?”

  Sumiko frowned. “Strange you ask. Umako asked about them, too. He thought they were ships, but I didn’t find anything,” she said. “If they are, they don’t exist on paper.”

  15

  Washington, D.C.

  Despite the hurried time line with which he’d been saddled, Fayyad was pleased. The chance encounter had gone well. Regardless of age and status, women react similarly to attraction stimulus, and it was no different with Judith Smith, though her stimulus was more emotional than physical. Her diary had told him that much, and their meeting had confirmed it.

  Accordingly, he had been attentive and gracious and reserved—and above all, nonsexual. Her defenses would not be breached simply because she needed a roll in the hay. With her, it would be the emotional that sparked the physical.

  By now she would be comparing their brief lunch to the two decades of marriage to the senator. When was the last time Smith asked her about her dreams? Or why she preferred Monet to Degas, or why Winslow’s work made her melancholy? Thinking of their time together, she would want more.

  He smiled, anticipating the seduction. She was a beautiful woman. Mature women were generally better in bed, he found, less concerned with putting on a show and quite open to new experiences.

  He glanced at his watch. Almost time.

  He showered, shaved, and dressed with care, choosing an Italian-cut double-breasted olive suit.

  He could feel himself falling into character. You could not play a woman’s ideal lover without at least partially losing yourself in the role. But that had its price, didn’t it? To convince a woman he had fallen in love with her, Fayyad oftentimes did just that—if only for a brief time. In recent years, however, he’d been finding it increasingly difficult to slough off the masks he chose.

  The affair in Kingston had been the hardest yet. Listening to her stories about her fears and longings, Fayyad had ached for her. She was so trusting, so innocent. All she had wanted was someone to love her, and now she was—

  Stop! He gripped the bathroom counter and glared at his reflection. Enough!

  Kingston had been a mistake. He’d let down his guard. This would be a simple seduction, an exercise in mechanics. He would do what was necessary, then leave.

  At The Corcoran, Judith glanced at her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes and took a sip of wine. Was he coming?

  The gallery was filled nearly to capacity. Spaced along the gallery walls were the eight new Kramers, each a square of vivid red, blue, and yellow on the stark white walls. Just as Kramer’s pieces were always uniform in color and form, they were always uniformly hated or loved as well, and this exhibit was no different, causing brisk debate among critics. Judith barely heard any of it.

  Where was he? How could she even be considering this?

  She’d taken special care dressing that evening, doing and redoing her makeup, then dabbing perfume behind her ears, between her breasts, and then, impulsively, on her belly. She kept telling herself she only wanted another chance to talk with him about art. After all, he was an art student. What could be more natural?

  It was a lie, and she knew it. He had sparked something in her. She remembered the way his eyes stared into hers and how easily he laughed and smiled. But it was the way he listened to her that affected her most. It had been as though she were the only person alive. Lying in bed before Herb came home, she was surprised to feel her nipples hardening. She hadn’t felt this way in … God, she couldn’t remember when.

  By the time Herb arrived, she was burning with desire. On an impulse, she drew him to bed and let him take her. As always, Herb’s erection needed coaxing, and once inside her, his thrusts were robotic and painfully hard. He kneaded her breasts, grunting until he climaxed a minute later. Without a word, he rolled off her and went to sleep. She went to the shower, lathered herself clean, then stood under the spray, crying.

  She lay awake all night. Near dawn, she made her decision. She would go to the show and hope he came.

  And now he isn’t. Perhaps it was best this way. The Cocoran was in the heart of the capital. Any rendezvous would certainly draw attention. What was she thinking? This wasn’t like her. … She was acting—

  Then, there he was, standing in the doorway.

  He saw her, smiled, and walked over. Her heart pounded so hard the wine in her glass rippled.

  “Judith, I’m so glad you are here,” he said.

  Be casual, Judith. “I was hoping you’d come.” They were just friends, an innocent encounter in a public place, nothing more. “I’m glad you did.”

  Paolo accepted a glass from a waiter. “Oh?”

  “Yes. I enjoyed our lunch the other day. You gave me a lot to think about.”

  “I’m glad. Are you with anyone tonight?”

  “No, my … No, I came alone.”

  “Then would you be my guide?”

  “I’d love to.”

  As had their lunch, the evening sped by. Paolo was a complete gentlemen, discreet and reserved. When he smiled at her, though, his eyes crinkled with humor. He’s enjoying this, she thought. It was like a secret between them, an interlude yet not an interlude.

  By ten o’clock, most of the patrons were gone, and when the lights dimmed at closing time, they found themselves alone.

  She turned to Paolo. “Well, thank you …”

  He was smiling at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  He tilted his head. “You are nervous.”

  “No … no, not at all.”

  “Do you have someplace to be?”

  “No.”

  “Will you walk with me? I have not yet been to the Tidal Basin. I’d like to see the apple blossoms.”

  She laughed. “Cherry blossoms. But they aren’t in bloom.”

  “Too bad. Walk with me anyway?”

  Judith looked into his eyes a
nd saw something different this time. The invitation was unmistakable. Leap, Judith! “I’d love to,” she heard herself say.

  After walking the path around the basin, the stood on Kutz Bridge, looking at the reflecting pool. In the distance they could see the White House illuminated by spotlights. He took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

  “Paolo, you know I’m married,” Judith whispered.

  “I know.”

  “Do you … doesn’t that—”

  “No, Judith. At first, yes, but after our lunch I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I even planned to stay away tonight, but I couldn’t. You are not happy with him, are you?”

  “No.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Twenty-five years.”

  “Were you ever happy?”

  “In the beginning,” Judith replied. “For the first few years.”

  Paolo nodded, but without judgment. She liked that. Most men would have asked why she stayed. “Judith, tell me: Italian men, we have a … reputation, no?”

  Judith laughed. “Oh my, yes.”

  “You may not believe this, but I have been with only three women in my life.”

  “Just three?” she asked, astonished.

  “Si. I tell you this so you will not think I … So you won’t think I seduce women for sport. Even as a younger man, I was never this way. My friends found it quite humorous.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “So, whatever happens between us, even if we never see one another again, you must know how … You are …” He threw up his hands. “Mi displace, I am not making sense!”

  “No, go on, please.”

  “For me, beauty is more. You are bright like the sun. In the way you talk, the way your eyes shine. I want to listen to you, to watch you. … Ahhh … I sound silly!”

  My God, no you don’t. “No, Paolo, it’s not silly at all.”

  “Even if we cannot be lovers, I want to be with you. How, I do not know, but that is what I want. Is that possible, Judith? Am I asking too much?”

  All she could do was shake her head. She wanted him so badly her legs were trembling. This man standing before her was everything Herb was not. “Oh, Paolo, no, you’re not asking too much. I want you, too. I don’t care how or for how long! Please, let’s go somewhere. Right now.”

  He wrapped her in his arms, and she melted into him. As their lips met and his tongue touched hers, she hesitated. She’d never been kissed this way. It felt wonderful and new. She parted her lips and took his tongue into her mouth.

  “When, Judith?” he whispered.

  “Now.”

  He shook his head. “I want you, Judith, please know that. But I want it to be perfect, and I want you to be sure.”

  “I am, Paolo. I’m sure—”

  He put a finger to his lips. “You must decide this with a clear heart, Judith. When you come to me, I want it to be completely and without reservation.” He kissed her again. “Do you understand?”

  “I—”

  Paolo placed his palm over her heart. “This is from where your decision must come. The heart … Il cuore. Not from lust. I want all of you, not just your body. Now do you understand?”

  Judith nodded dumbly. “I want all of you. …” Moments ago she would have given her body wantonly, right here on the bridge. But he wanted her!

  She knew her decision was made.

  Japan

  Sitting in a cluster of trees near the shoreline, Tanner had a perfect view of the shipyard, which sat nestled in a cove a mile away.

  Earlier, just after sunset, he’d left the hotel and taken a shuttle north to Wakayama to catch the ferry across the Inland Sea to Tokushima. From there it was a half-hour taxi ride to Anan, where he continued on foot through the forest.

  He’d been watching the shipyard steadily for two hours.

  The security on the seaward side was as stringent as that of the land approaches. A twelve-foot electric fence encircled the cove and followed it inland to the yard’s outlying buildings. Spaced at intervals along the fence stood spotlight-equipped guard towers.

  The real surprise came when he focused on the patrol boats and the sea gate through which they came and went. The fence appeared to be made of heavy steel links. Tanner was betting it was fixed to the seabed as well. The gate itself, which served as a bridge between the two pontoon guard shacks, sat at the mouth of the cove.

  What would warrant this kind of security? Tanner wondered. The answer, he hoped, lay with a pair of ships inside Secure Dock 12.

  Behind him, he heard the double hoot of an owl. “Come on in, Bear,” Tanner whispered.

  Cahil walked forward and stooped beside Tanner.

  “Barn owl?” Briggs asked.

  “Great horned. I brought supper: pastrami on rye.”

  “Thanks.” Tanner unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. “Anything from Leland?” Along with their report on the Sorakuen Garden meet, they’d requested Mason give them the name of Ohira’s shipyard contact.

  “Not yet.”

  So far, Oaken’s research had confirmed Sumiko’s conclusion about Ohira’s mystery ships: If in fact Toshogu and Tsumago existed, neither were documented, either by Takagi Maritime, Lloyds of London Shipping Index, or the UN International Maritime Bureau.

  “So how’s it look?” asked Cahil. “Easier than the land approach?”

  “No, but it’s still our best bet.” He handed Cahil the binoculars. “Watch the patrol boats.”

  Within a few minutes, a pair of boats exited the gate, then fanned out along the fence, one to either side of the guard shacks. Moving at two knots, they trolled along, shining their spotlights into the water.

  Tanner said, “See the flashing red lights on the fence pontoons?”

  “Yeah. … Antiswimmer mines?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “They’re pretty damned serious about something. Okay, I see Dock 12. How many are there?”

  “Four.” Each were secured by giant hangar doors, and judging from their size, Tanner guessed each could house a couple of 500-foot-plus ships.

  “How regular are the boat patrols?” Cahil asked.

  “Every forty minutes, like clockwork.”

  Cahil grinned. “Gotta love routine.”

  One hour and two rolls of film later, they were preparing to leave when the doors of Dock 12 groaned to life and began rolling upward. Even a mile across the water, the whine of the motors was audible. Inside the cavernous interior Tanner could see yellow flashing lights and figures scurrying about on a pier. Soon a tugboat appeared at the entrance and began churning forward. Moments later a bow appeared out of the darkness, followed by the rest of the ship.

  She measured 400 feet and displaced a solid 12,000 tons, Tanner estimated. On the afterdeck stood four massive derricks and a raised central combing half the size of a football field.

  “It’s a moon-pool,” Cahil muttered. “She’s a salvage ship. You get the feeling Ohira was on to something?”

  “Starting to. If she’s one of his, we’d best get a look at her sister before she sails.”

  Back at the hotel, they sat on the balcony as Tanner finished laying out his theory for Cahil. “How sure are you about this?” Bear said.

  “Not very, but it doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

  The idea had gelled as Briggs recalled Mitsu’s story about the ship appearing in the waters off his village. It forced him to look at Ohira’s chart with new eyes. Each of the six numbered asterisks on the chart was a navigational fix, he theorized. The numerator was a bearing, the denominator a distance. Using a compass and dividers, he’d calculated the fixes. With remarkable precision, all six points triangulated on a single spot on the chart: precisely where Ohira’s red-dotted line ended, and almost exactly where Mitsu claimed the ship had anchored each night.

  “So we’ve got Ohira interested in this spot, plus a none
xistent Takagi salvage ship nosing around,” Cahil said. “What the hell could be out there?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe they lost something; maybe they found something. Whatever it is, it makes me wonder why Noboru followed me to the village. Was it me, or the location?”

  “That is a good question,” Cahil said with a grin. “So when do we go?”

  16

  Washington, D.C.

  Fayyad checked the chicken alfredo to make sure it was simmering properly, then went into the living room and turned on the stereo. He selected a CD—Vivaldi’s Four Seasons—and hit Play. Strains of music filled the apartment. He scanned the dining table to make sure everything was ready for her arrival.

  She had called the day before. “Are you at home?” he asked.

  “No, no, darling, I’m at a pay phone.”

  Good girl. “I’m glad you called.”

  “How could I not? You’re all I can think about. When can I see you?”

  “Tomorrow night. I will cook for you.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  Fayyad gave her directions and hung up. It rang again immediately.

  “Is Heloise home?” said the voice.

  “Who?”

  “I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong number. I was dialing five four two eight.”

  “No, sorry, wrong number.”

  Fayyad frowned. Why were they contacting him now? It wasn’t scheduled for another four days. From a compartment in the jamb of his bedroom door, Fayyad retrieved a sheet of paper and matched 5428 to a safe-call location.

  He drove to the phone booth, dialed, and waited as the overseas operator connected him. The number’s prefix told him it was Larnaca, Cyprus. A minute later, Mustafa al-Baz’s voice came on the line.

  “Give me a report,” al-Baz said.

  Fayyad said, “The next contact wasn’t due until—”

  “I am aware of the schedule. Give me a report.”

  Fayyad did so, then mentioned his dinner with Judith the next evening.