“You’re up early,” said Toliver.
Wellman looked at his watch. “Took me a while to break that one, Commander. Thought you would want it before this morning’s brief.”
“You’re right about that.” Accepting the folder, Toliver checked the time: 0547, entered it in the log, signed for the message and handed back the folder. “Thanks, Henry.”
With a nod, Wellman took the log, puffed twice, and closed the door wordlessly.
It was an I-57 message forwarded by the Hawaiian radio intercept station HYPO to San Francisco (Station FOX), where Wellman had broken it. Scanning the message’s work up, Toliver was continually amazed at the Navy’s radio intelligence system. By 1940, there was a ring of more than twenty listening stations around the Pacific rim set up to intercept Japanese radio signals. The Navy had most of the stations in the Pacific. But the Army had a handful as did the British. The network was described as a “splendid arrangement” by Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Harold R. Stark. Indeed, Toliver reflected, the raw data-gathering power alone gave the Americans a leg up. These stations not only intercepted Japanese radio signals, but used them for direction finding for broadcasts originating at sea.
When a Japanese radio message was intercepted by one or more stations, it was forwarded, in COPEK, a super-enciphered Navy code to one of two regional centers: HYPO in Hawaii or NEGAT Washington, D.C.. HYPO got the job if the message was related to JN-25, the Japanese Fleet Naval Code. Messages in the Japanese diplomatic Purple, J, LA and PA codes were sent to station NEGAT.
Under the Director of Naval Communications who reported to the Chief of Naval Operations, NEGAT’s activities were directed by OP-20-G, the communication security section in Washington D.C..
But seven thousand miles away, close to CinCPac headquarters on Makalapa, the Intelligence Center of the Pacific Ocean Areas (ICPOA) was the main Intelligence gathering and analysis unit. ICPOA was divided into five units: The first was the Fleet Radio Unit (FRUPAC -- listening station HYPO) which did the actual intercepting. Next was the decryption and translation section which enjoyed the usage of some of the most modern and innovative equipment available. Examples were: computing machines manufactured by International Business Machines using the Hollerith code (the British called their equipment Hollerith machines). IBM keypunch machines were used to enter information on punch cards which were loaded into tabulators, sorters, and printers, devices that could make thousands of calculations per second, drastically reducing the trial and error time required to break the enemy’s codes. On top of that, the Navy trained skilled Japanese translators to convert the messages to English. Other ICPOA sections were: photo intelligence, objective data, special projects, and a special unit titled Combat Intelligence, which analyzed and disseminated intercepted signals to relevant commands.
But in this case, ICPOA had forwarded the decrypted message to Station FOX in San Francisco without comment from the Combat Intelligence Unit. Toliver quickly scanned the message. Stations BELCONNEN (Melbourne, Australia), SAIL (Seattle, Washington) and KING (Dutch harbor, Alaska) had each picked up the I-57's broadcast, then forwarded it on to HYPO -- ICPOA for decryption. Odd, Toliver reflected. Due to “skipping” of radio waves, some stations halfway around the globe picked up the I-57's transmissions, even though she currently steamed in the Indian Ocean. Just four days ago, HYPO in Hawaii, ITEM in Imperial Beach, (San Diego) California, and SEVEN, an ARMY station in Fort Hunt Virginia, picked up the same message.
Most of the I-57's messages were position and fuel reports. And this seemed to be no different, except... Toliver looked again. Something was out of place. The I-57 reported about 120 tons less fuel then she had since the last report. Amazing consumption, he pondered. Reaching into a cavernous safe, he pulled out a TOP SECRET pub containing performance data for American Fleet submarines. Flipping through it, he found that Gato class submarines using four Fairbanks Morse 38D8 engines generated 1,535 horsepower each, consumed, on the average, about eight gallons of fuel oil per mile. With a slide rule, he quickly worked out that 120 tons would have yielded about 4,000 miles for an American submarine. He didn’t have performance data for Japanese submarines, but it couldn’t be that much different. How could they have used that much fuel?
Scratching his head, he read on finding the I-57's position was far different from what she reported on the last intercept, two days ago. He stood and went to a wall- mounted chart of the Indian Ocean and Western approaches to the South Atlantic. In this message, the I-57's position was:
27.6˚ S
52.2˚ E
But he’d been keeping a track on her from previous position reports and checked, finding that using the same course and speed, she should have been at:
36.2˚ S
49.6˚ E
Toliver rubbed his chin. An error of nearly 500 miles. This report indicated the I-57 was up near Madagascar, when, according to previous reports, she should have been preparing to round the Cape of Good Hope. Also, Wellman had added a note that the I-57's operator was new, that whoever sent this message had a different “fist” than the two others who had been sending the past few weeks.
Toliver was tempted to call his counterpart at NEGAT in Washington D.C.. But the I-57 affair had been discounted as low priority. NEGAT had too many fish to fry, including all the intelligence gathering and dissemination connected with the European invasion. Same thing with the people at HYPO; they were busy ironing out ramifications of the Battle of the Philippine Sea.
Worse, personnel at HYPO and NEGAT hated each other with Toliver and the 12th Naval district Intelligence staff going to great lengths to keep out of the firing line. The two staffs openly dueled like the proverbial Hattons and the Coys. It began with raw feelings about who should shoulder the blame for the Pearl Harbor attack. In Hawaii, the two local commanders, Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, CinCPac, and Lieutenant General Walter C. Short of the U.S. Army, were sacked. Exhaustive investigations followed:
The Roberts Commission December 1941 to January 1942
The Hart Inquiry, February 1944 to June 1944
And now, July 1944, Congress was planning to conduct two more inquiries:
Army Pearl Harbor Board
Naval Court of Inquiry
The Roberts commission found that Army Chief of Staff, General George C. Marshall and Naval Chief of Operations, Admiral Harold R. Stark had properly discharged their duties up to the time of the attack. However, Admiral Kimmel and General Short were censured for failure to take appropriate action in light of warnings received before the attack. But the Roberts Commission and subsequent Pearl Harbor investigations were hindered because of the extreme sensitivity of the United States’ code-breaking capabilities. Very few were privileged to know. For example, the newer Japanese diplomatic “purple” (its predecessor was “red’) code had been broken in August, 1940, when American cryptographers duplicated the Japanese Type 97-shiki O-bun Injiki (Alphabetical typewriter 97). Eventually labeled “Magic” intercepts, the decoded material was limited to only the President, his Secretaries of State, Navy and War, and selected operational department heads in the war Navy, and Army departments. Morsels were occasionally sent to area commanders like Kimmel and Short, but most of it was held in Washington D.C.. Instead of a tool to keep area commanders informed, access to Magic became a political path for ascension to the top of the heap; a back-biting power tool to shunt others away from the decision-making cycle; an award signifying a concomitant rise in rank. So Kimmel and Short were made scape-goats while others bailed out, only to back-bite at a later date.
What worried Toliver more was the case of Commander Joseph J. Rochefort, the hero of the Battle Of Midway. In March, 1941,Rochefort took over what became Hawaii’s ICPOA in Hawaii. His objective was to break the critical Japanese Naval operating code, JN-25. Initial versions of JN-25 had been broken in 1940. But a follow-on version, JN-25-B, was installed in December, 1940 making decryption so difficult, that only fragmented parts were readabl
e up to November 1941, a crucial time. However, Rochefort kept at it, and much of JN-25-B became readable by May, 1942, just days before the Battle of Midway. In fact, Rochefort had broken enough of JN-25-B in time to provide information for his boss, Chester Nimitz, Commander-In-Chief of the Pacific Fleet, to outguess the enemy and position his ships so that the USN sank four irreplaceable Japanese fleet carriers at the battle of Midway on June 4, 1942. Ironically, a new Japanese follow-on code, JN-25-C, became effective on June 1, 1942, too soon for Rochefort to break, but Japanese forces were already committed.
But then, Rochefort ran into a political morass. Before the war, Director of Naval Communications in Washington D.C., Captain Joseph R. Redman set a personal goal of assuming “...active coordinating control... of all intercept stations, D/F nets, and decrypting units...” including control of Naval intercept work at station HYPO. By early 1942, Captain Redman secured his flank by placing command of OP-20-G, which included NEGAT in Washington D.C., under his younger brother, Commander John R. Redman.
During the April/May time preceding Midway, Admiral Ernest J. King was under enormous pressure from the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who was concerned about the allocation of men and material, for accurate predictions of Japanese intentions in the Pacific. To get his information, King walked down the hall and pressured the Redman brothers. Burning the midnight oil, John Redman’s staff concluded, incorrectly, that Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto’s fleet would strike to the south, toward Fiji, Samoa and New Caledonia -- not Midway, as Rochefort had been predicting. King dug his grave when he announced to the Joint Chiefs that Yamamoto’s plan was to the south, in order to cut the U.S.-Australia lifeline. Worse, King fired off blistering messages to Nimitz, casting grave doubts on CinCPac’s plans to defend Midway. Fortunately, Nimitz kept faith in Rochefort, and the U.S. Navy achieved a marvelous victory. A raging King was embarrassed.
With King’s tacit permission, the humiliated and power-hungry Redman brothers did everything to cover up their Battle of Midway blunder. King saw to the Redman Brothers promotion to Rear Admiral and Captain. In turn, they insisted on taking credit for the Midway victory. Then they cut orders recalling Rochefort to Washington D.C. There, they pulled him through a bureaucratic knothole. First, they relieved him of command of ICPOA. Over the ensuing months, they forestalled his promotion to Captain, nullified his recommendation for the Distinguished Service Medal, and sadly, forever sidelined one of the great cryptographic geniuses of the time.
Kimmel and Short were caught in the same meat-grinder. People at the top, covering up and watching their backsides, kept operational commanders in far-flung bases off key intelligence distribution lists unless it in meant promotion for themselves.
In a way, the in-fighting was its worse in Washington D.C. than in the Pacific, where Toliver had been the gunnery officer under Todd Ingram aboard the minesweeper USS Pelican (AM 49) in Manila Bay. After escaping with Ingram in an open boat, he became gunnery officer of the USS Riley (DD 452). In the battle of Cape Esperance on October 11/12, 1942, Toliver received his debilitating hip wound, the Riley sunk when hit by a Japanese type 93 torpedo. Toliver had more than enough to keep busy; to stay well clear of Station NEGAT’s political vindications, a continuing effort to whitewash their complicity with the Pearl Harbor debacle and to sweep their Midway blunder under the rug. Put your head down and do your job, Toliver swore to himself. Why worry about it? He didn’t plan to make a career of the Navy, anyway.
He checked his watch: 0644. Almost time to get together with Wellman and go over some notes. But first, he had to wake Jerry Landa. They’d had dinner at Wong Lee’s last night. After a few drinks, Landa starting calling Oliver Toliver III, ‘Ollie Triple sticks.’ Soon, it was around the bar. Even Wong Lee and his daughter Suzy called him Commander Triplesticks.
Wouldn’t Dad love that?
Time for retribution. He picked up the phone to wake Landa at the St. Francis Hotel.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
1 July, 1944
Saint Francis Hotel
San Francisco, California
The phone rang; Landa fumbled for his watch: 0714. “Hello,” he croaked.
“Captain Landa?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Later.” He slammed down the phone and rolled over.
Thirty seconds passed. The phone’s strident bell once again ruptured Landa’s sleep.
“What!” he growled.
“Captain Landa, it’s Roberta Thatcher. Forgive me for calling you so early. I--”
“Roberta who?”
“Thatcher, Captain Landa. The NBC Symphony Orchestra.”
“Yeow!” Landa sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair. His watch read 0715. Actually, Roberta had done him a favor. Toliver had made a wake-up call nearly a half hour ago and he’d gone back to sleep. His head pounded. After dinner at Wong Lee’s café, they’d tooled around in his 1942 Oldsmobile. “Mrs. Thatcher, I’m sorry. How are you?”
“I wish I could say better.”
“A feeling of dread washed over Landa. “What is it?”
“It’s Laura. I’m afraid we’ve had to let her go.”
“Aww, sh--” He cut it short and said instead, “It’s her drinking.” A statement.
“Exactly. We feel terrible about it. But Laura is in a destructive mode. She doesn’t concentrate and has become belligerent. I think she’s taken on every section leader.”
“By that you mean...”
“It’s been going on for weeks. Bitter arguments. And not just artistic flings. These are intense, mudslinging, back-stabbing, spittle-flying arguments. Even the Maestro got pulled into one. And you know how that goes.”
“Frankly, I don’t.”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that she has alienated everybody, including me. And that’s pretty hard to do.”
That was true, he realized. Roberta Thatcher stood up for her people. A prude at the outset, she was basically a caring person; the orchestra was her life. He checked his watch, heaved out of bed and stood, looking out the window. It was overcast. “When?”
“Yesterday at the end of the day. I handed over her final pay check.”
The line was silent for five seconds.
Quietly, Landa offered, “She hates my guts. Won’t return phone calls. I tried>til I was blue in the face.” That wasn’t quite true. After flying back to San Francisco, he had tried her at NBC. He couldn’t get through, so he phoned her house, leaving a message with Trudy, her housekeeper. That was it. She hadn’t returned the call. And now, his pride was stretched; she should crawl back to him. But she needed help, he realized. A rush of guilt swept over him.
“I know that. First things first, Captain. She’s a marvelous talent and a wonderful human being.”
“That she is. If it weren’t for the damned booze.” Another rush of guilt. Landa hadn’t helped Laura with her drinking problem. Just the opposite. They’d been blitzed many times together. But he just shook off hangovers and went back to work. Last night, for example. He and Toliver had really pasted one on; that’s why his stomach was rumbling now. But Laura. She often became angry when she drank. Something was buried deep inside that made her mean. “Maybe I better call again.”
“Can I suggest something?”
“Shoot.”
“Mrs. Ingram. Maybe she could call. Has she tried?”
“Don’t know. Frankly, I hadn’t thought of that. But she’s in the hospital.”
“What?”
“She had a baby boy, two days ago. Jerome Oliver Ingram,” he said proudly. Longing for a cup of coffee, he stifled a hiccup. “But you know Mrs. Thatcher, that’s a damn good idea. As soon as I can get a line to San Pedro, I’ll call Helen and see if she will give it a try.
“Tell me, do you think Laura has a shot at returning to the Orchestra?”
“Between you and me, anything is possible. The Maestro left it up to me. But I must see a vast improvement. I’m not going to take any more chances.”
> Landa exhaled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me until you get her on the wagon and straightened out.”
“Mrs. Thatcher, may I remind you that it was Laura who walked out on me.”
“That’s no excuse.” Roberta Thatcher hung up.
“And they’re sending you home tomorrow?” asked Landa. Toliver’s chair creaked as he leaned back and plopped his feet on the desk. His stomach growled. He hadn’t had time for breakfast after, rushing from the St. Francis Hotel to the 12th Naval District Headquarters, where Toliver had set him up with a line to San Pedro.
“No reason to keep me here. They need the bed.” Helen had just awakened, her voice husky.
“And Mrs. Peabody will--”
BToliver walked in and said softly, “They’re waiting.” He crossed his arms and stood before the desk.
“Right away, Triplesticks,” Landa waved him off.
“--pardon?” asked Helen.
“BI said, is Mrs. Peabody all set?”
“As much as she can be.”
“Is she sober?” Landa looked up and winked at Toliver.
“How can you say that?” Helen laughed.
Landa closed his eyes. After a moment, he said, “Look, hon, I need a favor.” He told her about Roberta Thatcher’s call early this morning. “Could you try and talk some sense into her?”
Toliver pointed at the door, threw his hands in the air and flopped them to his side.
“Do my best,” said Helen. The connection wavered, he thought she was gone.
“Thanks,” Landa yelled. “Gotta go. Say hello to little Jerry.”
Toliver stood close and shouted, “He means, little Ollie.”
THE NEPTUNE STRATEGY: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 4) Page 20