Honorable Enemies (1994) (36 page)

A few minutes later, Steve watched Susan take the initiative to bring the conversation to an end. When he saw her rise and thank her informant, Steve swiveled around to greet them. Hiroshi Okubo graciously bowed and then smiled when Wickham returned the gesture.

"Steve," Susan quietly said when her friend left the restaurant, "let's take a walk."

"That interesting, huh?"

"Indeed."

The temperature was slowly getting cooler when Steve and Susan left the train station and entered the main entrance to Ueno Park. Deciding to explore Lake Shinobazu, renowned for its colorful lotus blossoms, they set off around the spectacularly manicured perimeter.

She fell in step and glanced at Steve. "I forgot to tell you something."

"What?" he asked, cautiously examining the grounds of the large park.

"We'll have seven or eight Bureau agents--all of them Japanese-Americans--working with us in a few days."

"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 fo
r u
s."

"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 an
d b
rutal 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 t
o p
ontificate to the media, especially if it's a major publication and the subject happens to be about the global situation as the Interviewee sees it."

"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. "Si
t d
own," 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.

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.