The Gate (21 page)

Jonas folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nishin gave a deep sigh, then tossed the shotgun to Jonas, who, startled, reached out to catch it. As he did so, Nishin was vaulting the bar, both feet smashing into Jonas’s now exposed chest, staggering the bigger man against the back of the bar. Bottles fell and crashed, the shotgun clattered to the floor, and Jonas doubled over dying to catch his breath.

Nishin drew out the modified ice scraper. He grabbed the hair on the back of Jonas’s head and pulled his face up. He jammed the point of the ice scraper into the bartender’s neck. “Who was the gun dealer? What was his name?”

“Fuck you,” Jonas hissed.

Nishin realized he had miscalculated. He had usually found that large men broke easily once you gained the upper hand. He stepped away and scooped up the shotgun, putting the ice scraper into his pocket. Jonas was leaning against the back of the bar, trying to control his breathing, wincing from the pain of broken ribs. Nishin grabbed a large towel from under the bar and wrapped it around the end of the shotgun.

“What are you doing?” Jonas asked, his eyes following Nishin’s every move.

Nishin didn’t reply with words. He aimed at Jonas’s left leg and fired one of the barrels. The towel muted the noise of the blast so that it wasn’t heard outside of the bar, but it didn’t slow down the pellets that ripped into Jonas’s left knee. The joint buckled and Jonas was down, cursing in pain.

“Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Nishin stepped over Jonas’s prostrate form and aimed at his groin. “Who was he? You know I will fire again since I already have once.”

“Oh, shit,” Jonas groaned. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“I just want some information,” Nishin said. “I think I have been most reasonable up to a point.”

“I got protection, man. I’m fucking protected!” Jonas screamed.

“I am not interested in your American gangsters or their protection,” Nishin said.

“Not the mob, you dumb fuck. I got friends in the feds. The government. They’ll be on you like shit on stink.”

Nishin found that interesting. “Really? And who exactly are your friends?”

“Fuck you!”

Nishin glanced at the door. At any moment someone might wander in. He got back to his original purpose. He jammed the end of the muzzle into Jonas’s groin. “The name of the gun dealer?”

“Lake,” Jonas spit out.

“Lake?”

“Yeah, as in a fucking large body of water. Lake. That’s all I know. That’s the only name he uses.”

“Who does Lake work for?”

“He’s a freelancer,” Jonas said, his eyes still mesmerized by the ripped end of the towel on the end of the shot gun and the smoke curling around the barrel. “He sells guns to whoever has the money. He’s been hanging around the Patriots, working with some of them, but he doesn’t work for anyone as far as I know.”

“Is he a Patriot?”

“Not a member of any group I know, but he seems to support the cause.”

“Where can I find him?” Nishin asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You must have had a way to get in contact with him,” Nishin insisted.

“I’ve got a phone number. It’s a hall phone. Sounds like some cheap flophouse. Sometimes he’s there, sometimes he isn’t.”

“The number?”

Jonas recited the seven digits.

“Does this Lake work for your government?”

Jonas shook his head. “Hell, no. He sells guns. I’d know if he were undercover.”

“I think you are very stupid,” Nishin said.

“Fuck you,” Jonas spit out.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about this man Lake?”

“He’ll kick your ass,” Jonas said. “I hope you do run into him.”

“I already have,” Nishin said. “And I’m here. He’s not. Do you work for the government?” Nishin asked. “For your friends who protect you?”

“I got friends,” Jonas repeated. “They help me out, I help them out, but I don’t work for them. But you mess with me, they’ll mess with you.”

“Yes, so you’ve said, but unfortunately they are not here now to help you. And now is the important time for you, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you,” Jonas said, his hands covered in blood as he pressed down on his injured leg. “You’d better just get your ass out of here while you can.”

Nishin didn’t reply with words. He raised the muzzle of the shotgun slightly and fired.

*****

“The hydroacoustic system was linked together and terminated at Fort Miley,” Harmon explained as she drove. “But they all answered to a central command that controlled the harbor defenses.”

“They were really worried about San Francisco being attacked?” Lake asked as they crossed the Bay Bridge. He noted the site of the gun battle from the other night showed little sign of it as they went past, other than some chips in the wall of the tunnel where bullets had struck.

The question put Harmon in her element as historian. “San Francisco was the most tempting target on the West Coast for the Japanese. After Pearl Harbor people here were very worried about getting attacked. No one knew what the Japanese had planned. You have to remember that in 1941 and early 1942 it seemed like the Japanese were invincible and everywhere. It was a very dark time. The list of Japanese successes was quite long: first Pearl Harbor; then Wake Island fell two days before Christmas; Hong Kong fell on Christmas Day; Singapore and seventy thousand men surrendered in February; the Philippines and Bataan; China; Burma; it went on and on.”

“As far as the West Coast goes, I do know for certain from my studies that on the night of December 17, a Japanese submarine surfaced outside the harbor and then remained on station up until Christmas before being ordered back to Japan. In fact, an entire Japanese submarine group operated off the West Coast in those early days, sinking quite a few ships. There was one sub for every major port from Seattle down through San Diego and they were supposed to surface and expend all their deck gun ammunition on Christmas Day before heading back to Japan. For some reason the order was rescinded just before Christmas and the subs went back to Japan without incident.”

“The U.S. Navy fortified the harbor quite extensively.”

“I’ve already told you about the submarine net. They also built defenses against surface ships. Heavy guns were put in at several places. The Navy had shore-mounted 16-inch guns powerful enough to shoot thirty miles out to sea. That’s far enough to fire beyond the Farallons, a group of islands off shore.”

Harmon and Lake were now driving north on Van Ness, following Route 101 through the city. “The Navy also put in an extensive minefield. All of these defense systems were headquartered at Fort Scott, which was in the Presidio. That’s where we’re headed right now. I’ve got a friend who can give me access to all the war records from HDSF at Fort Scott.”

“HDSF?” Lake asked.

“Harbor Defense, San Francisco.”

Route 101 turned left onto Lombard Street. Lake felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his portable. He had no doubt who it was. He turned toward the window and activated the phone.

“Yes?”

“I thought we lost you.” Feliks’ voice came through clearly, as if he were sitting in the back seat.

“I’m still kicking,” Lake said.

“But some Koreans aren’t, from what I understand,” Feliks said. “Seems there was a bit of gunfight in the tunnel on the Bay Bridge a couple of days ago. Two KIA and several vehicles shot up. Two silenced MAC-10 submachine guns were recovered by the police. The guns were sterile, but you and I know where they came from.” Feliks didn’t pause. “And there’s the matter of no confirmation of a weapons drop that was supposed to be made last night. I would assume said drop was made early because some of said weapons were in the hands of the two KIA who are also as sterile as the guns. All that the SFPD has from the autopsies is a racial makeup by the coroner saying they are of Korean ancestry. No ID, no record, no nothing. So who are they?” Feliks asked abruptly.

“North Korean commandos,” Lake said.

“North Korean commandos,” Feliks repeated. “How curious; what’s even more curious is that I haven’t heard a damn thing from you for quite a while. Start talking.”

Lake had wrestled with answering that question for the past twenty-four hours. He did as good a job as he could of encapsulating the events of the past twenty-four hours, leaving out the presence of Araki and Harmon’s help. It took him four minutes, during which Feliks didn’t interrupt once. When he drew to a finish, Lake waited.

“This is all about a Japanese atomic bomb from World War II?” Feliks asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“If I didn’t have these reports of bodies being found, I’d think you had gone nuts. In fact I think you probably have gone nuts.”

“I’m only telling you what I’ve discovered,” Lake said.

“It sounds very farfetched. How do we know this isn’t all a setup to embarrass us?”

“We don’t know,” Lake said. “But I didn’t think we could take a chance that it’s for real.”

“You didn’t think we could? Who authorized you to think for me?’’ Feliks snapped. “I run things around here, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I am authorized to act on my own initiative,” Lake argued. “That’s the whole point of—”

“Enough!” Feliks cut him off. “The North Koreans could just be pawns. You could be playing right into the hands of whoever is behind this.”

“I—” Lake didn’t get past that first word before getting cut off again.

“What action are you taking now?”

“Nothing,” Lake said.

“Nothing? Then why didn’t you report in?”

“I just found out this information,” Lake said. “I was working on a report when—”

“Bullshit! You don’t have a clue what you’re doing. You’re stumbling around in the dark, tripping over things. I do the thinking and I do the planning! But I can’t do a goddamn thing if my operatives do not keep me informed and if they go off on their own all the time.”

Lake was surprised. He’d expected Feliks to be upset, but he’d never heard his superior curse before.

“I’m putting you on suspension as of this moment,” Feliks continued, his voice cutting through the phone like a whip, causing Harmon to glance over even though she couldn’t hear the words. “We have had a major incident involving weapons that you moved without final authorization. You also did not inform us that you had moved the weapons. What if a bunch of civilians had been killed in this gunfight you had on the Bay Bridge? There was no way we could have had damage control prepared for that since we thought the guns were still in the drop site.”

Again Feliks didn’t wait for an answer. “And if there is any truth to this story you’ve just told me, who the hell do you think gave you the right to withhold that information?”

Lake assumed that was a rhetorical question, so he remained silent.

“You are to take no further action until I arrive on the scene. At that time you will brief me fully, then you will return to the Ranch for further disciplinary action. Is that clear?”

Lake clenched his jaw. “Yes, sir.”

“By the way,” Feliks continued, “what was the name of your contact there with the Patriots? The one in the bar?”

Lake was confused by the change in direction. “Jonas.”

“That’s what I thought. Well, your friend Jonas is dead. Intelligence just picked that up off the San Francisco Police Department internal wire while checking on your little excursion in the tunnel the other night. Someone shotgunned a knee then his head. Any idea who?”

“No.”

“Well, you don’t know too goddamn much, do you, in your own backyard there? Sounds like you’ve managed to screw things up royally.” Feliks changed tack again. “I just checked and we have a satellite that can eyeball the inbound North Korean trawler,” Feliks said. “How did you find out about it?”

“From frequencies I lifted off the first trawler,” Lake lied.

“Uh-huh,” was all Feliks said. “You hold in place. I’ll be there this evening.”

The phone went dead and Lake stared at it. How had Feliks learned about Jonas getting killed if it had just happened a short time ago? He knew the Ranch was tied in to the San Francisco Police Department computer, but Lake also knew that if the Ranch computer was alerting about Jonas’s death, that meant the Ranch was double-checking on him, and he didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t buy Feliks’s line that they had picked it up when checking on the incident in the tunnel.

“Trouble?” Harmon asked. They were on the Presidio now, driving along a tree-lined winding road.

“Yes,” Lake said. He understood Feliks being upset about his breach of normal operating procedures the past two days, but the extent of the reaction seemed extreme. A field agent normally had quite a bit of latitude in conducting operations. But, then again, Lake had to imagine that if he were in Feliks’s position and he received information about a possible Japanese atomic bomb lost in the ocean somewhere, he might be a bit perturbed also. Lake was surprised at how detached he was from any effect Feliks’s orders had on him. It was as if it didn’t really matter. This thing was a lot deeper than Feliks’s anger.

“Can you talk about it?” Harmon asked.

“I’m being relieved,” Lake said.

“Relieved?”

“I’m not supposed to do any more work on this case until my superior gets here and I can brief him.”

“Too late,” Harmon said. “We’re already here. You’ll have to be relieved after we leave because I’m not making this drive again and I’m not going to be involved in this any more than I am already.”

They were in front of a pre-World War II-era building with a red tile roof. Harmon led the way inside. After talking to her friend, she led Lake to a small unoccupied office. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Lake didn’t have much time to reflect on his suddenly terminated career, because she was back in less than two minutes with several large canvas-covered books. She thumped them down on the desk. “HDSF logs for August and September 1945. Shall we?”

“You look, I need to think for a minute,” Lake said. As Harmon flipped through pages, he unfocused his eyes and slowed his breathing. He felt like he was sitting on a dock jutting out into a large lake. He could see the surface, but what was underneath was hidden from his view. Lake knew that bodies of water held all sorts of hidden threats and treasures. There were forces at work here that he couldn’t even begin to understand. Fifty-two years was a long time for things to simmer under the surface.