by Joe Weber
She glanced down at the table, then looked at Susan. "The woman who called me said that she and her granddaughter saw the Sky Nine helicopter after the attack, but on the windward side of the island. She is the only person to my knowledge who has reported seeing the helo after it went over Ewa Forest.), "Did she give you an exact location?" Steve calmly asked.
"And the time of the sighting?" Susan added, feeling the tingle that she always experienced when an important piece of the puzzle was falling into place.
"Mrs. Sakoguchi said they saw my helicopter flying close to the ridgeline of the Koolau Range."
"Where did they first see it?" Susan asked while she formulated a plan.
"The windward side, as I mentioned, near Kahana Bay. She said the helo was hugging the ridge, ducking in and out of the rain clouds." Theresa looked to Susan. "The ones that often settle along the top."
"I know," Susan replied. "The sun can be shining over Waikiki while torrential rains are falling on the tops of the mountains."
"What about the time?" Steve asked.
"She thinks it was about nine or ten minutes after the time of the attack--the time that was reported by the media."
Susan and Steve exchanged curious glances before he looked at Theresa. "Which way was the helicopter headed when they saw it?"
She looked slightly offended, but understood why he had asked the question. If Mrs. Sakoguchi was off on her time of sighting, the helicopter could have been on the way to Pearl Harbor.
"It was headed northwest, barely skimming the side of the mountains." Theresa took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "Mrs. Sakoguchi is certain about the time. They left their home at a quarter to seven, and it was exactly eight when they saw the helo."
Susan lost interest in her meal. "Why didn't she go to the police or talk to us?"
Theresa glanced at Steve, then fixed her gaze on Susan. "Mrs. Sakoguchi, who is extremely shy, is of Filipino-Japanese ancestry and speaks only pidgin English. She was afraid that I might get in trouble or that she would somehow become involved in the investigation and have to go to jail."
Steve raised his hand slightly. "Theresa, we'll be happy to talk with Mrs. Sakoguchi and assure her that nothing will happen to her."
Theresa nodded and gave him a faint smile. "I would appreciate that, Steve. She's a nervous wreck, and I don't blame her for feeling insecure. It took a lot of courage to come forth with her information."
"What's your schedule for the afternoon?" Susan asked, thinking the same thing as Steve: a drive to see Mrs. Sakoguchi and reassure her that no harm would come to her could provide some useful information.
"I'm scheduled to fly during drive time, but we've got a contract pilot who could fill in for me." She looked at Wickham. "I'll have to check with our manager."
"After lunch," Steve suggested to Theresa, "let's go talk to your boss about borrowing you for a while."
"Good idea," Susan acknowledged and reached for her glass, then glanced at the pilot. "It would be nice if you would call Mrs. Sakoguchi and let her know that we'll stop in for a short visit this afternoon. We need to have her show us the exact point where she saw the helicopter."
Theresa openly smiled for the first time. "She'll be thrilled to know that she isn't in some kind of trouble."
"Quite the contrary," Steve responded, trying not to stare at the blue-eyed beauty. "We owe her a debt of gratitude."
ABOARD THE GOCHI NYORAI
After the final guests had left the moored yacht, Tadashi Matsukawa went to the communications center and sat down at the control station. He ground out his cigarette and flipped on the power switch for the Magnavox satellite terminal, then punched in the ship's latitude and longitude to align the large antenna mounted over the wheelhouse.
The terminal was certified to interface with the Inmarsat satellite network to provide telephone, fax, data, and telex communications from remote areas around the world.
Checking his wall-mounted brass clocks, Matsukawa noted the time in Tokyo. The Prime Minister would be preparing to have his usual light lunch of rice patties with fish, or broiled rice with slices of beef and fish. Genshiro Koyama was a regimented man who never varied from his strict diet.
Matsukawa looked at the signal-strength meter and tweaked a small lever to optimize the antenna elevation. He grabbed the secure-voice handset and tapped a special code into the sophisticated keyboard.
Waiting for his call to go through, Matsukawa lighted another cigarette and listened to the clicks and tones emitting from the handset. When the switchboard operator answered his call, he gave her his identification number.
The call was routed to a governmental agency in the heart of the Kasumigaseki district in Tokyo, then to an administrative assistant in the Prime Minister's Office. The aide asked Matsukawa his name, advised his boss, then put the call through to Prime Minister Koyama.
Matsukawa instantly recognized the unmistakable rasping voice of the man many Japanese felt was the strongest leader they had had in years. Outmaneuvering his opponents, Koyama had jockeyed to be at the right place to eventually ascend to the supreme position after the demise of the Liberal Democratic Party. The resulting political calamity had rocked Japan and caused many scars and strained relationships, but the crafty politician had waited patiently and emerged unscathed from the fracas.
Genshiro Koyama had received a degree in engineering from Japan's elite Tokyo University, then attended Harvard, where he took a master of business administration.
The sometimes caustic Prime Minister was a loner who rarely showed any emotion in public. Trim and always impeccably groomed, Koyama was capable of conversing freely in English. He firmly believed in maintaining his proficiency in English so that he would not embarrass himself in front of world leaders. Koyama seldom used his native language unless he was speaking with one of his closest aides or a member of his family.
"Ah, Matsukawa-san," the Prime Minister began slowly. "It is good to hear from you."
Tadashi Matsukawa exchanged pleasantries and steeled himself for the conversation. The Prime Minister had a well-deserved reputation for being blunt.
"Ambassador Hagura called me and mentioned that he had been in contact with you."
"That's correct."
"I understand," Matsukawa went on with a guise of nonchalance, "that you have been invited to a meeting with the President."
"Correction. I was summoned like a subordinate."
Taken aback, Matsukawa cautiously proceeded. "I sense that our breach in friendly relations with the Americans is rapidly widening, especially after the terrorist attacks."
"The terrorists from both countries," Koyama said curtly, "are making things more difficult for everyone."
"I know," Matsukawa replied glumly, "and it's very sad that the attacks are destroying the rapport we share with the Americans."
"Are you using secure-link?" Koyama asked while he opened the locked drawer in his desk.
"Yes."
Matsukawa learned the hard way not to leave anything to chance where sensitive communications were concerned. The top-of-the-line Magnavox satellite system was equipped with a secure-voice capability.
"I have recently been involved," the Prime Minister paused to spread his notes on the table, "in a number of meetings and discussions concerning the immediate and long-range planning for our country."
Tadashi Matsukawa perceived a dramatic change taking place in Tokyo. He could tell by the subtle difference in Koyama's voice that the politicians, bureaucrats, business leaders, and academics were awakening to the fact that they had to face up to the Americans--or become accustomed to being subservient to the powers in Washington.
"We are rushing toward the waterfall," Koyama continued in his raspy voice, "and we have to do something bold or we're going to be swept over the brink. Japan, unfortunately, is on a direct collision course with the United States."
Matsukawa gripped the phone. Was his government finally going to cleanse itself
of the last stains of guilt about World War II? Was the Prime Minister finally going to break the shackles and confront the Americans?
Pressing the call button for his aide, Matsukawa reached for his fountain pen next to the console.
Yoshio Okura quietly entered the communications center and Matsukawa handed him a note. Okura nodded and hurried to tell the flight crew to have the corporate jet standing by for a flight to Los Angeles.
"This morning," Genshiro Koyama continued, "I met with the chairman of Keidanren."
Matsukawa was well acquainted with the man who headed Japan's most powerful business federation. Chihiro Yamashita always made any negotiation with the Americans as difficult and time consuming as possible. He generally succeeded in wearing down the U. S. business representatives until they collapsed.
"He implored me," the Prime Minister confided, "to stand up to the Americans and restore sovereignty and honor to our nation."
Matsukawa knew the core of the problems with Washington centered around the weakened American military and Japan's growing military capability. The key issue to the Japanese was the ongoing dispute over the constitutionality of the Self-Defense Forces and the fear that Japan would be left to defend herself if the U. S. failed to protect the islands if they were invaded. Most Japanese citizens simply didn't trust the fickle Americans to stand by what they promised.
Koyama sounded very troubled. "Yamashita reminded me about Nakasone and Takeshita. Especially about how they had been highly visible and outspoken advocates of dramatically increasing Japan's military capability."
Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone had enraged many U. S. citizens by saying that America's intellectual level was lower than Japan's because America had too many blacks, Mexicans, and Puerto Ricans.
In 1988 Takeshita spoke to a group of cadets, telling them that Japan would need a defense force equal to its vast economic power. The message was clear: Japan had to become a global military power in order to protect her future.
"I've always believed that Nakasone and Takeshita were right," Matsukawa interjected. "We need to be able to defend ourselves, regardless of the potential enemy. At this period in time, we can't depend on the shrinking U. S. military."
"You are precisely correct," the Prime Minister confided.
Matsukawa was thrilled by what Koyama was saying. Indeed, the Chinese were flexing their muscles and filling the Asian power void. They had significantly increased their military budget, and Beijing was rapidly spreading her tentacles in many directions. Along with Matsukawa, most Japanese were afraid that the Chinese were going to envelop them if they didn't prepare to defend themselves.
The other wild card was North Korea, which already had produced enough plutonium to manufacture five nuclear bombs, and Pyongyang had successfully tested a ballistic missile capable of reaching Japan. The avowedly belligerent regime was slowly destroying the delicate balance of power in East Asia.
The Prime Minister sighed. "We're one of the richest nations on earth, Matsukawa-san, but we've left our soft underbellies exposed. Considering our growing differences with the U. S., we're going to have to expand our military even more rapidly than we have in the past three and a half years."
"I agree with you and Yamashita-san," Matsukawa declared and forged ahead with his proposal to begin preparations to confront the Americans. "In my estimation, it would be wise to convene the gurupu. We have to be totally committed or our efforts will be diluted."
"That suggestion has been made," the Prime Minister replied with a trace of hesitation in his coarse voice, "and plans are being made as we speak. Advise me when you will be returning to Tokyo."
Matsukawa smiled to himself. "I'll be leaving shortly." He checked the local time on a wall clock. "And I'll notify you when I arrive."
The Prime Minister spoke slowly. "It is time for Japan to rise and seek her destiny."
Chapter 10.
WAIAHOLE, HAWAII
When Susan, Steve, and Theresa arrived at the tiny cottage, Mrs. Sakoguchi was sitting in a porch swing, fanning herself. She rose and walked toward the car as the trio got out.
While Theresa introduced everyone, Steve surveyed the premises and spotted Mrs. Sakoguchi's granddaughter. The youngster was sitting on the ground near a small vegetable garden, digging a trench with a child-size spade. Behind her, in the midst of various pieces of discarded junk, sat a rusted and faded Chevrolet Malibu. A man who was sprawled under the car stuck his head out to examine the strangers, then returned to his work.
After helping the elderly woman into the car, they drove along the coast highway to a point near Kahana Bay Beach Park. Recognizing the familiar terrain where she first spotted the helo, Mrs. Sakoguchi asked Susan to slow down, then pointed to the area where she had seen what she thought was the Sky Nine helicopter.
"There," the frail woman said with a gesture of excitement. "Helly-copter fly 'long ridgcgo north."
"Television helicopter?" Susan asked in a low-key, conversational way. "You're sure it was Theresa's TV helicopter?"
Mrs. Sakoguchi tensed and cautiously looked at the pilot. "It's okay," Theresa assured her and patted her hand. "Just tell us what you saw."
"TV helly-copter," she muttered and looked up at Susan. "I sure it TV helly-copter."
"Okay, we believe you," Steve said with a reassuring smile. "We thank you for your cooperation, and rest assured that you have nothing to worry about, okay?"
She nodded and cast a nervous look at Theresa.
Steve and Susan carefully studied the ridgeline while Theresa continued to comfort the anxious woman.
Wickham turned and looked at the layer of clouds settling over the island. "It looks like that tropical depression is moving toward us."
"You're right," Theresa said with a quick glance at the gray clouds. "It's supposed to move onshore this evening."
After a few more questions, they drove Mrs. Sakoguchi back to her home and again reassured her that she had nothing to fear. The FBI and the CIA, Steve patiently explained, were thankful for the information she had given them. The small woman beamed when the sedan drove away.
When they reached Highway 83, Steve turned in his seat to face Theresa. "We really appreciate your help."
"I'm happy to help in any way possible."
Susan leaned her head to the side, keeping her eyes on the road. "I have to add my thanks, too. We finally have a solid lead to follow."
"I just hope you find the sonuvabitch," Theresa said without any sign of embarrassment.
"We'll find him," Susan assured her and glanced at Steve. "Were you able to get a helicopter?"
"All set. The Army is going to provide a helo for as long as we need it."
"When do we get it?"
"Tomorrow morning." He looked at the ominous clouds. "If the weather holds. They'll pick us up at Fort De Russey at oh-seven-hundred."
"It may be a long shot," Susan conceded, "but I'm anxious to start scouring the windward side of the island."
Theresa chuckled. "You and everyone else. This island is crawling with planes and helicopters."
"But they don't know what we know," Susan remarked and then noticed the question in Steve's eyes. "Before we tell the world what Mrs. Sakoguchi saw, we need to take a crack at finding the helo. Otherwise we'll be dodging every flying machine on the island . . . instead of searching."
"You're right," Theresa chimed in. "I've got an idea, if you don't mind flying with a civilian--"
"Can we use your helo?" Steve asked, anticipating her offer.
"It's already approved." She looked at her watch. "Our general manager has offered the use of Sky Nine in the search, so when it lands after drive time, we'll go refuel, then head for Kahana Bay."
MARCO ISLAND
Tadashi Matsukawa settled in his thickly cushioned chair as the Dassault Falcon 900B accelerated the length of runway 17, then smoothly rotated near the end of the pavement. He watched his brightly lighted Gochi Nyorai pass under the starboard wing bef
ore he reached for the Global Wulfsberg Flitefone.
The airborne telephone system incorporated a sophisticated voice scrambler and automatic channel-selection.
Matsukawa kicked off his made-to-order ostrich-skin shoes and propped his feet on the couch next to his desk. A minute later, his personal business manager was awake and taking notes at his home in White Plains, New York.
With unusual patience, Matsukawa explained that he wanted to quietly sell all of his American stocks and his real estate in the contiguous U. S., including the ranch in Colorado. He would keep his properties in London, Bermuda, Hawaii, Paris, Guam, and Singapore.
When his school friend from Harvard queried him, Matsukawa told him not to worry about anything. He explained that secrecy was paramount and that all proceeds must be sent through his holding company in Tokyo.
After his business manager copied and read back his instructions, Matsukawa abruptly terminated the conversation and reached for his drink. Next, he called the president of the firm that handled all of his travel arrangements when he was in the U. S.
Matsukawa punched on the VCR while he waited for the sleepy man to confirm that he had a reservation in the first-class section of the Japan Air Lines flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo.
The $24-million, three-engined corporate jet was too ostentatious for Japanese business standards, so Matsukawa always used JAL for his international travel.
Listening to the soft buzzing sound emitting from the Flitefone receiver, Matsukawa's expression turned sour when he recalled the time he had been stranded in Los Angeles. The Transportation Department had ruled that Japan had violated the bilateral aviation agreement with the U. S. by restricting certain United Airlines flights from Toyko.
The open threat to take retaliatory action and impose sanctions against Japanese air carriers had forced Japan back to the negotiating table. Fearing the backlash of an aviation trade war with the U. S., Japan Air Lines had suddenly canceled many of their most popular and profitable flights to Los Angeles and San Francisco.
