Honorable Enemies (1994)

by Joe Weber

  "Great," he exclaimed and instantly wished he could retrieve the word. His enthusiasm had not been overlooked and Susan was obviously embarrassed.

  She maintained her composure while a sense of uneasiness settled over her. There wasn't any doubt that she was attracted to the handsome agent, but the files she had reviewed indicated that he was married. Susan was also well aware of the difficulties associated with an interracial relationship.

  If she had learned anything worth remembering in her adult life, it was to stay away from married men and interracial relationships. Susan bore the scars of experiences in both arenas.

  "Well, I better get busy," she suggested and caught Steve's eye. "Our flight leaves at eleven-oh-five."

  THE OVAL OFFICE

  The President glared at his Secretary of Defense and then gave Admiral Clayton Biddle a cold look. "The Japanese are placing the blame on us," the President blurted and held up a front-page headline from The Washington Post. "How could such a thing happen?"

  "Sir," Admiral Biddle cautiously answered, "the Japanese have the right to operate in international waters. If you or Secretary Mellongard so desire, we can take every precaution to avoid other ships, but I don't think that's the best solution to the problem."

  The President bristled and leaned forward against his polished desk. "We're not going to go out of our way to avoid anyone, including the Japanese. Period. I want the people in command of our ships to pay attention to what the hell they're doing. It's that simple."

  "Yes, sir," Biddle responded somberly.

  "What's the status of the carrier?" the President asked in a tone laced with irritation.

  The Admiral maintained a calm exterior while he examined the idea of taking early retirement. "Lincoln is operational, but the tempo of flight ops is hampered anytime a deck-edge elevator is inoperable."

  The President looked at Biddle's service medals. "What's your recommendation, Admiral?"

  "Secretary Mellongard and I believe the carrier needs to go to the naval shipyard in Philadelphia. They've got the facilities to do the job right."

  The President thought about the idea and rejected it. "Is there someplace closer?"

  "I'm afraid not, sir. The other yards are in use, and Philly happens to have a slot open."

  "How long would it be tied up?"

  "Thirty to forty days, sir."

  Glancing at the small globe on his desk, the President made his decision. "Gentlemen, let's keep Lincoln on station for the present time. If Japan even attempts to muscle us around, I want the biggest stick on the block."

  Clayton Biddle remained his usual calm self. The Admiral had learned to expect anything from the unpredictable Commander in Chief.

  The President gently spun the globe and watched it revolve for a moment. "We've seen a sudden increase in Japanese warships in the South China Sea. I want them to think about the overwhelming power that is sitting in the middle of their shipping lanes."

  Biddle nodded. "Yes, sir."

  "And I want to take another step," the President continued and let his glance slide to Mellongard. "Bryce, you and Admiral Biddle work out the logistics, but I want Independence out of Yokosuka and on station somewhere in the South China Sea as quickly as possible.

  "I want Lincoln in a position to block the Lombok and Sunda straits," the President continued, "and--where's Kitty Hawk?"

  "She's in the Arabian Sea," the Admiral told him, beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Sir, the threat of closing Japan's main sea-lanes is going to infuriate the Japanese people and cause global repercussions."

  "We'll place her in the Strait of Malacca," the President went on, ignoring the advice, "as a reminder that we mean business if the Japanese become rambunctious."

  Admiral Biddle started to protest, but Mellongard spoke first. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't think this is a good course of action. The waters of the Malacca Strait are extremely congested and difficult to navigate. As many as fifteen hundred ships pass through there each day, and a number of nations would be extremely upset if we cruised in there with a carrier group."

  The President gave Mellongard an angry look and turned to his Chief of Staff. "Scott, set up a meeting with Bud Tidwell and have an airplane standing by. I want him out there calming the fears of our allies, and I don't give a damn about anyone else.

  "We've got a problem with the Japanese," the President said curtly, "and I want them to think things through before they do something irrational."

  Mellongard slowly exhaled. "Sir," he said as calmly as he could, "placing a carrier group in the straits would be extremely intimidating. We've got enough problems with the Japanese, and we don't need to provoke them at this stage of the game."

  Admiral Biddle nodded his agreement, then looked at the floor.

  The Japanese rely on the straits and shipping lanes for the vast majority of their oil and raw goods. Without the ability to import raw materials, Japan would quickly grind to a halt.

  "Bryce," the President said evenly, "you know as well as I do that large, highly maneuverable and powerful forces are likely to make the Japanese think twice before they want to confront the U. S. I want them to have a very clear picture of what they're facing if push comes to shove."

  "Sir"--Mellongard tried another avenue of reasoning--"this type of action has the potential for open warfare, and we've got thousands of military people in Japan."

  "And they're going to stay right where they are," the President said firmly. "At the present time we have an obligation to Japan, and we're going to honor that commitment."

  "Mr. President," Mellongard pleaded, "we have people and weapons in Japan to defend their country. To reverse course and threaten the possibility of cutting off their economic lifeblood is not what I would recommend. There is no mutual trust in the region, and our military forces are the only security mechanism that governments from Tokyo to Canberra can count on. We can't afford to switch from policeman to bully."

  The President hesitated, then gave him enough of a smile to be polite. "I understand your concerns, but my job is to focus on the problems at hand and make the tough decisions, and now is the time to prepare for a confrontation with the Japanese. I don't want them to have any doubt about our resolve."

  Bryce Mellongard was dismayed and needed time to sort through the possible effects of this threatening action. "At a minimum, it's going to set back our relationship with Japan a long way."

  "I don't care," the President continued in a steady voice, "if it sets our relations with Japan back to 1945. The days of the U. S. being their benevolent protector are almost over, and the alliance with Japan is shaky at best. We're not going to continue to spend billions of dollars to defend a country that is an economic competitor and attempts to skirt every issue from trade to exchange rates."

  The men dutifully nodded.

  "Their military is mushrooming," the President said bitterly. "Mark my words--at some point in the near future, Japan's growing military power in the Pacific Ocean is going to eclipse our shrinking forces and ships."

  He idly twirled the globe. "Then we're right back to rebuilding a huge military force to cope with an Asian Cold War. Gentlemen, I know it may sound implausible to you, but it's right over the horizon, believe me."

  The President watched the surprised reactions on the men's faces before he went on. "If we're going to confront Japan, which I believe is inevitable at some point, I'd just as soon do it now and sharply decrease the size of their Self-Defense Forces in the process."

  Pausing to wait for a response, the President leaned back in his chair and observed his SECDEF.

  "I realize," Mellongard began slowly, "that we're on a collision course with Japan, but using our military power to hold them hostage economically is going to send shock waves around the world."

  "That's fine," the President replied in a calm voice. "Everyone, including the Japanese, needs to take a close look at the situation that prevails today. We're the only superpower on the plane
t, and that status has an upside, which is obvious, and a downside.

  "The downside is that our nation spends a lot of money to provide a great deal of stability to this world. Many people look to us for leadership, and they're grateful that we use our power in a responsible manner . . ."

  The President let his remarks hang in the air for a brief moment. "That's why we're obligated to place a cap on Japan's military forces, forcibly if we have to, or we'll get to repeat history--and that's the last thing we want to do."

  Chapter 21.

  TOKYO

  Tadashi Matsukawa looked down at the Babasaki Moat from his imposing office in the Mitsubishi Building. He turned and walked back to his glass desk and sat down in his custom-made chair, which was covered in mink fur.

  Mishima Takahashi, the man who had been in charge of the Pearl Harbor and JAL operations, sat in front of the large desk, nervously smoking a Camel. Through Matsukawa's mole at Langley, they knew that the U. S. investigators were gaining ground in their search for Takahashi and his accomplice.

  Takahashi was furious that his protector had not killed Wickham and Susan Nakamura, even though the CIA snitch was providing information concerning their whereabouts.

  "I have to be patient and have faith," the senior executive told himself over and over. What the crew-cut, barrel-chested bodyguard lacked in intelligence and innovation, he made up for by being fearless and aggressive. Takahashi was confident that his stooge would kill the government agents, eventually.

  Matsukawa studied the small, bespectacled man for a moment. Takahashi looked haggard, and his eyes were red and puffy from smoking and from drinking vodka the previous night. He was slowly succumbing to the overpowering fear of being exposed as the ringleader of the brutal attack at Pearl Harbor.

  "Mishima," the billionaire said at last, "you've got to pull yourself together. Everything is going to be fine, honestly. We've covered our trail--so relax."

  Takahashi knew better after hearing the report from the Langley informant who was keeping Wickham and Nakamura under constant surveillance.

  Matsukawa thought about sending the executive on a vacation aboard his yacht, but changed his mind. He wanted to keep a close eye on the troubled man.

  "We were within minutes of flying the helicopter out," Takahashi said glumly and lit another unfiltered cigarette, "when they came to the door."

  Matsukawa had never seen the usually urbane man break down and become emotional. "You've got to calm down and think in positive terms."

  Takahashi's hands shook and ashes drifted to the carpet. "It is my fault for not making them work faster. We would never have been discovered if I had pushed harder."

  "Mishima, listen closely to me . . ." the industrialist said, with most of his thoughts on the upcoming meeting with the corporate groups.

  Matsukawa waited until the worried executive finally looked at him. "I'm going to be extremely busy with the keiretsu and the Prime Minister the next few days."

  Takahashi absently acknowledged the statement but couldn't stop thinking about the consequences if his involvement in the attacks were discovered. It would be a scandal that would rock the entire world. The more he thought about the assaults, the more he couldn't believe that Matsukawa had convinced him that it would be foolproof. Shigeki must find and kill the two agents who could recognize us. Takahashi had promised the Japanese mercenary 7 million yen for proof of the agents' deaths.

  "I want you to study the projects that we have on our schedule," Matsukawa said, "and prioritize the best eight. Also, we've got to shift some of our focus to our aerospace and defense efforts. I've got a strong feeling they're going to be producing more products very shortly."

  Takahashi gave his boss a blank look and rose from his chair. "I will do the best I can." He ground his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the desk and quietly walked out of the elegant office.

  Matsukawa swiveled his fur-covered chair around and gazed toward the Imperial Palace. He knew what he would eventually have to do with Mishima Takahashi. An accident while cruising aboard Gochi Nyorai was a relatively safe way for him to sever his ties to the Pearl Harbor attack.

  NEW TOKYO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, NARITA, JAPAN

  Susan and Steve studied the unique interior of the Japanese specialty restaurant and smelled the simmering food being prepared in the tiny kitchen. Though small and crowded, the tidy restaurant provided a pleasantly cozy atmosphere while they waited for their connecting flight to Singapore.

  When Steve raised his glass of cold beer to take a sip, he noticed that many of the Japanese patrons were staring at him. Not one of them had even the hint of a smile, and some were openly scowling at him.

  Always keenly alert to her surroundings, Susan noticed the antagonistic looks, but attempted to ignore them. She glanced at the beer Steve was sampling. "How do you like it?"

  He raised the glass and mused for a moment. "When I was stationed here, my friends and I always drank Kirin, but the Sapporo is good, too."

  Susan knew she had to acknowledge the unfriendly situation. She felt badly about having suggested the restaurant. "Steve, if you'd like to go somewhere else, I understand. I didn't expect this kind of treatment."

  "It's okay, really," he replied with an encouraging smile. "From the looks I'm getting, they must think I'm theguy who invented taxes."

  "No." She allowed a tiny smile. "The looks you're getting are worse."

  "Thanks a lot," Steve said and let his gaze linger on her pleasant features. "We're going to have a nice meal and mind our own business."

  She gently lifted her glass of plum wine in an impromptu toast. "I admire your spirit," she said firmly and clinked her glass against his. "To our success."

  He noticed a couple of Japanese customers frowning in disgust, but he forced himself to ignore them.

  "What did you manage to find out"--she smiled and leaned slightly toward him--"from the mysterious depths of the legendary CIA?"

  He had been in contact with the Intelligence Directorate at Langley to have the analysts work on researching the ownership of the Matsumi Maru number three.

  "Not much for the moment, but I'm hoping they'll have something for us by the time we get to Singapore."

  She could see that he was ill-at-ease. "Do you know what you want to order or would you like me to select one of my favorites for you?"

  "I'll defer to you." He quietly laughed. "I have absolute faith in your judgment."

  After Susan ordered mizutaki for both of them, she looked at him for a long moment. "May I ask you a personal question?"

  He gave her a slow glance. "You want to know if I'm married, right?"

  She blushed slightly, embarrassed that Steve had anticipated her question. "Well, your file indicates that you're married, but you don't wear a wedding ring. I was just curious, since I've never heard you say anything about your wife or family."

  "I was married," he said matter-of-factly, "but my divorce was final about five weeks ago."

  Susan felt a strange sense of relief sweep over her.

  He gave her a friendly smile. "You'll have to bring your files up-to-date," he teased and sipped his beer.

  "If you don't mind telling me," she asked delicately, "what happened?"

  "I'll make a long story short." He chuckled and slid his empty glass to the edge of the table. "She was a flight attendant for Pan American, and when the airline went under, Becky had a hard time dealing with the loss of her job.

  "She finally managed to get another flight attendant position with TWA, but she had to start at the bottom of the seniority list. After she had become adjusted to starting from the bottom again, the airline started downsizing and she was laid off."

  "That would be tough on anyone," Susan commented with a concerned expression. "Is that when the problems began?"

  "Yes, basically. She never liked my career choice, so when she left TWA, she wanted me to quit my job and move out west with her. I didn't want to do that, so things escalated to the
point where we decided to go our separate ways."

  "Do you have any children?" Susan asked as their meals arrived at the small table.

  "None that I'm aware of," he replied in an attempt to lighten the conversation.

  Susan gave him a look of mock disgust. "I'd kick you in the shin"--she laughed softly--"if we weren't in a public place."

  "This crowd would love that," Steve responded, then stopped dead cold when he saw the familiar Oriental man with the crew-cut hair and mutilated ear. The tall, ruggedly built hit man was standing about 150 feet down the concourse, pretending to read a magazine.

  "Susan, look at me," Steve insisted, "and don't make any sudden moves."

  She went rigid as the color suddenly drained from her face. "He's stalking us, isn't he?"

  "Yes," Steve uttered under his breath and observed the small kitchen at the back of the restaurant. "Go into the kitchen and see if someone can contact security."

  "Okay, but please be careful."

  "Susan," Steve quietly went on, "stay in there and cover me if something goes down."

  "You can count on it." She reached for her purse, gracefully rose from her seat, and walked in the direction of the kitchen.

  When Susan reached the back of the restaurant, Steve looked away from the hit man but kept him in his periphery.

  What's that bastard going to do? he had just asked himself when the man tossed his magazine to the side, pulled a handgun from his jacket pocket, and headed toward the restaurant.

  Steve glanced around. I can't wait for security. The place is crammed with people.

  He was reaching for his Beretta when Susan yelled a warning. "Steve, watch out!"

  He jumped to his feet and aimed his Beretta at the hit man. "Freeze! Drop to your knees and put your hands over your head!"

  The man stopped and raised his gun.

  "Now, goddammit!" Wickham ordered and fired a round over his attacker's head. "Drop your weapon!"

  People started screaming and running in every direction while others dropped flat on the floor and scrambled for any cover they could find.