Honorable Enemies (1994)

by Joe Weber

  Wickham studied the impressive skyline in the busy Shinjuku ward. "That sounds good to me if it works out."

  Steve would have to be content to wait. Squinting to see through the hazy sky, he looked at the Century Hyatt Hotel and the other modern high-rise buildings, then turned to face Susan. "If you investigated fraud for a group of well-heeled insurance companies and discovered something really bad about one of your best clients, would you be willing to blow the whistle?"

  "I seem to recall," she said with a friendly wink, "Steve Wickham, a legendary CIA agent, once told me that 'sometimes you have to roll the dice and take your chances.' "

  Steve nonchalantly glanced around the swimming pool and garden terrace. "Speaking of chances," he said with a trace of tension in his voice, "I have a feeling crew cut is watching us."

  STRAIT OF MALACCA

  Moving quietly through the water at a speed of 31/z knots, the Japanese submarine Harushio was rigged for supersilent running. All noisy machinery and unnecessary activities had been silenced, including the showers, galley equipment, and laundry facilities. The public-address system was immobilized, which required the crew to use a single phone circuit and communicate their orders by whispering to each other. No one was allowed to open or close any hatches or use any tools.

  The crowded and complex interior of the eerily silent diesel-electric sub was bathed in a soft hue of red light. The off-duty submariners, who were relegated to their cramped living spaces, were waiting for a cold snack to be served.

  The Yushio-class submarine was creeping through the depths at 220 feet when the sonar operator noticed an unusual trace on his screen. The towed array sonar trailing the Harushio provided acoustic waves to detect and locate submerged objects. He studied the input for a moment and then selected a display that provided a range of sound frequencies to analyze.

  Working rapidly and carefully, the technician examined the range of graphs produced by the narrowband processors. The system blended the incoming sounds for a number of minutes to make sure they were not background noises from the vast number of vessels traversing the busy waterway.

  Finally, a spike emerged on the graph and the operator immediately recognized the unique signature. The sound was emitting from an American Los Angeles--class fast-attack submarine. The nuclear-powered boat wasn't even attempting to mask its noise.

  The sonar technician checked his tonal data one more time. The Americans are too arrogant. He keyed his microphone and spoke softly. "Bridge, sonar."

  "Bridge," came the instant reply.

  "I have a Los Angeles--signature bearing zero-six-five--overtaking us at a high rate of speed."

  A long pause followed the announcement.

  "Sonar," the officer of the deck said excitedly, "confirm type of signature."

  "The contact," the operator explained clearly, "has the signature of an American attack submarine."

  "Los Angeles--type?"

  The technician stared at the graph. "Hai."

  A few moments later the sonar operator heard a different voice in his headset.

  "Sonar, this is the Captain speaking. I want a time-bearing plot every five minutes until the target is abeam us."

  After the man acknowledged the order, the Captain turned to his second-in-command. "When the attack sub passes us, we will slowly increase speed and fall in behind the careless Americans.

  Most submarines have a blind spot astern where sonar reception is impaired by engines, spinning turbines, shafts, screws, and various equipment housed in the aft end of the boats.

  USS BREMERTON

  The attack center was deathly quiet when Commander Lamar Joiner stuck his head in, then continued to the submarine's cramped control room. A third-generation submariner, Joiner had followed his grandfather and father through the Naval Academy and straight into the submarine service.

  An athletic and gregarious man by nature, the husky skipper with the ice-blue eyes was respected by his officers and crewmen. Some of his famous exploits, both ashore and at sea, rivaled those of his legendary father. The Captain knew his crew almost as well as he knew his three children. He took pride in remembering the names of their wives and most of their offspring.

  Joiner looked at his watch. It was time for the next watchstanders to relieve the duty crewmen so they could get some chow and a few hours of sack time. Later, when Bremerton reached her patrol area near Kitty Hawk, the crew would have to operate with more vigilance.

  Now level at 240 feet beneath the surface of the strait, Joiner was grateful to see the water getting deeper. The passage through the crowded and narrow southern end of the strait had been nerve-racking and time-consuming. His navigator had winced on a number of occasions when he thought they were going to plow into the bottom of the shallow areas.

  Deeper water also meant more reliable acoustic returns because the convergence zones allowed the sonar to detect targets at much longer ranges. Shallow water has an adverse effect on convergence-zone propagation, and the scattering of sound across the bottom makes detections extremely difficult.

  In the sonar room, fresh faces stared at the luminescent glow from their scopes, while the helmsmen in the control room guided the submarine with yokes similar to those in the cockpit of an airliner.

  Joiner patiently waited until the new watch-standers manned their stations, then glanced at the seasoned officer of the deck. "I have the conn."

  The OD nodded. "Captain has the conn."

  Noting their current depth, Joiner decided to ascend to 150 feet and evaluate the boundary layer between the cold, deep water and the warm surface water.

  "Make your depth one hundred fifty feet," Joiner ordered with a smile creasing his lips.

  Unlike some skippers who descended to a certain depth and never deviated, Lamar Joiner enjoyed maneuvering the fast-attack boats and seeing the enthusiasm on the faces of the officers and men.

  "One hundred fifty feet, aye," the young diving officer replied with an authoritative voice. "Helm five degrees up on the planes."

  The petty officer at the diving controls acknowledged the command, and the submarine commenced a slow ascent.

  Leveling at 150 feet, Bremerton was close to the thermocline layer. Below this nearly isothermal layer, the water temperature decreased rapidly with depth, forming a shallow thermocline.

  The drastic temperature change, combined with the associated changes in salinity, causes sound waves to refract when they travel obliquely through the layer. This refraction of sound is important in the sonar detection of submarines, and Lamar Joiner was considered a master at using the properties of salinity and temperature variance to conceal his boat.

  "Left ten degrees rudder," Joiner said evenly. "New course three-one-zero."

  After his instructions were repeated, Joiner waited until the submarine was steady-on the hew course. "Engine room, conn. All ahead two-thirds."

  "All ahead two-thirds, aye."

  Lamar Joiner was proud of his crew and extremely confident in the reliable and redundant systems incorporated in his fast-attack submarine. From the sophisticated fire-control and weapons-launch systems to the propulsion and ship-control elements, Bremerton and her sister 688 boats were the best-built submarines in the world.

  The only thing that bothered Joiner, and something he had never discussed at length with anyone, was the high-speed handling characteristics of the Los Angeles--class SSNs. It was common knowledge throughout the submarine community that the 688s were difficult to control at high speeds.

  The stories were varied and colorful, but all of them had elements of the same troubling problems of significant pitching moments or tendencies to snap-roll like an airplane. Joiner had discounted most of the embellished anecdotes until his first cruise in Cincinnati.

  After a series of high-speed evasive maneuvers during a routine training mission, the attack sub had suddenly pitched down while traveling at 27 knots. Joiner, along with a number of other crew members, had come to Jesus before the ski
pper regained control of the boat.

  The frightening excursion had plunged the speeding submarine to a hazardous depth near the point where the creaking hull would have been crushed by seawater pressure. They also missed, by a margin of 110 feet, ramming the bow into the seafloor. When Cincinnati started ascending, everyone on board had a new sense of respect for the word luck.

  From that horrifying moment, Joiner became a true believer in the instability factor and had not forgotten the incident. He often thought about the consequences of an uncontrolled pitch-up at high speed. In his dreams, Joiner could see a charter fishing boat being tossed through the air as his submarine shot out of the water.

  "Conn, sonar," squawked the bulkhead-mounted speaker. "We have a contact bearing three-two-zero. Sounds like a freighter passing right to left . . . fourteen thousand yards."

  "Very well," Joiner replied as he checked his course and speed. "Left ten degrees rudder. New course three-zero-zero."

  Although Joiner felt no immediate threat, he reverted to the standard operating procedures that he had used for years. He would pass close to the freighter in order to mask the loud sounds of his fast-moving submarine. He didn't have the liberty of making a slow, quiet cruise to join the carrier battle group.

  However, the Captain wasn't aware that the conventional submarine Harushio was directly behind Bremerton and accelerating in the attack sub's cone of silence.

  Chapter 30.

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  The President stood by the windows in the Oval Office and stared at the three groundskeepers who were working on a section of the freshly mowed lawn. The dreary, overcast gray sky matched his gloomy spirits.

  The United States, according to the latest news reports from around the world, was being acclaimed with great enthusiasm by some, while the majority of people screamed epithets at the Americans for being a swaggering superpower bully.

  In related news on the major television networks, the shipping traffic that normally used the Strait of Malacca had dropped dramatically. Many civilian vessels were heading to secure harbors until the waterway was deemed safe to traverse. Others continued to use the strait in spite of the obvious dangers.

  The President finally turned and walked from his office, stopping briefly in his secretary's small compartment to wish her a happy birthday, then entered the Cabinet room and greeted the top officials in his Administration.

  After everyone was seated, the President turned to his Defense Secretary.. "Bryce, I understand we have more complications in the South China Sea area?" The statement became a question.

  "I'm afraid so," Mellongard reluctantly answered and donned his eyeglasses. "Our latest satellite-and photo-intelligence information indicates a large number of warships converging near the mouth of the strait, and many ships have entered the strait. These are in addition to the growing number of Japanese vessels that are spreading through the area."

  No one made a sound while SECDEF took a drink of water, then continued the morning briefing.

  "We now have confirmation--as of the past hour--that surface combatants from China, India, Indonesia, Malaysia, Pakistan, Taiwan, New Zealand, and Sri Lanka are in close proximity to the strait."

  Mellongard looked at the color-coded briefing cards that had been prepared for him. "Due to the congestion on the water and in the airspace over the strait, our biggest problem is making proper identification of our allies, possible adversaries, and the neutrals using the waterway and airspace.

  "Another factor plaguing us," he half-muttered, "is the onslaught of media people. In spite of our warnings, the airspace over the strait is saturated with chartered airplanes and helicopters full of reporters."

  "What about mines?" the President asked, thinking about the hazards of mine warfare in the traffic-choked sea-lane. "I don't want to see our ships get pinned in by mines."

  "We are focusing," Mellongard answered with a distant look, "on all aspects of mine countermeasures, including bringing in more Sea Dragons to bolster our efforts. Essex and her group are expected to enter the northern area of the strait by this evening--Washington time."

  Bryce Mellongard eyed the men around the long table. "In response to the increasing threats to our expeditionary task force, we've also added more P-3 aircraft to our maritime patrol efforts.

  "In order to sustain our forces afloat"--Mellongard leaned back and pocketed his reading glasses--"we are increasing our logistics-support system and diverting more replenishment ships to the strait and the Java Sea."

  The President glanced around the room and saw nothing but looks of concern. "Gentlemen, as you may be aware, I've been involved in a marathon of discussions with the leaders of our allies in the Asian and Oceanian regions.

  "For the most part"--he paused and looked directly at his Secretary of State--"our international friends support our position, and they're looking forward--as much as we are--to our talks with the Japanese." He was openly lying and everyone knew it.

  The President let his gaze drift from person to person. "We have to find out who is responsible for these acts of terrorism, and we have to work with the Japanese to stop the violence in our cities and mend our political differences."

  "Mr. President . . ." the CIA Director said while he rolled a pencil between his hands.

  "General Holcomb . . ."

  All eyes shifted to the former two-star general.

  "A number of my top people--the best analysts in the Agency," he ventured in his polished Bostonian accent, "believe that Pakistan and India will use this situation as an excuse to do some damage to each other."

  The President heard a low rumbling from the swollen rain clouds. "General, there isn't much we can do about their problems at the moment."

  Paul Holcomb inwardly cringed. Whatever you say, Chief, he thought.

  "As the world focuses on this crisis with Japan," the President went on, "everyone has to make his or her decision about what is right and what is wrong."

  The silence in the room was palpable.

  "Ourposition is well defined"--the President stared down Holcomb--"and I stick by it. If someone else wants to wade into the fray, that's their prerogative, but we can't afford to get involved in regional power clashes until we sort through this mess with the Japanese."

  Holcomb absently dropped his pencil and returned the President's cold stare. "There's something you--all of us--had better think about."

  The President tossed a look at Bryce Mellongard before turning his attention to the suddenly outspoken Director of the Agency. "You have the floor, General."

  "We have just received documented evidence," Holcomb declared with a hint of smugness, "that at least two--and possibly three--Iranian Kilo-class submarines have entered the Strait of Malacca.

  "A Washington-based official from the People's Mojahedin of Iran made the announcement early this morning," he said boldly, "and the Iranian Defense Minister confirmed it to my people less than an hour ago."

  The President, who was concerned about Kitty Hawk and her escort ships, glanced at the Defense Secretary. "Bryce, have we been getting any sonar contacts with Kilo-class submarines in the strait--or any other type of sub?"

  Mellongard, who was always reluctant to speak freely in front of a group, leaned on the edge of the conference table. "Yes, but it wasn't an Iranian. It was the Sindhuvijay and it surfaced as soon as we began tracking it."

  "Where's the sub now?" Bud Tidwell asked.

  "The last report I received," Mellongard said without looking up, "indicated that it was on the surface and returning to port in India."

  The President faced SECDEF. "Bryce, do you think we'll have any trouble locating the Iranian subs, if, in fact, they're in the strait at this time?"

  "We shouldn't have any problem," Mellongard replied with complete confidence. "If they're in the strait, we'll find them and stay on their backs."

  Chapter 31.

  TOKYO, JAPAN

  Steve Wickham held the phone receiver to his ear
and looked out a third-floor window toward the Kasumigaseki Building in downtown Tokyo. A gleaming Shinkansen superexpress bullet train sped through the center of the bustling city as he concluded his call to Langley. He lingered a moment, absorbed by the sight of the crowded, noisy streets and sidewalks. If he closed his eyes, the sounds wouldn't be distinguishable from the din of New York City or Chicago.

  He retraced his steps and entered the compact sushi restaurant, then glanced at Susan and her friend before he took a seat at the end of the low counter. They were still sitting at a tiny alcove in the corner of the restaurant. The intense, skinny young man was talking rapidly but softly. Susan calmly jotted notes while she listened and occasionally nodded her head in agreement.

  Hiroshi Okubo had originally agreed to discuss his investigative findings with both Susan and Steve. But between Okubo's call to Susan and the subsequent meeting at the restaurant, the insurance-fraud investigator had decided that he didn't want to talk directly to Steve.

  Glad that the restaurant was almost empty at this hour, Wickham ordered a rice patty and patiently waited.

  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."