by Bob Mayer
“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 shot gunned 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.
Harmon’s voice intruded on his dark thoughts. “September the second, 1945, 2027 hours in the evening, hydro acoustics picked up an initial possible submarine contact nine miles out from the Golden Gate, just south of the main channel.”
Lake leaned forward in his chair as she pointed at a small map of the harbor.
“The station that first picked it up was here, on the south peninsula at Hydrangea. Since the war was over, there was no special concern about it being an enemy contact,” Harmon said. “The minefield had already been deactivated and the sub net was no longer in service.”
“So the harbor was wide open,” Lake noted.
“Yes.”
“Is that our boy?” Lake asked. “Did the 1-24 make it here?”
“I think that may be it,” she said. “There’s no record in here of any American submarine that was supposed to be in the area. The duty officer specifically notes that. But since the war was over, no alert was issued and no further action was taken.”
Harmon tapped the old duty log. “The station tracked the contact in to three miles off the Golden Gate where there’s a semicircular shoal called the Potato Patch. Then something strange happened. They heard nothing for a half hour, then the submarine apparently went back out to sea, but the log says there was an echo going in toward the harbor.”
Lake frowned. “An echo? What do they mean by that?”
“I think that the initial contact was the 1-24,” Harmon said. “Remember I told you that they would most likely have a smaller submarine on the deck of the 1-24, a midget sub? I think the echo is that midget sub which would have carried the Genzai Bakudan or at least towed it to the target.”
Lake looked down at the map. He remembered the current he had faced several miles out to sea from the Golden Gate. From his SEAL training he knew quite a bit about hydrography and he also knew something about seagoing craft. He’d seen pictures of Japanese midget subs, such as the one that was beached on Oahu shortly after the attack at Pearl Harbor. “I think a midget sub would have a hell of a hard time trying to make it in the Golden Gate, even from only three miles out,” Lake said. “The current there is very powerful and a midget sub doesn’t have the greatest engine or an unlimited supply of power. Also, one of those old-style nuclear bombs must have weighed a hell of a lot.”
“Maybe that’s where it all fell apart,” Harmon theorized. “They sent out the midget sub and it got caught in the current and pushed back out to sea, lost forever.”
“They wouldn’t be that stupid, would they?” Lake murmured. Why couldn’t the damn sub have just disappeared in the mid-Pacific, he thought to himself.
“Excuse me?”
He was still looking at the map. “I mean they would have known about the current and all that. They were sailors, for Chrissakes.” Lake’s frustration and anger at the recent phone call and events was seeping out of him, water flowing over a high dike of discipline and self-control. “Something’s not right about this.” He slapped the table top. “Shit, nothing’s right about anything.”
He drew his finger across the map to the narrow gap between the peninsula of San Francisco and Marin County to the north. “You said the harbor was basically undefended after the war. The mines were deactivated and the sub gate was open all the time. They would have expected that. So what happened to the mini-sub? Where is it resting?”
Harmon was turning pages in the log, looking for any more information. “Here’s something,” she said.
“What?”
“The U.S.S. Honolulu, a cruiser that was departing the harbor after overhaul, picked up a small sonar contact that coincides with this echo. They tracked it until they lost it at—” There was a sudden intake of breath that caused Lake to look up from the map in concern.
“What’s wrong?”
“They tracked it until they lost it against the southern tower of the Golden Gate Bridge.” She looked up from the log. “The midget submarine with the second bomb is at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge.”
CHAPTER 12
SAN FRANCISCO
WEDNESDAY, 8 OCTOBER 1997
1:05 P.M. LOCAL
“So why didn’t they explode it?” Lake asked.
Harmon was seated now, staring at the logs in front of her as if they might suddenly jump up a
nd bite her.
“Maybe it didn’t work,” she said.
“The one in Korea worked,” Lake said, remembering they’d already had this conversation. “There’s no point dwelling on that right now. The key issue is, was this contact really a midget sub and, if it was, is it still down there?” The answer came to him even as he asked the question. “Yeah, I think that contact was it and I think it’s still down there.”
“Why?” Harmon was rousing out of her shock and closing up the logs.
“It makes sense to me now. They knew the midget sub could only stay down so long and make it so far against the current with its batteries. If they could just make it to the mouth of the harbor, they could anchor it against the base of the southern tower. The northern one is connected to land, but the southern one stands alone in deep water. Then with the bomb tied off there, they could blow it at any time. Imagine taking out the Golden Gate? Not only that, but the blast would have hit the headquarters for the HDSF right here at Fort Point and the adjacent areas in the Presidio.” Lake remembered the other night and the paint sprayer on top of the bridge. “And the prevailing winds would have carried the fallout right over San Francisco.”
“You really think it’s still down there?” Harmon asked.
“Yes. I think that’s what the North Koreans are hot after and has the Japanese scared shitless.” Lake had a feeling that Araki might even know this and had withheld this little piece of news. Or perhaps Araki had been using Lake as bait on the hook he was using to fish for the bomb’s location.
“What are you going to do about it?” Harmon asked.
“I don’t know at the moment,” Lake said. “I have to think about it.”
“Well, while you ponder that,” Harmon said, “I do have to get back to the campus.”
Lake checked his watch and nodded. “I have someone I’m meeting there at three.”
Harmon drove out of the lot and headed back to Berkeley. She glanced over at Lake a couple of times. He knew she wanted to talk, but he was deep in thought.
“You’re troubled,” she finally said.
“Well, we just discovered that there might be an old atomic bomb tied off to the base of the Golden Gate Bridge,” Lake said. “I’d say that might be cause for concern.” He sighed. “I feel like I’m only seeing part of what’s going on here. Sort of like an iceberg — most of what’s happening is hidden from me.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Harmon said tentatively. “There’s some aspects of this that bother me beyond the idea that there might be an atom bomb sitting at the base of the bridge.”
“Such as?” Lake asked.
“The end of the war. I’ve been analyzing it with the added perspective of the Japanese having an atomic bomb.
Asking myself how that would have affected things that happened.”
“And what have you come up with?” Lake asked.
“It might explain some things that have puzzled historians, especially recently. Under the Freedom of Information Act, quite a bit of material on World War II has become unclassified and open for researchers to study. One of my colleagues recently published a book based on some of this information. He uncovered documents that indicated that the Japanese ‘and the Russians were conducting secret negotiations in June of 1945. They were going to split Asia between them. That would allow the Japanese to redeploy their Kwantung army in Manchuria — over a million troops — back to Japan to face the American invasion. My colleague stated that the documents he had access to said that the Soviets had very seriously considered the proposal.
“When I first heard of that, I thought it was almost as ridiculous as the story of a Japanese atomic bomb,” Harmon said. “I saw no reason for the Soviets to negotiate for what they could, and did, seize by force. But putting the two together, I see now that maybe the Japanese did have something to offer the Russians. Maybe they offered to split Asia between them without a fight and throw in the secret of atomic weapons at the same time. The Russians were already splitting up Europe at that time and looking ahead to their next enemy — the United States.”
“Jesus,” Lake said. He was staring at Harmon as they negotiated the streets of San Francisco. “Do you think that’s possible?”
Harmon’s hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I think it is. I think the dropping of our bomb on Hiroshima put an end to that, but I think the Russians would have been very tempted to get the secret of the atom from the Japanese and might have been willing to pay.a very high price for it. It might also explain why the Russians were so keen on occupying and keeping North Korea after the war was over.”
Lake felt a splitting headache, centered right between his eyes. They were turning onto the Bay Bridge, leaving San Francisco behind. “I don’t know, Peggy. This whole thing is so far beyond me, I can’t even begin to see all the angles and edges to it. Is anything the way it was in the history I was taught in school, or is it all just a bunch of lies and cover-ups and double-dealing?” “Depends if you want to look at the world as a good place or a bad place,” Harmon said.
“No,” Lake disagreed. “There is a truth under it all.”
“There may be, but it’s a truth no one will probably ever know. Even if you can find out exactly what happened, you can never be sure you know the why. And it’s the why behind an action that is key. That’s the trouble with being a historian.”
“But I’m not a historian,” Lake said. “I can try to find out.” He looked out the window at the water of the harbor below. “I can most certainly try to find out,” he whispered.
He felt her right hand slide over and touch his forearm. It slid down his arm until she had his hand. “I’ll help you as much as I can,” she said. She wrapped her fingers in his and they made the rest of the trip like that in silence.
“I believe I am getting tired of seeing you here,” Okomo said.
Nishin was tired of coming to the Japan Center. He felt like he was tied to the Yakuza’s coattail for information, but this was their country, not his. “I need to find where a phone number is.”
“You come to me for something as simple as that?” Okomo shook his head. “Have you never heard of a reverse directory?”
Nishin remained silent, not wanting to admit he hadn’t. He longed for this mission to be over and to be back in Japan where he understood the environment in which he worked.
“The number?” Okomo asked, his voice dripping with disgust.
Nishin repeated the number Jonas had given him and one of the men at Okomo’s side spoke into a phone. A few seconds later he wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to the old man. Okomo looked at it, then folded it and tossed it at Nishin’s feet. “There is the location of your phone. Is there anything else you need? Perhaps someone to wipe your chin after you eat?”
Nishin slowly bent down and picked up the paper. He locked eyes with Okomo.
“Take him out of here,” the old man said, not blinking. Two Yakuza grabbed Nishin’s elbows and hustled him to the staircase. As soon as he was gone, Okomo slowly walked to the elevator to his rear. It slid down into the earth and when the doors opened to the dim red light he stepped forward, head down.
“Nishin is going to the gun dealer’s last location.”
The voice that came out of the shadows behind the desk was no more than a rasp, a whisper of what might have once been something more. It was old, but beyond that little could be told of the owner of the whisper. Only Okomo of all the Yaku/a was allowed down here. “That is no longer important. The North Koreans have a trawler en route. It will arrive much sooner than I expected.
“The gun dealer’s superior is the one we want to be here and he is coming. Direct Nishin further so that he is where we want at the right time and most importantly so that word gets back to his superior that the stakes have risen and that time is short. Hold your men ready. As we planned, the clouds are gathering and the storm will break very soon.”
Okomo bowed at
the waist. “Yes, Oyabun.”
Lake briefed Araki as succinctly as possible about all they had found out, leaving out the detail of the bomb’s location. He felt that since the bomb was in American water, that was more his concern than Nishin’s. They were seated on a bench outside Wellman Hall, the sun shining brightly down on them. Students passed back and forth on the walkways all around.
“So the bomb might be here?” was the first thing Araki said when he was done.
“Yes,” Lake answered, feeling like he wasn’t holding too much back from the Japanese agent. For all he knew, Araki knew exactly where it was. “Somewhere off the coast. Maybe within three miles of the harbor.”
“And that is why the Koreans are coming,” Araki said. “This is very bad news.”
Lake frowned. “How would the Koreans know that, though? It wasn’t in the records that we found.”
“Maybe they have other information,” Araki said.
“What about the trawler?” Lake asked. “When is it due in?”
“Sometime after midnight and before dawn at its present course and speed.”
“And your stealth ship is still off shore?” Lake asked.
Araki gave a half-smile. “Perhaps.”
Lake had had enough. It was Feliks’s problem now. He stood up. “I don’t know what’s going on and it’s no longer my jurisdiction. I’m done with it.” “What do you mean?” Araki asked, surprised at his sudden movement.
“I’ve been relieved. My superior is coming here to take over the entire case.” “You did not tell him about me, did you?” Araki asked, concerned.
“No. But I’m done with it, so you’re on your own.”
Araki stood. “It was good to work with you.”
“Yeah, right.” Lake turned and walked away. After turning the corner, he went into a side door of Wellman Hall. Harmon was in her office, waiting for him.
“How did it go?”
Lake settled down onto the old battered couch next to a bookcase. “I told him what he needed to know but not about what we just found out. If nothing else happens, at least the Japanese will stop the Koreans from recovering the bomb.”
