Japan
Two hours after midnight, Tanner and Cahil lay hidden in the undergrowth watching the shipyard through binoculars. Earlier, dark clouds had rolled over the Inland Sea, and now a cold rain was falling. Fog horns drifted across the water.
That morning, they had rented the dive gear and old skiff from a Mugi shop owner. Just after sunset, they left the shop, drove up the coast to the Anan peninsula, where they parked on a deserted fire road. From there they carried the skiff to the opposite shore and waited for nightfall.
Ideally, their minimum equipment loadout for this kind of penetration would have included an SDV (swimmer delivery vehicle), night-vision equipment, H&K MP-5 assault rifles, and a pair of LAR V bubbleless rebreather tanks. But they had neither the time nor the resources for such a wish list. Tanner’s greatest concern was their bubble trail, but the rain would take care of that, cloaking their approach and rendering the patrol boat’s searchlights almost useless.
The weather also brought a downside. The water temperature was sixty-five degrees, not numbingly cold, but still thirty-three degrees below their core body temperatures. Barring any glitches, they would be in the water less than three hours, but even in full wet suits, the cold would immediately begin to sap their bodies of heat and energy.
To reduce this risk, they planned to take the skiff part of the way, cutting the distance to the sea fence by two miles—or about an hour’s swim in the crosscurrent. Once at the gate, they could remain submerged for an hour before having to turn back.
Tanner watched the patrol boats finish their tour of the fence and return back through the gate. “Okay, they’re through.”
Cahil nodded and set the bezel on his watch. “Shall we?”
“Let’s get wet.”
An hour and ten minutes later, Tanner checked his watch and wrist compass, then gave the buddy line two jerks. Cahil swam out of the darkness to join him. Twenty-five feet above, the water’s surface bubbled with rain.
They put their masks together for a face check. In the green glow of their watches, Bear was grinning broadly; Briggs felt the same. This is what they did best. Despite the absolute blackness, the water felt safe. It was a world without edges, where up/down/left/right could become meaningless unless you kept a grip on your mind. Tanner had seen otherwise hard, unflappable veterans panic in such conditions. Without its everyday reference points, the human mind begins to feed on itself, magnifying fears and sowing doubts. Until they were moving again, he and Bear would stay in constant physical contact.
You okay? Tanner mouthed.
Cahil nodded and gave a thumbs-up. You?
Tanner nodded back. He gestured ahead, made a clam-shell with his hands, then pointed to himself: Checking the sea fence. He returned in thirty seconds and gave a thumbs-up. They were in position.
Now they waited.
It wasn’t long before they heard the muffled whine of propellers approaching the sea gate. The sound faded and was replaced by the chugging of engines. Garbled voices called to one another, followed by a metallic clank as the latches were released. A moment later, Tanner felt a surge as the gate swung outward.
Knowing it would remain open only long enough to let the boats through, he and Cahil had decided against trying to dash through. That left piggybacking. A trip to a local glazier had provided the necessary tools.
Once the boats exited the gate and peeled away to their respective fence lines, spotlights came to life, knifing through the water and illuminating the boat’s hulls. With Cahil following, Tanner finned toward the nearest boat.
Each armed with a pair of glazier’s tongs—dual suction cups on U-shaped handles—they swam hard until they were alongside the hull. Tanner mounted his tongs along the keel line, while at his feet, Cahil did the same, then scooted forward, locking Tanner’s legs against the hull. The illuminated fence skimmed by Tanner’s head.
After another five minutes, the boat turned back and headed for the gate. Tanner heard the latches clank open, followed by the groan of steel. The boat surged forward, then stopped. Flashlight beams tracked along the waterline, then clicked off, and the boat started forward again.
Three hundred yards into the cover, Tanner felt a squeeze on his calf. Ian was disengaging. Tanner waited a few seconds, then dropped away. They joined up, and Tanner checked the compass: Dock 12 was about a quarter mile away, bearing 282. They started swimming.
The hanger door loomed before them. Tanner touched it: heavy-gauge steel. He jerked his thumb downward. They finned to the seabed, clicked on their penlights, and groped until they found the door’s lower lip. Here Tanner found the break he’d been betting on: The shipyard’s designers had failed to seat the hangar doors on a concrete foundation.
Using garden trowels, they started digging.
When the hole was large enough, Tanner wriggled under the door, then turned left and swam until his fingers touched concrete. He finned upward and broke the surface under the pier. Cahil came up a moment later.
The dock was cavernous, measuring some 700 feet deep, 200 feet wide, and 300 feet to the vaulted ceiling. The waterway was bordered by a pair of concrete piers on which sat forklifts, cranes, and equipment sheds. Along the walls, stretching into the distance like runway markers, were dim yellow spotlights.
Looming over them was a ship’s bow. A pontoon scaffolding floated beside the half-painted hull, and tarps and electrical lines drooped over the edge of the forecastle.
Cahil whispered, “Your choice, bud,”
“You take the ship, I’ll search the rest of the dock,” Tanner said. “We’ll meet on the bridge in twenty minutes.”
At the rear of the dock, Tanner found a raised booth containing radio equipment and controls for the ventilation, lighting, and the main doors. In the corner was a locked filing cabinet, which he picked open. Inside he found a spiral notebook. Its contents were written in Kanji. It was obviously a log, but aside from a few headings such as Dock Number, Date, Time, and Destination, it was beyond his translation skills. Two words caught his eye, however: Toshogu and Tsumago. Which had they seen leave the other night? He flipped pages until he came to the correct entry: Departure Time, 0100—Toshogu.
He photographed entries for the past six months, returned the log to the cabinet, and left.
The ship Tanner now knew to be called Tsumago measured 350 feet from bow to stern and 60 feet from beam to beam. As ships went, she was a fireplug. Her two-story superstructure housed a glass-enclosed bridge and overhanging wings. Between the pilothouse and smokestacks stood a mainmast, much of its latticework covered in tarpaulins.
He took the easiest, if least covert way aboard by trotting up the midship gangplank. He found Bear on the bridge, studying the wave guide, the vertical conduit containing the intestines of the ship’s radar system.
“Anybody aboard?”
“No,” Cahil said. “I tell you this, bud, this ain’t your ordinary cargo ship.”
“How so?”
“This, for one thing. It belongs on a battleship, not a banana hauler. Hell, there’s enough conduit here to handle power for both air and surface search.”
“Civilian?”
“Military. OPS-eighteen or twenty-eight at least. Here, look at this.”
Cahil pulled aside a curtain on the aft bulkhead, revealing a small alcove containing two radar scopes and what looked like an ESM (electronic surveillance measures) console.
“Serious hardware,” Tanner said. “How about the mainmast?”
“Climbed it. There’s nothing under the tarp. Here’s something else.”
Cahil walked to the hatch and pointed to exposed bulk-head lining. “Kevlar, an inch thick.”
Kevlar was a DuPont product famous for its bullet-resistant characteristics. A quarter inch of it could stop a .44 Magnum round. Despite outward appearances, Tsumago was not a run-of-the-mill cargo ship. She was a floating tank.
“Look at this hatch,” Tanner said. “The hinges are mounted on the inside; impossible to pop from the outside. Christ, she’s siege proof.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Have you checked the rest of the ship?”
“And let you miss out on the fun? No way.”
Tanner smiled. “You take engineering, I’ll cover the rest.”
They met back in the pilothouse armed with sketches and two rolls of film between them. Cahil opened his mouth to speak, but Tanner shook his head and pointed out the window. On the pier, a pair of security guards stopped at the gangplank and started up, their flashlights playing over the superstructure.
“Time to go,” Tanner whispered.
They made their way down to the forecastle and shimmied down the mooring line to the pier, where they slipped back into the water. Once back in their dive gear, they ducked under, squeezed back under the hangar door, and finned to the surface.
The shipyard was quiet. In the distance, the spotlights on the guard shack reflected off the water. The rain and wind had picked up.
“How long before our ride?” Cahil asked.
Tanner checked his watch. “Twenty-five minutes.” They were both tired and cold, but if they kept moving, they would be okay. He glanced at Cahil, got a broad I’m with you grin in return, and reminded himself how lucky he was to have him along. There was no one better in a storm.
“Last one to the gate buys Irish coffee?” Tanner asked.
“Deal.”
They reached the hotel just before sunrise. Tanner stopped at the main desk to check messages. There were none. “But a woman has been waiting for you, sir.”
“Where?” he asked.
“On the pool patio. She insisted on waiting.”
He found Sumiko asleep in a patio chair. His first instinct was to turn around and sever all contact with her. Takagi had them under surveillance, and while they had so far managed to shake the watchers, Sumiko was a different matter. Takagi had already killed one person and possibly dozens more. What was another?
Sumiko opened her eyes. “Briggs?”
“What is it, Sumiko? Is everything all right?”
“The engineer you were asking about … He’s disappeared.”
“When was he last seen?”
“Four nights ago. No one has seen him since, either at work or home.”
Four nights ago, Tanner thought. The same night Toshogu sailed.