“I have been told of your concerns in reference to your son and your wife. I regret to inform you that your son perished in the atomic attack on Hiroshima. There was no sign of him or your parents after the attack. Your family house was completely destroyed.”
Kuzumi had prepared himself for this. His face had betrayed nothing, although he felt the knife of truth cut the thread of hope he had held onto for so many years. Hope that had kept him alive in the dark hole of his cell and through the torture sessions.
“Your wife is also dead. As best we have been able to determine, she committed suicide after learning of the attack on Hiroshima and your son’s death.”
The second blow had landed on a dead heart. “Did she know of my imprisonment?” Kuzumi had asked.
“We informed her in the last message that we know she received that your plane had gone down and you were missing and presumed dead. In the same message we replied to her request about your son, confirming that he was lost.”
Poor Nira. Even now Kuzumi could well imagine her grief receiving two pieces of news in one message. Grief that she would have had to have borne alone among a country full of enemies. Grief that she could tell no one about.
“How did she die?” he had asked.
“We have a report that she jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge. The body was washed out to sea.”
All gone. All he had left was the Black Ocean. And now it was threatened. He looked at the wooden box that held all his memories. What had the Koreans found in their cardboard box? What memories were they delving into?
SAN FRANCISCO
TUESDAY, 7 OCTOBER 1997 9:48
p.m.
LOCAL
The proper papers had been filed and all was in order. The Am Nok Sung was cleared to leave San Francisco Harbor any time between 2200 and 2400 local time. The ship was 20,000 tons, less than mid-sized as oceangoing ships went. The forward deck consisted of several large hatches leading to refrigerated holds for the fish. At the rear a three-story bridge complex rose up, overlooking the ship.
The Am Nok Sung actually had a complement of twelve men on board whose only job was to indeed conduct fishing operations to maintain the ship’s cover and sail the ship. A platoon of North Korean Special Forces made up the rest of the crew. Minus the two men they’d lost on Yerba Buena Island, whose identity baffled San Francisco police, there were still sixteen combat-hardened men left on board.
They only had seven MAC-10s between them for firepower, but a black belt in a Tae Kwon Do was a requirement for every member of the North Korean Special Forces. When getting ready to depart on this mission it had been a most difficult decision to not bring their own weapons on board the ship. The platoon commander had demanded that he be allowed to bring weapons, but the overall mission commander in North Korea had overruled him. The American customs officials had too good of a record. A platoon of soldiers on board a ship with hidden weapons would have been a most unfortunate discovery. Thus, when the ship had come into port, customs had found nothing other than a very strange-looking crew; but there was nothing illegal about that.
There was a twenty-ninth man on board, neither soldier nor crew, who answered only to the platoon commander. This man was a linguist, fluent in English and Japanese, and he was currently locked in a room on the second floor of the ship’s bridge tower, three-quarters of the way back on the deck. The bridge and radio shack were one floor above him while the main quarters were one floor below. The twenty-ninth man, Kim Pak, had the box that so many people were now interested in sitting on the desk in front of him. He was going through it, one document at a time, reading carefully, looking for a couple of key items.
*****
In the center of San Francisco Bay, Nishin stood on the bridge of an old tugboat, watching the Am Nok Sung through a set of night-vision goggles. He could see the crew moving about the deck of the trawler.
“They will be leaving shortly,” Oyabun Okomo said. “We must follow until they clear the inner shoals.” He nodded toward the man standing inside the bridge at the wheel. “My friend Captain Ohashi says he will be able to follow with all lights off. He knows these waters quite well.”
“How will we get on board?” Nishin asked. “Oyabun,” he added after getting no immediate response.
“Leave that to me,” Okomo said. “You are paying but I command.” The old man smiled. “My men will make short work of those Korean pigs on board.”
Nishin glanced down at the deck of the tugboat where two dozen Yakuza toughs armed with automatic weapons waited. He had fought the Koreans at the university and fort. He’d seen what they’d done in the tunnel. They had been disciplined and professional. He knew it would not go as the Oyabun thought it would. That was fine with Nishin. Because in the end, he preferred no one, North Korean or Yakuza, came off the trawler alive.
*****
Lake grabbed the duffle bag out of the back of Araki’s van. “How’d you arrange for the chopper?” he asked as they walked down a set of stairs to the concrete landing pier built out over the harbor. A four-seat Bell Jet Ranger sat waiting, blades slowly turning.
Araki smiled and pulled out a small piece of plastic. “MasterCard Gold Card. No credit limit. I have promised the pilot a very generous bonus if he ignores whatever he sees tonight.”
“Your government treats its agents better than mine,” Lake said as he slipped into the back seat while Araki sat in the right front seat next to the pilot. He put a set of headphones on and pulled the boom mike in front of his lips as the blades increased velocity and the skids lifted.
As they swooped over water, Lake began emptying the contents of his duffle bag on the back seat.
*****
The Am Nok Sung rounded the northeast side of the San Francisco peninsula and the Golden Gate Bridge came into view. Fog was beginning to swirl about the top of the towers, slowly descending. The trawler slipped underneath the arch of the roadway.
Screws picked up speed. Going with the current, the Am Nok Sung was making good time, as was the tugboat that followed unseen. Point Bonita was several miles off to the right, not visible as the fog cut visibility down to under three miles.
“You can pay me all you like,” the pilot of the Jet Ranger announced, ‘ ‘but the fog rules out here. I can’t go any lower.”
The Am Nok Sung had been lost to sight just before going under the Golden Gate. They knew it was down there somewhere and by using navigational charts they could guess at the course which would follow the main shipping channel, but they couldn’t be sure of the speed.
“Any bright ideas?” Lake asked from the back seat. He was ready. He had a parachute on his back, a helmet with night-vision goggles attached on his head, a silenced MP-5 Heckler and Koch submachine gun strapped across his chest, and a wet suit on under all the gear. He’d gotten all the equipment from the Ranch drop site prior to meeting Araki. He was ready, but the weather wasn’t cooperating.
“Actually,” Araki said from the front seat, “I do.” He pulled his metal briefcase up and flipped open the lid.
“What’s that?” Lake asked, peering over the back of Araki’s seat.
“Direction finder,” Araki replied.
“You put a bug on the trawler?” Lake was impressed.
“No,” Araki said. “I have a bug in Nishin.”
“In Nishin?” Lake repeated. That brought two questions to mind and he asked the most immediate first. “Is Nishin on board the trawler?”
“No, but he will be soon. I intercepted some of his communications. I know he was in contact with the local Yakuza and they are providing him with assistance. They are following the trawler on board a tugboat. When they stop the trawler, this computer will tell us where both are. I am sure they will wait until the boat is outside the twelve-mile limit!”
Lake had to wonder at the extent of Araki’s intelligence net. The man knew more of what was going on than Lake did, and this was Lake’s turf. He asked the second question. “How did you get a bug in Nishin?”
“It is a long story,” Araki said. He turned and looked at Lake with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I must be allowed to keep some of my organization’s secrets.”
“Right,” Lake said, leaning back in the seat. He looked at the rear of Araki’s head as the man directed the pilot, keeping them in the air above the position the computer told him was Nishin’s location. Lake wondered if he had underestimated his Japanese counterpart. Lake could tell they were steadily moving to the west, out to sea, but all he could see below was a wall of white fog.
“Nishin is directly below us,” Araki announced, tapping the screen of the small computer on his lap.
“What’s our altitude?” Lake asked.
“Six thousand feet,” the pilot answered.
“Get us up to ten thousand,” Lake said. “How far out to sea are we?”
Nishin was working his computer. “I put us seven miles from the Golden Gate.”
“The fog’s not as thick this far out,” the pilot added.
Lake leaned over and looked down. There were patches of clear below. He could see the dark surface of the ocean here and there.
“Look!” Nishin said. “There, ahead. The Am Nok Sung.”
Lake followed Nishin’s finger. The running lights of a ship were visible about a half-mile ahead, then they just as quickly disappeared again into the fog. “Where’s Nishin?”
“Directly below. He’s closing on the trawler.”
“Next opening we get,” Lake said, “I’m going down. We can’t wait too much longer.” He felt the familiar thrill of pending action surge through his body. He checked the MP-5 one more time.
*****
The openings in the fog bothered Nishin. He was afraid they would be spotted. “We must take them now!” he insisted.
“We are not twelve miles out,” Okomo said.
“We are close enough,” Nishin said. “We wait any longer we will not be able to surprise them.”
Okomo pointed a finger forward and Ohashi pushed down on the throttle. The powerful engines increased revolutions and the tug’s stubby prow butted its way through the four-foot swell.
*****
“Here,” Araki said, handing what looked like a watch back to Lake. “Put this on.”
“What is it?” Lake asked, taking it.
“A homing device. I will be able to find you with my computer.”
Lake strapped it on his wrist.
“I’m not going to be able to pick him back up,” the pilot said, worry over the entire operation showing in the pitch of his voice. He had glanced back and watched Lake rig the parachute and gun and his enthusiasm had waned accordingly.
“You will not have to get involved. I will make other arrangements,” Araki said confidently. “There! She’s in the clear again.”
“I’m out of here.” Lake took off the headset. He pushed open the left rear door. Reaching with his feet, he found the skid. Holding onto the side of the doorframe, he stood on the skid, then dove outwards, assuming a perfect exit position, arms akimbo, palms down, back arched, head looking at the horizon. He waited a few seconds, then pulled the ripcord. The chute blossomed open and he quickly grabbed the toggles, to control the square canopy.
He could still see the Am Nok Sung on the open patch below and began a long, slow circle above it, descending all the while. As he was watching, a second ship appeared in the opening, less than two hundred feet behind the Am Nok Sung, then just as quickly the fog shifted and both were gone. Lake maintained his orientation and went down toward where he thought the ships would be when he reached ocean altitude.
Above him, Araki tapped the pilot on the shoulder and directed him to head to a location farther to the west.
“Ai!” Captain Ohashi cried out as they suddenly broke into clear air and the Am Nok Sung suddenly appeared a couple of hundred feet ahead. “Full reverse,” he hissed into the phone connecting him to the engine room. He rapidly spun the helm several revolutions to the right and the prow ponderously swung in that direction.
Every muscle in Nishin’s body was tense as he unconsciously tried to will the tug back into the protective covering of the fog. Okomo barked out a command and the Yakuza on deck trained their weapons on the rear deck of the trawler.
Just as quickly the Am Nok Sung was gone again, a line of white floating along its length and then the stern disappearing. Ohashi spun the wheel back right and ordered full thrust forward. “We will be on them in a minute,” the captain said.
Okomo turned and climbed down the short ladder to the front deck and Nishin followed. Several of the Yakuza held grappling hooks with knotted ropes attached to them.
Nishin pulled back the charging handle on his Steyr AUG. He put the stock into his shoulder and looked through the scope. Nothing but white ahead. He peered over the weapon.
A black wall appeared suddenly, thirty feet in front of them. Nishin snapped the weapon back into the ready position. The tug slid up to the left side of the ship and hooks were thrown.
A face looked over the side of the ship at the sound of metal hitting metal, and as the Korean prepared to call out an alert, Nishin settled the laser aiming dot on the center of the man’s face and lightly squeezed the trigger. A red flower blossomed where the man’s face had been and then it was gone. The piece of expended brass fell onto the deck plates at Nishin’s feet, the only sound the gun made. The first of the Yakuza were clambering up the ropes.
*****
Lake was disoriented. Not just as to where the Am Nok Sung and the tug were below him, but also vertically. He shifted his eyes from looking down to a quick glance at the altimeter on the navigation board strapped on top of his reserve. Four hundred feet above sea level. He was in the middle of a thick white soup with nothing to orient on.
“Shit,” Lake muttered. He braked hard, slowing his descent as much as possible, but no matter what he did, he was still going down.
*****
On board the Am Nok Sung the translator put the document he had just read in the completed pile and looked at the next one. His eyes froze as he read the heading:
DTG: 1 AUGUST MMS/1D0D HOURS TOKYO
FROM: IMPERIAL NAVY STAFF/COM-SUBGP
TO: COM/1 24/EYES ONLY
TEXT: PROCEED TO HUNGNAM-, KOREA-. AT FLANK SPEED TO TAKE ON CARGO. FURTHER ORDERS WILL FOLLOW
The translator turned the page and there it was: the further orders with the following day’s date, time, group. He read down the text of the document and sharply exhaled. He quickly copied the text of both messages onto a piece of paper. He sprang to his feet and ran for the radio room, the paper grasped in his hand.
*****
Nishin was working his way up the right side of the short rear deck, his destination the bridge. Whoever was in charge would be there and he had no doubt that not far from that person would be the documents.
A roar of automatic fire from one of the Yakuza signaled the outbreak of all-out combat on the deck of the trawler. At least they were all on board, was Nishin’s thought as he carefully aimed and killed a Korean on the wing of the bridge deck.
Nishin made it to the base of the three-story bridge complex and slowed down, edging his way along the steel wall. He had far outdistanced the Yakuza who were still making their way across the rear deck, embroiled in combat with a handful of Korean soldiers.
*****
Lake heard automatic fire below him and to the left. He pulled on the toggles and steered in the direction of the firing.