Twenty minutes later the ship’s hull loomed up out of the darkness, and McGarvey reached out and touched it. He could feel the vibration of machinery through the bottom plates, probably a generator or generators supplying the ship with power.
A vessel this size never truly shut down unless she was in dry dock.
He followed the line of the hull to the bows, then turned away, to the right, coming at length to the anchor chain leading at an angle through the murk. Some of the light from the dock filtered a few feet down into the water, sparkling on the suspended particles of mud, like dust motes in sunlight.
Slowly he swam up the angle of the chain, breaking the surface ten or fifteen yards away from the looming white hull.
At this point he was practically invisible from the dock, but as soon as he started up the chain, anyone looking up from shore would be able to see him. There was no other way.
Careful to make absolutely no noise, he pulled off his BC vest and scuba tank, then unclipped his weight belt and draped it around the harness. It floated on its own until he opened a valve in the vest and released the air it contained and the entire assembly slowly sank.
He took off his fins and pushed them away, and, making sure that the strap holding his Geiger counter to his side was secure, started up the chain, one link at a time.
For the first three feet or so, he nearly lost his grip on the slimy chain several times, but when he reached the part that had never been in the water, or hadn’t been in the water for a long time, the going became easier.
Twice he stopped, holding himself absolutely still, stretched out along the chain as a security guard came to the edge of the dock and spit into the water.
The second time, the man looked up directly at McGarvey for several long seconds as he scratched himself, but then he turned away and walked back out of sight.
At the top, McGarvey was just able to squeeze his way through the hawse hole onto the bow deck, behind a thick bollard, where he crouched in the relative darkness.
His leg and arm were throbbing, and it felt as if some of his stitches had broken open. He thought he might be bleeding.
Five decks above and forward of midships the bridge was lit up, and as he watched he could see several people moving around.
It was possible, he thought, that the parts for the nuclear device had already been delivered and assembled, and would be transported aboard this boat to wherever Fukai intended on igniting it. It would mean the target would probably be somewhere on the U.S. West Coast.
But it would take ten days or more for the ship to make that distance. And somehow McGarvey didn’t think Fukai would be willing to wait that long. Because of what had happened to the STASI on Santorini, and what had happened up in Tokyo, the Japanese billionaire had to realize that someone would come poking around his operation sooner or later. Every hour he had possession of the bomb parts, especially the weapons-grade plutonium or uranium, he was risking detection.
McGarvey unzipped the front of his drysuit, took out his Walther and cycled a round into the firing chamber.
Next, he unsealed the camera case and took out the Geiger counter. He flipped on the switch, but there was no reading above ambient on the dial, nor had he expected any. If the bomb material was here, it would be well enough shielded to avoid detection except at close range.
Certain that no one on the well-lit bridge deck would be able to see him down on the dark foredeck. McGarvey darted out from behind the bollard and took the first hatch into the ship.
What he needed now was to find a crewman willing to give up his uniform.
Chapter 72
The Fukai shuttle helicopter touched down on the rooftop landing pad of the headquarters building around midnight. As the rotors began to slow down, a crewman opened the hatch, fitted the aluminum steps over the edge and helped Liese Egk climb down. He’d stared up her short skirt all the way down from Tokyo’s Narita Airport, and his hand shook when he touched the bare flesh of her arm.
She smiled back up at him when he passed down her single bag. “Domo arigato,” she said.
“Do itashimashite,” the young man said breathlessly.
“Your charms are still intact, I see,” someone said, coming from the elevator alcove.
Liese turned as Endo, still dressed in a crisp suit and tie, came across the pad.
He said something in Japanese in a very sharp tone to the crewman, who immediately answered,
“Hai,” and closed the hatch.
“I assume all of our shipments arrived on time and intact,” she said, coldly.
“Yes, we are most pleased. Now, I imagine, you have come here to arrange for payment.
Your situation must be very difficult after Santorini.”
“We are reorganizing. Within the month we will be ready to accept new assignments.”
“What about Ernst? How is he faring?”
“I killed him.”
“I see,” Endo replied, smiling faintly. “It must leave you short-handed.”
“Besides my couriers who made deliveries…
“They have been eliminated,” Endo interrupted, but instead of reacting the way he thought she might, Liese continued smoothly.
“Besides the couriers, I have twenty frontline officers, plus the usual network.
We lost some very good people in this operation, but of course we expected as much.
It is one of the reasons, as you may recall, that you agreed to pay so dearly.”
Endo had to admire the woman’s coolness. It was almost a pity, he thought, that she would have to die tonight.
He took her bag, and pointed the way toward the elevator, but she stepped back a half pace.
“You first,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to get lost.”
Endo stared at her for several long seconds. He could take out his pistol and kill her, here and now. Fukai-san understood the danger she presented. But she reached inside her shoulder bag, as if for a compact or a handkerchief… or a gun… and he forced a smile.
“No, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you,” he said, and he led the way across the landing pad to the elevator and held the door for her.
“I’ll stay the night,” Liese said on the way down. She took a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her nose. “We can conclude our business in the morning and I will be out of Japan by noon.”
“You may stay the evening, of course, but we’ll have to make our business arrangements immediately. Unfortunately Mr. Fukai leaves for Paris first thing in the morning.”
“That’s just as well. Your shuttle can take me back to Narita.”
“Yes, of course.”
The elevator opened to a broad empty corridor of very low ceilings, scrubbed wooden floors and rice paper sliding doors. Traditional Japanese music played softly from hidden speakers, and from somewhere they could hear the sound of water gently splashing as if on rocks at the bottom of a small waterfall. The fragrant odor of incense was on the pleasantly warm, moist air.
Near the far end of the corridor, Endo slid open a rice paper door and went in. The room was sparsely furnished as a tea place or as a waiting area in a traditional Japanese home. Putting her bag down, Endo went to the sliding doors along the opposite wall and opened them onto a broad rock garden, beneath a fake sky that was made to look like dusk, just after sunset or just before dawn. Water tumbled down a pile of rocks that rose at least thirty feet into the sky, falling into a pool in which a dozen large golden carp lazily swam. The sandy areas had been carefully raked, and a cedar tub filled with steaming water was ready on the broad, low veranda. Even birds were singing.