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.
18
Senator Herb Smith was nursing a raging hangover when his secretary poked her head in the door. “Morning!”
“Who the hell says?”
Heidi frowned, puzzled. She wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, Smith knew, and she couldn’t type to save her life, but she had a great pair of tits, so it was a fair trade.
“Did Senator Dean reach you?” Heidi asked. “He wants—”
“I know,” Smith said.
“He really needs the report on—”
“I heard you, Heidi. Get me a cup of coffee.”
“Sure,” Heidi chirped.
His hangover was only partially responsible for his foul mood. He’d spent the previous evening at Suzie’s apartment, listening to her commiserate with the characters of Melrose Place. As the end credits rolled, he slid his hand up her thigh. “Uh-uh, honey,” she said. “My friend is visiting.”
“Your friend? What the hell does that mean?”
“You know… that time of the month. I feel awful.”
“Well, Jesus, you could have told me that before I came over!”
“Well, I thought we could, you know, cuddle.”
“Cuddle? You’ve got to be kidding.”
Suzie pouted. “Herb, sometimes I think you only want me because I let you fuck me.”
“Let me?” he roared. “Is that what you said? Let me!”
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I—”
“Would that be anything like me letting you live here rent free?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it I just don’t feel good, Herb. Can’t we just sit and talk? You know, have some quality time?”
“Been watching Oprah again, I see. Okay, forget it.” He lay back on the couch. “Just give me a blow job, then.”
“Herb! I told you I don’t feel good!”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” He picked up his coat and stormed out.
At home, Judith was sitting in bed reading. He climbed in beside her and pressed himself against her hip. To his amazement, she said, “Not tonight, Herb,” rolled over, and turned out the light. Just like that — as though she were in charge.