"We may have something here," Steve exclaimed when Susan Nakamura walked into the brightly lighted room at Hickam Air Force Base.
The FBI agent examined the aerial photographs spread around the table. The rest of the military reconnaissance photos were stacked on a desk next to Wickham.
"I've gone through all of these ships," Steve declared, "and we can eliminate everything except this one."
"It looks like a regular freighter to me," Susan murmured, "but I'm not an expert on ships."
Steve tapped a pencil on the bow of the merchant vessel. "I thought the same thing until the photorecon experts pointed out the crane strapped to the deck."
Susan studied the picture. "Oh yeah, I see where it's normally mounted."
"You can't see it from an angle, but from directly overhead it's easy to spot."
She looked up at Steve. "With the crane out of the way, you could easily land a small helicopter and then camouflage it with a tarp or something."
"Exactly."
Susan squinted at the picture of the ship's stern. "I can't make out the name."
"It's the Matsumi Maru number three," Steve explained. He handed her a sheet of information about the vessel. "I called the Coast Guard Port Operations and they put me in touch with the people who oversee the arrivals and departures."
"Let me guess," Susan said as she slumped into a chair. "The ship was docked in Honolulu until shortly before the JetRanger took off?"
Steve gathered the photographs together and shoved them over to Susan. "It sailed on the tide the day before they attempted to fly the helicopter offshore. The freighter and a skeleton crew had been in port for almost two months with purported mechanical problems."
Susan glanced at the pictures. "Where was the ship when they spotted it?"
"Approximately forty-five miles northeast of the northern tip of the island. About a twenty-minute flight if they had managed to pull off the escape."
"Do you have any idea" — she paused to examine the information page—"what course the ship is on or where it's headed?"
"Not really," Steve admitted, "but after a few conversations with some of the people who work at the docks, I found out she's registered in Singapore, and it's also her home port.
"I called the Port Authority in Singapore," Steve continued. "They told me the Matsumi Maru number three generally plied the waters of the South China Sea, but they wouldn't tell me who owned the ship. Something about not having the authority to supply any information about ownership."
Susan remained quiet for a few seconds. "It does seem coincidental that the ship left hours before they tried to fly the helo to another location."
"That's the way I see it," Steve agreed, then reached for another picture of the merchant vessel and studied it for a moment. "I think the next missing piece to this puzzle is in Singapore, and I'm heading there to see what I can find."
"I think you're right," Susan said and looked at the freighter. "I'll bet the Matsumi Maru three will show up there before too long."
Leaving Hickam Air Force Base, Steve followed Susan as they made their way toward Honolulu. He replayed the entire series of events relating to the attack on the tour ship and felt that he was overlooking a critical piece of evidence.
Steve turned off the air conditioner and rolled the windows down. He breathed in the fresh air and relaxed, letting his mind drift.
The afternoon traffic was beginning to become congested as they approached Ala Moana Park. Steve was intermittently glancing at Susan's car and watching the people in the park when he heard two loud reports.
Snapping back to the moment, he was shocked to see Susan's sedan swerve to the right and skid to a stop. He saw a silver Continental Mark VIII almost collide with a panel truck as the car turned in front of oncoming vehicles and sped down a side street.
Steve mashed the brake pedal and screeched to a halt behind Susan's car. He leaped out and immediately saw the shattered glass on the pavement. Susan had her Smith & Wesson drawn and was crawling out the passenger-side door when he reached her.
"What happened?" Steve exclaimed at the same time he saw the small cuts on Susan's neck.
"I was wrong," she gasped, "about the enforcer at the mansion — the guy who was driving the Pathfinder."
"You're talking about the bodyguard with the crew cut and chewed ear?"
"You got it," she declared wide-eyed. "Crew cut didn't go to Tokyo. He just tried to kill me!"
Steve looked in the sedan and saw that the window on the driver's side had been blown inward. The front seat and dashboard were covered with glass particles.
"Folks, please move along," Steve said to the onlookers and took Susan by the arm. "Are you okay?"
She dabbed at her neck and looked at the traces of blood on her fingertips. "I think so."
Susan cautiously looked over the hood and turned to Steve. "I only had a quick glance before I hit the brakes, but I'm positive it was the same guy."
"The enforcer," Steve said while he examined Susan's neck, "knows that we're the only ones who can identify him."
"That's right. He must have followed me to Hickam and never had an opportunity to get a clear shot until we left the base."
"Susan, did you drive to the ba—"
"That's it!" she interrupted when she remembered where she had seen the Continental. "The same car — the silver Mark eight — was pulling to a stop across the street from my home as I was getting into my car."
"You were set up by someone," Steve said caustically and looked up and down the boulevard. "Susan, call your office and give them the details, then have someone guard your home until we get there. We need to have a couple of agents stay at your place while we get hotel rooms under different names."
"No argument from me." She breathed heavily. "Something is very wrong with this picture."
"Yeah, and crew cut is getting information from someone, so we can't afford to tell anyone where we're staying."
"What we need to do," she declared in a firm voice, "is catch that sonuvabitch."
"I think we'll get our chance," Steve replied, then cautiously surveyed the streets and surrounding areas. "Only a high-risk taker would attempt something like this in broad daylight. The guy may not be very bright, but he's a professional hit man who won't give up."
"Well," Susan replied while she brushed herself off, "you certainly have a reassuring way about you."
He noticed long trickles of blood on the back and left side of Susan's neck. "The first thing we need to do is take you to the emergency room."
"No," she said emphatically, "I don't need to go to the hospital."
He gave her a disapproving look. "You have slivers of glass embedded in your neck."
Susan started to touch the nape of her neck, then stopped. Inside, she was criticizing herself for being so stupid. She had been carefully trained to pay attention to everything happening around her, and she had let her guard down.
"Okay, I'll go." She reached for her purse. "If I hadn't slammed on the brakes when I did, I could have rammed that sonuvabitch."
"Or," Steve countered softly, "he could have shot you."
Chapter 19
The President was vigorously pedaling his stationary bicycle when his Chief of Staff walked into the well-equipped exercise room. "What have you got?" he asked breathlessly.
Scott Eaglehoff took his usual seat near the rowing machine. "Holcomb told me the Agency is getting indications from many of their Asian sources that the hierarchy of Japan's industrial and financial giants are getting together for a major meeting in Tokyo."
The President flexed his legs. "I'm not surprised."
"The planning for these assemblages," Eaglehoff went on, "is usually extremely detailed, but this appears to be an emergency meeting of the enterprise group."