“Ah, we will soon undertake a media campaign to bring Japan’s — the world’s — attention to the forgotten deeds and sacrifices of our war heroes, men like my father and your grandfather. In their honor we will hold a rally at Yasukuni Shrine on the anniversary of the signing of the Pacific War peace treaty with the U.S.”
Kana inclined her head and smiled delicately. “Your loyalty to my family is a treasured resource. I value it above all things.”
After a short pause Tokugawa cleared his throat and with eyes sparkling said, “Your grandfather compared our heroes to the cherry blossoms of spring. He had a saying: ‘Better to fall to earth after a brief moment of glory than to bloom and wither with time.’ Our soldiers did not die in vain. They died for an emperor willing to risk his nation and his life for a cause he believed in.”
Kana nodded thoughtfully. “You asked me, Tokugawa-san, to undertake certain financial transactions. I do not presume to understand why you want me to do these things; I am only the instrument through which the transactions are consummated. However, I feel it is necessary to point out the enormous risks you will have assumed through these proposed actions in the financial and real estate markets.”
Tokugawa waved this aside. “I am fully aware of the risks. The portfolios, you have them with you?”
“Yes, for your review and approval. You will see that I have organized the real estate portfolios into blocks ready for market. Having taken out the equity, when the U.S. market goes to zero, you can go back in with inflated yen, perhaps as high as twenty percent, and re-purchase. Also, your stocks in U.S. companies and U.S. Treasury bonds are set for sale. The conversion of billions of U.S. dollars to Japanese Government Bonds can be completed with the push of a computer key. If you carry out this plan, you will have turned the world’s financial markets upside down overnight.”
“Then there is no risk involved at all. Am I not betting on what the Americans would say is a sure thing?”
In the bridge cockpit atop the Reno’s sail, Jake Scott and McCoy Jefferson watched a Navy tug warp the sub into a berth at Yokosuka. The enlisted phonetalker had communications with the tug’s skipper and relayed Deacon’s maneuvering orders between the two vessels. Below, on the Reno’s rounded hull, linehandlers prepared to heave their mooring lines to waiting hands on the pier. The tug’s screw churned the harbor water to a froth; the Reno slid sideways; the gap between her and the pier narrowed.
“Hell of a welcoming committee,” Deacon cracked as he leaned out from the cockpit to check on his submarine’s swing fore and aft, toward the pier’s thick, tarry pilings. All hands topside tried not to notice the ambulance, doubling as a hearse, along with its crew of three Navy corpsmen, waiting to receive Ramos’s body.
“Shit, we’ll have all the welcoming committee we can handle,” Jefferson said under his breath to Scott. “The General’ll have a ton of questions for us to answer during debriefing. Hell, we’ll be lucky to even see an O-club. Course you’re heading for Tokyo and some fun.”
Some fun, Scott thought. He gazed out over the glittering harbor, and beyond, the tank farms and structures sited around the sprawling naval base and its gray warships.
Scott knew he didn’t have the answers Radford wanted. And he didn’t see how what he had learned on Matsu Shan would help the JDIH put a name to the mystery man. He pictured Admiral Ellsworth blaming him for their failure to dig up more material, for setting off a firefight, for whatever else Ellsworth wanted to dredge up.
Maybe Jefferson was right, Scott mused — that he should have stuck to what he did best, driving submarines, not playing commando. He saw the two women dressed in black on Fat’s terrace, saw them blown away, and with them the young girl with an AK-47 that was too big for her tiny hands. He felt his stomach lurch. He pictured the White Dragon being blown away too.
Still, the trip to Tokyo would be an opportunity to see Fumiko and… He forced an image of Tracy from his mind: Stay away from her, he told himself, stay away.
The OOD barking orders to the linehandlers and the motion of the ship warping in snapped him back to the present. He turned to Jefferson and said, “Come on ashore, Colonel, I’ll buy you a drink at the O-club.”
Part Three
The Tokyo Express
26
Commander Tongsun Park ordered the Red Shark back to port. A day that had included maneuvers with warships of the Korean People’s Navy had turned sour. Poor performance by the Red Shark’s crew had angered Park: Officers manning the ship’s integrated fire control system had had to abort two live torpedo launches at the last moment due to confusion and error. Park, humiliated by the miscues, had received a savage dressing-down from Admiral Jung-en Woo, Commander West Coast Fleet, who had observed the Red Shark’s maneuvers while aboard a destroyer.
Park commanded the most modern and deadly submarine in the DPRK’s fleet. Based on a secret German design, the Red Shark had been built inside a hidden construction hall in Nam’po, using plans stolen by the DPRK’s SPF — Special Purpose Forces — from the Germans. Her construction and shakedown over a four-year period had proven how complicated and demanding a vessel she was. Park still didn’t fully comprehend the workings of her propulsion and combat systems.
The Red Shark’s propulsion system consisted of three components: a closed-cycle Thyssen diesel engine powered by liquid oxygen, argon gas, and diesel fuel; a lead acid battery set; and an air-independent propulsion — AIP — system. The AIP system utilized nine fuel cells filled with liquid oxygen and hydrogen reactants that produced electricity for low-speed cruising. For high underwater speeds, the Red Shark used her ultra-high-performance battery or the diesel engine itself.
Though Park had a hard time keeping the three components sorted out in his brain, he knew that new quieting technologies — rafted machinery platforms, elastic mounts for noise and vibration control — coupled to AIP made the Red Shark virtually undetectable. Add to that an ability to cruise submerged for over a month, and the Red Shark was the perfect instrument to carry out the mission assigned to her by Pyongyang.
Upon arrival in Nam’po, Park received another dressing-down from his squadron commander, a captain, who then handed Park a lengthy set of orders from Pyongyang. Park, in a black mood and sweating furiously from his ordeal, saw the label Most Secret attached to his orders, and also, in the originator box, a name he didn’t recognize.
“General Yi is an aide to Marshal Jin, the Dear Leader,” the captain explained.
Park read his orders and felt his mouth turn to cotton. “The Philippines?”
“Yes. The cargo you are to transport there will arrive here in four days.”
“But—”
“There is a problem?” The captain’s stony look cut Park like a knife.
“Comrade Captain, we, I—”
“Yes?”
“Sir, with respect, the crew of the Red Shark will need further training — at minimum another two weeks — if we are to undertake a voyage to the Philippines.”
“If you cannot make the necessary preparations in the time allotted, I will relieve you of command.”
Park knew there were no other skippers qualified to command the Red Shark. Still, he chose his words carefully, knowing that if he didn’t say what the captain wanted to hear, he could end up in a penal colony.