“Exactly, and that narrows the field down to a few hundred thousand cars.”
“Would they need a truck to carry the explosives?”
Harris smiled. “Good question, and the answer is no. It’s shockingly easy to derail a train, and only a little bit of dynamite would be needed to blow up a track and set the whole calamity in motion. It could all be carried in a suitcase with plenty of room left over to stuff in some underwear and socks.”
“So what now?”
“Since they’ve started up, we can assume two things. One, they’ll do it again, which means stepped-up security and patrols, and that means your navy as well as the army. We don’t know if these guys have access to any military bases or not, or whether they’ll strike closer to San Diego or farther away. In short, we don’t know much at all.”
Dane shrugged. “What else is new? Knowing little is standard with the navy.”
“Same goes where I work. However, Dane, we must also assume that someone’s in charge and has to report his successes back to the Reich so they can inform the Japanese, if he is indeed trying to help out the little sons of Nippon. In order to report, he must be using the mail, telephone, or telegraph, or shortwave radio. Mail’s too slow and telegrams can be monitored. International mail can be opened, too, but don’t tell anybody that. We can have operators listen in on international phone calls, although we haven’t been paying all that much attention to calls from the U.S. to other countries.”
“Obviously, that’s going to change.”
“Absolutely. Therefore, we think he will start to use shortwave. If he stays on the air long enough, we can locate him, but odds are he won’t. He could set up a transmitter, broadcast for a minute or two at a prearranged time, and shut down quickly without us being able to find him.”
“What if he uses messengers, couriers, to go back and forth across the border and send their reports from Mexico?”
Harris paused thoughtfully. “Another good question, but I don’t think so. My gut says that would take too long, and also leave him or his messenger open to getting caught.”
“You paint a depressing picture, Agent Harris.”
“Indeed I do, Commander Dane. So far, we’ve told the public that this was a tragic accident that we are routinely investigating because of interstate commerce implications and all that bull-crap. If he strikes again, like at a civilian installation, and if the public realizes it’s sabotage, we could have a genuine panic on our hands.”
Dane thought of Amanda and her friends coming down to San Diego from San Francisco. A well-placed bomb could destroy a passenger train and all its occupants as easily as a freight train. Where the hell was she, and why didn’t she make it down to him? And what was so important about her journey to California that she couldn’t tell him?
Lieutenant Commander Lou Torelli’s new sub was a Salmon-class boat built in 1939. Named the U.S.S. Shark after a sub of the same name that had been lost earlier in the year, she carried a crew of ninety, and was larger and faster than his previous sub. She carried twenty-four torpedoes, which could be fired from eight tubes, with four each located at the bow and stern. The Shark had a three-inch gun on her deck and four machine guns to fight off enemy aircraft. Torelli, however, had no intention of being on the surface long enough so that enemy planes could either find or attack him. He’d learned that lesson transporting people from Hawaii to San Diego. He’d been lucky once. He would not count on luck again.
Like most smaller warships, the Shark had no radar, which many still considered unreliable anyhow. Until radar was perfected, most sailors preferred a wide-open eyeball to unproven technology. Torelli was reasonably confident that no Japanese ships or planes carried radar either, although there were rumors that the Japs did have knowledge of it and were building sets. It was yet another blow to Anglo-American egos. The Japanese were too primitive to understand radar, it had been thought. Another stupid miscalculation, he thought ruefully.
Even though fairly new, the Salmon-class subs were already being outclassed by newer categories of subs that were being built by the dozen. Soon, it was joked, subs would have to be outfitted with old tires on their hulls because there would be so many of them they’d be bumping into each other while underwater.
He had the dismal feeling that this patrol was his punishment for complaining about the quality of U.S. torpedoes. The powers in the navy’s Bureau of Ordnance in Washington had accused him and other sub captains of incompetence or cowardice and insisted there was nothing wrong with their damn torpedoes. It was a debate that now raged far above his pay grade.
Perhaps in order to get him out of the sight of BuOrd, his patrol area included the waters off the Cook Inlet and the Gulf of Alaska to its south. Rear Admiral Charles Lockwood had recently arrived from Australia to head up the submarine force in place of the ailing Admiral Thomas England. Torelli and other submariners felt that Lockwood was a stern fire-breather, but a man who would be sympathetic to the needs of submariners and would fight hard for them.
The Shark was at periscope depth and creeping along to keep any wake from the periscope to a minimum. The day was gray and bleak with pockets of fog obscuring their view. Torelli wished he did have radar. In the lousy weather, the Japs could be a few hundred yards away and nobody’d know. Of course, the Japs wouldn’t either, but he was not going to risk running on the surface just so he might be able to see a little better.
Torelli had turned the periscope over to his XO, Lieutenant Crowley, who was peering intently through it. “What do you make, Ron?” Torelli asked genially.
“Visitors for Anchorage, Skipper. I make two Jap heavy cruisers and six destroyers all escorting at least half a dozen transports.”
They’d spotted the enemy force a half hour earlier as gray shapes moving through the intermittent fog. The Japanese ships were well out of range and Torelli was torn between the need to try an attack and his duty to inform the brass of his discovery. He decided to do both. Catching up to the convoy was out of the question. They had too much of a head start. He would wait until they were out of sight, surface, and send off a message. After that there might be the opportunity to seek out and hit the Japs where it hurt. Right now, the Japanese commander was skillfully keeping his convoy against the shore with the warships protecting their port flank.
Torelli did not entirely agree with Crowley. “Not only am I better looking than you, my eyes are sharper, young Lieutenant. I make two heavy cruisers and one light along with five destroyers. No, change that. I see another light cruiser. If my math is correct, that makes nine of the fuckers heading straight for Anchorage.”
Crowley whistled softly. According to his latest copy of Jane’s, a Japanese heavy cruiser generally carried eight-inch guns. “Lord, Skipper, one of them would look great on our trophy rack, although we’d need a helluva big trophy rack.”
Torelli didn’t respond. He had some decisions to make. If he decided that the transports were the more valuable targets; he’d have to shoot his way past the cruisers and destroyers to get at the transports. He wondered what important materiel the transports carried to make them worthy of such a strong convoy. Planes, artillery, more troops, supplies, and all of the above came to mind, and there was no way he could close the distance in time. He swore. So much materiel would soon be landed to reinforce the invasion of Alaska before he could do anything about it.
As soon as he could he surfaced and sent a detailed message. He stayed on the surface to recharge his batteries. Torelli had the nagging feeling he was going to need them fully charged soon. Bad torpedoes or not, he wanted to strike back at the Japs.