Honorable Enemies (1994) (20 page)

Susan gave Wickham a questioning look. "How'd you get so much influence with the Pentagon? You're the only person I know who can get the military to jump through hoops with a simple request."

"Well," Steve replied with a faint grin, "I got lucky on a couple of difficult field assignments, then unlucky enough to get some notoriety in high places."

"Amazing," she responded with a shake of her head. "You make it look easy."

"Trust me, it isn't as easy as it seems. Getting the military to move on a moment's notice takes a lot of groundwork and a few persuasive words from the White House don't hurt."

"Clean," a laboratory technician announced as he entered the room. "This place is antiseptically clean. They were well organized and didn't leave much to go on when they split."

"The only glitch in their plan," Steve offered with obvious satisfaction, "was that we stumbled across their hiding place before the helicopter was gone."

"That's true," the technician chimed in and looked around the unique hangar. "Once this place was restored to the guest house facade, you'd never know, with just a casual look, that it was once used as a hangar."

Steve nodded in agreement and looked around the interior of the hangar. "They may have had plans for more airborne attacks--under the cover of darkness or in military camouflage--until someone tipped them off that we were on the trail."

"Yeah, you're probably right." The man smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Somebody has been dreamin' in Technicolor, big time."

"The thing that just doesn't fit," Susan began slowly and looked at Steve, "is why would these Japanese be involved in shooting innocent Japanese? Who would go to all this trouble and risk this expensive home to kill their own people?"

Steve watched her law muscles tighten. "If you're right, and
I think you are, they used a Caucasian to actually commit the attack. So I think--"

"They did it," Susan interrupted with anger in her voice, "to set the Japanese people against the Americans."

Wickham saw the anger in her eyes.

"Susan," he said compassionately, "we should know who owns this place fairly soon. I expect the pieces will start falling into place in a couple of days."

"I sure as hell hope so," she said with a trace of skepticism. "Because we don't have much to go on. We have the remains of the helicopter that we believe was used in the attack, we have the body of the pilot we think flew the attack, the other guy in the helo shot at us, this place looks suspicious as hell, and it wouldn't surprise me if we never see the 'house-sitter' again."

"Relax," Steve said lightly and looked around the room. "He'll turn up."

She ignored the comment and walked to a window overlooking the tennis court.

"With what we have right now," Susan complained, "a good lawyer could shoot holes through the whole scenario."

"You may be right," he reluctantly admitted, "but we've got to focus on the loose ends and pursue them until we get some straight answers."

"You're right," she asserted with renewed enthusiasm. "Why don't you follow up on the air search while I see what I can uncover through the island grapevine?"

Steve saw that special gleam return to her eyes. "What have you got in mind?"

"I want to locate the son of--" Susan paused to select a more ladylike response. "I want to locate the individual who rammed my car and find out who owns this place."

Chapter
17.

Tadashi Matsukawa awakened with a start, then closed his eyes and let the events of the previous evening slowly drift through his aching head. After the exhausting eleven-and-a-half-hour flight from Los Angeles, he had been totally inebriated when he lurched out of the first-class section and made his way to his limousine.

His chauffeur, who had learned not to attempt a conversation with Matsukawa when he was drunk, silently drove him to the hotel. A second car would bring his luggage while his driver left to fetch Matsukawa's usual lover.

He clearly remembered the sensuous and attractive hosutessu from the exclusive and very private kara oke bar. Michiko was a lithe and sexually stimulating hostess who always made herself available for Matsukawa. He had tried to persuade her to be his only sexual partner by offering her an expensive apartment to live in and a generous allowance, but Michiko, who thoroughly enjoyed the wild nightlife and her wealthy boyfriends, had repeatedly turned down the industrialist's offers.

Although Michiko knew Matsukawa was a selfish lover who sometimes manhandled her, she always returned to his bed in the lavish suite he maintained at the Imperial Hotel. Spendin
g a
night with the wealthy businessman provided her more income than she could earn in a week at the exclusive club.

He looked at the lighted clock on the nightstand and rubbed his aching temples while the memories and sensations slowly returned. Michiko had left a few minutes before sunrise and Matsukawa's weary chauffeur had driven her home.

Between the jet lag, Michiko's boundless sexual energy, and the endless sips of warm sake, Matsukawa had slept longer than usual. There was much to accomplish today, and he was getting off to a late start.

In less than a week he would be entertaining some of the most powerful and affluent businessmen in Japan. A quartet of young, carefully selected geishas would relax Matsukawa's guests with songs, dances, and conversations ranging from history to contemporary gossip. Geisha means "art person," and training for the unique profession, which has been a part of the Japanese culture since the 18th century, begins early with a demanding apprenticeship.

The attractive women also play a string instrument known as a shamisen, and they serve rice wine to help the men unwind. After an appropriate period of time, the geishas would quietly slip away, and the power brokers would be free to discuss the future of Japan.

Matsukawa intended to focus on the concerns of the present and former prime ministers in regard to the escalating fears about the United States. He felt confident that he could convince the leaders of Japan to coalesce and back the Prime Minister in his upcoming discussions with the Americans.

Matsukawa knew that he would have to pound home his message to a few of the fainthearted: Japan must chart her own course and be accepted on an even keel by the United States, including militarily. The Japanese could no longer afford to be the junior partner to the lazy, illiterate, and inefficient Americans.

Once he convinced the cartel members, including the leaders of the Big Four Japanese securities firms, to follow his vision of the future, it would be easier to persuade Prime Minister Genshiro Koyama to take a firm stand and not back down from the arrogant Americans.

After he called room service and ordered vinegared octopus and broiled chicken with rice, Matsukawa opened the drapes and gazed at the Marunouchi business district, where his main offices were located.

He turned and started for the bathroom a moment before the phone rang. Not in the best of moods, he snatched the phone from its cradle. "Matsukawa."

"This is Mishima. Are you alone?"

"Yes," he replied with a visceral feeling of apprehension. "What's wrong?"

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

Matsukawa started to reply and the connection went dead.

Mishima Takahashi was his closest and most loyal business partner. He was the man responsible for structuring the resort hotels along Tumon Bay on Guam, then overseeing them to completion. Takahashi was a key ingredient in the tremendous growth and success of Matsukawa's vast empire.

The warm, yellow-pinkish sun was just beginning to peek over the lush mountaintops when Steve Wickham reached for his copy of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin & Advertiser. Bold headlines and pictures of the crashed helicopters dominated the front page and most of the first section.

Opening to the second page, Steve's eye caught another article capped with bold type.

Associated Press

WASHINGTON -- The Air Force said Wednesday it was temporarily relocating the fighter squadrons of the 432nd Fighter
Wing attached to Misawa Air Base, Japan. The F-16 aircraf
t w
ill be dispersed to the 18th Fighter Wing at Kadena Air Force Base, Okinawa, and to the 8th Fighter Wing at Kunsan in South Korea.

Pentagon sources indicated the sudden move was due to security reasons stemming from the recent crash of an F-16 at Misawa. The air-superiority fighter reportedly was hit by a surface-to-air SAM missile shortly after takeoff. White House officials have yet to deny or confirm the story.

"You're up bright and early." Susan smiled as she approached the outdoor table near the swimming pool.

Steve quickly folded the paper and rose to greet her. "Good morning."

"Ohayoo gozaimasu," she replied and sat down across from him. "Marcus is doing well and resting comfortably." "Great. Can we see him today?"

"I'm sure we can," she answered and looked at a note she had scribbled for Callaway. "His wife will be arriving later today, so he'll be in good hands."

"That's a relief."

"It sure is. The doctor told me that he'll be able to return to Chicago in a couple of days."

"I'll miss him," Steve said with a glimmer of emotion, "but I'm just glad he's okay. It could have been a lot worse."

"True. He was lucky this time." Susan eyed Steve's handsome face for a moment. "Any news, about the military search?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid."

He offered her a cup of hot tea from the urn sitting on the table. "Have you made any headway?"

"A little." She sipped the warm tea. "But I have a strange feeling about this entire incident."

Steve gave her a knowing look. "Like we're caught in a house of mirrors, and someone--someone close enough to reach out and touch us--is watching our every move?"

"Exactly." Susan was surprised by Steve's perception. "The real ownership of the house is totally submerged in a sea o
f c
orporations and assorted holding companies. Someone has gone through a tremendous amount of trouble and expense to disguise the actual owner."

Steve shoved his cup aside and leaned forward. "Someone who has so much money that they could afford to walk away from a mansion in Hawaii. . . ."

Susan nodded and looked him in the eye. "Someone who wanted to incite the Japanese people and stretch to the limit the already fragile U
. S
.-Japanese relationship."

He could tell that something was bothering her. She was tense and preoccupied.

Steve let his gaze travel to the paper. "I see that the car that rammed us was found near the entrance to the Polynesian Cultural Center."

"That's right," she replied and reached into her attache case for her copies of the FBI reports. "Their suits were found in the car, so they obviously changed into casual clothes and probably blended in with a tour group to get transportation back to Honolulu."

"Yeah," Steve said to himself, "that makes sense."

"After that it was easy. Just a routine cab ride to the airport and they were off to Tokyo."

Steve was puzzled. "The law enforcement officials had their descriptions. They couldn't miss the guy with the mangled ear, and the airport was swarming with cops and FBI agents. Didn't they check any IDs?"

"No." The tone of resentment in her voice was tempered by her usual pleasantness. "Our people were told not to inconvenience any Japanese tourists unless they were absolutely certain they had the individuals who were in the Nissan."

Steve closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. "No, we sure wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone."

"The local police," she went on without showing any emotion, "were even more touchy about offending the Japanese." "Money?"

"Yes. On the average"--Susan paused while two Japanese women and their children walked past the table--"a millio
n d
ollars is pumped into the economy every time a Japanese airliner touches down here, so most local people are sensitive about maintaining good relations with the people who happen to have the money."

Steve decided to keep his thoughts about the local economy to himself. "Why are you so sure they went to Tokyo?"

She slid some photocopies to him. "Our people have done a great job, but they ran into a dead end. The car lease was signed by the same person who signed the papers for the house. The handwriting was identical. Everything was handled in cash and they used phony names. However, the certified funds for the house came from a bank in Tokyo, so that's where I think we should concentrate our efforts."

"Interesting."

Susan glanced toward Diamond Head before she continued the conversation. "The account at the Tokyo bank, which was under another bogus name, was closed the day after the attack on the tour ship."

Steve leaned back in his chair and wearily shook his head.

"This whole thing is bizarre," he said, thinking out loud. "Who would go through all the associated risks involved in attacking a tour ship in broad daylight at Pearl Harbor, especially when it's full of people of the same nationality? It just doesn't track--at least in my mind."