Rising Sun (38 page)

Which was why he found himself bobbing up and down in a stinking little fishing boat off the city of Mazatlan and trying not to speak with the boat’s filthy, foul-mouthed, and sweaty captain any more than necessary. Fishing was a major industry in the area and the Gulf of California teemed with fish, including manta rays and numerous species of whales. Escobar cared nothing about the fish. All he wanted to do was get back to his home in Mexico City, have a drink, and have his mistress visit. He had flown to Mazatlan by private plane and had hoped to take the plane over the area where the American ships were said to be hiding, but his German source informed him that he might be shot down if he was spotted. The area was patrolled by both American and Mexican planes. The new American occupiers still permitted fishing. People had to eat. Thus, an innocuous fishing boat was the best alternative.

The waters in the Gulf of California—he still preferred to call it the Gulf of Cortes—were calm. The night was clear and the little boat chugged its way north and west to where the enemy waited, allegedly grouped against the western side of the gulf. Escobar’s instructions were succinct. He was to count and categorize American ships, especially and logically the larger ones, and under no circumstances was he to risk being discovered.

Ergo, he could not get too close, which was fine by Colonel Escobar. He considered himself to be as brave as the next man, but it had been decades since he’d seen combat, fighting against the American intruders in 1916.

The predawn light poured across the waters. On another day, he would have reveled in its beauty. A rare fin whale surfaced and splashed mightily. Despite his anxieties, it brought a smile.

In the distance, shapes began to emerge as the light grew better. He took out his binoculars—German of course—and focused on the distant objects. When he realized what he was seeing, he understood why the Japanese were so anxious. Clearly silhouetted were a host of American warships. His jaw dropped. Jesu’—two of them were aircraft carriers.

American patrol vessels were only a couple of miles away. He could not get closer, nor did he feel that he had to. He directed the slovenly Mexican monkey who owned the boat to return to Mazatlan and promised him a bonus if he hurried. The money belonged to Germany, so he was inclined to be generous.

The next night he was in his apartment enjoying an excellent French white wine. He had just completed and sent the message to his German associate, a man he’d help hide after the German embassy had been closed down. The German had been extremely grateful and promised that the Third Reich would take care of Juan Escobar when the war was over and the Axis nations triumphant. Escobar didn’t want money. He was already rich. He just wanted his world put back in order.

* * *

In an apartment a few blocks away, a thoroughly tired Roy Harris and two other FBI agents stopped listening. An observer on the street noted that all the lights in Escobar’s apartment were out. The colonel had doubtless called it a day. The Mexican’s phones had been tapped ever since the Germans, whose phones were also tapped, had contacted him. Harris had even managed to fly to Mazatlan in another small plane and had seen Escobar take the fishing boat out. He’d contacted the fleet and told them that the little boat’s trip was not to be interrupted. If necessary he could be chased away, but nothing more.

“Should we kill him now or later?” Agent Walt Courtney asked cheerfully.

Harris smiled. It seemed like such a great idea, but it wasn’t going to happen. For one thing, the Mexicans, always touchy, would be thoroughly angry if the U.S. preempted their right to take care of their own traitors. Only a handful of people in the Mexican government were even aware that the FBI was actively working in their country.

“Later,” Harris said, “and we’ll let the Mexicans do it. By communicating with the Germans and running errands for them, he’s just proclaimed himself a traitor to Mexico. Maybe they won’t put him in front of a firing squad. Maybe our Mexican allies will make him work at hard labor in a Mexican prison for the rest of his life and be guarded by those peasants he hates so much.”

Agent Courtney appreciated the thought. “And just maybe he’ll get himself cornholed each night by his jailors or fellow inmates. I kind of like that idea.”

Harris decided he did too. Nobody likes a traitor, even though the actions of this jerk might just change the course of the war.

* * *

“Crowley, get your pink young ass in here and close the door!”

Lieutenant Ron Crowley, executive officer of the
Shark
, rolled his eyes and smiled. His lord and master was pissed. Again. It had not been the best of patrols. They’d sunk a pair of smallish five-thousand-ton merchant ships, but nothing else. They’d fired a pair of torpedoes at a Japanese light cruiser, but they’d either missed or been duds. Almost insultingly, the cruiser hadn’t seemed to notice.

It was night and the sub was running on the surface. Her hatches were open as she swapped fetid air for fresh, recharged her batteries, and let the crew take turns standing out in the open and enjoying the simple act of inhaling and exhaling. Of course, everyone on deck had to be watching carefully for any sign of Japanese planes or ships. Lieutenant Commander Torelli, the
Shark
’s skipper, was adamant about that. As he told everyone, especially new crewmen, there would be no repeat of the time when, en route to San Diego, she’d been spotted and depth charged. Now he wouldn’t even let the men throw their cigarettes into the water lest some keen eyes pick them up and realize that an American ship might be nearby. Dumping garbage was done very discreetly, using weighted bags.

Crowley picked his way through the passageway. The lights were off so not even the hint of a glow would make its way out, but there was no problem, the XO knew every step, nook, and cranny by heart as did all of the crew.

“Present and accounted for, Skipper,” he said as he entered Torelli’s cramped quarters.

“Tell me, young Lieutenant, which did you like the most up in Alaska—waiting and waiting or sinking that destroyer?”

“Is this a trick question? I loved sinking that Jap and so did you. It’s what we’re out here for, isn’t it?”

“Maybe not, Ron. We just got orders and they are more of the same. We are to hurry up and wait. We are to take up station and patrol an area off of San Diego and look for the Japanese fleet, which may be coming just over the horizon. But when we do spot the slanty-eyed yellow pricks, we are not to attack. In fact, we are not to do anything except stay out of the way and make sure we are not spotted. When we deem it safe, we are to report in and that’s it. It was strongly implied that if we were spotted we would be in more trouble than we could ever imagine even if we should manage to survive the encounter.”

Crowley sat on a small stool. With both men seated in the tiny cabin, their knees were almost touching. “I suppose they have their reasons, Skipper. It sounds like they want to do something sneaky to the Japs and I can’t see anything wrong with that.”

Torelli grinned. “I can’t either, but I don’t like letting them off scot-free if we do find them.”

Crowley looked at Torelli in surprise. “Are you implying that we might not obey orders? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be court-martialed or spend the rest of my life supervising KP.”

“Don’t fret, Ron. I’m crazy, not stupid. We will obey both the letter and the spirit of the orders. But I want to be totally prepared if we do get the opportunity to hit Hirohito’s fleet. I want every torpedo inspected and inspected again. I want to eliminate the possibility of duds as much as we can.”

Crowley declined to remind his captain that they’d been working with the torpedoes since leaving the base at Mare Island. The problem with malfunctioning torpedoes had not gone away. The navy hierarchy out east in Washington’s BuOrd was adamant that there was nothing wrong with the torpedoes and that the sub skippers were the ones screwing up. The men on the subs felt just the opposite.

The navy’s highest brass had come down with a firm directive that the sub crews may not tamper with or try to improve the torpedoes. Torelli, like a number of others, had quietly and privately thought that the brass in Washington should go screw themselves. Admiral Lockwood, now firmly in charge of American subs operating in the Pacific was on the side of the crews and generally looked the other way when they tweaked the torpedoes. After all, they were the ones who had to deal with the after effects of dud torpedoes, which included highly enraged Japanese warships coming down the throats of their American tormenters.

“What’s happening now, Lieutenant?” asked one of the crew as Crowley emerged.

“Just the usual, we hurry up and wait. After all, this is the navy.”

CHAPTER 20

AMANDA DIDN’T KNOW WHETHER TO BE ANGRY OR AMUSED. Perhaps a little of both was in order. She had made an offhand comment to Tim about doing more to help the war effort and here she was, in a skimpy two-piece bathing suit, sitting on a beach blanket with the ocean in the background as Captain Merchant took a picture of her and Gunther Krause, who was also in swim trunks and enjoying himself hugely.

Thankfully, Tim had the good grace to look uncomfortable. Both he and Merchant were also in trunks and if any of the handful of people in the area were watching they all looked innocent and innocuous. Just a group of friends enjoying a pleasant day, they would conclude. They were where she and Tim had frolicked not so long ago, only now the beach was almost deserted.

Merchant took another moment to focus the camera. He’d taken several pictures already. “Amanda, smile a little more warmly and try to give the impression that you actually like Krause.”

Krause laughed. “I actually am very likeable once you get to know me.”

“Shut up and snuggle,” Merchant said and Tim glared.

Amanda put her head on Krause’s shoulder and he put his arm around her waist. Tim seethed. If his hand got too close to her breast he was going to break it. He had noticed that the Nazi was peering down the front of Amanda’s too-loose top. Damn it.

One of Krause’s contacts in Mexico had informed them that the Japs wanted to know just who the source inside the U.S. Navy was. Specifically, who had provided the information on the carriers’ location? When Tim had mentioned the problem to Amanda over lunch, she had suggested it be a fictitious person in Nimitz’s staff, a civilian and a woman, and someone who’d been having an affair with Krause. The idea made sense and it had been a short leap to getting Amanda to volunteer. Yes, she wanted to help her country defeat the Japs, but did she have to do it with a Nazi’s hand around her body and with Tim breathing fire out of each nostril?

She took a deep breath and smiled at the camera. She realized that her objections were idiotic. What she was doing was nothing in comparison with what soldiers, sailors, and Marines were doing in actual combat. How could being pawed and leered at by a Nazi prisoner compare with being shot? She had made Merchant agree to the caveat that her real name would not be used and he had agreed. A letter would go down to Mexico from Krause telling his friend that he was engaged to the lovely Patricia Barkley, photos attached, and that he was a lucky man. The note would casually mention that Patricia Barkley worked for some admiral. It was hoped that this would more than satisfy any doubters and be of no interest to anyone reading it.

“Enough,” said Merchant. The camera and film went into a container. The film would be developed immediately and the letter and photos would go out this afternoon.

Krause helped Amanda to her feet. Tim noticed that his hand brushed her bottom and her eyes widened slightly. Krause never saw the punch coming. It hit him in the pit of the stomach and he doubled over, gasping and vomiting lunch. The second punch struck him on the side of the head and dropped him to the sand where he spit out blood and something white that might have been part of a tooth. He rolled onto his side and got up groggily.

“Once again, my hero,” said Amanda, smiling sweetly.

Merchant shook his head. “That’s going to screw up German-American relations, you know, and maybe leave a mark on this asshole.”

Krause managed to straighten up and shook his head. “No, it won’t. I deserved it, but I have no regrets.”

Amanda glared at him. “And I need a swim. Nothing personal, Herr Krause, but I feel just a little dirty and want to clean up. Tim, come with me.”

The water was a little on the cool side, but comfortable enough. “Tim, you have been very good and I want to be just a little bit bad. I did what I thought was right in having those pictures taken, and have no regrets. I just can’t stand remembering him touching me. Only you get to do that.”

Tim grinned. “Does that mean we’re going behind the raft again?”

“Indeed it does, sailor boy.”

* * *

Toki and Masao were beside themselves with joy, as was the entire crew of the
Kaga
. The carrier’s skipper, Rear Admiral Jisaku Okada, had just used the loudspeaker and made the formal announcement on behalf of Admiral Nagumo who was en route from meeting with Yamamoto. The Imperial Japanese Navy would strike hard at the two American carriers now in the Gulf of California. All the rumors were now confirmed as facts.

The
Kaga’
s crew had responded to the good news with jubilation. Cheers resounded throughout the ship and men slapped each other on the back in un-Japanese shows of exuberance. Even the most hardened of NCOs were seen to be smiling, however briefly. Bottles of sake were brought out and they all talked about the implications of the coming assault. Shouts of “banzai” were heard throughout the ship. This would be a day of celebration. Tomorrow they would sail off to war.

“This is a magnificent opportunity to end this war,” Masao said.

Toki laughed. “I thought you were a warrior who wanted it to go on forever. Don’t tell me you’ve had your fill?”

“At least for a while,” Masao admitted. “I would like to go home, see my family, walk the earth, smell the flowers, and convince my sister that you are a complete and utter fool.”

“But it won’t happen for a while,” Toki said. “Too many people have plans for us once we’ve destroyed the Americans.”

“You are very confident that they will be destroyed. How many of our carriers will be sent against the two Americans? My guess would be four or five.”

Toki grinned and then turned somber. “All of them. We have eight carriers ready to use and we will overwhelm the Americans. Sadly, it will mean that we will lose men and planes. The Americans will doubtless defend their ships with desperation.”

“Carriers at anchor and under repair cannot launch planes,” Masao said.

Toki took a long swallow from the bottle in his hand. “Which means that the Americans will have taken the planes off their ships and will launch them from ground strips. It may also mean that other planes will be at ground bases and will protect their carriers. Of course, Yamamoto will distract them and hopefully stop that from occurring.”

“How will he do that?”

Toki smiled smugly. “Kurita’s battleships and a couple of smaller carriers will first attack San Diego and Los Angeles. It will cause the Americans to hold back their planes and attack Kurita’s ships. We may lose some old battleships, but their day is over anyhow. It is now the time of the carrier. When the battle is over, we can get on with consolidating our hold in the Pacific.”

Somehow a pair of fresh bottles had appeared in their hands and they swallowed happily. “And how will we do that?” Masao asked.

“The plans for after our victory are simple but elegant. We will finally occupy the island of Oahu, which will probably surrender without a fight when they finally see how hopeless their situation has become. Then we will land more army troops to take back Alaska, and a large force will be sent against the Panama Canal. The Americans will squeal like pigs being castrated.”

“Excellent,” Masao said. He thought his voice sounded funny and concluded that he was getting a little drunk.

“And finally, we will land an army on Australia and end that nuisance. With total control of the seas, we might just decide to bypass MacArthur’s forces now fighting ours on New Guinea and force Australia to surrender without an invasion. Don’t you think it would be wonderful if MacArthur lost yet another army like he did in the Philippines? Of course, he would become our prisoner, which would further shame the Americans.”

Masao thought it all sounded wonderful. He also thought he was going to have a terrible headache in the morning. He sincerely hoped he would not be required to fly for at least a little while.

Merchant smiled. “Admiral Spruance would like to borrow your brain for a little while. He promises to return it reasonably intact.”

Tim wondered what this was all about as he walked down the hall to Spruance’s office. To his surprise, Admiral Nimitz was also present. He started to report formally, but Nimitz told him to relax and take a seat.

Spruance began. “Once upon a time, we didn’t have enough intelligence about Japan. Now we may just have too much. Everybody and his brother now has ideas as to what the Japs are going to do. The ONI is inundating us with contradictory data, which means we have no clear indication or consensus regarding Japanese intentions. So, since you are our resident expert on Japan and since you are just down the hall, what the devil do you think Yamamoto would do, and don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking of it.”

Dane managed a smile. “It’s on everyone’s mind, Admiral, and yes, I have been giving it a lot of thought. I think Yamamoto will hit us with everything he has, and that includes carriers and battleships and anything that floats. The Japanese have been hoping for what they refer to as a decisive battle to knock us out of the war, or at least win a victory for them that will make us think about negotiating. They know they cannot fight a war of attrition with us. They may have sunk more ships and knocked down more planes of ours than we have of theirs, but they cannot replace their losses while we can easily replace ours. Therefore, Yamamoto will see this as a golden opportunity to inflict a major and decisive defeat on us. Frankly, sir, I don’t think he has a choice.”

“A banzai attack?” asked Nimitz.

“Yes, sir, a full-bore hell-for-leather banzai attack, but with ships and not infantry.”

Spruance nodded while Nimitz remained impassive.

Tim continued. “Latest intelligence says they have eight or nine carriers available, although some of them are of the small, escort variety. We want to lure as many of them as possible to the Baja and we might just get all of them. They could hit our decoy fleet with as many as five or six hundred planes. Since they don’t fear a carrier attack from us, I don’t think they’ll leave very many planes behind to cover the carriers.”

“What will they do with their battleships?” Nimitz asked.

Tim took a deep breath. This line of questioning was far more than he’d expected, but he had an answer. “Apparently, and based on what they did at Midway, the Japs like fairly complex battle plans to keep us off balance and confused as to their true intentions. When we were fighting off Midway, a Jap force split off from the main force and bombed Dutch Harbor in Alaska as a distraction. I think they will do the same thing with their battleships this time. I believe they will bombard San Diego and maybe a few other places in an attempt to draw our planes off from protecting what they believe are our carriers. They may even support the bombardment force with planes from their smaller carriers.”