The Gate

CHAPTER 11

“So where’s 1-24 now?” Harmon asked. They were in her office, having departed the dark basement after finding what they were looking for and putting everything back in place.

The audacity of the Japanese plan was still sinking into Lake’s mind. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

“It must have gone down between Hungnam and here,” Harmon said. “I guess we’ll never know what happened to it. One of those mysteries of history.”

“What makes you so sure it went down, Doctor?” Lake asked.

“Call me Peggy,” she said. “I think we know each other well enough to dispense with the formality, although you weren’t exactly formal or informal when you came in here with your name.”

Lake nodded. “All right, Peggy. What makes you so sure it went down?”

“Well, no one reported it captured,” Harmon said. “I think we would have heard if a Japanese sub had been captured with a nuclear weapon on board.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” Lake said. “Bigger things than that have been covered up.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s stay with the problem we have,” Lake said. “I think an atomic bomb is big enough for us to deal with right now. I think it is possible that the sub was captured. The last message-was dated what, the tenth of August, right?”

“Right.”

“So when did the war end?”

“VJ Day was celebrated on the fifteenth of August. That’s when Emperor Hirohito made his broadcast saying that the Japanese people must bear the unbearable.”

“Okay.” Lake walked to the world map tacked to the wall on the side of the room. “Do you have a calculator?”

Harmon handed one over.

“The 1-24 departed Hungnam around the third of August according to those messages, heading for Ulithi.” He started punching into the calculator. “They would have to sail south down to the east China Sea. Then they get a message diverting them from Ulithi to San Francisco. Start heading due east at flank speed.

“Let me think. A World War II sub; say ten knots surfaced, about the same on batteries submerged. Distance”-his fingers were flying over the keys—“we’re talking over six thousand miles. Let’s say six thousand, five hundred miles from Hungnam to San Francisco. On the tenth they would have been …” He grabbed a pen and started writing. “Sixty-five hundred miles is about fifty-six hundred nautical miles. Moving at ten knots, you make two hundred and forty nautical miles every twenty-four hours. On the tenth they were sixteen hundred nautical miles out. About here.” He tapped the map. “On a line between Guam and Iwo Jima and on course for Ulithi.

“So they get the third message and change course slightly and head due east. On the fifteenth they are another twelve hundred miles east, near Wake Island. Still twenty eight hundred nautical miles from San Fran. Another eleven or twelve days of sailing ahead. They would have reached here about the first or second of September.”

“The peace was signed on board the Missouri on the second of September,” Harmon noted.

“So I think it’s very likely that the 1-24 surfaced and surrendered to Allied forces somewhere around Wake Island in the middle of August.”

Harmon shook her head. “They would never have surrendered.”

“Okay, then, they committed hara-kiri, or whatever it’s called, and dove to the bottom of the Pacific when they found out the war was over and they’d lost,” Lake said.

“That’s much more likely than surrender, especially considering the cargo they were carrying,” Harmon said.

“Well, at least we know it didn’t make it here,” Lake said.

“How do you know that?”

“There was no big boom in San Francisco Harbor in 1945 last I studied my history.”

“Maybe it didn’t work,” Harmon said. “Maybe it’s at the bottom of the harbor.”

“The one in Hungnam worked. At least that’s the information you showed me,” Lake said. “I would assume this one would have worked. Thus it never made it here.” Lake pointed at the file folder that had contained the original messages to 1-24 that was sitting on her desk. “You say there are no further messages to 1-24 after they were ordered to divert to Forest, which we now know is San Francisco?”

“I didn’t find any.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

Harmon shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, don’t you think someone high in the Japanese command would have realized that they had a sub with a nuke on board heading to blow the crap out of San Francisco while they’re in the middle of suing for peace? Don’t you think someone would have said, well, whoa, wait a second, let’s call that bad boy back?”

“I do think that would be logical,” Harmon said. She tapped the folder. “But there’s no further message to the 1-24.”

“Very odd,” Lake said. “The submarine most likely was operating under radio listening silence, but that only means they wouldn’t transmit. They would have still been able to receive messages at night when they ran on the surface recharging their batteries.”

Lake felt his pocket buzz. He wished they had stayed in the basement. Feliks was the last person he wanted to talk to right now. He pulled his portable out and flipped it open. “Lake.”

He recognized the voice on the other end immediately. “Araki here. I have been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour. Why do you not answer your phone?”

“I was underground,” Lake said.

“Underground?”

“Why were you trying to get a hold of me?” Lake asked.

“It is not over. I have received some information from my headquarters,” Araki said. “They intercepted a message from Pyongyang to another North Korean trawler already at sea. It is a spy ship just like the Am Nok Sung.”

“And?” “The message ordered the ship to immediately proceed ‘to San Francisco.”

“Maybe they’re trying to find out what happened to the Am Nok Sung,” Lake said.

“Maybe. But the message also told them to conduct a search for radioactive material. Now, why would they do that?” Araki asked.

Because they know where Forest is, Lake realized. He didn’t know how they had found out, but he knew they had. And they were going to follow the path the 1-24 had taken.

“Can your people keep tabs on that trawler?”

“Yes. It is well east of Hawaii, so it will not take them long to get here. Perhaps two days, maybe even less, since we don’t have an exact fix on it yet. I suppose you are not going to tell me why they are heading this way right now, are you?” Araki asked.

“Not right now. Meet me here on the campus at three. I’ll explain then.” That would give Lake time to figure out what he was going to do and how much to say. “I will see you at three, then?” Araki repeated.

“Yes.” Lake closed the phone.

“Nothing, right?” Harmon asked with a slight grin.

“No, actually it was something,” Lake said. He explained that another North Korean trawler was headed this way, with orders to search for radioactive material.

“So the Koreans must know about where 1-24 was supposed to go,” Harmon said when he was done. “Maybe they’re taking a shot in the dark that the 1-24 made it close to San Francisco.”

She poured them both another cup of coffee. “Again, I don’t think the 1-24 surrendered,” she said. “It would have been against the nature of the crew and officers. No matter what you say, I think we would have heard something if a Japanese submarine carrying an atomic weapon had been captured at the end of the war.”

“The other factor to consider,” Lake said, “is that if it did surrender, then the Koreans can look for it all they want and they’ll never find it. So let’s assume it didn’t. You said the most likely course of action for the^ sub was for the captain to take it down for a mass suicide.”

“That was my initial thought,” Harmon said, “but the more I think about it, the more I believe that the 1-24 might have kept on going no matter what. I don’t think the captain of the submarine was in charge. Remember that the commander was supposed to follow all orders of”—she flipped through message flimsies—“this fellow Agent Hatari, of the Kempei Tai.

“The Kempei Tai was the Japanese military’s secret police during the war. But it’s just as likely that this Hatari fellow was an agent of the Black Ocean. They often used the Kempei Tai as cover, especially when they had to deal with the military because a Kempei Tai agent on special assignment, no matter what his rank, could order any senior regular military officer to do as he said. I believe that the 1-24 may have pursued its mission to the end.”

Lake wondered why she was following this train of thought that they’d already derailed once. “But there was no explosion,” he pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean that the 1-24 didn’t make it to San Francisco or somewhere close by,” she said. “It just means that the bomb didn’t go off. The North Koreans are the ones who triggered this whole thing in the present day,” she added. “They’re coming to San Francisco again. I have to believe that they have access to more information than we do.”

Lake thought about it. If the 1-24 was down in deep water, it was probably lost forever. The Koreans had the same messages he did and they were sending a ship in this direction. Maybe they knew something more, like Harmon said. Or maybe they were just gambling that the 1-24 had gone down in shallow water and could be found. Either way, Lake couldn’t afford to ignore the situation.

“Do you have any suggestions?” he asked.

Harmon smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. During World War II San Francisco Harbor was protected by a submarine net. It stretched for three miles across the main channel entrance from the St. Francis Yacht Club at the Marina to Point Sausalito.”

She sketched on a pad. “It was inside of the Golden Gate because the currents were too strong there. Two ships serviced the net, anchored on either side of the thousand-foot movable part. They each had winches on their prows which could move the net. One pulled it open, the other pulled it shut. If the 1-24 was going to launch a midget kamikaze sub attack, they would have to have considered how to breach that obstacle. Perhaps they planned on sneaking the midget sub through along with a ship passing in. Of course,” she added, “by September 1945, the net might have been left open all the time.”

“This is all fine and well,” Lake said, getting a little tired of all the history lessons, “but what—”

Harmon held up a hand. “The important thing is that the maritime defense forces had the whole harbor and its approaches wired for sound. They had a hydroacoustic listening station at Fort Miley. The duty personnel kept a log of all contacts. I suggest we go take a look and see if anything was heard around the first or second of September.”

“Where would those logs be?” Lake asked.

“Follow me,” Harmon said, grabbing her jacket. She paused, then put her arm through his. “Change that to ‘please come with me.” “

The Chain Drive was empty this early in the afternoon. Nishin had watched it for the past hour from across the street, making sure he had the area memorized. Okomo had called his room two hours ago and told him he could find out more about the American arms dealer from a man named Jonas, who owned this establishment. It would simply be a matter of extracting the information.

Nishin slipped across the street and opened the scarred wooden door. The interior was dark and he stepped aside from the door and stood still, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lack of sunlight.

“What do you want?”

The voice came from the only other occupant of the room, a large bearded man who stood behind the bar. There were numerous bottles laid out in front of him and he had a clipboard in his hand.

“Are you Jonas?”

“Who wants to know?”

Nishin checked out the rest of the bar. “I will assume you are Jonas, since I was told Jonas owned this place and there is no one else in here.”

“Yeah, I’m Jonas. Who the hell are you?”

“I am looking for someone,” Nishin said. Now that he could see better, he was looking around the room. He could see the various posters on the walls.

“I don’t run a phone book. This is a bar.”

Nishin could see that the man’s right hand was hidden behind the bar. Nishin walked forward and took a stool directly in front of Jonas. “Then I would like a drink.”

Nishin had been briefed about the American Patriots. Extremists who fought against government control. Nishin thought the entire concept quite ludicrous in the country with the laxest society he had ever seen. If you couldn’t do it in America, you couldn’t do it anywhere. The Patriots didn’t have any higher agenda. In his opinion, they were only fighting against something, not for anything. The Black Ocean had the Sun Goddess and the Emperor. To fight negatively like these men did was doomed to failure.

“What kind?” Jonas asked.

“Saki.”

“We don’t have that piss-water here,” Jonas replied. “Why don’t you take your act down the street?”

“You are not very hospitable for a man whose occupation is. hospitality Nishin said. He noted that Jonas’s right hand was still below the bar. “I will take whatever beer you have on draft.”

Jonas stared at him, then reluctantly grabbed a mug with his left hand. He paused, then turned toward the taps. That was what Nishin was waiting for. He swiftly leaned over the bar and grabbed the sawed-off shotgun that Jonas had hidden there.

“Hey!” Jonas yelled. He froze as Nishin pointed the twin large bores at his midsection.

“I have heard that such weapons are illegal, even here in America,” Nishin said. “But it is fortunate that you have this.” He ignored Jonas’s confused look. “Because I am interested in meeting a man who would deal in such weapons as this. Indeed, I am searching for even more sophisticated weaponry.”

“I don’t know nothing about any kind of man like that,” Jonas growled.

“Ah, but this says differently,” Nishin said, wagging the end of the gun slightly.

“I did that myself. The gun’s legal at full length. I cut it. Any fool can do it with a hacksaw.”

Nishin ran the fingers of his left hand over the end of the bore. “This was not done with a hacksaw. This was professionally done.” He shrugged. “Be that as it may, I do not wish to further waste my time. I am looking for a man who sold eight silenced Ingram MAC-10s to some Koreans a few nights ago.”

Jonas folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nishin gave a deep sigh, then tossed the shotgun to Jonas, who, startled, reached out to catch it. As he did so, Nishin was vaulting the bar, both feet smashing into Jonas’s now exposed chest, staggering the bigger man against the back of the bar. Bottles fell and crashed, the shotgun clattered to the floor, and Jonas doubled over trying to catch his breath.

Nishin drew out the modified ice scraper. He grabbed the hair on the back of Jonas’s head and pulled his face up. He jammed the point of the ice scraper into the bartender’s neck. “Who was the gun dealer? What was his name?”

“Fuck you,” Jonas hissed.

Nishin realized he had miscalculated. He had usually found that large men broke easily once you gained the upper hand. He stepped away and scooped up the shotgun, putting the ice scraper into his pocket. Jonas was leaning against the back of the bar, trying to control his breathing, wincing from the pain of broken ribs. Nishin grabbed a large towel from under the bar and wrapped it around the end of the shotgun.

“What are you doing?” Jonas asked, his eyes following Nishin’s every move.

Nishin didn’t reply with words. He aimed at Jonas’s left leg and fired one of the barrels. The towel muted the noise of the blast so that it wasn’t heard outside of the bar, but it didn’t slow dqwji the pellets that ripped into Jonas’s left knee. The joint buckled and Jonas was down, cursing in pain.

“Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Nishin stepped over Jonas’s prostrate form and aimed at his groin. “Who was he? You know I will fire again since I already have once.”

“Oh, shit,” Jonas groaned. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“I just want some information,” Nishin said. “I think I have been most reasonable up to a point.”

“I got protection, man. I’m fucking protected!” Jonas screamed.

“I am not interested in your American gangsters or their protection,” Nishin said.

“Not the mob, you dumb fuck. I got friends in the feds. The government. They’ll be on you like shit on stink.”

Nishin found that interesting. “Really? And who exactly are your friends?”

“Fuck you!”

Nishin glanced at the door. At any moment someone might wander in. He got back to his original purpose. He jammed the end of the muzzle into Jonas’s groin. “The name of the gun dealer?”

“Lake,” Jonas spit out.

“Lake?”

“Yeah, as in a fucking large body of water. Lake. That’s all I know. That’s the only name he uses.”

“Who does Lake work for?”

“He’s a freelancer,” Jonas said, his eyes still mesmerized by the ripped end of the towel on the end of the shot gun and the smoke curling around the barrel. “He sells guns to whoever has the money. He’s been hanging around the Patriots, working with some of them, but he doesn’t work for anyone as far as I know.”

“Is he a Patriot?”

“Not a member of any group I know, but he seems to support the cause.”

“Where can I find him?” Nishin asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You must have had a way to get in contact with him,” Nishin insisted.

“I’ve got a phone number. It’s a hall phone. Sounds like some cheap flophouse. Sometimes he’s there, sometimes he isn’t.”

“The number?”

Jonas recited the seven digits.

“Does this Lake work for your government?”

Jonas shook his head. “Hell, no. He sells guns. I’d know if he were undercover.”.

“I think you are very stupid,” Nishin said.

“Fuck you,” Jonas spit out.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about this man Lake?”

“He’ll kick your ass,” Jonas said. “I hope you do run into him.”

“I already have,” Nishin said. “And I’m here. He’s not. Do you work for the government?” Nishin asked. “For your friends who protect you?”

“I got friends,” Jonas repeated. “They help me out, I help them out, but I don’t work for them. But you mess with me, they’ll mess with you.”

“Yes, so you’ve said, but unfortunately they are not here now to help you. And now is the important time for you, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you,” Jonas said, his hands covered in blood as he pressed down on his injured leg. “You’d better just get your ass out of here while you can.”

Nishin didn’t reply with words. He raised the muzzle of the shotgun slightly and fired.

“The hydroacoustic system was linked together and terminated at Fort Miley,” Harmon explained as she drove. “But they all answered to a central command that controlled the harbor defenses.”

“They were really worried about San Francisco being attacked?” Lake asked as they crossed the Bay Bridge. He noted the site of the gun battle from the other night showed little sign of it as they went past, other than some chips in the wall of the tunnel where bullets had struck.

The question put Harmon in her element as historian. “San Francisco was the most tempting target on the West Coast for the Japanese. After Pearl Harbor people here were very worried about getting attacked. No one knew what the Japanese had planned. You have to remember that in 1941 and early 1942 it seemed like the Japanese were invincible and everywhere. It was a very dark time. The list of Japanese successes was quite long: first Pearl Harbor; then Wake Island fell two days before Christmas; Hong Kong fell on Christmas Day; Singapore and seventy thousand men surrendered in February; the Philippines and Bataan; China; Burma; it went on and on.

“As far as the West Coast goes, I do know for certain from my studies that on the night of December 17, a Japanese submarine surfaced outside the harbor and then remained on station up until Christmas before being ordered back to Japan. In fact, an entire Japanese submarine group operated off the West Coast in those early days, sinking quite a few ships. There was one sub for every major port from Seattle down through San Diego and they were supposed to surface and expend all their deck gun ammunition on Christmas Day before heading back to Japan. For some reason the order was rescinded just before Christmas and the subs went back to Japan without incident.

“The U.S. Navy fortified the harbor quite extensively.

I’ve already told you about the submarine net. They also built defenses against surface ships. Heavy guns were put in at several places. The Navy had shore-mounted 16inch guns powerful enough to shoot thirty miles out to sea. That’s far enough to fire beyond the Farallons, a group of islands off shore.”

Harmon and Lake were now driving north on Van Ness, following Route 101 through the city. “The Navy also put in an extensive minefield. All of these defense systems were headquartered at Fort Scott, which was in the Presidio. That’s where we’re headed right now. I’ve got a friend who can give me access to all the war records from HDSF at Fort Scott.”

“HDSF?” Lake asked.

“Harbor Defense, San Francisco.”

Route 101 turned left onto Lombard Street. Lake felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his portable. He had no doubt who it was. He turned toward the window and activated the phone.

“Yes?”

“I thought we lost you.” Feliks’ voice came through clearly, as if he were sitting in the back seat.

“I’m still kicking,” Lake said.

“But some Koreans aren’t, from what I understand,” Feliks said. “Seems there was a bit of gunfight in the tunnel on the Bay Bridge a couple of days ago. Two KIA and several vehicles shot up. Two silenced MAC-10 submachine guns were recovered by the police. The guns were sterile, but you and I know where they came from.” Feliks didn’t pause. “And there’s the matter of no confirmation of a weapons drop that was supposed to be made last night. I would assume said drop was made early because some of said weapons were in the hands of the two KIA who are also as sterile as the guns. All that the SFPD has from the autopsies is a racial makeup by the coroner saying they are of Korean ancestry. No ID, no record, no nothing. So who are they?” Feliks asked abruptly.

“North Korean commandos,” Lake said.

“North Korean commandos,” Feliks repeated. “How curious. What’s even more curious is that I haven’t heard a damn thing from you for quite a while. Start talking.”

Lake had wrestled with answering that question for the past twenty-four hours. He did as good a job as he could of encapsulating the events of the past twenty-four hours, leaving out the presence of Araki and Harmon’s help. It took him four minutes, during which Feliks didn’t interrupt once. When he drew to a finish, Lake waited. “This is all about a Japanese atomic bomb from World War II?” Feliks asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“If I didn’t have these reports of bodies being found, I’d think you had gone nuts. In fact I think you probably have gone nuts.”

“I’m only telling you what I’ve discovered,” Lake said.

“It sounds very farfetched. How do we know this isn’t all a setup to embarrass us?”

“We don’t know,” Lake said. “But I didn’t think we could take a chance that it’s for real.”

“You didn’t think we could? Who authorized you to think for me?” Feliks snapped. “I run things around here, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I am authorized to act on my own initiative,” Lake argued. “That’s the whole point of — ”

“Enough!” Feliks cut him off. “The North Koreans could just be pawns. You could be playing right into the hands of whoever is behind this.”

“I—” Lake didn’t get past that first word before getting cut off again.

“What action are you taking now?”

“Nothing,” Lake said.

“Nothing? Then why didn’t you report in?”

“I just found out this information,” Lake said. “I was working on a report when—”

“Bullshit! You don’t have a clue what you’re doing.

You’re stumbling around in the dark, tripping over things. I do the thinking and I do the planning! But I can’t do a goddamn thing if my operatives do not keep me informed and if they go off on their own all the time.”

Lake was surprised. He’d expected Feliks to be upset, but he’d never heard his superior curse before.

“I’m putting you on suspension as of this moment,” Feliks continued, his voice cutting through the phone like a whip, causing Harmon to glance over even though she couldn’t hear the words. “We have had a major incident involving weapons that you moved without final authorization. You also did not inform us that you had moved the weapons. What if a bunch of civilians had been killed in this gunfight you had on the Bay Bridge? There was no way we could have had damage control prepared for that since we thought the guns were still in the drop site.”

Again Feliks didn’t wait for an answer. “And if there is any truth to this story you’ve just told me, who the hell do you think gave you the right to withhold that information?”

Lake assumed that was a rhetorical question, so he remained silent.

“You are to take no further action until I arrive on the scene. At that time you will brief me fully, then you will return to the Ranch for further disciplinary action. Is that clear?”

Lake clenched his jaw. “Yes, sir.”

“By the way,” Feliks continued, “what was the name of your contact there with the Patriots? The one in the bar?”

Lake was confused by the change in direction. “Jonas.”

“That’s what I thought. Well, your friend Jonas is dead. Intelligence just picked that up off the San Francisco Police Department internal wire while checking on your little excursion in the tunnel the other night. Someone shot gunned a knee then his head. Any idea who?”

“No.”

“Well, you don’t know too goddamn much, do you, in your own backyard there? Sounds like you’ve managed to screw things up royally.” Feliks changed tack again. “I just checked and we have a satellite that can eyeball the inbound North Korean trawler,” Feliks said. “How did you find out about it?”

“From frequencies I lifted off the first trawler,” Lake lied.

“Uh-huh,” was all Feliks said. “You hold in place. I’ll be there this evening.”

The phone went dead and Lake stared at it. How had Feliks learned about Jonas getting killed if it had just happened a short time ago? He knew the Ranch was tied in to the San Francisco Police Department computer, but Lake also knew that if the Ranch computer was alerting about Jonas’s death, that meant the Ranch was double-checking on him, and he didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t buy Feliks’s line that they had picked it up when checking on the incident in the tunnel.

“Trouble?” Harmon asked. They were on the Presidio now, driving along a tree-lined winding road.

“Yes,” Lake said. He understood Feliks being upset about his breach of normal operating procedures the past two days, but the extent of the reaction seemed extreme. A field agent normally had quite a bit of latitude in conducting operations. But, then again, Lake had to imagine that if he were in Feliks’s position and he received information about a possible Japanese atomic bomb lost in the ocean somewhere, he might be a bit perturbed also. Lake was surprised at how detached he was from any effect Feliks’s orders had on him. It was as if it didn’t really matter. This thing was a lot deeper than Feliks’s anger.

“Can you talk about it?” Harmon asked.

“I’m being relieved,” Lake said.

“Relieved?”

“I’m not supposed to do any more work on this case until my superior gets here and I can brief him.”

“Too late,” Harmon said. “We’re already here. You’ll have to be relieved after we leave because I’m not making this drive again and I’m not going to be involved in this any more than I am already.”

They were in front of a pre-World War II-era building with a red tile roof. Harmon led the way inside. After talking to her friend, she led Lake to a small unoccupied office. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Lake didn’t have much time to reflect on his suddenly terminated career, because she was back in less than two minutes with several large canvas-covered books. She thumped them down on the desk. “HDSF logs for August and September 1945. Shall we?”

“You look, I need to think for a minute,” Lake said. As Harmon flipped through pages, he unfocused his eyes and slowed his breathing. He felt like he was sitting on a dock jutting out into a large lake. He could see the surface, but what was underneath was hidden from his view. Lake knew that bodies of water held all sorts of hidden threats and treasures. There were forces at work here that he couldn’t even begin to understand. Fifty-two years was a long time for things to simmer under the surface.

Harmon’s voice intruded on his dark thoughts. “September the second, 1945, 2027 hours in the evening, hydro acoustics picked up an initial possible submarine contact nine miles out from the Golden Gate, just south of the main channel.”

Lake leaned forward in his chair as she pointed at a small map of the harbor.

“The station that first picked it up was here, on the south peninsula at Hydrangea. Since the war was over, there was no special concern about it being an enemy contact,” Harmon said. “The minefield had already been deactivated and the sub net was no longer in service.”

“So the harbor was wide open,” Lake noted.

“Yes.”

“Is that our boy?” Lake asked. “Did the 1-24 make it here?”

“I think that may be it,” she said. “There’s no record in here of any American submarine that was supposed to be in the area. The duty officer specifically notes that. But since the war was over, no alert was issued and no further action was taken.”

Harmon tapped the old duty log. “The station tracked the contact in to three miles off the Golden Gate where there’s a semicircular shoal called the Potato Patch. Then something strange happened. They heard nothing for a half hour, then the submarine apparently went back out to sea, but the log says there was an echo going in toward the harbor.”

Lake frowned. “An echo? What do they mean by that?”

“I think that the initial contact was the 1-24,” Harmon said. “Remember I told you that they would most likely have a smaller submarine on the deck of the 1-24, a midget sub? I think the echo is that midget sub which would have carried the Genzai Bakudan or at least towed it to the target.”

Lake looked down at the map. He remembered the current he had faced several miles out to sea from the Golden Gate. From his SEAL training he knew quite a bit about hydrography and he also knew something about seagoing craft. He’d seen pictures of Japanese midget subs, such as the one that was beached on Oahu shortly after the attack at Pearl Harbor. “I think a midget sub would have a hell of a hard time trying to make it in the Golden Gate, even from only three miles out,” Lake said. “The current there is very powerful and a midget sub doesn’t have the greatest engine or an unlimited supply of power. Also, one of those old-style nuclear bombs must have weighed a hell of a lot.”

“Maybe that’s where it all fell apart,” Harmon theorized. “They sent out the midget sub and it got caught in the current and pushed back out to sea, lost forever.”

“They wouldn’t be that stupid, would they?” Lake murmured. Why couldn’t the damn sub have just disappeared in the mid-Pacific, he thought to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He was still looking at the map. “I mean they would have known about the current and all that. They were sailors, for Chrissakes.” Lake’s frustration and anger at the recent phone call and events was seeping out of him, water flowing over a high dike of discipline and self-control. “Something’s not right about this.” He slapped the table top. “Shit, nothing’s right about anything.”

He drew his finger across the map to the narrow gap between the peninsula of San Francisco and Marin County to the north. “You said the harbor was basically undefended after the war. The mines were deactivated and the sub gate was open all the time. They would have expected that. So what happened to the mini-sub? Where is it resting?”

Harmon was turning pages in the log, looking for any more information. “Here’s something,” she said.

“What?”

“The U.S.S. Honolulu, a cruiser that was departing the harbor after overhaul, picked up a small sonar contact that coincides with this echo. They tracked it until they lost it at—” There was a sudden intake of breath that caused Lake to look up from the map in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“They tracked it until they lost it against the southern tower of the Golden Gate Bridge.” She looked up from the log. “The midget submarine with the second bomb is at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge.”