Honorable Enemies

Chapter 10

When Susan, Steve, and Theresa arrived at the tiny cottage, Mrs. Sakoguchi was sitting in a porch swing, fanning herself. She rose and walked toward the car as the trio got out.

While Theresa introduced everyone, Steve surveyed the premises and spotted Mrs. Sakoguchi's granddaughter. The youngster was sitting on the ground near a small vegetable garden, digging a trench with a child-size spade. Behind her, in the midst of various pieces of discarded junk, sat a rusted and faded Chevrolet Malibu. A man who was sprawled under the car stuck his head out to examine the strangers, then returned to his work.

After helping the elderly woman into the car, they drove along the coast highway to a point near Kahana Bay Beach Park. Recognizing the familiar terrain where she first spotted the helo, Mrs. Sakoguchi asked Susan to slow down, then pointed to the area where she had seen what she thought was the Sky Nine helicopter.

"There," the frail woman said with a gesture of excitement. "Helly-copter fly 'long ridgcgo north."

"Television helicopter?" Susan asked in a low-key, conversational way. "You're sure it was Theresa's TV helicopter?"

Mrs. Sakoguchi tensed and cautiously looked at the pilot. "It's okay," Theresa assured her and patted her hand. "Just tell us what you saw."

"TV helly-copter," she muttered and looked up at Susan. "I sure it TV helly-copter."

"Okay, we believe you," Steve said with a reassuring smile. "We thank you for your cooperation, and rest assured that you have nothing to worry about, okay?"

She nodded and cast a nervous look at Theresa.

Steve and Susan carefully studied the ridgeline while Theresa continued to comfort the anxious woman.

Wickham turned and looked at the layer of clouds settling over the island. "It looks like that tropical depression is moving toward us."

"You're right," Theresa said with a quick glance at the gray clouds. "It's supposed to move onshore this evening."

After a few more questions, they drove Mrs. Sakoguchi back to her home and again reassured her that she had nothing to fear. The FBI and the CIA, Steve patiently explained, were thankful for the information she had given them. The small woman beamed when the sedan drove away.

When they reached Highway 83, Steve turned in his seat to face Theresa. "We really appreciate your help."

"I'm happy to help in any way possible."

Susan leaned her head to the side, keeping her eyes on the road. "I have to add my thanks, too. We finally have a solid lead to follow."

"I just hope you find the sonuvabitch," Theresa said without any sign of embarrassment.

"We'll find him," Susan assured her and glanced at Steve. "Were you able to get a helicopter?"

"All set. The Army is going to provide a helo for as long as we need it."

"When do we get it?"

"Tomorrow morning." He looked at the ominous clouds. "If the weather holds. They'll pick us up at Fort De Russey at oh-seven-hundred."

"It may be a long shot," Susan conceded, "but I'm anxious to start scouring the windward side of the island."

Theresa chuckled. "You and everyone else. This island is crawling with planes and helicopters."

"But they don't know what we know," Susan remarked and then noticed the question in Steve's eyes. "Before we tell the world what Mrs. Sakoguchi saw, we need to take a crack at finding the helo. Otherwise we'll be dodging every flying machine on the island… instead of searching."

"You're right," Theresa chimed in. "I've got an idea, if you don't mind flying with a civilian—"

"Can we use your helo?" Steve asked, anticipating her offer.

"It's already approved." She looked at her watch. "Our general manager has offered the use of Sky Nine in the search, so when it lands after drive time, we'll go refuel, then head for Kahana Bay."

Tadashi Matsukawa settled in his thickly cushioned chair as the Dassault Falcon 900B accelerated the length of runway 17, then smoothly rotated near the end of the pavement. He watched his brightly lighted Gochi Nyorai pass under the starboard wing before he reached for the Global Wulfsberg Flitefone.

The airborne telephone system incorporated a sophisticated voice scrambler and automatic channel-selection.

Matsukawa kicked off his made-to-order ostrich-skin shoes and propped his feet on the couch next to his desk. A minute later, his personal business manager was awake and taking notes at his home in White Plains, New York.

With unusual patience, Matsukawa explained that he wanted to quietly sell all of his American stocks and his real estate in the contiguous U. S., including the ranch in Colorado. He would keep his properties in London, Bermuda, Hawaii, Paris, Guam, and Singapore.

When his school friend from Harvard queried him, Matsukawa told him not to worry about anything. He explained that secrecy was paramount and that all proceeds must be sent through his holding company in Tokyo.

After his business manager copied and read back his instructions, Matsukawa abruptly terminated the conversation and reached for his drink. Next, he called the president of the firm that handled all of his travel arrangements when he was in the U. S.

Matsukawa punched on the VCR while he waited for the sleepy man to confirm that he had a reservation in the first-class section of the Japan Air Lines flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo.

The $24-million, three-engined corporate jet was too ostentatious for Japanese business standards, so Matsukawa always used JAL for his international travel.

Listening to the soft buzzing sound emitting from the Flitefone receiver, Matsukawa's expression turned sour when he recalled the time he had been stranded in Los Angeles. The Transportation Department had ruled that Japan had violated the bilateral aviation agreement with the U. S. by restricting certain United Airlines flights from Toyko.

The open threat to take retaliatory action and impose sanctions against Japanese air carriers had forced Japan back to the negotiating table. Fearing the backlash of an aviation trade war with the U. S., Japan Air Lines had suddenly canceled many of their most popular and profitable flights to Los Angeles and San Francisco.

Caught in the middle of the dispute, Matsukawa had been forced to fly to Tokyo in the coach section of a Continental Airlines flight. The flight was a humiliating experience that he remembered with great contempt.

When he received confirmation of his seating assignment, Matsukawa finished his drink, then tilted his seat back and stared at the ceiling of the jet. He, along with the Prime Minister and the leaders of the gurupu, would have to proceed cautiously and not let nationalist sentiments cloud their judgment.

Matsukawa let his mind drift back to the attacks on the Pearl Harbor tour ship and the Japan Air Lines 747. He smiled to himself and thought about his close ties to the Chukaku-Ha terrorist group.

A Matsukawa lieutenant had infiltrated the Kakumaru-Ha faction and helped plan the confrontation and subsequent split that had resulted in the Chukaku-Ha. Since 1983, when the leaders of the new terrorist organization instigated a mass struggle to change Japan's constitutional democracy, Matsukawa had had his finger on the pulse of the group.

Using his loyal aide, the wealthy businessman continued to funnel money to the terrorist group to support anti-American demonstrations and periodic attacks on U. S. installations. Matsukawa thought about the tour-bus explosion in Osaka and the downed American F-16 fighter at Misawa; every attack — anything that heightened tensions — was sweet music to his ears.

He snapped back to the present when the corporate jet flew through an area of moderate turbulence. Matsukawa sat up and cleared his mind.

Regardless of how they approached the Americans, he thought while he leaned back and closed his eyes, the days of sumiwake — the peaceful sharing with others — were coming to an end.

Steve Wickham shielded his eyes when the brightly colored JetRanger slowed to a hover, then gently landed on the heliport by the beach.

"What a coincidence," Steve said to Theresa while the main rotor blades wound down.

She cupped her ear. "I couldn't hear you."

"It's nice that you operate from our hotel," he said in a loud voice.

"I have to be close to the studio," she explained with mock seriousness as the contract pilot removed his headset and opened his door, "in the event that I have to scramble for a breaking news story."

Steve looked askance. "Right."

"Actually" — she turned to include Susan—"it's great publicity for the station."

Susan nodded in agreement and followed Steve to the vividly colored JetRanger.

After Theresa talked with the relief pilot, she helped Susan strap in while Steve nonchalantly climbed into the left front seat of Sky Nine.

With a crowd of spectators watching, Theresa started the powerful turbine, checked her engine gauges, then brought the JetRanger to a hover and moved out over the clear water. A minute later they were racing toward Honolulu Internationa 1.

When the helicopter was refueled at Air Service Hawaii, Sky Nine lifted off and headed directly toward Kahana Bay.

Once they cleared the top of the Koolau Range, Theresa slowed the helo and flew equal distance between the ridgeline and the shore. She studied the overcast, mentally noting the decreased visibility.

"We won't be able to stay long," she explained over the intercom. "The weather is about to clobber us and we don't have much daylight left."

"You're the boss," Steve said politely and cinched his restraint harnesses tighter. "Make it easy on yourself."

Susan was uncomfortable, but she decided not to question the pilot, at least not in front of Wickham.

Theresa handed Steve a tattered map of Oahu. "If you see anything suspicious, make a note on the chart."

"Will do."

"If you want to photograph anything," Theresa went on while she pointed to the metal container next to Steve's seat, "feel free to use the camera. We keep plenty of extra film on board, so shoot all you like."

"Thanks." He opened the case and removed the Pentax. "I appreciate it."

"No problem."

They continued along the coastline while Theresa pointed out two private residences that had heliports and small hangars. Steve photographed the lavish homes, then circled the locations on the map and made a check mark on the highway next to the shoreline.

He keyed the intercom and looked at Theresa. "Those mansions — the ones with the helipads — must be owned by Japanese."

"You're right," she confided with a wide grin. "They're in the twenty-five-to-thirty-million range, just in case you're interested."

"Not this month," Steve absently replied while he snapped photos of another massive home.

The opulent dwelling was new construction, complete with a huge free-form swimming pool with a large spa in the middle. A towering waterfall cascaded into a koi pond near a stone bridge that connected the marble spa to the large courtyard.

Next to the pool area was a tennis court surrounded by a row of tall trees and colorful flowers and shrubbery. Above the pool area was an elevated sundeck and wet bar with an unobstructed view of the ocean.

"Not a bad shack," Steve observed while he made a note and took a few more snapshots as they circled the home. He was surprised when he saw the camouflage-green landing aid near the tennis court.

"Down there." He pointed and Theresa banked the JetRanger. "That's a wind sock, right?"

She saw the conical, open-ended sleeve attached to a tall stand. The wind sock was connected to a pivot so it could swivel to indicate the wind direction.

"That's right," Theresa replied and began slowing the helicopter. "They're usually bright orange, so this seems a bit strange to me."

"Steve," Susan exclaimed over the intercom, "I just saw a man run around the back of the home and disappear inside. It looked like he was carrying a rifle."

"Where?" he asked and quickly shifted his gaze.

"By the side of the wing near the tennis court."

They circled the home once more before Theresa keyed her intercom. "We're going to have to hustle to get back before the weather goes down."

"Okay," Steve said and turned to look at Susan. "We need to check that place."

"First on the list," she agreed, still looking down at the large estate. "It seems odd to have a camouflage wind sock — with no hangar or helipad — and a guy with a gun running for cover."

Steve circled the location on the chart and then drew a straight line to the highway along the coastline. "We'll stop by tomorrow and pay them a visit."

When the JetRanger approached Puumahie Point, Theresa rolled the helo into a shallow turn and descended. Her uneasiness grew as the lack of visibility and diminishing daylight forced her closer and closer to the shoreline. A minute later the first splashes of rain smacked into the windshield.

"We may be in for a rough ride," Theresa announced while she added power and looked for a clear area along the ridge. She wanted to slip over the mountain range instead of having to fly all the way around the southeastern end of the island. "The visibility is dropping faster than I had anticipated."

Steve quietly nodded and watched the coastline flash under Sky Nine. He glanced toward the ridgeline and saw that the top of the Koolau Range was completely obscured by the dense clouds. He looked at his watch and estimated that darkness would swallow them in fifteen to twenty minutes.

Susan snugged her straps tighter and tried to concentrate on the scenery. She would have been more than happy to land while they could still see the ground, then hitchhike back to the Hilton.

Staying close to the shoreline, Theresa turned on her recognition lights and flew over the open water until she was abeam Kualoa Point. "We're going to have to stay VFR and see if we can work our way around the island."

"Whatever you think," Steve replied calmly while Susan fought the urge to speak out and suggest landing before the rain intensified.

Theresa contacted the radar controller at Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station and requested vectors around Mokapu Peninsula. She didn't want to risk flying low over the ground in reduced visibility. The high-tension power lines were too hard to see, especially in the rain.

When they were close to the southeastern tip of the island, the controller lost radar contact and Theresa was on her own. She tuned in the Koko Head VOR, a navigational aid known as a very-high-frequency omnirange station, and circumnavigated Kawaihoa Point.

Proceeding outbound on the Koko Head 230-degree radial, Theresa detected a grayish-white glow ahead of the JetRanger. A fraction of a second later, she yanked up on the collective, and Sky Nine cleared the tall mast of a sailing ship with inches to spare.

"That was a tad close," Steve exclaimed while he slowly let out his breath.

Susan slumped in her seat and closed her eyes.

With her heart in her throat, Theresa set her navigational aids to intercept the 110-degree radial of the Honolulu Vortac. When the needle centered, she turned inbound on the radial, knowing that it would keep her from hitting Diamond Head as she made her way to the heliport at the Hilton Hawaiian Village.

Theresa took a deep, silent breath when the distance-measuring equipment indicated that she was directly offshore from the hotel. As the driving rain pounded the helicopter, she hovered low over the water and air-taxied Sky Nine toward the beach.

A minute later Theresa and Steve simultaneously saw the beach emerge from the wall of water. She made a slight correction to the left and guided the helo to a smooth landing at the heliport.

Susan still had her eyes closed. "Are we on the ground yet?" "Finally." Theresa sighed as she shut down the turbine. "I need to buy the two of you a tall drink."