Sea of Death

Thirteen

The sky had been pitch black when the Sikorsky Sea King helicopter dropped them into the water approximately two miles off Okinawa’s northern shoreline.

Even in a full wet suit, the shock of plunging feet-first into the cold sea brought Dr. Miriam Kromer to full alert. Her great fatigue instantly was displaced by a surge of adrenaline as she fought to keep her head above the white cap-topped waves. Beside her, the members of SEAL Team Three quickly went to work inflating their raft, and soon all of them were in this black, rubber vessel, paddling vigorously toward the shore.

They traveled in that direction for over an hour, and the lexicologist was all but oblivious to the first faint colors of dawn painting the eastern horizon.

As always, the SEALs were setting a blistering pace, and it took a total effort on her part to keep up with them. The palm of her hand stung where it made contact with the paddle’s wooden handle, and her back and neck were almost numb with pain. Though one part of her wanted to just give up, to abandon this ridiculous challenge, an inner voice urged her to push on even harder. So far, the latter preference had won out, though how much longer it would she couldn’t really say.

She supposed she had something to prove, not only to the SEALs but to herself. Throughout her life, Miriam had thrived on challenge. In her school days, her competitive spirit had been expressed both in the classroom and on the playground. She never got a grade lower than an A. And she captained the gymnastics, field hockey, and softball teams.

College was no different. If anything, the additional competition only made her work harder. Because of her father’s influence, she had chosen her field before she began her freshman year, and she had faltered only once, because of a young man she was dating. Actually, this fellow had been her first and, so far, her only love. He was handsome, bright, and incredibly persuasive, and because of him, Miriam almost gave up a career in toxicology to join him as family physician.

Uninvited, Miriam had been drawn to his off-campus apartment one icy December evening. She’d entered through the backdoor which he always kept unlocked, and had immediately smelled the rich sandalwood incense burning inside. Jim Morrison and the Doors blared forth from the stereo as she quietly sneaked into the bedroom to surprise him. As it turned out, that night the surprise was on her.

Miriam had caught him making love to a big-busted, Oriental nurse who doubled as a student teacher. She had never felt real pain until that moment, and had run from the apartment, tears cascading down her cheeks. She’d cried herself to sleep, then had awakened several hours later to come to a startling conclusion. She would never again put herself in such a vulnerable position. She would never feel such pain again.

From that night on, she applied herself to her studies with anew ferocity. With her competitive spirit reawakened, she eventually graduated number one in her class, then had the good fortune to be accepted in the Armed Forces’ graduate studies program at Ft. Detrick, Maryland.

As far as Miriam was concerned, there was no more intellectually stimulating opportunity on earth.

With the entire world asher laboratory, she was on a life and death quest, her goal to identify, control, and eliminate some of the most deadly natural substances known to man. The proliferation of biological weapons only made her job that much more challenging. And this was especially the case now that genetically altered toxins were beginning to make their nightmarish ways into the world’s arsenals.

No stranger to commitment, she considered her current assignment the perfect opportunity to demonstrate that. The mysterious Dr. Ishii was challenging her to make a stand, to become personally involved in ridding the earth of the scourge he would inflict on untold millions. The SEALs were pushing Miriam to the very edge of her physical endurance.

If she was worthy, she would pass this test and be in on the completion of the mission. Unable to contemplate failure, she did her best to ignore her pain-racked body as she dipped the paddle in, at the limit of her arm’s extension, and swept it backward with a powerful push.

“I think I saw some surf breakin’ up yonder,” observed Cajun from the raft’s rounded bow.

“I bet that’s the beach.”

Old Dog voiced his concern from a position immediately behind their point man.

“What if it’s a reef?”

“Then we throw you overboard, big guy, and float over it,” remarked Traveler, who was paddling opposite the Texan.

“Breath easy. Old Dog,” said Warlock from his seat in the stern beside Miriam.

“If Cajun saw breaking surf, then that can only mean the beach is close-by. Because before they dropped us in the drink, I got a chance to study the bathymetrics of this approach. And unless we got pushed off course by a hell of an unexpected current, the nearest reef is miles from these parts.”

“There it is again!” exclaimed Cajun, who pointed toward a frothing line of white surf, several hundred yards in front of them.

Miriam Kromer only had one thing on her mind.

“When can we stop paddling?”

“Now’s as good a time as any. Doc,” said Warlock, and he lifted up his own paddle.

“That goes for the rest of you misfits as well. No use wasting energy when we can let the tide do the work for us.”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the team quit paddling. The only female in their midst was especially appreciative of this respite, and she sat back and gratefully stretched out her aching arms.

“In a couple of days, we’ll be making this trip for real, two hundred miles north of here,” said Warlock.

“The only differences being a submarine will drop us off and our reception committee on land will be far from friendly. That’s why it’s imperative we make a clean entry on the beach.”

“Hey, Doc, ever go surfing?” interrupted Traveler.

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” answered Miriam.

“Well, that’s going to change real quick,” added Traveler, who began stowing away the loose equipment at his feet.

The other SEALs followed his example, paying extra attention to the waterproof sacks holding their weapons. They completed this task just as the crashing of surf echoed clearly in the near distance. The raft surged forward as if in the firm grasp of a submerged hand. Miriam could see the surf line now, as well as the bare outline of a distant beach. She expectantly sat forward, and regripped her paddle when Warlock called out firmly.

“Mount ‘em up, ladies! The more forward speed we have going into this, the easier it’s going to be to catch that curl.”

All of the SEALs began forcefully clawing at the water with their paddles, Miriam spiritedly stroking as well. The pounding of the breakers intensified, and she could actually feel their deafening rumble in the back of her dry throat. Her pulse quickened as the raft bobbed upward on the back of an advancing wave. And there was a sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach as they abruptly dropped downward into a deep trough, only to be lifted upward once again.

The team’s paddling now attained almost frantic proportions, and in response, the raft shot forward in an incredible burst of wave-induced speed. Never before had Miriam experienced the raw force of a fully formed, twenty-foot-high wave. They were surfing now, the raft and its occupants tightly tucked into the wave’s well-developed curl.

“Ya-hoo!” cried Cajun, ashe leaned forward, his right hand held high over his head as if he were a cowboy on a bucking bronco.

Behind him. Old Dog appeared tense, while Traveler was taking it all in stride, still calmly chewing away on a toothpick that had materialized shortly after they’d first hit the water.

Much like a child on a roller coaster, Miriam was caught between fear and total exhilaration. Warlock seemed equally enthused, yet he called out a warning when the curl began closing in on them overhead.

“We’re gonna’ lose it! Hold on!”

As soon as these words were out, the sea came crashing down in an icy torrent. For a frightening second, Miriam thought they had capsized and that she was trapped underwater. But then the upright raft popped out of the agitated wall of water that had just fallen on them. Spread out before them now was a wide, sandy beach, whose palm trees were just being illuminated by the first rays of dawn.

Cajun leaped into the shallow water, followed closely by Traveler and Old Dog. As they struggled to guide the now-lightened raft up onto the beach, Traveler provided encouragement.

“Come on, ladies, pull! I’ve got a hot date with the platter of ham ‘n’ eggs waiting for me somewhere up there!”

Bill Brown and Henry Walker watched the SEALs hit the beach from the cover of a nearby sand dune.

As the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, they were able to see the commando team gather on the sand without the aid of the thermal-imaging binoculars they’d brought along.

“That must have been one hell of a ride in,” remarked Bill Brown ashe put on his aviator-style, wire-rimmed sunglasses.

“Is the surf always this rough up here?”

“This sea condition is highly unusual,” replied the Director of Naval Intelligence.

“There’s a low-pressure system passing to the west, and that’s what’s generating these monster waves. The normal size of the surf here is a good half what we’re seeing this morning.”

“Well, if they can handle these conditions, they should have no trouble at all taking on the protected waters of Takara Bay,” said Brown.

The commandoes were in the process of dragging their raft up onto the gently sloping sand as Henry Walker pulled a large, black plastic police whistle out of his pocket.

“Shall we see how the good doctor is getting along?” he asked.

“I almost forgot she wasn’t a regular member of the SEAL team.” Brown’s gaze was locked on the five, wet-suited figures pulling the raft up onto the beach.

Walker stood, put the whistle to his lips, and blew three distinct, high-pitched blasts. He also waved his arms overhead, and the commandoes soon spotted him.

Bill Brown also rose. After brushing the sand from his khakis, he followed his ex-shipmate down toward the water line. With each advancing step, the pounding of the surf intensified, until the very sand seemed to tremble as a result of the sea’s fury. The white-haired veteran had anew respect for the commando team’s seamanship. Up close, the breaking surf could rival the giant waves that smashed onto Oahu’s northern shore.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” The devilishly handsome SEAL known as Traveler smiled.

“Surfs up.

Where’re your boards?”

Henry Walker had to scream to be heard.

“That was a wonderful approach. Anyone care to try it again?”

“I’m game if the Doc here is willing,” replied Traveler.

This prompted an instant response from the serious-faced toxicologist.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve already had my adrenaline rush for the morning.”

“I was just teasing. Dr. Kromer,” returned Walker.

“All of you did a hell of a fine job this morning, and the least I can do is offer you a lift back to Alpha Base.”

The SEALs readily accepted, and as they made their way up the road where the van was parked. Bill Brown fell in beside Miriam Kromer.

“Was that ride as scary as it looked?” asked the veteran.

“At least when we hit the surf I didn’t have to paddle.” Miriam gingerly rubbed the callused skin of her left palm.

“Though I do believe I left my stomach on the crest of one of those waves.”

Brown couldn’t help but feel sorry for the attractive redhead who reminded him of his wife. Both women had that highly competitive spirit. It had often gotten his Mary into difficult situations. He remembered when she’d volunteered to work in a Red Cross blood drive and had ended up chairman of the entire chapter.

“How are the SEALs treating you?” probed Brown.

Miriam replied softly so as not to be overheard.

“Amazingly enough, pretty good, considering that I’m the first outsider that’s ever been allowed to accompany them on one of their operations.”

“They do seem like a pretty tight bunch,” said Brown.

“But I guess that’s part of the territory.”

Even though Miriam barely knew the man who walked beside her, she liked his genuineness and his soft-spoken manner.

“They’re an incredible bunch of characters. To tell you the truth, when I first met them I didn’t like them at all, and I’m sure the feeling was mutual. But we put up with each other for Admiral Walker’s sake, and slowly but surely they began to open up to me.”

“Respect is the first bridge to trust and acceptance,” offered Brown.

“And it has to be earned, which speaks well of you. Doc.”

Not one to take a compliment lightly, Miriam blushed.

“I hope I’ve truly earned their respect,” she reflected.

“Lord knows they’ve got mine. Though each one of them has his idiosyncrasies, it’s somewhat comforting to know they’ll be around in a lifeor-death situation. In away it’s almost like hanging out with your brothers. They might give you the business now and then, but they’ll always be around to protect you from the neighborhood bully.”

As they climbed up asea grape-covered sand dune, she added, “They’ll betaking me out on the rifle range this afternoon, and then there’s going to be a little introductory hand-to-hand combat session.

How’s your work on the Bokken going?”

Brown held back his response until they had climbed up onto the dirt trail that would lead them directly to the van.

“So far, so good. The repairs to the bow are just about completed. And the young submariners picked to run her are well on their way to familiarizing themselves with the boat’s unique operational systems.”

“Is it true that you’ll be accompanying us?”

Miriam asked hopefully.

Brown readily answered.

“How could I resist Admiral Walker’s gracious invitation? And two ex-shipmates of mine wouldn’t miss this cruise for the world. If I don’t go along, who’s going to bethere to keep them out of trouble?”

Miriam was relieved to hear this news, and she couldn’t help but laugh as Traveler’s voice rang out ahead of them, ashe spotted the parked van.

“Allright ladies! Ham ‘n’ eggs here we come!”

This same dawn found Dr. Yukio Ishii seated on his favorite plateau, overlooking Takara Bay. A storm had just passed over the island, and as it moved off to the west, the rain-washed morning sky stretched overhead in a clear, powdery blue expanse.

The air itself was sweet with the promise of spring, and the elder felt atone with the bright pink cherry blossoms that were just beginning to breakthrough on the grounds below.

When he’d left for his pilgrimage four days ago, the buds of these same trees had been tightly sealed.

With their opening, a great secret was symbolically revealed, and Ishii was aware of the very essence of time.

Even without his presence, the world went on.

This was most obvious ashe peered down at the sprawling industrial complex just stirring to life on this glorious new day.

Looking like so many ants from this lofty vantage point, his employees traversed the narrow streets, obediently heading off to work to fill another day’s rice bowl. Yet how many of these pitiful creatures really understood their rightful place in the grand scheme of things? To the majority of them, this was but a job, away to pass time, that most precious gift of all.

Of course, a treasured handful of his associates had successfully lifted the veil of consciousness and now understood their place in the Way. During his brief absence, these were the souls he most missed communing with. But the call to cleanse himself had been a strong one. And though there was still much work to be done to insure his dream’s success, Ishii had left the everyday world of man, to walk the wild, unpopulated hills of his island home.

For four lonely days, he’d seen not another soul.

With only an occasional mouthful of cool spring water to give him subsistence, he’d surrendered his body and soul to the great nature spirits that haunted Takara’s hills and valleys.

He’d found shelter in a quiet grotto that lay near the island’s eastern shore. Here a crude plywood lean-to protected him from the wind and the rain.

Ishii carried no spare clothing. He had only the white robe on his back. The only time he spoke was to mutter his prayers, except when he addressed astray dog that had befriended him along the way before abruptly running off to chase a rabbit.

The basic simplicity of this primal lifestyle clarified the elder’s inner vision. And now he was prepared for the great victory it had taken him a virtual lifetime to achieve.

Ishii found it strange that the only person he really wished he could have brought along to share his many insights was Yoko Noguchi. On the day before he’d left on his unannounced retreat, he had spent the better part of a morning with this delightful young woman, giving her a tour of the grounds.

Unlike many of his employees, she had a probing intellect, and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. There could be no doubting her potential talent as a scientist, though her political beliefs left a lot to be desired.

Like many young adults, Yoko had a naive trust in Japan’s current government. As if this socalled democracy had any real concern for the cherished will of the people!

There came a time in every society’s development when the people needed to realize that a pure democracy was not the best way to be governed. The average citizen was too self-centered, too concerned with minor, everyday wants and desires to be an effective leader. Rather than be wasted on such persons, political power was best kept in the hands of an elite, those whose vision went beyond the mundane.

Ishii had living proof that such a system worked, here on Takara. And if he could convince Yoko Noguchi of this fact, he’d have a powerful new ally who could be a conduit to an entire generation that desperately needed spiritual awakening.

Yoke’s generation and the ones that would follow were the real future of Japan. Above all, they had to be cleansed of the corrupt western cultural influences that blinded them to the richness of their heritage.

Like a malignant cancer, the evils generated by rock and roll, drugs, and petty consumerism had to be removed before the contamination was irreversible.

Ishii could only help them make the first allimportant cut. Then it would be up to leaders such as Yoko Noguchi to continue the revolution, by showing her contemporaries that the true path to self-fulfillment lay in not imitating Western values. It could be found instead in the shrines of their ancestors.

Stimulated by this lofty thought, Ishii foresaw a day in the not so distant future when Japan would be reborn in spirit. And like a cherry blossom opening to the first call of spring, the land of the Rising Sun would flourish as it had in centuries past, before the coming of the barbarian.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke behind him, and Ishii didn’t have to turn around to identify their source. Called thusly back to the everyday world of man, the elder summoned forth a voice that was hoarse from disuse.

“So, you have not missed our appointed practice time, Satsugai.”

“Sensei, we have been very worried about you,” replied the concerned submariner.

“No one has seen you for four entire days.”

Ishii held back his response ashe stood upright and bowed deeply toward the rising sun. Only then did he turn to face Okura, who was dressed in a white robe similar to his own.

“There was no reason to worry, my friend. It’s good for the soul to break free from the world of man now and then, and to lose itself in nature. I hope that you used this time wisely to establish your own oneness with the Way.”

“That I have, Sensei. I have found my peace of mind through fasting and prayer.”

“Then let us see the results,” replied Ishii, who bent over and removed two samurai swords from the lacquered box placed beside his prayer rug.

These weapons had orange tassels hanging from their hilts, which were composed of diamondshaped, mother-of-pearl inlay. The razor-sharp steel of the blade itself had a smoky, wavy pattern to it, the result of a special tempering process known as sambon sugi.

“I hope you don’t mind if we forsake the bokken and utilize the katana on this glorious dawn,” remarked the elder.

“These swords are said to have been among those used by the great samurai Saigo Takamori and his followers. It’s hard to believe that over a century has passed since those one hundred brave warriors raised their swords against the Western-influenced fools in the Meiji government, those who had the effrontery to outlaw the samurai way of life. Though the government rifles ripped our samurai brethren to shreds, their spirits have lived on, to guide our souls and to return Nippon to the path of righteousness.”

Ishii then handed one of the swords to Okura, and took a second to tie a white hachimaki around his forehead. This particular samurai headband had a bright red rising sun dyed in its center, and emblazoned in black ink on its sides were the words Shichisho Hokoku (serve the nation for seven lives).

“Remember, Satsugai,” added Ishii, “if in his mind the warrior doesn’t forget one thing, that being death, he’ll never find himself caught short.”

Both men faced each other at the center of the clearing, bowed and then adopted an opening attitude, with knees slightly bent and both hands on the hilts of their swords. Ishii appeared content to let his younger opponent make the first move, and Okura all too soon obliged him.

With a quick fluid motion, the submariner slashed down at Ishii’s neck. Without shifting his feet, Ishii needed only a minimal movement of his katana to counter this powerful blow. Not to be denied, Okura yanked his sword aside, and raised it high over his head, seemingly taunting the elder to strike out at his exposed body. Ishii took the bait and lunged forward, yet not before Okura was able to cut downward and block this blow.

Ishii loudly grunted and pulled his katana free.

His eyes gleamed with determination, and he wasted no time in once again taking the offensive. They exchanged alightning-quick series of blows that filled the air with the raw, metallic clash of steel upon steel.

Ishii was in the process of cutting downward toward his opponent’s head when Okura alertly ducked, just as the fatal blow was about to hit home. From this crouching position, he proceeded to sweep his sword upward, catching the hilt of Ishii’s sword in the process, and separating it from the startled elder’s grasp.

As the sword clattered to the ground, Okura took a step backward and bowed. Ishii returned this gesture, appearing pleasantly surprised by the bout’s outcome.

“So, it appears that the master is now the student,” observed Ishii.

“I have waited many dawns for this momentous day to come, my friend. At long last you are atone with the Way, and now not even death will interfere with your divine mission.”

He beckoned Okura to join him at the overlook.

After stashing their swords in the lacquered box, both men stood on the rocky lip of the plateau and gazed out at the glimmering waters of the bay.

The sun had long since broken over the horizon, and was quickly rising in the blue sky. It promised to be a warm day. Even the circling gulls seemed to be celebrating the arrival of spring by calling out to each other in constant streams of animated bird chatter.

It was the shrill blast of a ship’s whistle that diverted the attention of Ishii and Okura to the pier. A small trawler had just castoff its lines, and as it turned for the sea, it passed yet another docked vessel, whose gray, v-shaped hull was for the most part submerged.

“How are things aboard the Katana?” questioned the elder, whose gaze remained locked on the sleek submarine he had just asked about.

“All is going as planned, Sensei,” answered this vessel’s captain.

“Our latest refit was completed with a minimum of difficulties. The only system currently not on-line is our passive sonar array. Several critical components of the Fenik unit were found to be functioning improperly. We’re awaiting replacements, which are to be flown in from the manufacturer.”

“Do you foresee any delay in carrying out your scheduled mission, Satsugai?”

Okura’s response was firm.

“The Katana will be ready to put to sea as planned, Sensei. Even if the sonar components fail to arrive in time, the array can still be operated using the old parts.”

Ishii’s relief was most apparent.

“That’s all I wanted to hear, my friend. I have waited too long for this momentous day to have it delayed by a mere mechanical problem.

“This only goes to show how important it is for us to replace our current fleet of submarines with more advanced vessels of our own design. Though both the Katana and the Bokken have served us well, they are rapidly approaching obsolescence, and will all too soon need to be retired.”

“Sensei,” remarked Okura guardedly.

“Recently we had an unexpected visitor aboard the Katana. An employee by the name of Yoko Noguchi was interested in a tour of the boat.”

The mere mention of the young scientist’s name caused a warm grin to raise the corners of Ishii’s mustached mouth, and he casually questioned.

“And did you give her this tour?”

“Why of course, Sensei. She was most adamant, and said that you had already approved this request.

I hope that I did the right thing.”

“You need not be concerned, Satsugai. Miss Noguchi is a valued new member of our family. So tell me, how did she enjoy the Katana?”

Okura hesitated a moment before answering this question.

“If I remember correctly, she appeared to be a bit claustrophobic, and wasn’t all that at case, especially in the tighter spaces. She asked the usual questions, though she was particularly interested in our range, speed, storage capacity, and maximum submerged endurance. She was also curious as to the whereabouts of the Bokken.”

“And how did you answer her?” asked Ishii, who had yet to give Yoko the clearance needed for access to this particular piece of sensitive information.

“Since she was not on the Class-A security list, 1 gave her the standard reply, Sensei. As far as she knows, the Bokken is presently at an undisclosed location, probing the seabed for mineral deposits.”

“Excellent, Satsugai. Hopefully, once she proves herself loyal, we can reveal the true manner in which we are utilizing our submarine fleet.”

Most satisfied that Okura had handled this situation properly, Ishii added, “Now how about joining me in the commissary for some breakfast? I don’t know about you, old friend, but after fasting for four days, I’m positively famished!”