“Maybe,” Rencke said vaguely. “Can you come down here tonight?”
“What is it?”
“I need to pick your brain. The records are here, but they’re not complete. Like something’s missing. Like impressions, maybe memories. Can you come?”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” McGarvey said, and Rencke hung up.
CINC Seventh Fleet Rear Adm. James Hamilton, who had assumed command of the primary carrier group, was on the bridge with the George Washington’s skipper, Captain David Merkler, when a signals man came in and handed the admiral a message flimsy.
“What is it?” Merkler asked.
Hamilton looked up. “The President wants to talk to me,” he said. “We’ll take it in my quarters.”
“Maybe now we can start to get some answers that make sense.” Merkler looked like a heavyweight boxer and in fact had boxed for the navy when he was at Annapolis. There wasn’t a man in the navy who had ever entertained the notion of crossing him. Even smiling he looked dangerous, exactly the opposite of Hamilton, who was short, slender and intellectual. Together they made a formidable team.
“Don’t count on it, Dave,” Hamilton said, as they left the bridge together.
In the distant haze off the port side of the mammoth nuclear-powered Nimitz class aircraft carrier, they could just make out Cape Tappi on the Honshu headland at the western end of Tsugaru Strait that opened to the Sea of Japan. In a matter of hours his battle group would be out of the confining waters of the strait and into waters where they would have some maneuvering room. It wouldn’t be too soon for Hamilton, whose primary love was the sea, not some confining office in Yokosuka or Washington.
The marine guard followed them, and at the admiral’s quarters, opened the door for them and saluted smartly.
It took a couple of minutes for the call from the White House to go through, time enough for Merkler to pour them some coffee. Hamilton put the call on the speakerphone.
“Good evening, Mr. President,” Hamilton said. It was ten-thirty in the morning there, which made it 8:30 P.M. in Washington. “I have Dave Merkler with me.”
“Good morning, Admiral,” President Lindsay said. “I’m glad to hear it because this is for both of you. How is everything going out there?”
“We’ll be in the Sea of Japan in a few hours, and so far nobody seems to be taking any notice of us.”
“I’m glad to hear that too. But the situation might not hold together much longer, and it’ll be up to you to make sure nothing gets out of hand.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Mr. President,” Hamilton said, exchanging a glance of puzzlement with Merkler. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“There’ve been some new developments between the Japanese and Chinese navies that you need to be aware of,” the President said. For the next fifteen minutes he went into detail about the destruction of the Chinese Han class submarine, the reactions of the Chinese and Japanese ambassadors, the continued buildup of naval resources off the North Korean coast and his warning to both governments to keep a one-hundred-mile zone of separation between their ships and North Korea.
“Good lord,” Hamilton said. “Mr. President, are you ordering me to place my carrier groups down there to enforce the separation zone?”
“That’s exactly what I want you to do, Jim,” Lindsay said. “With all possible speed.”
“What if someone takes exception to our presence?”
“I’m giving you the authority to defend yourself at all times. Someone shoots at you, shoot back.”
“No, Mr. President, that’s not what I mean,” Hamilton said. “What do you want us to do if they simply ignore us? These are international waters, but considering what happened at Kimch’aek and Pyongyang’s warnings, the Japanese would be fools not to maintain a strong presence down there. Add to that the probability that the Chinese have gotten themselves in the middle of it because Pyongyang has asked for their help, and they might just start shooting at each other in earnest. We could hardly blame them for something like that.”
The President had never served in the military. He hesitated a moment. “If you place your ships between them I don’t think they’ll be foolish enough to start anything.”
“Yes, Mr. President. But what do I do if someone makes a mistake?” Hamilton said. Getting a politician to make a straight statement was usually impossible, so the President’s next order came as a surprise.
“Stop them with whatever force you think is necessary, Jim.”
“I see,” Hamilton said quietly. “Can I assume that Tom Logan knows the score?” Air Force General Thomas Logan was in charge of all U.S. forces on Okinawa.
“He does,” the President said. “But I want you to be perfectly clear on our intent here, and that’s to prevent an all-out shooting war between Japan and North Korea and whoever Pyongyang has as its ally.”
“Yes, sir.” Hamilton figured that no matter how this turned out, relations between the U.S. and Japan would never be the same again.
“I won’t leave you to hang out to dry, Jim,” the President said. “I’ll have my orders sent to you in writing within the hour.” That came as another complete and somewhat welcome surprise to Hamilton.
“I appreciate that, sir. We’ll do the very best we can.”
“I know you will. Good luck.”
McGarvey parked in the visitor’s lot and took the elevator eight hundred feet down to the main records storage level. He’d called ahead so that the night security people were expecting him, and they let him inside without delay. He passed through a pair of heavy steel doors, his DDO pass keying the electronic locks. Rencke was waiting with a golf cart, his long fuzzy hair even wilder and more out of control than usual.
“Oh boy, Mac, thanks for comin’,” Otto gushed as McGarvey climbed into the cart beside him. They took off immediately from the central square down a long, broad avenue that led through the tall stacks for as far as they could see.
“Are you okay?” McGarvey said. Rencke looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His clothing was dirty and rumpled, and the laces were loose on one of his sneakers and missing on the other. He didn’t smell so good either.
“No time for that now,” Rencke said. “There’s bad shit lying around all over the place down here.” He shook his head in wonder. “It’s like looking for a word in a dictionary; you get sidetracked to some really weird shit sometimes.” Tears suddenly came to his eyes and he glanced at McGarvey. “Your folks were good people, Mac. Top shelf, the best, really the best. It was that bastard Baranov and Trotter who did it to them, ’cause they were afraid of you.”
“You saw the records?”
Rencke’s lips compressed, and he nodded. “But you don’t want to see them. Not ever.”
“You’re probably right,” McGarvey said. But he’d already seen them. “What have you come up with? Anything we can use right now?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been through your record, and I’ve even come up with a list of names. People still alive, with the position and power to come after you if they wanted to. You’re going to have to consider them, but as far as I can tell that angle’s not going to wash. Some of them, like a couple of Tarankov’s people and a few Mafia guys from Moscow, hate your guts. But killing you wouldn’t do them any good, not if you consider the kinds of risks they would have to take and compare them with what they have to lose if they fail. And none of them is going to get in much trouble just because you’re the new DDO. No real gain for them if you were taken out.”
“Just revenge,” McGarvey said.