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  Sea of Death

  Richard P. Henrick

  The ultimate biological weapon lies in the hands of a Ninja warrior with a mad dream of reestablishing Japan as the world's mightiest military superpower. Only an obsolete diesel-powered submarine manned by a crew of specially trained computer-oriented nuke submariners can stop him. In one daring gamble, the engineering marvel of another time will be up against the high-tech weaponry of the future to decide the fate of the world.

  Richard P. Henrick

  Sea of Death

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to Steven Kram and Chris Godsick of the William Morris Agency, and Captain Michael T. Sherman, U.S. Navy, for their guidance and inspiration.

  The author would also like to acknowledge the invaluable assistance of Karen Launsby, head librarian of the Incarnate Word Hospital, St. Louis, Missouri, who helped unravel the mysteries of Bacillus anthracis.

  Epigraph

  “The Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation…. In order to accomplish this aim, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.”

  — Article IX of Japan’s Post-World War II constitution

  “But my heart’s leaning was for death, and night, and blood.”

  — Yukio Mishima, Confessions of a Mask

  One

  A single narrow footpath led down to the beach. In the gathering darkness. Airman First Class Vie Taylor initiated his patrol with a minimum of enthusiasm. As far ashe was concerned, he had already done his day’s work for Uncle Sam, in the form of his regular, nine-hour duty stint. This current assignment was beyond the call of duty. Yet since he lacked the nerve to express his displeasure directly to Sergeant Hawkins, there was nothing he could do about it but count the hours left until his relief arrived.

  The sound of crashing surf came from nearby, and the tall, muscular Texan looked toward the sea. The ocean was unusually calm. Lit by the last glow of twilight, this portion of the East China Sea had a mirrorlike sheen to it. The deep green of the water was interspersed with a set of evenly spaced, frothing-white breakers. Its call was almost hypnotic, and Taylor inhaled a deep breath of clean air, ripe with the scent of nutrient-filled waters.

  Above the sea’s surface, the heavens were ablaze, their fiery hues enriched by slashes of deep blue, indigo, and violet. The evening star twinkled like a jewel, while a sharply outlined, scythe-shaped crescent moon took form close by. Though this was certainly no Texas sunset, Taylor enjoyed it nonetheless.

  Until the gut-wrenching, roaring whine of jet engines diverted his attention. He turned away from the sea, in time to see the entire eastern horizon seem to fill with the massive form of the B-52 Stratofortress that had just taken off from the nearby air base. This awe-inspiring sight thrilled the young airman, who breathlessly watched as the sleek bomber flew overhead, all the while steadily gaining altitude.

  He looked on as the aircraft’s landing gear retracted, then followed the B-52 as it disappeared into the last remnants of the sunset. While wondering what mission the plane’s crew had been sent off on, he scanned the southern portion of the adjoining beach. Dark clumps of uprooted kelp littered the sand, along with a variety of driftwood and the usual flotsam and jetsam.

  A good mile distant, the lights of the village of Kadena beckoned. Ashe visualized that collection of ramshackle structures, he spotted an intruder headed his way on foot.

  Taylor’s gut tightened ashe loudly shouted.

  “Halt and identify yourself!”

  The figure kept approaching, oblivious to his challenge, and Taylor nervously unstrapped his M-16.

  “I said halt and identify yourself!” he repeated.

  Again his command met with no response, and Taylor proceeded to ram a 5.56mm cartridge into his rifle’s chamber. He was in the process of drawing a bead on the intruder when the stranger spoke out in a high-pitched voice.

  “Don’t shoot, Taylorsan! It’s me, Etsumi!”

  With this revelation, Taylor instantly lowered the barrel of his rifle and exhaled along breath of relief. A wide grin turned the corners of his mouth ashe got his first clear view of this unexpected visitor.

  * * *

  She was dressed in a tight, black miniskirt and skimpy halter top. This simple outfit amply displayed her large, perfectly formed breasts and shapely legs.

  Taylor found it hard to believe that he had known this gorgeous creature barely a week now. They’d met at Mama San’s, a smoke-filled, dimly lit bar less than a quarter of a mile from the base’s main gate. Over an ice-cold brew they had become instant friends. Less than two hours later, they were lovers as well.

  As she continued her approach, Taylor admiringly appraised her doll-like face. Her long, dark hair was cut in bangs that framed a pair of big, dark eyes set above highly etched cheekbones, a small nose, and a delicate mouth.

  “Well, just look what the tide washed in,” greeted Taylor, whose tone turned serious.

  “Now what in the hell are you doing out here, Little Bit? You know I’m on duty and this beach is strictly off limits.”

  Etsumi looked like a small girl as she reached the tall Texan’s side and responded warily.

  “I’m sorry, Taylorsan.

  But I was feeling so lonely, and I just had to come out here to see you again.”

  Taylor’s tone remained firm.

  “You know the rules, Little Bit. No hanky-panky while I’m doing my thing for Uncle Sam. So scat, before Sergeant Hawkins finds us together and busts me but good.”

  Disappointment etched Etsumi’s face as she flirtatiously batted her eyes, took a cautious step forward, and softly cooed.

  “And I so wanted to feel you deep inside of me. Will your precious Uncle Sam at least allow me a single kiss after I walked all the way from Kadena?”

  Not waiting for an answer, Etsumi sensuously rubbed her body up against Taylor’s and gently cupped his crotch.

  “Jesus, Little Bit! Can’t you at least wait until my shift’s over?”

  the Texan vainly protested. He was fighting a losing battle to restrain his rising desire.

  Etsumi responded by guiding his free hand to her heaving breast and smothering him with a series of deep, passionate kisses.

  Five hundred yards off the beachside security perimeter, a periscope broke the water’s surface. Without a moment’s hesitation, the oblong viewing lens turned due eastward and initiated a quick survey of the relatively small portion of Okinawa’s western shoreline visible in the distance.

  Sixty-five feet below, from the equipment-packed control room of the diesel-powered, Romeoclass submarine Katana, Captain Satsugai Okura stood intently draped over the vessel’s main attack scope. With the practiced case of a veteran, the Katana’s commanding officer scanned the wide beach, whose sandy surface was littered with long ribbons of glistening kelp. A breakwater lay to the south, formed from a series of massive boulders. While beyond the barbed wire-tipped, chainlink security fence that stretched the length of the beach flickered the lights of a distant town.

  Okura concentrated on the breakwater, paying particular attention to the spot where it intersected the beach. He increased the lens’s magnification tenfold and expertly fine-tuned the focus. Shortly thereafter, he spotted a single M-16 rifle propped up against one of the boulders. His pulse quickened, and lighting the urge to share this discovery with the rest of the crew, he excitedly scanned the adjoining beach.

  Lying naked on the sand, less than ten feet away from the abandoned M-16, were a pair of copulating lovers. Okura grinned, then watched the two go at it for a full minute before backing away from the periscope and snapping shut its folding arm
s.

  “Down scope!” he ordered.

  The cylinder slid back down into its storage well with a hiss, and Okura turned forward to face the Katana’s helm. Here two alert planesmen were seated before their airplanelike steering columns. Standing immediately beside them, monitoring the complex of main-vent levers and air-induction valves was the bearded figure of Chief Mikio, the sub’s diving officer.

  “Chief, prepare to surface,” instructed Okura.

  The diving officer answered without glancing away from his instruments.

  “The Katana is ready when you are. Captain.”

  Okura quickly scanned the half-dozen manned stations set alongside the diving console. From these various positions, the sub was navigated and its weapons fired. Of particular interest to him was the sonar station, where a young, crewcut technician appeared totally absorbed in the sounds being relayed into his cars by the bulky headphones that he wore. Okura walked over to the sonarman and addressed him while gently massaging his neck.

  “I hope that’s not the signature of another submarine or surface ship that’s got you so absorbed, Saigo.”

  The sonar operator looked up from his monitor screen and eagerly replied.

  “Captain, our hydrophones are picking up only the mating sounds of a bunch of amorous shrimp.”

  “This appears to be a night filled with lust, Saigo,” said the captain with a cryptic wink.

  “Now let’s see if our special passengers are ready to earn their keep.”

  Okura reached out for a bulkhead-mounted telephone and spoke into the handset’s transmitter.

  “Number two, is the team ready?”

  The amplified voice of Senior Lieutenant Fukashigi answered.

  “The squad has assembled in the forward torpedo room and is awaiting your orders to disembark, Captain.”

  “Understood, Number Two,” said Okura.

  “We’re on our way topside.”

  The captain hung up the handset, turned toward the helm and firmly ordered.

  “For the glory of the Emperor, surface the boat!”

  Chief Mikio addressed his console, and the control room filled with the roar of venting ballast. At the same time, the planesmen pulled back on their steering columns and the Katana’s bow angled sharply upward.

  Fighting the slope of the deck, Okura returned to the periscope well. He was in the midst of a hurried three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan, when Chief Mikio’s gruff voice sounded.

  “We’ve cleared the surface. Captain. Shall I pass on the all clear to the torpedo room, to open the forward access hatch?”

  “That’s affirmative, Chief,” replied Okura ashe turned the scope due eastward, and surveyed that portion of water between the Katana and the distant beach.

  “Captain, sonar reports a surface contact, bearing two-one-zero, relative rough range forty-eight hundred yards!” exclaimed Saigo.

  “It sounds like it could be a small patrol boat that’s in the process of rounding Naha Point.”

  Okura instantly swung the periscope to bearing two-one-zero and increased the lens’s magnification to maximum. It didn’t take him long to spot a dim red light just visible on the horizon.

  “Shall I inform the senior lieutenant to pull back the squad and then put the Katana under, Captain?” asked the diving officer.

  “By all means, no!” replied Okura.

  “We should have the all clear any second now. Just be ready to pull the plug the moment we get the word.”

  With a deft movement of his right hand, Okura decreased the lens’s amplification and swung the periscope back to that portion of the sea separating the Katana from the shoreline. The calm waters were still clear as Saigo shouted out the latest update.

  “Captain, sonar reports that the surface contact continues to close. Relative rough range is down to forty-five hundred yards.”

  This was followed by the concerned voice of Chief Mikio.

  “If it’s indeed a patrol boat, we should be just about within their radar range. Captain.”

  Well aware of this disturbing fact, Okura backed away from the scope and impatiently looked up to the bulkhead-mounted clock. Their mission’s ultimate success depended upon total secrecy. Detection by the surface vessel’s radar would compromise this allimportant factor, and Okura knew that he couldn’t afford to keep the Katana in its current position any longer. He was in the process of reaching out for the telephone handset to inform his executive officer of this decision when the unit activated with a growling buzz. Okura, quick to answer it, listened as Senior Lieutenant Fukashigi relayed the report he had been waiting for.

  “Captain, the team is free of the boat and the access hatch has been sealed!”

  Okura’s reaction was immediate.

  “Take us down, Chief! Dive! Dive!”

  The control room reverberated with the raucous cry of the diving alarm and the sound of onrushing ballast.

  As the hull began to angle downward, Okura hurried back to the periscope. He anxiously peered through the lens, which filled with a closeup view of five wet-suited individuals smoothly paddling toward shore in a black rubber raft.

  * * *

  Airman First Class Vie Taylor felt like he had died and gone to heaven. For the past quarter of an hour, positioned atop him, Etsumi had made love like a woman possessed. She was wet and tight, and displayed arising passion that seemed to have no bounds.

  Sprawled out on his back on the moist sand, Taylor returned her urgent kisses while stroking the smooth, hot skin of her constantly plunging buttocks. No words were needed to express his own desire. With no thought to duty, the Texan concentrated solely on satisfying his lover’s desperate needs.

  Soothed by the gentle sound of the crashing surf, Taylor was further aroused by a series of deep French kisses. His lover’s tongue touched his own, then probed his lips and mouth with sensual fierceness.

  This was accompanied by a wild, grinding of her hips, hinting that her need would soon be satisfied.

  Taylor’s stiff, nine-inch manhood plunged deep into Etsumi’s hot depths. Time after glorious time, she took his all, until his rhythm was further intensified by the first hint of rising seed. Etsumi sensed this excitement and momentarily pressed her hips forward and halted all movement. Taylor assumed that she wanted him to hold back, so that they could share the pleasures of orgasm together. With all the self-control he could muster, he did so. And after a brief rest, they were able to resume intercourse without the Texan having to worry about leaving his lover unfulfilled.

  A spirited rhythm was once more established, only to be interrupted by a distant, metallic clanging noise.

  This alien racket immediately diverted Taylor’s attention.

  He broke off the deep kiss he had been submerged in and looked out into the black night.

  “What in the hell was that?” he queried.

  “It’s nothing, cowboy,” said Etsumi breathlessly.

  “So please, don’t quit now. I’m so close I could burst any second.”

  Heedless of this request, Taylor pushed Etsumi away, the erotic spell that had captivated him now broken.

  Ashe struggled to stand and pull up his pants, she vainly protested.

  “Don’t be such an old lady. There’s nothing out there but the wind and the sea.”

  “That’s easy enough for you to say. Little Bit. But if that’s the sarge, hell throw me in the brig and then lose the key.”

  Taylor was doing his best to brush the sand from his chest and arms when the clanging noise was repeated.

  It appeared to be emanating from the direction of the sea, and sounded louder.

  Not bothering to put on his shirt, Taylor turned toward the breakwater, where he had left his rifle. Ashe pivoted, Etsumi grabbed his arm and whined.

  “Taylorsan! What’s gotten into you?”

  The Texan violently yanked himself free and, not bothering to reply, sprinted for his weapon. Raw, heart-pounding fear guided his steps ashe spotted t
he M-16 propped up against arounded boulder, only a few feet distant. Well aware of his sworn duty and his exposed position, he desperately extended his hand.

  His fingers made contact with the cool metal barrel.

  Yet his relief was short-lived, for a mysterious figure materialized out of the blackness and kicked the rifle out of his grasp.

  Taylor turned to face this stranger. The man’s tight-fitting black attire included a hood which revealed only a pair of dark, cruel eyes that had a frightening, almost demonic quality.

  As a student of the martial arts, Taylor had no trouble identifying this figure as a Ninja warrior.

  Though he prayed this was but arealistic exercise by his own security forces, he inwardly knew otherwise.

  And his gut conclusion was confirmed when the Ninja lunged forward with alightning quick parry, spun Taylor around, and proceeded to snap his neck like it was a mere twig.

  As soon as the Texan collapsed onto the sand in a twitching heap, Etsumi approached the rocks of the breakwater. Dressed now in her skimpy miniskirt and halter top, she faced the hooded figure responsible for killing her lover, coolly addressing him.

  “My work here is now completed. Yours has just begun.

  For the glory of the Emperor, may your mission be a successful one.”

  The Ninja bowed in response, as did his four similarly outfitted brethren who now joined him. Only as the men silently turned to proceed inland did Etsumi spot the long metallic cylinder strapped to the back of each Ninja.

  Two

  Alone Bell UH-1 Huey helicopter soared northward over the rugged central highlands of Laos. Seated beside the open hatchway. Dr. Miriam Kromer gazed out at the passing landscape. Since leaving Bangkok three hours ago, the lush, solid green jungle canopy had given way to jagged, boulder-strewn hills. Gone were the rice paddies and fields filled with water buffalo. In their place was a desolate, inhospitable terrain, conspicuously void of human inhabitants.