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  His mind refused to quiet down until the small hours of the morning as he wrestled with the problem of avoiding the Japanese intruders as well as the pirates that patrolled the strait.

  “Submarine,” he said out loud, then fell quickly into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Secret

  MOSCOW, RUSSIA

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  “Rent a submarine?” asked the Russian admiral with his eyebrows raised.

  Hendrick shifted his weight nervously and thought that his chances of pulling this deal off were pretty slim.

  “Of course we would have to take the rockets with the nuclear warheads off first.” The admiral continued with a laugh. “Or will you want to rent them as well?” He finished on the verge of a huge guffaw.

  “Unarmed, of course, along with a crew,” replied Hendrick with a smile. “One of your old diesel boats. The ones you’re scrapping or selling to other countries.”

  Admiral Oleg Danielevich Topov leaned back in his chair behind the huge desk as the grin slowly left his face. Hendrick became hopeful as the admiral became thoughtful.

  “And what would you do with this submarine?” asked the admiral.

  Hendrick was ready for the question and unrolled a large chart of the Taiwan Strait. He stabbed a finger in the middle of the strait.

  “There are many sunken ships in this area with valuable cargoes,” he began. “Some we know where to look.” He pointed to several large Xs scrawled on the map. “And there are many others there whose locations are only generally known.”

  Admiral Topov pressed Hendrick for details, and the American supplied a list of sunken vessels and their cargoes. Topov cursorily looked them over then threw the list on his desk.

  “Why use a submarine?” Topov asked.

  “There are only one or two months of good weather a year in the Taiwan Strait,” replied Hendrick. “With a sub, the weather is wet all year round.” He tried a smile, but the old admiral just stared back at him.

  Topov picked up the list again and looked it over with little more attention than the first time. “All of this junk adds up to only about a hundred thousand dollars. You’ll lose money. It will cost you a lot more than that to rent a submarine, even if you could get the permission.”

  “How much would it cost to rent a sub?” asked Hendrick.

  Topov gave him a toothy grin. “How much have you got?”

  Hendrick couldn’t resist a smile. “I’m not very good at negotiation, Admiral. Why don’t I go to the maximum I can offer, and we’ll see whether it’s good enough.”

  Topov pursed his lips and nodded. “Let us speak of American dollars. The Russian ruble is not what it once was.”

  Hendrick nodded. The ruble was being constantly devalued as massive inflation gripped Russia.

  “Three hundred fifty thousand dollars,” said Hendrick in a level voice. He watched Topov’s reaction closely.

  The admiral blinked his eyes a few times. “Perhaps,” he replied in a practiced, noncommittal voice, which Hendrick suspected was put on for the occasion.

  Times were tough in old Russia. Cold, hard cash was difficult to come by. The Russian government could make some easy money, and Hendrick knew it was tempting to the admiral to take him up on the offer.

  The admiral looked back toward the chart that was spread out before him, and he studied the Xs strung out along the Taiwan Strait.

  “If you take a sub into those waters, the Chinese and the Taiwanese will get pretty upset,” said Topov.

  “My partner has already initiated discussions with both governments, and they are agreeable to a salvage operation,” replied Hendrick. He was lying and hoped the admiral wouldn’t sense it. “We’ll have to pay them a percentage.”

  “Of course, that is the reason for using a submarine, is it not?” continued Topov.

  This rugged, old admiral had hit the nail on the head. Hendrick would try to sneak the sub into the strait in order to cut both the Chinese and Taiwanese out of any percentage of the recovered treasure, as well as avoid the pirates and the other mysterious Japanese who wanted the treasure. Admiral Topov had figured it out in only a few minutes of conversation.

  Topov studied him for a moment, then his eyes went back to the chart.

  “Are you doing any salvage in this area?” he asked as he carelessly pointed to the area east of Niushan Dao, an island near the coast of China.

  Hendrick exhaled in disgust. Topov had pointed to the exact location of the Awa Maru. Did he read minds? Hendrick pretended to be surprised and interested, but he knew it was a lousy act.

  “Why would I want to look there?” asked Hendrick.

  Topov leveled his piercing, gray eyes on the American. “If you are going after the Awa Maru, then you’re wasting your time. The Chinese got there first and found nothing.”

  “Awa Maru? What’s that?” replied Hendrick with the ghost of a smile.

  Topov’s jaws clenched together such that his cheek bulged slightly while he gave Hendrick a withering stare. The admiral’s jaw relaxed after a moment, then he shrugged.

  “You are wasting your money, but if you want to waste it here -” He shrugged again.

  “So, how much?” asked Hendrick.

  “Perhaps if it were a half million American dollars,” said Topov in a thoughtful tone. “Arrangements could proceed much more quickly.”

  That amount of money was more than he had just offered, fifty percent more, but it was well under his total budget of over a million dollars.

  “Perhaps that can be arranged,” said Hendrick. “Oh, and will you be charging a fee for your services? We would entertain a reasonable amount.” He acted as innocent as a newborn.

  Topov’s eyes locked onto him and wouldn’t let go.

  “I’ll let you know,” he replied in a low voice.

  SVR HEADQUARTERS, YASENEVO

  Georgi Bakhtin settled into his high backed chair in his office within the half moon shaped building located on Moscow Ring Road, which contained the descendents of the KGB’s First Directorate, Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service.

  Bakhtin let out a sigh of relief at being back behind a desk. The tour he had taken in the submarine of the Taiwan Strait had left him out of sorts. He suspected that he had a touch of claustrophobia. He looked at the pile of folders to the right of his desk with the expectation of getting back into the routine of a nameless bureaucrat in the service of Russia, a routine he would now enjoy.

  He picked up one of the folders, opened it and began reading. The Ministry of Security, which was responsible for Russia’s internal security, was requesting any information on a man who was attempting to do business with the government. Bakhtin quickly thumbed through the folder and noted with disgust that no photo was present. Surely the Ministry had taken a picture of him somewhere. Just a name meant nothing.

  Bakhtin gave into his one bad habit and clucked his tongue, then went back to the beginning to read more detail and saw that the navy had initiated the request. He read on and his mouth dropped open with surprise. The subject, an American, was trying to rent a submarine and a crew! Bakhtin tilted back his head and laughed out loud. These Americans! Anything they can think up, they want to do.

  He read through Admiral Topov’s initial assessment of the interview with the audacious American and kept smiling through it all. So, he was after sunken treasure! Bakhtin shook his head in disbelief. Russia was completely absorbed with its terrible internal problems, its population working ever harder and receiving less for it, while these Americans have the time to go after sunken treasure. No wonder we lost the Cold War, he thought. Topov had given a favorable recommendation to the request and stated that he would designate a submarine that was soon to be scrapped anyway. Russia might as well make some American cash on the boat before it became scrap iron.

  Topov’s assessment brought to mind the hapless, bullet-riddled salvage ship he had photographed in the Taiwan Strait. He smiled at the memory of th
e bedraggled people on the ship as he looked once again at the picture he had pinned to his wall. Maybe they were Americans seeking treasure as well.

  Topov stated in his report that the Americans wanted to go after a Japanese vessel sunk at the end of the Great Patriotic War, called the Awa Maru. Bakhtin had never heard of it, but thought he should get some background on it for the assessment he would have to write on this most unusual request. He stood and went to the door of his office.

  “Kiselev, come in here,” he ordered his assistant. The man immediately complied. Bakhtin gave him the folder. “Find out all you can about this sunken ship Awa Maru. And see if we have a picture of this man -” He squinted at the American’s name. “- Stephen Hendrick.”

  MOSCOW

  Joe Malik gave Hendrick a sideways look and mentally shrugged. He knew something was bothering him. And it was the usual thing, that damned business over the Han Gao when his brother was killed. This salvage operation for the Awa Maru had cost him greatly, yet he drove himself on.

  Hendrick had been staring out the dingy window for an abnormally long time at a decidedly unappealing view of the city. Garbage from this hotel and it seemed a lot of other places had congregated in a large area below their window. Malik was grateful that the one lousy window in their cheap room was painted shut.

  Joe Malik had never liked officers when he was in the U.S. Navy. They all seemed to have an aloofness born of ignorance of how the navy really worked. Hendrick had been different from the start. He wanted to learn everything so he could perform his job better. There had been too few officers like that. However he was distant from the men, and they began to resent him for it. Until that one night in a Manila bar.

  Even though the Subic Bay Naval Base was closed years ago, Manila, the capital of the Philippines was still a port of call for ships of the U.S. Navy. Malik had entered a particularly loud bar, thinking that some of his men were in there. He walked into a confrontation between knife wielding locals and three drunk sailors. Malik had tried to talk his way out of the situation, but the Filipinos were having none of it.

  The Filipinos charged the sailors, and the sailors responded by throwing chairs and bottles. The battle raged with the sailors getting sliced in several places by the razor sharp knives. Blood stained the floor, and the exit looked to be a thousand miles away.

  Suddenly a baseball bat thudded into the back of one Filipino’s head. He went down in a heap on the floor. A big American swung the bat in a frenzy, knocking knives out of their hands, splitting their ranks with grunts of agony. Malik gaped at the man with the bat. Lieutenant Hendrick cleared a path to the door, guiding the wounded men out and covering their retreat.

  The word got around on the ship, and Hendrick was suddenly the most liked officer aboard. Malik took a chance letting himself get to know him, liking the young lieutenant to the point of hanging around with him after hours, an unlikely event if ever there was one. Chief petty officers just did not socialize with officers, especially the young ones who were usually the most ignorant and arrogant of all.

  They had gone diving on their own time, finding that they had a common passion. Both of them opted out of the navy rather than reenlist so they could pursue diving on old wrecks. They had seduced Steve’s brother, Frank, into their business and the trio were sure they would make a fortune salvaging the world’s sunken ships.

  The Awa Maru was always lurking in the back of Hendrick’s mind, his obsession with his father’s abortive mission slowly revealing itself. Malik wanted to help Hendrick with his obsession, but if it wasn’t for the treasure, he wasn’t sure he would have tried the salvage. What were the chances that Hendrick would find what his father had sought over sixty years ago? The sea would have obliterated whatever it was long ago. Even so they went after the Awa Maru with high expectations.

  Then tragedy struck, and Frank was gone. The two of them recovered from the loss and doggedly went after various sunken wrecks. They increased in proficiency until Hendrick suggested that it was time they went after the Awa Maru once again.

  Malik objected, but his partner just would not take no for an answer. He came up with answers to surmount all obstacles, even bloodthirsty pirates and Mother Nature herself. Malik and Hendrick had planned boldly, Hendrick with verve and daring, mixing in his technical skills acquired in college - he had an electrical engineering degree - and Malik providing the down-to-earth practical contributions that ex-navy chiefs are known for.

  “So, when is Stashinsky supposed to get back to you?” asked Hendrick without turning around. His question was desultory. He didn’t really care what the answer was.

  “Later on this week,” replied Malik. Stashinsky was a Russian entrepreneur who specialized in work crews with unusual specialties. When asked to recruit a sub crew, he grew very excited, declaring that it would be no problem at all. The end of the Cold War had left many ex-submariners without jobs. Hendrick and Malik wondered what kind of crew they would eventually receive.

  Everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly, at least as smoothly as anything ever did in Moscow these days. They both knew they would be investigated so they kept as visible as possible. They didn’t want to give the Ministry of Security any mysteries to solve about them.

  “How much will we have to pay Topov?” asked Malik.

  Hendrick shrugged, then turned and looked listlessly at his partner. “Fifty grand ought to do it.”

  Malik scratched his head and wondered how he would get his partner to talk about what was bothering him. He knew better than to confront Hendrick directly. Hendrick would never admit that anything was wrong. He’d have to finesse him.

  “How’s your father doing?” asked Malik.

  “Who? Oh, Dad,” replied Hendrick. He thought for a moment, giving Malik the impression that he was bringing his mind back from some distant land. “Same as always. He just stares out the window mumbling about the war. I told him years ago about Frank’s death, but he didn’t know who Frank was.”

  Well, that wasn’t it, thought Malik with surprise. So, it’s something else other than his father and Frank’s death. He waited for a while before springing the next possibility on his friend. They discussed the impending operations in the Taiwan Strait, which they had been talking about for the last month. Hendrick fell silent after a while, and Malik thought that there was no better time.

  “Maggie really got to you, didn’t she,” said Malik.

  Hendrick’s head shot up to give him an amazed look.

  Bingo, thought Malik.

  SVR HEADQUARTERS, YASENEVO

  Georgi Bakhtin stared at the note in the file with surprise. It ordered him to give a status report on the submarine deal with the American, Hendrick, to the head of the SVR, Alexei Koroayev. The memo was addressed to all case officers in the now defunct KGB. He glanced at the date on the top and noted that it was September of 1956. Basically it ordered all KGB members to confer with the KGB chief on all matters concerning the sunken Japanese freighter, Awa Maru. The order was updated in 1965 and again in 1992 with the KGB head’s name replaced with Alexei Koroayev.

  “Why the Awa Maru?” asked Bakhtin out loud.

  Alexei Koroayev lived in a fashionable section of Moscow reserved for the elite of the political establishment. The apartments were spacious, and guards, formerly a part of the KGB, were stationed by the entrance to the compound. Bakhtin had to show his ID twice to get in to see the noted intelligence officer and politician. The second guard on the third floor of the apartment house was less deferential than the first and studied him for a long moment after checking in with his superior to get authorization to show him in.

  Bakhtin walked down a short hallway to the corner apartment on the third floor, squared himself in front of the door and gave it a firm knock. An attractive woman answered the door. He introduced himself, then she left him to tell Koroayev that his visitor had arrived. She reappeared after a few moments and ushered him into a larger room where the director of one of the w
orld’s most prestigious intelligence agencies remained seated on a large sofa.

  Koroayev didn’t stand or offer a handshake. This was strictly a subordinate reporting to a man who was far superior in political stature. Koroayev was taller and more slender than the SVR agent with thinning gray hair surrounding his head. His sophisticated features lent an aura of authority about him, and he had the knack of motivating people into being fanatically loyal subordinates. Bakhtin could see him as President of Russia someday, and he was sure that many others could as well.

  Koroayev looked Bakhtin over, quickly noting his stocky frame and heavy, flat face. Bakhtin looked as if he belonged in a steel mill with his large hands and barrel chest. Koroayev’s eyes fell on the folder Bakhtin held in his hand.

  “You have some details for me?” asked the intel chief in a voice ringing with authority.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Bakhtin. He opened the folder and began to look through it to summarize the situation, but Koroayev only held out his hand to take the folder from him. Bakhtin handed it over and stood uncomfortably while Koroayev read the entire file.

  “You are recording their conversations in their hotel room, I presume,” said Koroayev. “Anything in that?”

  “Not yet, sir,” answered Bakhtin. “They are being careful of what they say.”

  “Admiral Topov thinks that they are going after the Awa Maru,” said Koroayev as he leveled his gaze on the SVR agent. “What do you think?”

  “The admiral and I agree, sir,” replied Bakhtin firmly. Now was no time to waver. He sensed that Koroayev would think it a weakness.