“Wartime secrets can be difficult to unlock sometimes,” Dirk replied. “Thank you for your help, Margaret.”
Dirk returned to the jeep and drove through the town to the coastal highway and turned south. A short stretch of pavement later, he approached a small side road marked de laura beach road. The road led through an open pair of gates marked fort stevens state park before narrowing through thick underbrush. Dirk jammed the jeep into low gear and surged over a jagged ridge before descending to a large abandoned gun emplacement overlooking the ocean. Battery Russell had been one of several coastal defense sites guarding the entrance to the Columbia River which sprang up during the Civil War, then were later updated with huge long-range guns during World War II. From the emplacement, Dirk had a clear view of the shimmering blue waters at the mouth of the Columbia River, as well as the De Laura Beach below, which was dotted with afternoon pic nickers. Dirk soaked in a few deep breaths of the fresh sea air, then drove back out the small road, pulling off nearly into the brush at one point to let an oncoming black Cadillac pass by. Driving a quarter mile farther, he stopped the car at a large historical marker along the roadside that caught his eye. Carved on a massive gray slab of granite was a highly detailed engraving of a submarine, beneath which was inscribed:
On June 21, 1942, a 5.5' shell exploded here. One of 17 fired at Columbia River Harbor Defense Installations by the Japanese Submarine I-25. The only hostile shelling of a military base on the U.S. mainland during World War II and the first since the War of 1812.
As he read the inscription, he instinctively moved away from the road as the Cadillac returned and passed by slowly, to avoid kicking up dust. Dirk studied the submarine carving for a long moment and started to walk away. But something caught his eye and he looked again. It was the date. June 21, just a day after Hunt and the boys were found dead on the beach.
Dirk reached into the jeep's glove compartment and pulled out a cellular phone, leaning against the car's hood as he dialed the number. After four rings, a deep and jolly voice boomed through the handset.
“Perlmutter here.”
“Julien, it's Dirk. How's my favorite nautical historian?”
“Dirk, my boy, so good to hear from you! I was just enjoying some pickled green mangoes your father sent me from the Philippines. Pray tell, how are you enjoying the Great White North?”
“We just finished our survey in the Aleutians, so I am back in the Pacific Northwest. The islands were quite beautiful, though, but it was a little cold for my blood.”
“Heavens, I can imagine,” Perlmutter's voice bellowed. “So, what's on your mind, Dirk?”
“World War Two-era Japanese submarines, to be exact. I'm curious about their record of attacks on the U.S. mainland and any unusual weaponry in their arsenals.”
“Imperial submarines, eh? I recall they made some fairly harmless attacks on the West Coast, but I have not delved into my Japanese wartime files in some time. I'll have to do some nosing about for you.”
“Thanks, Julien. And one more thing. Let me know if you run across any references to the use of cyanide as an armament.”
“Cyanide. Now, that would be nasty, wouldn't it?” Perlmutter asked rhetorically before hanging up.
Contemplating the enormous collection of rare maritime history books and manuscripts jammed into his Georgetown carriage house, St. Julien Perlmutter needed only a few seconds of pondering to pinpoint the material he was looking for. Perlmutter resembled an overgrown Santa Claus, with sparkling blue eyes, a huge gray beard, and an enormous belly that helped him tip the scales at nearly four hundred pounds. Besides a penchant for gourmet foods, Perlmutter was known as one of the world's foremost maritime historians, in large part due to his peerless collection of sea-related ephemeris.
Clad in silk pajamas and a paisley robe, Perlmutter padded across a thick Persian carpet to a mahogany bookcase, where he examined several titles before pulling down a book and two large binders with his meaty hands. Satisfied it was the material he was looking for, the immense man returned to an overstuffed red leather chair, where a plate of truffles and a hot pot of tea beckoned him.
Dirk continued on his drive to Portland, where he found the antique auto auction he was looking for at a large, grassy fairgrounds at the city's edge. Scores of people milled about the gleaming autos, most from the forties, fifties, and sixties, which were neatly lined up on the wide grass field. Dirk sauntered by the cars, admiring the paint jobs and mechanical restorations, before heading to a large white-canopied tent where the auctioning was taking place.
Inside, loudspeakers blared out the auctioneer's grating staccato voice as he spat out price bids like a rapid- fire machine gun. Grabbing a side seat away from the blare, Dirk watched in amusement as the team of auctioneers, wearing a ridiculous combination of seventies-style tuxedos and cheap cowboy hats, pranced around in a futile attempt to hype the excitement, and price, of each car. After several Corvettes and an early Thunderbird were passed through, Dirk sat up as a 1958 Chrysler 300-D drove up onto the stage. The huge car was painted an original Aztec turquoise, enhanced by miles of gleaming chrome and a pair of rear tail fins that jutted into the air like the dorsal fin of a shark. In a reaction only a true car fanatic could understand, Dirk felt his heartbeat quicken simply at the sight of the artistic mass of steel and glass.
“Perfectly restored to concourse condition by Pastime Restorations of Golden, Colorado,” the auctioneer pitched. He resumed his vocal convulsions, but bidding on the car surprisingly stalled early. Dirk raised his hand in the air and was soon dueling for the car with an overweight man wearing yellow suspenders. Dirk quickly countered his opponent's bids in rapid succession, showing his intent was serious. The tactic worked. Yellow Suspenders shook his head after the third bid and headed toward the bar.
“Sold to the man in the NUMA hat!” the auctioneer barked as the surrounding crowd applauded politely. Though it cost him several months' salary, Dirk recognized it was a good buy, knowing that less than two hundred Chrysler 300-D convertibles were manufactured in 1958.
As he arranged to have the car shipped up to Seattle, his cell phone started to ring.
“Dirk, it's Julien. I have some information for you.”
“That was fast service.”
“Well, I wanted to get back to you before supper,” Perlmutter replied, contemplating his next meal.
“What can you tell me, Julien?”
“After Pearl Harbor, the Japanese placed nine or ten submarines on station along the West Coast, but they were gradually pulled off as the battle action moved to the South Pacific. The Japanese submarines were primarily on reconnaissance missions, observing the major bays and harbors while trying to track major ship movements. They did manage to sink a handful of merchant ships early in the war and create a dose of psychological fear in the general public along the way. As for actual land attacks, the first occurred in early 1942, when the I-17 lobbed a few shells near Santa Barbara, damaging a pier and an oil derrick. In June of '42, the I-25 fired upon Fort Stevens, near Astoria, Oregon, while the I-26 bombarded a radio station on Vancouver Island in Canada. No fatalities were recorded in either of the attacks. In August of 1942, the I-25 returned near Cape Blanco, Oregon, and launched a seaplane armed with incendiary bombs in an attempt to set fire to the nearby forests. The attack was a failure, as only one small fire was ignited in the region.”
“Sounds like they were primarily nuisance attacks,” Dirk commented.
“Yes, there was nothing overly strategic about their actions. Things slowed down after the incendiary attack, as the submarines were moved north to support the Aleutian campaign. Imperial submarines were heavily involved in supporting the capture and later evacuation of Attu and Kiska islands during fighting in 1943. The Japanese lost five subs during the Aleutian battles as our sonar technology really began to pick them out of the seas. After the fall of Kiska, just a few Imperial submarines continued to operate in the north and western Pacific. The I-180 was attacked and sunk near Kodiak, Alaska, in April of 1944, then things were pretty quiet on the home front until the I-403 was sunk off Cape Flattery, Washington, in January 1945.”
“Odd that one would get tagged off the West Coast at a point in the war when their navy was on its last legs.”
“It's even more queer when you consider that the I-403 was one of their big boats. Apparently, it was planning an air attack when it was surprised by an American destroyer.”
“Hard to believe they constructed submarines back then capable of carrying an airplane,” Dirk marveled.
“Their big boats could carry not just one but actually three airplanes. They were massive beasts.”
“Did you find any indication that the naval forces used cyanide weapons?”
“None that was recorded in battle, but they did exist. It was the Imperial Army, I believe, and its biological
