The man nodded vigorously. “Of course.”
Karen glanced to the brightening skies. “Miyuki, we really must be going. The press ship is scheduled to leave any minute.”
“I can take you to the marina. I’m heading toward the bay anyway.”
“Thank you, Harry,” Miyuki said. “If you can take us as far as Pier Four, that would be wonderful.” She smiled brightly at him, then turned to Karen, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
Led by the sailor, they hurried to the bay. The gray dawn cast the waters in dull silver. Gulls dove and screeched among the piers’ pilings and boats. Throughout the bay, wrecks dotted the water, ships and boats that had scuttled against the docks and reefs during the quakes. Already, cranes and heavy equipment had been moved into position. The bay was the lifeline of the island and had to be cleared as quickly as possible.
As the sun crested the eastern sky, they reached the entrance to the marina. Miyuki and Karen again thanked Harry and said their good-byes. Once the sailor left, the two hurried down the long planks.
Karen glanced over her shoulder to make sure the sailor had truly gone. There was no sign of him. She relaxed and turned to Miyuki, who was cinching the camera bag higher on her shoulder. “I can’t believe you.”
Miyuki smiled, her face flushed. “That was fun. It’s lucky I got that free tote bag with my subscription to Time.”
Both women started laughing, tears at the corners of their eyes.
Karen led the way to berth twelve. Ahead, she spotted a small fishing boat still docked at the berth. The twenty-meter wooden craft was piled high with boxes displaying prominent red crosses. A pair of men were already loosening ropes in preparation for leaving. Karen hurried forward, waving an arm. “Ueito!” Wait!
One of the workers glanced their way and yelled to another on the boat. A grizzled Japanese man left the wheel and met them near the ship’s stern. He was dressed in Levi’s and a green slicker. Offering his hand, he helped them on board.
“S-Samo sent us,” Karen said in broken Japanese.
“I know,” the old man answered in English. “The American.”
“Actually, I’m Canadian,” she corrected him.
“Same thing. I must get the ship going. I wait too long already.”
Karen nodded and unslung her bag. She and Miyuki were guided to a stained wooden bench beside a folded mat of net. The reek of fish entrails and blood from the wooden planks of the boat almost overpowered her.
Around her, the two-man crew had freed the ropes from the dock and jumped on board. At the wheelhouse, the ship’s captain barked orders. The motor roared. Water began to churn, and the boat slowly edged forward. The crewmen took up posts near the bow, one on the starboard, one on the port side, watching the waters ahead. Sunken debris made the bay treacherous.
It was clear why the captain insisted on leaving with the dawn. As the morning tide receded, these waters would become even more treacherous.
Past the pier’s end, they sailed toward the center channel of the bay and slowly edged by a pole sticking crookedly up from the water, a flag flapping at its tip. Karen glanced over the rail and realized it was the mast tip from a submerged sailboat. The fishing boat with its shallow draft cut around and over the debris.
Across the bay, the United States military base lay burning. Fires still glowed from the refinery blaze, set off during the quakes as underground tanks had been ripped open. A smudge of oily smoke climbed high into the morning sky. Helicopters circled the area, hauling dredges of seawater and sand in an attempt to stanch the fires. So far with little luck.
A thick-bellied transport plane, military gray, passed low over them, its engine roaring. The fishing boat’s captain shook a fist at it. The United States presence here, especially this base, still rankled the locals. Back in 1974 it had been agreed that the land would be returned to the islanders, but that transition had yet to be realized.
Finally, the fishing boat sailed free of the bay and headed toward open water. Clear of the smoke, the breeze freshened. With the open sea all around them, the captain nodded for his first mate to take the wheel, then sauntered over to them. “My name is Oshi,” he said. “I take you to Dragons. Then we come back before sun go down.”
Karen nodded. “Perfect.”
He held out his hand, awaiting payment.
Karen stood and pulled a wad of bills from her jacket’s inside pocket. She noticed the fisherman eye her holstered gun. Good. Just so things were clear. She counted out the appropriate number of bills, half the prearranged fee, then returned the rest to her pocket. “The other half when we return to Naha.”
The man’s face remained hard for a heartbeat, then flashed a quick scowl. He mumbled something in Japanese and shoved the bills into his jeans.
Karen sat back down as he left. “What did he say?”
Miyuki wore a grin. “He says you Americans are all alike. Never stick to your own agreements, so you don’t trust anyone else.”
“I’m not American,” she said in an exasperated voice.
Miyuki patted her knee. “If you speak English, have blond hair, and carelessly throw that much cash around, you’re American to him.”
Karen tried her best to sulk, but she was too excited. “C’mon. If this American is paying for this excursion, I want better seats.”
She stood and led Miyuki toward the bow. They crossed to the forward rail as the boat rounded the southern tip of Okinawa and passed the tiny island of Tokashiki Shima. The Ryukyu chain of islands spread south in an arc almost stretching to Taiwan. The Dragons were located near the island of Yonaguni, an hour’s journey but still within Okinawa’s prefecture.
One of the sailors bowed his way into their presence. He placed two small porcelain glasses of green tea and a small plate of cakes on a nearby bench.
“Domo arigato,” Karen said. She took the tea and let the hot cup warm her hands. Miyuki joined her, nibbling on the edge of a cake. They stared in silence as green islands drifted slowly past. The coral reefs colored the nearby shoals in shades of aquamarine, rose, and emerald.
After a time Miyuki spoke, “What do you really hope to find out there?”
“Answers.” Karen leaned on the rail. “You read Professor Masaaki’s thesis.”
Miyuki nodded. “That once these islands were part of some lost continent, now sunk under the waves. Pretty wild conjecture.”
“Not necessarily. During the Holocene era, some ten thousand years ago, the ocean levels were three hundred feet shallower.” Karen waved an arm. “If so, many of these separate islands would have been joined.”