The Seventh Samurai

by Doug Walker

  So the watch had not been stolen. Chalk had given it to Yoshimoto as a gift. Yoshimoto might have valuable information, even details, of the last hours of Sergeant Chalk. Even if the information didn't help solve the crime, it would be a lift for Goro Maeda to talk to someone who had actually talked to his grandfather just before his death.

  Watanabe was one of the first off the subway and he bounded up the stairs ahead of the crowd. He walked briskly through the long, wide corridors of the station, flanked by many expensive shops, and remembered that he was supposed to jog twice a day to get in shape for scuba diving. Then it was into the sunlight and finally to his office.

  He picked up the phone and called Detective Maeda in Tokyo. Maeda wasn't in. He had worked late the night before, probably his usual routine, and was expected about midmorning, anyway before lunch. Watanabe hung up and stared at the phone.

  After acting impulsively, he was glad the Tokyo detective was out. After all, Chalk's murder happened in his jurisdiction and, technically, if the watch in Yoshimoto's office was Chalk's, some would consider Yoshimoto a suspect. Of course it was absurd to think that someone who had risen to the post of finance minister for all of Japan was capable of committing murder for petty gain. And it was even more ridiculous to think a murderer would keep the watch of his victim as a memento, even display it in his office.

  Watanabe picked up the phone again and talked to Superintendent Supervisor Yasunobo Shibata's secretary. He asked if he might see the old man this morning. The girl called back in a few minutes and said, "Come at ten."

  When Watanabe entered Shibata's office, the old man creased a leathery smile. "Thank you for our adventure in Tokyo, Watanabe-san. I still don't know what it was all about, but it was interesting. Have you learned more about the tunnel through your pleas for help?"

  Watanabe took a seat near Shibata's desk. "I am more convinced than ever that a long-standing militant group exists. Its leaders are in the top level of the country, and using the tunnel as some sort of rallying point. But not just inside the tunnel, also outside, because of the scuba divers."

  "Perhaps you and I should become divers, Watanabe-san," the old man smiled.

  Watanabe had told him nothing of his trip to Kobe to enlist the help of Jun Sumida, the scuba club chief. He wondered if Shibata had guessed, or been informed, or simply reasoned along logical lines.

  "I'm thinking of that," Watanabe said, then quickly changed the subject.

  He told about the watch in Yoshimoto's office, about helping Maeda to find his grandfather's murderer and about the report from the States. "I think some people could jump at the conclusion that Yoshimoto might be involved in the murder. But he has the watch openly displayed in his office, and he said an American serviceman gave it to him as a gift."

  "And there is reason to believe it is the same watch?" Shibata said seriously.

  "Yes, the pinkish face and the fact that Yoshimoto's name appears on a list of war-returnees Sergeant Chalk interviewed, apparently the last series of interviews before his death."

  "As I see it," Shibata said, leaning back in his chair and placing the ends of his heavy fingers together, "your job is to prove that Yoshimoto is not the murderer. It seems a simple matter, but well worth your time. It would also give you another opportunity to talk to the finance minister and possibly discuss the tunnel. But this time I will remain in the relative calm of Osaka while you visit Tokyo."

  "I see," Watanabe said, wondering what he had got himself into this time. "The Americans think they have the killer's prints. I get Yoshimoto's prints and match them with the killer's. When they don't match he is eliminated as a suspect. I also get Yoshimoto to talk about the Fuurin Kazan and to identify the Seventh Samurai."

  "That should do nicely," Shibata grinned.

  "And could you tell me how I might get his prints, short of going to his office with an ink pad and paper?"

  "Get something Yoshimoto has touched," the old man said.

  Watanabe suppressed a smile. "There is a young lady, one who helped serve dinner, who Yoshimoto looked at with some interest."

  Shibata laughed. "I don't think we can lift prints from the flesh of a young lady, but while you're in Tokyo you might give her a detailed examination. Let me know what you find."

  Watanabe puzzled most of the afternoon over what he could get that Yoshimoto had touched that would hold a clear print. He called the States and asked that the fingerprints of the suspect be sent to his office. Then he called Goro Maeda in Tokyo and asked if he had a picture of his grandfather. He did.

  Watanabe's next move was to the police laboratory. A fingerprint specialist gave him some pieces of plastic that he said would hold prints, even if just casually touched. Watanabe would enclose the photo of Chalk in plastic, let Yoshimoto hold it, then slip it back into the envelope.

  CHAPTER 35: Kyoko's Suspicions

  Although Akira Yoshimoto did transfer his youthful lover, Yoko Kaji, out of his office. He transferred her only two floors below. He also began going to his condo more in the evening because he feared Kyoko Suzuki's wrath. She was, after all, the Geisha, respected and feared as the second in command of the Fuurin Kazan. She was in fact the steady hand behind Yoshimoto's power.

  It was a small thing that sent Kyoko Suzuki into a fit of pique. Japanese seldom touch when greeting others, not even close family members after years of separation. They bow. And they can tell much from a bow, as much or more than westerners can determine from a handshake. Kyoko was going into Yoshimoto's office when the young Yoko emerged. The girl smiled and bowed, but it was a taunting bow, a sniggering bow, a bow that seemed to say, "Yoshimoto has taken me as a lover and he would like to get rid of you, old woman, "

  Kyoko demanded of Yoshimoto what the young tart was doing in his office.

  "She was here on an innocent errand," Yoshimoto replied. "She had seen her grandfather over the weekend and he told her to give me his regards. That was it."

  "She is a dutiful grandchild," Kyoko said coldly.

  "She is that. And a sweet child," Yoshimoto added.

  "It is strange that the finance minister of Japan can spend his valuable working hours chatting about family matters with children. Many others, with important affairs of state, are barred from this office. Such appointments can almost be interpreted as assignations."

  "You do have a point there, Kyoko-chan," Yoshimoto said smoothly, using the endearing "chan." He got up and walked to the window and gazed over the city. "Of course it is politic to keep old friends happy during these critical days. The warheads are on their way, but I must say a bit overdue. We will have to assume their arrival and begin issuing orders for the final phase of the operation."

  "The move to the tunnel?" Kyoko questioned. Was it so close? Were all the years of work actually near fruition?

  "Yes, our loyal troops and followers. The nucleus of government, should the existing one be destroyed. The supplies are in place. We need only the warheads."

  "When will we go to the tunnel?"

  Yoshimoto hesitated. "Of course I must stay at my desk till the last. I am the contact for the warheads. But you, as my second in command, should be in the tunnel soon. From now on there will be much activity."

  Kyoko was immediately suspicious. "There are others already in the tunnel who can handle day-to-day details. Some have been there for years, others will be joining them right along."

  "That's true. But one can grow stale in the tunnel over a period of time. Your arrival, the Geisha herself, will signal that the time of glory is near. It will send a powerful message."

  "The message can wait until we at least learn where the warheads are and when they can be expected at Tsugaru Strait. I am not going into exile. It is unseemly of you to see that girl in your office or anyplace else."

  "I understand your concern for my reputation. I will follow the teachings of Confucius and avoid even the appearance of scandal. He counsels us not to bend down to tie our shoes while walking through
a neighbor's melon field."

  "And do not stop to straighten your hat while walking through another's orchard," Kyoko said. She gazed at her aging cousin who had been her lover for so many years. How little he had changed since they first met during those dismal days of despair after the war. And how far they had come together. He needed her help then, and the need had not diminished through the years. In many ways he was so childlike; she must protect him against himself."

  When Kyoko left Yoshimoto's office, she dropped in on the head of security for the Ministry of Finance. Ryuji Kawakami played a dual role. He was also head of security for the Fuurin Kazan. She told him she wanted a bug planted in Yoshimoto's office.

  "You jest, I'm sure," he replied. "I'm responsible for keeping bugs out of Yoshimoto-san's office. My men sweep it for electronic devices twice a week."

  "I do not joke, Kawakami-san. Who better to place a bug and sustain it than you?"

  "No one, of course, but Yoshimoto-san is the Seventh Samurai. He is our leader, possibly the savior of Japan. This is treasonable talk. Spare me! Go now and I'll forget it."

  "I too am a leader of the Fuurin Kazan. Its best interest is my interest. Sometimes people follow paths that are not to their benefit, paths that could betray us all. There is a young lady who has thrown herself at our leader. It might be difficult for an old man to resist such temptation. It is important that we know how far the involvement has gone, and to know of the girl's activities too. Who are her friends? Is she our enemy? There has been a detective snooping around us, as we all know. Watanabe from Osaka."

  By the time she left Kawakami's office, she had convinced him not only to plant a bug, but to assign a team to follow Yoko Kaji.

  CHAPTER 36: The Spies

  It was late afternoon when Digger entered the Hawk & Thistle. The place had opened just twenty minutes earlier and was almost deserted. A couple was trying their luck at darts, but obviously didn't know how to play. Digger went to the bar for a pint of beer, then went to a corner table with the intention of reading the Asian Wall Street Journal he had picked up at a hotel near Umeda. He had barely gotten into the first story when someone sat down beside him and whispered. "Digger."

  The Aussie looked up in surprise. "G'dye, Myte. Long time no see, Abe. Abe Lazarus! I thought you were dead."

  "Very funny," Abe responded. The newcomer was above average height with a fringe of red stubble ringing an otherwise baldhead. He was thin, pug nosed and had an expressive mouth, not suited for poker.

  "What's the Mossad's finest doing in this out-of-the-way spot?" Digger questioned.

  Lazarus looked around furtively and made a motion with his hands to keep the voices down. "Can we talk here?"

  "Spy business?"

  "Of course. A social butterfly, I am not."

  "Probably not. A lot of foreigners hang out in here. We can walk."

  "Good. Lead on."

  Digger looked longingly at his almost new pint and decided not to drain it in one gulp. The two men left the bar, but did not go into the crowded shopping street. Instead they walked into a section that was largely financial institutions, office buildings and government agencies. "When'd you get in town?" Digger asked.

  "Two days ago."

  "You speak Japanese?"

  "They gave me a one-day crash course in Berlin. I have a tourist phrase book. I've learned to say, 'These are not my shoes.' I speak perfect German and several Slavic languages. So I end up in Japan. I could also give you a few choice Yiddish words about the present situation. Tell me what's going on over here?"

  "You want me to sum up the last twenty years of Japanese history in five minutes?" Digger asked.

  "No. Current events would do nicely. Is there anything big on the present horizon? I'd just like to chew the fat."

  "Come on now, Abe. No one comes to Osaka on vacation. You want information? Maybe I'll trade you."

  "But do you know anything?"

  "I can speak Japanese. At least I can order us dinner, that is if you're buying."

  "I suppose it's worth dinner. Can we eat kosher?"

  "Right, Myte. There's a kosher Chinese place just around the corner."

  During the course of the dinner the two spies exchanged what meager bits of information they had. Lazarus said that some dangerous war materials, he didn't know what, were headed for Japan and the U.S. Navy was attempting an intercept. He said the items had been stolen from somewhere in the Mideast, but did not specify where. Digger went out on a limb and said something unusual was happening up at the Tsugaru Strait, but he wasn't sure what. This was the only chip he had to bargain with, so he tossed it on the table.

  They agreed to stay in touch and to pool what they could find out. But they were suspicious of one another, each man wondering what the other was holding out. Each man not fully briefed by his own handlers.

  CHAPTER 37: Wreck of the Maru

  Small bits of pale blue filtered through the cloud cover as the Winslow's chopper thump-thumped its way into the air, circled skyward and headed for the site where radar indicated there was something in the water.

  Admiral Blades, Cheddar and the executive officer, now in command of the ship, waited on the bridge. Certainly, whatever it was had been near their last fix on the Glory. There had been some other radar activity, but nothing that would indicate the Glory. It had simply vanished.

  Word from the helicopter was not long in coming. They had been that close when the Winslow ran aground. "It's an old wreck," crackled the voice through the radio speaker. "Red with rust, just the tip of the bow out of water, most of the deck and superstructure well submerged, some parts forward awash in the swells.

  The admiral took the microphone. "Does there appear to be any damage?"

  "She's pretty well smashed up. What portholes we can see are out, railings smashed, the mast is severed. Seems to be a large, ragged hole in her cargo deck, maybe an explosion." The thump-thump of the noises could be plainly heard as the chopper circled the wreck.

  "Is she near deep water?" Blades questioned.

  "Treacherous. Shoaling, lots of reefs. She must have been driven up here in a storm. If it would float, I don't believe you could ever get her out. But I'm not a salvage expert."

  "Describe the type of vessel."

  "Freighter. Run of the mill merchant ship. Large cargo hatches, one of them missing. Cargo boom forward, broken."

  "How about a name?"

  "We've been looking for that. The pilot, his eyes are better than mine, thinks he can make out one word on her bow. We're hovering as low and close as we can safely get. I can see it now with glasses."

  "What is it?" Blades demanded.

  "Maru."

  "Japanese," the admiral said. There was disappointment in his voice. He was hoping for the Glory. "There is no question that it's an old wreck?"

  "I'd say so," came the voice. "Rust over everything. No sign of life. Lifeboats gone. Hammered by storms. Wasting away. I'm sorry, Sir."

  "So am I," Blades said. He handed the mike to the exec.

  "How do you know it's Japanese, Sir?" Cheddar asked.

  Blades looked at him in wonder. The young man had certainly missed a lot by not attending the Academy. "Most Japanese merchant ships have the second name 'maru.' I don't know why. The word actually means 'circle' in Japanese. Ask your average Japanese why the ships carry that second name and they don't know either. I've tried it a few times. Now you tell me something. Where's the Glory?"

  "On the bottom," Cheddar replied.

  "That's the only option, isn't it?" Blades said. "But it makes me uneasy. If there is a material to foil radar and if Silverman had a chance to coat the entire ship with it, and if, if, if. This is going to be a little hard to explain." He hung onto a stanchion to steady himself on the listing deck. "Maybe it's our radar. We have other ships moving in, plus we can mount a total air search now that the skies are clearing off."

  He turned to the exec and said, "Have the chopper make a broad sweep of th
e area once he's satisfied himself about the wreck. I'll be at the flag command center." He strode off across the sloping deck with Cheddar three steps behind.

  Blades knew he must plan a detailed search of the entire area. He must get calculations on just how long it would take a fast merchant ship to clear the area in any direction, then see that sufficient planes and ships were there to complete the search. But when he reached flag command a message had just been decoded for him.

  After reading the message he looked up at Cheddar and said without expression, "I've been relieved. They've named a vice admiral and he's already on board the Sterett and approaching the area."

  "I'm sorry, Sir," Cheddar said, his hangdog look indicating he was truly crestfallen.

  "It's all right," Blades said. "Keeping his voice flat. "No prejudice. They believe the Glory was headed for Japan. Part of the flag staff here will go aboard the Sterett to assure continuity. You and I will join the military attach? section of our embassy in Tokyo. You'll get to wear civvies and strut around the Ginza."

  "No shit, Sir!"

  "No shit, Cheddar. We'll be out of here in two hours. Pack."

  CHAPTER 38: Captain Silverman

  Finance Minister Akira Yoshimoto's secretary came into his inner office with an envelope in her hand. "There is a bearded gaijin waiting. He did not give his name, just scribbled a note and sealed it in this envelope. Shall I have the guards remove him from the building?"

  "Perhaps I should read the note first," Yoshimoto said, taking the envelope from the secretary and tearing it open. The note was short and written in crude kanji, the character writing borrowed from the Chinese. The first complicated kanji was pronounced himitsu, which meant secret. The second was bakudan, which meant bomb, and the third was fune, or ship. Yoshimoto could read the note all right, but it was not a good Japanese sentence. "Did he copy this from anything?"

  The secretary, still standing in front of the desk, waiting to summon the guards, replied, "He had some sort of book. I think it's a Japanese-English dictionary."