The Seventh Samurai

by Doug Walker

  Yoshimoto nodded. "I'll see him."

  "He could be dangerous. He is a gaijin. He talks funny. What few Japanese words he did he did say, he read from a piece of paper."

  "I'll be careful. I'll buzz if I want help. And I want you to call an interpreter. Not just any interpreter, but Adachi. Ring me when he gets here. In the meantime, send the foreigner in."

  Captain Silverman was ushered into Yoshimoto's office. The Israeli captain said "Hello" in English and Yoshimoto motioned him into a chair. Yoshimoto knew possibly five words in English, two of which were "hello" and "goodbye." He had known a few more in prison camp during the twilight days of the war, but his memory had faded. There was nothing to do but wait for the interpreter, a loyal member of the Fuurin Kazan. Minutes passed and the two men watched one another, each attempting to size the other up. Silverman had grown a beard during the short time he had been away from the Glory. He wondered if it was a good disguise. Most foreigners he had seen since arriving in Tokyo were beardless. Finally a box on Yoshimoto's desk buzzed and he pushed a button.

  "Adachi-san is here."

  "Good. Send him in. Don't disturb us."

  Adachi entered the office and greeted Yoshimoto in Japanese. Yoshimoto explained that the foreigner was probably an important and expected guest. But they needed to make certain. "Give nothing away," he warned. "Recognition signals have been arranged in advance, but this is the wrong place."

  "If this man is a secret agent," Adachi said, looking at the foreigner, "then there is a good chance that he speaks Japanese and knows exactly what we are saying."

  Yoshimoto pushed a button on his desk. When the secretary responded, he said, "Call Kawakami and have him send two guards to wait in the outer office. If I buzz you twice, send them in." He glanced at the foreigner. No reaction. "Go ahead with your interview."

  It took five minutes of sparring chatter before they were sure of one another's identity. Silverman had some difficulty making sure the interpreter was in on the plan. But finally both sides were satisfied and Silverman explained why the Glory had not shown up in Tsugaru Strait.

  "We were pursued by the U.S. Navy. I managed to outwit a ship that was in close pursuit, but a major part of the fleet was closing in, so I took the only appropriate action. I scuttled the Glory."

  Yoshimoto listened in horror. The warheads were at the bottom of the sea. His entire plan was in jeopardy. Too many final arrangements had been made to keep it secret much longer. He tried to keep a stoic face and a serene mind, but some nuance of emotion must have shown his disappointment. Silverman was quick to say, "The warheads aren't lost. They are salvageable."

  "How can this be?" Yoshimoto said through Adachi. "Was the U.S. Navy watching while you scuttled your ship?"

  "No. There was a storm. The scuttling was one of our contingency plans. I was prepared for it. We worked like demons through the night painting the ship a rust color, smashing equipment, making it look like an ancient wreck. Then with most of the crew off in fast power launches, I drove it into a shallow reef to make certain, opened the sea cocks. And there it lies today, partly awash, with the warheads still in the hold, waiting for offloading."

  "This complicates matters, but it is not an impossible situation," Yoshimoto said. "What sort of salvage operation do you envision, Silverman-san?"

  "Amphibious military vessels would do best. Then possibly a seagoing barge, or take them to a nearby island and airlift them. There are options open."

  "I see," Yoshimoto said. "We will call a meeting of our military advisors immediately. In the meantime tell me briefly how you got here and could you have been detected?"

  "After we left the Glory we headed for a group of small islands. I was able to pay a private pilot to take us to the Philippines, and his silence is insured."

  "You paid him a large sum?" Yoshimoto broke in.

  "Promised him a large sum. Gave him a few U.S. dollars. Once in the Philippines we thought it best to kill him. His body is well hidden."

  Yoshimoto nodded his approval. "You did the wise thing."

  "The bulk of the crew is still in Manila, waiting for word from me. I have three men with me. They're in the hotel."

  Yoshimoto thought for a minute. "We will probably need you to help with the salvage operation, Captain-san. But the other men, it might be best to get out of sight. I can have them escorted to the tunnel. Does that sound wise?

  "Yes. I should go to the ship, and we don't need the other men if you have good seamen in your organization. Of course I will need an interpreter. I've been interested in the tunnel. When I heard about it, I could hardly believe it."

  Yoshimoto smiled. "It is one of the wonders of the world. The building of the railroad tunnel, the regular tunnel, was done strictly for political considerations. Contracts, jobs, money rake-offs. Me and my associates, many of them dead before the plan reached this point, simply poured a little more money into the project, substituted drawings, did some work in secret. But the fact is, many of the men working underground and under the Strait had no idea where they were, or what they were doing. Their job was to dig and pour concrete and install ventilators. Naturally, the openings to the sea, the missiles and the missile carriers, were done by highly skilled people in complete secrecy. The world just doesn't know what we Japanese can do when we set our minds to it."

  "But it soon will," Silverman said.

  "Hopefully not. Even after the conflagration we hope to continue the fantasy that it was an accidental war touched off by either the U.S., France, or one of the new republics, or whoever. Maybe even North Korea, our ancient foe. But the Japanese, along with the Israelis, will be around to pick up the pieces and put the world back together."

  "A better world, I assure you," Silverman said.

  "A well ordered world. A world of harmony and accord," Yoshimoto agreed.

  CHAPTER 39: Watanabe's Trip to Tokyo

  The picture of Sergeant Burt Chalk arrived by overnight mail from Tokyo. A young and carefree sergeant looked out from the yellowed photo, apparently taken in the Philippines just before the outbreak of war. Watanabe had borrowed it from Goro Maeda, but did not give the detective details of what he was doing. It had been decided it was best to clear Yoshimoto of the crime before mentioning it to Maeda. Besides, Watanabe was convinced that Yoshimoto was somehow involved in the tunnel conspiracy, whatever it was.

  There were more questions than answers when it came to the tunnel. What puzzled Watanabe most was motive. No one would go to the trouble to build a well-financed, super-secret organization over a long period of years without a good reason. But what was it? Not money, Watanabe was almost certain. And he couldn't see how power alone entered into it. Could this group be thinking of overthrowing the Japanese government? But why?

  With the Japanese economy so tightly entwined with the U.S., the risk of sanctions from the U.S. would mean economic suicide. It was laughable to think a small phalanx of fanatics who were somehow linked to the tunnel would have a shot at overthrowing the large, well-oiled, Japanese government.

  With these thoughts in his head, Watanabe carefully enclosed the photo of Sergeant Chalk in special plastic, taped it shut, wiped the plastic clean, then inserted it into an envelope. He put the first envelope into a second envelope to insure that some careless person opening the envelope would not destroy whatever fingerprints might be gathered.

  A phone call to Yoshimoto's office seeking an appointment brought a return phone call within minutes. Yes, Watanabe could see the cabinet officer just before noon the following day.

  At the library, Watanabe checked out a couple of books on scuba diving. The time when he and the scuba divers from the Kobe club would go to the Strait was fast approaching. He must prepare to dive. And he must remember to jog! He took a deep breath and flexed his biceps. He felt good. But the thought of the cold waters of the Tsugaru Strait had a chilling effect.

  He opened one of the books and read: "Buoyancy compensators have reduced the need for
superb physical conditioning among scuba divers. " Watanabe's eyes lit up with renewed interest. Just what were these "buoyancy compensators?" He flipped through the book looking for a quick clue, finally coming to a photograph of three scuba divers wearing life vests. Yes, that was it, vests could be inflated to help bring one to the surface, or permit rest on the water's surface. Watanabe read on. Such buoyancy compensators drastically reduce underwater diving fatigue and offer a significant margin of safety.

  That night and even on the Bullet Train headed for Tokyo the following day, Watanabe devoured the two books. He was confident that with a buoyancy compensator he could dive with the best of them. His confidence remained high even though one of the books contained a melancholy caveat: To learn diving you must have an instructor.

  So what, Watanabe thought, I'll be diving with a whole club full of qualified people.

  CHAPTER 40: Akira Yoshimoto's Orders

  One moment Finance Minister Akira Yoshimoto felt the exuberance of youth, the next he felt he might suffer a heart attack. He was on the naked body of Yoko Kaji in a side room off his office, a room he used as a bedchamber when he spent the night at his office. Naked on the futon, Yoko was everything he dreamed of: young, soft, fragrant, a sexual delight. How could he give her up? Why should he? She adored him! No, he knew it was more idolatry. He was the smooth older man and she was at his feet, a love slave.

  Yoko quivered and squirmed, her body a machine, a tool, a magnet. She had used a back door into his office as he had suggested. Now she had a key. It was just past noon. She had spent most of the previous night performing a variety of sexual acts with her sushi chef.

  Then, this morning, her new boss had asked her to come early to work. She had offered no resistance when he led her to the stockroom and laid her on the office supply cartons. He was kind of cute and not too old. Of course he was married, but most men of the world were. But now, as was natural, she gave most of her loyalty to Yoshimoto, old and slow as he was.

  "You are like a flower, Yoko chan," he said, rolling onto his back and panting. "Like a blossom."

  "A blossom only for you, Yoshimoto-san." He had insisted that she always address him formally. He had told Kyoto Suzuki the same thing years ago, but the old woman did not follow his rules. "But I feel I have a rival in Suzuki-san. When I see her she looks at me hatefully. And she is your cousin. There are rumors."

  "I have never married, Yoko. I am my own man. If I wanted you, I could marry." Yoko almost gasped. Marriage wasn't what she had in mind, marriage with this old man. He would probably keep her locked in the bedroom! "I do what I please."

  "I know that you are a strong man, Yoshimoto-san. A wonderful lover and a national leader. I am so proud to be your lover. But I fear Suzuki-san."

  Yoshimoto smiled at the innocent child's ramblings. He put a hand on her shoulder to calm her, then moved it to her breast and slid it down along her firm body. "Very soon Suzuki-san is going on a trip, a long trip. If she is a problem she will come between us no more. You will have your Yoshimoto as often as you like." Yoko almost made a wry face as she heard the words and felt the old man's hands on her body. Instead, she smiled and kissed him.

  ***

  Night fell in Tokyo. The sun set somewhere in the direction of Kyoto, or Korea, or China, its final rays illuminating smoky, polluted skies that drifted among garish skyscrapers.

  Yoshimoto arrived at the condo knowing that Kyoko Suzuki would be waiting for him. He asked the two men with him to wait in the hall, then let himself in to the apartment.

  "Good evening, Akira. It is a pleasure to have you home in the evening. Even in these hectic times, one must relax." The two of them discussed the visit by Captain Silverman, the salvage operations now begun, and the new Israelis already in the tunnel. The new ones joining the Israeli technical staff who had been there almost since the beginning, a pallid lot who had not seen the sun for many moons. Despite their differences, Yoshimoto relied almost daily on Suzuki's judgment and advice. It was with confused emotions that he began to talk about what had brought him to this place on this night.

  With some apprehension he faced the woman who had been his companion and confidante through the years of his youth, middle age, and now old age.

  "Kyoko," he said abruptly, "I'm sending you to the tunnel." He waited while the words soaked in.

  "Indeed. Have you taken leave of your senses?"

  "I know about your plan to plant listening devices in my office," he said sternly, screwing up his courage. "You have betrayed me. Yet I believe it was a temporary lapse. I will not punish you severely. You are needed in the tunnel."

  Suzuki was unmoved by his admonishment. "I asked Kawakami to wire your office to protect you from yourself. I have offered you this protection throughout your adult life, if you would but realize it. Sometimes you are like a child. Now you will throw away a lifetime's ambition on this little trollop, Yoko. Better that you had formed a liaison with a soapland."

  Yoshimoto was about to defend his beloved Yoko when he thought better of it. After all, he did not know everything about her. But he did know her to be a sweet, innocent child. It was only his mature charms and his standing as an authority figure that had led to the easy surrender of her virtue. Of course it had been assisted by whisky. The poor tender thing had no chance!

  "It is your lack of trust that has caused your downfall, Kyoko. But I still need you by my side. Your following in our organization is not inconsiderable. I am aware of your stature."

  "Am I to be a prisoner?"

  "Not a prisoner, but an honored guest and leader in the fastness of the tunnel. You can advise me on morale and political considerations. Of course the missile section is in competent hands and the planned launchings will be executed at the earliest moment the warheads can be mounted. You cannot influence these plans, nor, in fact, can I. It is a technical age. Far different from those dark days on Okinawa when I and other stalwarts charged American automatic weapons with only our swords."

  Kyoko had heard the story many times before and was not impressed. It seemed a foolish thing to her. How men could think it heroic was a mystery. "Are you saying that I will not be a prisoner?"

  "I am saying that you will have my ear and that when I join you in the tunnel we will once again be as one, but you will not be permitted to leave the tunnel. Why should you want to leave?"

  "Then I will be a prisoner!"

  "If you feel you are a prisoner, then I suppose you will be one. We are all prisoners in our own fashion. Prisoners of this planet, prisoners of our passions, prisoners of society and so forth." Yoshimoto was losing patience. "You will leave tonight, immediately. There are two men waiting to escort you. Pack a few things, very few, but make no contacts. They are men you know and I will send them in now." Yoshimoto turned and went into the hall.

  Kyoko seemed cool on the surface, but she was steaming mad. She knew she was being gotten out of the way so Yoshimoto could spend every possible moment with that young strumpet. She rushed to her suite, grabbed a large purse and tossed in her cell phone. Then she began packing. She was soon joined by the two men, old friends of hers who seemed uncomfortable. "You have chosen unpleasant work," she snapped.

  "We did not volunteer for this job. We must all do our duty when the top man issues orders," one of the men said. The other studied the carpet and was silent.

  "I suppose I can use the toilet," she said angrily.

  "Yes, Suzuki-san. You are our honored guest and still the Geisha. Our loyalty to you is second only to the Seventh Samurai."

  Kyoko glared at them and carried her purse into the bathroom. She turned the tap on to cover the noise of her telephone call, then dialed Osaka information to find the number of Taro Watanabe's number.

  When she got through to his residence she found the detective was out. She was talking instead to a foreign woman whose Japanese was none too good. Kyoko realized this might be her last chance to vent her anger against Yoshimoto. In slow Japanese she urged
Nana to take a simple message. Then she repeated it twice so that Nana might make some sense of it.

  When she had hung up, Nana stared at the paper she had used to write the note: "It is the tunnel. There is an Israeli link. Danger for the world, like Hiroshima. The Geisha." Nana put the odd message aside. She would give it to Watanabe the minute he returned from his interview with Yoshimoto in Tokyo.

  CHAPTER 41: In the Tunnel

  Watanabe arrived at Yoshimoto's office just before noon. The receptionist greeted him with a deep bow and immediately ushered him into the private secretary's office. The secretary served him green tea and namagashi, small sweet cakes made from pounded rice and filled with sugar and red bean paste.

  A male administrative assistant popped in almost immediately to say Yoshimoto was in a hastily called session of the Diet, but would be along momentarily. Watanabe was made to feel like an important guest.

  When Yoshimoto did arrive he was all smiles and bows. The minister asked Watanabe to join him for a simple meal in a room adjacent to his inner office. The meal was typical of what Japanese salarymen have for lunch: a large, deep oval plate of what is called "curry-rice," the white rice heaped on one side of the plate, the brown curry sauce on the other, slightly overlapping. There were a few slices of pickled daikon, yellowed by the pickling process. Ice-cold Suntory beer and steaming hot green tea was also available.

  The minister was chatty during lunch, urbane and witty, giving a running account of the morning's Diet session, poking fun at major members of the Diet who Watanabe had only read about, dwelling on the average Diet man's love of fine clothing, expensive ties and endless nights on the town at the expense of others.

  He touched on specific bills, measures to improve Japan's neglected highway and waste treatment systems, along with methods to overturn the archaic tax system that benefited land speculators and wealthy farmers to the disadvantage of the multitude of urban dwellers who even Yoshimoto conceded lived in "rabbit hutches." Yoshimoto's efforts in every area seemed ubiquitous, his storehouse of knowledge bottomless.