The Seventh Samurai

by Doug Walker

  Watanabe was totally charmed. Perhaps he should be working in Tokyo. This was the power center where it was all happening. He could walk among the people who made things happen. In fact someday he might be one of those people.

  After lunch they went to Yoshimoto's office and the minister asked the reason for Watanabe's appointment. Watanabe opened the brown envelope that he had placed on the desk in front of him and carefully withdrew the photo of Sergeant Chalk, touching it as little as possible. He passed it to Yoshimoto and explained the circumstances, that many years ago this American had been murdered and Yoshimoto was one of the last returnees Chalk had interviewed. The case was still open. Did Yoshimoto recognize the man?

  Yoshimoto stared at the cheerful young man in the picture, who stared back at him. He couldn't believe what was happening, to be confronted by the crime after all these years, to come face to face, even photographically, with a man who to him had become some sort of religious messenger.

  Even now the man's watch hung enshrined on his wall. He had shown it to many visitors to illustrate the deep bonds that can develop between the vanquished and the conquerors, natural ties among the family of man. Sergeant Chalk and the dead colonel on Okinawa, Colonel Toshiki Inouye, these were the twin heroes in Yoshimoto's mind, the two men who had sustained him through many trying hours. These were the men who had brought him a message from the highest authority, who had conspired to create him as the Seventh Samurai. And now this detective brought a picture, an icon of Sergeant Chalk to his office.

  Yoshimoto handled the picture fondly. Finally he said, "That is the American military man who befriended me. I was but a boy. What a man he was, to comfort me, to counsel me. You say he was murdered? It seems inconceivable that such a man would place himself in a position to be murdered. Your story saddens me."

  "Then it was you?" Watanabe said, his abrupt question startling Yoshimoto, making the minister feel as if he had been accused of murder. The detective went on with his thought. "You were one of the last to be interviewed by Chalk? I thought it might be another with an identical name."

  "No," Yoshimoto said smoothly, now recovered and certain of his ground. "It was me. I'd never forget. Chalk made a lasting impression on me. You understand my youth. I was impressionable. I think he was a very great man." Yoshimoto decided to get it all out and confess the watch. "And he did give me his watch. Perhaps he had two, but he gave me his watch. It's on the wall over there." He motioned with his hand.

  "Well that clears that up," Watanabe said. "You see the sergeant's roommate reported the watch was gone, so the authorities assumed that whoever killed him had stolen the watch. This lets us eliminate that clue."

  "Of course," Yoshimoto said. "All these years I've kept it as a treasure, and all these years it's been an item sought by police. How did such a case remain open for so many years?"

  Watanabe smiled. "It didn't. I happened to be talking to a Tokyo detective, Goro Maeda, a few days ago. It seems Chalk was his grandfather. Chalk married a Japanese national before the war. They were together in the Philippines, and she was pregnant at the outbreak of the war, Pearl Harbor. Chalk was captured and imprisoned by the Imperial Army and never did see his wife again. She and her son returned to Japan after the murder."

  "I'm sorry to hear such a sad tale. How did your meeting reopen the case?"

  "Maeda told me he had tried to get the report on his grandfather's death some years ago, but got nowhere with American authorities," Watanabe said. "I've had some experience along those lines and was able to get the report. It's just something Maeda wanted to do, perhaps to soothe his grandfather's spirit. Very likely the killer is also dead."

  "Very likely," Yoshimoto agreed. Watanabe took the photo from Yoshimoto's hands and slipped it back into first one, then another envelope. "If possible I would like to have that photo or a copy," Yoshimoto said. "I suppose I am a sentimental old man."

  "I see no problem," Watanabe replied. He had reached the point where he wanted to talk some more about the tunnel, but was unsure how to open the conversation. He suddenly remembered Digger's information about the Mossad and the U.S. Navy. Perhaps he could start with this gossip and somehow bring up the tunnel. "Have you heard that the Mossad has been active in Japan recently?"

  "I don't believe I know what the Mossad is," the minister answered.

  "I know very little about it. It's Israeli Intelligence. It's supposed to be one of the best in the world, maybe the best. I had heard rumors that they were doing something in Japan and thought a man in your position might have some inside knowledge."

  Once again Yoshimoto was taken aback. Did this Osaka detective know more than he was saying? Perhaps Kyoko was right. He might be dangerous. Yoshimoto shrugged. "I am startled, Watanabe-san. What would Israeli intelligence want in Japan, unless they steal industrial secrets? I'm sure that's not the case. Did you hear anything else?"

  "There was something. Something about the U.S. Navy being on alert."

  Yoshimoto was quick to ask. "These two things are linked?"

  "The person who asked me, asked about them both."

  "Why would you be asked?" Yoshimoto questioned.

  "I don't know," Watanabe admitted. "The person who asked me, and I believe he is a member of what we call the intelligence community, knew only that I was working on some mystery that involved the tunnel under the Tsugaru Strait."

  "The tunnel, the Mossad and the U.S. Navy, these three things are joined?" Yoshimoto asked slowly. He felt Watanabe might be playing games with him. He wished that Kyoko Suzuki could be by his side. He needed her advice at this moment. He must learn Watanabe's involvement, his sources, if he knew more than he was saying. Then there was this picture of Sergeant Chalk. This Watanabe was indeed a dangerous man, but was he working alone? Who were his confederates?

  It was Watanabe's turn to shrug. "I really don't see how they could be, but there are certain things going on in Japan today that seem to have no explanation. The tunnel thing, that's what I'd really like to get to the bottom of."

  There it was. Yoshimoto's opening and the answer to his problem. "Yes," he agreed, "Something is amiss at the tunnel, and perhaps the two of us can solve it together. At least we can make a good start. If I weren't tied up this afternoon, we'd leave instantly. But I'll clear my calendar, and early tomorrow morning you and I will make a surprise visit to the tunnel. We'll do a complete tour. Then I'll see to it that the tunnel officials give you complete access to any and all information up there. You can stay with it until you've solved whatever it is. It could be major theft."

  Watanabe thought Yoshimoto was impetuous, but it seemed a great opportunity. Yet, could this be a sincere offer? "But I must return to Osaka," he said.

  "No problem," Yoshimoto said. "I'll have you temporarily assigned to the Tokyo department. You won't even have to call your office. In fact, it's best you don't. Remember our visit to the tunnel will be a surprise," Yoshimoto grinned. "A grand surprise."

  One of Yoshimoto's male administrative assistants accompanied Watanabe to a hotel and arranged for the bill. It was explained that Watanabe's expenses would come directly from the Finance Ministry. He then took Watanabe on a shopping trip to purchase the few things he would need for the short trip. Watanabe had left Osaka carrying only the photograph and his scuba books.

  Yoshimoto's aid also insisted on taking Watanabe on a tour of Tokyo, then dinner at an expensive restaurant. Later he dropped him at his hotel and said he would pick him up at six a.m. for the trip to the Strait. It seemed Yoshimoto had arranged for a government plane to fly the three of them. It was only after the aid left that Watanabe was able to go to the hotel desk, purchase stamps and mail Sergeant Chalk's picture to Yasunobo Shibata in Osaka.

  It was just midnight when he returned to his room. He got a beer from the small refrigerator, started his bath water and, despite the hour, decided to call Nana and explain why he was delayed. He tried dialing direct, but to his surprise a hotel employee answered. "I'
m sorry, Sir, but the phones are temporarily not working."

  "In a hotel this big in Tokyo?" Watanabe asked with amazement.

  "It is unpleasant. The telephone company works on the lines late at night, when there are few calls. We will get a message to anyone you like, free of charge."

  "That is good service," Watanabe said. In fact it was appealing. He would not have to answer Nana's questions about why he hadn't phoned her earlier in the evening. "You will explain why I wasn't able to call directly?"

  "Of course, Sir." He gave them Nana's name and phone number. He could have used his cell phone, but Yoshimoto's aid had borrowed it, explaining his wasn't working. No matter, he would get it back tomorrow. Watanabe snapped open a beer and settled into the steaming bath up to his chin. By that time the water had overflowed onto the floor, but all Japanese bathroom floors have drains for just that purpose.

  ***

  Morning came early with a knock on the door. Watanabe stared through sleepy eyes at the same bright-eyed man who had taken him to dinner. A morning paper was in his hand.

  "Sorry to wake you, Watanabe-san. But the pilot is already at the airport. Yoshimoto-san will soon be there. We will have a bento in the plane.

  Watanabe nodded. "I'll be right there." A bento is a box lunch and he could imagine what it would have in it - cold rice and a few pickled things. He hurriedly brushed his teeth and dressed, not bothering to shave. His beard was not heavy. Minutes later he was in a taxi headed for the airport. He was happy he had told the clerk to go ahead and call Nana. He had no chance to do so.

  It seemed that no sooner had the driver wheeled into the general aviation section of the airport and up to the waiting plane that they were airborne and heading north.

  "It is a short flight, Watanabe-san," Yoshimoto said, admiring the morning sky. Watanabe noted that Yoshimoto appeared all too healthy at this hour. Watanabe supposed he should have actually tried jogging. The aid handed him a plastic bento. Two short chopsticks were attached to it with a rubber band. Inside were cold rice and a few pickled things.

  A twelve-passenger van with a driver and two men met the plane when it landed at a small strip not far from the tunnel entrance. Although none of them was in uniform, all three appeared to Watanabe to be either policemen or military. If it hadn't been for the fact that Finance Minister Yoshimoto was by his side, Watanabe would have been suspicious of the arrangement. The three from Tokyo were driven to a high-fenced construction company. An alert guard with a vicious looking dog by his side waved them through the gate.

  "This is the company that worked on the tunnel from the beginning," Yoshimoto explained. "It still does much of the maintenance work. It has a railroad siding that permits work trains to go directly into the tunnel. That's how we will enter. You see I have been doing detective work."

  Watanabe smiled and nodded. He was beginning to feel uneasy, but didn't know why. Near a train of three freight cars and a small work engine, the van wheeled to a stop and a man in workman's clothing pushed open the door of the end freight car. Yoshimoto led the way out of the van, mounted crude steps made from empty packing crates and stepped into the car.

  "We're going into the tunnel by freight car?" Watanabe questioned, following Yoshimoto into the car. The three men from the van joined them.

  "Of course the tunnel is for trains," Yoshimoto said. "But this is a special car." He signaled the workman to push the door shut. They were in total darkness. Watanabe reached to his hip to make certain his revolver was still there. Then a bright light came on inside the car. They were standing in a very small room next to a regular sized door. Yoshimoto opened the door and led them into a comfortably furnished room with no windows. It was like a business office with a desk, leather chairs, maps and diagrams on the wall, tables, lamps, and magazines. "This is a comfortable way to tour the tunnel," the minister laughed.

  "Except that it will be difficult to see without windows," Watanabe said.

  "Of course. But this will get us into the tunnel. Because of the various train schedules it will be a few minutes before we get started. I would like to use those minutes to talk about the tunnel and about Japan."

  The minister took the large swivel seat behind the desk. "During the warlike days there was chaos. This was the age from about 1467 to 1568. It was during the last days of that age that Shingen Takeda placed the Fuurin Kazan kanji on his battle standard. Thus you might say that standard was aloft when Japan emerged from chaos into its present order and harmony. Of course we know the kanji had been originated by the Chinese tactician Sonshi about the fifth century."

  Watanabe noted that his companions were listening to Yoshimoto's words with religious intensity. They seemed to hang on every syllable At this point, Yoshimoto repeated the ancient words that explain the Fuurin Kazan, the wind, forest, fire and mountain.

  When he finished, Watanabe noted that the listeners grunted in approval and appreciation. At that moment, the car they were in shuddered slightly as it moved backwards a few inches, then slowly glided forward.

  Yoshimoto continued his talk. "So, it would be fitting that the purpose of the society you have spoken of, Watanabe-san, the Fuurin Kazan, would be not only to continue the order and harmony of Japan, but to bring that order and harmony to the rest of the world. It's just a thought, but I think a very good one. With that in mind, it would be difficult to believe that any right thinking Japanese, when given this information, would not be moved to embrace the Fuurin Kazan, if indeed that is the purpose."

  "Every group, every religion, believes its purposes, its goals are the best," Watanabe interjected.

  "Yes," Yoshimoto said. "But given two thousand years of Japanese history, the turmoil and bloodshed this nation has been through to reach its present position, certain facts stand out that are not present in the gaijin world." He put his hand on his chest. "Sometimes we feel things that we know are right." The others grunted approval.

  Watanabe felt a sudden change in tempo, the slight noise of the moving train through heavily insulated walls seemed even more subdued. He looked at the ceiling.

  "Yes, we now are in the Seikan Tunnel," Yoshimoto said, then added, "it is the longest railroad tunnel in the world and was opened March 13, 1988. It is truly a marvel. How great a marvel, most people little know. Come, let us have green tea." He led the way to a galley in the back of the car where a large insulated jug of hot water was waiting.

  Watanabe sipped the Japanese tea and wondered about Yoshimoto. The man was a contradiction. First the bizarre stories about early religious experiences, now the odd talk about the Fuurin Kazan. Yet, when called upon, Yoshimoto could play the role of the most polished of statesmen. The detective realized that many foreigners viewed Japan and the Japanese as contradictions - seemingly meek, mild people who were sometimes given to angry swaggering. For some years much of the western world had cast a jaundiced eye at the "land of the nouveaux tr?s riches."

  The train slowed and stopped and Yoshimoto stood up. "Watanabe-san, I have duties that prey upon my time. If you will allow these gentlemen to start the tour, I'm sure you will find many surprises and hopefully stumble upon exactly what you seek." He walked to the door and motioned for Watanabe and the others to step outside.

  "Until later," he said as Watanabe passed. Then the door was closed and they were in darkness for a few seconds until the large boxcar door slid open. Outside the light was dim, a string of bare bulbs strung against rough concrete served as illumination. From the platform, the men led Watanabe into a dark tunnel. One produced a flashlight and walked ahead. He came to an apparent guard station and exchanged a few words with the man on duty. Then they proceeded a few more feet and stopped. Finally a door slid open. They entered a large, well lit area, first approaching yet another guard post, this one manned by a neatly suited young man and three armed men in workmen's coveralls.

  The man in the suit looked up from a list he was holding and asked, "Watanabe-san, Taro Watanabe?"

  Watanabe n
odded and stepped forward. "I am Taro Watanabe."

  "You are an honored guest," the man smiled. "But we have one rule here. None of the guests can carry arms. We will check your weapon until you leave."

  "But I'm a policeman," Watanabe protested. "I'm required to carry a weapon."

  "But you are far from your jurisdiction and, believe me, there are no bank robbers here. Also, we are far under the sea and we have certain sensitive equipment. If there was an accident?" The man shrugged.

  Watanabe tried to think of options. It was their rule and he was on their turf. He drew his revolver, unloaded it and dropped the shells into his coat pocket and handed it over. "Don't tell my boss," he quipped.

  "No one will ever know," the man said. "Now to acquaint you with the tunnel. We have asked someone who has intimate knowledge to brief you, someone you have met before, Suzuki-san, a cousin of Minister Yoshimoto."

  Watanabe nodded. He was surprised. Kyoko Suzuki was known as Yoshimoto's right hand. What was she doing in the tunnel? And what was this place? It looked more like a large warehouse than a railroad tunnel. Watanabe was led through a series of locked doors until they came to a hall that looked very much like a hotel corridor lined with numbered doors. The escorts stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked. The knock was answered by a grim-faced Suzuki herself. She said nothing, but nodded to Watanabe to come in. The others did not follow, but closed the door behind him.

  "Take a chair," Suzuki said. "Do you care for tea?"

  "No, thank you, we had some on the train." Watanabe looked around. It was like a hotel suite, but there were no windows. He dropped into a chair.

  "This is, uh, unusual," he said. "Are you staying in the tunnel?"

  Suzuki cast him a scornful look. Yes, I'm staying here until the Event. I'm a prisoner in this damned underwater torture chamber." Her anger seemed to mount. "I, the Geisha am held prisoner in this tunnel!"