For a month the attacks continued with the defenders holding on, even though food was running out. On April 14, a relief column of the Japanese Imperial Army arrived and drove off the attacking samurai. The army chased the samurai back to the Satsuma area and eventually to Kagoshima.
The remaining few hundred samurai made a last stand on a hill near Shiroyama overlooking the bay.
I was at Shiroyama in the cave waiting for the end.
Thirty thousand army troops surrounded the last of the samurai. On September 24, at four o’clock in the morning the army attacked. The brave samurai ran down the hillside to join the army in battle. The army opened fire and Saigo Takamori, the leader of the Satsuma samurai, was hit. One of his loyal followers, Beppu Shinsuke, picked him up on his shoulders and carried him to a place on the hill where Saigo could commit suicide.
I, Beppu Shinsuke, helped Saigo complete his death with honor.
With a powerful swing of his sword, Beppu decapitated Saigo, fulfilling the role of the loyal second in the ritual of hara-kiri. Beppu then charged down the hill to be cut down by the army’s rifles.
I am Beppu, Saigo, and all the others. I was at Kagoshima, Kumamoto, and Shiroyama.
I was there.
Masaya Konaka stared through the binoculars at the rapidly approaching dots on the horizon. A minute later, he made out three fast patrol boats, which sent rooster tails of sea spray into the air behind them. He turned and ordered his own ship to stop engines, then nodded to his lieutenant to get ready. The man rushed off to see to his men and their readiness for what was to come.
Samurai, Konaka thought with satisfaction. But they no longer carried swords as his great-grandfather had. The samurai enjoyed great authority back in his great-grandfather’s day, and they were not ashamed to wield it. Such power was accorded to them that they had become a competing force with the government, so the government struck back at them. The samurai had no choice but to rebel and were destroyed in the end.
Konaka’s thoughts soured. His great-grandfather had marched with the Satsuma rebels against the Kumamoto Castle, but the army had changed the face of Japan. They were no longer afraid of the samurai.
That was the beginning, decided Konaka. The beginning of the destruction of Japan. It wasn’t the Second World War as everyone thought. It was the end of the reign of the samurai. Now what did the Japanese people have? Certainly not their own country, he fumed. Japan was not theirs when the Americans dictated everything for them. The Americans had decided the kind of government for the Japanese people, they had dictated trade rules, and they controlled the government throughout. The current Japanese administration was just as corrupt as any other, including the recent one, which took bribes from large American companies. The Americans called their politicians the best that money can buy. Konaka gritted his teeth. The Japanese people had a government, which was the best that the Americans could buy.
The three motor boats were close by, slowing to pull alongside the now stopped freighter. Konaka’s eyes locked onto Commander Chen Yanpeng of the Chinese Navy. From the expression on Chen’s face, Konaka knew he had been successful. His eyes wandered over the boats, wondering where the gold was and noting a string of bullet holes in one of the boats. Apparently Chang had resisted.
Konaka shook his head imperceptibly. What was that law that the Americans were so fond of? Murphy’s Law? And Murphy was an optimist, so the Americans say. His allies had gotten their signals crossed. Initially Chang was supposed to steal the treasure from Hendrick, but he failed when Hendrick failed to raise the treasure last year.
Then the treasure was to be delivered by Loshak and Drukarev to his island. They were to hijack the submarine if necessary. But Chang, not knowing about the two SVR agents in Konaka’s employ, had beaten them to it. Chang was supposed to deliver the gold to him but had gotten greedy and had run off with it. Konaka, in an agreement with Commander Chen, had arranged to have the gold taken from Chang and brought to him by the Chinese Navy. Loshak and Drukarev had babbled about some bank notes, sixty year old bank notes! Konaka sighed. He wished he had had some of his own people on the submarine instead of these greedy, incompetent mercenaries. The conversation over the radio with Loshak and Drukarev had resulted in a rare explosion of anger from Konaka. He had wanted gold, not useless bank notes.
Commander Chen waved, and Konaka nodded to him. The deal had been unusual. Chen wanted the monetary equivalent of half the gold and was willing to give the other half to Konaka if he would spirit him and his men away with new identities. Konaka had agreed readily - he was certainly capable of that given his contacts with the Yakuza, Japan’s organized crime families. But the Yakuza was useful only for information; they didn’t believe in what Konaka and his organization, Shinri no Kiro, believed. Shinri no Kiro was dedicated to the return of the Japanese government back to the Japanese people, or a “Return to the Truth” as the name of his organization stated. No, the Yakuza would only try to stop him if they knew what he was about to do. In the end they will perish as so many others will, thought Konaka. The only way to restore the government back to the people was to destroy it completely, then rebuild.
The boats had pulled alongside, the excitement on the faces of the Chinese apparent. They babbled excitedly among themselves and hurried to attach the cargo hooks to the loads of gold from the small interiors of the motor boats. The gold was transferred quickly. Konaka was surprised what a small package it made. He had been told by Chen that there was seven hundred million dollars in gold at Chang’s headquarters. He had expected something much bigger in size.
One of his men ran up and breathlessly told him that the gold was all aboard. Konaka nodded and the man rushed away. Konaka’s men helped the Chinese aboard, and there was a great deal of back slapping and shaking of hands even though most of his men didn’t understand Chinese, and most of Chen’s men didn’t understand Japanese. There were forty of Konaka’s men and twenty of Chen’s men. About the right ratio, thought Konaka idly.
He looked over the side once again and saw that the motor boats were markedly deeper in the water than before. Chen’s men had scuttled their boats, confident of a ride to their next destination. Konaka ordered the ship’s captain to get underway again, then turned and stared out the bridge windows at the horizon ahead of them.
One step closer to a deal with the arms merchants of the world, Konaka thought calmly as the gunfire began amidships. They were the ones with all the contacts to get him what he wanted. The screams of the surprised Chinese sailors mingled with the brutal bursts of automatic weapons’ fire until only the chattering of the weapons remained. A moment later the weapons stopped, leaving a curious silence. One step closer to the destruction of the Japanese government, thought Konaka.
One step closer to the rebuilding of Japan.
CHAPTER 23
Bank Notes
SVR HEADQUARTERS, YASENEVO
Georgi Bakhtin ran his fingers through his hair and looked warily once again at the two SVR agents seated in front of his desk.
“Let me see if I understand this,” Bakhtin began. “You both are saying that the documents in the metal cylinder were never recovered. You are both sure of that.” He stared pointedly at Loshak.
Loshak nodded with supreme confidence. Bakhtin shifted his gaze to Drukarev. He nodded as well, taking his cue from Loshak.
“And how do you know this?” asked Bakhtin.
“We examined everything recovered by Hendrick and his crew. There was nothing resembling the sealed cylinder you described,” replied Loshak.
“And nothing could have gotten past you?” asked Bakhtin skeptically.
“Nothing. One of us was present whenever anything was brought on board the submarine,” answered Loshak. It was a lie, but Loshak knew Bakhtin had no way to find out the truth.
Bakhtin nodded and started to accept what he was being told. “Good,” he said to the satisfaction of the two agents. He leaned forward to hear the answer to his next ques
tion. “And why were you at the Finance Ministry this morning?” He eyed the both of them closely.
The two agents were taken by surprise. They stammered for a moment until Bakhtin stopped them. “You were trying to find out if some American bank notes were worth anything.”
“Ah, yes, the bank notes,” said Loshak slowly. “We were going to tell you about that.”
Bakhtin gave them a look that made them cringe. “Where did you get these bank notes?”
“This was the ten million dollars in American bank notes recovered from the Awa Maru,” stated Drukarev proudly in an abrupt switch from defense to offense.
“The treasury of the Russian Federation could use this money, don’t you think?” said Loshak. “The Americans wanted to sneak away with this treasure, but we stopped them.”
Bakhtin gave the two a disgusted look. “And you both weren’t thinking of keeping any of this for yourselves, were you?”
The two agents’ eyes grew wide with innocence, both denying it vociferously.
“Where are the bank notes now?” asked Bakhtin.
Loshak swallowed hard. “They are in a safe in a local bank.”
RUSSIAN FINANCE MINISTER’S OFFICE
COUNCIL OF MINISTER’S BUILDING IN THE KREMLIN
“Yes, these were quite unusual to say the least,” said Valentin Gradov, finance minister for the Russian Federation. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a bank note from the Awa Maru and held it up to the light. Georgi Bakhtin shifted his weight nervously in the stiff backed chair and wished Gradov would hurry to tell him what the bank notes were worth. Gradov adjusted his glasses and peered at the note for an inordinate amount of time.
“Appears to be genuine too,” Gradov mumbled to himself.
“So what is it all worth?” asked Bakhtin unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
“Worth?” exclaimed Gradov as if he had just heard the word for the first time. “Well, on the face of it, we have ten million dollars in U.S. notes. Adjusting for inflation … oh, no, we can’t do that. Well, figuring the interest since 1937 when most of them were issued -” Gradov pulled out a calculator and started to punch in numbers. “Let’s say three percent a year, which is quite a lot for back then.” He punched in more numbers. “Well, that’s roughly fifty-nine million dollars.”
Bakhtin almost smiled. “I can tell my superiors the notes are worth that much then?”
“Well, you see, there is a problem,” said Gradov who readjusted his glasses to look straight at Bakhtin.
“What problem?” asked Bakhtin.
“Well, the notes are only good as long as there is a bank willing to redeem them,” said Gradov in an apologetic manner.
“The bank no longer exists,” concluded Bakhtin with a sinking feeling.
Gradov nodded slowly. “I checked with my contacts in the Federal Reserve Board in the United States. This bank went out of business in 1947.”
Bakhtin inhaled deeply and leaned back seeing a hoard of money slip away. He couldn’t very well point to a pile of useless paper and try to claim a victory.
At least Alexi Koroayev will be pleased to learn that whatever was in the mysterious cylinder on the Awa Maru would never see the light of day, he thought. But why would he be so pleased?
Hours later Steve Hendrick made his way through the tourists and entered the Council of Minister’s Building in the north central part of the Kremlin. He ascended the stairs of the two-story office building past steely-eyed guards with automatic weapons. Russia had become an armed camp almost as it was in years gone by, but not for the same reasons of fear of enemies from without. The bodyguards were present due to the enemy within, the crime bosses of Russia. Many people in the finance end of the economy had been murdered outright when they turned down advances from the criminal element in Russia.
After showing his passport a half dozen times, Hendrick was finally let into the outer office of Russia’s finance minister, Valentin Gradov. He took a seat next to Gradov’s office door and settled down to wait under the watchful and appreciative eye of Gradov’s secretary.
The intercom on the secretary’s desk came alive, and Hendrick heard that he was invited in. He got to his feet, gave the secretary a smile, and went into Gradov’s office. He immediately went over and shook hands with the finance minister.
“Ah, we meet again, Mr. Hendrick. Please sit down,” said Gradov and waved Hendrick to a chair opposite his desk. “When you came to me with your problem, I was not sure I could help you, but fortune has smiled upon us this day.”
Hendrick smiled and received a return smile from the aging Russian.
“You have some news?” asked Hendrick.
“Yes, you see these notes -” Gradov pulled one from his desk drawer. “I kept one as a souvenir - are very unusual. Issued in 1937 by a bank in New Jersey. This bank no longer exists.”
“They’re worth nothing?” asked Hendrick with disappointment.
“A number of people have jumped to conclusions today,” Gradov admonished.
Hendrick sat back and patiently waited for the minister to get around to his explanation.
“This bank went bankrupt years ago. So, you see, on the face of it these notes are worthless,” explained Gradov. He suddenly got a twinkle in his eye. “However, other banks sometimes pick up a failing bank’s obligations.”
Hendrick began to smile again.
“Under a deal worked out by your government, another bank was awarded all the failed bank’s assets as long as it met the failed bank’s obligations,” Gradov went on. “Of course, it didn’t fully meet the obligations, so investors in the failed bank got only a part of their money back. Interest on the obligations was frozen as well.”
“How much?” asked Hendrick who was growing weary of the financial mumbo-jumbo.
Gradov looked over the tops of his glasses in annoyance at Hendrick’s remark. “Americans are only interested in what you call the bottom line. You have no appreciation of the finer aspects of international finance.”
Hendrick nodded, then waved his index finger in a circle to say get on with it.
“At forty percent and with no interest accumulating on these notes, the total value is approximately -”
“Four million?” asked Hendrick.
“Yes, so you see, I have solved your problem for you,” said Gradov.
“Yes, for fifty percent,” said Hendrick sourly.
“A most equitable arrangement,” replied Gradov. “I get half for - what do you Americans say? Launder it? And you get half for bringing this matter to my attention and for keeping quiet about it.”
“You have my share in the form I wanted?” asked Hendrick.
Gradov opened his desk drawer and withdrew two small books. He looked in each one then handed them over to Hendrick who examined them. Satisfied, he slipped them into his coat pocket.
“I am sometimes amazed at how fast this old bureaucracy can move when it is a minister of Russia who is doing the prodding,” said Gradov.
“Thank you, Minister Gradov. I am most grateful,” said Hendrick, rising to his feet.
“I am going to retire soon, did I tell you?” said Gradov pleasantly.
“No, you didn’t,” replied Hendrick.
“I hear Switzerland is nice,” said Gradov with a smile.
Georgi Bakhtin shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other and tried not to stare at the man in the comfortable chair in front of him. Alexei Koroayev spoke in a low voice into the telephone and kept his eyes away from Bakhtin, completely ignoring him. The phone call went on for ten minutes, and it seemed to Bakhtin that Koroayev was stretching out the call to impress upon the SVR agent how unimportant he was. Finally Koroayev hung up the phone.
“Yes, Comrade Belikov?” Koroayev inquired while reading some papers he had in one hand.
“Bakhtin, Comrade Koroayev,” replied the agent trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
Koroayev lifted his eyes and finally fo
cused on the impatient agent before him. Bakhtin waited for him to speak, but he said nothing.
“Regarding the matter of the documents in the cylinder on the Awa Maru,” began Bakhtin. “I can report -”
“I understand that this American adventurer found nothing of the sort,” said Koroayev and lowered his eyes back to the papers in his hand.
Bakhtin’s eyes widened in surprise. “I see that you already know all about it.”
Koroayev didn’t reply immediately - another gesture of Bakhtin’s relative unimportance. “Anything else, Comrade?” asked Koroayev without raising his eyes.
“No, Comrade Koroayev,” replied Bakhtin. That was the end - he was dismissed. He abruptly turned on his heel and walked out of Koroayev’s plush apartment. Bakhtin descended the stairs, his mind filled with curiosity about the contents of the metal cylinder on the Awa Maru.
Would he ever find out what was in those mysterious documents?
Hendrick knocked on the thickly painted door in the overcrowded apartment house. He heard someone say something in a loud voice, and a second later the door was yanked open. Golubev’s heavy, lined face filled the doorway, his mouth immediately dropping open in excitement.
“Stephen! What a surprise!” exclaimed Golubev. “Come in! Come in!” He stood aside and waved the American into his flat.
“Viktor Ivanovich, how are you?” said Hendrick. He had come to regard the old Russian with affection.
“I am well, Stephen. Come, sit down, and we will drink and sing,” said Golubev.
He led Hendrick to his kitchen table and introduced him to his wife, Katya. She brought out a bottle of vodka and two glasses and set them in front of the two men. They started out by toasting each other, then they toasted their submarine crew. Golubev quickly poured another round. It was Hendrick’s turn to toast and he searched for something. He didn’t have to search very far.
“To Katya, wife of Viktor Ivanovich!” said Hendrick and stood facing Katya who blushed with surprise. Her husband stood and faced her as well. They solemnly drank, then all three of them burst into laughter. When the laughter died down, Golubev looked at Hendrick curiously.
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