Hiroki's muscles tensed. "Has something new been uncovered?"
"Not yet. But I do not fear. The secret of the Black Winds will be unearthed. It has been foreseen. Someone will find it. Yajima is searching especially diligently."
"Yes... Yajima." Hiroki caught himself. "I am searching when I can. I wish him well."
"I should hope so. It does not matter who finds the scrolls, only that they be found in time."
Oh, but it did matter.
It must be me. But how?
He had so many other things to do. He was stretching himself to the breaking point.
Too much to do. Too much!
But Hiroki knew that more than the scrolls themselves were at stake. They had provided reason enough at first for him to scour the cellars and attics and refuse piles of temple after temple and shrine after shrine across the countryside. But he knew of other benefits for one ready and willing to seize them. The one who unearthed the lost secret of the Kuroikaze would immediately wield enormous new influence within the Order. And influence within the Kakureta Kao could be translated into influence throughout Japan.
During the past few years Hiroki had come to appreciate how the range of the Order's power and influence was more far-reaching than he had ever imagined—in the Imperial Palace, the armed forces, the highest offices of the government, the press, and all the zaibatsu, men who either were partly educated in the temple or owed the Order a favor. None would forget his debt.
Hiroki had a plan that would test the Order's influence. He did not know how Shimazu would react to it, so he had decided on an oblique approach. And now was as good a time as any to broach it.
"Sensei," he said, carefully, "do you believe the Emperor is receiving all the respect and adulation he is due?"
* * *
"There can never be enough," Shimazu answered patly. “All that can be given is still insufficient."
But he thought, Whence does that question arise?
He studied Hiroki. He was hiding something. What was he planning that he was keeping secret?
"I realize that," Hiroki said. "But foreigners do not. I hear them snicker when we bow as He passes. And academics and intellectuals here in the Emperor's own land are writing and lecturing that He is not Divine, that He is a mortal like the rest of us. They say He is a constitutional monarch and nothing more."
Shimazu maintained an impassive expression. He had a vague idea of where Hiroki was leading him. He played along.
"This is nothing new. We have always had doubters among us. They are small voices."
"But they are becoming louder, I fear. And they are dangerous voices, especially now when we are trying to prepare the country for the coming war. We must form a seamless wall behind our Emperor when we challenge the world. There must be no cracks of doubt, no matter how small, to mar that wall."
"Perhaps you are right," Shimazu said, nodding slowly. "What do you have in mind?"
"We must find a way to make it completely unacceptable—illegal—to say or write anything that even suggests that the Emperor is less than Divine, or subject to man-made laws. Is there any way the Order can work to bring such laws into being?"
Shimazu noted with amusement that Hiroki was holding his breath as he waited for an answer.
After a lengthy pause, he said, "There are ways."
He watched Hiroki exhale slowly in an attempt to hide his elation. He knew what his pupil had in mind now. Hiroki was borrowing a trick from the Tokugawa Shoguns. They had removed the Emperor from temporal power yet they reinforced his Divine Nature at every opportunity. The idea was elegant in its simplicity: If one deifies the Emperor to a sufficient degree, one can lead His children anywhere in His name.
He was glad to see Hiroki planning so far ahead with such subtlety. This was what he had groomed him for since he was a child. And glad his thoughts seemed far from marriage. Let them stay away. As long as no definite wedding date was set, Shimazu would forget about the Mazaki girl and let her go her way. But should a wedding become imminent again...
In the meantime, he would advise the Elders of Hiroki's plan, and recommend that they support it. In this case, it might work to the Emperor's advantage.
1936
THE YEAR OF THE RAT
FEBRUARY
Matsuo found his brother standing on the eastern edge of Hibiya Park, across from the Imperial Hotel. He was watching a civilian and a young Army captain in conversation perhaps a hundred feet away. On closer scrutiny, Matsuo recognized the civilian as Toyama himself. As Matsuo approached, the two walked away through the park.
"Ah, Matsuo," Hiroki said with a smile. "A beautiful day, is it not? Such interesting sights."
Matsuo shivered in the cold. Hibiya Park was a dreary place in the winter with its leafless trees and lifeless flower beds. Snow was piled along the edges of the walkway and the heavy air hinted at more to come.
"Look up there, for instance," Hiroki said, pointing to the upper level of the two-story Imperial Hotel across the street.
Matsuo glanced up at the sturdy modern building. Was this why Hiroki had talked him into a "leisurely stroll" on a day as cold and dreary as this? To study the architecture of the Imperial Hotel?
"Where?"
"On the second floor, the third window from the left. See the man there?"
Matsuo squinted through the hazy air. Yes, a balding man, either American or European, in a white shirt leaning out the window, craning his neck, peering off to the right toward the Imperial Palace.
"What of him?"
"He thinks he has the perfect perch from which to watch our Emperor as he passes." Hiroki's smile took a malicious twist. "He is about to be disabused of that misconception." He bowed toward the hotel. "Shall we move in for a closer look?"
Puzzled by Hiroki's words and purpose, Matsuo shrugged. "If you wish. I might even suggest that we go into the lobby where it is warmer."
"Are you cold?" Hiroki seemed oblivious to the chill. "Perhaps we should find someplace to have a cup of hot sake after the Emperor passes."
Matsuo hunched his shoulders inside his naval uniform and matched his brother's stride. He glanced at his epaulets and saw moisture condensing on the brass lieutenant's insignia he had so carefully buffed to a high gloss last night.
As he followed his brother toward the hotel, he glanced up again at the window where the Occidental man waited. As he watched, the man turned and cried out with surprise, then he saw pairs of hands drag him from the window. Matsuo grabbed Hiroki's arm and pointed to the now empty window.
Without looking up, his brother said, "I know."
They crossed the street as the Imperial Entourage approached. When they reached the courtyard of the hotel, the front doors flew open. Matsuo watched with alarm as squads of military police hauled Western civilians—some not even fully dressed—out of the hotel and into the cold. They lined them up along the curb, facing the street. Matsuo would have gone over to find out what the matter was but the Entourage was upon them at that moment. He turned toward the street and bowed as the Emperor passed. He noted out of the corner of his eye that the soldiers made the foreigners bow low along with everyone else.
When the Emperor had passed, the soldiers walked off and left the dazed, shaken foreigners standing in the cold, looking at each other in bewilderment. Matsuo finally understood, and it made him uneasy.
He saw Hiroki watching them. His grin was like flint.
"Is that why you brought me out today? To see that display?"
"I wanted to see it for myself." He smiled more warmly at Matsuo. "And I wanted some company. Besides, I thought it would be enlightening for you."
"You approve of that, don't you?" He had a suspicion that Hiroki and the Kakureta Kao were involved in the undisputed frenzy to reinforce the Emperor's Divine Nature, a frenzy that had swept through the government, the military, and the press during the past year. But he hesitated to say that aloud.
"Of course. Don't you approve of giving the Son of Heaven H
is due respect?"
"My reverence for the Emperor is deep, as you well know. But I am Japanese." Matsuo pointed to the shivering Westerners as they hurried back into the warmth of the Imperial Hotel. "They are not."
"But as you also well know, my brother, it is now forbidden by law to look down upon the Emperor or to stand in any way above him as he passes."
"Laws don't create reverence. It must come from here." He pointed
to his heart. "Not from the barrel of a gun."
"Reverence can be learned. And if learned well, it becomes a lifelong habit. The people must not become too comfortable with the Emperor's divinity. It must remain miraculous. The same goes for foreigners. These have been taught a valuable lesson today. One they are unlikely to forget."
"If you were a visitor in Rome, would you care for that sort of treatment every time the Pope passed your hotel?"
Hiroki smiled thinly. "I see no reason for me to ever visit Rome."
Matsuo was discovering a new arrogance in his brother. Or perhaps it had been there all along and only now was it coming out of hiding. He began walking along the street, away from the hotel. Hiroki fell in beside him.
Matsuo said, "Has it occurred to you that all the articles and laws and public demonstrations reinforcing the Divinity of the Emperor during the past year are just a little too well timed to be truly spontaneous?"
"Is my brother hinting,” Hiroki said, arching his eyebrows, “that a faction is manipulating the press and the populace?"
"I don't think it is impossible. Looking at the whole picture, I find it reeks of orchestration."
"It might not be wise to discuss such a theory so openly. If indeed such diverse and widespread events are orchestrated, one must consider the breadth and reach of the power of the maestros. And beware."
Matsuo studied his brother's bland expression. "I shall."
"Good. And it might also be wise to avoid the Sanno Hill area during the next few days."
"Why?"
Matsuo looked toward the rise beyond the Imperial Palace where the new Diet Building was nearing completion. The Diet and the prime minister's residence, the heart of Japan's civil government, occupied Sanno Hill.
"Something is in the wind," Hiroki said in a flat tone. "Yesterday's elections dealt a blow to the Kodo faction's representation in the diet. I fear they might do something rash. Do not take my words lightly."
Matsuo could read nothing in Hiroki's expression. He knew his brother well enough, however, to sense that he was fairly vibrating with suppressed excitement.
* * *
Hiroki could barely contain himself. It took a supreme effort of will to remain seated, warming his feet near the sunken kotatsu, while sipping his breakfast tea with his father and brother. He wanted to be up and pacing, burning the nervous energy that tingled through every nerve in his body, setting his heart to racing and his palms to sweating.
Something was about to break. The Army's young officers were like caged animals that had been mistreated too long. Under the Order's guidance, Toyama's Black Dragons had fanned the aggressive fervor of the officers to the combustion point. They strained at the leash to be let loose upon China and secure it for the Emperor. The setbacks in the recent election had them frothing at the mouth. They were ready to run wild.
But when? This morning? Tonight? Could it be that it had already happened and the news simply had not arrived yet? He couldn't bear this tension.
At least his family was safe. Father would not be going to Sanno Hill today, and he had warned Matsuo yesterday. His brother was home this morning, walking about the room with a heavy, sand-filled ceramic jar dangling from the fingertips of each hand. Matsuo wore a gray, half-sleeve kimono that exposed his forearms. Hiroki watched the muscles ripple and bulge as he slowly levered the jars up and down, back and forth. He realized that the strength in his younger brother's hands had to be enormous to manipulate those heavy jars so easily with only his fingertips.
"Are you still so devoted to shuri-te?" he asked, hoping some idle conversation would hasten the passage of time.
"It's no longer shuri-te," Matsuo said. "The Okinowan masters had an enclave last year and agreed to combine the many te disciplines and call them all by one name: kara-te."
Hiroki debated enrolling in a dojo himself when the sudden jangle of the phone made him jump, splattering hot tea on his arm. Cho answered it and called Father to the phone. Hiroki watched his father's face blanch as he listened with the receiver pressed hard against his ear.
"The Army is in revolt!" he cried as he hung up. "Prime Minister Okada has been assassinated and his residence taken over by the rebels! They have dug in and occupy the routes to the Diet. The Imperial Palace is ringed with mutinous troops!"
Hiroki suddenly went cold, despite the warmth from the kotatsu. Why would they ring the palace?
"The Emperor!" Matsuo cried, dropping his jars. "Have they—?"
"The Emperor is safe . . . for now. No troops have crossed the moat to the palace grounds."
"Are they guarding him or holding him captive?" Hiroki asked.
"That is not clear. But there is more." His voice shook as he spoke. "Murder squads have struck all over Tokyo. General Wanatabe is dead, shot down along with his wife and his servants. Finance Minister Takahashi is also dead. Admiral Suzuki was wounded and Count Makino narrowly escaped with his life. But worst of all, Viscount Saito has been murdered. Only last night—hours ago—I had dinner with him and Ambassador Grew at the American Embassy. We watched a silly American movie, Naughty Marietta." Father hung his head and covered his eyes. "They shot him thirty-six times!"
Hiroki was alarmed now. The others Father had mentioned were all moderates who questioned and challenged the Army's moves in China and Manchuria. Logical that the rebel fanatics would attack them. But old Saito-san? A gentle old man, the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, at least eighty years of age, dead—to what purpose? What was happening?
"Animals!" Matsuo growled.
"I fear you do the beasts of the field a disservice," Father said. He had regained his composure now.
Hiroki was about to excuse himself when Cho hurried into the room.
"Soldiers, my lord! At the front door!"
Oh, no, Hiroki thought as terror caught him in an icy grip. Not here!
Before he or Father could reply, a young second lieutenant came up behind Cho and pushed him out of the way.
"Baron Okumo?" he said.
"I am he!" Father shouted, stepping forward. "How dare you come into—"
The officer drew his pistol and pointed it at Father, crying, "Tenchu!"
Paralyzed with horror, Hiroki stood rooted to the spot. He didn't even see Matsuo move, but suddenly his brother was there, knifing the edge of his hand down onto the officer's gun arm with a ki-ai shout. He heard the distinct crack of bone as the gun went off, the bullet tearing through the floor.
Matsuo then became a blur of motion. With a howl of rage, he hammered the officer into the next room, sending him reeling into the enlisted men he had brought with him.
Hiroki then pushed Cho toward Father. "Take him out back!"
He then followed on his brother's heels. Matsuo needed help.
He counted six of them, all armed with old Arisaka rifles, and could tell from the shocked expressions on the soldiers' faces that they had not expected to run into anything like Matsuo. No sooner had their leader reeled into them than Matsuo was upon them, filling the air with his cries as his fists and feet flew in all directions.
Hiroki made a quick assessment, saw three of the soldiers desperately trying to defend themselves against Matsuo's onslaught, two trying to help their bloodied officer to his feet, and the last one stepping back and aiming his rifle at Matsuo. Hiroki launched himself at that one, knocking him down before he could fire.
Contact with the other man ignited something within him. His fear evaporated into a blood rage. These men were in his home. They wanted to kill his father. He ripped
the rifle from the soldier's grip and smashed the butt plate against his head. Once. Then again. He felt something give on the second blow. The man shuddered and lay still.
As he turned, one of the soldiers near the officer raised his rifle toward him. Hiroki lunged, hurling his stolen rifle into the soldier's face, then following it with a kick to the upper belly and a backfist blow to the temple. The soldier went down in a heap.
Looking up he saw that Matsuo had already disposed of one of his opponents and had the other two backpedaling toward the door. The remaining soldier near Hiroki joined them in flight as they all turned and ran.
But they didn't run far. As soon as they were in the open courtyard, they turned in the snow and began firing their rifles. Hiroki and Matsuo crouched inside the door on either side as bullets sang through the house or thudded into the front wall. Hiroki breathed a prayer of thanks to the kami of the house that the builder had chosen thick teak planking for the front.
The firing was wild, the soldiers discharging their weapons as fast as they could work the bolts.
"I think they're trying to hold us down," Matsuo said. "Watch for someone sneaking around the side."
That was a disturbing thought, but probably accurate. Hiroki glanced around at the side windows, looking for any sign of movement. He hoped Father was safe. The front room was a mess. Blood smeared much of the floor where three soldiers lay still and the young lieutenant groaned through the bloody ruin of his mouth. Hiroki crawled over to where the officer's pistol lay on the floor and retrieved it. He held it up, offering it to Matsuo across the doorway, but his younger brother looked at it with disdain and shook his head.
Still think of yourself as a damn samurai, eh?
He checked the pistol: five shots left. He decided to save them for the unlucky soldier who poked his head in a side window.
The stream of bullets continued for a few minutes more, then stopped. Hiroki heard a few guttural grunts, and then all was quiet. He watched Matsuo cautiously peek around the door frame, then saw his face break into a wide grin as he leaped to his feet in the doorway and bowed. Hiroki looked out.
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