Black Wind

by F. Paul Wilson

  Zach gave me a little salute with his glass. "Still on your toes, Frank. I was real sorry to lose you to the Fourteenth District."

  "It's little meetings like that that make me think you're still with Intelligence.”

  He shook his head. "Nope. Saw Nomura on my own. We know each other from way back. He says Japan doesn't want war, wants everything nice. He isn't lying, but I'll bet he's been lied to. The guys in power in Tokyo are hungry. Just push them a little and it'll mean war."

  "You think they'll attack Pearl?" Harry said, sitting up straight and putting his glass down.

  "I'm certain of it. If they decide to go to war with us, that's what they'll do. Historically, it's the way they operate. And it makes good sense, too. If they can knock out four or more fatties here, they can then pretty much do what they want in the Philippines and the East Indies. After all, they already outnumber us two to one in the Pacific."

  "We'll see them coming," Harry said. "We'll blast them to kingdom come!"

  "Will you? I've just been over this with Kimmel, and I'm not so sure. You need constant air reconnaissance in a five-hundred-mile radius for proper warning. Most of those old PBYs on Ford Island are grounded for lack of parts."

  "We don't need a five-hundred-mile lead on an attacking fleet to

  prepare for them." Harry's tone was becoming downright belligerent.

  Zach shook his head slowly. "I'm not talking about a sea battle.

  War will begin with an air attack on our fleet on a weekend, probably on a Sunday morning, downwind from the north."

  He was making me uneasy. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

  "I'll put it this way," he said, his expression grim. "If US-Japanese relations deteriorate any further, I'd have a lot of trouble sleeping nights if my ship was berthed here, especially if there were four or more battleships in port with me."

  We were all silent and I guess Zach thought he was being too much of a wet blanket. He put down his glass and clapped his hands.

  "Well, this is all just backroom theorizing. Maybe Nomura will be able to patch things up and we won't have to worry about war. And even if things do deteriorate, at least you've got Purple magic to tip you off to anything big about to happen."

  Zach was referring to the intricate little electric machine that had been developed to decrypt the Japanese PA-K2 cipher, known to us as "Purple." You fed cipher gibberish into one end, and it printed out clear Japanese or English on the other. To anyone who slaved as I did, decoding and deciphering messages all day, those little machines were, indeed, magic.

  "Purple magic?" I said. "I wish the hell we did. The only magic we've got is geared to the old Red code."

  Zach's face went slack. "God! The Japanese haven't used Red since thirty-seven. You mean to tell me you're practically on top of Japan here and you don't do any Purple deciphering?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. We have to depend on summaries from the Navy Department—when they get around to sending them to us. I tell you, Zach, it's frustrating as hell."

  Harry said nothing.

  "Let's order some food," Zach said after a moment. "I don't know what the hell's going on, but it makes me want to get drunk. And I don't want to get drunk. Yet. So let's eat."

  The three of us studiously avoided the subject of Japan during the meal, but I only picked at my food. I’d lost my appetite.

  APRIL 23

  TOKYO

  Matsuo forced his sticky eyes open. He had been up till four this morning with Shigeo, poring over a flood of reports from Oahu. Thunder rumbled outside, as rain tapped against the window he had draped window to keep out the daylight. That explained the dimness of the room. He fumbled for his watch on the floor next to the futon and squinted at the dial: a quarter to ten.

  Another roll of thunder. Was that what had awakened him? He needed a more sleep . . . just a little more . . .

  As he dropped the watch and started to roll over, his eye caught a faint glow from the daisho. He looked closer. Light was leaking from within the scabbard of Nagata’s daikatana, glowing where its lip met the hilt guard.

  In an instant he was on his feet, hovering over the katana-kake, yet hesitating to touch the sword. Was this a dream or . . .?

  Taking a breath, he grabbed the scabbard, gripped the hilt, pulled—

  —and winced in the dazzling white light blazing from the blade. But not evenly. Only portions of the blade were alight—the entire cutting edge, yes, but behind that lay a random pattern of many small dead areas that only reflected the glow around them. The lacy display mimicked the blade’s uneven finish.

  Something had set the steel—or parts of it—afire. He touched the blade with his free hand and found it cool to the touch.

  Where did this cold fire come from?

  And then, as he watched, the light faded, leaving only an afterimage floating in the darkness.

  Matsuo stood and stared at the blade. What had just happened here? He hadn’t imagined it. He was wide awake, standing in his bedroom on a stormy Suiyōbi morning. But the blade that had always comforted him seemed changed. He still sensed its strength, but it felt . . . different.

  He had the oddest feeling that it had been asleep all these years and now something had awakened it.

  JUNE

  TOKYO

  "Germany has attacked Russia!"

  Shimazu heard Hiroki's words and felt his pulse quicken. "You are certain?"

  "Absolutely. I had it confirmed before I came."

  It begins.

  Shimazu could feel events lining up, gathering momentum toward war. As April had become May, the Seers had reported a disturbance in the Face, a sense that something cataclysmic was about to happen. But the disturbance had calmed and nothing else had been reported.

  Until now. With the Germans attacking her western flank, Russia would withdraw its forces from the Chinese and Manchurian borders, allowing Japan to reduce her own troop concentrations in those areas.

  The lessening of pressure on the Empire's Asian territories left the Order with a long-awaited opportunity to make Japan look south… and move south. Shimazu knew that those the Order had maneuvered into positions of power would not let the opportunity pass.

  "The Supreme Command is responding?"

  "Yes. The Chiefs of Service are already moving to call the reservists to colors and begin conscription. They will also be recalling the merchant fleet. All this will take time, of course, but the wheels are already in motion."

  Shimazu nodded. "Excellent. We have no time to waste."

  An understatement. The Chinese adventure was costing Japan twenty-eight thousand gallons of oil per day. Reserves were almost nonexistent. The Empire needed a constant supply of rubber, tin, and iron, as well as oil to hold the Asian possessions.

  "It begins now," he told Hiroki. "The French, the Dutch, the British, and the Americans are all around us, stealing our needs from our own table." He spread his arms. "This is our part of the world. We want it back—and we will take it back!"

  JULY

  HONOLULU

  Meiko didn't understand why Frank was so jumpy. He had been up since before dawn, pacing their apartment like a caged tiger, repeatedly stepping outside and looking up at the sky, then coming back in and pacing again. He would sit at his desk and stare at the papers he had brought home from Pearl. As a rule, he relished the extra sleep he could get on a Saturday morning.

  Dawn was lightening the sky now. Meiko heard the faint sound of a plane's engine and saw Frank's head lift as he heard it too. Without a word, he leaped to the balcony and stared like a madman into the empty sky.

  She had asked him earlier if anything was wrong but his answer had been vague. At first she had thought he might have overdone it last night at Captain Thorton's Fourth of July party; after all, Frank's stomach had been bothering him lately, even without the hot dogs, hamburgers, and corn on the cob the captain had served. But when she thought about it, she remembered that Frank had eaten very little last nig
ht, and had limited himself to a few beers from the keg.

  She was worried about her husband. She had come to care so deeply for Frank. And she was learning to love him. Not that she hadn't loved him on their wedding day—she had, but not as she had loved Matsuo. She doubted she would ever again share that intensity of feeling with anyone else. Was that because of Matsuo himself, or because he had been her first love?

  It didn't matter. Matsuo was in the past and gone forever, and she was learning to love Frank more each day.

  She got out of bed, wrapped her kimono around her, and joined him on the balcony. He jumped when she slipped her arms around him.

  "Won't you tell me what's wrong?"

  He turned and looked at her. "Let's take a little ride. I'll try to explain it once we get there."

  He acted as if he were guilty of something, and that made Meiko uneasy.

  They drove west to a hill overlooking Pearl Harbor. Frank drew her out of the car and walked her up a small rise to a clump of algaroba trees. Frank put his arm around her shoulders as they looked down on the still-sleeping harbor. The first rays of the sun began to warm her.

  "Pearl Harbor is cursed, you know," he said in a low voice. "The story goes that the great shark goddess, Kaapuhau, lived in the east loch, that it’s a sacred place. They started building Drydock Number One back about the time I was born, and had nothing but trouble—weird accidents, freak injuries. Then, in 1913, when they were putting the finishing touches on it, the whole thing suddenly burst apart for no known reason, shattering four years' work in minutes. And later when they drained it out again, they found the body of a gigantic shark at the bottom."

  Meiko shivered. "What happened after that?"

  "They got a big kahuna to make the proper sacrifices, and everything went smoothly from then on. But some of the natives still say it's cursed. That the goddess wouldn't have wanted anything built there."

  "Is that why you're so tense?"

  He laughed, but it sounded strained. "No. It's just that I've been here four years now, and I've never seen so many ships in the harbor."

  "But yesterday was the Fourth of July."

  "I know—and it's brought most of the Pacific Fleet in for the long-day weekend."

  "Frank, I still don't understand. What's wrong with that?"

  He sighed, paused, then took a deep breath. He seemed reluctant to speak. "A man I respect very much said to watch out for a Saturday or Sunday morning when four or more battleships are in port along with a carrier or two. He said if Japan decides to go to war with us, she'll look for that situation and launch a surprise air attack." He pointed at the ship-filled harbor. "Take a look: Most of the Pacific Fleet is asleep down there. Sitting ducks."

  "You don't think Japan is going to attack us, do you?" The thought horrified her.

  Frank's arm tightened around her shoulders. "I don't know what to think. There's nothing I want less. But with the way the rest of the world is going to hell, how long can it be before some of the madness touches us here?"

  Meiko felt cold all over. "But we're so far away from everything."

  He shook his head. "No. We're right in the middle of it. And something big is brewing. We got word just Wednesday that Japan has ordered two million reservists and draftees to colors. Something's going to happen." He looked heavenward. "But please, God, not here. Not here."

  "Why haven't you told me any of this?"

  He looked sheepish but said nothing.

  Meiko looked up in wonder at her husband and hugged him. "You're worried about me, aren't you? More than anything else, you're worried about me."

  "Yes. You, me, us. If we go to war, I won't have any choice about re-upping. We won't get to be Maui cane farmers. And if we go to war with Japan… God, that'll be so hard on you."

  Meiko knew what he was thinking. His concern touched her.

  "Not as hard as you think. I am barely tolerated by the officers' wives as it is. If they snubbed me completely, it would be only a shade of difference."

  "But I'll be doing everything I can to defeat your country. Won't that…?"

  With Matsuo dead and her family dishonored because of her, Japan held nothing for her. But she didn't want to mention Matsuo now. She searched for another way to reassure Frank.

  "Hawaii is my country now," she said finally.

  His laugh was good to hear after such a grim conversation. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

  "It must have been something terrible. But truly, I hope you are never sorry you married me, Frank."

  He enfolded her in his arms. "Sorry? I can't even imagine that."

  She snuggled against him and sensed that he’d relaxed some. Yet when she glanced up at his face, she saw him scanning the horizon.

  "Still worrying?"

  "Sorry." He looked embarrassed at being caught. "I just won't be able to rest easy until this weekend is over and the fleet puts out to sea again. After that, we'll have a long breather—Pearl won't be this crowded again until December."

  AUGUST

  TOKYO

  The uppermost floor of the Order's five-story pagoda was dark. The stifling heat and humidity of the Tokyo summer hung in the air and clung to their bodies as the five of them sat cross-legged in a rough circle around the single candle.

  "It goes well, then?" said Elder Yonai.

  He was the most ancient member of the Order, merely a trunk and a head. His limbs had long since been removed at the hips and shoulders. He lay propped on pillows.

  Shimazu waited for Hiroki to answer. He had brought him here to the Elder Council without warning and knew he was in a state of shock. But Shimazu had wanted the Elders to hear firsthand the news from outside.

  Hiroki finally found his voice. "Exceedingly well, Elder. So well, in fact, that I am sure the events of the past few weeks must be the handiwork of the gods themselves."

  Elder Ryusaku who was also a Seer nodded noncommittally, causing the candlelight to flicker in empty sockets visible through the eyeholes in his mask. "Perhaps. But give us details. What has been the progression of events?"

  Hiroki cleared his throat and ticked off the points on his trembling fingers. "Germany attacks Russia. We sign a non-aggression pact with Russia, thus freeing thousands of our troops from the Russian-Manchurian border. We arrange with the Vichy French to move into their Indochina holdings to mine their raw materials. When President Roosevelt hears of this, he insults us by ordering a freeze of all Japanese assets in the United States. The British quickly follow suit. Then the American President goes even further."

  "Yes," Shimazu said. "The embargo."

  Even though it fit so perfectly into the Order's plans, he could not help but feel a flare of resentment.

  The long-fingered hands of Kakuichi, an Elder with no voice and no legs, flickered in the air. Yonai translated:

  " ‘The Empire is cut off completely?' "

  "No trade with us except for cotton and food," Shimazu said.

  "And what is the local reaction?" Elder Ryusaku asked.

  Hiroki smiled. "If you listen to the wind, you can hear it carrying the angry voices of our people, raised against the United States of America. We had to put extra police in front of the American Embassy to protect it from the raging crowds. They now appreciate that the British and the Americans are trying to strangle us. Without their oil, iron, scrap metal, coal, and all their other raw materials, Japan will be bankrupt in six months. The British and Americans have left us no choice: We must expand southward. Our very survival depends on it."

  All were silent for a moment. Eventually, Elder Yonai spoke in a low voice:

  "Perhaps it is the handiwork of the gods we are seeing. But it is not often that the gods move with so little ambiguity. I wonder if this President Roosevelt is not using us as a foil for his own purposes. It is well known that he loathes the Third Reich and its military successes in Europe, and that he would rush to war if only his country would let him. And it is plain to see that it wou
ld be to America's great strategic advantage to engage Germany before Britain falls, which it surely must do after Germany takes Moscow and defeats Russia."

  His gaze bored into Hiroki.

  "Is this President Roosevelt taunting us? Is he trying to provoke us into a rash act before we are fully prepared? Could he want to use Japan, a signer of the Tripartite Act, as a stepping stone to war with Germany?"

  Hiroki hesitated, then: "Perhaps that is his plan, Elder. And perhaps his hatred of us plays a part as well. I still burn from his remarks three years ago after we moved into China. Remember? He said we were diseased and should be quarantined."

  "Remember?" Shimazu cried, unable to control the fury boiling up in him. "The arrogance of the man! How convenient for this feeble old scion to forget the history of his own nation. Only a century and a half ago the United States was a small Caucasian cancer on the east coast of North America. Since then it has spread across the continent, obliterating the native Indians and Mexicans with liquor and disease and bullets. But still it wasn't satisfied. It spread to Alaska and far into the Pacific on the Aleutians. And then to the Hawaiians and Wake and Midway. Then it leaped into our midst in the Philippines, joining the other cancers of the British and Dutch and French. And this Roosevelt now dares to challenge our expansion into China? This man needs a lesson. He needs his nose rubbed in the dirt of his own filthy history!"

  Shimazu realized with a start that he was on his feet and shouting.

  * * *

  Hiroki sat in mute wonder. He had never seen Shimazu so angry. And in front of the Elders, no less. Hiroki could barely muster the courage to speak. To show such emotion was unthinkable.

  Yet he continued to be amazed at his sensei's grasp of the international situation. This seemingly simple monk who never left his temple had his fingers on pulses around the world. Another reminder never to underestimate the reach of his sensei.

  "If it is war President Roosevelt wants," Elder Ryusaku said in a calm voice after Shimazu had reseated himself, "then war he shall have. But it will be on the Emperor's terms. We will strike when ready, and not a moment sooner."