Black Wind

by F. Paul Wilson

  Shimazu stiffened. Matsuo returning? This was not good news. It could further complicate an already complex situation. The younger Okumo was more resourceful than Shimazu had suspected. He could not be allowed to live any longer. The way was clear: Matsuo was the Okumo who must die, and the sooner, the better.

  "It will not matter," he told Hiroki.

  "I thought you said he would be isolated in America until after the war."

  "I thought I had arranged for that to be the case. How is he returning?"

  "That remains elusive. Either Naval Intelligence is not completely sure at this time, or they are restricting the information to a few select people."

  "The route is not important. When he returns, send him to me."

  "What if he brings proof of this American superweapon?"

  "There can be no proof because there is no weapon. The Americans are still many years away from perfecting such a thing. It was a fool's errand but it worked well to our advantage. No matter what your brother says, the terms of the Potsdam Proclamation are unacceptable. His voice will go unheeded."

  Shimazu hoped that would be the case, but one could never be sure about these things.

  "But I am concerned how my brother will react when he learns about the child and my role in his abduction. He is so unpredictable. I fear he will be… uncontainable."

  "Have no fear. Send him to me."

  Shimazu could not allow one man to interfere with the Empire's destiny. Especially not now when they were so close to success.

  "What if he will not come?"

  "You have squads of Kempeitai at your disposal in Tokyo, do you not? Surely they can manage to bring one man to Hiroshima. Once he is here among us, I am sure I can reduce his power as a threat to our plans. Send him to me. I will see to it that he is contained."

  Forever!

  TOKYO

  The rubber raft grated against the sand as Matsuo grounded it on the southwest shore of Tokyo Bay. He leaped out, punctured its rubber flank, then kicked the deflating raft back into the gentle current and watched it drift away into the dark. He was wearing only a white shirt and khaki pants, but already he was sweating. Summer had settled upon Japan with a vengeance.

  Is it this easy? he thought as he walked along the deserted sandy shore toward the ruins of Yokohama, once the busiest seaport in Japan.

  The American submarine had breezed past the darkened Yokosuka lighthouse and into the bay, surfaced long enough to put him off, then submerged again. Was the Japanese Navy now so oil-impoverished that it could no longer mount even rudimentary shore patrols? Luckily the enemy belonged to a different race, otherwise Tokyo would be crawling with American spies.

  He thought of Meiko's last words before he had left her. They had been allowed one brief embrace on Tinian. As he held her close she had whispered a Hiroshima address in his ear, then said, "Naka is there." There had been no time for clarification before they were pulled apart.

  Somehow he had to get to Hiroshima and find out what she meant. The urgency in her voice left no doubt of how important it was to her. But first he had to stop this war. Father would know how.

  He picked up his pace toward Yokohama. It would be dawn soon. He had no time to waste.

  * * *

  "Matsuo is home!"

  That was the news that greeted Hiroki at the front door. He fought the urge to turn and flee through the streets of Akasaka. Instead he forced himself to cross the threshold and go to where his father and brother were having tea in the room overlooking the garden.

  Matsuo rose and bowed correctly as a younger brother should. Hiroki knew this was for Father's sake. Matsuo's face was deeply troubled. His eyes held a haunted look. Something was wrong, but what? Hiroki searched those eyes for hatred, for anger. He saw neither. Could it be that he had not yet spoken to Meiko?

  Yes. That had to be the answer. Meiko had vanished since their confrontation at the Hiroshima site. Matsuo had not seen her since his return. He didn't know of Hiroki's part in the child's abduction. Relief flooded through him.

  "My son," Father said as Hiroki joined them. His lined face was drawn and his eyes were feverish. "The Americans have an atomic bomb. Matsuo has seen it."

  Hiroki froze as Matsuo looked at him.

  "It's true, Hiroki. I saw the test. We must never allow one of those bombs to fall on Japan."

  Hiroki steeled himself. This couldn't be true.

  "They bomb us every day. This will merely be a bigger bomb."

  "You don't understand. The bombs they drop on us now are like firecrackers compared to the atomic bomb!"

  Hiroki suddenly realized that Matsuo was afraid. He had never seen his brother show fear of anything. By the Hidden Face, what had he seen?

  "So what should we do?" Hiroki said with a display of contempt. "Roll over like whipped curs and surrender ourselves to their every whim?"

  "Would you prefer to sit here like ants on a hill and allow them to kick at us until our islands are reduced to lifeless rock and our race and our culture are obliterated from the face of the earth?"

  "I hardly believe that to be possible."

  Hiroki was not sure how to react. He did not want to appear too openly scornful. Matsuo was most convincing in his tale of an American atomic bomb, and that made him dangerous. If he ever got the diet's ear, the defeatists there could end the war before the Order had a chance to bring the full fury of the Kuroikaze against the Americans.

  "Hiroki…" Matsuo seemed to be at a loss for words. He ranged about the room, his slippered feet scuffing on the tatami. "How can I convince you? You've seen what months of bombing raids have done to Tokyo? Imagine all this destruction and more occurring within seconds from a single bomb!"

  Hiroki swallowed. Was that possible? No. He could not believe it. They had somehow tricked Matsuo. But he wouldn't say that. Better to smile ruefully and try to gain his brother's confidence. That might allow him some say in Matsuo's course of action.

  "Seems to me there is little left to destroy here. What more can they do?"

  "You don't understand. They have been saving cities for these bombs."

  "Saving?"

  "Yes. We all know that certain cities on Honshu have been left untouched by the bombing raids. We've been attributing that to luck or oversight. It's neither. The Americans have been preserving entire cities so they could wipe them out with a single bomb. And do you know the target for the first bomb?"

  Hiroki's mouth went dry. Hiroshima?

  Father said, "Where?"

  "Kyoto."

  Father shot to his feet. "No! It cannot be allowed!"

  "That's why I came here, Father," Matsuo said. "You must arrange an audience for me with the prime minister and the cabinet. We've got to convince them."

  Father shook his head. "That I fear will be a waste of time. Too much opposition from the military, and even from the cabinet members already tired of the war. They're afraid to press for peace. They're well aware of the atrocities our troops have perpetrated. Unconditional surrender for them is tantamount to placing themselves in the docket of a war crimes tribunal. They would see Japan reduced to rubble before surrendering."

  Hiroki wanted to cry out in anger—Father sounded like a defeatist. —but held his tongue.

  "There's been enough destruction," Father went on. "I was in favor of this war. All three of us were. But it has gone all wrong. It is time to stop it."

  "But if the prime minister can't help," Hiroki said, "who can?"

  He had to know their plans

  "We'll go straight to the Emperor/"

  Hiroki's mind reeled. The Emperor. He had never thought of that. A direct appeal from Matsuo describing the devastation of Kyoto and the lives that would be lost would undoubtedly sway the Emperor. His Majesty had been carefully shielded from many of the unpleasant truths of the war. If Matsuo was allowed an audience, the Emperor might very well order a surrender. In fact, Hiroki was certain He would. All that was needed was a single word from the
Emperor and the war would stop immediately.

  "Hiroki," Father was saying. "Surely with your influence you can arrange an audience."

  "Yes!" he said quickly. His mind raced: This might be his chance to stop them. "Leave it to me. I'm certain I can. That is the only way. Only the Emperor can end hostilities in time." He headed for the telephone in Father's study at the far end of the house. "I will call immediately."

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 1

  Matsuo saw his brother staring at him as he walked out to the car. He checked over his navy dress uniform.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Do you think an audience with His Majesty is a proper time for the wearing of ceremonial weapons?"

  Matsuo placed his hands over the handles of the katana and wakizashi thrust through his belt. He found the question odd. He had always worn Nagata's daisho with his dress uniform. As far as he was concerned, the swords were an integral part of it. He wondered why Hiroki was asking.

  "These swords have served the Emperor throughout their lives. They deserve to be with me now." He looked around. "Father isn't coming?"

  Hiroki shook his head. He seemed edgy. "This is an audience for one. I will accompany you as far as what is left of the Imperial Household Ministry. After that, you are on your own. The Emperor will see you in the Obunko."

  Matsuo nodded. Most of the buildings in the palace grounds had been destroyed by fire in late May when airborne firebrands from another of the endless incendiary raids had wafted over the high stone walls. The Emperor had been safe in His air raid shelter, but when He had addressed His subjects on radio the following day, He had seemed almost pleased to be sharing the hardships of other Tokyo residents. Matsuo was sure the Emperor would want as much as he to prevent an atomic bomb from falling on Japan.

  But would He believe him? Would He call for surrender?

  Matsuo spent the three and a half miles to the palace trying to quell the rising tension within him. It had taken Hiroki two days to arrange, but finally he had been granted a private audience with the Emperor. The prospect was almost terrifying. Yet he could not let his awe of His Majesty overcome him. He had to be persuasive—more persuasive than he had ever been in his life. He had to convince the Emperor to announce an end to the war before dawn tomorrow. That was when his time ran out and the American sub would surface for him outside Hiroshima harbor. He had to be there to meet it. If not, Kyoto would be reduced to a slag heap and Meiko would die. If his audience with the Emperor was successful, the deadline would become meaningless: The war would be over.

  It's all on me, he thought.

  The realization made him almost physically ill. He turned his mind to other things.

  He thought of Naka. He had been shocked to learn of the kidnapping. Meiko had said nothing of that. Only the address in Hiroshima, and that Naka was there. The torment she must have been through. And alone. But if she knew where he was, why hadn't she told anyone? Matsuo realized much was running beneath the surface here that he didn't understand, so he had said nothing. He allowed Father to continue to think that the child was missing. What did Hiroki think?

  "Where were you when Naka was abducted?"

  Hiroki looked at him with bland puzzlement. "Naka? Oh, you mean Meiko's son? I was at the temple that night. Can you imagine the audacity of those bandits, breaking into the count's house that way?"

  "There was never a ransom note?"

  "No. But someday, they shall be found, and then—"

  "Someday very soon," Matsuo said. "When the war is over I shall devote myself to tracking them down. And then they shall pay." He placed a hand on the grip of his katana. "Dearly."

  Hiroki looked away. "I shall help you."

  Suddenly the car slowed to a stop. The gray stone expanse of the Imperial Palace wall was in sight but armed men were blocking the road just ahead. "Who are they?" Matsuo asked the driver.

  Hiroki replied. "They appear to be Kempeitai. I understand that they have been conducting random inspections of vehicles nearing the palace."

  "On whose authority?"

  To Matsuo's mind, the Army's secret police were little more than hoodlums.

  "They fear an assassination attempt on His Majesty."

  "They surely are not going to stop you and me."

  "It might be best to cooperate," Hiroki said. "They are very concerned for the Emperor."

  Matsuo looked at his brother more closely. He was drenched in perspiration.

  * * *

  This was the moment Hiroki had dreaded. He had to get Matsuo out of the car so that the Kempeitai members could "arrest" him and hold him for "questioning." In reality, Matsuo would be bound, placed in another car, and taken to Hiroshima where he would be handed over to Shimazu for safekeeping. But there was no telling what Matsuo would do. He was so full of anger. Hiroki could sense it coiled within him, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. He was like a live ` with the pin pulled; the slightest jostle would spring the safety lever and he would explode.

  The leader of the Kempeitai group leaned down to the driver's window. "What is your destination, please?"

  "The Imperial Palace."

  He looked back at Hiroki and Matsuo. "Will everyone please step out for inspection."

  "I am an officer in the Imperial Navy and I have an audience with the Emperor!" Matsuo said. He tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Drive on."

  The Kempeitai leader drew his pistol, an old Taisho 04, and pointed it at the driver. "Everyone out, please."

  Hiroki could see that Matsuo was fuming. He tried to calm him.

  "Resistance will only cause us further delay. Just allow them to go through the motions of searching the car for a bomb. After all, they are doing this to safeguard the Emperor."

  Matsuo gave him a strange look, but complied. Hiroki followed him out on the same side.

  The leader of the Kempeitai kept his pistol leveled at them both. He took one look at Matsuo, then turned to Hiroki and bowed.

  "Okumo-san, I thought you said he would be unarmed."

  Hiroki wanted to shrink inside his clothes and hide from the look of astonishment and anger on his brother's face.

  "This is prearranged, my brother?"

  "The war must go on, Matsuo. You must understand. I can't allow you to bring about surrender. We will win. We finally have the means to drive the Americans back to their own shores with the Kuroikaze. We will win."

  "Then they'll bomb us from there, Hiroki! Don't you see? They can use their atomic bombs to return Japan to its original molten lava without risking more than a few American lives. It's over, Hiroki."

  "I can see why Okumo-san wished to keep you from the Emperor," the Kempeitai leader said.

  "Go with them, Matsuo," Hiroki said softly. "No harm will come to you."

  Matsuo looked around at the five Kempeitai who surrounded him. His shoulders slumped in resignation. "I guess I have no choice."

  "Yes, yes," said the Kempeitai leader. "Come quietly."

  He stepped toward Matsuo and reached for the swords in his uniform belt.

  Suddenly Matsuo was moving. His katana was unsheathed, its blade flashing in the morning sun. It rose and fell in an arc and suddenly there was blood spurting from the Kempeitai leader's throat. Before the others could respond, someone else was screaming and holding a spurting arm stump. A Kempeitai managed to level his rifle and get off a shot, but Matsuo was no longer there when the bullet arrived. It struck another Kempeitai instead. The rifleman's head suddenly leapt from his body in a geyser of red.

  And then it was over. It hardly seemed to have begun and yet now four Kempeitai lay on the ground and the fifth was running as fast as he could toward the remnants of downtown Tokyo.

  Matsuo stood among the dead, dying, and wounded like the avenging ghost of a samurai from some forgotten era. Hiroki saw murder in his eyes as he stepped forward with his bloody sword leveled.

  "Matsuo?"

  Hiroki felt the door handle digging into his spine as he
pressed himself back against the side of the car. Matsuo wouldn't kill him, would he? Not his own brother.

  "Where was I to be taken, Hiroki?"

  "To Hiroshima. To the Kakureta Kao temple. Matsuo, you must under—"

  "There's no temple in Hiroshima."

  "Yes, there is. We moved there while you were gone. We—"

  "Are there many like you in the Kakureta Kao?"

  Hiroki straightened. "If you mean ready to fight on until the final victory, yes. We will fight to the last man. And the heads of the Army and Navy are with us! And the Ministry of War. You will not get to the Emperor. Your cause is hopeless."

  "We'll see about that." Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "Where in Hiroshima is the new temple?"

  Hiroki shook his head, saying nothing. Matsuo stepped within a foot of him, began to lift his katana—

  "Matsuo!"

  Matsuo pulled on a loose fold of Hiroki's kimono and ran his katana blade along it with the cutting edge up. Hiroki felt his face redden at this deliberate humiliation. The driver turned his back so as not to see.

  When Matsuo finally dropped the fabric, his blade was clean. Hiroki's kimono was smeared with blood.

  Hiroki said, "I will kill you for this."

  Matsuo sheathed his sword. "We will settle this after the war. As for now, I am going to see the Emperor."

  "The Emperor!" Hiroki laughed. "You have no appointment for an audience."

  "Then I shall get one now."

  "Do you really believe that will be allowed? Are you such a fool as to think we let anyone other than a select few have His Majesty's ear?" Hiroki pointed to the walls of the palace. "We control all access to the Emperor. Your cause is lost." As he laughed again, he saw his brother's face harden.

  "There has to be a way."

  He shoved Hiroki and the driver away from the car and threw himself behind the wheel. Without another word, he sped off toward the palace.

  Hiroki shook his head as he watched him go. He knew Matsuo had not a chance in the world of reaching the Emperor. His little display had not gone unnoticed by the Imperial Guards. They surely had heard the shot, and they undoubtedy had seen Matsuo kill or maim four men. Did his brother really think the Guard would even let him onto the palace grounds, let alone speak to the Emperor?