Black Wind

by F. Paul Wilson

  * * *

  Meiko watched Matsuo as he sat and stared out the barred window of the interrogation room. Frank had arranged for them to be alone for a while. Two MPs stood guard outside the door. He had been staring this way an hour. Her heart broke for him. It broke for Naka, too, still a prisoner of the Hidden Face. She knew Matsuo would have brought him back if at all possible. She just prayed that her child was all right, prayed that he did not know the danger he was in. She had her own pain but knew Matsuo was suffering a far greater.

  "Did I do the right thing, Meiko?" he asked her for the twentieth time.

  "You did the only thing you could do."

  "I could have died without giving them the uranium."

  "But if they have another bomb, what would that have accomplished?"

  He sighed wearily. "Nothing. At least this way, I can be sure that the heart of the Kakureta Kao will be destroyed. With them out of the way, perhaps all their puppets in the government and the military will allow a surrender. Perhaps the destruction of Hiroshima by an atomic bomb will prompt the Emperor finally to take matters into his own hands and tell the soldiers to lay down their arms."

  "Then some good will come of this," she said, trying to bring a ray of light into the gloom that enveloped him. "If you died and they brought the second bomb in and dropped it on Kyoto, the Kakureta Kao would continue unscathed."

  "They're so sure of victory," Matsuo said, slamming his hand on the table. "It's idiotic. They would keep us in the war through a second and third and fourth atomic bomb, waiting for that final victory."

  "So you did the right thing. Either way a city would die. You forced the Americans to choose the one with a cancer at its center."

  Matsuo nodded absently and stared out the window again. After a while he said, "Why did you tell Frank about Naka?"

  Meiko tensed inside. "I felt he had a right to know."

  Matsuo nodded. "I suppose he did."

  "I'm sorry. I know I should have asked you first, but they wouldn't let us talk."

  He turned to her and smiled. "That's all right. I didn't want him along at first. I thought he might slow me up, hamper me, but I've changed my mind."

  "Won't it be dangerous?"

  "Yes, but with two of us going, we’ve a better chance of getting Naka out. I think it will work out for the best."

  He went back to staring out the window for a long time. His voice, when he finally spoke again, had a faraway quality.

  "Meiko, did you know that almost a third of a million people are living in Hiroshima?"

  "I know." She tried not to think of all the children she had seen playing in the streets of the doomed city. "I know."

  SUNDAY, AUGUST 5

  We stood on the edge of the tarmac, Matsuo, Meiko, and I, watching as the plane that would take two of us to Iwo Jima warmed up its engines in the red light of a cloud-streaked sunset. A couple of MPs stood a dozen feet behind us. Matsuo cut an odd figure there, dressed in his Japanese Navy officer uniform. I was in civilian clothes.

  "You don't have to come," Matsuo said to me.

  "Yeah, I do."

  "You heard what your general said: If the weather's good, that bomb gets dropped at eight tomorrow morning no matter what."

  I shrugged, trying to look brave. "I don't have much else going for me. Besides, that kid deserves a chance. I'd like to get a look at him."

  "Suit yourself." Matsuo pointed toward the fence fifty yards away. "Isn't that General LeMay?"

  I looked. The portly frame and chugging cigar were unmistakable.

  "Yep. That's him."

  "I'd like to speak to him before I go."

  "I doubt very—"

  "Ask him for me, will you?"

  I knew it was useless but I went anyway. To my surprise, LeMay agreed.

  "Sure, why not?" he laughed. "Just make sure he doesn't have those swords on him."

  Matsuo's daisho had already been loaded on the plane along with my side arms. I had the MPs bring him over. He stood across the wire fence from LeMay and looked at us.

  "I would like to speak to the general alone, please."

  LeMay nodded hesitantly and waved the MPs and me off a few feet. I saw Matsuo lean toward LeMay and speak a few words. The general stiffened and straightened away from him. Matsuo backed up a step and bowed. I wouldn't have believed what happened next if I hadn't seen it myself: LeMay raised his right hand and touched his fingers to the visor of his cap. It was a halfhearted salute, but a salute nonetheless.

  * * *

  Meiko waited for Matsuo to return to her after talking to the general. Frank and the MPs were a ways behind him. He took her in his arms and crushed her against him. His voice was a tight whisper in her ear.

  "Good-bye, Meiko," she heard him say. "I love you. I've always loved you and never anyone else." He leaned back and looked at her, his eyes searching her face as if memorizing every pore. "I just wanted you to know that before I left."

  Her heart was suddenly thudding in her chest. "You… you sound as if you're not coming back."

  "I may not. It will be dangerous."

  "But you must. Promise me you will."

  "If nothing else, I will get Naka back to you."

  "Naka is not enough." What was he trying to tell her? "I want you both."

  "If there is a way, we will both be back here Tuesday morning."

  "I can't choose between the two of you," she said, clinging to him. "I can't."

  "The choice is not yours." He kissed her. "I love you." He crushed her against him and kissed her again. His voice broke. "I love you so much."

  And then he was off and walking toward the plane that would carry him and Frank on the first leg of their journey to Hiroshima. Meiko stood between the two MPs and cried and waved until the plane was airborne and had disappeared into the north. Finally they led her away to her makeshift cell near the central bomb dump.

  MONDAY, AUGUST 6

  HIROSHIMA

  Our motorized inflatable planed out nicely on the smooth surface of the water. We seemed to have all of Hiroshima Bay to ourselves. We cruised in the dark past the airport and up a canal. Matsuo said it was a branch of the Ota River, but it looked like a canal to me. The boat was unmarked—even to the point of painting over the "Evinrude" on the little outboard motor. I stayed hunkered down under a tarp, watching ahead as we passed under countless bridges, some heavy-duty, some little more than footpaths, black ribbons against a starlit sky marred by only a few puffy clouds.

  "Perfect weather for a bombing," I said.

  Matsuo said nothing. I looked at my watch: 3:15. The Enola Gay would be overhead in less than five hours. The sub that had brought us was waiting on the bottom out in Hiroshima Bay. It would surface at 5:00. If we missed the rendezvous, it had orders not to wait. And I didn't expect them to linger. The sun would be up by then and I couldn't blame them for not wanting to risk getting depth-charged—especially not now at the tail end of the war.

  So we had less than three hours to get Naka free and out into the bay for the pickup. Plenty of time. At least I hoped so. If we were late, we'd have to do whatever we could to get out of range of the bomb. We only had so much gas, and I doubted we could row it.

  About six miles upstream, we stopped along a nondescript stretch of bulkhead and tied the boat to the nearest piling. It took us a few minutes to assemble our gear. As Matsuo shoved his swords through his belt, I strapped on a service .45.

  "You can't take that," he said.

  "The hell I can't." I didn't have any swords and wouldn't have known how to use them anyway.

  "Stealth is the way we must go. Shots will bring the police and awaken all the of the Kakureta Kao."

  "If you think I'm going in there unarmed, you're nuts."

  From what he had told me about these Hidden Face monks, I wasn't taking any chances.

  "You have a bayonet."

  "I know." I wasn't sure I could shoot another man. I knew I couldn't stab one. "But I'm taking the
gun too."

  He sighed. "Last resort, then. Promise?"

  "Okay. Life or death."

  We stowed the grappling iron and rope in the sack and were ready to go.

  "Wait."

  Matsuo withdrew his wakizashi from its scabbard and began cutting at his uniform.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Resigning from the Imperial Navy."

  As I watched, he methodically stripped his uniform of every insignia, every button, every ribbon, hurling each into the water as he cut it off. When he finished he was left with a naked blue tunic.

  "I am now ronin.”

  A masterless samurai. I didn't say so, but to my mind, Matsuo had always been masterless. He had never been, had never wanted to be, completely American; and I knew somehow that no matter how hard Matsuo had tried to be a good Japan man, the Emperor had never completely owned his soul. Now he was cutting himself free from everyone.

  I wasn't wearing a uniform I could deface, but I said, "So am I."

  He looked at me sharply and I think he understood. After figuring out what I had about the Pearl Harbor attack, I was feeling sort of isolated and masterless myself.

  "Let's go," he said.

  He led me a few blocks then stopped on a corner and pointed to a two-story, flat-roofed building across the street.

  "Naka is in there."

  I stared at the old factory. My son was in there. Christ. My son.

  "Where?"

  Matsuo pointed. "Second floor, third window from the right—I think."

  “You think?”

  “I saw little boys staring out the window there. It’s all I have to go on.”

  "How do we get in?"

  * * *

  Matsuo led Frank across the street to a heavily shadowed corner at the rear of the tin factory. He removed the grappling hook from his sack. He had covered its steel shaft and each of its three tines with rubber hose and electrical tape to muffle its impact. He uncoiled the rope and began swinging the hook in small arcs.

  "What about the door?" Frank whispered in his ear.

  "Guards on the first floor." Even if no one was on the first floor, he would not want to bring Frank in there. He might see the children in the walled-off area. Matsuo could not bear the shame of having Frank witness what his countrymen—only a few, yes, but still Japanese—had done to those poor children.

  Frank pointed to the third window. "But you said Naka's over there."

  "There might be a guard in the room with him. This window up here opens into an empty room."

  I hope.

  Matsuo remembered from his surveillance of the building last week that the rear corner window above had remained dark all night. He hoped the Kakureta Kao had not found a use for it since then.

  "I'll climb up, find Naka, and send him down to you on the rope."

  Frank glanced up at the window. "You're going in alone?"

  "Somebody has to be out here when I lower Naka. He knows me. You might frighten him."

  Frank nodded. "Guess you're right. Let's do it."

  He began swinging the hook in a circle. When it had built up enough momentum, he let it fly. It sailed up over the edge of the roof and landed with a dull thud. Not much of a noise, but like a crash of thunder to Matsuo. He held his breath and waited, watching the windows and doors, waiting for someone to look out to see what had caused the noise.

  He allowed two minutes to pass. When no one came out to investigate, he began to pull gently on the rope, slowly dragging the grappling iron along the roof until he was sure it was firmly snagged on the coping.

  "Steady the rope for me," he told Frank, then began to climb.

  The rubber-soled canvas shoes he had got from the Americans were silent on the factory wall as he hauled himself up hand over hand. He reached the second-floor window and peered inside. Dark and quiet. He eased himself through and waited.

  He sensed the walls of the small room, sensed its emptiness. He leaned out, signaled to Frank, and pulled the rope up through the window. Frank crouched and disappeared into the shadows. With no telltale rope hanging from roof to ground, chance of accidental discovery from the outside was small.

  Now, to find Naka.

  He turned on his flashlight. The room was filled with books, papers, scrolls, much like the cubicle downstairs. In fact, some of these looked the same. Here was the ledger of surgical procedures he had seen last week. The flashlight beam fell on the front page of Yomiuri Shimbun, a Tokyo newspaper. The words "Attack on the Imperial Palace" caught his eye. It told of the treacherous attempt by a Naval Officer named Matsuo Okumo to penetrate the defenses of the Imperial Palace and assassinate the Emperor. It said he had spent his early years in American and was quite possibly in league with the enemies of Japan. A nationwide search was underway to capture him.

  Matsuo smiled at his brother's inventiveness. He was about to toss the paper aside when he spotted a familiar face in the lower-left corner of the page: Father. He read with growing horror how Baron Okumo had committed seppuku upon learning of the disgrace brought upon his name by his younger son.

  Matsuo dropped the paper and closed his eyes. Was there no end to this?

  He stilled the quaking in his chest. It seemed somehow obscene to weep for a single man, even if he was your father, when so many tens of thousands would die here in a few hours. Perhaps Father was the lucky one. He would never know the terrible reality of the atomic bomb, never have to see Japan bow and surrender. He was beyond all that now. Matsuo would mourn him later. First he had to get Naka out of here, then he would look for his brother.

  He turned off his flashlight, opened the door, and peered out into the hall. A single bulb burned in the ceiling by the door to the stairs, otherwise all was dark and empty. No sign of sentries. They were probably all downstairs guarding the first-floor windows.

  The stairwell door gave him an idea—a way to buy himself some extra time later. He stepped out into the hall and crept toward it.

  * * *

  Shimazu suddenly realized he was awake. He lay on the futon and wondered why. The stump of his arm was throbbing but not terribly. The pain was less each day. He had even cut back on the analgesics. He still took the healing elixirs, though, and smeared on the ointments to prevent infection.

  But why was he awake? Was someone here? Had the younger Okumo returned? He could not tell. He tried to expand his senses, to reach out and search through the building for an interloper, but his reach was gone. The medications had dulled his senses. He pressed his ear to the floor. All was quiet below. The guards would have raised an alarm if Matsuo had broken in, or even attempted to.

  Still, he rarely awoke before he wished without a reason. He had a feeling something of enormous importance was about to take place. He folded his legs under himself and sat on the futon, listening.

  * * *

  Matsuo found the door he gauged to be opposite the third window. He stuffed the flashlight into his pocket and placed his hand on the grip of his katana. With a single motion, he opened the door, slipped inside, closed it behind him, and stood there in the dark, listening.

  Soft sounds… children breathing in peaceful slumber. His left hand found the light switch, flipped it. As the low-wattage bulb flared to life, he tensed, ready to strike at whomever had been placed on guard here.

  But he saw only children—eight of them dressed in short pants and shirts, rubbing their eyes and squinting in the light. He spotted Naka immediately and went to him.

  "Everyone be quiet," Matsuo whispered to the boys as he hugged Naka's little body against him. "I'm just going to take Naka away for a while. The rest of you go back to sleep."

  "Can't we come, too?" one of them said.

  "These are my friends," Naka told him. He turned to the boys with obvious pride. "This is my father."

  They all rose and bowed.

  Matsuo returned the bow. "I'm so very sorry, but I can only take Naka."

  Their faces fell.

  Naka
looked up at him with his innocent eyes. "Please? Nobody likes it here."

  Matsuo stared at their little round faces and pleading eyes as they clustered in a circle about him. So young—three and four years old. He knew he could not leave them behind.

  But the risk…

  "We are sneaking out of here," he told them. "If you make a noise they will catch you and bring you back. So you must be quiet. Is that understood?"

  The circle of faces nodded gravely.

  "Very good. Just do everything I tell you and we'll all be out of here in a few minutes."

  He arranged them in a line, each with a hand on the shoulder of the one in front of him, then turned out the light and led them into the hall. Only thirty feet to the storeroom door. He prayed to any god who was awake, to the kami of this old factory, that no one would trip.

  It was the longest thirty feet of his life, but they made it without a mishap and he sagged with relief when he was able to close the storeroom door. Then he gathered them all by the window. He knotted the rope around Naka's middle, looped the excess between his legs, and tied the end one last time at the small of his back. It wouldn't be a comfortable harness, but it was a short trip and he couldn't fall out of it. He lifted Naka to the windowsill. He saw Frank come out of the shadows below. The child clung to him.

  "Don't be afraid. I'll let you down slow. It'll be fun. But tell that man down there that more children are coming. Can you say it?"

  Naka rolled his eyes—his Of course I can look—and said, "More children coming."

  Matsuo started to lower him, letting the rope slide slowly over the sill. When it went slack, he looked out. Frank had him in his arms and was waving.

  * * *

  Was this Naka? Was this my boy? I hefted him in my arms. Are you my son? I wanted to say.

  "More children coming," he told me in Japanese.

  More? We were only supposed to get one. I set him down on his feet and began to untie the rope. Then I realized it would speed things up if I didn't. I slipped the boy out and left the harness intact. It was immediately sucked up along the wall and into the window above. I pulled out my flashlight and shone it in the little guy's face. Bangs covered his forehead. I pushed them back and looked.