“Wait a minute,” Johnstone had said. Looking at Matthew he asked, “Old Man Pete have large hay stacks on his property?”
Matthew frowned. “Why would he? He doesn’t have horses. Or cattle.”
“Oh, God, that’s it,” Merrick had blurted out.
Johnstone nodded. “Hidden in plain sight.”
After landing in Seattle, Merrick had made some phone calls. A Navy boat would take them to the island, and they would be accompanied by two Navy MAs.
Now inside the Kobata family home, Matthew seemed different. Not focused.
“The book?” Merrick asked Matthew who had gazed around the rooms, as if he were lost.
Matthew nodded and stepped into the kitchen. Almost immediately, his eyes went to the counter where the family’s finest chopsticks were bundled together with a rubber band. This was odd. The chopsticks were normally stored in a drawer. Then he realized that his mother had forgotten to pack them. He put them away in their proper drawer, at the same time removing a small knife. One of the MAs stiffened a bit, but Johnstone waved him off. Matthew then walked across the tiny living room and started up the stairs. Merrick and Johnstone exchanged glances, watching as Matthew stopped before the fifth step. He kneeled down and used the knife to pry up the loose board. He reached inside and removed the small package wrapped in oilcloth.
Johnstone took the parcel and carefully unwrapped it. Merrick came over as Johnstone flipped open the small spiral notebook. It was all in Japanese. Merrick looked to Matthew who now sat at the kitchen table. “We can’t read this.”
“I’m sure the Navy has someone who can translate it for you.”
“You should have told us!” Merrick retorted.
“We have time, Commander,” Matthew calmly answered.
Quickly looking through the book, Johnstone immediately thought of Professor Paulson at the University. But if what Matthew had told them was true – hell, even if only half of what he said was true – it was not something that should be revealed. Only those at the highest levels in Washington should know. Anyone else having this information could be disastrous.
“It better say what you say it does,” the commander reminded him. When Matthew didn’t respond, Merrick continued, asking, “The date?”
“I told you,” Matthew answered. “It’s in some sort of code. Tom was the one who figured it out. Look in the back.”
Johnstone turned to the last few pages. Here was English writing. Mostly numbers, some long division and multiplication figures. “I don’t get it.”
“I translated the numbers, he figured it out. He was a whiz at math.”
Johnstone looked at the last page. Circled in red was “4-17-42.” He glanced at Merrick. “Says the seventeenth.” Merrick nodded. “Two nights from now.”
“I told you,” Matthew said defensively. The notebook confirmed what he had told them on the airplane ride north.
“And you told Russell Porter,” Johnstone had reminded him.
“What was I supposed to do? I didn’t want him thinking I had stolen his truck.”
“Just been better if you hadn’t told him everything.”
“Someone had to stop them,” Matthew replied defensively. “I thought I’d be at sea. Not here.”
“Could’ve contacted the police,” Johnstone said. But they had been over this point before. He knew Matthew felt more than justified for killing Carsteen. And he wanted the plot stopped. Plus, he trusted Porter.
Matthew didn’t answer. And they knew it didn’t matter anymore. They had already checked. Porter was in Spokane and wouldn’t be home for another couple weeks. By then, it would all be over.
Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 17, 1942
Looking through the cedar forest and not seeing a thing, Matthew realized that the Japanese had planned well. There was only a quarter moon, and what light it might provide was blocked by the thick fog. Of course, they couldn’t have planned for the fog, but it was definitely an asset. Suddenly what Tom had assured him just a few weeks ago popped into his head. “Toward night’s end, it will all be over.” Of course, Tom had meant the night they had been caught. But those words were certainly true on this night. It would indeed be over toward night’s end. One way or another, it would all be over.
“You okay?” Johnstone whispered. He was lying down on Matthew’s left, Merrick on his right.
Matthew looked at the detective in surprise. “Me?” he whispered.
Johnstone nodded. “Yeah, you.”
Matthew sighed. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
Pushing aside his thoughts of Tom, Matthew replied, “How many. And if they will smell a trap.”
Johnstone was actually sorry he asked. He hadn’t thought of that. But he didn’t admit it. Instead, he said, “I doubt it. I think we’re just fine.” At least, he hoped so.
“Hey, Dad, you there?” a voice suddenly boomed over the radio. “It’s me. Scotty. You there, Dad?”
Merrick scrambled to lower the volume on the two-way radio he had placed by his side. He pressed the transmit button and quietly answered, “Yeah, Scotty, I’m here, Son.”
Static echoed through the smaller speaker. Then the voice was back. “I have the deck all cleaned now, Dad. Repeat, I have the deck all cleaned now.”
Merrick’s heart skipped a beat. He took a deep breath and replied, “Roger, Scotty, a clean deck will make for a good day tomorrow. Let me know when you are going to call it a night.”
The three men just looked at each other.
Johnstone was suddenly very nervous. This was it. The Navy had used the day and a half after receiving Matthew’s notebook to plan for this moment. It was decided that the Navy would place ultrasonic sound devices on several fishing boats anchored fairly close to shore. Those boats would appear unmanned, but each would have a Navy team on board. They would use the sonar, a term Johnstone had never even heard of before, to detect an enemy submarine. Each fishing boat covered a wide swath in its range and Scotty’s vessel was located dead ahead of where they were now positioned.
Johnstone looked at his watch. Not yet ten. As if reading his thoughts, Matthew said, “Right on time.”
***
In the wheelhouse of the fishing trawler, Viking II, that was just a half mile off the western coast of Bainbridge Island, Captain Scott Drogel made a sweep of the rolling seas through his binoculars. Two seamen were on deck doing the same. One on the bow, one on the stern. But it was impossible to see anything. The fog was just too thick. The captain knew where the other fishing boats were supposed to be, keeping to the plan finalized just that afternoon, but he couldn’t see them.
Drogel had thought he would be able to spot the sub’s large sail that housed the conning tower where the periscope and radio antennas were extended. It had to surface if it was going to send men ashore, and the sail would be spotted. Unless of course, that wasn’t the plan. What if the plan was to fire upon the sleepy island, battering it down to soften any resistance? He wasn’t even sure the Navy brass had planned for such a contingency.
Just the day before, Captain Drogel had been present during the heated discussions among the Navy’s upper ranks. There had been much dissension about what to do with the fleet of naval ships docked in the Seattle area. Several high-ranking officers argued that if they didn’t put all the ships to sea, they would just be sitting ducks, and it would be Pearl Harbor all over again. Besides, the Pacific fleet was already decimated. They couldn’t afford any more damage. But the ranking rear admiral had overruled them. He reasoned that if all the ships were put to sea, the Japanese might very well smell a rat and scuttle their plans.
For that reason, no Navy ships were participating in the operation. Just these old fishing trawlers that should not be suspected by the Japanese. At least, that was the hope.
As he continued to scan the area with the binoculars, unable to detect a thing, Drogel thought about the very big risk the admiral was taking by leaving all their
ships in port. What if there was more than one enemy submarine heading their way? Or Japanese battleships were soon to follow?
Suddenly he saw it. Gripping the binoculars firmly, he kept the glasses trained in the same spot of nothing but gray. There it was again. A darker gray appearing through the fog. The black sail. The sub had surfaced. His heart racing, Drogel picked up the ship radio. Remembering to use their pre-established code in case the enemy could pick up their radio calls since it had now surfaced, he said, “Hey, Dad, if you’re there, this is me. Scott.”
A moment later, a voice said, “Yes, Son, what is it?”
Good, thought Drogel. They could hear him loud and clear. “I’m calling it a night, Dad.”
“That’s fine, Son, Thanks for checking in.”
Drogel put the radio down. Who thought of these codes? But maybe it would work. If you were listening, you would think it was a simple conversation between a man and his grown son. “Calling it a night” meant the sub had surfaced. He wasn’t supposed to report further, and he felt that was just as well. It was too foggy to spot men going ashore and try to get an accurate count. But those waiting on the island had gotten his message.
They would be ready.
***
“Can’t see a thing,” griped Johnstone.
“That’s the whole idea,” explained Matthew.
“It’s perfect,” Merrick agreed.
The three of them had moved west where they now waited in the thick stand of cedar trees on the north end of Old Man Pete’s property. The fog was so thick that they could barely make out the large barn or the farmhouse just beyond it, yet both were less than 75 yards away. Only a dim light filtering through the barn’s wood slat walls gave away its location.
“This better work,” mumbled Johnstone.
Merrick looked at Matthew. “Ready?” The young man nodded. Although Merrick didn’t say anything, he agreed wholeheartedly with Johnstone. This damn well better work.
Matthew just stared into the impenetrable fog. The thought of a Japanese submarine so close to the island made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His only worry now was that he may have translated some of the data in the notebook incorrectly or even missed something significant, since he was not that well versed in reading Japanese. He also worried that their plans had changed since he had stolen the binder from Carsteen. But either way, it didn’t really matter. Dragon’s Breath was now underway. There was no turning back.
Johnstone caught Matthew’s eye and gave the young man a curt nod. Matthew nodded in return and silently slipped away.
While he could only see just a few feet in front of him, Matthew knew he had a sizeable advantage – he knew every inch of the small island as well as anyone. He made his way through the cedars, keeping to the woods that ringed Old Man Pete’s property, as he approached the landing zone. As he reached the bluff overlooking the cove, someone suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him to the ground. He quickly saw that it was a sergeant from their team, his face blackened with paint. “Kobata?” the man whispered.
Matthew simply nodded. There had been much discussion about the importance of radio and verbal silence, and Matthew didn’t trust himself to keep his voice low enough to not be heard. He had spent many youthful days in Harkin’s cove, and he could still remember how his father’s voice carried when he had called for his son to return home.
“They’re coming up now,” the sergeant quietly told him.
Matthew tried to see the narrow footpath, which he knew was just below them and led from the cove to the western tip of Old Man Pete’s strawberry farm. But the fog was just too thick. He couldn’t see a thing. He couldn’t help but wonder how the sergeant knew the Japanese had landed, but he knew that there were dozens of U.S. soldiers encircling the area, and somehow they must have silently communicated to each other.
Matthew was surprised when he suddenly heard them, rather than saw them. One of the men had stumbled, probably over a rock, and there was a whispered rebuke in Japanese. His heart hammered in his chest. It was true. Japanese soldiers were now on the island. His island. And they were on the steep trail just twenty yards below where he lay.
The haze started to lift a bit and Matthew could see them now. One after another, the Japanese soldiers made their way up the path, machine guns slung across their chests. At that point, it dawned on Matthew that he had not been given a weapon. Perhaps they hadn’t trusted him, but he suddenly felt naked. What if the Japanese soldiers happened to see one of them and opened fire? He would be defenseless.
As they rounded a large rock formation below, Matthew saw the leader of the group. It was the smaller man who had jumped him while he’d sat in Porter’s truck waiting for the exchange. He now knew the man’s name was Carl. Johnstone and Merrick had described the man to Matthew on their flight to Seattle, and Matthew had confirmed that it was probably the same man who had crushed his skull with a pistol and maybe even the same man that killed Tom.
Seeing the man again and watching as he escorted the Japanese soldiers up the pathway, Matthew craved for a gun. He would have liked nothing more than to kill the bastard right there. Instead, he forced himself to remain silent. As the last Japanese soldier passed below him, Matthew saw the man who brought up the rear, and actually thought he must be seeing wrong.
But as Matthew stared through the mist, he knew his eyes hadn’t betrayed him. A Japanese-American, a man he considered a friend, had betrayed them all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 17, 1942
Johnstone watched in the dim light of the barn as three U.S. Army soldiers quickly secured the large man’s hands behind his back. The detective was grateful that the thick man had been alone and had been no match for the soldiers. Merrick stepped forward as the soldiers held the man firmly. “How many?”
The bearded man just glared at Merrick. Suddenly Merrick kicked the man in the groin, and the large man groaned and collapsed to his knees. Merrick leaned over him. “How many Japanese?”
There was no response from the traitor. Merrick stepped back and nodded to the soldiers. A moment later a gun crashed down on the man’s head, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Johnstone turned away and moved near one of the three anti-aircraft guns that filled the barn. There was only a single bulb near the front entrance, but he could make out the prominent features of the huge weapon in front of him. The 18-foot long artillery gun sat on a metal chassis and stood fifteen feet in height. Eight feet wide, the weapon had two wheels in the front and two in the rear, which allowed the gun to be maneuvered into position. Not a military man, Johnstone had learned quite a bit over the last two days, and now knew that it took at least two men to fire such a weapon, preferably three.
“Let’s go,” Merrick whispered, pulling Johnstone away.
Merrick led him behind the last anti-aircraft gun, and they lay down on the floor, out of sight. The back of the barn was pitch black, but Johnstone found that by moving his head just slightly he could peer around the huge tire and see the entrance where the light bulb burned. He knew there were nine U.S. soldiers also hidden in the dark corners of the barn, but he didn’t try to spot them. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the barn door.
A few moments later, he saw the barn door swing open and Carl entered, followed by seven Japanese soldiers. The last man to enter was George Kanagawa. Shocked, Johnstone let out an audible gasp and felt Merrick painfully squeeze his arm in warning.
Luckily, the scuffling of so many feet into the barn had drowned out Johnstone’s gaffe. He watched as Kanagawa instructed the men in Japanese, and one by one the soldiers relaxed and found a place to sit cross-legged on the floor. The barn door closed again, and Johnstone could feel his heart beating so hard he would have sworn that it could be heard as well.
How long would it take Matthew?
***
Matthew hadn’t been surprised to find the back door unlocked. No one on the
island locked their doors, and luckily, at least in this regard, Old Man Pete was like everyone else. The sergeant had insisted on going inside with him, and Matthew didn’t argue. They found several bottles of whiskey and vodka in the kitchen and quickly took them outside.
Walking around to the front of the house, Matthew couldn’t help but glance at the barn. There was still a light inside, but it was amazingly quiet. In front of Old Man Pete’s porch, two soldiers had stacked a heap of cedar branches and kindling wood. One of the soldiers quickly took the whiskey and vodka bottles from them and dowsed the wood pile. Another soldier struck a match and everyone backed safely away. The soldier tossed the match, and a moment later the wood erupted into a huge fireball.
“Go, go, go,” the sergeant hissed, and Matthew took off.
Passing through the tiny living room, Matthew could see the towering flames outside the window, and he hoped that they hadn’t gotten it too close to the house. He quickly found the only bedroom. Old Man Pete snored fitfully, oblivious to his own impending doom. For a moment, Matthew pitied the old man. But then remembered that he and Tom had been held captive in Old Man Pete’s smaller barn. And Tom had been shot dead on Old Man Pete’s farm. Old Man Pete didn’t deserve anyone’s pity.
“Wake up!” Matthew said, shaking Old Man Pete’s shoulder roughly. “Hey, Old Man Pete! Wake up! Get up!”
Old Man Pete sat up with a disoriented grunt. “What—?”
“It’s me, Matthew Kobata! Get up!”
“Matthew?”
“Get up!” Matthew pulled on the old man’s arm. “C’mon!”
“Matthew?” As Old Man Pete got out of bed, Matthew saw that he was fully clothed in pants and a work shirt. He had probably passed out on the bed and then gotten under the covers at some point.
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