What had happened to provoke this?
The best he could guess was that U.S.–Japan diplomatic talks had broken down. But that wouldn’t necessarily mean war. It would just mean the U.S. and Japan weren’t talking.
Right?
Nothing more happened that day, and there was no notification in his mailbox.
And there should have been.
In the deep, dark silence of the night, Zenji’s fears ran wild. Small thoughts morphed into Japanese battleships moving silently closer on moonlit seas, heading toward Manila. Zenji imagined the worst of everything, his mind wrestling with all possibilities. If Japan was taking people out, something else was coming in. Something was going to happen in Manila.
Were the Japanese going to invade?
They couldn’t! Manila was an American commonwealth!
* * *
First thing in the morning, Zenji headed to the post office and checked his box again.
A note.
Come in. Immediately.
I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!
On the way to Fort Santiago, Zenji detoured to the harbor to get another glance at the Japanese ship.
Still there. Loading people.
Zenji read the name—Nitta Maru.
He worked his way closer, blending into a growing crowd of curious Filipinos. He absorbed every possible detail to report to Colonel Olsten.
He was about to leave when he glimpsed something that stopped him cold: Benny Suzuki … in line with his wife and son. He was going to Japan?
Why? He was an American.
Benny wouldn’t choose to take sides against his own country. Zenji was sure of it. Maybe he was being forced.
His heart raced. His world was about to fall apart. He could feel it in the air, like electricity.
War!
It was coming.
Zenji stayed at the harbor, watching, and was surprised when after boarding with his wife and son, Benny came back down the gangway. He stood a moment looking at the ship, then headed back into the city, his gaze on the ground.
Get to G2.
Now!
* * *
In the colonel’s office, Zenji could hardly stand still.
Colonel Olsten was on the phone, talking low. He stuck one finger up. Just a minute.
How can he be so calm at such a time?
Colonel Olsten hung up. “You know about the ship?”
“I was just down there. I saw it.”
“Tell me everything you know. Everything.”
“Benny Suzuki put his family on board … but he got back off.”
“Interesting. What else?”
Zenji told him about Mr. Hiashi, and the chaos at the hotel when they got word of the evacuation.
The colonel listened with squinting eyes, as if trying to call up a memory. He went to a filing cabinet and searched through the folders in the top drawer. He pulled a photo out of one of them. “This Mr. Hiashi?”
Zenji took it. “Yes. That’s him.”
The colonel pursed his lips and put the file on his desk.
“Why would Benny Suzuki send his family to Japan? He’s an American.”
The colonel paced, thinking. “Don’t know, but this is my guess. Mr. Suzuki was hired by Japan for his legal skills and his ability to speak two languages. So my guess is that he’s simply evacuating his family with those who hired him. What I’m not sure of is whom he would side with in a conflict.”
“Us … for sure, us.”
“Maybe so.”
“What’s going on?”
Colonel Olsten paused, lost in thought.
“Colonel?”
The colonel looked up. “We’ve been put on full alert … all American forces in the Philippines.”
Zenji stared at Colonel Olsten.
“You’re thinking war, I can see it in your eyes. But there’s been no provocation, other than a breakdown in diplomacy, and that could all get ironed out tomorrow.”
The colonel leaned back against his desk, rubbing his chin. “Here’s what I want you to do. Continue your surveillance at the hotel and in the Japanese community in general. If things deteriorate, and war becomes imminent, it’ll happen fast. We and the Filipinos will start rounding up all Japanese nationals in Manila … and when we do, I want you to get rounded up with them.”
“You mean get arrested?”
“Exactly, but make sure you get arrested by the Filipinos, not us. Stay with the nationals and get every bit of information you possibly can. We need knowledge, so keep your ear to the ground. And don’t worry, we’ll find a way to get you out when the time is right.”
“How will you know where I am?”
“The Filipinos are our allies. We’ll know everything they know. Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you hanging.”
Zenji stared at him. The colonel had better be right, or he’d end up in a Filipino prison.
At the Momo hotel, worry about the evacuation had died down, mostly because the embassy workers themselves had not been sent away, only their families. So there was a small sense of hope that something would be worked out.
Still, an uneasy feeling remained.
One day a letter arrived at the hotel for Zenji. Tadeo handed it over. “From your family, looks like.”
Zenji grabbed it. “Thanks!”
He took it to his room and sat on his bed.
It was from Aiko, the first letter he’d received since he sent her the postcard with his address on it. It had taken weeks to arrive, and it felt like treasure.
He tore the envelope open.
A photograph fell out. He smiled.
Ken and Nami. Ken’s eyes were squished closed as Nami licked his face.
He unfolded Aiko’s letter, and another letter within it fell out, along with one of Ma’s poems.
Slowly, savoring the moment, he opened the other letter. Who was it from? Henry? Ma? Colonel Blake?
Mina.
“Oh, wow,” he whispered.
He stared at it a moment, then folded it back up, unread, and set it on the bed beside him. Save it for last.
Read Aiko’s first.
Dear Zenji,
How are you doing, so brave way down there in the Philippines? The picture on the postcard you sent looked nice. I didn’t think Manila was that big. Even Ma was surprised.
Nothing much is going on here, except that Ken—remember the boy who has Nami? Well, he came by with his mom and brought Nami. Ken’s mother asked us to send you this picture. She said to tell you that Nami is doing fine. You can only tell he had that accident because he limps a little. I was so happy to see him again. So was Ma, but she didn’t show it while Ken and his ma were here.
Anyway, we all miss you. Henry and I talk about you all the time. We wonder what you’re doing. Come home soon. Ma sends you this poem. It’s true. We miss you.
And you see that there is another letter in this one. I wonder what it says. Mina has been to our house every week since you left. I like her a lot. She took me to a movie called In the Navy, starring Abbott and Costello. It was funny! Henry says to tell you to stick with him, whatever that means.
Your sister,
Aiko
Zenji smiled.
Your sister, as if he didn’t know.
He felt honored, somehow. It wasn’t like Aiko to write letters. He could only picture her buzzing around the neighborhood on her bike, not sitting in the house working on a letter. But then, she was a year older now.
He read Ma’s poem next.
Daily
We pray
For the safe
Return of our son
And brother, who
We miss
Dearly.
Zenji felt the pain of sadness in his chest. Boy, did he miss home. “Thanks, Ma,” he whispered. He loved her crazy poems. They were comforting, and sometimes just what he needed.
Like now.
He picked up Mina’s letter and unfolded it.
&
nbsp; Slowly.
Hi, Zenji,
It’s Mina, the one who made you dance when you didn’t want to. I should say I’m sorry I made you do that, but I won’t because I’m not. If I hadn’t, I would never have gotten to know you and your very special family. Aiko told me about Nami and the boy in the picture. Such a beautiful story. Girls don’t meet guys like you every day, and I hope I get to know you better when you return. I know I’m being bold, but that’s just the way I am, as you know from Tosh’s party. I believe a person should never deny what she feels in her heart. What I feel is worry for you and pride in your courage. I have to trust that you are safe wherever you are.
I hope saying these things doesn’t make you nervous. I’m just being honest, and at times like these, with so much uncertainty, I don’t want to hide behind something as foolish as pride or embarrassment, if that makes sense. No matter what happens, I want you to know that you will always have a friend in me.
You will come back to us, Zenji Watanabe. Safe and sound.
Yours,
Mina
Zenji held the letter, just staring at it.
Pride in your courage.
His eyes flooded. He was completely overwhelmed to know that people cared for him. He had no idea that such feelings existed within him.
He looked at the photo again, then slipped it into his wallet along with Ma’s poem. He would carry them with him always.
He memorized Aiko’s and Mina’s letters, then tore them to shreds and flushed them down the toilet. They could incriminate him. Both mentioned bravery and courage. Why would someone say that to a civilian?
That night, he slept fitfully.
The next morning Zenji went down for breakfast and found the hotel deserted.
It was Monday, December 8, 1941.
Zenji couldn’t find anyone, not even Tadeo, or cooks in the kitchen.
His heart began to pound. Something was up.
He hurried out, trying his best not to run to the post office for information, anything to tell him what was going on. On the streets, everything seemed normal. The day was peaceful, the streets settling down after the morning rush.
Nothing.
His mailbox was empty.
Huh.
Nothing out of the ordinary was going on at his fake job, either, so he slipped out the back and into the streets.
Minutes later the world as he knew it fell apart.
A newspaper boy down the street began shouting, “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Japanese attack! Extra!”
What!
Zenji ran the two blocks and gasped when he read the headline plastered across the front page of the newspaper in the boy’s hand.
PEARL HARBOR BOMBED!
It took a moment for him to understand. Pearl Harbor?
So close to his …
No!
No, no, no!
He bought a paper and raced through the story. “This can’t be!” The Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor the day before! Damage was near total. Ships and military aircraft were destroyed. Thousands of men had died. Ships were still burning. Even the oily surface water in the harbor burned.
There was a photograph of smoke stacking into the sky, with crumpled and burning battleships listing precariously below.
How did the Japanese get there?
Did they send troops ashore?
Was his family in danger? Were they injured? Had his house been bombed?
He raced back to the hotel.
This time he found chaos.
Tadeo, the guests, and the staff had all rushed to the Japanese embassy when they’d heard the news, and had just returned. After receiving a phone call that morning, Tadeo had alerted his Japanese guests that their country was at war with the United States. They’d hurried to the embassy to verify the horrifying news.
The businessmen were incredulous, to say the least. Even though many of them had expected a conflict, the reality of what had happened was shocking.
The men were clumped in groups, talking loudly. No one knew what would happen to them, stranded in Manila, an American commonwealth.
Zenji, too, felt the charge of fear, his veins running hot with anxiety. If this was war, did that mean that he was now an enemy to his friends at the hotel?
He ran to his room and jammed things into his duffel in case he had to evacuate. Forget the suitcase. Be ready to get out, fast and light. If his cover was blown and he was found out, he had no idea what would happen. He could never face these men. Never!
Calm down! You won’t be exposed.
Except—did John Jones know he was the Bamboo Rat, a spy? But who was John Jones? A nosy American, or a traitor working with the Japanese?
He sat on his bed. Tried to slow down, breathe.
Remember what the colonel said: If you get captured, keep your cover. Stay with the nationals, but only get arrested by the Filipinos.
A siren wailed in the distance. Zenji leaped up and ran to the window. “Oh, jeese!” he gasped.
In the distance, to the north, towers of black smoke billowed into the sky.
He raced back down to the lobby.
Tadeo was trying to get everyone’s attention, but no one was listening. Their voices were a din of panic. He glanced at Zenji, desperate.
Zenji understood, and whistled as loud as he could.
Everyone stopped talking.
Tadeo held up his hands. “Listen! Stay calm, and listen! Clark Field is being bombed, right now. The Japanese are attacking the Americans! The Japanese are attacking Manila!”
Clark Field was only forty miles away! Where he’d seen the black smoke.
Like ants, the men scattered.
Tadeo motioned for Zenji to whistle again.
“Listen!” Tadeo shouted. “Listen! This is important! I’ve just had a call. The Philippine Constabulary is on its way to this hotel. It has been ordered to evacuate all guests. Every Japanese national in Manila is being removed to the Nippon Club and will be held there until further notice.”
Zenji knew the place, a Japanese club for meetings and family sports.
“Pack your essentials now!” Tadeo shouted. “The constabulary is close!”
Men ran to their rooms.
Less than fifteen minutes later, two huge buses and a Philippine military truck ground to a halt in front of the Momo. Troops from the constabulary rushed out to cover the exits.
Zenji looked down from his window. Here it comes. He prayed Colonel Olsten knew what he was doing.
Zenji grabbed his duffel and went downstairs to join the nervous but orderly line of businessmen as they were herded onto one of the buses. Japanese families and more businessmen already on the bus sat grimly, watching them board.
Zenji squeezed into a two-man seat with two other guys.
The ride was silent.
Minutes later, the bus grumbled up to the Nippon Club, a huge two-story building with sprawling green lawns and tennis courts. Hundreds of men, women, and children were already there.
The bus hissed to a stop, and emptied, leaving its sullen riders standing with their gear in the sun. No one told them what to do, so they milled around asking each other questions that no one could answer.
Prisoners.
Or at least temporary captives.
Even though he knew he had a way out, Zenji could feel the emptiness that rushed in to fill the space of lost freedom. But he couldn’t simply wait for something to happen. You made life happen your way or you let it happen to you.
He could help or be herded like a cow.
He spotted a child, a girl of six or seven, who couldn’t stop crying. Her dazed mother had lost interest in consoling her. Zenji knelt before the girl, and his sudden presence momentarily distracted her. He pulled a coin from his pocket, showed it to her, then laid it on top of his hand and magically rolled it over his knuckles.
The girl watched, mesmerized.
Zenji rolled the coin back and forth a few times, then stood and gave it
to her. Her mother gazed at the ground, grim. If hope existed, it had gone into hiding.
He glanced around at the other families, scattered in groups on the grass, their meager belongings in neat clumps around them. Everyone looked to be in shock, talking low, glancing around furtively. He couldn’t blame them. He’d feel bewildered, too, if back in Honolulu his family had been uprooted and bused to some new location without knowing why.
The constabulary decided that women and children would shelter inside the club, and the men would remain outside wherever they could find a spot. Zenji spent the next couple of hours helping families find places to settle.
“Hey,” he said, breaking up a fight between two boys. To think that Japan had uprooted their safe and secure lives—had started a war, had bombed Pearl Harbor, and now Clark Field, smoke still scarring the sky—it was all unimaginable!
The boys backed off and stared at Zenji.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said. “We don’t have to fight between ourselves. Look, it’s like camping. We’re going to have a good time.”
He refused to believe the friendly Filipinos would be anything but respectful.
“Think about all these people,” Zenji said to the boys. “Show them how to be strong, how to work together. I know you can do that.”
The boys glanced at each other and nodded.
“Good,” Zenji said. “Go help your families set up camp.”
Officers of the Philippine Constabulary helped people as best they could. None seemed harsh, though many were suspicious. Japan had just bombed their country.
Zenji lost himself in the crowd.
It wasn’t the constabulary that he worried about. It was the Japanese! What if they had ships nearby and troops came ashore? What if they took the city and discovered that he was working undercover for the U.S. Army … a spy in the Japanese community? They’d execute him on the spot.
He crouched under a tree, trying to calm himself.
It could happen.
Be strong.
Breathe.
As soon as his nerves settled, he got up, found his duffel, and took it to his new home—a blanket in the corner of a tennis court.
Hunt for the Bamboo Rat Page 9