Blood Red Sun

by Mertz, Stephen

  “If she doesn’t want to cooperate,” said MacArthur, “how are you going to make her change her mind? I have found, Sergeant, that it is far easier to win a war than it is to change a woman’s mind.”

  “I’ve got an angle, sir. You’ve got an airborne division here to guard the hotel and the Jap authorities are covering the rest.”

  MacArthur nodded. “That leaves you and your men.”

  “And the woman.”

  “Cherchez la femme, Sergeant? Your police training in civilian life seems to be paying off again.”

  “If she goes for my pitch,” said Ballard, “I can’t say where it’ll take us. Whatever it is we’re up against may call for some unorthodox measures.”

  “Sergeant, if I had full faith in the efficiency of strictly orthodox procedure, I would hardly have assigned you and your men to this operation.”

  “I’ve got a funny feeling,” Hanklin sighed. “Japan’s about to get a whole lot hotter for three grunts I know.”

  “So what’s next?” Mischkie asked Ballard. “You going back down to grill the bim?”

  “In a while. It might help to let her stew a bit, and it might help us to rest up some. Tex is right. From here on out when something happens, it’s going to come fast and mean.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She had no idea where she was. A beam of sunlight brought her awake. The first thought to enter the fog of her mind was that it was no longer night. She became aware of the bed beneath her, that she lay atop the covers, fully dressed.

  She sat up, swinging her feet to the floor. The fog cleared and she remembered everything.

  After the American, Sergeant Ballard, had left her in the office last night, the soldiers on guard came for her and brought her to this small room with a single bed, also on the ground floor.

  The sentries stood outside the door, and she saw another sentry outside the window.

  Keiko had not intended to fall asleep, had meant only to rest her eyes, and now it was morning.

  There was a knock at the door. She rose, instantly awake. Her mind must be in a sort of shock, she thought. She was not physically upset, no quickened heartbeat or clammy perspiration or cramped abdominal muscles. She appreciated the gravity of her situation, but her intellect continued to function with cool-headed precision.

  She crossed to the door, pausing by the mirror just long enough to smooth her hair into place with her hands. Her clothes were slightly wrinkled, she noticed, but that would have to do.

  She said in English, “Yes, who is it?”

  “Sergeant Ballard. I want to speak with you.”

  There was no escape. She fought off the claustrophobia that wanted to grab hold. She was relieved that at least it was this one who had come again to question her. She briefly considered this.

  He wore the smell of death about him like an invisible aura, but she did not think him capable of cruelty. Her first impressions of people were generally reliable. This American, Ballard, was precisely the type of man she had hoped she would find here.

  The door was locked from the outside. His request to enter was a courtesy.

  “Come in, Sergeant.” She returned to sit on the bed.

  He came in and stood there. They appraised each other across the space of the room for a full thirty seconds, much as they had in the office last night, except that she saw him fully, clearly, for the first time now in the light of day.

  He said, “I hope a night of thinking about the trouble you’re in has made you cooperative.”

  “I’m sorry to say I slept the night through. The bed was very comfortable.”

  “Feel like telling me your name this morning?”

  “I will tell you nothing. I do appreciate the civilized treatment you have extended me, Sergeant. I wish only to be released.”

  “I know the feeling, but I don’t think there’s much chance of either one of us getting off this roller coaster that easily.”

  “I will tell you nothing.”

  “Then I’ll tell you something. Maybe something you haven’t thought about yet. You risked a lot coming here, didn’t you?”

  “I thought the risk justified. But rather than show your appreciation, I am treated like a prisoner.”

  “That’s because you are a prisoner. You and I, lady, and my men, we saved General MacArthur’s life together. I appreciate your part in it, I really do, and so does the general, but you’re going to have to do more before you walk away. That’s what you haven’t thought about.”

  “I have thought about that.”

  “The ninjas were historically assassins for hire. Someone sent those assassins here last night. They struck out, as we say in the States, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try again. They will. If not the ninja, then whoever sent them. I don’t intend to let that happen, and I think you know who’s behind this and where we can find them.”

  “I do not. I’m sorry. I do not.”

  “You do know,” he insisted. “You traveled all this way from somewhere to save the general’s life because you knew what his death would cause for your people.”

  “You are as perceptive as you are skilled in the arts of death,” she said. “I would not have expected that at first. I also did what I did because it is our Emperor’s wish that hostilities between our countries cease. I have no love for General Douglas MacArthur.”

  “Tell me your name. You see how impractical this is. You say you’ve thought about it. Then have you decided? Are you going to stand by and let whoever is behind it try again? Maybe next time they’ll succeed. Or are you going to tell me what you know so my men and I can try and stop it?”

  “My knowledge is the only thing I have to bargain with.”

  “This is no time for bargains.”

  “It is for me. I want to get out of here.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I will show you what I can,” she said. “You will take me with you.”

  This is what she had decided last night after he interrogated her the first time.

  He was right in everything he said about those who had sent the ninja not giving up, about MacArthur remaining in danger because of this, but something inside her remained undecided no matter how hard she hammered at it with reason.

  She would lead them as far as Tateyama and then she would escape. Or perhaps she would lead them to the castle. She didn’t know. She would improvise according to what happened every step along the way after they left the hotel.

  Ballard considered her offer.

  “When people lead me into traps, I get mad as hell, lady.”

  “I will not lead you into a trap. That is the truth. You must trust me. You have no choice.”

  He grimaced. “You’re right about that. I guess we have a bargain.”

  She stood from the bed. “Can we leave now?”

  “Soon enough, but doesn’t a bargain require some degree of mutual trust? You know my name, I still don’t know yours.”

  “My name is Keiko.”

  “That’s a first name.”

  “It is the only name you need to know.”

  He thought about this too, and nodded.

  “All right, Keiko. You stay put while I round up my men and some transportation, then we’ll take that drive together.”

  Hanklin caught up with Ballard in front of the hotel, alongside the busy front entrance. They wore fatigues and full combat webbing and in addition to pistol and knife, each had added a rifle to his personal arsenal.

  “How’s the general?” Ballard asked.

  “Acting like it never happened.” Hanklin bit off the corner of a plug of tobacco and commenced chomping. “Ask me, he just don’t want word to get around that Dugout Doug got caught with his pants down when them ninja came calling.”

  “It works out better for us if he wants it kept quiet,” said Ballard. “I want to nail these sons of bitches hard, our way. If we don’t, they’ll sure as hell be back. Here comes Mischkie.”

  Hankli
n watched the approaching jeep.

  “What happened last night would have been a lot easier to keep quiet if Wilbur hadn’t flown off the handle like he did and pumped that Jap full of holes. You going to talk to him about that?”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  Mischkie braked to a stop in front of them.

  “Where’s the tour guide?” he asked.

  Ballard and Hanklin stepped in closer so their conversation would not be overheard by passersby.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Wilbur,” Ballard said.

  “What do you mean, Sarge?”

  “I mean I’m starting to wonder if I should be worrying about you in addition to the Japs.”

  “He means there’s more than enough to keep our hands full, city boy,” Hanklin put in, “without having to worry about you popping your cork like you did last night when you gave that ninja more holes than a screen door.”

  Mischkie started to voice denial.

  “That ninja last night in the General’s room,” said Ballard. “You could have winged him. You’re that good, Wil. I’ve seen you do it. I wanted one of them alive. I told you so. What about it? You lost it last night, buddy. From here on is where it gets real crazy. I can’t have a loose cannon rolling around on deck.”

  “Don’t worry, Sarge,” Mischkie said, as if he meant it. “I, uh, I know I lost it last night, but I’ve got it back today. I’ll be all right. I’m not going to be held responsible for you and this Texan catching a bullet. Guess I was just … dwelling too much on what happened to that kid back on Luzon, Evita. I’ve seen a lot of shit but for some reason I can’t get that kid’s face out of my mind.”

  Ballard thought of the dreams he had about Carla and did not know what to say.

  Hanklin spat a spurt of tobacco.

  “Maybe we’re all going crazy. Maybe guys like us’ll be like the dinosaurs now that they can wipe out a whole city with one bomb. Hell, we had the whole team to give cover fire not too damn long ago and where are those mothers’ sons now? Now it’s just the three of us. I’ve got a feeling about this one, boys.”

  “Knock off that talk, both of you,” said Ballard. “We’ve got a job to do.”

  Mischkie patted the steering wheel.

  “It took some sweet finagling to get this baby from the motor pool. I’m not taking it back without plenty of extra mileage or they’ll chew my ass. I said you didn’t have to worry, Sarge. I meant it. I’m ready. I’ll deal with what’s inside my brain. I won’t screw up.”

  “Good,” Ballard said, “because here comes the lady now.” Two sentries strode over with Keiko between them. Ballard nodded his thanks to them.

  “I’ll take responsibility from here,” he said.

  The sentries walked away. She studied Ballard. “So I am still a prisoner. Will you handcuff me?”

  Mischkie chuckled. “A live wire. This ought to be interesting.”

  “Keiko,” said Ballard, “this is Wilbur Mischkie of Brooklyn, New York, and Tex Hanklin of Nacogdoches, Texas. Don’t let their gruff exteriors fool you. They get gruffer the more you know them.”

  “Howdy, ma’am.” Hanklin delivered a broad smile. “Understand you’re taking us to a rodeo.”

  Keiko said nothing. She boarded the jeep, seating herself in the back, holding her posture erect, staring straight ahead. Mischkie grinned. “Cool and aloof. Better and better.”

  “Snooty, I calls it,” Hanklin grumbled, swinging aboard,

  “but I reckon she’s entitled.”

  Ballard sat beside Keiko.

  “Let’s roll.”

  Hanklin looked around them, at the scruffy crowd of loitering civilians that had gathered as usual beyond the lines across the street; at the signs of devastation stretching out in every direction beneath a brassy sun blazing down through the haze.

  “Now I know how Custer felt.”

  “Forward, ho,” said Mischkie.

  The jeep pulled away from the curb.

  Ballard looked at Keiko. She continued to stare straight ahead.

  “Do us both a favor,” he said. “No tricks.”

  “Take the highway north out of Yokohama,” she instructed Mischkie. “I will not lead you into a trap. I betray not you, but my own blood and heritage.”

  A single tear pearled in the corner of her left eye and slid down her cheek.

  Eichelberger entered Room 315 that morning, with a briefcase under his arm, to find MacArthur standing at one of the windows, staring down at something outside.

  Eichelberger joined him in time to see a jeep with four people aboard pull away from the front of the New Grand. “Morning, General.”

  “Bob.”

  “Well, you were right, sir. I stand corrected. Having Ballard and those roughnecks of his around last night made all the difference.”

  MacArthur watched the jeep drive away.

  “This is the second impossible assignment I’ve handed those men in two weeks time, and this war is supposed to be over.”

  “Is that the mystery woman with them?”

  MacArthur nodded. “She’s taking those good men into the belly of the monster. We can’t guarantee their safety worth a damn, and no one knows it better than they do. Anything could happen out there, Bob. The girl? A wild card, an unknown quantity, but she’s the key. Ballard thinks so. With a man like that, hunches mean a lot. But by god, I wish I didn’t have to send those men out like this one last time.”

  The jeep disappeared from their view. Eichelberger cleared his throat.

  “Uh, General, I’ve got verification on those remaining P.O.W. locations we haven’t been able to account for.”

  “Right, let’s get to work.” MacArthur turned from the window, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “And have someone call room service, will you, Bob? I’m in the mood for a strawberry shake.”

  When Okada walked into the office they shared, Abiko was asleep on the couch. Okada shook his partner awake roughly. He understood, having passed much of the return trip from Yokohama in a fitful sleep in the back seat of the staff car.

  “Abiko, rouse yourself. It’s a new day.”

  A short time later, as he poured them each a cup of warmed saki, Abiko reported.

  “The military alerts were called off shortly after midnight.”

  “By that time Baron Tamura would have received word of what happened at the New Grand Hotel.”

  “And what did happen?” Abiko asked. “Don’t you intend to tell me?” The query was somewhat petulant.

  “MacArthur lives. There was an attack on his life that failed,” Okada told him.

  “You saw MacArthur?”

  “I spoke with him at some length. He is a formidable presence, a worthy adversary. He is a shrewd man. He understands our ways.”

  “What happened to his assailants?”

  “Slain by his personal bodyguards, a team led by a man named Ballard.” Okada’s sharp eyes were thoughtful behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

  “Can the dead be traced to Baron Tamura?” asked Abiko. Okada sipped from his cup. “I think not. The Baron is more clever than to allow that to happen.”

  “Have the assailants been identified?”

  “Ah, they have, and you will like this, Major Abiko. The would-be assassins were ninja.”

  Abiko reacted with such a start that he splashed saki across some papers on his desk. The almost feminine line of his mouth tightened.

  “Ninja? But that cannot be!”

  “It can be, unless the Americans are lying.”

  “They would have no reason to do that. But … it is unbelievable.”

  “Difficult to believe,” Okada corrected. “It is a measure of the threat the Baron poses. The Kempeitai was dispatched, as were the Yokohama civilian police, because the hotel staff reported the incident before the Americans were able to contain it.”

  “General Nagano returned to his quarters at 0300 hours this morning,” Abiko said. “Should we not order him placed under arre
st? This is sure to put us at odds with Baron Tamura. We had hoped to avoid that.”

  “It was unavoidable,” Okada said, “but we will not arrest General Nagano quite yet.”

  “The investigation—”

  “Has been ordered stopped by General MacArthur personally. General Nagano becomes more important than ever to our survival, Major, but we shall deal with him at the proper time. We will deal with the Baron, also. Soon. Very soon.”

  Abiko frowned. “Did the Americans say more than that ninja were involved?”

  “A woman is involved. I got that impression listening to them speak amongst themselves as we were shown in.”

  “Do you know her identity?”

  “I do not, and I see no reason to trouble ourselves about it. We have been ordered not to investigate the incident. Baron Tamura will be aware of this also and so will not concern himself with us at this time.”

  “What will his next move be?”

  “We will let General Nagano tell us that.”

  “We must persuade him to talk. Things will come to a head very quickly now, I think.”

  “Sometimes pain is the best persuader, Major Abiko. By this time tomorrow, the Kempeitai may well have ceased to exist. We must exploit whatever happens before then to the fullest. The reckoning is at hand.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Baron Tamura was chauffeured to a secluded corner of the Tateyama Air Base where Hayashi awaited him at the chain link fence perimeter. The overweight air force colonel looked uncomfortable in the extreme heat of the day. They exchanged bows. Hayashi led the way through a hole which had been cut in the fence, along a short path away from the base, into a scattering of trees. A short way further they came to where camouflage netting had been strung up to cover the three Zero fighter planes parked with their wings locked in the up position.

  Baron Tamura gazed upon the sight, as did Hayashi, for close to a full minute.

  “I have spent the morning in prayer to the spirits of my ancestors,” said Hayashi. “There is a sacred obligation to remove the slur that darkens Japan’s good name. This dishonor must be expunged. I have three pilots who have volunteered from what was the Tateyama Fighter Wing of the 11th Air Fleet. They were, they are, kamikaze.”