“I know where this is, near the ocean in Kailua. We can leave as soon as the truck is cleaned.”
“Excellent!” Ito, who appears pleased with himself, replies. “You!” Ito points directly at me. “You should ride in the back of the truck and stay out of sight. I will join you this evening and sometime after dinner we will bury your friend. I suggest you bury all of your possessions at the same time. From this point forward the future is your sole concern and all remnants of the past should be, quite literally, buried.”
The advice is hard to swallow, but correct. “Of course, Doctor. I will bury my friend along with the links to our past. I appreciate your assistance very much and assure you the Emperor will learn of the risks you have undertaken on our behalf.”
“Merely a common courtesy to fellow countrymen. But we still have much to do so please excuse me while I make the necessary contacts.” Ito turns and disappears up the hallway.
“Follow me and we will advise Azumi as to the developments,” says Kuro. Before we can begin to leave the nurse intervenes and ushers me into an ante room, where I take a seat. She quietly exits and I realize I am alone and consider whether I should attempt to find my friends from the marketplace. However, I decide against following that path. The first priority is to discreetly bury Kamita and once accomplished I must then consider the best manner available to me for reaching the rendezvous point with I-16.
I wait almost an hour before the nurse returns and guides me to the truck. I make myself comfortable in the back cabin, alongside Kamita’s corpse, while Kuro and Azumi drive us to a safe house. It seems to take a long time before we arrive at our destination and park in the backyard of an oceanfront home. Several Japanese men assist me as we carry Kamita’s lifeless body into the house where Kuro advises me Doctor Ito will join us shortly before sunset. I am to wait, of course.
Doctor Ito determined it was best to delay the burial until a little beyond midnight. We work in near total darkness for what had been a mere sliver of a moon is now almost set. Three men have excavated a grave in the backyard and are standing nearby, shovels in hand. My understanding is the home is owned by an acquaintance of Doctor Ito who is standing beside him and from what I can decipher of her accent, as I stand near the grave, she may be German or perhaps Austrian.
I completed my final log entries before dinner, wrapped the logbook in oil cloth and have locked it, along with my stopwatch, our watches, Kamita’s locket and my compass into the watertight box. I retrieve the key from my pocket, throw it as hard as I can in the direction of the ocean and watch it disappear into the darkness. After spending a few moments gazing at the Rising Sun embossed and painted on its lid the realization I may never see home again serves to increase my melancholy. I place the box on Kamita’s stomach and my pistol into his hands, clasped across his chest. I lay the sword at his side, drop our two uniforms into the grave and with the assistance of the gravediggers we lower Kamita’s body.
I stand before his open grave and bid my friend farewell with the assistance a gravedigger who holds a candle alongside the prayer book from which I read:
“Oh Compassionate Ones, you who possess the wisdom of understanding,
the love of compassion, the power of doing divine deeds,
and of protecting in incomprehensible measure.
Sadamu Kamita is passing from this world to the next.
He is taking a great leap, as the light of this world has faded for him and he has entered solitude with their karmic forces.
He has gone into a vast silence and is borne away by the great ocean of birth and death.”
I lower the book to my side, accept a cup of sake from one of Ito’s assistants and take a final look at my shipmate.
“Kamita, I ask forgiveness for circumstances dictate your cremation is impossible, but I am certain Buddha will understand. I bury you with my sword and pistol as physical symbols of you, the Samurai warrior and sworn servant to the Emperor. In life you brought glory to the Empire and in death you bring it honor. I drink this as my final salute to you, my dear friend.” I quickly drink a small cup of sake and step back. The three men silently begin to fill the grave.
Standing about twenty feet away are Doctor Ito and the woman, whose name I later discover is Frieda. They are quietly watching the progress of the burial.
“Doctor, we will need to place this man with a family here on the island and we very much need to procure him a new identity as quickly as possible.” Frieda is whispering, though we are safe from outsiders. Ito silently shakes his head in agreement.
“Frieda, I have arranged for him to live and work on a pineapple plantation. The plantation owners only know he is a person of significant importance seeking a return to Japan, but are unaware he is an officer in the Imperial Japanese Navy. He will be known only by his new name, Ken Kida.” Frieda appears puzzled.
“Ken Kida?” She asks.
“Yes, a young Nisei recently passed away and nearly the same age as our friend. It is perfect. As Nisei he will be a United States citizen and far less likely to be discovered, but I need your expert assistance with the forgery work.” Frieda smiles in response to Ito’s praise.
“Yes, I am very good at that. Provide me the details and in a day or two he will have more identification and background than the deceased Mr. Kida would have had! It will only be a matter of transporting the documents to him in secret and allowing time for us to review them with him.”
“I was certain I could depend on you. And you, my dear Frieda, can depend on me to address all of your needs. Time is critical and I prefer we deliver everything to him in not more than three days, though I would prefer two.”
“Agreed! I will have everything you need the day after tomorrow, by noon in fact. Will you be able to take me to him at that time?”
“I will make the arrangements tomorrow and you can expect to depart here, possibly without me, the day after tomorrow precisely at noon. In fact it is possible neither of us will make the trip as we might draw unwanted attention. The less we are involved, the better.” Ito notices the grave has been covered. “Let’s bring our friend in for some drinks. From the looks of his complexion some warm sake is in order. He will be staying here tonight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
SUSANNAH C. JOHANSSON, M.D.
The penthouse office of Susannah C. Johansson, M.D. and Board Certified Psychiatrist, is conservatively furnished in warm woods and earthy colored wall and window coverings. Oil paintings of Paris and Florence decorate the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows are presently protected by dark green plantation shutters, allowing only minimal sunlight to intrude upon the session-in-progress.
Dr. Johansson, her curly dark brown hair falling to the top of her shoulders is wearing a conservative black dress with a grey sweater, though it is not buttoned for it would otherwise be too warm. Her deep brown eyes are framed by a rectangular shaped pair of navy blue eyeglasses, which she does not need, but prefers to wear when she is with a patient. Her face is sensually oval-shaped and there is evidence of an old injury above her right eye. Her forehead is furrowed as she sits in a lounge chair, legs crossed, supporting a thick notepad while twirling a pen in her right hand and listening to Lani Gale.
Gale, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, is wearing a long, black dress. She is sitting sideways on an adjacent sofa, her torso propped up by two large pillows. Her bare feet dangle over the edge of the seat cushion. After seeing Dr. Johansson for more than a year she has no trouble making herself comfortable.
“Doc, I’m still suffering the same haunting nightmare about my father.”
“Lani, just last week you said the nightmares had subsided.” Johansson resumes taking notes.
“I know. It had been a few months without the nightmare but the last few nights it has returned with a vengeance. It started at the same time I began working on a new story.”
“Would that be the Japanese sailor story?”
“Exactly! This story could
be what finally catapults me from this out-of-the way city in the middle of nowhere and right into New York or D.C. It just seems to me that every time I’ve been close to writing something really important, everything that can go wrong, not only goes wrong but basically explodes in my face. Time is moving along and I can’t stand dealing with the fact I’m being left behind and the feeling of desperation has become almost overwhelming.”
Gale glances at the clock and realizes the session is near its end.
“These damned dreams about my father! His positive attentions always going to my two younger twin brothers and delegating me to some kind of lower class status. I worked hard to earn straight A’s and they barely got out of high school. But they were good at sports and my dad jumped all over that. I was in drama club and was awarded the lead in ‘Kiss Me Kate.’ Do you think he would show up? Of course not. He chose to watch a practice baseball game my brothers were playing. Imagine that! A practice baseball game!”
“After graduating high school in the top three of my class I was accepted into the University of Hawaii. This is what he said to me when I presented him with my acceptance letter: ‘Nalani, I was unaware they offered a major in home economics.’ ”
“He knew full well I was going into journalism and that’s what he says to me!” She pauses to wipe a trace of a tear from her left eye. “In these nightmares I relive every demeaning moment I endured with him. And my mom was no help at all. She cow-towed to him and never came to my defense, though she did attend all of my performances.”
“Now, just when I am on the verge of success, these nightmares return. They erode my confidence because when I awake, I feel as if the nightmare was real and I had just endured every miserable, undermining moment all over again. I feel unimportant and stupid. It’s as if from the grave my father is telling me I’m a loser and should be married and having babies because that’s all I might be good at. I can’t take this. Will he ever stop haunting me?”
“Lani, you’ve come a long way this past year and you’ll overcome the harm he has done you. Unfortunately we have run overtime and I have a client waiting. But I promise, we can continue next week from where we are leaving off today. How’s your prescription? Do you need a new refill?”
Gale sits upright and reaches for her bottle of water sitting on the end table. She takes a few sips, tosses the empty bottle into a nearby trash can and wipes her eyes again.
“No Doc, I’m good for another two months. I know you’re right and I will overcome this and I will get over him. I understand I have value as a human being, but each time I look in the mirror I still see the little girl who in her father’s eyes could never amount to anything worthwhile.” Lani stands and starts for the door. Pausing, with one hand on the handle, she turns and says: “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“Lani, you’ll be alright. Take care of yourself and I’ll see you next week.” Johansson notices the brief smile Lani flashes as she exits.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
SUBTERFUGE
Lani Gale, naked, is lying on her back. The bed sheets are strewn about the floor and Paul Young is asleep beside her. She’s awake, staring at the ceiling, lost in contemplation as she reviews everything he related to her when they met at Tanaka’s for lunch earlier.
She silently reviews all the facts. What were Yamura and Ferguson meeting about and why did Yamura go to Ferguson’s office three times? Young says Ferguson’s only assignment has to do with dating what the Navy is referring to as ‘artifacts’ that were buried with the skeleton. So what’s the significance of so many meetings? He also says Yamura almost never goes to Ferguson, it’s always the other way around. Gale is uncomfortable as she has a nagging feeling something she needs to know is transpiring. Perhaps the test results proved none of the stuff they uncovered dated back to 1941? Maybe it’s the opposite and they know for certain the dating tests back up the logbook’s authenticity. Not knowing the details is driving her crazy.
Gale glances at the clock, notices it is almost four pm and decides it’s about time to wake up her sleeping informant.
“Paul, you need to get going!” She kneels besides him and pushes down on his shoulders several times. Paul slips to his back, opens his eyes and finds he is looking directly at her breasts. His first instinct is to take one of her nipples into his mouth, but he thinks the better of it. “Why risk damaging what is easily the best arrangement I’ve ever had?” he asks himself.
“Right! Time I got back.” As he rolls off the side of the bed Gale tosses his pants at him.
“Listen Paul, I absolutely need to know why Yamura was meeting with Ferguson. It’s bugging the absolute hell out of me! You’re supposed to keep me up to date but right now I feel as if you’re not keeping up your end of the deal.” She motions to his groin and continues. “If you expect to get that end up again, then you better get me some answers!”
Young takes his time buttoning his shirt and cuffs before sitting on the side of the bed so he can pull on his socks. He bends over to tie his shoes, the top of his head lightly touching her knees as she stands directly in front of him, hands on her hips.
Finally, he finishes dressing and stands, almost touching Gale who is expecting a suitable answer. “You can’t possibly think that I can actually get inside Ferguson’s office and look around, but you know I’ll do everything I can to learn what they’re up to. Leave it to me, I always find a way to get what I need.”
Gale takes hold of the sides of his collar and lightly pulls him into her. “You are as cunning as I could have hoped, but you need to be smart too so whatever you do, don’t get caught!”
“Right, so relax, I’ll handle it and call you when I learn something worthwhile,” replies Young.
“Good, I can get a story into tomorrow’s paper as late as eleven tonight so if you learn something let me know.”
“Obviously,” replies Young.
“Now get your sorry ass out of here. You have work to do for me sailor boy!”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
SEEKING CONFIRMATION
Pastwa is relaxing in his office, feet up on his desk as he reads through old personnel records. The high-noon sun has forced him to reluctantly close the window blinds which block his view of the harbor. Clarke lightly taps on the open door as he walks in carrying a pot of coffee, donuts and a file. Clarke’s been trying to keep a little distance between himself and Pastwa as a result of the recent headlines that have made Pastwa a bit difficult to be around. He also knows the contents of the file he’s carrying will not be well received.
“Sir, I have some fresh coffee and donuts.”
Pastwa lifts his feet off the desk and turns to Clarke. “You do realize that by the time this matter is over, I’ll have put on about five pounds, don’t you?”
“Sir, it would be five hard-earned pounds and therefore I’d consider them worth it.”
Pastwa laughs. “Right! The weight would be very well worth it.”
Yamura knocks on the open door. Clarke, not realizing she’s walked in behind him, jumps back about a foot. “Pardon me, Ma’am, you caught me by surprise.”
“Sorry Clarke, I only half intended to scare you.” She can’t hide a smile as she takes a seat in front of Pastwa’s desk.
“I have my final report on the Yokoyama file for you.” Clarke’s words immediately gain their attention.
“I followed up on the information you received this morning and made use of the Admiral’s contact as you suggested.” Clarke carefully places the coffee pot onto Pastwa’s desk. Yamura takes a seat as Clark grips the file with both hands as if the contents might escape.
“Sir, I have reviewed my findings three times and have found no errors. I’ve also incorporated the information provided to us by your friends at Langley and the Pentagon.”
Clarke pauses as if he expects an interruption. Pastwa motions for him to continue.
“I believe you will concur with my conclusion that we have now determined w
hat became of our friend Masaharu Yokoyama.” Clarke hands the file to Pastwa while taking a couple of steps back, almost as if he anticipates an explosion. “Oh, and it appears the Admiral’s instincts are right on, yet again Sir.”
Yamura and Pastwa perk up with that last statement. Yamura slips around Pastwa’s desk so she can look over his shoulder as he opens Clarke’s report. Pastwa quickly reads through the nine pages, lays it down, returns to the first page and begins to read it a second time. Pastwa flips to the attached documents sent from the mainland earlier in the day and realizes they further confirm Clarke’s conclusion.
“Damn, Clarke, this really can’t be right. Or maybe we have the wrong name in the first place?” Pastwa hands it to Yamura, who flips directly to the attachments. She appears astonished while Pastwa looks to be getting sick to his stomach.
“Holy shit! I pray this isn’t really our guy!” Yamura slowly shakes her head back and forth. “Damn, I really hope this isn’t our guy or we may have problems we never anticipated, not in a thousand years!” Yamura’s voice gives away the fact she’s feeling trepidation over the potential ramifications.
“Listen Chris, let me have an hour or so to re-confirm all this. I promise to return quickly so you can take it to Reardon.” Yamura picks up the report and pauses long enough to look to Pastwa for an answer.
Pastwa appears as if his dog just passed away. He briefly glances towards the harbor, but the closed blinds block his view.
“Alright Karen, you have the keener eye so take it to your office and I’ll see you in about an hour.” Yamura wastes no time and literally runs out of the office. Pastwa turns his attention to Clarke.
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