“Have a seat.” Clarke takes a seat and awaits his orders.
“Your summary is direct and I appreciate the manner you arranged and identified the supporting documentation. I congratulate you as it makes my life a little easier when you do research work like this.” Pastwa leans slightly forward and lowers his voice.
“You know this is extremely sensitive material and if a seaman by the name of Paul Young comes around, be careful. I think he may be working with Lani Gale, so watch what you say and if he does come around, I want to know about it, understood?”
“Yes Sir. Anything else you need from me?”
“Not just now, but good work! We’ll just wait for Lieutenant Yamura to return.”
Clarke disappears into the outer office.
Sighing, Pastwa realizes it is time to phone Reardon.
“This is Lieutenant Commander Pastwa,” he pauses while Jones acknowledges him, “any word on when the Admiral will be back in today? I do need to see him as soon as possible.”
“Sorry Sir, I have not heard from the Admiral yet. Based on the last time he was out on inspection I expect it could be another couple of hours. Would you like me to call you when he arrives?”
“Yes, that would be fine. I really need to see him. Thank you, Jones.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
MASAHARU YOKOYAMA
A beet red Admiral Reardon is shouting into his phone, “Get me Lieutenant Commander Pastwa right now! No! Not on the phone damn it! I want him right here, in front of me, and I mean right now! Do you understand me Jones?” Reardon slams the phone into its cradle and stares out across the harbor. His right eye is twitching out of control.
After a few moments he turns and looks at the front page of the newspaper spread across the top of his desk and reads the headline to himself for about the fifth time this late afternoon. In a few minutes there’s a knock on the door.
“Enter, Goddammit!”
Pastwa enters, stands at attention and salutes. Reardon forces him to hold the salute while he glares at Pastwa for a good ten seconds before he returns the salute and takes a seat behind his desk. Pastwa goes ‘at ease’ but does not sit down.
“Stand at attention! This is not going to be easy for you, Lieutenant Commander! And I advise you not to test me, either. I can’t even leave my office for a routine inspection tour without some manner of chaos ensuing.” Reardon points to the newspaper as Pastwa’s body stiffens to attention.
“Can you explain to me just how in the hell this newspaper got hold of our ‘Top Secret’ logbook?” The sarcasm in his pronunciation of the words ‘Top Secret’ is intentionally exaggerated.
“They are reprinting the log, word for word, a little bit each day! That ought to assure them a continuing bump in readership and they even have a contest that pays out One Hundred Thousand U.S. Dollars to anyone who knows what became of Yokoyama! Hell, they even have computer enhanced photos of what he might look like today. Do you have photos like that?”
Before Pastwa can respond. “Don’t even answer that! Jesus! What the hell kind of security are you running!?”
“Sir…”
“I’m not finished lieutenant commander! Don’t even think about cutting me short!”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” Pastwa appears to be every bit as distraught as he feels.
“Where does your investigation stand?” Pastwa is hesitant to respond.
“Spit it out! Just what in the hell have you found out!” Reardon pounds the newspaper on his desk with his right fist causing his home-built model of the Arizona to bounce precariously.
Pastwa shifts his weight from his left foot to his right, and back again.
“Sir I don’t really know yet if the man we are focused on is still alive or if he truly is Yokoyama, for that matter. But if he is Yokoyama, well, Sir, we might have some problems with that.”
“What the hell do you mean ‘We’? You, commander, you will have some problems adjusting to life on an ice breaker in the Arctic Circle. After all, haven’t you mentioned you might like a command again someday? Right now I am very close to granting you that wish.”
“Sir if the man we are concentrating on is Yokoyama, then he holds two Purple Hearts, a Medal of Commendation from Generalissimo Chiang Kia-shek’s Nationalist Chinese Army and a Bronze Star from our own Army.” Pastwa takes a deep breath as he awaits Reardon’s response.
Reardon pushes his chair back from his desk. His face is so red Pastwa half expects him to literally explode.
“Just what are you trying to say?” Reardon’s voice is so low as to be barely audible.
“Sir, it appears that Yokoyama got himself a new name. Blended himself right into the culture here, with help, of course. Eventually he was shipped out to an internment camp in California,” Pastwa hesitates before finishing, “where it appears he volunteered and was accepted into a Nisei Division and then was transferred into Intelligence.”
Reardon cuts him off. “Hold it right there. I’m not sure I heard you right. You say he was a Japanese Naval officer, a product of Eta Jima; and we transferred him into intelligence?”
Reardon holds his left hand up to keep Pastwa from replying, while he takes a long drink of water.
“Please tell me he was not transferred into Navy intelligence.”
“No Sir, it was the Army. And it gets worse.”
Reardon abruptly stands, walks around his desk and points his right index finger straight into Pastwa’s face. Pastwa leans slightly backwards in response.
“That’s all I want to hear from you until you find this man and bring him to me or take me to his grave marker. Until then I don’t want to see you or hear you; hell I don’t even want to think about you!” Reardon is standing only inches from Pastwa, who cannot help but notice the Admiral’s twitch is out of control.
“I thought I made it perfectly clear I didn’t want any loose ends! Instead, you’re creating more loose ends then we had in the first place. What the hell’s taking you so long to solve this…this…this monumental fuck up of a mess! Don’t even consider answering that! Just Go! Get it done, and get it done before this pilfering reporter and her hundred thousand dollar reward beat you to it!” Pastwa has never seen Reardon completely lose it before and is praying he can wrap this matter up and save his career.
“So get going already!”
Pastwa salutes and holds it while waiting for Reardon to return the salute. However, Reardon has already walked over to the window and is staring at the harbor. Catching Pastwa’s reflection in the glass, Reardon turns to face him yet again.
“And send me everything you have on Yokoyama today. I want to read it for myself!” Reardon finally returns the salute.
“Yes Sir!” Pastwa can’t escape Reardon’s office quickly enough to suit him, or Reardon, for that matter.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
INTERNMENT
Ken closes his eyes as he leans back in his oversized leather chair. Sun is sitting nearby, knitting a pair of baby booties, while Gary is perched on the edge of his seat anxiously waiting for his grandfather to continue. The laughter of several of their grandchildren playing in the backyard provides a pleasant, though slightly surreal background. Ken, now slowly stroking his beard, continues to disclose his first life.
With Kamita buried it is time for me to assimilate into the island population, just as a chameleon, except now I face an unknown future alone. I spend the night in the house by the ocean rather than risk again running afoul of the curfew restrictions. Shortly after sunrise Doctor Ito bids me farewell and good luck. Two of the men who buried Kamita are assigned to escort me to a pineapple plantation on the other side of the island. We travel via bicycle, something I have not done in quite a few years. The ride takes us several hours, but we arrive without incident. While we observe many soldiers along the way we incur no difficulties with them, though there was no shortage of staring on their part. Shortly after our arrival the two men bid me farewell and I am left with t
he somewhat elderly owner of the plantation, Taro, and his wife, Umeko.
Taro’s hair is completely gray and somewhat sparse. He keeps his hair very short, is clean shaven and wears black, round-rimmed eyeglasses, a white shirt and black pants. Umeko is probably not even five foot tall. Her black hair is streaked with strands of bright grey and is wearing it in a braid which trails behind her knees. It appears to me she is likely a good ten years younger than her husband. She is wearing a simple red and black floral dress with large pockets at each hip and sandals which appear to be made from a combination of leather and brightly colored cloth.
With a pleasant grin on his face, Taro looks me over, top to bottom, almost as if I was a prize. “You are welcome here for as long as you need,” he says in English. Umeko smiles and vigorously shakes her head in agreement.
“Thank you sir. With luck our invasion force will be here soon and you will be relieved of me.”
“The invasion force! I have read of such a possibility in the newspaper, but no such force has materialized. Regardless, you will be our guest for as long as it pleases you and it is an honor to be your hosts. I have been informed there is a submarine waiting to pluck you from the waters and though I have made several very discreet inquiries, I have found no fisherman who will risk the voyage. They tell me there are air and naval patrols everywhere and to risk such a trip would be suicide. So my advice to you is be patient and put away any thoughts of sailing off into the sunset.” Taro lets out a brief laugh.
“I am deeply grateful to you and will, I trust, one day be able to report your efforts on my behalf to the Emperor.”
Taro and Umeko smile broadly at my words and lead me into their surprisingly large, single-story home where I discover an excellent luncheon has been prepared. We take seats at an old dining table as their servants stand at the ready. Taro offers prayer after which we feast.
“Tomorrow,” says Taro, “there will be people coming to meet with you. They will have identification papers and information you will need to memorize. The following day we will introduce you to your role here on the plantation. We are in need of an assistant to our accountant and she will instruct you as to your duties. In such a role your contact with the other workers here will be minimal.”
“I understand. However, what is it you would like for me to do in the interim?” I ask.
“Until I know more details of your proposed new identity, I cannot risk you come in contact with anyone other than the two of us and our very trusted household help.” Taro pauses just long enough to sip some tea. “After you meet with our friends from Honolulu we can plan your formal entry into our plantation family. During these first few weeks, however, I am certain it will be best that you keep to yourself as much as possible. Everyone here has relatives throughout the islands and I do not desire to raise any suspicions as to where you have been living prior to joining us.”
“That is acceptable to me. Tomorrow I will have a new identity and we will proceed from there. For today, I will stay in the house and out of sight, so long as that suits you and Umeko.”
Umeko smiles and replies: “We have a guest room for you. Come with me.” I follow Umeko to a modestly furnished, but fairly large guest room. There is even a desk with writing utensils and an oil reading lamp. The room is much more spacious than the accommodations I experienced while aboard the I-16, which seems to have been many years in my past. I throw myself onto the cot, immediately falling into a deep sleep.
“Sir, it is time for breakfast. You slept right through the afternoon and the night. I tried to wake you for dinner, but you seemed to be sleeping very deeply and decided to allow you to sleep.”
Umeko’s words are slow to sink in. I was experiencing a vivid dream and was on the conning tower of the I-16 as she docks in Kure upon my successful return. Apparently I look confused.
“You are on our pineapple plantation, remember? We have guests arriving today who will review your new identity with you. Do you remember now?”
I blink a few times and shake my head. “Yes, Umeko. I understand. Thank you. Where might I prepare myself?”
Umeko leads me through a side door and to an outdoor shower which is situated alongside a large water tank. I plunge myself directly into a refreshing stream of cold water and soon I am both reinvigorated and very hungry. Umeko’s breakfast is simple; steamed rice, boiled eggs, steamed fish, senbei crackers and many fruits; I consider it to be a feast. Taro and I are still sitting at the table when we hear the sound of a motorcar approaching. Taro runs to a front window and carefully looks through a slot in the curtains. He turns to us and smiles.
“Our friends have arrived. Remain here while I go meet them.”
I watch Taro disappear through the front door. Soon I hear the ‘clunk-clunk’ of car doors closing, followed by a conversation in Japanese. While I cannot hear the conversation clearly enough to understand the words, I do know the tone of the conversation is light and friendly. Umeko sets a pot of hot tea on the table along with several cups and saucers.
I notice the tea pot, along with the cups and saucers are all of a design and pattern similar to that which my own mother has. I pick up one of the cups and examine the hand painted characters and it is if I am home again. I suffer a moment of home sickness, but my melancholy is quickly extinguished as Taro leads three men into the house. Two of them are clearly Japanese and are dressed in suits. The third man appears to be part Japanese and part, perhaps, Portuguese, maybe five foot seven inches tall and is dressed in overalls. The first of the Japanese to come through the door is quite tall, perhaps as tall as five foot ten inches. The second is my height. I stand to greet them.
The taller man waives his hand indicating I should remain seated. “Please, no formalities today. For that matter, no names either. It is best you do not know who we are for our own protection as well as yours. Does this meet with your approval?”
“Yes, of course.” I return to my seat as Taro takes the chair to my left. The taller man, who appears to be in charge, sits himself at the head of the table. The part-Portuguese appearing man takes a seat directly across from me while the third man has positioned himself alongside the front window and serves as a lookout. Umeko quietly slips out of the house.
The tall man places a small suitcase on the table, opens it and retrieves a file. He closes the suitcase, sets it on the floor, pours himself a cup of tea and takes a sip. The Portuguese man and Taro also pour themselves tea. I am anxious to get to business and forgo the tea.
The leader pushes the file across the table to me. “Let’s review these documents one at a time.” His tone lacks emotion and his demeanor is all business. I examine the first document which is a birth certificate for a person by the name of Kenneth M. Kida. I notice he was born within months of my own birth date.
“This is your birth certificate and is your best evidence to prove you are Nisei. With great difficulty we have managed to create death records for each of the parents listed on that certificate. Your father passed away when you were six and your mother passed away a number of years ago. You are an only child with no relatives on the island. It could not be any simpler. Should any of the authorities review your history, it will be very real, yet very brief. A nice, neat package!”
“Understand me so far?”
“Yes Sir, it is simple enough.”
“It becomes more difficult. You will find additional papers in the file. One is a graduation certificate from a grade school that conveniently burned to the ground about seven years ago. All records prior to that time were lost. However, we have several pictures of the school so you can sufficiently describe it, should you be asked. You will also find the names of three teachers you must memorize along with the classes they taught. Two of them returned to Japan and the third is deceased. Again, enough background information for you to get by, without leaving a source to dispute you.”
I review several photos depicting a single story, frame school house and a list of the teachers
he mentioned and the classes they taught. Photos of the teachers are included.
“You will find photos and brief biographies of several people you would have grown up with. The persons who are deceased are noted. Two of them returned to Japan with their parents and the month and year of their departures are noted. The remaining person you might recognize as the man at the doorway.” He points in the direction of the man posted as their lookout, who, in response, turns and smiles at me.
“The balance of the file is primarily brief news stories of island events. I urge you to spend all of your time these next few days to commit every detail to your memory. And, this is critical, be in a position to immediately destroy these records should the authorities appear unexpectedly! Destroy all of them, except the certificate of birth. Always keep that with you as it may save your life! As you know we are under martial law and everyone is under suspicion. Any questions?”
My mind is spinning as I try to digest so much information. “Yes, Sir. Is there no way you can arrange transport to take me to Nihau? I can make contact with my fleet there and escape.” All three men laugh out loud.
“Nihau? You could offer one million yen and nobody would dare sail you there. Nihau? Who thought of that island as a rendezvous? It is almost deserted and inhabited only by natives, only a handful of them Japanese, at most, and a very long distance from here. Anyone sailing there would be questioned without a doubt!” The United States Navy has patrol boats circling all of the islands. He shakes his head back and forth and finishes his cup of tea, still laughing.
“Sir, clearly our intelligence felt it would be a suitable location. That not being the case, I can only wait for an invasion.” I do my best to sound slightly offended without being belligerent.
The leader looks me over, glances at Taro and then back at me. “You made it this far, which speaks well for your future chances. We would all welcome an invasion, but certainly that is an event upon which we cannot plan. What we can plan, however, is to assimilate you into life on this plantation and provide for you here as long as it takes for us to finish this war. My best advice to you is simple: Memorize each word and every detail in this file and do so without delay. Treat these documents as the life savers they will likely prove to be and when you are comfortable enough with them, burn them.”
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