CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
COLONEL NAT’S
Reardon settles himself into the back seat of his Town Car and adjusts one of the cold air vents. He pulls out a bottle of water from the built in chiller, opens it and drinks nearly half the bottle in a series of large gulps. Smitty, his driver, has been watching in the rear view mirror.
“Back to the base, Admiral?”
“No Smitty, we have a few stops to make first. You know where ‘Nat’s Wholesale Sporting Goods’ store is located?”
“Of course! He gives all military and police fifty percent off on range time and another twenty percent off on anything we buy. I’m on the range there at least twice a month!” He executes a U-turn while speaking. “I’ll have you there in no time at all.”
“Excellent, you can browse around the shop while I conduct some business with Nat.” The Admiral settles back in his seat and pulls out the daily edition of the other Honolulu daily newspaper as he calculates it will be about a twenty minute drive.
Nat’s Wholesale Sporting Goods, Army-Navy Surplus & Pawn store is owned and operated by Colonel Nha^t Nghien, who is commonly known as ‘Nat,’ or ‘Colonel Nat.’ Nat was a well-known and respected colonel in the South Vietnamese Army, renowned for executing lightening raids across the border into Laos and Cambodia where he would hit the enemy by surprise with a ferocity that earned him a price on his head. The North Vietnamese called him the “Black Death,” a reference to the trademark black beret he wore, and still wears.
About six weeks before the South Vietnamese Army collapsed he suffered serious injuries while on a raid in far northwest South Vietnam. Ultimately he lost his left kidney and his left leg, below the knee. Thanks to his reputation within the U.S. Army he was flown to the hospital at Pearl for follow up surgeries. He was recovering in the Naval Hospital there when the North Vietnamese rolled into Saigon. His application for political asylum was a slam dunk and Nat has since become a United States citizen.
While recovering from his wounds he was approached by the Central Intelligence Agency with a job proposal. With almost no money, crippled and out of work, he accepted the CIA’s offer to join their Southeast Asia desk. In 1990 he retired and bought a vacant warehouse in a very tired part of Honolulu. The building features sixteen thousand square feet on the ground floor which he divided into a ten thousand square foot display room with four thousand square feet of warehouse in back with a pair of recessed loading docks. The remaining two thousand square feet serve as his offices.
On the second floor there is an additional ten thousand square feet set back from the front of the building. The pistol and archery ranges are upstairs, along with additional display space for guns, bows and ammo. He allows local gun and archery groups to use any of the three small conference rooms without charge. His twenty four/seven, three hundred sixty two day a year operation employs over sixty people, many of whom are refugees from Southeast Asia.
For anyone in the military, former military, law enforcement and fire fighters he offers large discounts on top of his already wholesale-style pricing. Nat’s is also the place to go for the hard to find. If it’s in any way related to firearms, outdoor sports, or Army/Navy surplus, including from the former USSR, he can get it, in the unlikely event if he doesn’t already have it on hand.
Reardon has known Nat since the mid-eighties when he met him while on a special assignment in Singapore. They took an instant liking to each other and when Nat told Reardon of his plans to open a rather unique store, Reardon strongly encouraged him to do so. Since opening, Nat counts thousands of Navy personnel among his customers.
“Here we are Sir and we’re in luck too, there’s a parking space right outside the front door!”
“Well done, Smitty. I’ll look you up when I’m finished so have some fun poking around in there. I may be an hour or so.” Reardon exits the Town Car and walks into the showroom. Glancing around he spies Nat and one of his sales representatives behind a counter featuring binoculars and telescopic lenses. It looks as if Nat is explaining the operation of what appears to be night vision field glasses to a pair of customers. As Reardon walks over, Nat notices him and immediately stops what he’s doing.
“Roman! It has been too long! Please, come over!” Nat motions to Reardon.
Nat’s two customers turn around and give Reardon the once-over. One man, holding the night vision field glasses, is about five foot, ten inches tall, perhaps one hundred ninety pounds. He has short, curly, black hair, a deep tan and piercing deep blue eyes. He’s clean shaven and is wearing a short sleeved brightly colored Hawaiian shirt which reveals no tattoos on either arm. His face is completely absent of expression.
The man standing to his right is about five foot, six inches tall and is very slender. Though he appears to be in his later twenties, his hair completely lacks any color pigmentation and hangs in straight, limp, uneven strands down to his neck. His jet black eyes sit deep in his face, which is pale as a full moon. His brightly colored shirt hangs on his bony frame and his shorts bring too much attention to his scrawny knees. Reardon isn’t certain if the man is smiling or snarling.
They are one of the more oddly paired men Reardon has seen in some time. In fact, as they turn to look at him, he comes to a complete stop as the twitch in his right eye strikes him with a vengeance. Reardon momentarily closes his eye and lightly presses his right index and forefingers against the twitch which allows it to subside. Recovering from his built-in alarm system he puts on a broad smile.
“My dear friend, accept my apologies for being absent so long.”
Reardon walks over to the counter where the four men are gathered. The two customers back off a little, creating some breathing space between themselves and Reardon.
“I see you are busy my friend. I can browse for a while and wait for you to finish.”
“No, no, Roman.” Nat motions towards his employee. “Jim can finish up. But forgive me, introductions are in order.” Nat steps around the counter and takes position alongside Reardon and points to the dark haired man.
“Admiral, these men have a sporting equipment store in Hilo. This is Cy, who runs the operation.” Cy extends his right hand as he and Reardon exchange a particularly firm hand shake. Reardon finds himself fighting off the eye twitch the entire time.
“Pleased to meet you.” Reardon says.
“My pleasure Sir. Never expected to bump into American royalty here. But then, this is Nat’s so I shouldn’t be all that surprised.” His voice inflection is borderline sarcastic, but not enough to outright offend. While he strongly detests the American military Cy is aware he needs to keep good relations with Nat.
Nat nervously laughs in response. “That’s a good one, ‘American Royalty;’ I shall remember that.”
Nat points in the direction of the white haired man. “And Admiral, this is the Aussie.”
Reardon accepts his hand shake. “The Aussie? That’s your name?”
The Aussie doesn’t release Reardon’s grip and instead grips a little harder.
“Guess nick names can stick, but pardon me, I had a dingo’s breakfast and I’d like to rack off so if you don’t mind too much we’ll just finish our business.” The Aussie releases his grip and smiles, or sneers; Reardon’s not sure which.
Nat interrupts before Reardon can respond. “Let’s retire to my office. Coffee, Roman?”
“Why yes, that would be perfect.”
Reardon and Nat walk through a nearby doorway leaving Cy and the Aussie with Nat’s associate. They settle into Nat’s office where a coffee machine dominates one of the countertops.
“Still drinking pure Kona, Roman?” Nat sifts through his supply of coffee packets.
“Sure, but tell me Nat, who are those two guys?”
Nat loads the coffee packet into the machine and presses a button. Blazing hot water forces itself downwards and, as if by magic, a blue mug with the Admiral’s name on it is filling with the wonderful liquid that is pure Kona coffee.
Nat removes the cup, hands it to Reardon, then picks out a packet of Kauai coffee and makes a cup for himself. When he has his own mug filled with his personal favorite he takes a seat behind his desk while Reardon chooses a comfortable armchair opposite him.
“I first met those two about three years ago. They run a first class sporting supply and guide operation out of downtown Hilo, over on the Big Island. The wild pig hunting industry over there has been growing and I’ve been selling them surplus Russian night vision goggles. The wild pig hunters go nuts over them and they are a very high profit margin item.” He takes a small sip of his steaming hot coffee.
“So you really don’t know much about their backgrounds?”
“Well, Cy claims to have been born in Georgetown, Virginia. Says he has a degree in engineering from MIT where he had won himself a scholarship. I have no reason to doubt him for when it comes to understanding technical issues, he is right on.”
Reardon finishes his cup in a couple of large gulps, his mind racing as the energy exuded by the odd pair of customers has set off internal alarms.
“Well that covers him, but what of this ‘Aussie’ fellow?”
“You noticed he’s a bit testy? Strikes me as someone who prefers his own company and usually doesn’t talk much, which is a good thing. He seemed to not like you very much. Are you sure you never met before?” Nat takes a sip of his brew.
“How could I forget someone with pure white hair like that, black eyes, skin more pale than milk and what looks to be a perpetual snicker? No, no way I would forget that face.” Reardon shakes off the memory and resettles himself deeper into his chair.
“Nat, I’m here because I need something that I am certain you can help me with.”
“Excellent!” Nat grins widely. “I am always happy to be of help to you. What do you need, Roman? Anything! Just tell me what you need.”
“Thanks, Nat. I knew you’d be the man. What I need is a sword, and not just any sword. And it can’t be a replica either.”
“Roman, if I have one sword here, I have two hundred. So can you narrow down the type of sword you are seeking?”
“Of course. It must be a sword befitting an officer of the Imperial Japanese Navy and therefore must date back to at least World War II. I prefer it be in as perfect condition as possible and if it has a suitable sheath, all the better, but that’s not a requirement.
“Hhmm,” Nat appears to be staring into space as he considers the request. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the story I have been reading about in the newspaper, would it?”
Reardon laughs out loud, taking Nat slightly aback.
“I just came from Jim Mori’s office. You should have seen his face! I think he was going to vomit all over his desk when I told him the whole thing was an elaborate hoax and he was facing criminal prosecution. You can read all about it tomorrow and get a good laugh. In fact, next time you see Jim you might ask him about my visit with him this morning. Might be worth a grin to see him turn pale at the memory.”
Nat laughs at the thought. “Wish I could have been there.”
“So, can you fix me up?”
Nat contemplates for a few moments while finishing his coffee.
“You have time for another cup, if you like. I need to go out back to my private storage where I think I’ll find exactly what you need.”
“I can make it myself, my friend, so go ahead.” Roman walks over to the coffee maker.
Nat smiles and quickly shuffles out the door. Reardon notices there is almost no limp in his gait today. Apparently Nat got himself a more up-to-date peg leg, he thinks to himself. Reardon picks through the collection of coffees and finds a packet of pure Kona. He loads it into the machine and watches as the black liquid, to which he has been addicted since Nat introduced him to good coffee, fills his mug.
About ten minutes pass when Nat returns carrying a sheathed sword and a file folder. He lays the sword on his desk.
“Roman, this ought to do the trick. This was taken from a Japanese Admiral by the name of Harada who committed suicide down in Cebu rather than surrender in the closing days of the war. This folder is the record confirming its authenticity.”
Reardon smiles broadly as he carefully pulls the sword from its sheath. The non-cutting edge is beautifully engraved from the handle all the way to the tip. What appears to be genuine ivory is inlaid in the handle itself, as well as in the sheath. All in all it is a remarkable piece of craftsmanship.
“Nat, you have outdone yourself this time. How much do I owe you?”
Nat shakes his head from side to side. “Roman, I’ve had this a long time. In fact I took it as partial trade on some German World War II equipment I sold at a substantial profit. Apparently you have a good use for it so just take it and consider you owe me one somewhere down the line.”
“Nat, you’re truly a good man!” Reardon takes the folder and the sheathed sword.
“But do me a favor, if you could.”
“What would that be?”
“Those two customers of yours, Cy and that Aussie fellow; drop me a list of their purchases over the last few years and ongoing. So long as it’s not too much trouble, of course.”
“I see, maybe you think something is not quite Kosher with them? Consider it done my friend.”
“Thanks Nat, I’ll be going now. I have a couple more stops to make.”
Reardon returns to his Town Car, where Smitty awaits him. He slips into the back seat, reaches into an inside jacket pocket, pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to Smitty.
“Take me to this address, it’s up in Kailua.” Smitty looks at the paper and enters it into the navigation unit. Moments later the route, along with an estimated arrival time pop up.
“Be there in twenty seven minutes Sir.”
Reardon smiles, looks out the window but cannot get those two men out of his mind. He has a really bad feeling about them and makes a mental note to follow up with Nat if he doesn’t receive the purchase records within a week. Reardon is lost in thought when Smitty announces their arrival.
“This is it Sir.”
Reardon glances at the house, picks up the sword and exits.
“I won’t be long Smitty. You can leave it running.” Reardon quickly walks to the front door and rings the bell. In a few moments the door slowly opens and the diminutive form of Auntie Lee appears from the shadows of her living room. She sees Reardon’s uniform and is a little alarmed, which Reardon notices.
“Would you be Auntie Lee?” Reardon seeks to calm her and puts on his best smile.
“Why yes, I am. Do I know you?”
“No Auntie, but you have met some of my staff. You might remember a female lieutenant who came to excavate that skeleton from your yard?” Auntie Lee smiles and steps back as she opens the door.
“Oh yes, you must be her big boss! Please come in.” She beckons him into her living room. “Can I bring you some nice iced tea and maybe some senbei? I made the senbei just an hour ago.”
Reardon enters carrying the sword and folder and chooses to sit in one of her cozy armchairs. “Auntie, I would love to, but today I am pressed for time so I can’t accept your generous offer.” He motions to an empty chair across from where he is seated.
“Please, Auntie, take a seat. I have come here to propose a trade.”
“Oh, ok.” Auntie Lee sits down as directed, her attention more focused on the sheathed sword than on Reardon.
“Auntie I saw the picture of you in the newspaper holding the sword you found in your back yard. It looked to be pretty tarnished.”
“Yes it is. I have been working on it, but I do not have the strength in my fingers that I once had.”
“I can relate to that which is why I’ve brought with me a beautiful sword that once belonged to an Admiral of the Imperial Japanese Navy. He’s long since dead so he has no use for it, obviously. I was thinking, however, you might prefer to trade that old sword you dug up for this beautiful one.” He gives her a wink.
“And this doesn’t need any cleaning.”
Reardon unsheathes the sword and offers it to her, handle first.
“Here, take a look for yourself. I think this would make a pretty good trade.”
A huge smile sweeps across her face as she carefully takes it into her hands.
“Oh my! Look at this engraving! And this, is this ivory?”
Reardon laughs gently. “Yes, Auntie, it does appear to be genuine ivory. So what do you say, is it a deal?”
Auntie Lee carefully lays the sword onto a coffee table and quickly disappears towards the kitchen. In a few moments she returns holding the heavily tarnished sword and offers it to Reardon.
“Here, Sir! And thank you so much! You have made me so happy! Are you certain you do not have time for some nice iced tea and senbei?”
Reardon, still smiling, stands and accepts the tarnished sword from her.
“Thank you Auntie, but as I said, I’m on a tight schedule and must be going. I can see my way out, so why don’t you sit down and take a good look at your new sword?”
Reardon returns to his Town Car and pulls out another piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket. Smitty is wondering to himself why the Admiral went in with a beautiful sword and returned with a tarnished one. But he knows better than to say anything.
“Here, Smitty, this is up on the North Shore somewhere.”
Smitty peruses the address, enters it into the navigation system and drives away.
About forty minutes later they pull up to the address. Reardon takes the sword and strides to the front door where a covered lanai offers him shade from the mid-day Sun. Before he can knock, the door opens and Sun Kida is standing before him.
“Can I help you, Sir?” Reardon recognizes she is obviously nervous.
“Why yes, you can. Are you Mrs. Kida?”
Sun is surprised Reardon knows who she is, though she thinks to herself she should not be so surprised.
“Yes I am. I apologize, but I do not know who you are?”
“Well, let me introduce myself. My name is Roman Reardon, Rear Admiral Roman Reardon if you were wondering about my rank. I was hoping to have a minute of Captain Kida’s time, if at all possible, ma’am.”
Chameleons, a Novel Based Upon Actual Events Page 29