Atonement for Iwo Page 11

  They heard Kimiko coming out. She drew up another stool and sat down with them. “It is getting dark,” she observed, “but it is too nice to put on the lights.” She looked anxiously at Masters. “Did Hiroko say anything?”

  “Yes. She decided to call me Papa.”

  The girl laughed. “I’m glad you brought him home, Mother. I haven’t heard as much laughter here for a long time.”

  “I am glad you have accepted it so well, Hiroko,” said Kimiko, visibly relieved. “We were very much concerned.”

  Hiroko rose. “I’m going downtown to get a sandwich and take in a movie.”

  “Eat supper here,” suggested Kimiko.

  “Not on your life.” she called out cheerily, starting off. “You’re on your honeymoon. I sure wouldn’t want you along on mine.”

  After they ate supper, they went for a stroll in the garden. “It is good for you to take a walk after meals,” said Kimiko. “The book says so.”

  He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Does the book also tell you what a wonderful person you are?”

  She liked that. She led him into the house and made him lie down on the sofa and place his head in her lap. Slowly she stroked his hair, and time drifted by as they relaxed and listened to light music from the radio.

  When they entered the bedroom, she stopped and turned to him. “I knew this before, Keith,” she said softly, “and was more certain when I gave you my ear rings and became your wife last night. I love you.”

  He did not remind her that it was the first time she had said those words, nor did he reveal how desperately he had longed to hear them. Instead, he reached out, swept her up in his arms, and carried her to their sleeping mats.

  On Tuesday afternoon, Masters accompanied Kimiko and Hiroko to Mr. Takahashi’s office. The attorney greeted them formally while an assistant bustled around the room arranging chairs. He spoke slowly so that Hiroko could interpret.

  “I spent the morning with the Minister,” he said, “and his decision is that the sentence must be carried out as ordered.”

  Kimiko blinked and made an effort to keep from crying out. It was impossible: a hiss of pain broke from her lips. Hiroko’s eyes filled and she swallowed several times before she could go on.

  “I do not see what further action can be taken,” continued the lawyer. “I am afraid that we must bow to the inevitable. Ichiro, however, has been considering a confession of his guilt. I assume this is his way of making peace with his conscience. It would certainly not alter the sentence, and would, in fact, result in more adverse public opinion. He has requested that I ask you if he should remain silent or confess.”

  “My son must make the decision,” said Kimiko.

  The lawyer nodded. “I said as much to him, but he insisted that I ask his mother, for a confession would bring more shame on his house.”

  Kimiko’s face remained expressionless. “My son must make the decision,” she repeated.

  Masters sighed and stood up. “Mr. Takahashi, will you please carry a message to Ichiro from me?” The lawyer nodded. “Then tell him,” continued Masters, “to remain silent. We will understand.” He looked down at Kimiko. “Okay?”

  She stared straight ahead, looking into space, then turned her eyes to the lawyer. “Please give Ichiro the message. It is from me also.”

  They left the attorney’s office and drove home together in silence. Kimiko went directly to her room, and Masters knew she was going to pray in front of the small altar in the corner of the bedroom.

  “Come outside,” he said to Hiroko, and led the way into the garden. “Sit down,” he ordered. She sat immediately, alerted by his tone. He eyed her closely. “Hiroko, they are going to execute Ichiro and there isn’t a damn thing that can be done about it.” He paused. “Unless we take the law into our own hands,” he stated softly, flatly.

  She leaned forward, excited. “You mean to help him escape?”

  “Keep your voice down,” he growled. He took out his package of cigarettes and lit one, relishing the bitter taste in his mouth. “I can’t think of anybody in this world whom I’d rather not discuss this with than you, but I need help and you’re the only one I can turn to. Now, can you get time off work for a vacation?”

  “Yes, I can take time off whenever you want.”

  He looked at his watch; it was shortly before four o’clock. “Go to your office right away and put in your request. Try to get three weeks at least.”

  “All right, Keith.” She stood up to leave.

  “Wait a minute,” he called. He stood for a few seconds thinking. “Get some maps of the west coast of Japan and of,” his brow wrinkled, “Hong Kong, China, North Korea and Siberia.”

  “All right, Keith,” she replied quietly, subdued.

  “Now, get.”

  When she had gone, he went to the bedroom door and called Kimiko. She came out wearily, her eyes red from weeping. “I’m going downtown, Kimiko. I may not be back until late. Do you mind if I leave you now?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak.

  He left the house and walked until he found a roving taxi, then directed the driver to take him to the United States Army Headquarters. It was almost 5 p.m. when he arrived. It was a large administration building, and directly inside the lobby was a military police desk. A sergeant was seated behind it.

  “Sergeant, I’m an ex soldier from World War Two and Korea, and am now on a visit here. Do you have an officers’ directory? I’d like to see if any of my friends are back over here.”

  “No, sir. But we have a telephone book that’s unclassified.” He handed it over. “You’ll have to look at it here, though. We’re not supposed to let it out.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s just so many, and headquarters had a gang of complaints about salesmen swiping them and bothering the people.”

  Masters looked round and saw a table to one side. “May I look at it over there?”

  “Okay, sir.”

  He took it to the table, sat down, and studied the lists. Captains of fifteen years ago, he reflected, would be lieutenant colonels now. Just for the hell of it, he looked at full colonels also.

  He found the names of two or three officers that rang a bell in his memory, and jotted them down. Then his finger stopped and his heart skipped a beat. “Jesus Christ,” he said aloud. Lieutenant Colonel W.C. Wilson, Headquarters, Operations.

  He took the phone book to the desk sergeant. “Sergeant, how can I find out the serial number of this officer?” The MP eyed him. Masters grinned. “If he’s the one I think he is, his serial number is very close to mine. We were at OCS together.” He wrote his own number on a pad and handed it over.

  “Okay, sir.” He put in a call to the officers’ records section, spoke briefly, then put down the phone. “He’s your man, sir.”

  “Thanks.” Masters copied Wilson’s office number and his home address. “Will he still be in?”

  “I doubt it. They generally leave at a quarter to five, but I’ll give it a try.” He made the call. “He’s already gone, sir.”

  “Could you ring his quarters for me, please.”

  The MP was cooperative. He dialed and handed the phone to Masters. It rang, then a woman answered. “Hello.”

  “Hello. My name is Keith Masters. I’m a friend of Colonel Wilson. Is he home, please.”

  “One moment.” He heard her call out, “Honey.”

  Wilson almost jumped through the phone. “Keith, is that you?”

  “Hi, Bill. Still shacking up with strange women?”

  “That’s my wife, you wild bastard. Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m at headquarters. Seems that I just missed you.”

  “You stay right there. I’ll be over in ten minutes, driving a blue Buick. Anyone with you?”

  “I’m alone.”

  “Freeze in place,” he ordered, then said something like “Goddammit,” and hung up.

  Masters walked outside and leaned against th
e building, thinking hard. The honk of a horn brought him out of his reverie. Wilson was waiting at the curb and had opened the door for him.

  They shook hands, excited as boys. “Jesus Christ,” said Wilson. “I almost flipped when Betty said Keith Masters wanted to talk to me.” He eyed the smaller man. “You haven’t changed one iota. Put on a few more pounds, though.” Wilson was a tall, slim man with blond hair, dressed in sports jacket and slacks.

  Master smiled. “Time hasn’t changed you very much, either. What is it fourteen years?”

  The tall man sobered. “I ought to know. Yeah, fourteen years.” He edged the car into the traffic. “What are you doing in Japan? Back in service?”

  “No. I had a bit of heart trouble last year. Just loafing around. Got the bug up my ass to see the old haunts.”

  Wilson turned an anxious eye on him. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “No, I’m okay. Just not supposed to climb hills anymore. Got your family over, eh?”

  “Yes. Betty and the kids will be tickled to see you. I’ve talked so much of you over the years that they’ll never believe a meek looking shrimp like you was the wild bastard I spoke of. What gives with you and the domestic stuff?”

  “It didn’t work out. We were divorced.”

  Soon they arrived at a large apartment complex and parked in a lot. A sign stuck in the grass directly in front of the vehicle read: LT. COL. W.C.WILSON.

  “Brass hat, eh?” remarked Masters.

  Wilson laughed. “Anyone over sergeant gets the same sign.”

  His apartment was a plush, field grade officer’s quarters, four bedrooms, two baths, modern kitchen, handsomely furnished with quartermaster items, supplemented by personal pieces collected during tours around the world. Betty Wilson was a tall, plain, bright eyed woman of forty or so, from Montana, and Bill proudly introduced his son, aged sixteen, and a daughter of ten. He took a picture of a boy about nineteen years old from the mantelpiece. “My oldest. Name’s Bob. He’s going to UCLA, but is spending the summer with my folks in New Jersey.”

  The daughter opened the conversation. “Sir,” she asked politely, trying not to dance around. “Are you the one who saved daddy’s life when he was shot?”

  “Well,” said Masters, pretending to think hard. “If I remember correctly, your daddy was still going pretty strong. I had to pull him out of the fight because he was so mad.”

  “That’s not the story we heard...” started Betty. A wink from Masters cut her off. She began mixing drinks, and when Bill told her about Masters’ heart, she made him a glass of lemonade while she and Bill took scotch and water.

  “Where are you staying?” asked Bill.

  Master lowered a brow in warning. He and Bill had met twenty four years before at officers’ training school, had soldiered together for a while in World War II, and then the rough year in Korea. He did not have to draw a picture for Wilson. “At a friend’s house,” he answered, glancing at the children.

  They chatted until supper, and after they had eaten, the boy and girl left while Masters, Bill and Betty settled down in the living room.

  “What’s up, Keith?” asked Bill.

  “I’m staying with a Japanese woman. We’ll get married when I can find out how it’s done over here.”

  There was no visible reaction, except for Betty saying, “Let’s all get together some evening,” or something to that effect, and hurriedly leaving the room to supervise the Japanese maid taking care of the dishes.

  Bill grinned. “It shakes the round eyed women to hear about those cute babies nabbing the home town boys.”

  They gabbed and reminisced, and after a while Masters got down to business. “Bill, I’ve decided to take up writing. Had a couple of articles accepted by a magazine a while back, and thought I’d take a shot at writing a book.”

  “Christ, write an autobiography. That would make good reading.”

  “It would have to stop after Korea. There wasn’t much to it after then. Anyhow, I’d like to write an adventure story with an army background. When you have some time, I’d appreciate being brought up to date.”

  “How about now?” he asked. “Do you need classified stuff?”

  “I doubt it, but if I ask about anything which is confidential, you just lower the boom.”

  “Okay.” He began to outline the new ROAD organization of the army divisions, and got a pad and pencil to explain their structure. Masters waited patiently, putting in a question here and there to throw him off the track.

  An hour passed swiftly, and Master decided it was time to probe for the information he sought. “Bill, the plot is about an American officer in Japan. He’s a major, so he can still be young enough to screw around.” They grinned at each other. “The major falls for a Jap doll.” His eyes twinkled. “I’m catching up on that part now.” Bill chuckled. “Anyhow, the doll is a real bitch will screw anything that walks, and is head over heels in love with this Jap who is a spy for the Commies. She helps him by conning the major into turning over secret files. To give the story color, I intend to bring in the intelligence people, the Jap cops, and just about every group, including the Boy Scouts.

  “The major is no dummy, but he is really hung up on this girl.” Masters’ mind turned to Hiroko. He could see how a nice, solid guy from St. Paul, for example, would take secret files for her. “Although the plot has been used a couple of million times, I believe the background color will make it different.”

  He leaned forward. “Bill, who would handle this kind of case?”

  “Hell, that’s basic. The counterintelligence.”

  “Would the Jap police come into the picture?”

  “Well, generally we’d try to handle it ourselves, but you must remember that we have a Status of Forces agreement now which subjects all Americans to Nip law. We could take care of the major if he was on a military installation, but if he was on Nip property, like in his gal’s bedroom, we’d have to get the Nips to knock down the door, or tap phones, or stuff like that.”

  “With which section of the Jap government would the counterintelligence work?”

  “The National Police. They’re actually a paramilitary organization, and could be turned into an army overnight.”

  “Do they have a counterintelligence section?”

  “Damned if I know. I guess so, but it would be hidden under another title, like the Political Science Board, or some shit like that. I’ll get the poop for you if it isn’t classified.”

  “Thanks. One more question. Suppose this major walks up to a cop on the beat and asks him to help him apprehend an American soldier. Would he do so?”

  Bill scratched his head. “Wow.” He thought for a while. “If the soldier was doing anything contrary to Nip law, the cop would arrest him without being asked. But if not, it would be a toss up. He could help or refuse. If he had a feather up his ass about Americans, and officers in particular, he could say that he would have to first check with headquarters.”

  Masters interrupted. “But suppose the major said there was no time?”

  “Then it’s the old army buck buck game, Keith. The cop would have to make the decision as to whether he wants his ass chewed for failing to use his initiative or have his ass chewed for acting without an okay from his headquarters. One thing is certain, though. If he told the major to go to hell, he’d really be in hot water.”

  “What’s you personal opinion?”

  “Well, the Nips are probably the most intelligent people I’ve come across. You don’t have to draw them a big picture before they catch on. If the major had a valid reason and explained it properly, I think the cop would give him a hand. But if the major permitted him to have one shred of doubt, he would bow and scrape and be as courteous as hell, but stall until doomsday to check it out first.”

  That was it. Masters made a bit more polite conversation, then looked at his watch and said he would have to go. Bill would not hear of him taking a taxi, so Masters fobbed him off with a story that he
was meeting his shack up girl at his old hotel, so Bill grinned and let him off in front of it.

  “Keith,” he said, and he was serious. “Don’t let us lose contact again.” He felt somewhat bashful at asking the question. “How are you fixed for money?” Then before Masters could answer, he continued, “I’ve been sorta flush these past few years and I’d like to help.”

  “Thanks, Bill. I’m okay, but I promise to ask if I need some help.” He watched the taillights of Bill’s Buick being swallowed up in the traffic, and thought with fondness of the tall, blond, lieutenant colonel. Then he hailed a taxi and went to Kimiko’s. He was not about to let Wilson know that he was living with the mother of a boy scheduled to be executed for murder.

  CHAPTER 9

  It was nearly midnight when he got home, but Kimiko and Hiroko were waiting up for him. Kimiko was worried at the lateness of the hour, and breathed a sigh of relief when the taxi drew up and he got out. She hurried down the pathway and looked at him anxiously. “Are you all right?” and before he could answer, she went on, “I didn’t know whether you took your pills with you. I forgot to ask.”

  He smiled and hugged her. “In my pocket, darling.”

  She straightened at the word, ‘darling’, as if each time he said it, it was like saying ‘I love you’ a dozen times. “Are you hungry?” she asked, when they got inside.

  “No, but I could use a cup of tea.” She rushed to the kitchen. Masters motioned with his head to Hiroko and they sat in a corner. “Did you get your leave?” he asked softly. She nodded. “How about the maps?”

  “In my room.”

  “Okay, I’ll get them tomorrow. Does your mother know you are taking leave?”

  “I didn’t know whether you wanted me to say anything so I haven’t told her yet.”

  He almost smiled at her. “Good, don’t say anything.” He remembered that Kimiko and Hiroko drove downtown together each morning for work. “Take the maps with you tomorrow and meet me at ten o’clock at my old hotel.”

  “Okay.”

  After they drank their tea, they went to bed. Masters understood the heaviness of Kimiko’s heart after the meeting with the lawyer, so he took her in his arms and comforted her with a kiss, then gently rocked her until she fell into a restless slumber. He remained awake long after, thinking hard. The shell of an idea had already formed in his mind, but so much was speculation that its outline was obscure. Dawn was breaking before he also fell asleep.