Atonement for Iwo Read online

  The accidence, when it came, almost upset Masters’ iron-willed composure. “Very well,” said the Captain, and nodded towards his adjutant.

  CHAPTER 13

  At exactly twelve minutes before three, Fujii led Masters into the courtyard of the prison where a small, unmarked police car was waiting. On the front seat was the driver, and in the rear was a second officer with a boy seated on his left. They were handcuffed together. The guards were dressed in civilian clothes, and the boy wore an ill-fitting, prisoner’s uniform.

  Masters glanced at him as he entered the front seat. He was Kimiko’s child, there was no question of that. The year and a half in prison had made him pale, his eyes were downcast, his shoulders drooping in dejection, but there was no doubt who he was. Even if he had not seen pictures of the boy at Kimiko’s house, Masters would have recognized him. He appeared to be slightly taller than Hiroko, with a more solid bone structure, and in the fine features and the rather long jaw - which were family characteristics - he saw the mother and the sister.

  “Are you sure the guards speak English?” asked Masters.

  “Yes,” said Fujii. He turned to the officers. “Do you have your instructions well in mind?” he asked in English.

  “Yes, sir,” they said. The one in the back held up a small pair of binoculars. “I have the glasses, sir.”

  The driver leaned forward to see his chief better. “And I have the correct address - at the intersection of Yatsushiro-Dori Avenue and Senda Dori Street. We can be there before three-thirty, sir.”

  Fujii raised a brow at Masters, who smiled back. “Thank you,” he said. The adjutant nodded, closed the door of the car, and waved the driver off. He drove slowly through the courtyard to the gate. The gate guard, evidently expecting the vehicle, immediately opened the steel door and allowed it to leave without an inspection.

  They turned southeast towards the city center, then swung west into a quieter sector. Masters glanced at his watch; it was 3:15. He swiveled in his seat and faced the guard in the rear. “Does the prisoner know what he is to do?”

  “He speaks English, sir,” cautioned the guard. “Yes, he knows what he is here for.”

  Masters looked directly at the boy and his heart thumped at this first actual confrontation. “What are you to do?” he asked him.

  Ichiro’s eyes remained fixed to his lap. “I am to look at two Americans and to tell you if I have ever seen them before.” His English was not as precise as Hiroko’s, and was heavily accented.

  “Very good,” said Masters, turning back in his seat.

  “It’s directly ahead,” said the driver, motioning with his hand.

  “All right,” said Masters. “Pull over to the curb.” While the vehicle was slowing down, he peered along the lightly-trafficked street for other police cars. There were none. But he was apprehensive, afraid of that prison adjutant and the thoughts which might come into his razor-sharp mind.

  The car stopped. Masters and the officers leaned forward to scan the corner, about fifty yards away. There was a restaurant on the near side. “They will meet there,” said Masters, pointing it out. “May I have the glasses, please?” The guard in the rear handed them over. Masters focused them on the corner, then slowly swept the area. There were a number of people walking along the sidewalk, and cars passed from time to time. He scrutinized the people lounging about or stopping to look into windows, then turned his attention to the parked cars along the street, searching to see if they contained any police.

  When Masters was satisfied that all was normal, he gave back the binoculars, lifted the attaché case onto his lap, and unhooked the snaps.

  The driver’s attention was on the corner when Masters’ hand slid into the case and drew out a pistol. With the same swiveling movement he had used to turn to speak to the rear guard, Masters crashed the weapon against the driver’s temple! The man’s head snapped back! His eyes widened. Then he fell forward against the steering wheel.

  Masters did not pause to see the results of his blow. The pistol swiftly continued its turn and stopped, aimed directly at the officer in the back. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you where you sit,” he growled.

  The guard flinched and his mouth popped open in amazement. “Ichiro!” called Masters. The boy’s eyes, rising at Masters’ command to the guard, focused on the American officer with a leveled pistol. “Ichiro, you told someone to listen to the heart. Do you know who I mean?”

  The boy hesitated, then his eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  “I am the one spoken about. Do you understand me? Quickly!”

  He was Hiroko’s brother, for he grasped it immediately. “Yes,” he said, astonishment written on his face.

  Masters handed over the second pistol. “Put this in the guard’s ribs. If he moves, kill him,” he said flatly.

  The boy took it gingerly, then squared his jaw and thrust the muzzle into the officer’s side.

  Masters glanced at the driver; he was still unconscious. He lowered the gun to his lap to conceal it, and quickly scanned the street. All was still calm. He turned back to the guard. “Unlock the handcuffs,” he snapped.

  The man swallowed, then reached into a pocket and pulled out the keys. In an instant the cuff was off the boy’s wrist. “Come here,” Masters growled at the officer. The man sat forward, completely unafraid, fury flaming from his eyes. Masters raised the pistol and brought it down savagely on his head. A cotton cap cushioned the blow, but he knew that it had been a good one. The guard slid limply to the floor.

  A man and woman paused by the car, looking curiously at them. Masters motioned roughly for them to keep going. The woman grasped the man’s arm and pulled him along.

  “Come, Ichiro, hurry!” said Masters, jumping out of the car and striding back along the street. In seconds, the boy was at his side, baggy prison uniform standing out like a sore thumb. The small Nissan that Masters had rented was only half a block away. Quickly they leaped inside.

  Several people had collected around the police car when he sped by, but he blanked out of his mind the many things which could happen and concentrated only on the route he had prepared so diligently and over which he had driven a number of times to familiarize himself with the turns and traffic.

  In fifteen minutes they were through the busy section of the city and speeding along the quieter streets leading westward out of the metropolis. Half an hour later they were on the highway traversing the island. Soon he saw the turn-off he had selected, and slowed to enter the forest. Hidden amongst the trees the Toyo was waiting - and Hiroko.

  She was leaning against the rear of the car when they came into view. With a cry of relief, she rushed towards them, pulling open the door before he had completely stopped and throwing her arms around Ichiro.

  Masters’ eyes flashed to her hands - they were encased in gloves. “Later,” he snapped, bringing their attention to him. “Quick, get him in the car!”

  Hiroko grasped Ichiro’s hand, led him from the small vehicle to the open trunk of the Toyo, and told him to lie down inside. Masters drove the Nissan deep into the woods, turned off the path, and parked it among a clump of bushes to conceal it. He trotted back to the larger car and got down on the floor of the rear seat. “Okay, Hiroko,” he called out. “Let’s go.” They bumped over the rough path, then it became smooth as she turned onto the main, asphalted highway. In minutes she was racing westward.

  “Not so fast,” Masters growled. She slowed down. He looked at his watch; it was almost 5 p.m. Then, for the first time that afternoon, he listened to his pounding heart, drew in a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

  He opened them quickly enough about forty-five minutes later. “Keith,” called Hiroko, and he sensed from her tone of voice that it wasn’t to ask the time.

  “What’s up?”

  “There is a line of cars ahead. I think the police are checking them.”

  “Don’t slow up yet,” he warned. “Keep driving normally. How far ahead?”

  “
About a quarter of a mile.”

  “Hiroko, listen closely. Don’t panic. Are there any turnoffs?”

  “No, Keith.” Her voice was shaky. The car slackened speed.

  “What are the police doing?”

  “They’re inspecting the cars. There are a number of Nissans on the side of the road. They’re checking them closely.”

  “Are they looking in the trunks of the other cars?”

  “I don’t think so.” The Toyo was just crawling along now.

  “Listen, Hiroko,” he said, speaking rapidly. “Do everything you can to distract the inspector, make eyes at him. If he hesitates one second, wave at him, say thank you, and take off - slowly. Do you hear?”

  “Yes, Keith.”

  “If he opens my door, give the car the gas and break out. Then get ready for me to jump up front and take the wheel. Do you hear?”

  “Yes, Keith.”

  “Don’t panic, Hiroko, don’t panic.”

  She didn’t answer, for she had come to a stop. Masters drew a blanket over himself and lay back, breathing hard. He cursed himself for letting her get involved in this. Then his hand slipped to the pistol in his belt, and he drew it out.

  The car moved forward a few feet and stopped again. He could hear a man talking. The voice came closer. Then he heard a man speaking directly beside the car.

  Hiroko asked a question and the man replied. She made a remark, and they both began laughing. She added something else - then the car started moving.

  He found that he was trembling. After a minute or two, Hiroko called back to him, “It’s all right, Keith.” Her voice was quavering.

  He loosened his grip on the pistol, and threw off the blanket, breathing as if he had run uphill. “What happened?”

  “I did what you told me. When he came over, I asked him what was going on, and he said they were looking for two men.” Her voice regained confidence. “I told him to let me know if he found them, because I was in need of a man. He laughed. Then I wished him good hunting and took off. He waved goodbye.”

  Masters shook his head, chuckling. That Hiroko. The man who gets her should give thanks every morning, noon and night. “Good work,” he called out.

  It was after eight and growing dark when they reached their first stop. Hiroko pulled into a small woods and shut off the ignition. Masters climbed out, stiff from lying in a cramped position, stretched his aching muscles, then reached for a package wrapped in brown paper which was lying on the rear seat. Ichiro was already out of the trunk, seemingly unaffected by having lain in a ball for three hours. He and Hiroko were talking rapidly in Japanese.

  “Here,” said Masters, handing him the package. “There are clothes inside. Change.” The boy took the bundle and went behind a tree. Masters took another package from off the seat and began stripping off the uniform. Hiroko, unabashed, helped him disrobe and put on his suit. Then she took a food hamper from the front seat and began to lay out sandwiches and cokes.

  “Keith,” she called. He walked over to her. “Were you afraid, when we stopped?”

  “A little.”

  “I would have panicked if you hadn’t spoken to me.”

  He patted her shoulder gently. “No you wouldn’t. You are one helluva person, Hiroko.” When Ichiro came up, Masters took a sandwich and a coke. “We have about an hour,” he said to them. “So, go ahead and talk, but keep your voices down.”

  He walked through the darkness towards the main road a hundred yards away. At a position a few yards from the edge of the tree-line, he squatted, placed the pistol by his side, and began to eat. He chewed slowly, stopping the movements of his jaws to listen better whenever a car approached, then continued eating as it sped by.

  Towards the end of the hour, he rose, stretched, and returned to the car. Hiroko and Ichiro were seated in the front, talking. He got into the back seat. “We still have a few more minutes. Hiroko, did you take off your gloves to eat?”

  “No, Keith, I have done exactly as you told me.”

  “Did you open your purse or drop any personal effects?”

  “No, I didn’t wear any jewelry except my watch, and I didn’t touch my purse.”

  “Okay. Did you explain the rest of the plan to Ichiro?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about corresponding later? Have you decided on a system?”

  From the silence, he knew they had not. Hiroko began speaking in Japanese, then stopped and switched to English. “Write to father’s youngest brother,” she told the boy. “And sign your letter with an 0.”

  Ichiro was staring through the darkness at Masters. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am, Mr. Masters.”

  “All right, but spend the time talking to Hiroko and giving her messages for your mother. We will have time to speak later.”

  He sat quietly, listening to them, then after a while he sat up. “Well, we must get started now.”

  Ichiro returned to his place in the trunk, Masters resumed his position in the rear of the car, and soon they were back on the highway. Hiroko drove steadily, and just before midnight he heard her call out, “We’re almost there.” He rose from the floor and saw they were coming into Takada. Lights from a few houses were still burning. She entered the town, drove by the parking area, and stopped a block further on.

  “Keith,” she said, softly.

  “Yes.”

  “Do we have a few minutes to talk together?”

  “No. It is always the few minutes which destroy a plan.”

  “Where will you really go - afterwards?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe try for South Korea. Tell your mother to sit tight - I’ll write when I’m able to.” He reached into his pocket. “I almost forgot, here’s four thousand dollars. I’ve kept out enough for Ichiro - and to see this through.”

  “Please keep it.”

  “Take it,” he ordered. She put it in her purse.

  She turned to look back at him, and there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Keith, for Ichiro, for mother, for ...” She stopped.

  His throat was suddenly dry. “Will you give your mother many kisses for me?”

  “Every day, until we meet again.”

  “Goodbye, Hiroko.”

  “I love you, Keith.”

  “And I love you.”

  She stepped out, leaving the door ajar, and started towards the parking lot where she had left Kimiko’s car. Masters got behind the wheel, then put his head out of the window to watch her walking stiffly up the street. She was going to have a long drive tonight, back to Tokyo, to establish her alibi.

  He started the car and drove through the town, then out to the countryside for a couple of miles until he reached the next stop. It was a small grove of trees. He turned in and parked.

  He helped Ichiro out of the trunk, then picked up his blanket and the one the boy had been lying on. “Come.” He led him across an open field to a copse about two hundred yards away, where he spread the blankets. “We’ll stay here until it’s time to go.”

  They sat down. The boy was silent for a while. “Hiroko told me how much you care for mother. I feel very bad that you are in so much trouble because of me.”

  “If I can get you free, your mother will be a happy woman.”

  “But she will be sad that you have gone.”

  “Perhaps we may meet again. I’ll try to work it out.”

  Ichiro was silent again. Masters thought he had fallen asleep, but soon he shifted his position. “Lie down and sleep,” he told the boy.

  “I am not tired,” said Ichiro. “Mr. Masters, would you please tell me about my father?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What he was like, when you saw him.”

  “I don’t remember, Ichiro. The fight was over very quickly - and I left soon after. I think I’ve obtained more of a picture of him since I’ve been here than from the few minutes - we met.”

  “Did he die bravely?”

  “Yes, but his courage was not just
shown in the way he died, but rather in the way he continued the struggle during the weeks when there was no hope. A lesser man would have given up long before then.”

  “Would you have?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s hard to believe, Mr. Masters.”

  “Perhaps. But it’s true.”

  The boy was silent again. Then he stirred. “Will you come to North Korea with me?”

  “No, I fought them in my lifetime. They are still my enemy.”

  “You fought my country also.”

  Masters grinned; this boy was so much like Hiroko. “I said that incorrectly,” he acknowledged. “Their ideology is my enemy.”

  “But you are helping me.”

  “There are exceptions to everything.”

  The boy hesitated. “I am not a Communist, Mr. Masters. I never was.”

  “I figured that. They were the instrument of your hatred, weren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you mind going to North Korea?”

  “No, I want to live.”

  Speaking of living reminded Masters of something. He counted out several bills and gave them to the boy. “Here’s five hundred thousand yen. I guess your mother will get more to you later if you need it.”

  The boy took the money. “Thank you.”

  Masters leaned back against a tree, very tired. “Would you,” he asked Ichiro, “have used the gun if the guard had moved?”

  “No.”

  “Both of us were in danger.”

  “I would not have shot him. I could never harm another person, never.”

  Masters sat up. “Listen to me carefully, Ichiro. You have murdered a man. You’ve had time to think about it and understand what a terrible thing you’ve done. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t fight if you have to - if you believe what you’re doing is right.”

  “Would you have shot the guard?”

  “You’re damned right I would have.”

  “But we were in the wrong.”

  “You were, I wasn’t. If I had killed him and been put in prison for the rest of my life, or even sentenced to be executed for it, I would still believe that what I had done was right.” The boy was confused. “Look, Ichiro, a lot of values in this world of ours are at odds with each other. The Bible says you must not kill, but society declares wars and says, ‘Boys, go ahead and kill - you’ve got a special dispensation and an up-to-date hunting license’.