1942

“What child? I don’t know.” Finch’s voice was almost a shriek. Brooks held a wide-bladed knife in his hand. It was a skinning knife. “Please, I don’t know anything about the woman or her child. Please don’t let him hurt me.”

Alexa acknowledged the sound of terrified honesty in his voice. If he’d had anything to tell, he would have. “Quickly,” she said to Brooks and strode away. “I don’t want it to be slow. That’d put us on the same level as him.”

“Sergeant Finch,” Brooks said, “Hawkins wanted to be here to do this because you disgraced the army you both serve in, and I’m a marine. But Novacek thought he was too important to come, so this is from him.”

Brooks wrapped a length of wire around Finch’s neck and paused.

“By the way, the info you gave Goto was all false. We planted it out there to tempt you, and you bit like the dumb fish you are. We’re actually doing you a favor. We could’ve let Goto finish you when his raid on a nonexistent airfield turned into shit.”

Finch could scarcely groan.

“You’re a lucky bastard, Finch,” Brooks said as he pulled on the wire with all his strength. “I really wanted to skin you and shove your balls down your cocksucking throat.”

Finch couldn’t answer. His neck was broken.

Colonel Omori heard the pounding through his sleep. When he was finally awake enough to think, the pounding continued, both on the door to his bedroom and in his tortured skull. He cursed himself for drinking as much as he had. He would have a terrible hangover. At least he could stop the noise from outside his quarters.

“Who is it?”

“Captain Mikura,” came the reply. “I have an urgent message from Admiral Iwabachi,”

Omori slid out of bed and put on his pants. Then he told the captain to come in. Mikura was a marine officer on Iwabachi’s staff, and one of the brighter ones. Omori’d considered recruiting him for the kempetei.

“Sir,” said Mikura, “one of our soldiers just showed up at a police station and said that our base at Wheeler was under attack by other Japanese soldiers.”

“Really? And how drunk is this poor man?”

Mikura flushed. He wasn’t used to sarcasm. “I was told he appears fairly sober and terrified. He said that several score men who were dressed as Japanese soldiers and who look Japanese have taken over the field, killed just about everyone there, and shot down at least one of our planes. He has no idea how all this was accomplished. He said he was in his barracks and had just finished cleaning his rifle when armed men burst in and started stabbing sleeping soldiers. He says he fired at them and thinks he hit one of them. He later fled out the back of the barracks and into the brush, where he watched as all this occurred.”

It was far-fetched, but it contained the chilling germ of truth. However, the thought of Japanese soldiers perpetrating the attack was beyond belief. Something was terribly wrong.

“What have you done?”

“Sir, I immediately contacted the admiral and then attempted to raise Wheeler by phone. I could not get through. After that I contacted one of the carriers and asked them to try to raise the combat air patrol out of Wheeler, and they were unable to do so either.”

Omori was now fully awake. “Then Admiral Iwabachi is aware of this?”

“Yes, sir. He directed me to awaken you. As we speak, a motorized column is being organized to drive up to Wheeler to investigate. It will take a while as we don’t want to send a handful of men into an ambush if the soldier is telling the truth.”

Which he probably is, Omori thought in dismay while he continued dressing. As his head cleared, he again wondered about the men who had attacked Wheeler. They could not have been Japanese. They must have been whites made up to look like Japanese. In the darkness and panic, the survivor must have been confused. Obviously, the raiders had worn what must have looked like Japanese uniforms, and the power of suggestion had resulted in the rest. The soldier would not be punished for his mistake. He had performed his duty under the circumstances.

“You’ve done well. Have Yamamoto or his staff been informed?”

“Admiral Iwabachi said he will wait until we confirm that something is truly wrong, and that it is a threat to the fleet.”

Omori dismissed the captain and prepared to see Iwabachi. He would have to swallow the bitter pill of failure. Of course the soldier’s reports were correct. He had thought the Americans incapable of a guerrilla raid on Oahu, and he’d been wrong. He would have to accept both the blame and the shame for his error in judgment.

This meant that Lieutenant Goto had failed as well. Again. He would send that stupid, spoiled child back to Japan no matter who he was related to. Whatever had just occurred at Wheeler must have had its origin with the Americans on the Big Island.

He would also wreak vengeance on the men who’d launched the traitorous attack. What they had done was unspeakably evil, and both they and their families would pay severely. Perhaps he would keep Goto around just long enough to do the interrogations.