Toward Night's End (29 page)

Johnstone looked at his watch. Not yet ten. As if reading his thoughts, Matthew said, “Right on time.”

***

In the wheelhouse of the fishing trawler,
Viking II,
that was just a half mile off the western coast of Bainbridge Island, Captain Scott Drogel made a sweep of the rolling seas through his binoculars. Two seamen were on deck doing the same. One on the bow, one on the stern. But it was impossible to see anything. The fog was just too thick. The captain knew where the other fishing boats were supposed to be, keeping to the plan finalized just that afternoon, but he couldn’t see them.

Drogel had thought he would be able to spot the sub’s large sail that housed the conning tower where the periscope and radio antennas were extended. It had to surface if it was going to send men ashore, and the sail would be spotted. Unless of course, that wasn’t the plan. What if the plan was to fire upon the sleepy island, battering it down to soften any resistance? He wasn’t even sure the Navy brass had planned for such a contingency.

Just the day before, Captain Drogel had been present during the heated discussions among the Navy’s upper ranks. There had been much dissension about what to do with the fleet of naval ships docked in the Seattle area. Several high-ranking officers argued that if they didn’t put all the ships to sea, they would just be sitting ducks, and it would be Pearl Harbor all over again. Besides, the Pacific fleet was already decimated. They couldn’t afford any more damage. But the ranking rear admiral had overruled them. He reasoned that if all the ships were put to sea, the Japanese might very well smell a rat and scuttle their plans.

For that reason, no Navy ships were participating in the operation. Just these old fishing trawlers that should not be suspected by the Japanese. At least, that was the hope.

As he continued to scan the area with the binoculars, unable to detect a thing, Drogel thought about the very big risk the admiral was taking by leaving all their ships in port. What if there was more than one enemy submarine heading their way? Or Japanese battleships were soon to follow?

Suddenly he saw it. Gripping the binoculars firmly, he kept the glasses trained in the same spot of nothing but gray. There it was again. A darker gray appearing through the fog. The black sail. The sub had surfaced. His heart racing, Drogel picked up the ship radio. Remembering to use their pre-established code in case the enemy could pick up their radio calls since it had now surfaced, he said, “Hey, Dad, if you’re there, this is me. Scott.”

A moment later, a voice said, “Yes, Son, what is it?”

Good, thought Drogel. They could hear him loud and clear. “I’m calling it a night, Dad.”

“That’s fine, Son, Thanks for checking in.”

Drogel put the radio down. Who thought of these codes? But maybe it would work. If you were listening, you would think it was a simple conversation between a man and his grown son. “Calling it a night” meant the sub had surfaced. He wasn’t supposed to report further, and he felt that was just as well. It was too foggy to spot men going ashore and try to get an accurate count. But those waiting on the island had gotten his message.

They would be ready.

***

“Can’t see a thing,” griped Johnstone.

“That’s the whole idea,” explained Matthew.

“It’s perfect,” Merrick agreed.

The three of them had moved west where they now waited in the thick stand of cedar trees on the north end of Old Man Pete’s property. The fog was so thick that they could barely make out the large barn or the farmhouse just beyond it, yet both were less than 75 yards away. Only a dim light filtering through the barn’s wood slat walls gave away its location.

“This better work,” mumbled Johnstone.

Merrick looked at Matthew. “Ready?” The young man nodded. Although Merrick didn’t say anything, he agreed wholeheartedly with Johnstone. This damn well better work.

Matthew just stared into the impenetrable fog. The thought of a Japanese submarine so close to the island made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His only worry now was that he may have translated some of the data in the notebook incorrectly or even missed something significant, since he was not that well versed in reading Japanese. He also worried that their plans had changed since he had stolen the binder from Carsteen. But either way, it didn’t really matter.
Dragon’s Breath
was now underway. There was no turning back.

Johnstone caught Matthew’s eye and gave the young man a curt nod. Matthew nodded in return and silently slipped away.

While he could only see just a few feet in front of him, Matthew knew he had a sizeable advantage – he knew every inch of the small island as well as anyone. He made his way through the cedars, keeping to the woods that ringed Old Man Pete’s property, as he approached the landing zone. As he reached the bluff overlooking the cove, someone suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him to the ground. He quickly saw that it was a sergeant from their team, his face blackened with paint. “Kobata?” the man whispered.

Matthew simply nodded. There had been much discussion about the importance of radio and verbal silence, and Matthew didn’t trust himself to keep his voice low enough to not be heard. He had spent many youthful days in Harkin’s cove, and he could still remember how his father’s voice carried when he had called for his son to return home.

“They’re coming up now,” the sergeant quietly told him.

Matthew tried to see the narrow footpath, which he knew was just below them and led from the cove to the western tip of Old Man Pete’s strawberry farm. But the fog was just too thick. He couldn’t see a thing. He couldn’t help but wonder how the sergeant knew the Japanese had landed, but he knew that there were dozens of U.S. soldiers encircling the area, and somehow they must have silently communicated to each other.

Matthew was surprised when he suddenly heard them, rather than saw them. One of the men had stumbled, probably over a rock, and there was a whispered rebuke in Japanese. His heart hammered in his chest. It was true. Japanese soldiers were now on the island.
His
island. And they were on the steep trail just twenty yards below where he lay.

The haze started to lift a bit and Matthew could see them now. One after another, the Japanese soldiers made their way up the path, machine guns slung across their chests. At that point, it dawned on Matthew that he had not been given a weapon. Perhaps they hadn’t trusted him, but he suddenly felt naked. What if the Japanese soldiers happened to see one of them and opened fire? He would be defenseless.

As they rounded a large rock formation below, Matthew saw the leader of the group. It was the smaller man who had jumped him while he’d sat in Porter’s truck waiting for the exchange. He now knew the man’s name was Carl. Johnstone and Merrick had described the man to Matthew on their flight to Seattle, and Matthew had confirmed that it was probably the same man who had crushed his skull with a pistol and maybe even the same man that killed Tom.

Seeing the man again and watching as he escorted the Japanese soldiers up the pathway, Matthew craved for a gun. He would have liked nothing more than to kill the bastard right there. Instead, he forced himself to remain silent. As the last Japanese soldier passed below him, Matthew saw the man who brought up the rear, and actually thought he must be seeing wrong.

But as Matthew stared through the mist, he knew his eyes hadn’t betrayed him. A Japanese-American, a man he considered a friend, had betrayed them all.

Johnstone watched in the dim light of the barn as three U.S. Army soldiers quickly secured the large man’s hands behind his back. The detective was grateful that the thick man had been alone and had been no match for the soldiers. Merrick stepped forward as the soldiers held the man firmly. “How many?”

The bearded man just glared at Merrick. Suddenly Merrick kicked the man in the groin, and the large man groaned and collapsed to his knees. Merrick leaned over him. “How many Japanese?”

There was no response from the traitor. Merrick stepped back and nodded to the soldiers. A moment later a gun crashed down on the man’s head, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Johnstone turned away and moved near one of the three anti-aircraft guns that filled the barn. There was only a single bulb near the front entrance, but he could make out the prominent features of the huge weapon in front of him. The 18-foot long artillery gun sat on a metal chassis and stood fifteen feet in height. Eight feet wide, the weapon had two wheels in the front and two in the rear, which allowed the gun to be maneuvered into position. Not a military man, Johnstone had learned quite a bit over the last two days, and now knew that it took at least two men to fire such a weapon, preferably three.

“Let’s go,” Merrick whispered, pulling Johnstone away.

Merrick led him behind the last anti-aircraft gun, and they lay down on the floor, out of sight. The back of the barn was pitch black, but Johnstone found that by moving his head just slightly he could peer around the huge tire and see the entrance where the light bulb burned. He knew there were nine U.S. soldiers also hidden in the dark corners of the barn, but he didn’t try to spot them. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the barn door.

A few moments later, he saw the barn door swing open and Carl entered, followed by seven Japanese soldiers. The last man to enter was George Kanagawa. Shocked, Johnstone let out an audible gasp and felt Merrick painfully squeeze his arm in warning.

Luckily, the scuffling of so many feet into the barn had drowned out Johnstone’s gaffe. He watched as Kanagawa instructed the men in Japanese, and one by one the soldiers relaxed and found a place to sit cross-legged on the floor. The barn door closed again, and Johnstone could feel his heart beating so hard he would have sworn that it could be heard as well.

How long would it take Matthew?

***

Matthew hadn’t been surprised to find the back door unlocked. No one on the island locked their doors, and luckily, at least in this regard, Old Man Pete was like everyone else. The sergeant had insisted on going inside with him, and Matthew didn’t argue. They found several bottles of whiskey and vodka in the kitchen and quickly took them outside.

Walking around to the front of the house, Matthew couldn’t help but glance at the barn. There was still a light inside, but it was amazingly quiet. In front of Old Man Pete’s porch, two soldiers had stacked a heap of cedar branches and kindling wood. One of the soldiers quickly took the whiskey and vodka bottles from them and dowsed the wood pile. Another soldier struck a match and everyone backed safely away. The soldier tossed the match, and a moment later the wood erupted into a huge fireball.

“Go, go, go,” the sergeant hissed, and Matthew took off.

Passing through the tiny living room, Matthew could see the towering flames outside the window, and he hoped that they hadn’t gotten it too close to the house. He quickly found the only bedroom. Old Man Pete snored fitfully, oblivious to his own impending doom. For a moment, Matthew pitied the old man. But then remembered that he and Tom had been held captive in Old Man Pete’s smaller barn. And Tom had been shot dead on Old Man Pete’s farm. Old Man Pete didn’t deserve anyone’s pity.

“Wake up!” Matthew said, shaking Old Man Pete’s shoulder roughly. “Hey, Old Man Pete! Wake up! Get up!”

Old Man Pete sat up with a disoriented grunt. “What—?”

“It’s me, Matthew Kobata! Get up!”

“Matthew?”

“Get up!” Matthew pulled on the old man’s arm. “C’mon!”

“Matthew?” As Old Man Pete got out of bed, Matthew saw that he was fully clothed in pants and a work shirt. He had probably passed out on the bed and then gotten under the covers at some point.

“Outside, c’mon!”

“Matthew Kobata? That you?”

“C’mon!”

Clearly flustered, Old Man Pete followed Matthew. In the living room he saw the flames outside and gave a startled cry.

“That’s right, there’s a fire. C’mon!”

“My God—”

“C’mon!” Matthew yelled, his patience gone. “Right now!”

***

“Where’s Beckner?” George Kanagawa asked Carl.

Johnstone held his breath. Did they suspect something?

“Where he’s supposed to be.” Carl lit a cigarette. Johnstone knew that meant patrolling the perimeter of the barn.

“Didn’t see him.”

“If you had, he wouldn’t be doing his job, now would he?” Carl sneered.

George studied Carl for a moment, then nodded.

“Carl! Carl, help me! Carl!” The voice bellowed from just outside the door. “Carl, help!”

Johnstone watched as George and Carl exchanged worried looks. Then George motioned the Japanese soldiers against the side wall, and they quickly scurried away and faded into the shadows. Carl approached the barn door. He looked back over his shoulder. The barn was quiet. No Japanese soldiers were visible.

“Carl, c’mon! Help me! I’ve gotta fire!”

Carl cracked open the door and slipped out. The door closed after him and Johnstone imagined that Old Man Pete never even saw the large anti-aircraft guns inside.

***

“Shit!” Carl exclaimed, seeing the fire. Standing near the barn and looking through the fog it appeared that the house was on fire.

“Help me,” Old Man Pete cried.

“Beckner!” Carl called out. “Beckner!”

“C’mon!” Old Man Pete urged him.

Carl looked into the nearby woods, clearly puzzled. “Where’s Beckner?”

“You gotta help me!” the old man implored him. “Whole damned house could go!”

Carl hesitated. Then he trotted off, heading for the house. But he never got more than fifty feet from the barn. A U.S. soldier crept up behind him and took him down. There was a brief struggle, but the soldier had Carl’s arm pinned painfully behind his back.

“Beckner!” Carl screamed. The soldier slammed his fist into Carl’s face and the man was immediately silenced.

Matthew approached Old Man Pete who stood watching, alarmed and confused by what was happening. Three soldiers quickly handcuffed the old man who looked to Matthew with pleading eyes. The sergeant suddenly appeared next to Matthew. “You’re up.”