Finch began to cry. “I told Omori I wanted a white woman, and he got her for me. I don’t even think she ever told me her name. The picture was in her purse, and I found it on the floor after she left one time. She was drugged up all the time, and we just fucked. She was fucking Omori and all the Japanese officers. I don’t know anything more, I swear it.”
Alexa took a deep breath and tried to keep control of her emotions. What had happened to Melissa was what would have happened to her had she remained on Oahu. “What about her child?”
“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.
But what was their purpose? A raid on a distant field was a minor thing. Why betray themselves for such a matter? It would be an embarrassment, but one that could be hidden from anyone outside of Oahu. In no way would it affect the fleet or change the course of events in Hawaii. The annexation had already taken place, so what was the reason?
Omori stepped outside. It was a couple of hours until dawn. He could see the fleet, and most of the ships were still illuminated. In the distance, he could hear the drone of planes. At least the fleet was well protected.
CHAPTER 23
It was a miracle, Magruder thought. The skies over Oahu were clear, and the ships below in Pearl Harbor were lit up like Christmas trees. No one had yet spotted his flight of planes, and he began to hope that he could make his attack without any interference.
It was not to be. A glowing finger of tracers lifted from a large ship-a cruiser or a battleship-as someone realized that the unexpected planes were hostile.
Magruder’s eleven pilots were confused by the abundance of targets. Their orders had been to hit the carriers first and the fuel tanks second, but it almost seemed like there were more Jap carriers than Magruder had planes. This was something Magruder hadn’t anticipated, and he ordered his pilots to spread out and attack several targets. He didn’t want all eleven dropping their bombs on the same ship.
More antiaircraft batteries opened up, and the sky was alive with shells. Magruder screamed for them to attack, and the eleven planes began their dives.
And then there were ten as a Wildcat to the left exploded. Magruder homed in on a carrier. Guns were firing everywhere, and it dawned on him that they were just firing into the sky and hadn’t really seen him in the darkness.
He pulled the release, and his two small bombs fell free and exploded on the flight deck. He banked away, and suddenly the largest ship in the world was in front of him, its antiaircraft guns blazing. Magruder fired his machine guns even though he knew doing so was like shooting spitballs at an elephant. Maybe he would hit some of the people shooting at him.