"Sabotage. I was just telling Hully the very same thing."
"Well, you're right. Since the middle of last year, I've been developing a network of contacts in the Japanese community-trustworthy ones, Americans who happen to be Japanese."
Both of the writer's eyebrows lifted. "Is there such a thing?"
"Oh yes. The vast majority of these Hawaii-born Japanese are loyal to our Sag. And a number of them have been helping me identify the potentially dangerous sorts among them."
"What does that have to do with a German like Kuhn?"
Sterling spoke softly, but with an edge. "When the war begins, we'll be cracking down on disloyal Japs-arrests will be made. My contacts tell me that Kuhn is a 'sleeper' agent-set to take over as top local spy, when and if the top Japanese agents on this island are arrested, after hostilities begin."
"Your contacts are trustworthy? I mean, can you really trust these nisei?"
"I trust them," Sterling said. "But I also trust my fellow FBI agents, who've been keeping their eyes peeled. A little over a month ago, the Tatsuta Maru arrived in Honolulu, delivering a pair of Japanese diplomats, both of whom met with Kuhn-who then deposited fourteen thousand dollars in cash in a local bank."
Burroughs took another swig of the root beer.
"You've convinced me-he's a rat. Where do I come in?"
Sterling's face was a tight mask. "Things are heating up. This war is coming. I can use another pair of eyes here at the Niumalu … informed eyes… not to do any spying or poking around, understand-just to keep watch. I'm not here during the day, and Kuhn frequently is."
"You're not asking me to do surveillance-take notes…"
"No. Just keep your head up. Stay alert. Let me know if you see anything, anyone, suspicious around Kuhn or his cottage."
"Glad to help," Burroughs said.
"All right, then-mum's the word." Sterling slapped his thighs, and rose. "See you tonight at the luau?"
Burroughs stood. "I'll be there-just don't pass me any of that goddamn library paste."
The FBI man chuckled, shook the writer's hand, collected the empty soda-pop bottles, and went out, leaving an energized Burroughs behind.
Feeling revitalized, Edgar Rice Burroughs returned to Venus, wondering if this time he might make it to the fire before it went out.
THREE
The Niumalu was noted for its luaus, which were held once a month. Guests often asked why the hotel didn't hold their version of a native feast every week, but the truth was, it took seven to ten days to properly prepare for the event.
The central set piece of the affair was itself a daylong chore: the roasting of a kalua pig, hoofs and all. The pig was stuffed with hot rocks, lowered into a barbecue pit called an imu, which was already filled with red-hot rocks, then the unprotesting pig was covered with ti leaves, buried under earth and canvas, and left to slowly cook, hour upon hour.
The result was melt-in-your-mouth succulence, a tender, delicious, fall-off-the-bone meat the likes of which Hully Burroughs had never tasted. Hully was an ardent supporter of the picturesque ritual-even if O. B. did dismiss the tradition of roasting a pig in an imu as "a lot of silly fuss over cooking some damn pork."
All day long, hotel manager Fred Bivens and his staff had been bustling around the palm-shaded grounds, in particular dealing with deliveries of foodstuffs. That little Japanese grocer, Yoshio Harada, had been bringing pickup-truckloads of fresh fish and produce over from his shop at the Aala Market in Chinatown. That afternoon, Hully-in his tennis whites, waiting to meet his father on the court-had helped the nice little guy unload for a while, making a few trips to the rear kitchen door.
Harada-slight, mustached, primly businesslike in a white short-sleeved shirt with a red tie-had an "in" with the hotel staff: his niece, Pearl, was the featured singer with the Niumalu band, which was a popular local attraction.
"You are very kind, Burroughs-san," Harada said. "Pearl speak very well of you."
"She's never given me the time of day, though," Hully said, hauling a bushel basket of sweet potatoes.
"Pearl is popular girl," the grocer said, smile flashing under the neatly trimmed mustache, the little man carrying enough bananas to send Tarzan's pet monkey into a frenzy.
Actually, Hully was aware that the pretty singer-who indeed had been "popular," dating any number of guys in recent months-was seriously seeing Ensign Bill Fielder, a good pal of Hully's. But he didn't mention this to the grocer, as he wasn't sure how the Japanese gent would react to his daughter dating a haole.
When Hully wandered over to the tennis court to wait for his dad, he discovered Pearl sunbathing on the strip of sand nearby. Hully and the singer were friendly, but (as he'd indicated to her uncle) she'd always been involved with one guy or another, and he never seemed to get his turn.
He would've loved to have one: she was a stunning girl in her early twenties, with black hair and a slender, curvy form made obvious by a formfitting pink bathing suit, petite at five-two or — three, with wonderful high cheekbones, a flawless complexion and full lips that always seemed poised to pucker into a kiss. Her father, back home in San Francisco, was Japanese; but her mother, also in Frisco, was white, and the Eurasian combination was exquisite. If he hadn't known of her Japanese blood, Hully would never have guessed its presence, her dark eyes lacking the distinctive Asian almond shape; still, something exotic lurked in those features.
Before his father showed up for tennis, Hully sat hugging his knees on the sand, next to Pearl, and they chatted. She was on her back, half sitting, leaning on her elbows.
"I suppose Bill's got your dance card filled tonight," he said.
Her smile was lazy yet dazzling and as white as her name. "I only get to dance on a few songs-I have to sing for my supper, you know….Is Bill's father going to be here tonight?"
Colonel Kendall Fielder, chief of Army intelligence, was a good Mend of the elder Burroughs, and frequently stopped by the Niumalu.
"I think so," Hully said. "He's a regular at these luaus."
She seemed troubled. "I hope the colonel won't mind seeing his son dance with the likes of me." "He'll only be jealous."
The smile returned. "If Bill's father breaks us up, how about catching me on the rebound?"
Hully felt his heart race-foolish though that was. "Why wait?"
She shrugged, stared toward the vast blue of the ocean, visible through an opening in the palms and across a stubby fence guarding a short drop-off. "I don't think your father would like me much, either. He always growls at me."
"He growls at everybody. Anyway, he doesn't think for me-I'm free, wuh …" He paused.
"White and twenty-one?" The smile was sad now, but no less lovely. "Don't kid yourself, Hully. These are… precarious times. You know Colonel Fielder well, don't you?"
"Fairly well. He and my pop are tight as ticks." The lovely dark eyes tightened. "Do you think you … or your father… could introduce us? I'd really like to talk to Colonel Fielder."
"I'm sure you could meet him." A strange sense of urgency throbbed in the girl's voice. "I really need to see him, alone…. Would you help me? Perhaps speak to your father, and ask him to arrange a meeting?"
"Well… sure."
Hully's heart wasn't racing now. The breathtaking Pearl simply wanted his help so she could make her case to her beau's father-which no doubt meant Bill had finally popped the question. And Hully felt sad for her, sorry for her, because he knew how the colonel was likely to respond, in this climate of war clouds, to the notion of his son marrying a nisei.