Though still in his fifties, Takamora’s face was developing the languid cast common to many elderly Japanese men. His eyes had begun to retreat behind permanent bags. His body, once slender and toned from years of exercise, had paunched and bowed, so his trunk now appeared too large for his thin legs to support.
Warm light glinted off the frames of the paintings and brought out the beautiful burnish of the cherry wood paneling of Ohnishi’s private study. Takamora took the leather winged-back chair as Ohnishi wheeled behind his broad ormolu-topped desk.
“Smoke if you wish,” Ohnishi invited.
Takamora wasted no time lighting a Marlboro with a gaily colored disposable lighter.
“What have you to report?”
From behind a blue-gray cloud of smoke, Takamora spoke slowly to mask the tension he felt whenever he was in Ohnishi’s presence. “We are nearly ready to send the ultimatum to the President. I have two full divisions of loyal National Guards ready to blockade Pearl Harbor and the airport. The governor will return from the mainland next week; we will detain him as soon as he lands. Our senators and representatives can be called back from Washington with only a moment’s notice. If they resist our plans, they too will be detained — however, Senator Namura has already expressed an interest in joining us.
“I have full assurances from all the civic organizations involved that they are prepared to do their part with the strikes and marches. The press, too, is ready. There will be a full blackout for forty-eight hours after the start date. The news will be broadcast as usual, but will make no references to the coup.
“I have here,” Takamora reached into his jacket pocket and removed a sheet of paper, “the names of the satellite technicians on the islands who could broadcast unauthorized stories. I will have them detained or their equipment destroyed, whichever is necessary.”
“And the phone service?”
“The main microwave transmission towers and the mainland cable junction will be taken and controlled by our troops. It’s inevitable that some news of the coup will escape before we’re ready for our own broadcasts, but it will be largely unconfirmable.”
“You have done well, David. All seems to be in order, but there is a slight problem.”
“What is that?” Takamora asked, leaning forward in his chair.
The study door opened and the menacing form of Kenji, Ohnishi’s assistant/bodyguard, moved to stand behind the mayor’s chair, his steel-hard hands held at his sides.
“And what is that problem?” Takamora repeated, a bit more nervously, after a glance at the newcomer.
“The letter I had written as an ultimatum to the President has been removed from my office. I can only assume it has been sent to Washington.”
Takamora couldn’t hide his surprise. “We still need more time, why did you send it?”
“I did not say, David, that I sent the letter. I said that it had been removed from my office. The only person to know of this letter and to have spent time in my office alone is you. Therefore, I must ask if you sent the letter to the President without my authorization?”
“I have only seen that letter once, I swear.” Takamora quickly realized the danger he was in. “I would never take it from you.”
“I want to believe you, David. I really do, but I find that I can’t. I don’t know what you wished to gain from your action, but I assure you that I know its results.”
“I swear I didn’t take the letter.” Sweat beaded against Takamora’s waxen skin.
“You are the only person to have any access to this room and to know the location of my safe. I must congratulate you on your safecracking abilities. Most impressive.” There was no admiration in Ohnishi’s voice. “If you think your act will cripple my efforts in any way, you are very wrong.
“As we speak, arms are being readied for transit here. I have made arrangements for a highly motivated mercenary army. Of course, it would be easier to use your National Guard troops, but I will manage without them.
“David, you could have been the President of the newest and possibly most wealthy nation on the planet if you hadn’t become greedy and crossed me.”
“I didn’t.” Desperation edged Takamora’s voice up an octave.
“I find it admirable that you retain your innocence even to the end,” Ohnishi said sadly.
With those words, Kenji struck.
He whipped a thin nylon cord around David Takamora’s neck in a lightning-quick maneuver. With amazing strength, he torqued the cord into the mayor’s throat. Takamora clawed at the garrote as it bit deeper and deeper, his tongue thickening as it thrust between his tobacco-stained teeth. His chokes came as thin reedy gasps as the life was pulled from him.
Ohnishi sat neutrally as the grisly murder took place, his wrinkled fingers laced perfectly on the cool desktop.
Kenji pulled tighter as Takamora’s struggles diminished. After a few moments all movement ceased. Mayor David Takamora was dead.
Kenji slipped the cord from around the corpse’s neck, revealing a razor-thin line of blood where the skin had parted under relentless pressure. He cleaned his garrote on Takamora’s suit coat, coiled the weapon, and slipped it into the pocket of his baggy black pants.
“I’m relieved that his bowels didn’t void,” Ohnishi remarked, sniffing delicately. “Feed the body to the dogs and return to me.”
Kenji returned from his gruesome task after nearly thirty minutes. Despite a change of clothing, Ohnishi noted that the stench of death still clung to his assistant, as always.
“It is done,” Kenji said.
“What is it?” Ohnishi asked, knowing something was bothering this man whom he considered a son. “Don’t let Takamora’s ambition upset you.”
“It is not his ambition that upset me. It is yours.”
“Don’t start that again, Kenji,” Ohnishi warned, but his assistant continued.
“I have followed your orders concerning this operation, but I do not agree with them. What you planned with Takamora was only a sideshow for our true aims, yet you treat it with your full attention. Our priority lies elsewhere. Takamora’s betrayal should be a sign to stop this foolish coup, which was meant as a contingency plan in the first place. It cannot succeed; you must realize that. And it puts into jeopardy what we are really working for.”
“Has our Russian friend so intimidated you, Kenji, that you no longer trust in me?”
“No, Ohnishi-San,” Kenji replied. “But we must first concentrate on our obligations to him.”
“Let me tell you something about our Russian ally. He will cross us just as quickly as we do him. We are merely tools to him. Our first loyalty must be with the people of Hawaii, not some white taskmaster bent on our control.”
“But we made promises…”
“They mean nothing now. Takamora’s ambition has changed everything. When I first wrote that letter declaring our independence, I knew that it would be sent whether Kerikov ordered it or not. What we are doing must proceed. Takamora’s betrayal has merely pushed up our deadline. I’m certain that the President is planning some sort of reprisal. That is why we must strike now. The coup can be successful without Takamora. We can control his people.”
Kenji was silent for a moment, his dark eyes downcast. “And the arms you spoke of?”
“I dealt directly with an old friend for those, an Egyptian named Suleiman el-aziz Suleiman.”
“And the mercenary army?”
“Suleiman is also arranging for them. Hard currency is a powerful tool in such matters. The mercenaries will augment Takamora’s National Guard troops — or replace them if they refuse to follow me.”
“I did not realize,” Kenji said dejectedly.
“You are like my son, but even a father must do things without his son’s awareness. It changes nothing between us, Kenji. Do not be hurt.”