Fiends of the Rising Sun (22 page)

"Yes. The outer doors are locked, as was the door to my office."

"Locks and keys are no barrier to my kind," the stranger replied. He grinned at Seki, a mesmerising gleam in his eyes. "Once I've gone, you will return to your task. Make sure nothing remains that could alert the Americans to any and all covert activities on the island."

"Make sure nothing remains," Seki echoed, his will no longer his own.

"If you make it back to Tokyo, ask for Zenji Hitori at the Ministry of War. I might have a place for you within my cadre. For now, close your eyes."

Seki did as he was bid. When nothing had happened after a minute, he dared to open his eyes again. He was standing by the filing cabinet once more, though he had no memory of having returned there. Seki almost wondered if he'd imagined the whole incident, until he noticed the map of Oahu still spread out on his desk. Atop the map lay a card with an insignia etched across it in blood red ink: a bat with wings unfurled, holding the rising sun symbol of the empire in its talons. Seki's fingers trembled as he picked up the card. He turned it over and found six words on the reverse, written by a spidery hand in red ink: Remember the symbol, burn the card.

Nurse Baker's wedding outfit was covered in blood by the time Wierzbowski reached the base hospital at Fort Stotsenberg. The brief engagement made it impossible to find her a dress, so she had borrowed a clean white blouse and matching skirt from one of the other nurses, and a veil had been fashioned from a lace curtain. Baker had been waiting in the entrance for Sergeant Aimes, who was supposed to give her away. Instead she found herself summoned to treat a collapsed soldier. She'd responded without a second thought, flinging the veil aside when it got in her way.

Wierzbowski was still bleeding freely when she arrived, and the crimson mess was soon all over her blouse and skirt. Once the wound was staunched, she had him transported by stretcher to the hospital. Baker questioned her fiancé about his friend's collapse as they hurried after the stretcher-bearers. It didn't take many symptoms for Baker to identify the likely cause. She briefed the doctor on duty as soon as Wierzbowski was carried inside the hospital. "Patient collapsed after several hours of strenuous exertion outside, but he'd already been running a temperature while exhibiting tiredness and muscle pain for several days. Witnesses say he started shivering shortly before the collapse, and seemed confused when questioned."

"Where'd all the blood come from?"

"Cracked his head open on the edge of a metal gun platform. I stopped the bleeding at the scene before moving him. I'd say he's got malaria."

The doctor gave Wierzbowski a cursory examination before nodding. "I'll take him to the ward, get some fluids back into him and start treatment. If he makes it through the next forty-eight hours, he'll be okay." The doctor led the stretcher-bearers away, leaving Baker alone with Martinez.

"It's supposed to be bad luck, a groom seeing his bride before the ceremony on their wedding day," she said.

He frowned. "I thought it was bad luck to see you in your dress."

"This is what I'm wearing to get married in," Baker replied.

"You sure about that?" Martinez asked. The nurse looked down and saw that her clothes were more crimson than white. "I think you look beautiful in anything," Martinez continued, "but that's a lot of blood."

"You're not kidding," she agreed as Sergeant Aimes walked in. "I look like I've been playing catch in an abattoir!"

"Well, you two ready?"

"Not quite," Baker said. "Give me five minutes." She kissed Martinez on the lips before sprinting for the door. "Tell Father Kelly I'll be right there!"

Maeda was experimenting with his thick black hair. After two months of being confined to barracks, he had finally earned himself a pass off base. It was Saturday night and he intended to have some fun in Honolulu. Hicks had been riding him ever since the brawl at Tokyo Joe's, apparently determined to make the young marine quit. But Maeda had stood his ground, refusing to give in. No matter how hard Hicks goaded him, Maeda kept his temper. No matter how many times he wanted to smash that smirk off the sergeant's face, the marine from San Francisco had held back, turned the other cheek. Now, at long last, he was getting his reward: a night on the town.

Determined to look his best, Maeda had gotten a haircut and borrowed a colourful Hawaiian shirt from one of the other marines. Now the only thing to be resolved was which side he should part his hair. Mostly he swept his hair across to the right, letting the fringe fall forward like a black comma above one eye, but tonight he favoured a change. He balanced a small mirror on a windowsill, crouching to see his reflection. He tried parting his hair on one side before shifting it back to the other. No matter what he did, it wouldn't sit properly. Maeda sighed. Maybe getting it cut had been the mistake.

Before he could decide, his hair was invaded by Paxton's fingers. The dirty digits turned the carefully brushed locks into a tousled mess in moments. "Hey!" Maeda protested, swatting his fellow marine. They slept in neighbouring bunks and Paxton was perpetually making a nuisance of himself.

"Don't worry about it, Pat, none of the ladies will be looking at you tonight, not when Captain Catnip is out on the prowl," Paxton grinned.

"Since when did you become a captain?" Maeda laughed.

"It's an honorary title, in recognition of my services to the many, many women of these islands," he replied before flopping down on his bunk.

"I'm surprised they haven't had you deported to the mainland."

"They know a good thing when they see one."

Maeda went back to brushing his hair, deciding his usual parting was the best choice. Stick with what you know and it would look after you, that had always been his father's attitude. Joining the marines was a way of rebelling against the stifling conservatism of the family home. Maeda once tried arguing with his father, pointing out the move from Japan to America in 1919 was not exactly the act of a man who stuck with what he knew. Maeda's father would not listen, saying that was different, but refusing to explain any further. So the American youth with the Oriental looks had enlisted with the Marine Corps. Perhaps his father would forgive him for that one day, perhaps.

"Hey, Pat, you listening to me?" Paxton demanded.

"Sorry, I was thinking about my father."

"Yeah, well I was thinking about that honey at Tokyo Joe's and what I'm gonna do with her. Tonight's the night, Pat, tonight is most definitely the night."

"You've been saying that since September."

"Well, one of these nights I'll be right, won't I?"

"Maybe." Maeda gave up on his hair, returning the brush and mirror to his locker. "Hey, how can tonight be the night? Hicks put you on sentry duty."

"I traded with Walton," Paxton replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"The sarge doesn't like anyone to trade duties, you know that."

"Sure, but Flinch doesn't."

"You should stop calling him that. The boy's got a name, y'know."

"Fine, have it your way, but Private David Walton hasn't got a clue what the sarge allows and doesn't allow. That boy's greener than a dollar bill."

"Who's greener than a dollar bill?" Walton asked as he walked in.

"You are, according to Paxton," Maeda replied. "Do you know how much trouble you'll be in if Hicks finds out you're covering for Paxton?"

Walton stopped, his face falling. "But we only swapped shifts."

"The sergeant'll have you spit-roasted at a luau if he catches Paxton going off-base when he's meant to be on sentry duty. Hicks hates that."

The youth pointed a finger at Paxton. "You never told me!"

"Stop your fretting, Flinch," he replied. "Nobody's gonna find out."

"I'm not taking the chance. You can do your own sentry duty."

Paxton was up off his bunk within moments. "Now wait a minute, boy. We made a deal, you and me. Back out of it now and I'll make sure everybody in the unit knows you welsh on your agreements. Nobody'll trust you after that. Hell, I'll make sure the whole damned corps knows about you."

"That's not fair," Walton complained. "I'd never have agreed if I'd-"

"Life's not fair," Paxton snarled, getting in the eighteen-year-old's face. "You wanna complain to somebody; go take it up with the almighty. In the meantime, I've got a date with little Miss Kissy Nagara tonight and I ain't missing out on account of you, Flinch."

Walton was about to protest, but Paxton feigned a punch, duping the young marine into jerking his head away. "Made you jump," Paxton sneered. "Now, you gonna keep your end of the bargain, or I do turn your name into a six-letter word for mud around these parts, hmm?" The youth looked to Maeda for support, but the other marine refused to intervene.

"All right, I'll do it," Walton conceded.

Paxton wrapped a beefy arm around his replacement's shoulders and slapped Walton lightly on the face. "That's my boy! See, that wasn't so hard now, was it? And you know I'll do the same for you, in the unlikely event you ever find a woman willing to give you more than the time of day."

"Thanks," Walton sighed. "You're all heart."

Paxton released him and swaggered back to his own bunk. "No, I'm all man, least that's what Kissy keeps telling me. The two of us are planning to put that to the test tonight, make no mistake about it." He pulled a bottle of blue liquid from beneath his pillow and emptied a few drops into the palm of one hand. Once the bottle was safely hidden away again, Paxton rubbed his hands together before slapping them on his cheeks.

Maeda sniffed the air. "What's that smell, formaldehyde?" Walton sniggered at the suggestion until a glare from Paxton silenced him.

"It's aftershave," the bully announced. "I bought it last time I was at the market. The guy selling it said this stuff is guaranteed to excite any female."

"A female dog, maybe, you smell like you're on heat."

"You're just jealous because you're not gonna see any action tonight," Paxton sneered at Maeda. "Kissy loves the smell of my aftershave."

"If you say so." Maeda finished lacing his boots and stood up. "Well, you ready to go, loverboy? Don't want to keep Kissy waiting, do you?"

"Ready? Hell, I was born ready!" Paxton marched out of the bunkroom, giving Walton a cocky salute as he passed. Maeda followed him, but paused to have a word with the browbeaten youth.

"Don't worry about Hicks," he said. "If Paxton does get caught, I'll tell the sarge you didn't know any better. You won't catch any flak for this."

Kissy couldn't explain what made her return to the bar on Saturday. She knew Kimura would be waiting for her, but felt irresistibly drawn back to Tokyo Joe's. The horrific image of her husband's head next to Kimura in the old icebox kept returning to her thoughts, telling her not to go back. But something else was calling to her, a yearning to be with Kimura, a whisper on the wind that she couldn't ignore. She wanted him, wanted to be with him, to feel his skin on her skin, surrender herself to him, utterly and completely. The thought of him touching her, penetrating her with his body created a shiver of disgust and excitement she couldn't ignore. No matter how hard she fought the urge, her feet kept walking back towards the bar, inexorably, inevitably.

She entered as the sun set over Oahu. The place was half full with sailors, pilots and marines, all of them ready for a night of drinking and debauchery. Kimura stood behind the bamboo bar mixing a cocktail, one of his hands wrapped in a bandage. He saw Kissy come in and smirked, as if he had been expecting her to arrive. I didn't imagine that voice in my mind, she realised, that whisper in the wind. He was calling me here, like a master calls his pet. He called and I came, unable to help myself. She felt ashamed of her weakness, of betraying her husband with the man that had doubtless murdered him, and that shame only increased her excitement.

Kissy walked over to the bar and reached behind the counter for a waitress's apron. Kimura grabbed her wrist and twisted, making her wince in pain. "You hurt me this morning," he hissed. "When this shift is over, I'm going to hurt you back." Kimura stared into her eyes. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she admitted, her face flushing red at what she was saying.

"From now on, you'll call me your master. I can make you come and go at my will, that makes you no better than a dog, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she whispered, not daring to look him in the eye.

"Yes, what?" he snarled, twisting her arm still further.

"Yes, master!" she squeaked, her pretty face contorting.

"That's better." Kimura smiled and let her go. "Now, go and do your job while I decide how best to punish you." He pulled out an apron and threw it in her face before turning away, his attention already shifting to a thirsty soldier. "Yes, private, what can I get for you?"

Kissy stumbled away, concentrating on tying the apron around her waist, not wanting the customers to see her shame. Kimura was a monster, but he was also right, she was his plaything now, to be used and discarded as he saw fit. He had slaughtered Tetsuzo, she was certain of that. There were less than twelve hours until the attack came. Once that happened, she would be as dispensable as her husband had been. Kimura would do to her whatever he had done to Tetsuzo, unless she found some way to escape. The worst part was that she didn't even want to leave. She found her heart racing at the thought of what he was going to do to her. Kissy was completely in his power.

Hitori sat in the back of the taxi, careful to keep the collar of his long coat turned up to stop his skin being exposed to the last rays from the setting sun. Saturday was fading away, and soon it would be the seventh of December, a date with destiny for the Japanese Empire. At times it had felt as if this day would never come, during the many months since Hitori had become a vampyr. Assembling a fighting force of kyuuketsuki had taken longer than anticipated, and training them how best to use their abilities was just as time consuming. But the preparations were at an end. History was about to happen.