Fiends of the Rising Sun (3 page)

"You would do well to listen," the Führer added, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I have seen what Constanta's kind can do. They offer the Axis a weapon against which our enemies can have little defence. If you form an alliance with the Rumanians, they can offer you that same weapon."

The general raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Hitler's words. "And what is this weapon?" he asked via Hitori. The adjutant sensed Constanta's gaze upon him and felt an uncanny fight or flight urge surging through his veins. The hairs on the back of Hitori's neck stood up and his hand shifted to the hilt of his grandfather's samurai sword, tensed and ready to fend off an attack. Thinking back on the meeting afterwards, Hitori couldn't explain, even to himself, why he had suddenly felt so endangered. There was just something behind Constanta's gaze, a hunger that verged on the inhuman, like the stare of a hungry predator.

The Rumanian laughed out loud, amused by the young soldier's reaction. "Perhaps it would be better if you spoke of this without the company of your adjutant. He seems perturbed by my presence, general." Constanta's steely gaze shifted to Tojo, who took a step back under its power. Overcoming his fear, Hitori stepped between the two men and hissed at the Rumanian in English.

"I go where the general goes, unless he tells me otherwise."

Constanta smiled before replying, also in English, "You show remarkable strength of will for one so young. Most are too terrified to challenge me directly, let alone intervene on behalf of others. You intrigue me. What is your name?"

"Zenji Hitori."

"Very good, Zenji Hitori, I admire a man who can control his fears and even confront their source. I will remember your name for the future. Now, let your master and I speak; you need not worry on his account, he's quite safe."

The adjutant stared hard into Constanta's eyes before stepping aside. The Führer, Tojo and the Rumanian strolled away from Hitori along the corridor, Constanta acting as interpreter between the two allies. Twice, the unlikely trio stopped to look back at the adjutant, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. Whatever it was, Constanta seemed most interested in him. Hitori was not used to being looked at like that, as if he was an object, not a person. It left him feeling disquieted and filled with an unaccountable dread. The sooner he got the general back on the plane to Tokyo, the happier Hitori would be.

PART ONE: September 1941

FROM: Private Juan Martinez, somewhere in the Pacific.

DATE: September 15, 1941

Dear Selma,

We're well on our way to the Philippines. I have to admit, I never thought I'd be writing that when we were growing up on the farm, but life can take you to funny places sometimes. Hard to believe it's only five months since I got drafted. Hard to believe it's only a few years since I was playing ball at Field High, dreaming about being a big league hitter and seeing the world. Now I am seeing the world, thanks to the Army!

Sorry I haven't written before now, but it's been a mad scramble since we shipped out of El Paso and I wasn't sure where we were headed. Once we completed basic training, the Army could send us anywhere. Me and the other guys in our unit got put on a train headed west. After what felt like forever we ended up in San Francisco. Sis, you've never seen a place like it! Everywhere we went there were hills, and so many people! We saw the Golden Gate Bridge and these things they call trams and all kinds of crazy stuff. You wouldn't believe your eyes, honestly.

Anyways, they put us on barges and we went across the bay to a place called Angel Island. We had a week stationed at the Army camp there before a liner called the President Coolidge arrived to take us into the Pacific. I was kind of worried about being seasick and making a fool of myself, but I guess I must be a natural sailor or something because I haven't thrown up once. Some of the other guys haven't been so lucky. Poor Father Kelly, our priest, he's been looking green around the gills from the moment we got on board ship.

According to Buntz we'll probably stop in Hawaii on our way to the Philippines. He says we might get a day or two there before heading on. I don't know how long it'll take us to get where we're going, or what'll happen once we do. Some of the guys who work on the ship have been saying there's a war coming but I don't believe it. Sure, they're fighting over there in Europe, but that's got nothing to do with us, right?

Please write and tell me how Mom is doing, and give my best to Mack and everyone at the store. I hope you're all proud of me. I'll try and send you a photo of me in my uniform, once I get a uniform that fits properly! I'd better sign off now. I can hear the sergeant shouting and that usually means somebody's in trouble, one way or another. Please send me some news from home. It might take a while for your letter to find me, so don't worry if it takes a while for me to reply. Besides, you know I'm not big on writing and stuff, but I'll do my best.

Your brother,

Juan.

ONE

Father Kelly stepped off the gangplank onto dry land and made the sign of the cross, offering a silent prayer to heaven.
Thank you, oh Lord, for delivering us safely to our destination. Look after these young men as they run wild here in Hawaii. Keep them from harm and from harming others. Amen
. He pulled at his clerical collar, conscious of how closely it clung to his neck. Studying at the seminary in Chicago, where it seemed to be winter so many months of the year, the collar helped keep out the cold. Here in the stifling humidity of Hawaii, it felt like a vice around his throat.

The priest lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the dazzling sun and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Beyond the dock buildings were several multi-storey structures, but few stretched towards the sky. No, the dominant features on the horizon were the lush, green hills and mountains, to which clumps of white cloud clung like scarves of mist. The contrast between the jutting emerald behemoths and the brilliant azure sky overhead was startling. Father Kelly wondered if the weather would be so oppressive, so overwhelming when they reach the Philippines. He hoped not, but it was too late to change his mind.

All around him members of the 200th Coast Artillery were whooping and hollering at each other as they spilled on to the quayside, overjoyed at being off the ship that had brought them from San Francisco to this island in the middle of the Pacific. The priest couldn't help smiling at their joy. It was infectious, much like the social diseases several of them were likely to contract over the next twenty-four hours. Such was the reality of life in the armed forces. Young men full of hormones were on their way to some distant island where female company could well be at a premium, the sowing of wild oats en route was all but inevitable. Father Kelly sighed. He had the same urges himself, of course, but his vow of chastity forbade such indulgences. Besides, he had more pressing problems.

"Father, are you going anywhere near a mailbox?" an eager voice asked. The priest turned to see Private Martinez running towards him in a neatly pressed uniform, an envelope clutched in one hand. "It's just I promised my sister I'd write and I did, but I know that if I don't get this in the mail today-"

"Don't worry," the priest cut in, smiling at the young soldier. "I'd be happy to post it for you. This is your first shore leave, isn't it?"

"Yes, father," Martinez grinned. He ran a hand across his close-cropped black curls. "I even got my hair cut."

"It suits you."

"What about the moustache?"

"Moustache?" The priest looked closer and noticed a few wisps of downy hair gathered on the soldier's upper lip. "Ah, yes, I see, very impressive."

Martinez shrugged. "I only started growing it a few days ago, but I think it makes me look older, don't you?"

"Definitely. You could be twenty."

Martinez's shoulders slumped a little. "Father, I am twenty."

"Ah! Well, I've never been very good at guessing anyone's age," the priest bluffed, adjusting his silver rimmed spectacles. "My eyesight leaves something to be desired, as well, if I'm being honest."

"Ah, who am I trying to kid?" the young soldier asked. "I'm still a baby face kid, like I've always been. My pop was the same. The Hawaiian women are gonna know I've never-" Martinez stopped, remembering who he was talking to. "Sorry, father, I didn't mean to... sorry."

"Don't worry, Juan. I may not be wise but I know a little of the world." The priest smiled. "I'm sure you'll be a hit with the ladies, but be careful, okay?"

Martinez grinned, his boyish enthusiasm resurfacing. "I've got two guides to show me around Honolulu, what could possibly go wrong?"

"Well, that depends. Who are your guides?"

"Buntz and Wierzbowski," the young soldier said, pointing at a pair of impatient soldiers waiting for him. One was overweight, with thinning hair and a cheesy moustache. Father Kelly had no trouble recognising the surly, self-serving slob, even at this distance. The other man was tall, sinewy and lean of face, with a stance that suggested he was itching for a fight. The priest had yet to encounter Wierzbowski, but it was only a matter of time. With a name like that he had to be of Polish descent and almost certainly a Catholic. Lapsed or otherwise, Wierzbowski would soon be in need of Father Kelly's services. Martinez waved to them before bidding the priest farewell. "I'll see you at mass tomorrow, father."

"Juan, the letter to your sister?"

Martinez blushed and handed over the envelope. "Selma will kill me if I don't write. Thanks for posting it, father."

The priest nodded, muttering a prayer under his breath for the safe return of Private Juan Martinez as the young soldier ran to join his brothers in arms. Father Kelly had heard Oahu was a vibrant and exciting island, with all manner of temptations on offer to unwary visitors. With Buntz and Wierzbowski as his guides, Martinez was going to need all the help he could get to make it back on board ship in time for tomorrow's sailing to the Philippines.

Hitori couldn't believe it when he stepped from the plane in Tokyo and found his oldest friend in the world waiting on the tarmac.

"Shiro? What on earth are you doing here?"

Suzuki's face split into a smile, softening his hooded eyes and cruel mouth. "Waiting for you, of course!" The two men embraced, clapping each other on the back and laughing at being reunited. They had grown up in the same neighbourhood, attended the same military academy and been given their postings to Manchuria on the same day. Their lives had diverged thereafter, Hitori becoming a rising star in the imperial army while Suzuki worked his way more steadily up through the ranks. Perhaps it was Hitori's samurai ancestry that made him stand out, drawing the attention of powerful men like General Tojo.

Whatever the reason, Hitori had found himself making less of an effort to keep in touch with his old friend as the years went by. He had no wish to make Suzuki lose face by flaunting his promotions at the lower ranked officer. Now they were together again, Hitori realised how much he had missed his friend. Life in the army was tough enough, without forsaking those who'd been close to you and experienced the same horrors of the battlefield.

"It's good to see you," Hitori said, and he meant it.

"You too," Suzuki agreed.

"So, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you. I'm to deliver you to the general as a matter of urgency."

Hitori smiled. "Are you his new adjutant?"

"There was an opening after you got transferred back to Manchuria. Tojo went through half a dozen candidates in as many months before settling on me. Apparently my name was on a list left behind by one of my predecessors." Suzuki grinned. "I'm guessing I have you to thank for that."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Well, thank you. It's the easiest job I've had since graduating from the academy, and my mother is much happier now that I'm no longer on the frontline." Suzuki gestured towards a staff car waiting nearby, a chauffeur stood obediently holding the passenger door open. "Your carriage awaits, Zenji!"

The two old friends got in the back of the sleek black vehicle. "Don't worry about your bags," Suzuki said. "I'm having them transferred directly to your new quarters at the Ministry of War."

"So my new posting is at the ministry?"

"Your orders didn't specify?"

Hitori shook his head. "Report back to Tokyo and await instructions."

"Typical! The sooner Tojo is prime minister, the better," Suzuki spat. He noticed the alarm on Hitori's face and laughed. "Don't worry; the driver is loyal to Tojo, so you need not fear anything he might tell others about our conversation."

"Fine, then what can you tell me about this new posting?"

"Not much," the new adjutant admitted. "It's top secret, but beyond that the general's been playing his cards very close to his chest. I did overhear something yesterday that made me wonder, though. Does the name Constanta mean anything to you?"

"Yes, it does. I met him once, at the Tripartite Pact signing in Berlin."

"I know your new posting involves him somehow. I believe Tojo wants you to head up a new covert operations unit, and Constanta has some involvement."

Hitori gazed out of the window at the cherry trees lining the boulevard. How he wished it was spring and the blossoms were out; they brought a delicate beauty to the ugliest of landscapes. But it was September and autumn was close.

"Who is this Constanta?" Suzuki asked. "His official file is all but empty, beyond stating his place of birth as Sighisoara in Rumania, the fact that he is considered part of the local aristocracy in a region called Transylvania, and that he's been sighted on numerous occasions along the battlefields of the Eastern Front."

"If you know all that, then you know more than I do," Hitori said. "All I can remember is how much his presence disturbed me in Berlin; that, and the fact that he could speak fluent Japanese, despite never having set foot in this country."

"Well, he's set foot in it now. Constanta's here in Tokyo!"