Chameleons, a Novel Based Upon Actual Events Page 3

  Ferguson reaches down with her gloved hands and pulls up a rusty black box. Holding the box with both hands she presents it for his scrutiny. “Sir, this is certainly not a run of the mill find, not to mention the other items here.”

  Pastwa slips on a pair of gloves, takes the box from her and gives it a good once-over.

  “Well, this insignia could be IJN and that would be of interest.” He turns the box over a couple of times and gently shakes it, causing the contents to rattle.

  “It’s locked, Sir and rusted up tight.”

  Pastwa returns the box to Ferguson. “What else do you have?”

  “There are fragments of clothing, but more interesting is this.” Ferguson bends down, picks up a sealed baggie and offers it to Pastwa. “This pistol definitely appears to be Japanese and quite old at that. In fact, I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in my dad’s gun collection. And by the way, it’s loaded!”

  Pastwa carefully accepts the baggie and stares at the pistol. He turns to gaze toward the ocean for a few moments as he creates a little time for some thought before returning the pistol to Ferguson. Since he was a kid playing on the beach in front of his family home on Hanalei Bay he has found the sight of the ocean to be relaxing for he believes he can better focus when he stares out to sea. Realizing Ferguson is patiently waiting, he turns and looks her in the eyes.

  “Lieutenant, I’ve seen this type of hand gun before in the Smithsonian and unless I’m seriously mistaken it’s a ‘Nambu, semi-automatic.’ I think it was favored by officers in the old Imperial Japanese Navy, but don’t quote me on that, at least not just yet. This makes me even more curious about what’s inside that box.” Pastwa pauses as he looks around the site and notices Auntie Lee watching them as she stands on her backyard lanai.

  Pastwa points over to her. “Is that the owner?”

  “Yes Sir, that’s Auntie Lee and she’s quite concerned her pool construction is going to be delayed. She’s telling anyone who comes within earshot she must have it ready for her grandson’s high school graduation next month.”

  Ferguson pauses a moment. “Sir, we’re just about finished. In fact, I should be out of here within the next hour. Maybe you’d like to speak with her and appease her fears?”

  “I’ll do that, but first I want you to ship everything over to Lieutenant Karen Yamura back at Pearl, tonight. I gave her a heads up so she’ll be in her lab early tomorrow. Oh, I almost forgot, any word on the crew that dug this up?”

  “Yes, Commander, we tracked them down and I understand they were a bit shook up when the Coast Guard pulled them over.” Laughing, Ferguson continues, “We have their statements and they’ll be on your desk by morning. Nothing unusual there. They basically cut out of here to go fishing as fast as they could.”

  “Good job, Lieutenant. As usual, you have everything wrapped up water-tight. We all admire that trait and you can be sure the right people have taken notice. I also want you to know you didn’t draw this assignment by mere chance.”

  “Thank you Commander.” They exchange quick salutes as Pastwa turns and walks over to Auntie Lee while Ferguson returns to the task of cataloguing the evidence.

  Pastwa cannot help but notice Auntie Lee’s expression and recognizes she’s very concerned. He immediately likes her and is pleased he will be giving her some good news. “Good evening, ma’am, I’m Lieutenant Commander Chris Pastwa and believe me when I say I am truly sorry for all this activity. I know it must be very disrupting, but I assure you we will be packing up and leaving within the next hour or so.”

  “Oh thank you! Thank you!” Her facial expression instantly blooms from deep worry to unadulterated happiness. “You know my oldest grandson is graduating high school in a few weeks and I am having a big party for him. That is why I am putting in the pool.”

  She quickly reaches over to a nearby table and picks up a small dish filled to overflowing with senbei rice crackers and offers them to Pastwa. “Please try some of my senbei. I just made them this afternoon.”

  “Why thank you.” Smiling, he slips a cracker into his mouth. “My goodness, this is great. Better than any I’ve ever had!

  “I can put some in a bag for you to take home.” Auntie Lee is about to turn and rush into the house when Pastwa stops her.

  “No need Auntie. I think it best if you save them for your pool workers tomorrow. You know they should be back here first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh my, that is great news!” She exclaims. “I think I better get into the kitchen now. I need to be ready for tomorrow so forgive me, I must get busy, and thank you Sir! Have a good night.” She wheels around and scurries into the house while Pastwa, a smile on his face, turns to make a final survey of the scene.

  Ferguson is busy directing a pair of investigators as they carry an evidence bag containing the skeleton to a van parked near the excavation site. Over at the generator a sailor is getting ready to begin the process of shutting down the lighting. All in all, Pastwa is feeling satisfied the situation is under control. Glancing at his watch, he notices it’s nearly eleven pm.

  He motions for Ferguson to join him. “Listen, Steph,” his voice is barely above a whisper, “don’t speak with anyone about what you found here until I have clearance from Reardon. No need to stir up outside interest. If this stuff really dates back as far as World War II there will be a lot of folks wondering how the hell it wound up in this backyard. Until I can get the loose ends from my perspective all tied up, I strongly prefer this matter stay totally under the radar, understood?”

  “Of course, there are no rookies here. You can be sure I’ll brief my crew properly so consider it a closed issue.”

  “I’ll leave you to finish up. I need to be at the base for an early start tomorrow.” Pastwa pauses for a moment. “Listen, if you come across anything else, or if you need any assistance, call me. Really, I mean anything at all. You have my cell number, right?”

  “Yes I do and you’ll be the first call I make should I need anything.”

  “Good night,” says Pastwa.

  “Good night Sir.”

  Pastwa quickly disappears towards the front of the house while Ferguson stops and stares at the now empty grave site.

  “I have to wonder how this little guy wound up buried way out here.” Ferguson catches herself talking out loud and looks around to assure herself nobody is within earshot. Though alone, a slight red tint of embarrassment tones her cheeks.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “A PANDORA’S BOX”

  Pastwa is sitting behind his expansive, cluttered desk as he stares towards the early sunrise-lighted Pearl Harbor. He’s on the phone with his boss, Rear Admiral Roman Reardon.

  “Yes Admiral, I’m going over to Lieutenant Yamura’s office in a few minutes.”

  Pastwa continues to patiently listen, but finds it necessary to pull the phone a few inches away from his ear, for the longer Reardon speaks, the louder his voice becomes, a trait peculiar to him and to which Pastwa has become accustomed. “Sir, I’ll phone you as soon as I learn anything.” Pastwa continues listening. “Yes. I’m going right now. Yes Sir, consider it done!”

  “Whew,” Pastwa says out loud as he hangs up the phone. He walks to his outer office where his aide, Petty Officer First Class Mike Clarke is sitting at his desk. As usual at this time of day Clarke’s eating an over-sized, chocolate covered, fried buttermilk donut and reading a Honolulu daily newspaper. Pastwa stops and stares at him, waiting for an acknowledgment. Clarke, however, continues reading the paper totally oblivious to the fact his boss is standing about four feet away. Finally, Pastwa can’t take it anymore.

  “Clarke! Damnit! We’re heading over to Lieutenant Yamura’s right now! Drop the damn donut and grab my file!”

  Clarke practically falls out of his chair as he almost drops the donut while jumping to attention. “File, Sir? Which file is that?” Clarke is temporarily confused and flustered as his eyes desperately scan his desk in search of the requested f
ile.

  Mike Clarke has been assigned to Pastwa for nearly three years and knows him pretty well. Clarke is slightly pudgy and Pastwa enjoys teasing him that he never misses a meal or a snack. Clarke generally cannot put up a defense to such joking as he makes no bones about the fact he loves to eat. The camouflage pattern of his working uniform is something he appreciates for he is not particularly neat when it comes to eating. If it were not for his high metabolism rate and daily work-outs he likely would have eaten himself out of the navy years ago.

  He has grown to genuinely like and admire Pastwa and makes it a point to never let him down. Right now, however, Clarke’s in a bit of a panic because he’s drawing a blank on the file Pastwa’s seeking. In fact he feels as if his head is suddenly cramped up. Pastwa recognizes the confused look on Clarke’s face and decides to help him out.

  “The Kailua John Doe file from yesterday. I told you to set it up for me about an hour and a half ago.” Realizing what Pastwa is talking about he relaxes a bit. “Of course, Sir. It’s right here. We’re all set.” Clarke points to a green file on the top of his desk.

  “Fine, now ditch the donut, grab the file and let’s get going. Admiral Reardon’s made this a priority matter and you know what that means!” Pastwa hurries out the door. Clarke shoves the donut into his mouth, grabs the file and rushes to catch up.

  As they walk between the various buildings on the Pearl Harbor Navy Base, Pastwa brings Clarke up to date. “Seems this body they dug up yesterday out in Kailua might be a Japanese sailor because there was a rusted Imperial Japanese Navy officer’s pistol in its hands along with a rather mysterious metal box. And to top it all off, Reardon has a hunch it has something to do with the attack on Pearl Harbor back in’41.”

  “Sir, why would the Admiral think it could possibly have anything to do with the Pearl Harbor raid? Especially, as I know my history, they never recovered the bodies of any Japanese sailors, save for the shipmate of the midget submariner they discovered sleeping on a beach. All the other bodies were those of aviators.” Clarke can barely get the words out as he chomps on his donut.

  “Listen, I’ve known Admiral Reardon long enough to respect the fact that he has an absolutely uncanny ability to sense something is amiss before anyone else even has a clue. When it comes to a sixth sense, the Admiral can be outright scary. In fact, sometimes he’s beyond scary so I don’t ask questions, I just press forward.” Pastwa pauses as he sifts through his thoughts.

  “I have to admit there was something about that pistol, not to mention the metal box they dug up with it.” Pastwa stops for a few moments, Clarke at his side. “Clarke, the whole thing just feels wrong. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling we’re looking at big trouble here.”

  With the Forensics building coming into view they pick up their pace.

  “I’m really anxious to see what Karen has to say. She’s holding off opening that box until we get there.”

  “Yes Sir.” Clarke holds back a smile as he’s aware Pastwa and Lieutenant Karen Yamura have a social relationship. He’s known Pastwa since before then and is aware his demeanor has noticeably softened. Pastwa is much less on edge these days which usually makes life easier on Clarke.

  “I looked at the field notes this morning from Lieutenant Ferguson. It’s more than a little odd to find an old Imperial Japanese Navy sidearm like that one. Anyone who had an inkling of what kind of pistol it was would have sold the thing or put it on display in their den. They wouldn’t have buried it without damned good reason.”

  Clarke is growing slightly red in the face as he matches Pastwa’s increasingly brisk pace and is relieved as they finally reach their destination. They quickly climb the front stairs to the building and steer straight for Yamura’s first floor office. Once inside, they discover the inner door to her lab is closed and Pastwa politely knocks on the door.

  “Lieutenant Yamura, its Commander Pastwa and I have Clarke with me. Can we come in?” Both men pause until they hear Yamura respond. “Yes, of course, glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  They enter and find Yamura’s wearing over-sized protective goggles and a black rubber smock over her working uniform. She has twisted her body to face them as she sits on a tall stool alongside her workbench, her hands protected by a pair of black rubberized gloves. A lighted magnifying glass, mounted on a heavy metal base hovers over the heavily rusted metal box sitting before her.

  Lieutenant Karen Yamura is, by any standard, a remarkable looking Japanese/Hawaiian with long, jet-black hair. She’s about five foot, six inches tall and has a small scar just below her left eye from a run in with a dog when she was young. The scar adds additional depth to her persona while also serving to make her appear more approachable. She possesses the unique ability to raise half of just her right eyebrow, enabling her to quickly turn a provocative look into a questioning stare so fast as to make a person’s head spin. Her dark brown eyes have an intensity which are a reflection of her dogged determination. Clarke usually feels a bit intimidated in her presence while Pastwa finds himself wishing they were off duty.

  Pastwa quickly walks over. “Well, Lieutenant, what do you have for me so far? Admiral Reardon’s already been on the horn twice this morning.”

  Without affording Yamura the chance to respond, Pastwa calls out: “Clarke!”

  He turns around and finds Clarke is standing close behind him. Slightly taken aback, he quickly composes himself. “Oh, there you are. I want you to take a few photos of this box before we open it up.” He pauses as he realizes Yamura most certainly has taken plenty of photographs and covers himself by rationalizing. “I need to have a back-up set, so let’s be doubly redundant on every aspect of this case.”

  Pastwa glances at Yamura and realizes he’d cut her off, one of his bad habits. She is, however, patiently standing by. She knows he has a bad habit of interrupting and is aware he is cognizant of it, and has been working on it; so far, with limited success.

  “Well Commander, I’m ready to open this mysterious black box.” Yamura holds the box up with both hands, looks it over and returns it to the exam table with a slight thud, causing a soft metallic rattle from within. “It appears to me as if this little bugger’s been buried for a very long time. Most of the corrosion is quite significant making it likely moisture has leached inside so I do have my doubts about the condition of the contents. And, as for how long this has been buried,” she pauses and points to the box, “this looks to have been buried for a very long period of time indeed, easily dating back to World War II days.”

  Pastwa momentarily stares at the box, glances at Clarke and turns to Yamura.

  “Okay Karen, go ahead and pry it open. Let’s see what this little package holds for us.” Pastwa and Clarke put on goggles and gloves while taking up positions on either side of her.

  Yamura, utilizing a mini crow-bar, gets just enough of the crow-bar’s slanted edge under the lid so as she twists the bar the lid quickly pops open with a rusty clang.

  “Open sesame you little Pandora’s Box!” Clarke’s attempt at humor causes Pastwa to cast him a scolding glance. Yamura doesn’t even notice as she’s focused on the contents, now also drawing the attention of Pastwa and Clarke.

  Newly revealed are a pair of watches, a locket, a stop watch, a compass and a rectangular shaped object resembling a small book which is wrapped in an oil cloth type of material.

  “Sir, would you like me to remove them or would you prefer the honor?” Yamura smiles as she speaks.

  “You can have the honor.” He glances at Clarke. “Take photos as we go.” Clarke pulls out his camera and begins snapping away.

  “Gentlemen, let’s see what we have here.” Yamura is mesmerized as she decides what to examine first.

  “I think we’ll begin by taking a look at these watches.” One at a time she retrieves the pocket watches and carefully lays each of them onto separate glass dishes. “I can tell you they did not stop at the same time, which infers there was not
a sudden, dramatic trauma involved here.” She takes her time examining each one before continuing. “Well, sorry to say they don’t present any obvious clues as to ownership. There are no inscriptions, but they are definitely of Japanese origin.” She returns her attention to the box.

  “Here’s a compass.” She holds it up for inspection. “Definitely Japanese and it still works.” She places the compass onto another glass dish.

  “This is interesting. It’s a stop watch.” She lifts the stopwatch by its corroded chain and holds it about the height of her eyes. “Looks pretty beat up and the lens is cracked.” She turns it over and focuses on the back of the case. “Wait a minute. I can make out some inscriptions on the case.”

  She places the stopwatch under the lighted magnifying lamp for a better view. “This inscription states it’s a ‘Type One Navy, Number Two Nine Six.’ There’s even a movement serial number on it.”

  Yamura glances at Pastwa. “You know, depending upon what kind of records survived the war, assuming this does predate the war, we might be able to trace this to the original owner. In any event, it could yield some useful information.”

  Pastwa absorbs her comment, briefly looks at the stopwatch again and responds. “I assume you are referring to World War II, so why don’t you put that on Lieutenant Ferguson’s to-do list? There appears to be a lot going on here and I fear time may become of the essence, so all the more reason to divvy up the work.”

  Yamura replies, “Yes, I am referring to World War II.” She picks up a small, heavily tarnished locket, briefly examines it and places it into another glass dish. As it touches the dish, it pops open and what appear to be finger nail clippings and a lock of hair spill out. “This is amazing. After all these years, still intact. No inscriptions, but I will run tests on these and who knows, maybe something will come of it. It would be nice if the DNA matches the skeleton as it would make for one less mystery.” She pauses, the furrows in her forehead deepening. “I find it strange this would be here. If it belonged to a Japanese sailor he would have shipped the locket home to his family for them to honor in the event he perished in a pending battle.”