Chameleons, a Novel Based Upon Actual Events Read online

  “Karen, I’d like, actually, I rather much need your opinion.”

  Yamura appears mildly flattered. “Of course, Chris, anything I can do to help out.”

  “There are elements within the academic community here in the islands supporting a theory some of the midget submariners from the Pearl Harbor attack probably survived. Following the Pearl Harbor raid, and given the general confusion that existed at the time, there is a legitimate school of thought that as many as four surviving midget submariners could have melded into the Japanese/Hawaiian population. Of course, there was never any hard proof offered. But what if this skeleton is a plant, some manner of a hoax perpetrated to try and prove such a melding-into-the-population theory?” Pastwa knows he’s grasping at a convenient straw, but needs to hear Yamura’s opinion.

  “A hoax? But why? What would be the point?” Yamura sounds as puzzled as she appears, her right eyebrow bending into an inquisitive furrow while her left eyebrow remains perfectly straight.

  “Karen, I’m only speculating, but the burial could be used as a misguided attempt to prove the midget submariners’ survival theory. It would also make the Navy look silly because it insists the only midget submariner who didn’t die is the one we captured and certainly no midget sub penetrated the harbor that day either.” Pastwa stands and momentarily stares towards the harbor before turning to face Yamura.

  “We caught Prisoner of War Number One sleeping on a beach following the attack. We captured his submarine and found the body of his engineer floating nearby.” Pastwa, clearly concerned, looks Yamura directly in the eyes. “What if, just what if someone buried this guy, say, within the last twenty years or so, hoping he would eventually be dug up and create a fuss?”

  “Well, if that’s the case, they must have done this prior to the emergence of DNA testing so it would’ve been longer ago than twenty years. Otherwise there would be no point. From my research I know Auntie Lee has lived in that home for more than forty five years and I doubt someone could have buried anything in her yard without her taking notice. From what Lieutenant Ferguson tells me of Auntie Lee, she’s one of the last people imaginable who would be up to pulling off a secret burial.”

  Pastwa returns to his chair. “Just a thought Karen. Guess I’m fearing the worst, the worst case of course being this really is one of the midget submariners and, as I like to say, when you find one of something it is likely there are more of the same around, somewhere, somehow. Nature is not big on creating one-offs, you know.”

  “Well then Chris,” she raises her right eyebrow halfway, “you are not going to like what I have transcribed so far.” Yamura pauses to gauge Pastwa’s likely reaction.

  “Christ, Karen what have you learned?” Pastwa pushes his chair back from the desk, as if opening some distance between them would soften the news. He has seen that expression on her face before and it generally is a harbinger of something he’d rather not experience.

  “I haven’t typed anything yet, but the dictation is just about complete.” Yamura pours herself a glass of water from the pitcher Pastwa keeps on his desk.

  “Chris, I don’t think this is part of any kind of a hoax. Sure, all of the dating tests are not in yet, but for now I have to believe this log goes back to 1941. It is without a doubt the log of a midget submarine, and here is where it can get pretty wild as the author of this log describes how his engineer was shot in the back by a sentry. He transported him to a sympathetic Japanese doctor who couldn’t save his life and they proceeded to bury him at a house he describes as being ‘alongside the ocean.’” Karen pauses while she sips some water. “The author of the log apparently had no idea where on Oahu they were. All he knew was that they were next to the ocean.” Yamura shifts herself in the chair and re-crosses her legs.

  “The log entry identifies the skeleton as that of a man named Kamita. Apparently he was the midget sub’s engineer and the author appears to be Lieutenant, junior grade, Masaharu Yokoyama, commander of the midget submarine identified as I-16-tou. The log begins in about April of 1941, and describes, sometimes in great detail, their training in midget submarines. Thing is, Chris, the logbook ends with the burial of Kamita. Yokoyama even writes of his intention to bury the log and all their possessions, including his ceremonial sword, with Kamita.”

  “Hold it, Karen. There was no sword recovered at the site and I cannot imagine why he would have brought it along unless he was considering the possibility of a suicide charge.”

  “Yes, I know and I can’t explain it. Perhaps when it came right down to it he had a change of heart.”

  “In any event, we have a problem and more loose ends to deal with than a frayed ball of twine that a cat’s gotten hold of.” Pastwa quickly stands. Karen follows suit, picking up her hat and briefcase.

  “Thanks for taking time out from your translating work to come over here and hold my hand a little. I assume the Admiral’s orders assigning both you and Stephanie have formally come through, correct?”

  “Yes they have, and I certainly appreciate the help. I think it was very thoughtful and, for your information, I want you to know I really enjoy working with Stephanie and sure could get accustomed to having her with me full-time.”

  “Good, I’m glad you two get along and I think that ‘full-time’ thing may be a good idea. Right now it’s rather urgent I bring Reardon up to date, and he is not going to be a happy sailor when he hears about Yokoyama. You know how he feels about loose ends.” Pastwa walks alongside his desk and escorts her to the door, which he holds open.

  Clarke looks up from his work as they enter his office and stands, expecting some new orders.

  “At ease, Clarke. Lieutenant Yamura is headed back to her office. Please call over to Admiral Reardon and find out what time he can see me today, the earlier the better.”

  “Yes Sir. Goodbye Lieutenant.” Clarke smiles as he watches her exit.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A HOT TIP

  Auntie Lee is sitting on her backyard lanai watching Akoni and Danny hard at work when she gets an idea and reaches over to pull out the front section of the daily newspaper that is spread across her lanai table. She flips to the bottom of page two and finds a phone number for the “News Hotline.”

  Picking up her phone, she dials the hotline number to discover she can only leave a message. She considers hanging up, but decides against it. After all, she reasons, if they publish her story they will pay her fifty dollars. She waits for the verbal cue to leave a message.

  “Hello, my name is Auntie Lee and I live at 5551 Oceanside in Kailua. I am having an in-ground pool installed in my backyard, but yesterday they had to stop work when they found a skeleton. It had a gun with it too. The police came, but then they said it was a Navy skeleton. Then a lot of people from the Navy came and dug it out and took it away. I heard them talking and someone said the skeleton has something to do with World War II because they thought the skeleton was a Japanese navy man.” She almost hangs up when she decides to add one more thing. “Oh, I took pictures when nobody was here. I think this is news for you and should be worth fifty dollars!”

  She abruptly hangs up and returns her attention to Danny and Akoni, completely unaware she failed to leave a phone number. She notices Danny appears to be in need of a cold lemonade and rushes into the kitchen to prepare one for him.

  James Mori is the long time Editor-In-Chief of the Daily Honolulu Tribune. He’s in his late fifties, a bit husky and has a full head of shocking white hair which he likes to wear just over his ears. He has a corner office on the top floor of the Honolulu newspaper building overlooking Honolulu Harbor and the more than eighty year old landmark that is the Aloha Tower.

  Sitting across from him is one of his best reporters, Nalani “Lani” Gale. Gale is in her late twenties, about five foot, six inches tall with soft, wavy blonde hair that nearly flows down to her waistline. She likes to work out in the newspaper’s gym for about an hour every other day and, as always, she’s perfectly dressed
, going very light on her makeup. She really doesn’t need much in the way of makeup, but considers herself to be undressed without it.

  Her family has been on Oahu since before World War I and she is the beneficiary of a very generous family trust. Mori considers her to be his best investigative reporter.

  “Well boss, what’s up?”

  “Looks like we might have something brewing up in Kailua with an historical twist to it. We received a ‘Hotline’ message from a lady who’s installing an in-ground pool and she says they found a skeleton holding a gun.” Mori offers Gale a piece of paper with his hand scribbled notes on it.

  “The caller forgot to state her phone number, but she did manage to leave her address. She sounds as if she’s a little older which, to me, makes her an unlikely candidate to leave a false tip. So I made some inquiries and confirmed the Navy was called out to that site.” Mori looks at Gale as he attempts to judge her reaction.

  Without taking Mori’s notes, Gale vents, “What?” She sounds incredulous. Standing, she continues, “You want me to go on a skeleton hunt? ‘Historical twist’? What the hell is an ‘historical twist?’” Gale flips her hair behind her head, takes a defiant pose and waits for Mori to give in.

  “Listen Lani, you need to trust me on this one. My senses tell me there’s something going on out there the Navy strongly prefers nobody knows about. I have a photographer on the way up here now and if you hurry we might still have time to get this onto tomorrow’s front page. If not, certainly the next day.”

  Gale appears much more interested when she hears the words, ‘front page.’ “Right, ‘historical twist’ or not, if there is something going on out there, I’ll dig it out.” She considers her choice of words, smiles and says, “Pardon my pun Jim, but if you’ve got a gut feeling then deal me in!” Gale takes Mori’s notes, grabs her purse and starts walking out the door. She pauses in the doorway and looks back at Mori.

  “Tell the photographer to meet me in my office. I’m going to gather a few things and get the hell over there.” She’s out of sight before he can answer.

  Mori leans back in his chair and reads the framed front page of the newspaper hanging on the wall dated December 7, 1941, announcing the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor: “WAR! OAHU BOMBED BY JAPANESE PLANES.” Mori, talking to himself, says: “I wonder; I just wonder.” The phone rings and his mind jumps back into the present day.

  Lani Gale and her photographer companion, Bobby, soon find themselves sitting in his car parked in front of Auntie Lee’s house. Bobby is in his early twenties, sports close-cropped black hair and owes his heritage to a combination of Portuguese, Chinese, and Hawaiian forefathers. Most of his family lives on Oahu, but some are scattered across the other islands. He recently graduated from the University of Hawaii and this is his first real job. He has loved to take pictures since he was very young and as far as he’s concerned, he’d be happy in this position for the rest of his life. He also has a crush on Gale and is excited at the prospect of spending time with her.

  Gale, on the other hand, has ambitions that would transport her to New York City writing for the Times, or better yet, in Washington D.C., writing for the Post. To Gale, Bobby is just a means to an end. In this instance, the end is a front page story. She is trusting in Mori’s instincts and her mind is racing over the possibilities as she stares at Auntie Lee’s house.

  “I checked this out,” says Bobby, “a woman named Leilani Yamada is the registered owner and she’s been the owner since 1965. From what I could learn, she inherited the house from her parents so she’s probably lived here a very long time.” Bobby hands a piece of paper with the name Leilani Yamada scrawled on it. Gale gives it a quick look as she memorizes the name, then hands it back to him.

  “Bobby, grab your gear and follow me. Don’t talk unless I ask you a question, got it?” Gale shoots him a firm look with perhaps a little too much fire in her eyes as Bobby literally pulls away from her.

  Bobby, who’s already shy around women, replies with a barely audible, “Yes, Ms. Gale.”

  Gale and Bobby walk to the front door and just as Gale is about to ring the doorbell, Auntie Lee opens it and greets them with a big smile. “Are you from the newspaper?” Her excitement is obvious.

  “Yes, my name is Lani Gale and this is Bobby, my photographer. Are you Leilani Yamada?”

  Shaking her head as if to be saying no, Auntie Lee replies, “Yes, but nobody calls me that. Please, just call me Auntie.” She slips into a pair of slippers she has placed just outside her front door, closes the door behind her and motions to Gale and Bobby.

  “Follow me, the pool is in the backyard.” Auntie Lee leads them around the side of the house and as they reach the yard she stops and removes a camera from her over-sized, yellow and orange shoulder bag, a bag she made herself.

  “In here I have pictures I took yesterday. You can see the skeleton and the pistol too if you want!” She turns on her camera and begins flipping through the pictures as Gale observes.

  “Very nice Auntie, you’re a good photographer. You might think about applying for a position with the paper.” Gale is pleased with the look of embarrassment that flows across Auntie Lee’s face. “Flattery will get me everywhere with this little simpleton,” she thinks to herself. Quickly turning to face Bobby, she starts barking out commands.

  “Bobby, take a couple shots of the excavation site,” Gale pauses as she looks around, “and get the ocean in the background too. Watch the lighting here as there’s lots of shade from those trees.” Gale points to some tall palm trees casting long, narrow shadows across the excavation.

  “Will do, Ms. Gale.” Bobby quickly goes about following her orders.

  “Can I look at your camera please, Auntie?” Gale is being as polite as she knows how to be, which does not come naturally for her.

  “Certainly dear, here you are.” Auntie Lee offers the camera to Gale. “Would you like some cold lemonade?” She motions to the lemon trees in the back yard. “I made it fresh from my own trees this morning.”

  Gale immediately begins to back through the photos in Auntie Lee’s camera.

  “Yes I would, but first Auntie, where did the sword in this one photo come from? And who took this picture of you with it?”

  Looking surprised and a little taken aback, Auntie Lee thinks for a moment before deciding to tell her the truth. “I found it in the pool yesterday. It reminded me of my grandfather so I just took it. After all, it was on my property! All I did was set the camera on the tractor and let the timer take my picture. Is it ok?”

  “Don’t worry Auntie, the picture is fine. If you don’t mind can we take a photo of you standing here next to your pool and holding the sword?” Gale displays her most charming smile. “And yes, we would both love some of your lemonade.”

  “Oh wonderful, right away! I’ll bring you the lemonade and then I can bring you the sword.” Very excited, she quickly disappears into the house, leaving her camera in Gale’s hands, exactly as Gale had hoped. Turning to find where Bobby has gone, she barks out at him.

  “Bobby!” Bobby stops snapping photos, looks up and sees Gale is motioning for him to join her. He quickly runs over as she holds Auntie Lee’s camera up for his inspection. “Bobby, can you copy the memory disk in this?”

  Bobby takes the camera and gives it a quick look. “Easy. Let me take this up to the car, it won’t take me more than a minute or two.” Gale grabs his arm before he can leave. “Hold it; just take the disk, not the camera. I prefer we keep this between you and me and I don’t want Auntie to see you taking her camera.” Gale pauses before continuing. “And when you say ‘a minute’ you better not mean a ‘Hawaiian’ minute!”

  Bobby pops the disk out and hands the camera back to Gale. “No problem, I don’t work on Hawaiian time, I work on news time!” Bobby quickly jogs around the side of the house and out of sight. He waits until he rounds the corner before breaking into an all-out run, almost overwhelmed by the excitement of working with
Gale.

  Gale decides to take a walk around the perimeter of the pool, but doesn’t find anything noteworthy. It looks like a hole in the ground to her and nothing more. There are a few surfers just off the beach and about half dozen kids are playing Frisbee in the surf. “It’s kind of an idyllic, yet a rather public setting. I wonder why someone chose this spot to bury a body and how is it they weren’t noticed?” Gale thinks to herself.

  Soon, she hears footsteps coming up from behind her and turns to see Bobby reappearing from the side of the house while at the same time Auntie Lee is carefully coming down the steps of her lanai, a glass of lemonade in each hand.

  “Be careful Auntie, I don’t want you to trip!” Gale calls out. Her real purpose, however, is not so thoughtful. She needs Auntie Lee to slow down so Bobby can beat her back and return the disk to the camera.

  “Thank you dear, I am being careful. I don’t want to spill your drinks,” calls out Auntie Lee.

  Gale hands Bobby the camera who deftly re-installs Auntie Lee’s disk and returns the camera to Gale.

  “She’ll never know.” He smiles at Gale as Auntie Lee arrives and extends each of them a glass of lemonade.

  “Thank you Auntie.” Gale takes a sip. “This is great lemonade. Really, Auntie, you should bottle this stuff.” Gale isn’t exaggerating this time.

  Bobby, just a little out of breath, also accepts a glass. “Thanks Auntie,” he says with a big smile. As Bobby takes his first sip, he’s instantly reminded of the lemonade his maternal grandmother once made using the lemons from the trees that still grow in his mom’s backyard.

  “Auntie, are you going to go bring us your sword? We’d love to take a picture of you holding it.” Gale smiles as Auntie Lee stops to consider the question.