Chameleons, a Novel Based Upon Actual Events Read online

  Reardon takes another drink of water before continuing. He’s on a roll and is unloading everything he knows on Pastwa in the sound belief Pastwa will need every bit of knowledge he can obtain, from every source available, and as soon as possible.

  “We have to assume at least one midget submariner blended himself into the population and that man is Yokoyama. So, again, my advice to you is simple. Do not sell him short. In my opinion he was, hands down, the best of the midget sub commanders.”

  Reardon reaches into one of the lower right hand drawers of his massive desk and pulls out four books. He offers one to Pastwa. It’s a small book with an orange cover and is titled, “I attacked Pearl Harbor.”

  “Treat this one carefully as it’s quite rare.” Pastwa accepts the book and gives it a quick once- over.

  “This was written by the midget submariner we captured asleep on a beach the day after the December 7th bushwhack. Frankly, I think he was an idiot and the skipper of his mother sub was a bigger idiot and should have been brought up on charges. The damn gyroscope on his sub was out of whack so they should never have launched as he couldn’t navigate without either staying on the surface or continuously using his periscope. They truly risked ruining the surprise attack by sending this guy in.” Reardon chuckles and sighs; “Sometimes people get lucky and it was pure luck this particular sub was not detected and the attack foiled as a result.”

  “The title is a little silly too, ‘I attacked Pearl Harbor.’ It should’ve been titled, ‘I tried to Attack Pearl Harbor, but Never Stood a Chance.’” Reardon laughs aloud at his joke. Then, using both of his large hands, he picks up three more books and offers them to Pastwa. “Here are some excellent books on the Japanese midget sub efforts. They each contain solid information on the Pearl Harbor episode.” Pastwa stands to accept them.

  “There are plenty of good photos in these books, including some of Yokoyama. I’m sure Yamura can put together something of what he might look like today based on his 1941 photos and there’s also some good background information on him. You know, Chris, I believe it’s always best to learn as much as possible about your subject.”

  Reardon looks Pastwa directly in the eye. I believe you are going to conclude if you had to pick one man out of the five commanders sent to attack us that day, Yokoyama was easily the most likely to succeed. Chris, you have your work cut out for you.”

  Pastwa quickly glances over the titles of the books before slipping them under his left arm.

  “Thank you Sir, I’ll review these and very much appreciate the briefing.” Before Pastwa can continue, Reardon cuts in.

  “Learn your man, Commander, and get me some answers, fast! I need to know what happened to him and I prefer to learn about what became him before any word of this leaks out. So get going and keep me up to date!”

  “Yes Sir!” Pastwa turns and quickly exits.

  Reardon swivels in his chair and looks across the harbor. Closing his eyes, he imagines what it may have looked like back on the evening of December 6, 1941.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE FRONT PAGE

  Pastwa is stretched across a sofa in Yamura’s living room thirty floors above Honolulu Harbor. A set of double sliding glass doors provides them with a great view of the Waikiki strip. Further in the distance the famous Honolulu landmark, Diamond Head, is outlined in the mid-evening moonlight.

  The sun set about an hour earlier and the daily fireworks display has just commenced. The aroma of the Pacific Ocean is mixing with the telltale odor of expended gunpowder, which is a sensual combination Pastwa finds relaxing. He’s barefoot, his shirt’s slightly unbuttoned, there’s a glass of his favorite red wine in his right hand and a California roll in his left. An appetizing arrangement of sushi, California rolls, crackers and Fontinella cheese beckon from the nearby cocktail table.

  Yamura, dressed in a brightly colored and very short dress is sitting beside him. It’s been a long day for them both and they are enjoying some down-time. Yamura is savoring a glass of her favorite Sauvignon Blanc she stores in a small refrigerator, just a few degrees above freezing. Their wine tastes are a contrast, but as for the balance of their passions, they are in perfect sync with each other.

  “Chris, maybe you could fill me in on why Reardon’s so zealous about this case?”

  Pastwa accepts a chunk of sushi she fairly well pushes into his mouth, so he can’t immediately answer. After swallowing he takes a sip of his wine, first gently swishing the wine in his mouth so as to amplify the taste.

  “I’ve worked on quite a number of projects with Reardon and one thing I learned early on, in fact the first time I stepped into his office, is when it comes to the Pearl Harbor surprise attack, he has very strong opinions. He gets a little bent out of shape over it, for sure. I imagine with all of his clandestine intelligence background he still can’t understand how our intelligence back in ’41 could fail so miserably.”

  Yamura slips a cracker with a slice of Fontinella into Pastwa’s mouth, picks up her own wine glass and inhales a mouthful. She sits back and settles into a mound of pillows.

  “Chris, I know he has a fixation about the Pearl Harbor attack, but he wasn’t even alive at the time.”

  Pastwa swallows, picks up his glass and takes another sip. He swirls the wine around in his glass as he considers Reardon.

  “Reardon’s dad was on one of the battlewagons that day. He was a spanking new, freshly minted ensign so how else would he have drawn OD duty on a Sunday morning in a peacetime navy?”

  Pastwa pauses for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t remember for sure Karen, but I think he was on the Maryland.”

  “So, what happened? Obviously he wasn’t killed.” Yamura very slowly sips her wine as she settles a little more deeply into the couch, exposing almost all of her shapely legs.

  “Obviously he didn’t die, but he lost an eye and wound up spending the bulk of the war behind a desk. Despite that he eventually finished his career with the rank of Captain.” Pastwa accepts another piece of sushi from Yamura, who leans across the couch to offer it to him, intentionally providing him with a very clear view of her cleavage.

  “From what I gather, his dad has told him the story of losing his eye over and over since he was a kid; constantly telling him how he caught some shrapnel in his face from a bomb explosion during the second wave of the attack while he was directing an anti-aircraft gun crew. No wonder the senior Reardon has a grudge and passed it along to the Admiral. You might’ve noticed his dad around the base from time to time, he wears a blue patch over his left eye. I’ve met him and he’s pretty sprite for a man in his 90’s. In my opinion he has the appearance of a man who must have been someone to deal with in his youth.”

  “That helps me understand Reardon a little better.” Yamura warmly smiles as she casts a playful glance at Pastwa.

  She slowly slips off the couch, stands, and with a shrug of her shoulders allows her dress to fall onto the floor, revealing she’s not wearing any undergarments.

  “You are going to stay the night, right?” She asks, as if that’s necessary.

  Pastwa smiles broadly, places his glass on the table and takes her in his arms. As he pulls her close to him he gives her a long and very passionate kiss.

  “Karen, I never intended to leave,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

  It’s a little after six the following morning and Pastwa is sitting on Yamura’s lanai, enjoying his coffee. Waikiki beach, stretched out in the distance, is beginning to fill with bathers, surfers, and sail boats. They find it relaxing to start their day this way and it sure beats Pastwa’s bachelor officers’ housing on the base. The somewhat acrid smell of fireworks’ gunpowder has long since been replaced with the fresh, sweet and salty air of the Pacific Ocean.

  Yamura walks out to join him, holding the morning edition of a Honolulu newspaper in her hands. She pulls out the sports section, hands it to Pastwa and takes a seat opposite him. Pulling open the front page she
lets out a loud, “Holy shit!” Startled, Pastwa drops the sports pages. Puzzled, he looks at Yamura, her mouth wide open and staring at the paper.

  “What the hell, Karen? What’s happened?”

  Karen pulls open the front page and turns it around to face Pastwa who reads the headline aloud:

  “WII JAPANESE SAILOR FOUND BURIED IN KAILUA”

  “Holy Crap Karen, look at this picture, even we don’t have this shot. What the hell’s going on?”

  They find themselves looking at a picture of Auntie Lee holding a sword with the caption, “Property owner Auntie Lee displays the WWII Japanese ceremonial sword unearthed in her backyard.” A photo of the skeleton with the pistol peeking out from the ground is also on the front page.

  “Damn it all to hell, Karen. You know the Admiral’s probably reading this as I speak.” Pastwa quickly skims through the story before handing the paper back to her.

  “Seems to me they don’t know much of anything. The only real surprise is the appearance of the sword, which is no big issue. But we must be on our guard. This is written by Lani Gale who knows her way around the base in a big way and certainly appears to have connections there.”

  Yamura finishes reading the story as she shakes her head in disbelief. She’s keenly aware Lani Gale is Pastwa’s ex-fiancé and no doubt has connections at the base as a result.

  Listen Chris, as far as this story goes there’s really nothing new here. It looks to me as if all they know is what the work crew or the property owner would know. Any connection they’re making to the Pearl Harbor attack is purely speculative on their part and I sincerely doubt Gale actually knows if she’s correct, at least not yet.” Yamura refolds the paper and stands. “We need to get to the base, regardless. I’ll be ready in ten minutes; will you wait for me?”

  “Of course, I’m going to call Clarke and Ferguson and get them both down there, pronto!” Yamura slips between the balcony and the table and gives Pastwa a kiss.

  She does her best to smile and just before she disappears in the direction of the bedroom, she calls out: “Ready in Ten!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  UNSETTLING NEWS

  About the same time Pastwa and Yamura are reading the front page headlines, an over ninety year old Ken Kida, a Japanese/American, is doing the same while sitting on the front lanai of his North Shore of Oahu home. From where he is sitting he can see the Pacific, about a quarter mile distant.

  Ken loves to begin his day with a pot of hot tea infused with lemon from one of the trees in his orchard-like backyard. Today has begun no differently than most of his mornings since he finally retired, for good, about ten years ago. His once jet-black hair is heavily streaked with grey and, unlike when he was young, he now wears it long and pulled back into a Samurai style chonmage, or topknot. He sports a pure grey, triangular shaped beard which juts about eight inches below his chin and he’s wearing a loose fitting, darkly colored Hawaiian style shirt and equally loose fitting solid black trousers. The sparkle in his black eyes gives no indication he is well over ninety years old.

  His wife of over fifty years, Sun, is sitting on the opposite side of the table. Ken is reading the story describing the discovery of a skeleton in Kailua and after he’s read the entire story, twice, he turns the front page around towards Sun and lays it on the table.

  “Sun, this is not good news.” Realizing her husband’s voice sounds unusually serious she immediately looks up from her magazine. Her eyes open wide as she reads the headline.

  “Oh, my!” She exclaims. “Oh, my! I always assumed this day would never come. What should we do? ” Sun’s voice gives away the fact she is genuinely scared.

  “Sun, I know it has been a long time since we last spoke about this.” Ken folds the paper and places it on the center of the table with the headline facing up. Sun slowly pushes herself from the table, stands and walks over to Ken and once beside him, gently pulls his head into her chest.

  “Ken, what should we do? Should we leave? Where can we go? Where could we go?” Tears begin to slip down Sun’s deeply tanned and wrinkled face.

  Ken very lightly pushes her away and slowly rises to his feet. He looks at her sparkling gray hair which trails behind her and thinks to himself how much he has enjoyed all the times he would run his hands through her hair. He momentarily finds himself back in a field hospital in South Korea where they first met.

  “Sun, no need to cry and certainly no need to run.” Ken pulls her hands into his own and looks into her tearfully gleaming black eyes.

  “Clearly the newspaper has no idea how much more there is to their story. I imagine, however, the U.S. Navy is aware that I, as Lt. Yokoyama, wrote the ship’s logbook, but even that is questionable. There is a very realistic possibility that little of substance survived after all these years and the navy may have nothing more than a skeleton and some artifacts.”

  Sun stops crying and, wiping her eyes, responds quietly. “You are just saying that. I have known you so long,” Sun pauses as she struggles to regain her composure, “so long now that I have come to know better! You are a meticulous man and you insist on always doing the job right. How could I now hope you did not properly protect the logbook as well as the other items you buried? It would be contrary to your essence. No! We must believe the Navy has been able to read every word you wrote. We must be practical my husband and assume the Navy knows you were still alive a week after the attack and perhaps longer.”

  Sun slips her hands from Ken’s grip, sits down, takes a sip of her tea while Ken gazes at their expansive front yard, focusing on the blossoms of his many cherry trees. They remain silent for several minutes when, finally, Ken speaks.

  “Sun, if it is to be that I must fall, as the cherry blossoms must also fall, then so be it. At best, the Navy knows I survived for a few days after the attack, but it is unlikely they could know any more than that. We are talking about a time in island history when so much was happening records could not always be perfectly maintained. My very identity is evidence of that.” Ken pauses to allow himself a moment to consider the matter as he seeks to calm his wife.

  “What will come of this discovery remains to be seen. As for us, nothing has changed and nothing will change. The odds of us ever meeting, the odds of us, a Japanese man and a Korean woman, falling in love, the odds of being capable of putting ourselves into a position where we actually could be wed, all those odds were nearly impossible to calculate, yet here we are! We must move forward on the belief we will overcome any new adversities that may befall us.” Ken’s words prove reassuring and Sun’s breathing slowly returns to normal as they sit in silence, each of them considering what may lie before them.

  The silence is interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into their driveway. Gary, one of their grandsons, drives his bright blue Beetle convertible all the way to the front walk. With the top down, he looks over at the lanai, spots his grandparents and waves hello with his left hand as he shifts the car into park with his right. He quickly jumps out, climbs the four steps to the lanai, beelines for his Kapuna and reaches down to gently kiss his grandmother on her left cheek.

  “Good morning Kapuna, how are you today?” Gary smiles and looks over at his grandfather, Ken.

  “And grandfather, how are you this morning?” He chooses a rice cookie from a plate on the table and makes himself comfortable in one of the padded wicker chairs surrounding the table.

  “We are fine, Gary. Let me bring you a nice hot tea and a few more cookies” replies Sun as she rises from her chair and slips into the house.

  Gary’s about to graduate high school and has been accepted into Annapolis, which has made Ken immensely proud. Gary wears his jet black hair in a crew cut and his physique reflects his work-out regimen. Upon learning the news of Gary’s acceptance Ken picked up the newspaper, chose a bright blue convertible that was featured in a full color display ad and bought it for Gary as a combination graduation/acceptance present. He is one of seven grandsons and particula
rly reminds Ken of himself. The fact he is headed to Annapolis is additional verification for him that Gary has inherited quite a few of his genes.

  “Gary, what are your plans today?” Ken raises an eyebrow as he lightly runs his left hand through his beard.

  Gary knows when his grandfather raises an eyebrow while stroking his beard, then he must have something on his mind and responds:

  “Nothing at all, today’s a school holiday so I thought I’d stop by and see what you’re up to. After all, I never know if you’ll be out surfing!”

  Ken laughs as he hasn’t been surfing in more than twenty years, though it is true that once upon a time he enjoyed the sport very much. One of the concessions he has made to the march of time is the retirement of his old surf board which is now displayed on a wall in his pristine garage.

  “I was thinking maybe you would like to take this old man for a ride this morning,” Ken smiles and winks.

  “Let me guess, you want to head over to the Arizona memorial, right?” Gary feigns being tired of taking him there, but the fact is, he enjoys his time with his grandfather and loves listening to his stories.

  “No, not today Gary. Today I would like us to pack some snacks and a couple of folding chairs. We can go to the Utah Memorial and I just happen to have my military pass here in my shirt pocket.” Ken places his right hand on his left shirt pocket, the edge of the pass poking over the top.

  “Okay, but that means I’m expecting some pretty good story telling. I’ll go ask Kapuna to pack some goodies for us,” says Gary.

  “Yes, that is a good idea and please ask her to include bottle or two of my favorite flavored water. She has me hooked on flavored water!”

  “Consider it done.” Gary quickly disappears into the house as Ken slowly pushes himself from his chair, glances at his blossoming cherry trees, makes his way down the four steps of the lanai and over to the car.