1945

The kempei office in Camp 10 was a wooden structure that might once have been the house of someone fairly well-to-do. As such, it was one of the few real buildings in the area with a roof, and it did not surprise him that the kempei had taken it over for themselves. Everything else in the camp was tents or hovels largely made of debris. A disturbing number of people were living out in the open, and the weather was definitely cooling. He pitied them. With bad weather accompanying chronic food shortages, many would succumb to illness in the weeks and months ahead if the war continued.

He laid his bike against a wall, confident it would not be touched by the people watching him, and tried the door to the house. It opened easily and he entered. An oil lamp was on a table and he lit it with one of the matches that lay beside it. There was no electricity in the camp.

The room contained several file cabinets, a desk with a typewriter, and several chairs. A telephone hung on the wall, and when he tried it, there was no dial tone or the voice of an operator. A shortwave radio by another wall was set on one of his frequencies, which he did not consider comforting. A hand-crank generator connected to another bicycle powered it.

The cabinets were locked, but he found that he had the key to them, along with the key to the desk drawers. In the desk he found what he wanted- blank kempei identity cards.

Humming contentedly, he set up the typewriter and tried to recall what his mother had taught him about typing Japanese characters. After a few mistakes, he managed to give himself an official kempei identity card, using his own name, Jochi Nomura. His OSS handlers had mentioned in passing that, since it was so easy to forget an alias, an agent should use his own name whenever possible. Why not, when no knew him from Adam anyhow?

Joe had just signed the card in the name of the regional commander and put it away in the wallet that had once belonged to the late Captain Onichi when the outside door opened and a young private entered. The man stared and blinked at him for a second and snapped to attention.

Joe took the initiative. "Why was no one here?" he demanded. "Do you always leave the office and official files in such a manner? Is there no sense of security here?"

"Sir," the private stammered, "there are only two of us and my corporal was out investigating an incident when I received word of a disloyal act occurring. Someone had put up a white flag and I did not feel I could wait for his return before tearing it down."

Good, Joe thought, only two people at this little station. "I presume that you resolved it satisfactorily," he said haughtily.

"Yes, sir. The man who put up the flag was identified by his neighbors and beaten thoroughly."

"Very good," Joe said, and the private relaxed. The unknown captain was not going to punish him. "Where is Captain Onichi? I was expecting to find him here."

"Sir, I have not seen him in a couple of weeks. This is a very small station and he spends very little time here. You will more than likely find him at Camp Seven." The private pointed to a map. It showed that Camp 7 was about ten miles farther away and to the west.

"Indeed. Why would he be there? Is Camp Seven all that much larger or more important than Camp Ten?"

The private looked puzzled. "Sir, the camp is about the same size as this is, and I'm not certain about the reason he spends his time there."

Joe thought that the fat little captain whose body was rotting in a field was either getting laid or fed at Camp 7. Maybe even both, but he was curious at the look in the private's eyes and the tentative tone of his voice. Joe decided to probe a little more about the late Onichi's actions.

"Then tell me what it is you are not certain about."

Now the private was definitely uncomfortable. "Sir, it's only a rumor, but I have heard it said that there may be a very important member of the government under guard in the hospital at the camp."

Joe was intrigued and wondered who it was. More important, was it information that was worth forwarding to his handlers. "Really? What makes you think that?"

The private clearly wished he were elsewhere. This was the longest conversation he'd ever had with an officer. Even shorter ones had usually resulted in his being punched. He was deathly afraid he'd make a mistake and be punished.

"Sir, one of my fellow soldiers went there once with Captain Onichi. There is an area of the medical compound that is restricted and protected by soldiers of the Imperial Guard, who are commanded by a guards colonel. The soldiers are disguised as hospital workers and allow no one in or out of the restricted area without the colonel's permission."

Interesting, Joe thought. Disguised as hospital workers, they could not be identified as soldiers from the air and thus compromise whatever they were doing. Why were they going to all that effort, and whom were they protecting? "And you believe that your captain should be there now?"