We found Ikuko and quickly made our way back to the small room we had rented the previous evening. Katsuo removed his robes the moment we entered and sat down on his tatami mat, naked to the waist and barefoot. He crossed his legs and shut his eyes, taking in several long and deep breaths. Gradually his eyes opened and he looked at Sailor. “I believe I have failed you,” he said. “You have my full apologies.”
“No!” Sailor shot back. “No, Katsuo, not so. You have not failed, do you hear? We could not have anticipated the American captain understanding and speaking Japanese fluently. There was no failure, Katsuo. Your performance was a good one. It should have worked.”
“He is correct, Katsuo,” Sheela said. “Your actions were the only appropriate ones.”
Ikuko was fanning her grandfather by waving a towel above his head. Outside, the traffic of Tokyo could be heard all around us. The minutes crept by and we said little. Finally, the two hours were nearly up and we got ready to return. Sailor told Katsuo the formal Shinto robes were no longer necessary, but Katsuo refused to step out of character and put on the heavy uncomfortable robes without complaint. He told Ikuko to stay in the room and kissed her on the forehead. Sailor and I said good-bye to Ikuko, and Sheela gave her an especially long embrace, then we set out for the embassy.
Once we crossed the courtyard and climbed the steps, we were met outside by the lieutenant, who seemed to be waiting for us. Without delay, he ushered us into the embassy and down the wide hallway toward the captain’s office. As we neared the door, we passed a group of men standing off to one side, laughing and smoking cigarettes. They were all Americans, some civilians, some in uniform. One of the men said, “Well, well, would you look at that?” Sheela and I kept walking and staring straight ahead, but Sailor turned his head in the man’s direction. At the same time, a flashbulb went off. Somewhere among them, a soldier had taken Sailor’s picture. The lieutenant stopped and told the men there would be none of that, then commanded the soldier who snapped the picture to hand over the film. There was some protest from the man, but he was outranked and forced to comply. The lieutenant then asked all of the men to move along. By that time, the door had opened and Captain Blaine Harrington was standing in the doorway. He watched the man hand over the film, then said, “Inside, Lieutenant. Now.” He turned to Katsuo with a false smile. “This way, sir,” he said in Japanese.
As we walked inside, I noticed another man in the room. He was sitting casually in a chair next to the captain’s desk. I tried not to seem shocked or surprised, but I’m not sure I succeeded. The man was dressed in civilian clothes, which were rumpled and slightly soiled, and he had at least three days’ growth of beard. His eyes reflected a certain kind of maturity and experience that had not been there the last time I’d seen him. He was now thirty-nine years old and looked exactly like his father. It was Jack Flowers. I looked at Sailor and he raised one eyebrow, as if to say, “Let us see where this goes.” We had expected to be quizzed about Jack, but we never expected to see him.
Before the captain and Katsuo had taken their seats, Jack said, “I’ll be damned, Blaine, you were telling me the truth.” He leaned forward, staring at me. In Spanish, he asked, “Is that you, Felipe?” Then he nodded in Sailor’s direction. “And is that Hernando, as well?”
I paused, unsure what to do or say, then realized Jack had probably been briefed by the captain and had figured it out. Now he was leading me, telling me to play along. Whatever he was doing in Tokyo I could find out later. Captain Blaine Harrington sat down in the seat behind his desk. He was observing me carefully. “Sí, Señor Jack,” I answered. “Felipe y Hernando.”
Jack slapped his knee with one hand and laughed. The captain started to speak, but Jack cut him off and began a ten-minute fiction about Felipe and Hernando and a very bad Sunday in Pinar del Rio six years earlier. During mass, the roof of a church had collapsed without warning and twenty-six of fifty-three people praying inside were killed instantly. Our parents were among the dead. Jack and his mother, Carolina, personally found homes for all the children who were orphaned from the accident. Obviously, the captain had told Jack everything I had said, including the fact that Jack was supposed to have “saved” Sailor and me. Jack was ready with a cover story and he was good at it. I almost believed him myself. He ended by saying, “I’ll tell you what, Blaine … I mean, Captain Harrington, why don’t you let me take care of this? I know the perfect man. He’s Japanese and he’s connected. He’ll be able to find these kids a decent home.”
The captain didn’t respond immediately. He breathed in sharply and glared at Jack, then at each of us until he let his eyes rest on Katsuo. He raised his hand and pointed a finger at Katsuo’s face. “I do not believe one word this man has uttered.” The captain looked back at Jack.
Jack shrugged. “I’m sure it’s harmless,” he said. “The poor man is most likely only trying to find something in it for himself. I don’t blame him. Anyway, nothing to worry about and my man in Yokosuka will get to the bottom of it.”
The captain removed his wire-rimmed glasses and wiped the lenses clean. His eyes were still large, even without the glasses. “The coincidence of all this is much too disproportionate.” He carefully refitted his glasses over his nose and back into the grooves along his temples and around his ears. “How is this possible, Jack?”
Jack looked first at Sheela, then at Sailor and me. He laughed, shaking his head back and forth. “Luck,” he said. “Just pure dumb luck.” Jack leaned back in his chair. “What do you say? I’d really get a kick out of helping those kids again, Blaine.”
The captain gave Katsuo another piercing stare. “Well, all right, Jack, but—”
Jack interrupted. “Listen, Captain, if I leave right now, I might be able to make Yokosuka by nightfall.” Jack practically leaped out of his chair and opened the door to the hallway. “This way, everybody,” he said in English, motioning Katsuo and the three of us out the door. “Andele! Andele!” Once we were in the hallway, he turned back to the captain. “I’ve got Sergeant Roper waiting for me. I’ll send you a report from Yokosuka.”
In two minutes we were out of the embassy, down the steps, and being hustled into a jeep. A red-haired man sat in the driver’s seat. When he saw us, he said, “What the—”
“Never mind, Sergeant,” Jack said. “Just step on it.”
We took Katsuo back to the room where Ikuko was waiting for him. There was so much for which to thank him, but there was no time. Sailor said his farewells to Katsuo in Japanese, and Sheela bowed to him deeply three times. I said my good-bye and thanked him as best I could, then we were off on a hectic, rough ride to Yokosuka.
We arrived shortly after dark and made our way to the Japanese air base the U.S. Army now occupied. Jack told Sergeant Roper to drop us off at a small building squeezed between two enormous airplane hangars, saying he and the sergeant would be back soon. An hour later Jack, Sheela, Sailor, and I boarded a transport plane with no other passengers and little cargo. The plane took off, circled in a wide arc, and headed south. In less than ten minutes, I could no longer see Japan. Jack smiled and shouted over the noise of the engines, “Good to see you, Z.”
I yelled, “You, too, Jack. Where are we going?”
“Midway,” he shouted back. “Then we’ll change planes and go on to Hawaii.”
“You want to tell me what you were doing in Japan … and how you’re able to do what you’re doing? Are you in the Army?”