Black Wind

  Hiroki was standing right behind them and he knew he must not allow this embrace to last a moment longer. He pulled away and turned her toward his brother. Dazedly, she went to Hiroki.

  It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

  She leaned against Hiroki now but her eyes were on Matsuo.

  "He's not…?" Matsuo did not want to finish the sentence.

  Meiko straightened and seemed to gather herself together.

  "No, he's alive. Just barely. The bullet struck him in the head. He's in surgery now." She began to sob again. "He may die!"

  "He'll live," Matsuo told her with a confidence he did not feel. "He is strong and brave. He will live."

  "But he lost so much blood! And even if he lives, there might be brain damage."

  Matsuo ached to hold her. It took all his strength to keep from reaching out to her. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his naval uniform while Hiroki stood there placidly with his hands folded in front of him. Matsuo tried to will his brother to at least put a comforting hand on Meiko's shoulder, but he did not move.

  "It's a terrible thing," Hiroki said. "The bullets were obviously meant for Underminister Nitobi, but that does not mitigate the tragedy."

  Matsuo could stand it no longer. He took Meiko by the arm and led her back down the hall.

  "Let's all sit down."

  It was going to be a long, long night.

  DECEMBER

  TOKYO

  Hiroki stood amid the laughing, backslapping celebrants and raised his cup of sake. He said a silent prayer to Heaven, then downed it in one swallow. All of Tokyo was celebrating. And as soon as the word spread, all of Japan would join in. It had happened only minutes before. The siren on the wall of the Imperial Palace had blasted twice. Twice!

  Empress Nagako had begun labor last night. And now the baby had been born.

  Two blasts meant a boy.

  The Emperor had a son. Japan now had an heir to the Throne. And he was a Satsuma. The next Emperor would have the blood of the Satsuma clan in his veins. Indeed was cause for celebration.

  He looked around at his fellow celebrants, gathered here in their customary private room on the second floor of a restaurant near Sanno Hill. Close by stood Father, speaking to Mitsuro Toyama and his protégé, Koki Hirota, along with other higher-ups in the Kokuryu-kai—the Black Dragon Society. Two special military guests were present today: General Terauchi from the Army, and Admiral Nagano from the Navy. The purpose was to draw the two service chiefs closer to their circle, bring them around to a wider view of the Empire's future possibilities as a world power. Hiroki was present ostensibly as the baron's son, but it was no secret that he represented the interests of the Kakureta Kao. Count Mazaki had survived his wound, but was still too infirm to attend.

  They had been meeting frequently during the year with other like-minded nobles and statesmen to discuss ways and means of steering Japan to her proper destiny. Their circle of influence was widening steadily, to the point where political observers in the press were referring to them as Tosei-ha—The Control Faction.

  But all year long, as they had gathered their resources, the specter of the Empress giving birth to another daughter had hung over them like a dai-katana. Should a female child be born, the Emperor would be under immense pressure to seek a male heir from a concubine—a woman of the Choshu clan.

  Now we can move ahead, Hiroki thought. Now the world will be ours.

  He waved to Matsuo as he entered the room wearing his navy uniform. He rarely attended these gatherings, but the birth of an heir to the Throne was a special occasion. All reports on Matsuo's progress in the Officers School were wildly enthusiastic. He was a quick learner and the Intelligence Service was avidly courting him. His knowledge of idiomatic American English would prove invaluable in the translation of monitored transmissions between the ships of the American Pacific Fleet. Hiroki was proud of his younger brother.

  "Isn't it wonderful?" Matsuo cried, beaming his jubilation.

  "It is a sign from Heaven, a sign to us and to all the world. Our time has come!"

  Matsuo's smile broadened as he refused a cup of sake. "Yes. Good times for the Empire."

  The group eventually quieted. Hiroki joined the circle around his father. He noted Matsuo hanging back, an interested listener but not an active participant in the discussion.

  "We must now broaden our efforts," Father said. "Not only must we continue working to place the right men in the strategic cabinet posts, but we must begin to undermine the influence of the Kodo faction. They look only north and west. They are like dumb oxen wearing blinders. They see nothing else. They think only of Manchuria and China and Russia in Japan's future. I say why not look south to the Philippines and Malaysia? Why not east? The whole

  of the Pacific Ocean lies on our doorstep. Countless untapped resources."

  He walked from man to man as he spoke, weaving his spell. Hiroki watched in silent admiration, wishing he could speak half so eloquently.

  Especially since these were exactly the sentiments of the Kakureta Kao.

  "Many will say, 'What about Great Britain? What about America?' I say we confront them. The Pacific is ours. Our goal should be to make it a Japanese lake!"

  Cheers filled the room.

  "Hakko-ichi-u!" Hiroki cried and raised his cup of sake.

  The others raised their own in response to Shimazu's favorite expression. It meant The Eight Corners of the World Under One Roof. The Tosei-ha was in full agreement as to which country's roof that should be.

  "But what of America?" Admiral Nagano said after the cups had been drained. "If the Empire confronts her, it will be on the sea. The burden will fall to the Navy. The Navy does not wish to take that confrontation lightly."

  Save the Emperor from fainthearted admirals, Hiroki thought, but said nothing.

  Father replied with a respectful bow. "A wise and perceptive judgment. But America and Britain are staggering under the worst economic depression in their combined histories. They have never been more vulnerable."

  "It might be useful,” Toyama said, “to hear what the honorable baron's American-educated son has to say on the matter."

  Father turned to Matsuo and raised his eyebrows. Hiroki saw his brother start as if he had received an electric shock, saw him swallow hard before he spoke. Hiroki suppressed a smile. Matsuo, the Great Authority on America, was obviously unprepared for this.

  "Timing will . . ." He swallowed again. "Timing will be all important in any conflict with the Americans. We know that although their Navy has a sizable number of ships at its disposal, most of them have been deactivated—what the Americans call 'mothballed'—and are rusting at anchor in bays around the country. Because of the huge mothball fleet, they are building few new ships. In another six to eight years those old ships will be hopelessly obsolete as well as rusted beyond repair."

  Hiroki watched the assembled leaders of the Tosei-ha smile and nod at each other. He also noted the interest in the eyes of General Terauchi and Admiral Nagano. They liked what they heard. This meeting was working out very well. Matsuo's American experience was indeed proving to be an asset.

  "But a wise man should never take the United States for granted," Matsuo continued. "Words, maps, statistics, even photographs cannot convey an accurate conception of the enormous resources in that country. Even the Americans themselves don't realize what they have."

  "What good are resources,” Toyama said, “no matter how boundless, to an inferior race?"

  Matsuo bowed. "Yes, Toyama-san, I heartily agree. They are barbarians without our inner strength and resolve, and they do not have a Divine Emperor to inspire them, and they may be weakened by their depression, but . . ." He paused. "I am not sure how to say this. I have no way to prove this, but I have sensed that there are a few Americans—and all it takes is a few—who do not know the meaning of the words, 'It cannot be done.' There is something in America that cultivates this kind of person. I have stood a quarte
r-mile in the air atop one of their buildings, I have crossed great rivers on their bridges. Give that person enough time and enough resources and he will do the impossible. That is why in any conflict with the Americans we must strike decisively with lightning swiftness, and then settle. We will never survive a protracted war with them."

  He could see that this did not sit well with Toyama or the rest of the Tosei-ha. The Service Chiefs looked concerned, too. And it was plain that Father was embarrassed because of it. Hiroki cursed his younger brother for such negative talk in front of these important men.

  But then, Matsuo did not have the benefit of the Seer's vision—he did not know that there would be a great war, and that Japan would win. It fell to him to ease the mood—not for Matsuo's sake, but for Father's.

  "Ah, but why worry about America now?" Hiroki said into the silence. "We cannot hope to face any country successfully with the present makeup of the cabinet. And we certainly cannot think of turning our eyes east while the Kodo clique controls the young officers."

  As he listened to the murmurs of agreement around the room, he was warmed by Father's grateful look. He decided to cap the moment with a final toast.

  "To the end of the Kodo clique's power and to the end of short-sighted cabinet members who impede the Destiny of Japan!"

  Hiroki glanced across the room at Toyama who bowed almost imperceptibly in his direction. Only days ago, the Black Dragon Society and the Kakureta Kao had initiated a plan that would translate Hiroki's toast into reality.

  1934

  THE YEAR OF THE DOG

  OCTOBER

  SAGAMI BAY

  Meiko sat with Matsuo and watched her father doze in his chair. The poor thing was exhausted. And well he should be after the way she had walked him around the garden today. She too was tired. Her father's left arm and leg were steadily gaining strength but still very weak and he had to lean heavily on her. Matsuo had stopped by and had taken the weight for the last circuit.

  She looked at Matsuo. He had knocked on the door one steamy summer day two months ago and said he was here to pay his respects to the count. But Meiko had known from his manner that her father was not the main reason for his visit.

  He had been so tentative that day, so hesitant and skittish, like a forest animal ready to bolt at the crack of a twig. Slowly, after weeks of regular visits, he had learned to relax. He would help with her father, then he would sit with her here at the stone table and they would talk softly, never touching, always keeping the table between them. Matsuo was scrupulous about propriety when they were together, but that did not keep the servants from whispering and peeking at them through windows and doorways.

  "Wouldn't it be wonderful if all life could be like this?" he said as they watched evening grow toward night. "So peaceful here now that summer is gone."

  She gazed down the slope to where the rising moon glimmered on the bay. Soon it would be too cool to spend much time in the garden. She murmured her agreement.

  "The only thing that can compare with it is flying," he said. "Being alone in the air with the clouds and seeing the earth drift by below." He looked at her. "Except that when I fly I am alone."

  "Would you take me someday? I would love to fly through a cloud with you."

  He suddenly became animated. "Yes! I could bring you to my flight school at Kasumigaura and get permission to use a two-seater. That would be wonderful."

  She loved the excitement in his eyes whenever he spoke of flying. She wondered at the powerful fascination it held for him. Just once, before it was too late, she wanted to share it with him. But she doubted that day would ever come.

  "Someday," she said, fighting the urge to reach over and take his hand.

  The light faded from his eyes. "Yes. Someday."

  "Hiroki came by yesterday." She did not want to change the subject, but knew she had to mention this.

  She saw Matsuo stiffen. "Oh?"

  "He was inquiring after Father . . . and asking about the wedding."

  "I'm not surprised," Matsuo said in a flat voice. "It was supposed to have been eighteen months ago."

  "Eighteen months. Yes, he reminded me of that."

  "What did you tell him?"

  "What I always tell him. What I tell everyone: the truth. I am my father's only daughter. I will stay with my mother to nurse him until he is well or until he is as well as he can be. As long as he keeps trying, I will keep trying. I will not give up until he gives up."

  "You have already worked a small miracle. The doctors said he would never speak again, yet he is talking; they said he would never be on his feet again, but look at what he was able to do today. Your time with him has certainly not been wasted."

  "Yet Father wants me to go ahead with the marriage."

  She saw Matsuo straighten in his chair. "And…?"

  She had bargained with Father. Before the shooting, such a thing would have been unthinkable. But their relationship had changed. She was no longer just his daughter. She had become his nurse and healer and constant companion as well. She could berate him and scold him and tell him what to do when she was working with him. And now… she could strike a deal. Her temerity amazed her.

  Probably amazed Father, too.

  "I will be married to Hiroki in the spring of 1936. We will decide on a new date for the wedding that winter, no matter how little or how much progress my father has made by then."

  "Another eighteen months. Does my brother agree?"

  "Yes. I left him no choice."

  Meiko had presented the extra year-and-a-half wait to Hiroki as her father's wish. He had appeared frustrated and perhaps a little angry.

  "He always has the choice of convincing my father to cancel the marriage arrangement," Matsuo said.

  How she prayed he would. It would leave her free to marry another.

  "Do you think it is possible he would do that?"

  Had Matsuo heard any rumblings of dissatisfaction with her in his

  home?

  "Hiroki has many matters to occupy his mind. They will make the time pass quickly for him. And my father would never cause the count to lose face. To cancel a marriage arrangement while the bride's father is recovering from an assassin's bullet?" Matsuo shook his head slowly and, she knew, sadly. "That would be unthinkable."

  Meiko's heart sank. Matsuo was right. Sooner or later she was destined to be Hiroki's wife.

  She felt no hope, saw no way out. Tears filled her eyes. She willed them away but they ignored her and began to slide down her cheeks. She wished she were one of those American girls she had pitied years ago. Better to have no prospect of marriage than to be this close to the one she loved and yet forever separated by an impenetrable barrier. Her chest constricted as a sob escaped her.

  Matsuo twisted in his seat. He half rose, then sat again. In the dark, she saw his hand slide across the table. It waited there, palm up, open.

  She thought about the servants and how they'd talk if they saw them sitting in the dark holding hands.

  May the evil kami take their eyes and tongues.

  She reached out and laid her hand on Matsuo's. She shivered at the contact. Their fingers touched, softly, tentatively at first, then intertwined and locked together.

  "Look at the night," he said after a while, his voice low and thick. "One is allowed only so many perfect, starry nights such as this in a lifetime. They are precious."

  Meiko looked into his eyes and knew his pain was as great as hers.

  "Yes." She bit back another sob. "Yes, they are."

  1935

  THE YEAR OF THE BOAR

  MARCH

  TOKYO

  Hiroki knelt in his master’s quarters in the temple.

  "Toyama-san and his Black Dragons are doing their part, then?" Shimazu asked.

  "It is going well enough, I suppose, but I had hoped that things would move more swiftly."

  Lately it seemed that nothing was going his way, neither in his personal life, in his public life, nor
in his work for the temple. Meiko had become maddeningly obstinate about the wedding. She kept insisting that as long as her father was making progress in his recovery, her duty was to stay by his side and aid him in every way possible until he was the man he had once been. Hiroki had no argument that would overcome oya-no-on, her duty to her family, and he had to admit that Count Mazaki was making progress, but so slowly. Infuriatingly so. Hiroki wanted Meiko on his futon, thirsted for the time when he could bend her to his needs. He felt the beginnings of arousal. Yes, there would come a time when Meiko would make up for this endless delay.

  Shimazu laughed behind his mask. "Ah, Hiroki. Always the impatient one. The ground must be carefully tilled if the seeds we sow are to bear the full, rich harvest we desire. In this case, a stunted harvest will be worse than no harvest at all."

  Hiroki bowed his acceptance. Shimazu was right, as always. And as for his work with Toyama and the Black Dragons—

  "If only I weren't hampered by the need for discretion," he said. "So many of these young fanatic Army officers are members of the Black Dragon Society and so many are enraged at the Army's passive role, that keeping them stirred up is simple. What is difficult is keeping them stirred up and constrained at the same time."

  "Of course. But it would work against our purposes for our involvement to be known. Mark my words: When the explosion comes—and after next February's elections, it will come with a vengeance—you must be able to wring your hands in dismay and publicly demand with righteous anger that the miscreants be punished."

  "I understand."

  "It is important that you do. The resultant purge will move the Army more firmly into line with the Order's views, leaving it ready to strike in the proper direction at the proper time."

  "Yes. But it is difficult to wait."

  "We all wait for things. We here at the temple wait for news of the rediscovery of the Kuroikaze."