by C. G. Cooper
“NO! I SAID NO! You must never associate yourself with them outside of business. We will use them for now, but soon Japan will be ours once again. The next time…”
The elder Nakamura stopped in mid-sentence. Even at close to sixty years of age, he was still physically commanding. Not a day passed that Kazuo’s father didn’t practice in the family dojo. Looking straight at Kazuo, he sprang up and moved to the door. Young Kazuo knew there was no sense in running. He’d felt his father’s wrath before.
The elder Nakamura’s hand shot through the thin papered pane, grabbed his son by the back of his head, and threw him into the room. He’d proceeded to methodically beat his son. There would be no cuts or bruises on his face or hands, but his torso would be black and blue for weeks. He was sure that his father had broken at least two ribs in the process.
The next day, his father walked into his room. Kazuo was at his desk doing his homework.
“Come with me,” his father ordered.
With a wince, Kazuo rose and followed.
They entered the family dojo and the old man turned to his son. “Have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good. The next time you are caught spying…” he let the threat linger as he turned to the small shrine situated in one corner.
He grabbed two sake glasses, filled them, and handed one to his son.
“I have a story to tell you, son. Drink first, then we talk.”
Kazuo did as instructed and gulped down the fiery liquid. It was his first taste of sake, but far from his last.
His father produced a pile of papers from a locked compartment under the small shrine. Kazuo looked at him anxiously.
“Have I ever told you the history of our family, My Son?”
“No, Father.”
Akemi Nakamura nodded and spread the papers on the floor then knelt. Son followed. The first thing young Kazuo noticed were the pictures of his father. He was always standing in uniform. He knew his father has served in World War II, but he didn’t know in what capacity.
“I was very young when I entered my first military academy,” his father began. “At that time, we had a very strong force. Because my father was a prominent politician, I was given the choice of where to serve. After excelling in my studies and training, I was selected to serve with our Military Police. We were called the Kempeitai. I was recruited to be part of their elite interrogation unit. I trained extensively with the German Abwehr. Some of my friends flew to Italy to train with the Italian Military Intelligence called the Servizio Informazioni Militare, or SIM. It was a wonderful time in our history. The Empire reached farther than we ever had in our history. I spent much time in China and the Pacific islands. We captured and tortured our enemies. I was a very good interrogator. They called me Akemi. Do you know what that means, my son?”
“I think it means Beauty of Dawn, Father.”
“That is correct. Now, what is on our national flag of Japan?”
“A rising sun, Father.”
“Yes. I was named Akemi because of my cruelty and success. My fellow soldiers saw my actions as bringing about the new dawn. The rise of the Empire of Japan.”
“But, Father, is Akemi not your real name?”
“It is now. That is another part of the story. As I was saying, we conquered wherever we went. Our warriors could not be stopped. The Pacific Islands, China, and Australia were all within our grasp.”
Nakamura’s eyes clouded. “That all changed with the invasion of Pearl Harbor.”
“I thought that was a great victory for our people, Father.”
“It was, my son. But it was only one battle. And that small victory awoke the American giant. Yes, we fared well at first. I still remember the newspapers filled with sinking American warships. It was a glorious time to be Japanese. But, after a time, the Americans recovered. Soon they were shipping unlimited resources to the Pacific. Our warriors fought valiantly…but, of course, you know the rest.”
Father and son sat silent for a moment. Akemi seemed to be gathering his thoughts again.
“After the war the Americans came looking for war criminals. I knew that what I did was in service of the Emperor. It did not matter to the Americans. They tracked down many of my friends. Most were hung or shot.”
Kazuo’s eyes went wide with wonder. “What happened to you, Father?”
“I was eventually caught. Luckily, I had forged documents with my new name, Akemi Nakamura. My other stroke of luck was that anyone who witnessed what I’d done was now dead. That is, all except for a few of my men. Some were captured and some escaped. The gentlemen you saw last night were four of them. I was imprisoned until no evidence could be produced to prosecute me. I found a new home and started my new life. Over the years, I found some of my old comrades. Most have new names as well. We meet periodically to reminisce about the old days and talk of the future.”
Kazuo stared at his father with awe. His father had been a great warrior of Japan, just like the mighty Samurai he learned about in school.
+++
The next time his father’s friends came for a visit, Kazuo was invited. He was always instructed to sit and stay quiet. A trend quickly emerged in Kazuo’s mind. They were planning something. What was it?
Soon, with the approval of the elder Nakamura, the other men started bringing their own sons to the gatherings. Kazuo became their leader. Not only did they spend time together at the Nakamura household, they would run in the hills and play Samurai. Little did he know then that gatherings for monthly dinners would one day become what it was today.
He forged those relationships through his teenage years and his father slowly prepared him for the future. There was always the lesson of putting Japan first. They talked for hours about their ancestors as they trained in the dojo. Kazuo remembered those days fondly.
Then came the day when the military police came to his home. By some cruel twist of fate, the modern day version of the Japanese Kempeitai had found his father’s true identity. Enough evidence was presented at the trial to lead to a swift prosecution. The war criminal, Akemi Nakamura, and his associates were killed by a Japanese military firing squad at the age of sixty-eight.
No one thought to question the children.
+++
Kazuo Nakamura assumed leadership of Japanese outcasts. Instead of mourning, he turned his sights on the ultimate goal: returning the Empire of Japan to its former glory. He had two enemies to confront: first, the current Japanese leadership and second, the United States. He saw the two as being the parties guilty of killing his father. He would not forget.
He led a delicate balancing act in the ensuing years. Nakamura pursued his education both in Japan and in the United States. Instead of being outwardly hostile to non-Japanese, Kazuo encouraged his small band to branch out. They learned about their enemies and entrenched themselves in both the Japanese and American political systems.
Nakamura’s patriots slowly grew over the years. Now, there were close to twenty men in the inner circle. The influence of the group extended throughout the Japanese and North American economies. They studied their enemies and gained leverage whenever possible.
Kazuo relocated to America when his son was born and raised Ishi as an American. They’d first lived in San Francisco, then moved east and settled into Wellesley, a quiet suburb of Boston. At the age of nine, his son was indoctrinated into the group. He’d been an apt pupil.
By dumb luck, Nakamura had stumbled upon what would become one of their greatest assets. During Ishi’s freshman year of private high school, he’d become friends with the son of a famous celebrity. At first, the strict father had forbidden the relationship. He didn’t want his son THAT Americanized.
One of Kazuo’s strengths as a businessman was to always search for the silver lining of unintended consequences. For years, he’d tried to figure out how to infiltrate America’s capital. So far, he’d only achieved marginal success. His son’s high school friends
hip gave him another idea. What if his son and the children of his compatriots became the friends of prominent politicians? He decided to try an experiment. First, he made discrete inquiries.
The next morning, he instructed Ishi to begin cultivating a relationship with the son of a long-standing U.S. Congressman. The two were in the same private high school but had never mingled in the same groups. Later that day, Ishi returned home to tell his father that the Congressman’s son had rebuffed his attempts at friendship.
After a severe rebuke, Kazuo calmed down and gave his son more to work with.
“I want you to do anything you need to. Find out if the boy uses drugs. Maybe he likes girls and alcohol. Observe without being obvious.”
Ishi agreed and the next day came home with the expected details.
“Father, I followed the boy and his friends at a discreet distance and found that they do like marijuana. In fact, I saw them smoking behind the football bleachers.”
His father smiled. “Good work, my son. We have our way in.”
Over the next week, father and son crafted a scheme to get Ishi into the boy’s clique. Through his contacts, Kazuo Nakamura purchased medical-grade marijuana. He had Ishi practice smoking the drug in order to understand its effects and to learn how to maintain control. The next week, Ishi joined the boys behind the bleachers.
The Congressman’s son, a fat spoiled teenager, confronted Ishi. “We don’t want Japs hanging around us.”
His friends laughed, but Ishi ignored the comments. Instead, he pulled out a carefully rolled joint, lit it, and took a long hit. The boys’ eyes opened wide and menace changed to wonder.
“Where’d you get that, Jap boy?” asked the Congressman’s son.
The young Nakamura looked straight into the boy’s eyes and pointed at him. “First, my name is Ishi,” he paused to take another hit. He could almost see the boys salivating. “Second, you want some?” He motioned to the boy with his joint.
“What is it?”
“It’s something special.”
“Is it laced with something?”
Ishi shook his head. “Nope. Just some shit stolen from a government lab.”
The other boys all looked to the Congressman’s son. They knew what his father did. They waited for him to lead.
The boy smiled and grabbed the joint hungrily. “I think you’re gonna fit in just fine around here, Ishi.”
It was a huge lesson for the Nakamuras. They now understood how their targets could be manipulated. Simply find their vice and exploit it. It was a formula they continued to use. Nakamura instructed his Japanese compatriots to do the same with their children and their businesses. Soon, their results surpassed Nakamura’s wildest predictions. Blackmail was a powerful tool.
After doing some research, Kazuo found another interesting weakness he could exploit. The sons of prominent bureaucrats tended to follow in their fathers’ footsteps. Over the years this phenomenon created families that would become political dynasties. It was time to attack the governmental elite.
During college, Kazuo Nakamura chose Ishi’s target: The Zimmer Dynasty.
+++
The Nakamura’s ultimate victory neared. Their blackmail list stretched far and wide. Leading Japanese politicians and businessman, hungry for additional international market share and respect, had privately endorsed Nakamura’s bold plan. In exchange for crippling the American machine, they would push through the reform needed to bring Japan back to superpower status. Yes, it would mean some minor disputes in Asia. But the ends justified the means. Besides, they would have the tacit approval of the next American President. The Empire of Japan would rise again.
+++
Back in his posh suite, the politician ran the details through his mind. He wished the coup didn’t involve the Japanese, but that was now beyond his control. So far, they’d succeeded in their planning. If worse came to worst, he could always point the finger back at them.
Grabbing his gin and tonic, he sat down and prepared for the mayhem.
Chapter 30
Las Vegas, Nevada
1:34pm, September 18th
President Waller and Cal decided that meeting to review and discuss the packet was worth the risk. Cal agreed to meet the former President in under an hour.
Meanwhile, Neil had successfully hacked his way into the Ichiban internal servers. He was now downloading the mountain of information for his software to start analyzing. Patel also had a team ready to assist at his office back at SSI headquarters.
Because of the fact that the enemy somehow knew their location, Cal had a dilemma. What they needed to do was move Neil and all his equipment. The problem was that they needed it up and running.
Instead of relocating, Cal instructed Gaucho to pull his troops back to the suite and secure it completely. Barring a cruise missile, the suite would be untouchable.
On a whim, Cal decided to bring Briggs along. The guy knew the city and the best way to navigate it. There was a reason he was a “scout” sniper.
The two Marines set off for the meeting with Waller. Rather than follow the outdoor walkways, Briggs cut a path through the casinos. It was possible to travel through much of The Strip without even stepping outside.
Cal casually swept his gaze as he’d learned in Todd Dunn’s challenging counter-surveillance course. He couldn’t detect any tails. Daniel pressed on.
The pair finally reached the small room that Neil had just reserved at the Treasure Island Resort and Casino. They wouldn’t need it for long, which was good. Waller had come with minimal security and in a casual disguise. Luckily, ex-Presidents weren’t highly important targets or his Secret Service staff might have denied the last minute request.
Cal nodded to the large man in jeans standing outside the door.
“Sorry, sir. I was instructed to only let you in,” the agent said.
Cal looked at Daniel. “Do you mind waiting out here?”
“Nope. See you in a minute.”
Cal opened the door and approached the next agent, who quickly frisked him. He pointed to Cal’s wrist that had his knife strapped to it. Just as the agent went to make a comment, Waller came out of the bathroom.
“He’s fine, Jimmy. Why don’t you wait outside?”
The agent looked like he was about to object, but instead nodded and stepped out.
“So, what are we dealing with here, Cal?”
Cal pulled his backpack off, extracted the manila envelope, and handed it to Waller.
Sitting down at the coffee table, President Waller took out the evidence and spread it out. His left eyebrow arched as he quickly perused the collection.
“Somebody’s been doing their homework, haven’t they?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you guys have any idea who might be behind this?”
“I’m new at this whole thing, Mr. President. I don’t know who you’ve had contact with in the past. My concern is that some of your security detail could be the issue.”
Waller stared at Cal for a moment. “I really hate to think about that, Cal. How realistic could it be?”
Cal had thought about it on the way over. “The way I see it, Mr. President…”
“Come on, Cal, it’s Hank in here, remember?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, Hank. Anyway, it is possible that someone could have taken these pictures and gotten audio from a long way off. The problem is, how did someone know where to look? I’m assuming whenever the Council meets, the number of people that know the itinerary is minimal?”
Waller nodded.
“Well then, there has to be someone on the inside.”
Waller stood up and walked to the window. “You know how bad this pisses me off? It reminds me of all the times Trav warned us about OpSec. He kept telling us that at some point someone would figure things out. How bad do you think this is?”
“I made a secure call to Trav before coming over. They’re running some scenarios,” answered Cal, unsure of what else the P
resident wanted him to say.
“I want YOUR opinion, Cal. Does this kill us?”
“You really want my opinion?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I figure we have two options: One, pack up, head home, and let the Zimmers deal with their own mess.”
“You know that’s not what…”
“Hold on, sir. Let me finish.”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“Second, we can find the leak and plug it.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“It’ll be risky, but I think the rat is about to surface. The other thing I wanted to tell you was that we honestly believe there is going to be some kind of attack or demonstration during the Democratic Convention.”
Waller’s eyes went wide. “What? How is that even possible? I’ve been to these things for years. I’m sure the Secret Service has buttoned up the city pretty tight.”
“A week ago, I would’ve agreed with you. But after what I’ve seen here, I’m not so sure. Hell, these guys found us and, more importantly, figured out about the most secretive group outside of the U.S. government. They’ve got resources and they aren’t afraid to use them.”
“So, what’s the next step? Should we alert the Secret Service?”
Cal knew he was taking a risk, but he had confidence in his team. “I think we should see how it plays out. Let’s say we give the Secret Service an anonymous tip that’ll hopefully get them even more attentive. Meanwhile, me and my team find these fuckers and take them out.”
Waller looked at the young man. If he felt any doubt, he didn’t show it. “Travis was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“We need more Marines in this world.”
+++
Cal and Waller ironed out a few more details. The ex-President would alert the rest of the Council and have them start thinking about potential leaks. Even though he wasn’t close to the current President, Waller still had duties to perform for his Party. Over the next couple days, he would be called upon to attend to the Convention. It would keep him busy, but they agreed to stay in close contact.
