The Little Tokyo Informant

by Andrew Rosenheim

  ‘I don’t know anything about that. I was ordered to come here now.’

  Noritaka wasn’t satisfied. ‘No one understands where these orders have come from, including Dr Kuhn.’

  According to Guttman’s briefing, Kuhn was a Nazi who had been sent to spy for the Japanese in Hawaii, but Guttman’s instructions had also said that Kuhn would be arrested on espionage charges well before Nessheim arrived here.

  He said firmly, ‘Dr Kuhn doesn’t have any idea who I am. He was detected by American Naval Intelligence last year. They’ve read his letters, deciphered his cables and watched every move he’s made. The last thing we wanted was for him to know I was here. I’d have been arrested the moment I arrived in Honolulu.’

  He could see that Noritaka was taken aback.

  Nessheim went on, ‘You say I’m too late – why?’

  Noritaka was silent. Then he said slowly, ‘Because the information has already been supplied.’

  ‘I have come a long way, Mr Noritaka. I can’t go back without a message for my superiors.’

  ‘The harbour depths won’t change, and we know what the tides will be.’ Noritaka added impatiently, ‘Though you can’t expect us to guarantee clear skies. So –’ He stopped suddenly, as if he’d heard something. ‘Stay here,’ he said abruptly. He got up and went out of the church, pulling the heavy wood door behind him.

  A minute later the door opened again. He heard a footstep and Noritaka said, ‘There’s someone else who wants to speak with you.’

  There was another step and a rough voice said, ‘Is this him?’

  Nessheim turned and saw another Japanese man standing at the end of the pew. He had a rifle cradled in one arm – a 30.06, the kind people used to hunt deer back in Wisconsin. He was wiry, with black hair that was cut in the LA style – a shock in front, short at the sides.

  For a split second Nessheim thought it was Billy Osaka. But there was a harshness to the face that he’d never seen in Billy’s, an anger that put this man at odds with the world.

  Nessheim realised he was staring at Akiro.

  ‘You had a long trip down the cliffs,’ said Akiro.

  ‘It felt that way.’ Nessheim said nonchalantly.

  ‘Schwab guide you down?’

  ‘Was that his name?’

  ‘Did he limp?’ asked Akiro, watching him with relentless eyes.

  ‘Couldn’t say. I wasn’t walking so good myself by the end.’ He pointed to his leg and said sheepishly, ‘I fell off the mule halfway down.’

  Akiro ignored this and barked, ‘Where’s your identification?’

  Nessheim reached slowly in his pocket, then pushed his driver’s licence down the bench. He noticed Akiro kept his barrel ready to swing round as he reached for the licence. He looked at it and a thin smile creased his face.

  ‘Nicely done,’ he said.

  ‘The State of Illinois does its best.’

  Akiro flipped the licence back to him; when it fell on the bench Nessheim left it there.

  Akiro said, ‘Is your real name Rossbach?’

  ‘What else could it be?’ He tried to sound indignant.

  ‘Someone who’s been looking for me in Honolulu.’

  ‘Maybe you’re a popular guy.’

  ‘I think it was you.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘The description fits.’ Then Akiro said, ‘Stand up and take your coat off.’

  Nessheim started to stand up. Akiro said tensely, ‘Do it slowly.’ He had raised the barrel of his rifle.

  Nessheim kept his hands out in the open and delicately lifted each lapel of his jacket back, then wriggled out of the coat. Akiro stared at Nessheim’s gun and called out for Noritaka. When Noritaka came over, Akiro rattled out something in Japanese and Noritaka moved along the pew in front of Nessheim’s, taking care to stay out of the line of fire. He extended his arm and carefully fished out the .38.

  Akiro laughed sourly. ‘You can keep the holster.’

  ‘You didn’t expect me to come here unarmed. I didn’t know what I was going to find.’

  ‘G-Men carry the Smith & Wesson, not Germans.’

  ‘Ever try to find a Luger in Honolulu?’

  Akiro shook his head impatiently. Noritaka said something to him and Akiro replied sharply. Noritaka answered back more mildly and Akiro said something else. It was clear they were arguing – Nessheim figured it was about what to do with him. From the tone of their voices – one decisive, the other uncertain – Akiro wanted to shoot him and Noritaka wasn’t sure.

  Nessheim tried to calm himself, but saw that there was a good chance he was about to be executed. It seemed so preposterous – he hadn’t learned anything on this foolhardy mission – that it was almost enough to still his mounting fear.

  The door to the vestry opened and Mother Julia appeared. She looked surprised to see the three men and came towards them.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘You are not kama’aina – I have never seen you before.’

  ‘We are staying at the Japanese clubhouse,’ Akiro said.

  ‘On whose authority? You should not be on the island without the superintendent’s permission – and mine.’ She pointed at Akiro’s rifle. ‘Take that out of here at once. This is a house of God.’

  ‘All right, Sister,’ Akiro said. ‘We’ll take our friend and be on our way.’

  ‘You’re not taking him anywhere.’

  ‘Get up,’ Akiro ordered Nessheim.

  Two native boys suddenly appeared, coming out of the vestry. They were in their teens, strong-looking, but still just boys. Mother Julia said to them, ‘Come along. I want you to help this man to the infirmary.’

  Akiro lifted his gun. ‘He’s staying with us.’

  Mother Julia was unfazed. ‘Now you listen to me: you can’t just barge into my church and tell me what to do. This man can’t travel without treatment. The supplies boat isn’t due for another week and we don’t know when the next airplane will land. If you think you can walk out the way you walked in, you’re mistaken. The watchman at the top of the pali is armed, so your gun will not impress him, and he won’t unlock the gate there for anyone without a pass from the superintendent. The superintendent never gives that out until he has consulted with me.’

  Noritaka was looking anxiously at Akiro, and started whispering. Akiro dismissed him with a wave of his hand, but he too looked uncertain now.

  ‘All right,’ he declared at last. ‘You may have this man treated. But we will come with you.’

  Mother Julia quickly motioned the two boys and they came forward to help Nessheim. It was a good thing too, he thought, for in sitting so long his leg had virtually seized up. He managed to get to the end of the pew, then the boys each took one of his arms around their broad shoulders and led him out of the church.

  They moved in a slow and awkward procession down a street and towards the ocean. The nun walked next to Nessheim and the boys, with Akiro and Noritaka right behind them. She turned to one of the boys helping Nessheim and said something. The boy nodded, then spoke to the other boy and they began to sing, loud enough for the nun to speak without being heard from behind.

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

  He whispered, ‘I’m with the FBI.’

  ‘But how did you get here? If you’d come down the pali I would have been told.’

  ‘I came by boat and put down by the lighthouse. The boat’s still there waiting for me.’

  Mother Julia said nothing. She was looking thoughtful.

  They came to a long one-storey building with a glassed-in sun porch. The wind had picked up and Nessheim could see the spray the big breakers threw up as they hit the rocks by the town’s little landing dock. The Pacific here was almost unbelievably blue.

  Mother Julia turned back to Akiro. ‘This was the old hospital – the new one’s next door. Come this way.’

  She led the way through an archway into a courtyard that was surrounded by small l
iving quarters for the lepers.

  ‘This is where our patients live,’ she said.

  A man was sitting at a small table in a corner of the courtyard, reading a newspaper. When he put it down to nod hello to Mother Julia, Noritaka gave a little gasp – the man’s face was badly scarred and one of his cheeks flattened, as if it had been crushed in a press.

  They moved through another arch at the far end, then climbed some steps into a new building with concrete foundations. At the door Mother Julia turned.

  ‘Wait here,’ she told them.

  She was back in a minute. ‘Now, I am going to take this man through to see the nurse. You can’t come any further.’

  Akiro shook his head, though Noritaka looked ill at ease. Akiro said, ‘We’re coming too.’

  Mother Julia said, ‘If you insist.’ Before Akiro could argue, she opened the door and motioned the boys to help Nessheim inside.

  They all entered a small atrium. A corridor stretched down either side, with signs for the Dispensary and X-ray room. In front of him, Nessheim could look directly into one of the wards through its swing doors, which had small glass windows. It was a long white room, with two ceiling fans and a dark linoleum floor. On each side of the ward were about ten beds and all were occupied. He saw a nurse sitting at one bedside; another stood in the aisle, holding a tray.

  ‘This way,’ said Mother Julia.

  She opened another door, next to the entrance to the ward. It gave onto a small office, where a uniformed nurse stood waiting. The room had a desk, a chair and the raised flat bed of a consulting room. There was a wall cabinet, presumably to store medicines, and a trolley that held rolls of gauze, a bottle of rubbing alcohol and half a dozen needles for injections, resting upright in a jar of liquid steriliser. At the back of the room another door led straight into the ward.

  She motioned to the boys and they helped Nessheim into the chair, then left the room while Mother Julia stood guard in the doorway. She said fiercely to Akiro and Noritaka, ‘The nurse doesn’t want you in here. The ward right next door is for severe cases,’ she said, pointing towards the swing doors, ‘and the risk of contagion is extremely high. One of the patients has just died and they’re about to take him to the graveyard. Naturally, all the patients are upset. I won’t have you making things worse. Now wait there.’

  She closed the door on them. ‘We have to be quick,’ she said.

  The nurse went and opened the rear door of the room into the ward. The two Hawaiian boys were standing by an army stretcher that was lying on the floor. Mother Julia said to them, ‘Come help.’

  Nessheim struggled to his feet, then with the aid of the two Hawaiians shuffled through the back door and lay on the stretcher. The nurse bent and took off his shoes, while Mother Julia covered him with a large sheet. Then the two boys lifted up the stretcher.

  Mother Julia leaned down and put her face close to Nessheim’s. He smiled.

  ‘May the Lord forgive me,’ she said. ‘Now when they take you through the swing doors hold your breath. Dead men don’t breathe.’

  They waited thirty seconds, then the boys bustled him through the swing doors and didn’t stop. They could hear Mother Julia just a few feet away, talking to distract Akiro and Noritaka.

  He heard Akiro grunt and Noritaka answering in Japanese. Then Nessheim sensed he was being carried outside. He didn’t dare move his head and he was still holding his breath. Suddenly the cot tilted and he flinched, then realised they were taking him down the steps of the building. They moved a few steps on smooth pavement and he felt the front pair of carrying hands let go as the stretcher slid along a floor. A moment later a hand flipped the sheet down from over his head, uncovering his eyes. He took a chance and opened them and realised he was lying in the back of a wooden cart. One of the two Hawaiian boys was looking down at him and nodded, then pulled a canvas tarpaulin over the back of the cart.

  The horse and cart made good time. Nessheim reckoned they had at least a few minutes’ lead, maybe more if Mother Julia could keep Akiro out of the nurse’s room for longer. It was a bumpy ride and Nessheim had nothing to hang on to. He banged his leg twice against the sides of the cart and when he reached down his hand came back sticky and wet.

  He sensed the cart turning gradually and imagined their progress: north along the Kalaupapa side of the island, then east and over the aviation field, past the lighthouse and down to the shore. It couldn’t be much past noon and he only prayed that Hiapo hadn’t decided to go for a spin.

  They were riding now on a soft springy surface, which he decided must be the turf runway strip. He figured it was five minutes to go when he heard a low rumble far in the distance. Thunder? No, it was a steady low noise and it was coming closer. A car. The two Japanese must have forced their way into the nurse’s room, then gone and taken the nearest vehicle, probably at gunpoint.

  The smooth surface ended and the cart jolted and bounced on rough stones, which slowed them down. He sensed they were very near the water now and a moment later he heard waves breaking. The low throb of an engine was growing louder.

  Suddenly the cart slanted and he was pushed against one side as it moved at an angle along the beach and stopped. He heard the cart driver get down and he tried to sit up, but the canvas had been tied firmly. He waited impatiently as the driver worked at the ropes, then threw back the tarp.

  The cart driver was an enormous man in a short-sleeved shirt; his forearms looked like hams. As Nessheim struggled to get up, the Hawaiian looked at his bleeding leg with concern, then reached in and hauled Nessheim to the back of the cart, until he was sitting up, his legs dangling. In one quick move the Hawaiian hoisted Nessheim over his shoulder.

  The big man carried him down the twenty feet or so and carefully put Nessheim down to stand at the water’s edge. He turned to go back to the cart and Nessheim could hear the car coming. It must have reached the airstrip by now.

  The Moana Two was anchored less than fifty yards from shore and he waded gingerly into the water and swam for it. It was only as he made his last few strokes that Hiapo heard him and then he helped him into the stern with the aid of a grappling hook.

  ‘We have to go right away,’ Nessheim said, gasping. He pointed wildly at the shore. When he turned and looked he saw a Model T screech to a halt next to the cart and horse. Hiapo had gone straight to the wheel. There was a low rumble and the diesel engine caught. Hiapo pushed the throttle down hard and they crouched beneath the gunwale level as the boat surged forward. Looking back, Nessheim could see Akiro aiming the rifle in their direction. Then suddenly the big Hawaiian appeared next to him on the beach and Nessheim watched as he launched a punch that connected flush on Akiro’s jaw. The Japanese man collapsed onto the sand, and his rifle flew in the air and landed with a splash in the water.

  When they were out of range, Nessheim looked at his watch, feeling like he’d aged ten years. Less than three hours had passed since he’d waded ashore.

  The cutter in the channel between Molokai and Oahu appeared out of nowhere. The sun had just set when a blinking semaphoric light came out of the dusk and approached at a sharp angle off their bow. The ship was called the Prairie Schooner and it was manned at its prow by a sailor tending a thirty-millimetre gun. An American flag was flying from the top of its pilot house. When the vessel was less than twenty yards away a voice rang out, amplified by a megaphone: ‘Moana Two, turn off your engines and keep your hands in the air! I repeat, keep your hands in the air!’

  Thank God, Nessheim thought.

  He waited to explain until he was brought on board, while a sailor stayed on Moana Two with the Hawaiian.

  ‘I’m an FBI agent,’ he said.

  ‘Save it for the Marines,’ said the skipper, a young lieutenant. He turned to the two sailors who stood, pistols drawn, on either side of Nessheim. ‘How about the other one?’

  ‘He’s called Hiapo, sir. He’s a local fisherman. I think he’s okay. We’ve seen him out here plenty of times before.’


  The lieutenant nodded. ‘Let him go. If we want to talk to him again we know where to find him.’ He pointed at Nessheim. ‘This must be Rossbach. Cuff him and take him below.’

  ‘I’m not Rossbach,’ Nessheim protested. The skipper shook his head.

  Nessheim tried again, but it was no use – when he started to speak for a third time, the young lieutenant threatened to gag him as the sailors led him away. Below deck they attached his handcuffs to a large internal pipe, which didn’t budge. Then the cutter started to move again.

  They travelled quickly, at probably twice the knots of Moana Two. There was nothing to do but wait until they reached Oahu. Nessheim wondered whose attention he would command on a Friday night. His thoughts alternated between anxiety that no one would believe him and fury that he had been betrayed. How else did these Navy men know to look for ‘Rossbach’?

  It was pitch dark when they came into Pearl Harbor and only a solitary light glowed from the Pan Am terminal on the east loch. They headed towards it in the vast internal waterway, towards the main docks of the naval base. An enormous battleship in war camouflage was berthed there and as they passed it he could just make out the name, painted in bold letters by the bow – USS Arizona.

  They marched him off the boat, half-lifting, half-dragging him into the command-post headquarters, which were tucked away at one side of the south-east loch of the harbour. He tried to hobble along unassisted, but when he moved too slowly the escorts propelled him by both arms.

  He was expecting to be taken to the base commander, and the same two sailors led him along a series of linoleum-floored hallways, through a succession of swinging doors. At last they arrived at one that wasn’t swinging. The sailors rapped smartly on the door and an orderly opened it. On the far side Nessheim could see a long corridor, battleship grey, with barred cells on either side.

  ‘Prisoner,’ the sailors announced and shoved Nessheim through the door.

  33

  HE HAD A single cell with a wall of bars facing the corridor, and a small high window on the back wall. If he stood on the little chair in his cell it gave him a view of Ford Island across the east loch. There was no moon, and though his eyes adjusted gradually he could only make out the bulky shapes of the battleships in the harbour and an expanse of even darker grey, which must be the water.