Beautiful Illusion_A Novel

by Christie Nelson

  TOKIDO LEANED HIS shoulders into the damp wind that gusted, swirling high into the eucalyptus trees that lined the paved road in Tennessee Valley. He knew he must succeed, yet every step brought him closer to an outcome he dreaded. Basho’s haiku rose like a ghost to accompany him.

  Fever-felled half-way,

  my dreams arose

  To march again . . .

  Into a hollow land

  Binoculars, secured by a strap around his neck, hung on his chest. The Midget was strapped to his ankle inside his boot. Beside him, Lily held his hand loosely. Her head was down, the collar of her coat turned up against her cheek. More than once, he inquired if she was warm enough, but the wind whipped, making conversation impossible.

  They had walked over a mile after parking in a nearly empty lot. Now and then, a hiker passed by. Tokido lowered his eyes and pulled his scarf more tightly around his neck. The camera dug into his ankle. A thin sun filtered overhead through the air, pungent with the scent of eucalyptus. Occasionally, when a gull or hawk appeared in the sky, he lifted the glasses to his eyes and peered through the lens.

  He offered them to her. “No, you keep them,” she said, her voice faint.

  He had proposed over a week ago that they find a few hours to see the coast. “I can spare a few hours on Friday. Kiyoshi is capable of handling any contingencies. Our time together has been rare.”

  They lay side by side on the futon, the warmth of their naked bodies radiating against each other. Night pressed at the window, the room softly illuminated. “Long ago you said you wanted to show me Mount Tamalpais, but I would be satisfied to walk the headlands above the ocean.” Immediately, he sensed her stiffen. He hesitated until there was nothing else to do but go on. “I consulted a map. There’s a place called Tennessee Valley just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. We can walk there.”

  She turned her head away. He waited. Minutes passed.

  “Lily.” He cupped her chin, turning her face back toward him. He tried to ignore the sadness in her eyes. “Would you rather not?”

  “Yes. I mean, no,” she answered. “When would you like to go?”

  He drew her into his arms then, starved for the sweetness of her skin and the silent union of their naked bodies, where he could pretend that he would never betray her, never have to leave her.

  In the thin sunshine, they continued walking down the narrow valley. After a distance, he saw a steep trail leading south up a ridge. He stopped and consulted a map that he removed from his pocket. “Look,” he said, indicating a thin black line. Lily leaned over the page, holding the fluttering edges in her gloved hand. “Here’s a trail called Wolf Ridge.” He pointed to the trail. “What would you say if we took this route?”

  She squinted up toward the trail. “Is this where you want to go?”

  He straightened the binoculars around his neck. “Why not?”

  “Are you sure?” She addressed him with uncharacteristic solemnity. “Fort Cronkhite is somewhere in these hills.”

  “How far?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “We’ll only go to the top.” He consulted his wristwatch. “There’s time. We’re bound to see the ocean.”

  Deer scat littered the trail. They climbed single-file, up, up, up. Their breath came in short gasps. Here, on the roughshod open bluff, the ground was craggy, pebbled, and there was no sign of spring’s benevolence, except for electric-green grasses bent sideways. Native shrubs, humbled by the unrelenting fog and wind, dotted the rocky landscape.

  At last they crested Wolf Ridge and a clear vista opened to the west. A bank of fog lay on the far horizon, meeting the line of the gray Pacific. Through buffeting currents of air, he heard the hiss of the choppy waves breaking far below a cliff, against the jagged rocks.

  Tokido’s shirt was wet with sweat. His ankle ached. He estimated that the border of Fort Cronkhite lay close by. Perhaps it’s just over the rise ahead, he thought. Moto’s order thrummed in his head. Find the location.

  Lily took two steps forward. “Look! Wildflowers.” She advanced slowly to the edge of the hillside, before it dropped off into a gully. Stepping carefully onto a patch of grass where buttercups grew like a carpet of yellow, she bent to pick a flower. “This is so beautiful,” she called, sprinkling blossoms over the front of her coat, flinging her arms over her head. She fell to her knees and rolled onto her back. Gulls called and swooped, caw caw caw. The sunlight began to dim as wisps of fog trailed in the sky.

  “I’m going ahead,” he told her.

  “I’ll wait here,” she answered.

  Quickly, he climbed to the top of the next rise. The ground leveled out, and, directly in front of him, not twenty-five yards away, a barbed wire fence loomed up. A sign was posted on the fence: KEEP OUT! MILITARY INSTALLATION. DANGER! His heart pounded in his chest.

  Crouching down, he rushed toward the fence. Looking through the steel barbs, he saw a road that curved around the contour of a hill and into a man-made mound of earth large enough to conceal a fleet of tanks. Battery Townsley! That’s it! Standing, he lifted his pant leg, unstrapped the Midget, and pulled it out of his boot. The wind whistled in his ears. He peered through the lens finder. Click. Click. Click. He aimed through the barbs, swinging the camera in several directions.

  Estimating he had two remaining shots, he turned and rushed back to the rise just before it dropped. Diving onto his belly, he crept forward on his elbows to the edge, until Lily came into view. She was still on her back, her forearm shielding her eyes. He steadied his hands, aimed the camera, and took one shot of her. This picture was only for his eyes. He scurried backward, stood, turned, and edged back toward the fence. Not one person was in sight. With his last shot, he planted his feet wide and bent his knees for a long-view image and depressed the shutter release button. Abruptly, the mechanism locked. He swore, pushing the sound between his teeth, and dropped the camera into the top of his boot. No sooner had he straightened up than he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  Lily stared at him. “What are you doing?”

  He stopped breathing. In an instant, a veil dropped between them.

  “My God,” she whispered, looking over his shoulder and toward the fence. “Is that Battery Townsley?”

  He grabbed her arm. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Her eyes bore into his, blazing with hatred. “This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?”

  “No,” he cried, lunging for her and trying to pull her away, his heels digging into the earth.

  She resisted, fighting back with a ferociousness he didn’t know she possessed. “Let me go!” she screamed.

  Without warning, a voice shouted, “Halt!”

  Tokido jerked back, as if electrified.

  “Holy shit,” Lily whispered.

  “Turn around,” the voice commanded.

  Tokido pivoted slowly and came face-to-face with a six-foot soldier. He clutched an M1 rifle in his hands. Another soldier stood next to him, combat boots planted apart, holding the same weapon.

  “What are you doing here?” the soldier barked.

  “My mistake, sir,” Tokido said. “We wandered off the trail. Taking in the sights.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m a diplomat with the Japanese consulate.”

  Tokido steadied his hand as he lifted it toward his chest to take out his passport.

  “Drop your hand!”

  The soldier advanced and patted Tokido down. Opening his jacket, the soldier’s rough fingers located the passport, lifted it out, and quickly examined it. “Hand over the binoculars,” he ordered.

  Tokido unwound the binoculars from around his neck and passed them to the soldier.

  His eyes shifted between Tokido and Lily. A barely concealed look of disgust flickered in his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked Lily.

  “A reporter with the San Francisco Examiner.”

  He looked at her, stone-faced. “Show me your identification.”

  In h
is peripheral vision, Tokido watched Lily offer a press pass.

  “Who’s your superior?” he asked.

  “Simon Toth, city editor.”

  Without a hint of recognition, the soldier broke away, walked off several paces, and spoke into a walkie-talkie.

  CAPTAIN KOBLOS, IN military khakis, with two silver bars on his shoulder, waited behind a gray metal desk. Nearby, an MP stood stiffly at parade rest. The soldier marched Lily and Tokido in front of him, ordered them to stop, and came around in front of the captain. He saluted, passed their documents and binoculars over, and stepped to one side. Koblos set the binoculars on his desk and silently examined the documents.

  Harsh light flooded the dank room. The American flag and a battalion flag hung limply in the corner. The smell of sweat and mildew hovered in the air.

  Koblos raised his eyes, raking them back and forth between the pair. “You approached our restricted area. I could lock you up right now.”

  Tokido felt Lily start as if she’d been struck. He didn’t move a muscle. The metal edge of the camera dug into his ankle, which throbbed with pain.

  Koblos fixed his gaze on Tokido. “I’ve verified your identity with Mr. Moto.” He clenched his teeth. His gaze slid to Lily. “Don’t ever pull a stunt like this again.” He paused. “Now, both of you, get out of here. We have a taxi standing by. Hutchinson, here’s their papers. Take them to the main gate.”

  DUSK HAD FALLEN, and night was coming on hard. The MP pulled up sharply to the door of the taxi idling at the guard shack. Its headlights cut through the fog that rose from the ocean and poured down through the valleys and hillsides like fine rain. Lily leaped out and flung herself into the back-seat. Tokido slid in beside her. She hugged the door, staring straight ahead.

  He gave the cabbie directions back to the car. It was futile to attempt to talk; she was seething. Once they reached the parking lot, he paid the cabbie and opened the door for her. He weighed the question of whether she had seen him using the camera. If she had, why didn’t she say something?

  He drove out of Tennessee Valley, onto the highway, and over the bridge. The tires clicked over the bridge’s roadbed. They rode trapped in hostile silence. Through the tollgate, into the Marina, and up Scott Street, he steered the car with precise execution.

  Before the car reached the French boardinghouse, Tokido veered sharply around a corner, reducing the speed so that the car crawled like a great cat along the darkened street lined with stately houses.

  “Lily,” he began. “I—”

  “Stop,” she said. “Just stop.” Her words, each delivered in measured cadence like a beating drum, came slowly. “Someday I’ll give you back the hurt you have given me. You won’t know when, you won’t know where, but any peace you have will turn to dust, and you’ll know my debt is settled.” Her hand flew to the door handle. He braked, but not before the door swung wide. The gray asphalt, its surface razor-flecked, telescoped into view.

  “No!” he shouted helplessly. She jumped, landing squarely, quick-stepping, regaining her balance, running, running, running, and disappearing in the rear window.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Woodrow

  In a darkened corner of the Family Club bar in downtown San Francisco, Fritz Hobart leaned back against a leather barrel chair and sipped a bourbon neat. Woodrow sat opposite him, fingering a cigar and nursing a French Bordeaux. Here and there, club members visited in pairs, smoking and drinking, some alone, reading the newspaper. White-coated gentlemen waiters held trays and proffered refreshments.

  Hobart adjusted the knot of his navy blue and gold rep tie and regarded Woodrow with keen interest. “It’s a pleasure to see you after all these years. You’ve done well, Woodrow.”

  “It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t do well, Fritz. Law was a good choice?”

  “Politics ran in my blood. A law degree was a place to start. As it turned out, Washington called and I answered.”

  “Providence plays its part. Right place, right time.”

  Hobart nodded and tipped the bourbon to his lips. “Precisely. Your work with the Carnegie team at Chichén Itzá is highly regarded.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Your contribution here at the Exposition hasn’t gone unnoticed, either. I saw the hieroglyphics on many of the walls at Treasure Island. Fascinating stuff.”

  “Yes, and now it’s time to move on.” Woodrow inhaled and exhaled the cigar, the smoke circling over his head. “It appears that my work has come to an end.”

  “That may not be the case,” Hobart said. He leaned in and placed the bourbon on the table between them. “I’d like to speak confidentially.”

  Woodrow nodded. “By all means.” Hobart’s remark did not come as a surprise. The curious letter from his father about Hobart lay visible under a paperweight on the corner of his desk. He was reminded daily of an imminent call.

  “I’ll be blunt. World events are playing out on a stage larger than is imaginable for the United States.”

  Without hesitation, Woodrow replied. “I, too, am concerned about the world’s political situation.”

  “Exactly.” Hobart leaned closer in. “Roosevelt’s staff and top advisors are building a network of private citizens that keep him informed as the inevitable war in Europe and hostility with Japan unfold. Highly placed people believe you can help the country to stay informed from this strategic location on the West Coast.”

  Woodrow held Hobart’s gaze, sensing what was coming.

  “The presence of Japan on Treasure Island has not been overlooked,” Hobart added.

  “With good reason,” Woodrow replied.

  “I’m certain that if you joined this group, your ability to move widely would be invaluable to our country’s effort.”

  There was no need for consideration. The reply was swift. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. In fact, I already have information that may prove useful.”

  “Good man,” Hobart said. “You’ll be contacted tomorrow by a Mr. Johnson.”

  “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

  “May I take a rain check?”

  “Anytime,” Woodrow replied.

  Hobart stood and stepped around the table to clasp Woodrow’s hand. “We’re on the move. It’s great to have you aboard.”

  WOODROW EXITED THE club into the bracing chill of fog.

  He was ravenously hungry and electrified by Hobart’s proposal. By God, the fight was on! He pictured Roosevelt’s leonine head, wide grin, and take-charge spirit that had pulled the country out of the Depression and set it working again. Not even the blow of polio, which crippled his legs, had stopped the man. Now his courage and cunning would prevail during these dangerous times.

  All at once, Woodrow sought the camaraderie of good people enjoying a hearty meal. He hailed a cab that delivered him to the front door of Schroeder’s Restaurant on Front Street. Inside the wood-paneled, high-ceilinged hall, he ordered a dinner of bratwurst, sauerkraut, potatoes, and a stein of excellent beer. All around him, diners ate and drank and conversed. Not for one minute did he feel alone. As his belly filled, his spirits held steady while he speculated about the future. Best to abandon the search for Lily’s mother, he resolved. Lily was a grown woman, capable of fending for herself. Time to allow such folly to subside; there was new purpose now.

  Gayway

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lily

  Goddammit, Nordby, what in the hell were you thinking?” Every vein on Toth’s forehead bulged as if it would burst. “Snooping near a goddamn military danger zone!” He flung a pencil down on his desk, stacked with papers and folders, and glared at her.

  “Think about it, Boss. I found the site of Battery Townsley! What a story!”

  “You think you found it.” He yanked at his tie like he was having a fit. “And even if you did, it’s a story we can’t run. It’s top secret! You know that. Don’t give me any crap.”

  “Yeah, but—”

 
“In the company of a Jap, no less.” The phone rang; he picked it up and shouted into the receiver, “Not now!”

  Lily’s cheeks burned. “I never took you for a racist.”

  “Don’t be getting hot under the collar. He may be a diplomat, but he’s still a Jap.” Toth ran the heel of his hand over his bald head. “And take that indignant look off your face. You could have landed in the brig.”

  “I know, I know—”

  “What you do with your personal life is your business, but get your head out of the clouds. People talk, Nordby.” He lifted a lit cigarette from the lip of an ashtray overflowing with butts and took a drag. “Showing up around town gussied up, making googly eyes, but now you’ve taken it too far!”

  “Shut up for one minute! There’s something I need to tell you.”

  He squinted at her. “Hurry up. I’ve got a paper to put out.”

  “It’s a bigger story.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I have no proof.”

  “Cut to the chase, Nordby.”

  “Okamura told me he wanted to see the coast. I suggested Mount Tamalpais, but he chose the headlands.”

  Toth cocked his head to one side. “And?” He ground out the cigarette.

  “Just before we were sighted, I think he was taking pictures.”

  “You think?” Toth repeated. He chewed on his lower lip. “Pictures of what?”

  “Battery Townsley. I was too far away to swear on it, but I’m pretty sure he dropped something in his boot. Maybe a camera?”

  He jumped to his feet. “Too far away!” Toth thundered. “A camera? This gets better and better. You think you saw him drop something in his boot, but you’re not sure. But obviously you don’t say anything to the captain. Because if there’s really a camera or some other blasted thing in his boot, then you’re dead meat.”