by Ken Follett
Vandermeier was a short, stocky man with a gravelly voice and bad breath. He saluted Gus and shook hands. ‘Welcome, Senator. It’ll be my privilege to show you the Communications Intelligence Unit of the fourteenth Naval District.’ This was the deliberately vague title for the group monitoring the radio signals of the Imperial Japanese Navy.
‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Gus.
‘A word of warning, first, sir. It’s an informal group. This kind of work is often done by eccentric people, and correct naval uniform is not always worn. The officer in charge, Commander Rochefort, wears a red velvet jacket.’ Vandermeier gave a man-to-man grin. ‘You may think he looks like a goddamn homo.’
Chuck tried not to wince.
Vandermeier said: ‘I won’t say any more until we’re in the secure zone.’
‘Very good,’ said Gus.
They went down the stairs and into the basement, passing through two locked doors on the way.
Station HYPO was a windowless neon-lit cellar housing thirty men. As well as the usual desks and chairs, it had oversized chart desks, racks of exotic IBM machine printers, sorters and collators, and two cots where the cryptanalysts took naps during their marathon codebreaking sessions. Some of the men wore neat uniforms but others, as Vandermeier had warned, were in scruffy civilian clothing, unshaven, and – to judge by the smell – unwashed.
‘Like all navies, the Japanese have many different codes, using the simplest for less secret signals, such as weather reports, and saving the complex ones for the most highly sensitive messages,’ Vandermeier said. ‘For example, call signs identifying the sender of a message and its destination are in a primitive cipher, even when the text itself is in a high-grade cipher. They recently changed the code for call signs, but we cracked the new one in a few days.’
‘Very impressive,’ said Gus.
‘We can also figure out where the signal originated, by triangulation. Given locations and the call signs, we can build up a pretty good picture of where most of the ships of the Japanese navy are, even if we can’t read the messages.’
‘So we know where they are, and what direction they’re taking, but not what their orders are,’ said Gus.
‘Frequently, yes.’
‘But if they wanted to hide from us, all they would have to do is impose radio silence.’
‘True,’ said Vandermeier. ‘If they go quiet, this whole operation becomes useless, and we are well and truly fucked up the ass.’
A man in a smoking jacket and carpet slippers approached, and Vandermeier introduced the head of the unit. ‘Commander Rochefort is fluent in Japanese, as well as being a master cryptanalyst,’ Vandermeier said.
‘We were making good progress decrypting the main Japanese cipher until a few days ago,’ Rochefort said. ‘Then the bastards changed it and undid all our work.’
Gus said: ‘Captain Vandermeier was telling me you can learn a lot without actually reading the messages.’
‘Yes.’ Rochefort pointed to a wall chart. ‘Right now, most of the Japanese fleet has left home waters and is heading south.’
‘Ominous.’
‘It sure is. But tell me, Senator, what’s your reading of Japanese intentions?’
‘I believe they will declare war on the United States. Our oil embargo is really hurting them. The British and the Dutch are refusing to supply them, and right now they’re trying to ship it from South America. They can’t survive like this indefinitely.’
Vandermeier said: ‘But what would they achieve by attacking us? A little country such as Japan can’t invade the USA!’
Gus said: ‘Great Britain is a little country, but they achieved world domination just by ruling the seas. The Japanese don’t have to conquer America, they just need to defeat us in a naval war, so that they can control the Pacific, and no one can stop them trading.’
‘So, in your opinion, what might they be doing, heading south?’
‘Their likeliest target has to be the Philippines.’
Rochefort nodded agreement. ‘We’ve already reinforced our base there. But one thing bothers me: the commander of the Japanese aircraft carrier fleet hasn’t received any signals for several days.’
Gus frowned. ‘Radio silence. Has that ever happened before?’
‘Yes. Aircraft carriers go quiet when they return to home waters. So we assume that’s the explanation this time.’
Gus nodded. ‘It sounds reasonable.’
‘Yes,’ said Rochefort. ‘I just wish I could be sure.’
(iii)
The Christmas lights were ablaze on Fort Street in Honolulu. It was Saturday night, 6 December, and the street was thronged with sailors in white tropical uniform, each with a round white cap and a crossed black scarf, all out for a good time.
The Dewar family strolled along enjoying the atmosphere, Rosa on Chuck’s arm and Gus and Woody on either side of Joanne.
Woody had patched up his quarrel with his fiancée. He apologized for making wrong assumptions about what Joanne expected in their marriage. Joanne admitted she had flown off the handle. Nothing was truly resolved, but it was enough of a rapprochement for them to tear off their clothes and jump into bed.
Afterwards, the quarrel seemed less important, and nothing really mattered except how much they loved each other. Then they vowed that in future they would discuss such agreements in a loving and tolerant way. As they got dressed Woody felt that they had passed a milestone. They had had an acrimonious quarrel about a serious difference of view, but they had survived it. It could even be a good sign.
Now they were heading out for dinner, Woody carrying his camera, snapping photos of the scene as they walked along. Before they had gone far Chuck stopped and introduced another sailor. ‘This is my pal, Eddie Parry. Eddie, meet Senator Dewar, Mrs Dewar, my brother Woody, and Woody’s fiancée, Miss Joanne Rouzrokh.’
Rosa said: ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Eddie. Chuck has mentioned you several times in his letters home. Won’t you join us for dinner? We’re only going to eat Chinese.’
Woody was surprised. It was not like his mother to invite a stranger to a family meal.
Eddie said: ‘Thank you, ma’am. I’d be honoured.’ He had a southern accent.
They went into the Heavenly Delight restaurant and sat down at a table for six. Eddie had formal manners, calling Gus ‘sir’ and the women ‘ma’am’, but he seemed relaxed. After they had ordered he said: ‘I’ve heard so much about this family, I feel as if I know y’all.’ He had a freckled face and a big smile, and Woody could tell that everyone liked him.
Eddie asked Rosa how she liked Hawaii. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m a little disappointed,’ she said. ‘Honolulu is just like any small American town. I expected it to be more Asian.’
‘I agree,’ said Eddie. ‘It’s all diners and motor courts and jazz bands.’
He asked Gus if there was going to be a war. Everyone asked Gus that question. ‘We’ve tried our darnedest to reach a modus vivendi with Japan,’ Gus said. Woody wondered if Eddie knew what a modus vivendi was. ‘Secretary of State Hull had a whole series of talks with Ambassador Nomura that lasted all summer long. But we can’t seem to agree.’
‘What’s the problem?’ said Eddie.
‘American business needs a free trade zone in the Far East. Japan says okay, fine, we love free trade, let’s have it, not just in our backyard, but all over the world. The United States can’t deliver that, even if we wanted it. So Japan says that as long as other countries have their own economic zone, they need one too.’
‘I still don’t see why they had to invade China.’
Rosa, who always tried to see the other side, said: ‘The Japanese want troops in China and Indochina and the Dutch East Indies to protect their interests, just as we Americans have troops in the Philippines, and the British have theirs in India, and the French in Algeria, and so on.’
‘When you put it that way, the Japs don’t seem so unreasonable!’
Joanne said
firmly: ‘They’re not unreasonable, but they’re wrong. Conquering an empire is the nineteenth-century solution. The world is changing. We’re moving away from empires and closed economic zones. To give them what they want would be a backward step.’
Their food arrived. ‘Before I forget,’ Gus said, ‘we’re having breakfast tomorrow morning aboard the Arizona. Eight o’clock sharp.’
Chuck said: ‘I’m not invited, but I’ve been detailed to get you there. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty and drive you to the Navy Yard, then take you across the harbour in a launch.’
‘Fine.’
Woody tucked in to fried rice. ‘This is great,’ he said. ‘We should have Chinese food at our wedding.’
Gus laughed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not? It’s cheap, and it tastes good.’
‘A wedding is more than a meal, it’s an occasion. Speaking of which, Joanne, I must call your mother.’
Joanne frowned. ‘About the wedding?’
‘About the guest list.’
Joanne put down her chopsticks. ‘Is there a problem?’ Woody saw her nostrils flare, and knew there was going to be trouble.
‘Not really a problem,’ said Gus. ‘I have a rather large number of friends and allies in Washington who would be offended if they were not invited to the wedding of my son. I’m going to suggest that your mother and I share the cost.’
Papa was being thoughtful, Woody guessed. Because Dave had sold his business for a bargain price before he died, Joanne’s mother might not have a lot of money to spare for a swanky wedding. But Joanne disliked the idea of the two parents making wedding arrangements over her head.
‘Who are the friends and allies you’re thinking about?’ Joanne said coolly.
‘Senators and congressmen, mostly. We must invite the President, but he won’t come.’
‘Which senators and congressmen?’ Joanne asked.
Woody saw his mother hide a grin. She was amused at Joanne’s insistence. Not many people had the nerve to push Gus up against the wall like this.
Gus began a list of names.
Joanne interrupted him. ‘Did you say Congressman Cobb?’
‘Yes.’
‘He voted against the anti-lynching law!’
‘Peter Cobb is a good man. But he’s a Mississippi politician. We live in a democracy, Joanne: we have to represent our voters. Southerners won’t support an anti-lynching law.’ He looked at Chuck’s friend. ‘I hope I’m not treading on any toes here, Eddie.’
‘Don’t mince your words on my account, sir,’ Eddie said. ‘I’m from Texas, but I feel ashamed when I think of southern politics. I hate prejudice. A man’s a man, whatever his colour.’
Woody glanced at Chuck. He looked so proud of Eddie he might have burst.
At that moment, Woody realized that Eddie was more than just Chuck’s pal.
That was weird.
There were three loving couples around the table: Papa and Mama, Woody and Joanne, and Chuck and Eddie.
He stared at Eddie. Chuck’s lover, he thought.
Damn weird.
Eddie caught him staring, and smiled amiably.
Woody tore his gaze away. Thank God Papa and Mama haven’t figured it out, he thought.
Unless that was why Mama had invited Eddie to join in a family dinner. Did she know? Did she even approve? No, that was beyond the bounds of possibility.
‘Anyway, Cobb has no choice,’ Papa was saying. ‘And in everything else he’s a liberal.’
‘There’s nothing democratic about it,’ Joanne said hotly. ‘Cobb doesn’t represent the people of the south. Only white people are allowed to vote there.’
Gus said: ‘Nothing is perfect in this life. Cobb supported Roosevelt’s New Deal.’
‘That doesn’t mean I have to invite him to my wedding.’
Woody put in: ‘Papa, I don’t want him either. He has blood on his hands.’
‘That’s unfair.’
‘It’s how we feel.’
‘Well, the decision is not entirely up to you. Joanne’s mother will be throwing the party, and if she’ll let me I’ll share the cost. I guess that gives us at least a say in the guest list.’
Woody sat back. ‘Heck, it’s our wedding.’
Joanne looked at Woody. ‘Maybe we should have a quiet town hall wedding, with just a few friends.’
Woody shrugged. ‘Suits me.’
Gus said severely: ‘That would upset a lot of people.’
‘But not us,’ said Woody. ‘The most important person of the day is the bride. I just want her to have what she wants.’
Rosa spoke up. ‘Listen to me, everyone,’ she said. ‘Don’t let’s go overboard. Gus, my darling, you may have to take Peter Cobb aside and explain to him, gently, that you are lucky enough to have an idealistic son, who is marrying a wonderful and equally idealistic girl, and they have stubbornly refused your impassioned request to invite Congressman Cobb to the wedding. You’re sorry, but you cannot follow your own inclinations in this any more than Peter can follow his when voting on anti-lynching bills. He will smile and say he understands, and he has always liked you because you’re as straight as a die.’
Gus hesitated for a long moment, then decided to give in graciously. ‘I guess you’re right, my dear,’ he said. He smiled at Joanne. ‘Anyway, I’d be a fool to quarrel with my delightful daughter-in-law on account of Pete Cobb.’
Joanne said: ‘Thank you . . . Should I start calling you Papa yet?’
Woody almost gasped. It was the perfect thing to say. She was so damn smart!
Gus said: ‘I would really like that.’
Woody thought he saw the glint of a tear in his father’s eye.
Joanne said: ‘Then thank you, Papa.’
How about that? thought Woody. She stood up to him – and she won.
What a girl!
(iv)
On Sunday morning, Eddie wanted to go with Chuck to pick up the family at their hotel.
‘I don’t know, baby,’ said Chuck. ‘You and I are supposed to be friendly, not inseparable.’
They were in bed in a motel at dawn. They had to sneak back into barracks before sunup.
‘You’re ashamed of me,’ said Eddie.
‘How can you say that? I took you to dinner with my family!’
‘That was your Mama’s idea, not yours. But your Papa liked me, didn’t he?’
‘They all adored you. Who wouldn’t? But they don’t know you’re a filthy homo.’
‘I am not a filthy homo. I’m a very clean homo.’
‘True.’
‘Please take me. I want to know them better. It’s really important to me.’
Chuck sighed. ‘Okay.’
‘Thank you.’ Eddie kissed him. ‘Do we have time . . . ?’
Chuck grinned. ‘If we’re quick.’
Two hours later they were outside the hotel in the navy’s Packard. Their four passengers appeared at seven-thirty. Rosa and Joanne wore hats and gloves, Gus and Woody white linen suits. Woody had his camera.
Woody and Joanne were holding hands. ‘Look at my brother,’ Chuck murmured to Eddie. ‘He’s so happy.’
‘She’s a beautiful girl.’
They held the doors open and the Dewars climbed into the back of the limousine. Woody and Joanne folded down the jump seats. Chuck pulled away and headed for the naval base.
It was a fine morning. On the car radio, station KGMB was playing hymns. The sun shone over the lagoon and glinted off the glass portholes and polished brass rails of a hundred ships. Chuck said: ‘Isn’t that a pretty sight?’
They entered the base and drove to the Navy Yard, where a dozen ships were in floating docks and dry docks for repair, maintenance and refuelling. Chuck pulled up at the Officers Landing. They all got out and looked across the lagoon at the mighty battleships standing proud in the morning light. Woody took a photo.
It was a few minutes before eight o’clock. Chuck could hear the tolling of chur
ch bells in nearby Pearl City. On the ships, the forenoon watch was being piped to breakfast, and colour parties were assembling to hoist ensigns at eight precisely. A band on the deck of the Nevada was playing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’.
They walked to the jetty, where a launch was tied up ready for them. The boat was big enough to take a dozen passengers and had an inboard motor under a hatch in the stern. Eddie started the engine while Chuck handed the guests into the boat. The small motor burbled cheerfully. Chuck stood in the bows while Eddie eased the launch away from the dockside and turned towards the battleships. The prow lifted as the launch picked up speed, throwing off twin curves of foam like a seagull’s wings.
Chuck heard a plane and looked up. It was coming in from the west, so low it looked as if it might be in danger of crashing. He assumed it was about to land at the naval airstrip on Ford Island.
Woody, sitting near Chuck in the bows, frowned and said: ‘What kind of plane is that?’
Chuck knew every aircraft of both the army and the navy, but he had trouble identifying this one. ‘It almost looks like a Type Ninety-seven,’ he said. That was the carrier-based torpedo bomber of the Imperial Japanese Navy.
Woody pointed his camera.
As the plane came nearer, Chuck saw large red suns painted on its wings. ‘It is a Jap plane!’ he said.
Eddie, steering the boat from the stern, heard him. ‘They must have faked it up for an exercise,’ he said. ‘A surprise drill to spoil everyone’s Sunday morning.’
‘I guess so,’ said Chuck.
Then he saw a second plane behind the first.
And another.
He heard his father say anxiously: ‘What the heck is going on?’
The planes banked over the Navy Yard and passed low over the launch, their noise rising to a roar like Niagara Falls. There were about ten of them, Chuck saw; no, twenty; no, more.
They headed straight for Battleship Row.
Woody stopped taking pictures to say: ‘It can’t be a real attack, can it?’ There was fear as well as doubt in his voice.
‘How could they be Japanese?’ Chuck said incredulously. ‘Japan is nearly four thousand miles away! No plane can fly that far.’
