Twilight of Gutenberg

by Hitoshi Goto

  This was what Yagyu had called being disturbed by a Gestapo. Catherine paused a moment, replaying the scene in her head.

  It must have been at that moment when Major Amemiya happened to turn up at the watchtower. Circumstances at night were quite different from during the day, and he’d probably wanted to get a sense of what the place might look like in moonlight. Then he noticed the suspicious fires, and the sound of an approaching aircraft engine…

  Catching sight of someone by the cliff he’d gone over to investigate, and in that moment was shot by the Gestapo. The Gestapo had actually been aiming at the maid, but having shot Major Amemiya by mistake he kicked him over the cliff into the sea below, and then rushed at the maid and pushed her over the cliff and she had disappeared with a short scream. It was possible it had happened the other way round, but the result was the same.

  Commander Yagyu had witnessed this momentary nightmare: a gunshot, a scuffle, a woman’s scream. He realised something out of the ordinary had happened, and that’s why he’d said “Two people wouldn’t have been killed.”

  “That’s right. But at the same time, the mystery person—that is, the Gestapo—had noticed his presence. Yagyu was unarmed and no match for someone with a gun, so he turned and ran back to warn the pilot and ice cream parlour owner of the danger.”

  From then her account was so realistic I could hardly believe she hadn’t been there herself.

  The Gestapo instantly reacted and followed after Yagyu, who heard another shot and felt a bullet skim past his ear. Zigzagging like a rugby player headed for the post, he ran as fast as he could towards the waiting plane.

  The pilot climbed into the seat behind the cockpit as the Lysander waited for Yagyu to reach them, then dragged him inside and immediately started to take off.

  The Gestapo chased after them, firing a shot at the ice cream parlour owner, and managed to grab hold of a metal bar fixing the wing of the plane to the to the body. As the plane accelerated for take off, there was a fierce struggle between Yagyu who was still half hanging out of the plane and the Gestapo clinging on.

  Suddenly the Gestapo slipped and was left hanging. At that moment, the pilot in the back seat made his move and grabbed the Gestapo’s gun. To be precise, he wrested away the whole towel in which the Gestapo had wrapped the gun in order to eliminate gunpowder residue from his left hand. He turned the muzzle of the gun around and fired a shot into the Gestapo’s chest.

  The Gestapo cried out and lost his grip on the metal bar, and disappeared from view. It just so happened that plane was right over the watchtower at that moment, and he landed in a heap on top of it.

  The plane had managed to take off, but the struggle had caused it to lose its balance and become extremely unstable. It managed to stay airborne for a few hundred metres, but then lost speed and dropped into the sea.

  “The ice cream seller was left alone, and stood on top of the cliff thunderstruck. But he couldn’t stay like that forever. He never imagined Yagyu could still be alive, so he just collected up the oil drums and left. He was stunned when I told him that Yagyu had managed to escape the plane, you know.”

  The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place one by bye. Alone and in despair, Yagyu had managed to swim back to the shore, the wind raged and rain beat down on him harder than ever. He took shelter in some woods near the beach, but the next morning he heard the police approaching and quietly snuck away. From a distance he saw the bodies washed up on the sand, and realised one must be that of the Japanese officer. And so began his harsh life as a fugitive, until he met Catherine.

  Commander Yagyu probably didn’t know that the Gestapo’s body had been found on top of the watchtower. The police had only discovered it when they chanced upon the maid’s hairpin on the ground by the tower. Come to think of it, Jayne had been busy moving the oil drum and was probably pushed off the cliff before realising what was going on.

  I myself was well aware that I wasn’t really being welcomed as the British government’s honoured guest. And on day eight, Simon Walker came to the house, poker-faced as always.

  I was put into the car, and we set off. Little by little the number of cottages increased, and just as we were approaching the outskirts of London I was blindfolded. The car stopped at numerous traffic lights along the way, and went fully round two roundabouts. I could tell this by the slight centrifugal force on my body.

  Finally the car came to a halt, and I was led into a building. We were in a large space, with a marble floor. I could sense there were quite a few people there, and their footsteps rang out on the floor. The ceiling also felt high.

  I was taken into a lift that smelt of machine oil, and we went up to the first floor, then turned right along the corridor, and walked about ten metres. There was a knock on the door, and a voice said, “Come in.”

  The door opened heavily. I was led into the room, and my blindfold removed.

  It was a large meeting room, with a large and solid oval oak table at the centre. Ten people were seated around it, some in military uniforms, others in civvies. All of them were looking at me, their gazes cold. A rather elderly looking officer seated at the far end of the table urged me to take a seat.

  My mouth was dry and I felt thirsty.

  He introduced himself as Colonel Kenwick of the Special Operations Executive.

  As I sat down, a female officer brought a pot and poured some tea into the cup on the table before me. I lifted the cup to my mouth. I don’t know much about black tea, but it had the distinctive aroma of Earl Grey. I took a sip. It was hot, but I swallowed it anyway. Feeling the hot liquid pass down my throat, at last I felt some of my tension dissipate.

  “Mr. Hoshino, welcome. Have you been enjoying English life? It’s quite different from gay Paris, but after all it’s wartime and we are at war with Germany and your country, Mr. Hoshino. I will have to ask your forgiveness for the various inconveniences,” the colonel said evenly without even a trace of a smile.

  “This isn’t your first time in London, is it, Mr. Hoshino? I suppose it must bring back memories,” said a man with clear eyes wearing silver-rimmed glasses, who introduced himself as Lieutenant Colonel Cox of MI6. I didn’t know what kind of organisation MI6 was, but they’d evidently checked my background. The officer next to Cox took up the thread. I could tell from his uniform that he was from the Navy.

  He introduced himself as Rushbrook. From the air about him I thought he must be an admiral. He tapped his tobacco pipe lightly on the table, and said, “I have been in the Navy a long time, Mr. Hoshino, and the last time you were living in London, your country and mine were allies. Our navies especially were on very friendly terms. Your brother-in-law is a naval attaché too, so perhaps you know about those nostalgic days. For two countries that had such a tradition of friendship to be fighting like this—it really is a shame.”

  Before I could say anything, Colonel Kenwick took over.

  “Well, this is exactly the reason I had you come here today. There is something I’d like you to do for us.”

  “What do you mean, do for you?”

  “It’s hardly surprising you should be taken aback. After all, you’re not in the military.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m an artist.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Before the war, you’d made a name for yourself in Paris, and well respected in Montparnasse. Therefore, you are deeply angry and sad about this war and the relationship between the government of your country and Hitler.”

  “I do happen to love my country, though.”

  “I am well aware of that. I can’t trust anyone who doesn’t have a love for their own country and fellow countrymen. What’s important now is rather that the monster that calls itself a state appears to have become the source of misfortune for the people.”

  “I understand that, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  The colonel winke
d at the woman soldier, who this time brought over what appeared to be a letter.

  “I don’t believe you have read this yet. A naval officer brought it all the way from Tokyo and gave it to your girlfriend on Guernsey, who brought it with her to England.”

  “May I read it?”

  “Please do.”

  I opened up the oilpaper wrapping to find it contained some far more elegant fine-quality paper than I’d imagined. The letter was written in beautiful calligraphy on white washi paper with ruled lines. I turned my attention to what was written.

  A shock ran down my spine.

  “We can only read the attached English translation, but just looking at the writing a strong will and presence really comes through, doesn’t it?”

  I recovered my calm, and compared it with the translation.

  “This is a good translation. The refined tone of the Japanese has been captured well.”

  “We are honoured. So, Mr. Hoshino, what I want to ask you is, what do you think of this letter?”

  “You mean—”

  “I’m not asking whether it’s genuine or fake. So at least you must know about its author, I presume.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “He was a patriot, wasn’t he?”

  That was an extremely difficult question to answer. I didn’t say anything.

  “Well, Mr. Hoshino,” Kenwick changed his tone. “I’m not sure how much you know. The Japanese fleet lost most of its air force in the Battle of the Philippine Sea. Saipan and Guam were both occupied by the American military, and they have bombers that can fly from the Marianas to Tokyo and back. Do you understand what this means?”

  “But we still have the warrior spirit in Japan,” I hit back.

  “I don’t know how much you know about military matters,” Admiral Rushbrook said, “but the golden age of large battleships fending off air attacks with their big guns ended with Pearl Harbour and the loss of the Prince of Wales and Repulse along with Admiral Tom Phillips. The Japanese navy were the ones to make that clear to the world. For a seaman like myself it’s a sad fact that battleships are no longer the main force in battle. That role has now fallen to the aircraft carriers. But Japan lost the bulk of its air carriers in the Battle of the Philippine Sea.”

  Of course I was no match for the military logic of a war specialist. Thinking about it with a cool head, I had been taken captive in this country. They had all the power. I took a deep breath.

  “I have a question.”

  “Go ahead,” came two or three voices all at once.

  “It’s true that my brother-in-law is a naval attaché in Berlin. However, even he cannot do anything. Supposing I wanted to collaborate in some way to hasten the end of the war, is there really anything I can do?”

  The men exchanged meaningful looks between them, and Lieutenant Colonel Cox opened his mouth to speak.

  “Mr. Hoshino, what I am going to say now must not leave this room. Will you promise not to speak of it to anyone else?”

  His eyes were as clear as ever, but his tone clearly indicated he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Before hearing what it is?”

  “Afterwards will be too late.”

  My curiosity got the better of me.

  “About a month ago, someone sent you a Shakespeare play to your home in Paris, didn’t they?” Cox asked out of the blue.

  “Yes, that’s right. Now I remember… it was Henry V. But it was in German, so I couldn’t understand what it was about. It’s just adorning my bookcase.”

  “Do you know who sent it to you?”

  “I think it was a bookshop in Paris that is a purveyor to the German military, although the sender’s name wasn’t written anywhere. The book hadn’t been tampered with or anything, either. But I’m the sort who never throws anything away, so I kept the wrapping. Paris has been liberated, hasn’t it? You can go and get it from my apartment, if you like.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cox said innocently, “we already conducted a search. It was indeed just a book, nothing unusual about it at all.”

  I was shocked to hear they had already searched my apartment.

  “Please rest assured that we didn’t lay a single finger on any of your paintings, Mr. Hoshino,” Cox said evenly. “According to our investigations, the book was sent to you on the personal instructions of Admiral Canaris, head of the counter-espionage bureau of the Abwehr.”

  “The Abwehr?”

  I thought back to what had happened in Guernsey.

  “And what’s more, he was arrested for treason immediately after issuing the instruction. It was his very last action.”

  “But why me?”

  “That’s what we want to know. There’s more. Your sweetheart and our SOE agent were arrested on Guernsey. When he heard about that, he himself issued an order to divert their destination from Berlin to Canterbury. He was clearly trying to send us a message. And then you appear again. We cannot believe that is mere coincidence.”

  “But it has to be. I don’t know about my brother-in-law, but I personally have never met Admiral Canaris.”

  “I see. But if it isn’t a coincidence, it must be the will of God. Either way, Canaris was trying to send you a message.”

  “Via that German edition of Shakespeare?”

  They didn’t appear to have an answer to that, and didn’t say anything. Eventually Cox changed the thrust of his questioning.

  “Mr. Hoshino, have you ever heard of Romulus?”

  “Romulus? No. At least, I don’t suppose you’re talking about the legend of Rome, so it must be something else. But I don’t know what.”

  Disappointment showed clearly on the face of everyone in the room.

  “Is that so?” Cox said. “Admiral Canaris was in the anti-Hitler faction of the military, and wanted to overthrow Hitler to quickly put an end to the war. We were sent a number of signals to that end—like that letter brought from Japan, for example. And were made party to some of the secrets of Hitler’s empire.

  “Secrets?”

  “One of those concerns Romulus. As you surmised, this is a code word.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “That Hitler has an heir.”

  “You mean Göring?” I asked, recalling having once read a newspaper article about him being a possible successor to Hitler.

  “No, sorry, that’s not what I’m referring to. Hitler has a son codenamed Romulus.”

  Hitler had a son? Cox’s words sent a shock through me.

  “A son? Who’s the mother? How old is the child? Where is he?”

  Cox gave an amused smile. “I’d heard about your activities on Guernsey, but you really do cut to the quick with your questions, don’t you? We imagine the mother is Hitler’s mistress of twenty years, Eva Braun.”

  “He has a mistress? But I thought he was celibate! He always said his life was entirely devoted to the nation….”

  “Publicly he is celibate, but there have been many rumours about him with a number of women. Of all of them, Eva Braun is the most ordinary, but is thought to be the closest to him. She is from Bavaria, modest, keeps herself inconspicuous, and stays as close to him as she possibly can… It is thought she might have given birth to Hitler’s son around last March in a hospital in Dresden, under an assumed name, of course—probably Hertha Rindt. It goes without saying that this is top secret, and hasn’t been reported anywhere. However, the secret itself is shocking enough. More and more people gradually got to know about it, and eventually Canaris too got wind of it.”

  “And he told you? Even though you’re the enemy?” I asked sceptically.

  “You still don’t get it, do you, Mr. Hoshino? You’ve got ‘traitor’ written all over your face, you know. Look, please think about it. If things keep going the way they are, it’s only a matter of time before
the Nazis collapse and we will never allow Nazism to gain so much power again. If, on the other hand, Hitler has a son, what will happen if he grows up and becomes the symbol of a resurgent Nazi party as a new leader?”

  “But he’s only a baby!”

  “He is now. And of course he has no idea that he’s Hitler’s son or what that means. But if he’s educated in a certain way, once he’s old enough to understand he might well decide to become the leader of a resurgent Third Reich. If it gets to that stage, it’ll already be too late. We have to eliminate Hitler’s son along with the man himself. And we aren’t the only ones saying this—many Germans feel the same way. We mustn’t be sentimental over the fact he’s a baby.”

  “So where is this son?”

  “It’s just rumour, but probably either in the Berghof in Bavaria, or a safe place in Munich. The high ranking Nazi officer Bormann himself is in charge of him, and we simply can’t determine the place for sure. However, we will definitely get our chance.”

  “When?”

  “When the Nazis lose,” Cox said smoothly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wherever it is that Hitler meets his end, there is no way he can continue to live after the end of the war. He will either commit suicide, or if he’s captured alive he will be executed after standing trial. And so Romulus will be taken into exile and painstakingly raised as the symbol of a resurgent Nazi party in Hitler’s stead.”

  I understood what he was saying, but…

  “What has all this got to do with me?” I asked.

  “Think about it. There aren’t many countries around the world that publicly continue to fight as allies of Germany. Finland and Romania have both defected, and Italy’s out, which means that of the European nations only Hungary is left. And your country. And so where will Bormann have Romulus taken? We can’t rule out the possibility of him being taken to one of the few remaining allied countries.”