by James Webb
“No,” answered Genius. “He’s not letting me go that easily. But I’ll tell you what I do have. I have the answer.” Noting my blank stare, he leaned even further across his desk. “The puzzle,” he said. “I finally solved it. The third piece fell into place.”
He picked up a paper from his desk, as if wishing to tantalize me with it. “You know the rule of threes, don’t you? In philosophy, I mean? Like—thesis, antithesis, synthesis?”
“Oh, sure. You mean, for instance—yin and yang?”
“Cut that shit out, Marsh. You’ve definitely gone Asian. Anyway, it finally makes sense. I know what the old guy is doing.”
“Well that’s good, because in an hour you’re going to be briefing him again.”
He rolled his eyes, feigning surprise. “And I thought you came down here because you missed me.” Now he leaned forward, still trying to provoke me. “Don’t you want to know what the third piece is?”
“I don’t even know what the first two are.”
“Of course you do. Nanking and Yamashita. Piece number one: he’ll do anything to keep from having to go after the real perpetrators at Nanking. And piece number two: he’ll do anything to hang Yamashita as fast as he can find a rope, and a tree branch to throw it over. So what’s next?”
I stared at Genius for a few seconds, trying to shift into the disheveled lawyer’s world. It was early in the morning of my first day back. My mind was still cluttered with thoughts of Manila and Divina Clara, of Atami and Kido and Yoshiko, of mountain shrines, perfumed gardens, tobacco-stained barracks, of steam-hot furos on the edges of the ocean, satin sheets in the perfumed night air, women I did not deserve and the price I knew that somehow, someday, I would have to pay.
The third piece? What the hell was he talking about? “Uh—I don’t know. But I’ll bet it isn’t the emperor.”
“Well, right and wrong.” Genius chuckled, enjoying his little mystery. “You’re right that he won’t be going after the emperor. But you’re wrong that it isn’t about the emperor. Hey, this is Japan. Everything’s about the emperor, whether MacArthur likes it or not. Here’s what he figures, mark my words. First, he’s doing the emperor a big favor by steering clear of Nanking. And second, the imperial court agrees with him about keeping Yamashita out of the country and away from the larger war crimes tribunal, so they’re doing each other a big favor on that one.” He threw his hands up into the air as if the whole thing had become simplistic. “OK, add that up. What do you have?”
“Yamashita’s dead. And Prince Asaka is not.”
“Think bigger!” He watched my still-puzzled face for a second, then grunted. “Clearly math is not the monkey boy’s best subject. What you have is a net loss. An imbalance! Nanking is a win for the emperor. Yamashita is a wash. So what does MacArthur want?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “He wants a win, and in fact he’s been planning for it all along! The emperor owes him!” Genius paused, becoming tutorial. “And where does he want this win?”
A particle of conversation with Kido during our trip to Atami floated into my consciousness. “The new constitution.”
He pointed triumphantly at me. “Bingo. Exactly. All the changes he’s been talking about since the day he landed at Atsugi.”
“Not Atsugi,” I said, remembering MacArthur’s lectures during the dark, wet nights after we landed at Leyte. “Since Tacloban. His seven-point plan. Freedom of the press, giving women the vote, busting the zaibatsu, eliminating militarism, creating trade unions—”
“OK,” said Genius, gaining energy as he watched me. “All that stuff. He’s been covering the emperor in honey and oil, thinking that this was going to be easy. You know, ‘I’ll protect you and your family from being charged with war crimes, and in exchange for my having saved the imperial family, you back me when I reform your entire society.’ But guess what? The emperor doesn’t see that as a fair trade. He doesn’t want to deal.”
My mind had come fully alive now. “I interpreted when the emperor met with him at the embassy, remember? He scared MacArthur. I saw it. Behind that befuddled gaze is a very tough guy, Colonel.”
“And I thought you said MacArthur wasn’t afraid of anything.”
“He didn’t stay scared for long. Neither of them did.”
“The great minds meet,” quipped Genius, staring mockingly up into the sky. “Blood is on the floor, but deals are made. Ah, someday they will teach this in history classes around the world.”
He shifted his gaze, staring acidly at me again. “Back to the ugly reality. Here’s what we’ve got. While you were gone, MacArthur made his first move on the constitution. He published a directive called JCS 10. Kind of like a test case, you know? It doesn’t change the Meiji Constitution as a document, but it overrides it during the occupation for as long as he decides it should. He’s lifted all restrictions on civil, political, and religious conduct, ordered the release of all political prisoners, and abolished the secret police. He also ordained—you like that word? Kings use it—that newspapers can publish stories on any subject whatsoever. They can even criticize the emperor—so long as they don’t in any way denounce the supreme commander.” He was grinning again. “And you know what?”
“They didn’t like it,” I said, beginning to see where Genius was heading. “That’s why Prime Minister Higashikuni resigned. I read about that in Manila.”
“Exactly,” said Genius. “MacArthur crossed the invisible line. The next morning, Higashikuni—remember, he ran the Japanese air force back in ’37 when they ordered the mass bombings of civilians that preceded the rape of Nanking—he storms into the Imperial Palace and resigns. It was quite a show. Lots of splash in the press. But it was all play-acting, monkey boy. A symbolic gesture meant to signal that the imperial family is digging in its heels. They’re never going to condone criticism of the emperor while keeping MacArthur sacred. What would that say to the Japanese people?”
“So they’ve got a new prime minister.”
“Shidehara.” Genius laughed, shaking his head in amazement. “Or shall I say, Baron Shidehara. And new is hardly the correct terminology. The guy’s so old I think he just forgot to die. He was foreign minister back in the twenties and early thirties. The career soldiers used to call him Old Weak Knees, because his main function was to present Japan around the world as a peace-loving nation while it geared up for war. And even he didn’t want the job after this new directive. It seems Hirohito had to send him a special meal, cooked in his own imperial kitchen, then personally convince him to swallow back his anti-Caucasian bile and take the job.”
“You know what’s amazing?” I asked. “I just spent an entire day with the lord privy seal, and he didn’t mention a thing about all this.”
He scoffed at me, amused. “Don’t get too carried away with yourself, mister spymaster. You may be smart, but you’re playing with the big boys, here. They have you just as compartmentalized as every other intelligence target. You haven’t been in on the meetings up here while you were gone. Why should Kido try to pump your brain about something you didn’t even observe?”
“Because I have been Japanese for two thousand years and was sent by the imperial ancestors to help MacArthur understand Japan.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Ask Kido.” I laughed. “Anyway, why’d they pick Shidehara?”
“Why do you think? To slow MacArthur down. That will be his whole job. Slow him down, refuse to cooperate—bend like the young bamboo. Then once the supreme commander loses his patience and explodes, they’ll move an inch or two and Shidehara can retire again, scooping up the shame and taking it with him to his grave when he dies. Which should be soon.”
I watched Genius with a fresh appreciation. “How do you know all this?”
He laughed. “You learn a lot when you’re interviewing people who might stand trial for war crimes. They’re not ratting each other out, understand. But they love to talk about palace intrigue. It’s the national pasti
me.”
He gathered a pile of papers from his desk, readying for the coming meeting with MacArthur. “So last week Shidehara shuffles into MacArthur’s office, and your boss formally hands over a list with the changes he’s decided the Japanese should make to the Meiji Constitution. Shidehara reads the list, hisses like a snake as he sucks air through his clenched teeth, then returns to the palace and does nothing. After a few days, MacArthur sends General Whitney over to offer to help them, thinking they can’t figure it all out. Shidehara tells Whitney that he’s, kind of, getting ready to think about appointing a committee to study the changes, but that once he does, they’ll probably end up deadlocked between liberals and conservatives for at least a few months. MacArthur realizes that this is total bullshit and finally blows his stack. He summons Shidehara back to the Dai Ichi building and starts threatening him. And the old guy laughs! No, really! He may be Old Weak Knees but he’s got balls. He just bows and suggests that maybe MacArthur should put him on the list and try him as a war criminal because he’s so incompetent. And yesterday the supreme commander announced that he’s going to write the new constitution himself.”
“They’ll love that,” I said intuitively. “That’s what they wanted all along. They won’t dishonor themselves or their ancestors by actually writing new changes into Emperor Meiji’s constitution. Just like they wouldn’t actually arrest the people we’re charging with war crimes. They’ll find them for us, and they’ll tell them where to turn themselves in to us. Same thing here. If MacArthur wants it done, he’ll have to do it himself.”
“Exactly.” Genius shrugged, sagging in his chair. “It’s been a zoo around here.”
I sat in stunned silence, trying to gather my thoughts. “So I guess you know a lot more about why we’re having this meeting than I do.”
“Ah,” teased Genius, checking his watch. “Your keen perception overwhelms me.” He was giving me the I’m-going-to-Princeton grin again. “A prediction, monkey boy. My sources indicate to me—quite reliably, I might add—that your boss is going to detain a high-ranking member of the imperial family.”
“Well, that should make you happy.”
“Actually it infuriates me.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Oh, now he wants answers.” He checked his watch again. “We have to go soon. You know how MacArthur hates for people to be late.”
“You’ve become quite mysterious, Colonel Genius.”
“Do you know who Prince Nashimoto is?”
Genius stood, and I considered it as I stood with him. “I’m thinking something about a shrine,” I finally said.
“That’s very good. Nashimoto is in fact the chief priest at Ise, which as you know is Japan’s most sacred shrine. He’s seventy-one years old, the senior member of the imperial family, the elder brother of both Prince Higashikuni and Prince Asaka. A harmless, cheerful fellow, by all accounts.” Genius snorted with disgust. “Of all the high-ranking imperial family, he’s the last one anyone would want to charge with war crimes. In fact, I can guarantee that he’ll never be charged.”
“So why are they going to arrest him?”
“Because he’ll never be charged.”
“You’ve become very mandarin, Colonel.”
“No, your boss has.”
We started walking together down the corridor that led to a stairway that would take us to the supreme commander’s floor. I was thoroughly confused. But Sam Genius seemed to be in utterly fine spirits. He nudged me with an elbow as we reached the stairs.
“And so, my good friend, mark my words. By tonight I will be packing my bags for home.”
“Are you asking for a transfer?”
“One never asks to leave a position such as mine, you know that. Asking is death. One—makes himself available for other projects. If I were to publicly object to what they’re doing, they’d destroy me.”
We reached the sixth floor and walked the dark corridor that led to MacArthur’s office. I was still confused. “I’m a little lost, here. What’s pushed you over the cliff, Colonel?”
“A remarkable choice of words. The monkey boy is lost, but I myself have stumbled over the cliff,” quipped Genius as we neared the door. “Let me put it this way. I’m not his political adviser. Do you understand what I’m saying? I didn’t raise my hand and take the oath to become a member of the bar so that I could help a general turn his eyes away from justice in order to make a political deal. We’re talking about two hundred thousand murdered people, here. It’s my responsibility to press for the truth, or to remove myself from the case.”
We were at the door. I stopped, holding the knob in my hand. “Try again, Colonel. What’s going on?”
He genially slapped me on the back. “Did you ever hear of the soldiers who shot themselves in the foot, or reached their hands up in the air during a battle so they could get the famous million-dollar wound? Just watch me, monkey boy.”
And then he stepped inside.
“Good day, General.”
“Colonel Genius. Come on in.”
The usual staff officers had been summoned. We gathered in the ever-drab, walnut-paneled office, having gone through the routine so many times before that we automatically walked to the appropriate piece of worn and scarred leather furniture and took our proper places. The gorilla-like General Willoughby nestled into his favorite armchair, frowning as he flipped through several pages of notes. General Court Whitney sat at the opposite end of the soft leather couch, winking secretly to me as if we had become lifelong friends. Colonel Sam Genius now stood near the door with an armful of papers, looking deceptively rumpled and sleepy. And Douglas MacArthur paced back and forth in front of the window that oversaw the emperor’s palace grounds, playing with a pipe as he tamped fresh tobacco into the bowl.
MacArthur jumped straight to the point. “I want to scare the emperor,” he said, perfunctorily pulling out a box of matches from his right trouser pocket as he paced. “It’s the only way around the truculence of this new prime minister. I made an agreement with Hirohito about protecting the royal family, but implicit in that agreement was his assurance that I would have his full cooperation on matters of state.”
“What are you looking for, Boss?” Court Whitney asked the question, eyeing Colonel Sam Genius as he did so.
“I want to wake him up,” said MacArthur. “I want him to understand that the only reason he hasn’t been charged with war crimes is that I’ve protected him.”
“And how can we do that?” Willoughby asked the question again, as if guiding MacArthur’s thought processes.
A warning bell suddenly went off deep inside my brain, and I knew that Sam Genius had been correct. It was highly unusual that MacArthur would allow a second interruption as he conducted a meeting. I was becoming uneasy, sensing that this meeting was somehow staged.
“I want to put someone close to him in jail,” announced the supreme commander.
“Words of wisdom, sir! Pearls from heaven.” Colonel Sam Genius grinned triumphantly, as if this were all fresh news. He began tapping the toes of his shoes into the frayed carpet as if he could not restrain his energy. “I’ll be happy to oblige you, General. As you know, I’ve got quite a list.”
MacArthur grunted, coldly surveying Genius as he lit his pipe. He looked suddenly sullen and unimpressed. “And as I told you before, I’m not sure I like your list, Colonel.”
The warning bell went off again, this time loud and clear. After three years, I knew when MacArthur was conducting a meeting on more than one level. Whitney’s immediate, leading questions when we all knew that the supreme commander disliked being interrupted meant that his dialogue with MacArthur had been prearranged. But for what purpose? My thoughts focused on Sam Genius. MacArthur’s blunt repudiation of the frumpy lawyer, whose sole function was to find those most culpable of war crimes and attempt to prosecute them, meant that in addition to the emperor, Genius himself was somehow in MacArthur’s crosshairs.
; MacArthur wanted something done. But he didn’t like Genius, and he didn’t like his list, either. What he did not know was that Genius had somehow thought this all through in advance.
Genius grinned again, seemingly oblivious to the warning signs. He stepped forward, into what appeared to be a classic MacArthur ambush. “Well, let me just say that if you want to wake Hirohito up, I have solid evidence on every man who’s ever tucked him in at night. We can charge five or six of them today and never worry about being accused of unfairness.”
“I said I wanted to scare him,” repeated MacArthur. There was a finality in his voice. He was looking at Sam Genius with a warning stare. His mood seemed carried over from the last moments of the meeting that eventually sent me down to Manila, when he had wanted to reassign the sarcastic lawyer to Borneo.
Genius seemed puzzled. He studied the supreme commander’s face, as if looking for the proper clue. “Charging Princes Higashikuni and Asaka, individually or collectively, will definitely scare the emperor, General. Of that I have no doubt.”
“And as you already know, that’s out of the question,” said MacArthur abruptly. “They’re his uncles. I gave him my word.”
“You gave him your word that his uncles wouldn’t be prosecuted?” Genius seemed incredulous. “Then in all due respect, sir, I don’t know what you want.”
A real and enormous frustration breathed through Sam Genius’s words. In the space of thirty seconds, the lawyer’s facial expression had gone from an almost ecstatic optimism to a barely masked contempt. Watching him, I knew the gamble he was going to take and the enormous risk that it involved. There was no doubt that MacArthur was going to pummel Genius. His career was very likely going to be killed, or at least dramatically altered, within the next two minutes. I had seen it happen before. I could see it coming as clearly as if it were an approaching train.
