The Gate

CHAPTER 2

“The helicopter cannot take off,” Nagoya said, removing the earplug for the satellite radio.

Nishin simply looked at his partner, waiting for an explanation. The two men were crammed into a niche two thirds up the side of a six-thousand-foot mountain. The only thing keeping them from tumbling down to the valley floor below were snap links hooked into ropes attached to cams they had lodged in small cracks farther in the niche. It had taken them four days of climbing, all done at night, to go over the top of the mountain and make their way down to their present position. They’d been here for six hours, watching and waiting for the final word.

“The North Koreans have spotted the ship and are shadowing it,” Nagoya explained, carefully coiling the earplug cord.

Getting in was always easier than getting out, Nishin knew. Getting in they’d been flown on a CH-47 Chinook helicopter to a point forty miles off the North Korean coast. The entire flight had been made barely ten feet above the wave tops to avoid radar. Then the helicopter had slowed to a forward speed of ten knots, the back ramp had been lowered, and a rubber boat had been pushed off the rear, Nishin and Nagoya following right behind in their wet suits.

They’d used the engine to get within a kilometer of the shore just south of Hungnam Harbor, checked their position, and then sunk the boat, swimming the rest of the way. Then across the rocky shore, to the base of the mountain, over the mountain, and now here overlooking the valley.

They both knew the ship could not launch the recovery helicopter with the North Koreans watching. It would be like turning a spotlight on the entire mission.

“What did Nakanga say we should do?” Nishin asked, looking into the valley. Smokestacks billowed black smoke filled with sparks into the night. With almost unlimited power fed to it from reservoirs such as Chosin, the Hungnam valley was one of the manufacturing centers of North Korea and had been so for over sixty years, ever since an enterprising Japanese industrialist had first spied the valley’s potential in the decade before the Second World War. It was one of the spin-offs of that industrialist’s efforts and vision so long ago that had led to the two men clinging to the side of this mountain on this early fall night.

“The mission must go,” Nagoya said.

Nishin’s face didn’t betray any reaction, even though he knew Nagoya’s statement was a death sentence. He peered down the rocky slope. A hundred feet below them arc lights brightly lit the mountainside. A new path from the valley floor had been cut with great effort into the rock, switching back and forth up to an opening in the side of the mount am It was impossible to get heavy equipment up the slender path. So a line of men slithered into the opening every day with shovels and picks, carefully unearthing what had lain hidden inside for the past fifty-two years.

At night there was a squad of guards protecting the dig, their main post on the path itself. The guards would not be a problem, Nishin knew. The men were oriented toward the road and downward. The guards did not suspect that someone would come from above. As far as the North Koreans were concerned the mountain was impassable. In fact, they probably were not expecting anyone since Nishin had no doubt that they did not know what they guarded. He himself did not know exactly what the cave held. He only knew that whatever was in there must be kept in there.

The site could not be spotted from the air. Camouflage nets draped over the cave mouth and the vertical slope prohibited that. If Nishin and Nagoya had not been given the exact location during the mission briefing they would have never found it. He briefly wondered if Nakanga, the man who had briefed them on the mission and given them their orders, knew what was so important. It had to date back to the war. Of that Nishin had no doubt. He also wondered how Nakanga knew the cave had been opened if it couldn’t be seen from the air. Information did not flow freely out of North Korea.

Why now, why here? These were questions Nishin accepted he would never know the answer to. Nagoya was checking the charges one last time. They were a powerful new explosive, each containing three kilograms of liquid in a thick rubber container shaped like a large sausage. The fuse was built into the end of the container and Nagoya was checking the connections. They had twenty-four of the charges, twelve each, and Nakanga had assured them it would be more than enough to take down the mountainside around the cave.

“Now that we have made it this far, I can plant the charges myself,” Nagoya said, not looking up from his hands, the delicate fingers tracing wires in the dark.

“Without the helicopter…,” Nishin began.

“You can head back up as I start down,” Nagoya said. “I will give you enough time to get over the top of the mountain before I proceed. They will find my body among the rubble, but that will not be a problem and it should make any further search less intensive as they will think they have found the infiltrator. You can also remove all signs of us having climbed down as you go back over. It will confuse them greatly. They will suspect a traitor in their own ranks.”

Nagoya was half-Korean. His mother one of the many women who came over to Japan in the sixties to do domestic work and his birth was never legitimized. If his father had not been a member of the Society — and Nagoya’s loyalty tested on several missions — Nishin would have had his own doubts about the man and the new course of action he was proposing. But he knew Nagoya was true.

“If they find your body, that will not be good,” Nagoya continued. There would be no denying Nishin’s racial makeup. He was pure Japanese. “You must escape or, at the very least, your body must not be found. You can make it to the ocean. Swim out and activate your beacon. Maybe you will be picked up. If not, you must make sure you puncture your life vest so that your body sinks.”

Nagoya’s logic was cold and practical, something Nishin could appreciate. The other man was not suggesting he plant the charges alone out of some sense of misguided heroism. It was what would be best for the mission, and the mission always came first. Nishin did not consider the new course of action in terms of his own survival but In terms of mission accomplishment. It would be best.

Nishin grunted his assent. He pulled his pack off and passed it to his partner.

“You must go now,” Nagoya said. “You must be at the ocean by dawn.”

Nishin stood and looked up.

“For the Emperor and the Sun Goddess,” Nagoya said, his face pointed down at the explosives.

“For the Emperor and the Sun Goddess,” Nishin repeated. He reached up and his hand curled around a knob of rock. He began the climb.

Two hours later, Nishin’s fingers were torn and bleeding but he hardly felt the pain. He was at the crest of the mountain. It was downhill from here to the ocean.

He swung his head to the side as he heard the faint crack of gunfire. Looking, he could see a line of green tracers far below. The firing lasted for almost a minute and then the side of the mountain erupted. The charges had worked even better than Nakanga had promised from the way the earth shook underneath Nishin’s feet.

Nishin stuffed his climbing gear into his backpack and continued on.

Nishin’s eyes were swollen shut from exposure to saltwater and the sun. The life vest he had inflated on entering the ocean two and a half days ago kept him on the surface, but the way it was designed, it also kept his face turned up to the sky and there was no way to avoid either the harsh rays of the sun or the waves that broke over him every few seconds. He would suck in a mouthful of saltwater and spit it out the side, gasping in air before the next wave repeated the process.

After swimming out for an hour, the current had taken hold, and his best guess was that he was somewhere to the north of Hungnam in the Sea of Japan. Just before his eyes had swollen shut completely, yesterday morning, he had waited until he’d ridden to the top of a swell and then kicked vigorously, rising out of the water as far as possible and looking about. Nothing but sea.

He remembered Nagoya’s words in the crevice. The vest would keep the body afloat, but the ocean and sun were draining the life out of him. If he was not careful, he would lapse into unconsciousness and then death would come while he was still afloat. That was not acceptable.

His waterlogged hand slid down his side, feeling for the knife hung on his harness. With great difficulty, his fumbling fingers flipped open the clasp on the sheath and pulled the knife out. The cuts in his hands from climbing the mountain were invaded anew by the saltwater as scabs ripped open. Pain ripped into his brain, shocking him into consciousness as he grasped the knife tightly.

Using his free hand to aim it, Nishin placed the tip of the knife against the flotation device. He knew there were two chambers. First the left then the right. It would be over in a little while. He just needed a second of rest before he pressed the blade home.

Nishin came awake. He.did not know how long he had slept. He panicked until he realized the knife was still in his hand. His training had worked when his mind wouldn’t. He had even been able to breathe and spit out water while unconscious so used to this he had become.

Nishin shifted the point until it was pressed against his neck. Would it be better to end it quickly? his feverish mind thought. No. That was stupid. His body would then continue to float and be found. No matter what, he must cut the vest first. He guided the blade back lower and pushed.

Air hissed and Nishin felt his body tilt to the left. A wave, larger than what he had been experiencing, washed over him and he was completely submerged. He instinctively kicked furiously and broke through to the surface, gasping for air.

He laughed, it coming out more as a rasp as the sound passed his dehydrated mouth and lips. He was going to die, but he still wanted to live. He had wondered what this moment would be like.-The nature of his job and his life had caused him to reflect on this often.

He must puncture the other chamber of his vest. He shifted the knife to his left hand. There was a strange noise, then another large wave slammed into and over him. Nishin flailed about, uncertain in his blindness and exhaustion which way the surface was. The hand with the knife slammed into something solid and the shock tore the knife from his fingers and it disappeared into the depths.

He reached out, lungs bursting and felt what had knocked the knife free: a metal wall!

Hands were grabbing him, pulling him. He broke the surface, again gasping for air and felt a line being put over his shoulders and cinched about his waist. Then he was being hoisted up, clear of the water, sliding along the metal wall he had felt.

As he was set down on a deck, he twisted his head and reached with his teeth for the small capsule sown into the right shoulder of his wet suit.

A hand slapped his face. “No!” a voice called out in Japanese and Nishin finally allowed himself to collapse into unconsciousness as he recognized Nakanga’s voice.

The swelling in his face had gone down enough so that Nishin could see — just barely. His hands were wrapped in gauze and they had only removed an IV from his arm fifteen minutes ago. He was seated on a hard iron chair on the balcony of what had once been a Buddhist temple. The building was perched on the side of a pine-covered hill. Below, the view encompassed rice paddies as far as the eye could see, lit by the sun rising slowly in the east. Behind the temple, mountains ranged up, their slopes bathed in the morning light.

It was a beautiful location and Nishin could well imagine the monks who had once inhabited the temple sitting cross legged on this very spot, meditating. The wood floor was polished smooth by generations of bare feet, and the thick stone columns holding up the roof to the balcony were painted with intricate religious scenes. To his rear a room that had once been the main room of the temple was separated from him by an opaque curtain covering heavy metal doors of modern design.

Nishin twisted his head as he heard a noise. The doors slid open on smooth bearings. Someone was moving in the darkened room. He made out the silhouette of a man pushing another in a wheelchair. The pair halted, then the first man walked forward and through the curtain. It was Nakanga.

Nishin got to his feet and stood at rigorous attention, ignoring the pain. Nakanga stood, arms folded across his chest, staring hard at Nishin.

Nishin bowed his head. Nakanga was the right arm of the Genoysha, the head of the Black Ocean Society, and as such he held the power of life and death over all members. He was also the voice of the Genoysha since no one other than Nakanga, as far as Nishin knew, had ever spoken to the Genoysha. As such he was known as the Sensei of the Society. He issued the orders to the most trusted agents of the Society of which Nishin felt honored to count himself one.

“Ronin Nishin,” Nakanga said, greeting him in the traditional form.

“Sensei Nakanga,” Nishin replied in return.

“Sit down,” Nakanga said. “I have listened to your after-action report again and played it for the Genoysha.”

Nishin’s eyes involuntarily flickered to the shadowy figure inside the room and he felt his heart pick up pace. No one he had ever met, other than Nakanga, had ever seen or met the Genoysha in person. He carefully sat down.

Nakanga had questioned Nishin on the submarine that had picked up the signal from the transponder Nishin had activated once he was in the ocean. Even before the ship’s doctor had been allowed into the small cabin to tend to him, Nishin had been questioned in detail about the mission, a small tape recorder taking down his words. The submarine’s crew were dressed in a strange uniform — not that of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force. Nishin had not known that the Society controlled its own submarine, but it did not surprise him. After all, the company that built submarines for the Self-Defense Force was owned by the Society as so much else of Japan’s small but very efficient military industrial complex was. The wealth of the Society was greater than that of many countries.

“It is unfortunate that the helicopter could not take off,” Nakanga continued. “Our sources say that the North Koreans are puzzled. They have Nagoya’s body, but it tells them nothing. Certainly they may have suspicions, but they have proof of nothing. The cave has been destroyed.”

Nishin waited, perched on the edge of his seat. He knew the first sentence was all Nakanga would say about the lack of exfiltration that had left Nagoya and he stranded. From the rest of what Nakanga said, it appeared that the mission had been a success. But then why was he talking to him? And why was the Genoysha listening? For there was no doubt in Nishin’s mind that the man in the wheelchair was the head of the Black Ocean Society. And what suspicions could the Koreans have?

Never before had he been in the Genoysha’s presence. In fact, he had not expected to be in Nakanga’s presence again so soon. Success on a mission was considered the standard. If Nishin had ever failed on an assigned mission he would not be here. He’d be dead. He watched carefully, waiting.

Nakanga’s face was devoid of expression. His skull was completely devoid of hair and on the left side, behind his ear, there was a jagged scar, starting at the top and working its way down, disappearing into the neck of the traditional robe he wore. From his chest, flowing up his neck and out over his face, were the bright red tendrils of sunlight, an extension to the same tattoo that was on the chest of senior members of the Society. Nakanga could never go in public unnoticed with the intricate needle work on his face, but since having it placed there, on the day he was chosen as First Sensei to the Genoysha, he had never gone out of the temple except on special missions as the personal envoy of the Genoysha. At such times the tattoos served a purpose by showing all he met who he was and the power he represented.

“Do you have any idea what was in that cave?” Nakanga asked.

“No, Sensei.”

Nakanga’s dark eyes turned away from the balcony and peered at the countryside. “Unfortunately, it is not finished.” There is more work to be done.”

Nishin waited.

“The North Koreans are making trouble. They will dig into the mountain again, but we believe that this blast finished a job that should have been done better long ago. The problem is that we do not know what they found prior to your mission. We only knew that they had found the cave when they made a discreet, for them at least, approach to a government official in Tokyo.

“They are very primitive people, the Koreans. They would still be living in caves if we had not pacified them so many years ago. But do they show any gratitude? No. They act like gangsters, trying to blackmail our country and our Emperor.”

“Blackmail, Sensei?” Nishin was surprised. What had been in that cave?

Nakanga continued, almost speaking to the man inside the room. “We are walking a very thin path that is fraught with dangers on both sides. There can be no allowance for further trouble. We must make our path and not allow others to dictate it. Our past is haunting us and if it is revealed it will be devastating to our interests and the country’s interests. It will change history, which will change the present.

“The current situation between our country and the Americans is very tense but also filled with great opportunity. There are many who do not see the parallels between now and the late nineteen-thirties, but they are there. Except now the roles are reversed. We hold the economic power and the Americans are squirming under the imbalances.

“Unfortunately,” Nakanga continued, “one factor that remains the same is that the Americans still have the more powerful military and a country full of natural resources, neither of which we had then or have now. What we must insure is that they do not have reason to use their military as we degrade their economic capability. This is a path we have tried to walk for many years now, but it is a path that is threatened by the North Koreans.” Nakanga’s voice strengthened. “What I tell you now goes to your heart.”

Nishin knew that meant as long as he lived he could never repeat it.

Nakanga waved a wrinkled hand. The skin was covered with small black waves, flowing toward the fingertips like black fish scales. “This started many years ago. Before the war. And it did not start in Korea. It began here. What I tell you I only know from the mouth of the Genoysha. All written records of the Society were destroyed just before the occupation at the end of the war. And the Genoysha only knows what he saw and was told by his predecessor. There is the possibility that some information was lost with the death of the previous Genoysha and the destruction of all records. And there are some aspects of this that died with those involved and no one alive knows about.”

Nishin listened raptly. He had never heard Nakanga speak so many words. And for him to repeat the words of the Genoysha! The Genoysha’s mind was the true record of the Black Ocean Society. But what Nakanga said next dumbfounded Nishin.

“In the autumn of 1938 the first atom was split in Germany,” Nakanga continued. “That is common knowledge. What is not common knowledge is that a member of our society was immediately sent to Germany to study at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute where this event took place. He was a scientist. A young man named Kuzumi who saw the potential in this event just as a few other scientists in Germany, England, and the United States saw it.

“Kuzumi learned as much as he could from the German scientists. Then he returned by way of America. His mission there was to see where that country stood in the field of atomic research. Even at that time, well before the United States was at war with us, the Americans were beginning to classify all atomic research. They were preparing for their war against us years before they forced our hand, yet they cried so bitterly after Pearl Harbor.

“Besides being a scientist, though, Kuzumi was well trained as a spy by the Society. He learned enough to believe that the Americans were looking at the potential of the atom as a weapon. He returned here and made his report. We dutifully sent it to the military authorities to warn them and also to show them the potential of such a weapon.”

Nakanga made a sound of disgust. “The fools scoffed. The young ones had taken over.” Nakanga glanced at Nishin. “You know the history of that time. There was much turmoil in the government and the military. The report disappeared. But the Genoysha at the time saw the potential in what Kuzumi had reported. He ordered Kuzumi to begin work to see if this thing was truly possible. Much money and resources from the Society were allocated.

“On the first of October in 1941, Kuzumi presented a report on his own research. The conclusion he drew was that an atomic bomb was feasible but would require much work to move from theory to reality. Again the military was informed. This time some more attention was paid, but only because the external situation was growing more dangerous. The United States was economically trying to destroy Japan. Not unlike certain events in the present,” Nakanga said. “Pearl Harbor was only two months away and far-thinking minds were beginning to see that the war we were already fighting for our survival was going to expand.

“A pact was made between the Genoysha and the head of the Imperial Navy to continue Kuzumi’s work. The Army also showed interest and started their own project, but they were very far behind ours and the Navy’s project because we had Kuzumi and his experience and knowledge. The project was originally based outside of Tokyo in the Rikken.”

Nishin knew that was the name for the old industrial research arm of the government.

Nakanga paused, then continued. “As I said, there is much information that has been lost. Suffice it to say that the project was a difficult one and work proceeded very slowly. It took the Americans, with more resources and expertise, until 1945 to complete their Manhattan Project. Kuzumi worked miracles with what he had, but as the war turned against us, he was forced by the American B-29 bombings to move from the home islands. He lost much time in making this move. Perhaps a fatal amount for our country.”

Nakanga’s dark eyes focused on Nishin. “Seeking a more secure place that could also supply him with the necessary amount of power he would need to complete the work, Kuzumi moved the project, named Genzai Bakudan, to Hungnam.”

Nishin bowed his head. He now had some of the answers he’d never thought he’d get.

“We had much industry there. Most of it owned by the Genoysha who had seen the potential of the valley and its resources early in the nineteen-thirties. It was out of the way of the American bombers. Kuzumi continued working even as the Americans came closer and closer to the homeland, island by island.

“At the end…” Nakanga’s shoulders moved under his robe in what might have been a shrug. “I do not know exactly what happened. The Genoysha told me that he was informed that Kuzumi succeeded. That he and those who worked with him actually made a prototype bomb. But it was too late. The Russians were close to the project, perhaps even trying to capture it for their own purposes. They were like scavengers invading Manchuria and Korea as they saw the end of the Empire coming. As you know, they still hold the Kuril Islands as a result of the war.

“The cave you were sent to close housed the assembly portion of the Genzai Bakudan project. It was sealed before the Russians arrived. It was reported that the prototype, Genzai Bakudan was taken out into the harbor of Hungnam by the ranking naval officer and detonated, destroying the last evidence. There is no way to verify this. In fact, it is not something we ever wish to have verified.”

Nakanga fell silent.

“Sensei?” Nishin prompted.

“Yes?”

“What happened to Kuzumi?”

Nakanga glanced toward the figure in the wheelchair, then sighed. “I was told he was in Hiroshima with his family when the American bomb came down. He died there.”

Nishin frowned. Why had Kuzumi not been in Hungnam working on the bomb until the very end? That was his duty, and as Black Ocean, duty would have come first. But this was not the time to ponder that question of the past. There were more immediate concerns in the present. “You say we still have a problem, Sensei. Did the Koreans recover something out of the cave before we were able to close it again?”

“I believe so,” Nakanga said. “At the very least they are pursuing a new direction. Our sources tell us that four days ago North Korean agents left their country by ship. They are going to San Francisco.”

“San Francisco, Sensei?” Nishin frowned. Four days ago? That was when Nagoya and he had been at Hungnam.

Obviously they had been too late. “What is in America that they seek?”

“As I told you, all documents about Genzai Bakudan were destroyed here in the Society. The site in Hungnam was destroyed, or at least we thought it was. But remember I also told you that the Imperial Navy was involved in the project. They had their own records. We thought they too had been destroyed. But that thinking is being reevaluated in light of this new development.

“When the Americans occupied us after the war, their intelligence services seized much information in the form of documents and they also debriefed many officers and men of the Imperial Navy. That information was returned to the United States. We believe that the North Koreans learned something from the cave. Perhaps they recovered a radio message log. That would point to other documents that the Americans might have in their possession.”

“But surely, Sensei,” Nishin said, “the Americans would have made public any information they had about our having had an atomic bomb program if they had it in 1945!” Nishin could now well imagine what Nakanga had meant earlier about the importance of what they were discussing. Such a disclosure would have been fantastic back then and would most certainly have changed the course of the next half a century. It would be just as disastrous now, especially with tensions between Tokyo and Washington so strained over the trade imbalance. Such a discovery would give the Americans a moral club almost as powerful as the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor had so many years previously. It would be devastating to the national psyche of the Japanese people.”

“If they knew what they had,” Nakanga agreed, “I believe they would have made it public. But the Americans seized so much material. It is very possible they simply placed such documents in boxes that have never been looked into. Or, if looked into, the significance of the material was not recognized because little word of the Genzai

Bakudan program has ever been made public before.

“There was a newspaper report in a minor American newspaper after the war about Hungnam and a Japanese atomic bomb project. But since the Russians occupied North Korea, little was made of the report and the Genoysha also worked then to ensure nothing more was said. As we must work now,” Sensei Nakanga concluded. He turned and looked out over the valley for a few moments.

Nishin waited for his orders. He was acutely aware of the presence in the darkened room. He could feel the Genoysha as if the man were a shadow looming over the sunlit porch. A thrill of dedication ran down Nishin’s spine as he realized he was part of perhaps the most important thing happening right now in the Black Ocean. Something so important that the Genoysha himself would listen in. There was only one being on the planet higher than the Genoysha in Nishin’s mind and that was the Emperor.

Nakanga turned back. The North Koreans are amateurs at overseas operations. However, we suspect that they might pose as South Korean agents and recruit assistance from the large population of South Koreans in the San Francisco area. In the same manner, you will be able to operate there. We have contacts among the Yakuza in San Francisco. I have already made contact with the local Oyabun.”

The Yakuza was the Japanese equivalent of the American Mafia. It operated here in Japan and had branches overseas, wherever there was a Japanese subculture. Nishin knew that the secret societies and the Yakuza were not unaware of each other’s presence and on occasion worked together when the objectives met both organizations’ goals. They also clashed on occasion when the objectives did not concur. Nishin had blooded himself several times in such clashes. The thought of rubbing shoulders with Yakuza, especially American Yakuza, bothered him, but he dared not let it show in front of Nakanga and the Genoysha.

“The government,” Nakanga continued, “is also_ on alert. Ever since those fools gassed the Tokyo subway every organization, even one as old and venerable as ours, has been under constant surveillance by Central Political Intelligence. You must be careful not to be tracked by CPI to the United States.”

Nishin was glad he had had a good night’s sleep and had recovered as far as he had from his injuries. The information he had just been given and the task assigned seemed overwhelming. CPI was a secret arm of the Japanese government that battled the secret societies and the Yakuza by any means possible. Nishin had run into CPI agents while on mission and he respected their dedication and most especially their technical expertise. Given that they had access to the best electronic equipment in the world, CPI agents were masters of surveillance. Unfortunately for them, and fortunately for Nishin, CPI agents usually lacked the ruthlessness needed to complete missions. They were limited by the laws and regulations placed on them by the government.

“Arrangements have been made for your travel.” Nakanga held out a large brown envelope. “I have your cover documents ready: passport, driver’s license. All that you will need. Also a sufficient sum of money to allow you to do your job. Memorize the contact plans and procedures. You will leave this evening.”

Nishin stood and took the envelope. He froze when a voice spoke from the shadows.

“You must not allow the secret of Genzai Bakudan to be revealed,” the man in the wheelchair rasped. “Use whatever means necessary.”

Nishin inclined his head, indicating he understood, afraid to say anything. When nothing more was said, he quickly left the deck.

Behind, standing alone, Nakanga looked at the entrance to the room, waiting.

“Leave me,” the Genoysha ordered.

“Yes, Genoysha Kuzumi.”

As soon as Nakanga left, Kuzumi slowly pushed aside the curtain and rolled onto the balcony. It was his favorite place to think. It was also the only place where he was ever out of doors. Nakanga’s words rang in his ears, as did Nishin’s questions. They raised disturbing thoughts like a dust cloud on an old road.

Lies, deception, and double and triple dealing were the way of power, Kuzumi knew, but Nakanga’s answer to Nishin’s question about his location at the end of the war brought forth a double-edged sword of deception that cut deep. I did not die in Hiroshima, Kuzumi bitterly knew. Late at night when he was alone lying on his mat he often wished he had. Sometimes he wondered if memories and nightmares were all he had other than his duty to the Society.

At least everything else Nakanga had told Nishin was true. What bothered Kuzumi as much as anything else was the fact that the part about not knowing the full story was also true. Kuzumi had been high in the Society by the end of the war, but only the Genoysha at the time, Taiyo, had known all that was going on. As only Kuzumi knew all that was presently going on within the many tentacles of the present-day Black Ocean society so Taiyo had ruled and plotted. What concerned Kuzumi was whatever had grown from those unknown past seeds that had been scattered at the end of the war.

Naturally, he was concerned about Genzai Bakudan being found out. More specifically about the Black Ocean’s role in developing Genzai Bakudan. But when he had learned that the North Koreans were heading to San Francisco his blood had run cold and more ghosts had arisen to swirl about his consciousness. There were a few things that Kuzumi knew from that time that Nakanga himself did not know because Kuzumi had not informed him.

But it was years before that desperate time when the war closed in on the homeland that Kuzumi’s mind wandered to now on the balcony. Seven years earlier to be exact, before the entire world had turned black with war.

Unlike his present situation, in the late thirties Kuzumi had traveled the world. He had been in Germany right after fission had been discovered in 1938. He had earned his degree in the fledgling science of atomic physics at the University of Tokyo the previous year, so he had understood the importance of what had just occurred. As a member of the Black Ocean, which had funded his education, Kuzumi had informed his superiors and they had sent him to the Third Reich.

So strange that the Germans, who had first discovered fission, would lag so far behind in their development of an atomic bomb. But Kuzumi knew the main reason for that. Hitler. The crazy man had not trusted discoveries uncovered mainly by Jewish scientists. He had also run away most of his prominent physicists for the same reason. Run them right to his enemy in America. The German program had lagged and then the British had sent a suicide commando mission to destroy the heavy-water plant in Norway in 1942 to dash any possibility of the German scientists achieving success. The raid was something a Japanese would have done.

Leaving Germany in 1939 after learning all he could, Kuzumi had gone to the west coast of the United States. It was at the University of California at Berkeley that he had studied under Professor Ernest O. Lawrence, who won the Nobel Prize in physics that same year for inventing the cyclotron a few years previously.

A circular accelerator capable of generating particle energies, a cyclotron was essential for developing the theoretical groundwork in the growing field of atomic studies. Lawrence had built the first one, four and a half inches in diameter, at UCBerkeley in the early thirties. By the time Kuzumi was in California, the Japanese had one thirty-nine inches in diameter. The Americans had built even larger ones and were beginning to classify much of their work in atomic physics.

But as a young exchange student Kuzumi had learned much about atomics in the relaxed atmosphere of the university. He had also learned something that no amount of schooling could have prepared him for.

Kuzumi looked over the valley and beyond, his eyes soaring through his memory in both time and place. Berkeley, 1939. The campus was in the bloom of spring and Kuzumi’s mind had been on atoms and international intrigue. There was war in Europe and his own country was at war in China. The United States was a tranquil island in the middle of the death raging elsewhere.

Perhaps that was what had lulled him. His old hands strayed up to his neck, feeling the absence of the locket that had hung around his neck for six years. He had passed it on in 1945 and it had been destroyed at Hiroshima along with much else that was precious to him.

San Francisco. Damn those North Koreans. Damn that old cave. What had they uncovered there? Kuzumi shook his head. How had the North Koreans found out about the cave? From the Russians? From someone simply stumbling over it?

There was more at stake than even Nakanga knew. Kuzumi could take no chances. He pressed a button on the side of his wheelchair and waited for the person he had summoned to appear.