Fortunes of War Read Free Page A

temper. “Keenly aware,” he added through clenched teeth.
    â€œIn your public speeches that I have read, sir, you speak as if Japan’s destiny were as obvious as the rising sun on a clear morning,” Emperor Naruhito said without rancor. “I suggest you consult the representatives of the people in the Diet before you make any major commitments.”
    He could think of nothing else to say to this fool facing him….
    â€œFollow the law,” the emperor added. That was always excellent advice, but…
    â€œThe Japanese are a great people,” the emperor told the prime minister, to fill the silence. “If you keep faith with them, they will have faith in you.”
    Abe forced his head down in a gesture of respect. The skin on his head was tan, the hair cropped short.
    Naruhito could stand no more of this scoundrel. He rose stiffly, bowed, and walked from the room.
    That had been two days ago.
    Naruhito had forsaken his ceremonial, almost-mystical position as head of state to speak the truth as he believed it, for the good of the nation. He had never done that before, but Abe…advocating the unthinkable…telling the emperor to his face what his duty was—never in his life had Naruhito been so insulted. The memory of Abe’s words still burned deeply.
    He had written a letter to the president of the United States, written it by hand because he did not wish to trust a secretary.
    The truth was bitter: He could not affect events.
    The children were singing now, led by Naruhito’s wife, Masako. A flush of warmth went through the emperor as he regarded her, his dearly beloved wife, his empress, singing softly, leading the children.
    Truly, he loved life. Loved his wife, his people, his nation …this Japanese nation. His life, the nation’s life, they were all bound up together, one and inseparable. A profound sense of loss swept over him. Time is running out….
    Â 
    Captain Shunko Kato stood concealed by a curtain at a second-floor window in the Imperial Palace, watching the ceremony on the lawn below. Behind him stood the other three erstwhile telephone repairmen, his men, standing motionless, seemingly at perfect ease. They weren’t, Kato knew. He could feel the tension, tight as a violin string. Military discipline held them motionless, silent, each man in communion only with his thoughts.
    The sunlight coming through the window made a lopsided rectangle on the floor. Kato looked at the sunlit floor, the great frame that held the window, the hedge, the lawn, the people, the bold, brazen sky above….
    He was seeing all this for the last time. Ah, but to dwell on his personal fate was unworthy. Kato brushed the thought away and concentrated on the figures before him on the lawn.
    There was the emperor, shorter than the average Japanese male at five feet four, erect, carrying a tummy. Surrounding the group were security officers in civilian clothes—most of these men had their backs to the ceremony.
    Kato retreated a few inches. He ensured he was concealed by the shadow of the drape, hidden from the observation of anyone on the lawn who might look at this window. Satisfied, he scanned the security guards quickly, taking in their state of alertness at a glance; then he turned his attention back to the royal party.
    The emperor stood slightly in front of a group of officials, watching the empress and the children, seemingly caught up in the simple ritual. No doubt he was. He certainly had nothing else to worry about. The emperor, Kato was sure, was quite oblivious to the desperation that had ravaged so many lives since the bank collapse. How could it be otherwise? The emperor certainly didn’t move in ordinary circles.
    Yet the man must read newspapers, occasionally watch television. How could he miss the corruption of the politicians, the bribes, the influence peddling, the stench of scandal after scandal? Could he not see the misery of the common