people, always loyal, always betrayed?
He never spoke out against corruption, avarice, greed. Never. And never condemning, he silently approved.
Kato felt his chest swelling with indignation. Oh, that they called such a man âSon of Heaven!â An extraordinary obscenity.
The empress was saying good-bye to the children. The ceremony was ending.
Kato turned, surveyed his men. Still wearing the blue jumpers and caps of the telephone company, they were as fit as professional athletes, lean, with ropy muscles and easy, fluid movements. Kato had trained them, hardened them, made them soldiers in the Bushido tradition. In truth, he was proud of them, and now that pride showed on his face. The men looked back at him with faces that were also unable to conceal their emotion.
âFor Japan,â he said softly, just loudly enough for them to hear.
âFor Japan.â Their lips moved soundlessly, for he had told them to make no sound. Still, the reply echoed in Katoâs ears.
âBanzai,â he mouthed.
âBanzai!â The silent reply lashed his soul.
Â
The security guards escorted the emperor and empress toward the door of the Imperial Palace. One of them held it open for the emperor, who always preceded his wife by two paces. The security men did not enter the hallway; they remained outside. The entire palace was inside a security zone.
Inside the building, away from other eyes, the emperor paused to let Masako reach his side. She flashed him a grin, a very un-Japanese gesture, but then she had spent years in the United States attending college before their marriage. He dearly enjoyed seeing her grin, and he smiled his pleasure.
She took his arm and leaned forward, so that her lips brushed his cheek. His smile broadened.
Arm in arm, they walked down the hall to the end, then turned right.
Four men stood silently, waiting. They blocked the hallway.
The emperor stopped.
One of the men moved noiselessly to position himself behind the royal couple, but the others did not give way. Nor, the emperor noted with surprise, did they bow. Not even the tiniest bob.
Naruhito looked from face to face. Not one of the men broke eye contact.
âYes?â he said finally.
âYour wife may leave, Your Excellency,â said one of the men. His voice was strong, even, yet not loud.
âWho are you?â asked the emperor.
âI am Captain Shunko Kato of the Japanese Self-Defense Force.â Kato bowed deeply from the waist, but none of the other men moved a muscle. âThese enlisted men are under my command.â
âBy whose authority are you here?â
âBy our own.â
Naruhito felt his wifeâs hand tighten on his arm. He looked again from face to face, waiting for them to look away as a gesture of respect. None of them did.
âWhy are you here?â the emperor asked finally. He realized that time was on his side, not theirs, and he wished to draw this out as long as possible.
Kato seemed to read his thoughts. âWe are here for Japan,â Kato said crisply, then added, âThe empress must leave now.â
Naruhito could read the inevitable in their faces. Although the thought did not occur to Captain Kato, Naruhito had as much courage as any man there. He turned toward the empress.
âYou must go, dear wife.â
She stared into his face, panic-stricken. Both her hands clutched his arm in a fierce grip.
He leaned toward her and whispered, âWe have no choice. Go, and know I love you.â
She tore her eyes from him and swept them around the group, looking directly into the eyes of each man. Three of them averted their gaze.
Then she turned and walked back toward the lawn.
From a decorative table nearby, Kato took a samurai sword, which the emperor had not previously noticed. With one swift motion, the officer withdrew the blade from the sheath.
âFor Japan,â he said, grasping the handle with both hands.
The sword was very old,