Three: Venn Diagram

    After we’d polished off the remaining brandy, Agent Kapalini and I departed for San Francisco International Airport. The Bureau had a single prop engine plane on loan from the Marines. A straight shot to Bend municipal airport would be another hour and a half of wondering how one stops another global war from starting.

    To Agent Kapalini’s credit, the man was calm. Or, perhaps he could handle his liquor better than I could at his age. It was difficult to believe that such a young agent would be saddled with the responsibility of a potential foreign invasion as his first case. He seemed to take it in stride. Just another day in the field. Nose deep in his field notes, Kapalini tapped his pen rhythmically at the top of his legal pad.

    The plane hummed loudly as we flew across the Nothern California border.

    “There are simply too many factors…” The agent mumbled to himself.

I took one last look at my rushed credentials. Technically, I wasn’t employed with either the Bureau, DOJ, or even the Chronicle. The absurdity of letting the press anywhere near this phenomenon was beyond laughable. I was a consultant under the direct supervision of Agent Kapalini. I’d answer directly to him. If this whole operation didn’t end up in the drink, certain details then would be ‘leaked’ to the SFC as part of the arrangement Kapalini made with Uncle George.

Turns out that while moving up through the ranks of the Chicago PD, George had been a friend of the Kapalini Family. That invaluable connection had strings pulled, levers moved to get a young detective and recent graduate’s resume to the top of the list. These things happen when you’ve connected as well as Geroge Cameron. Of course, Uncle Goerge’s charity wasn’t strictly altruistic. Fast forward to today when Agent Thomas Kapalini needed to think outside of the box for someone with military credentials, trustworthy, and who possessed a thorough understanding of Japanese culture.

Agent Kapalini made the call to Uncle George: the guy who knew everyone.

I got a call in Jamaica and sacrificed a perfectly adequate vacation.

As the plane made its descent toward Bend’s single runway, municipal airport, I noticed a shocking lack of activity in the town.

With my face pressed against the window, I asked, “Did you have the whole town evacuated?”

Kapalini lit a cigarette and waved away the smoke, “Quarantined. Phone lines cut. Roads blocked. All citizens are to remain inside until further notice.” He chuckled, “One of the last items I got over the wire from DOJ; ‘Make sure you get this wrapped up quick,’ They tell me, ‘Keeping a population this size at home gets expensive’. Might have another war on our hands and the suits are still counting beans.”

I groaned in solidarity, “Everything has its price. Officially, if I may ask, what is the Department of Justice’s official stance on the matter?”

Kapalini took another drag on his cigarette and gestured for my legal pad once more. I obliged and he began to draw two overlapping circles, “On one side, we’ve got the pentagon. The other, DOJ. Now since we’re all working for Uncle Sam, there’s a lot of overlap here. Both sides want to know, who, how, and when this all took place.” Agent Kapalini tapped the circle with the DOJ, “My department was willing to expense and arrange a seventy-two-hour window to figure out ‘why’.”

I considered that and pointed to the DOJ’s side of the Venn Diagram, “What’s the motive behind this invasion… If it even is an invasion?”

“Exactly,” Kapalini agreed. “I’ve got my theories of course. I think it’s got something to do with the bombs.” He exhaled the last bit of smoke in a sigh, “See we know the Japanese aren’t beyond a surprise attack. December Seventh was a well-coordinated, stealth attack on military targets. After Hiroshima and Nagasaki? We bombed civilian targets. Civilians. We ended one conflict by declaring to the world that nothing, no one was off the table. Then we went and hid behind the Geneva Convention because we won so we make the rules… Bullshit.” He jammed the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray on the armrest of his seat. “Long story short; if we don’t play by the rules, why should they?”

Up until this point, I was hesitant to be thrown into a situation where the fuze of war could be ignited again. Hearing Kapalini’s eased some of those concerns. Some. Not all. If it weren’t for my damned sense of honor, I would have let the chips fall where they may. Let fate sort it out. But I haven’t fallen as far as I’d thought. I still had the capacity to do something right, so I must.

I gestured to the other circle on the notepad, “What about the pentagon?”

With a scoff, Kapalini wrote in a single word, “Where? They assume if there’s one invading force, there would be more. Then again, they’re not so much concerned with the ‘detain for information’ mandate. In less than…” He checked his watch, “In ten hours if we don’t find our boys, that’s enough reason for Washington to tighten the screws on the Japanese. Who know’s what the public response will be?”

“Camps again?” I snarled, “Or worse.”

Probably worse.

---

    Sergeant Major Eugene K. Flemming and a squad of guardsmen escorted Kapalini and me to a caravan of Jeeps waiting with the engines idling. Introductions were brief, curt, and thick with impatience. Of the more than 400,000 National Guardsmen called into active service, Flemming was not among that number. He’d volunteered his service, and requested to be transferred to both the European front and Pacific Theater. All requests were denied. Nothing personal. The brass thought it prudent to have a soldier of his experience, temperament, and wisdom at home.

    The resentment was only buried skin deep.

    “Where’d they send you?” Sergeant Major Flemming finally asked fifteen minutes into the winding drive. The scent of pine mixed with the sputtering diesel exhaust of the jeep. The afternoon sun shot daggers into us from the cloudless blue sky. My ears caught the faint sound of a brook over the engines and asphalt crunching beneath the wheels.

    “I served aboard The Grayson before ‘41,” I replied evenly. “Reassigned to The Hutchins until it sank. Last served aboard The USS Missouri.”

    “Lost men under your command?” Flemming asked. Although his question was inappropriate under the best of circumstances, his tone didn’t indicate any particular motive.

    I kept my eyes on the treeline, “We all lost something out there. That’s war.”

    “We all lose our battles,” Replied the Sergeant Major, “The objective is to win the war.” Without any change in expression or tone, Flemming was nonetheless transparent. Any amount of time wasted investigating and not re-engaging the enemy was time taken from his chance to win a war.

"Make no mistake, Mr. Calloway, we've got eight murdered civilians and as many fatalities and injured soldiers. This is an act of war on American soil and every second we waste, is a second's advantage the enemy has over us. I want it to be perfectly understood that you and the others are here to see our boys home. This is a rescue mission. Plain and simple," The Sergeant Major regarded me for the first time with the same effect one might give toward a recruit fresh out of the academy.

"I've lost men under my command, Sergeant Major. Good Men. If I can bring back your soldiers unharmed, I will," I pause for a moment, "And so we're perfectly clear, you will address me as Commander within the United States Navy."

    All four jeeps came to a stop. The guardsmen, officers, Agent Kapalini, and I were to hike the next three miles past the former McMenamin residence to the Train Station that appeared out of thin air. With the exception of a subtle summer breeze, we trekked the narrow trail in silence.

---

    In a word: beautiful. If the crippling pressure to avert a global catastrophe hadn’t been squared upon my shoulders, I would have thought I’d booked a stay at a resort. Kapalini had been detailed in his description of the single-story train station. However, that detail had been purely mechanical. Absent from the technical schematics of the station were the nuances of the design and the elegance of the architecture. The large neon sign posted above the entrance hummed and shone a brilliant blue even in the afternoon light.

There was something akin to a gazebo out front. Not quite a shrine, but a vacant raised wooden platform open on four sides. Thick wooden beams held up a triangular roof covered with jade shingles. On the station proper, paper lanterns were hung at regular intervals under the overhang of a similarly slanted and shingled roof. In addition to the ornamental hanging lanterns, wonderfully carved stone lanterns also stood like sentinels before the station. Each stood roughly four-foot-high, each unique in its design. Even the exterior landscaping of the Bonzie trees was immaculately cared for. One could say that despite the circumstances, it seemed rather inviting.

The exception to that invitation into the station came via the state of the windows. All appeared to have been boarded up from the inside. The entrance too had at one point been boarded up but breached from the outside. No evidence of a firefight from either side. Most likely the work of the National Guard having forced their way in through the makeshift barricade.

    “The last asset has arrived. We’re ready to breach,” Sergeant Flemming barked at his officers. Troops moved into position and I was led alongside Kapalini inside the station. Time was of the essence. If this were simply a numbers game, the National Guard's presence had priority over the DOJ and they didn’t hesitate to let them know. Any fleeting sense of everyone being on the same team was absent.

    As Kapalini had explained, or rather, warned the Pentagon wasn’t interested in motive. They needed… Wanted a reason to light the fuse.

    We were marched over intricately carved stone walkways into the main foyer and through turnstiles. Correction: where the turnstiles would have been placed had since been removed to allow for ease of access. The mechanisms had been shoved callously to one side in a heap of twisted metal.

“Kapalini is your Consultant... Is Commander Calloway briefed and ready?” The Sergeant Major asked. I was in the midst of scribbling down every sign posting hung over the walls. I was aware of the precious little time we had. Regardless, everything had to be taken into account to provide the proper context for the investigation. No stone would be left unturned. Mid sketch, I heard the Sergeant Major's grunt of disapproval, “We’ve already got that stuff recorded. Let's stay on mission, Commander.”

Agent Kapalini nodded and begrudgingly gestured forward to the train car, “Commander Calloway?”

I paused before entering a subway car of design I hadn’t recognized during all my time in mainland Japan. It was… Modern. In fact, this whole station's design was in sharp contrast to anything I’d encountered even in the heart of Tokyo. I turned to Kapalini who'd remained on the platform; “You’re not coming?”

He shook his head, “I’ve already been through the loop a dozen times. No sense in sending me through again just to pop out the other side.”

I considered the unusual phenomena, “I could very well just circle back as well then?”

Kapalini shrugged, “We’ll find out soon enough.” He stepped back as the doors closed. “In case you don’t end up right back where you started, find us a solid ‘Why’. Bring back those guardsmen. Good luck, commander.” The agent gave a respectful salute and a worried smile.

Pneumatic pistons hissed as the train doors slowly came to a close.

There was a mild lurch forward as the car gained momentum.

Over the intercom, I heard the recorded voice of a woman speak a familiar script in Japanese; “Attention passengers: welcome, please be courteous to your fellow passengers and remain silent during your journey…”

 Along with the forty armed national guard troops and six other officers and agents in formal uniform I’d yet to be introduced to, we watched the train glide forward toward the tunnel.

“...Stow all personal effects to ensure each passenger has space within the car…”

The moment we entered the pitch-black tunnel, the interior train car lights flickered on.

“...His eminence, Shogun Hirawa thanks you for visiting his estate, Commander Cameron Calloway…”

Photo Credit: Corporal Donner, US National Guard, 41st Infantry