Eight: Black Out

    Escorted under armed guard, the six of us were marched to the grand dining hall on the fifth floor of the Yoshida Lodge. We remained silently weary of the suspicions each of us held against our own teammates. Why were we really here? Why were we allowed to enter the Hirawa prefecture via the mystifying train station that had sudden appeared on United Staes Soil? Which one of us might betray the team to further their organizations’ or branches’ own clandestine objectives?

Time would tell.

    “Please, be seated,” The Magistrate requested. Although, the tone suggested it was a request, the eighteen armed samurai made the casual offer sound disingenuous. “We have much to discuss.”

    Our first test of the evening came about by the way of our seating arrangements. The ebony hardwood table at the center of the spacious dinning room was illuminated by the same soft track lighting recessed into the walls. Fine linen napkins, gold accented ceramic dinningwear, and a stunning black on white floral bouquet. Admitidly, Ikebana was not my particular focus of study, but I made a note to inquire about the specifics of the flowers in case it should become relevant later. No detail could be overlooked.

    In regards to the seating arrangements, it was obvious our interactions were being closely analyzed the moment we arrived. For instance, Master Sergaent Cross was purposefully seated at the farthest end from Leiutenant Colonel Buckner. OSS Agent Cooper sat across from Agent Yao. I was seated indriectly across from my supposed cooresponding agent, Mrs Jin. It was a not so suubtle way to isolate us even when seated at the same table. Communication between the persons we most got along with wouldn’t be impossible, but wouldn’t go unnoticed by our minders.

    Our tea came out first as the Magistrate sat down at the head of the table on a thick, ornate coushin. We followed suit. Surprisingly no one bawked at the assigned seats. Not aloud anyway. The dinning staff darted swiftly and silently around us as our host clapped his hands together; “We give thanks for this meal shared together between strangers and elevate our discussions in hopes to bring peace btween us.” The Magistrate's eyes glanced at each of us, studying our reactions. Then the Masta Killa bowed after his short prayer.

We collectively pivoted our eyes from the guards, the two exits, windows, and the staff. There were many directions from where a whole rack of metaphorical knives could fall from. None so dangerous a dagger as the ones hidden within our conversation.

Agent Yao braved the first sip of tea. With a slow and deliberate swallow, she addressed the Magistrate; “I suppose our first question of the evening is to know exactly where we are.”

The Magistrate took a sip of tea; “You are currently in the Hirawa Prefecture governed by his eminence, Shogun Hirawa. Here at the Yosihda Lodge upon the shogun's estate, we hope to provide unparalleled hospitality.”

As is the case with most official Japanese discussions, the key to gaining any substantial information was not to quickly snowball questions one after another. In my humble experience, the way of most meetings was to allow any information shared to brew in ones mind. A rapid fire conversation in a diplomatic situation often painted one as either impatient, impolite, ignorant, or all of the above. In short, sip the tea. Don't gulp.

Like the stone pathway to the lodge, the best way to arrive at a direct answer was to lead the conversation on indirect path. Fortunately for our team, Captain Yao was intimately aware of this tactic.

“Within the garden at the center of the estate, your camphor trees are most impressive, beautiful,” The Captain remarked turning the conversation sharply ninty degrees. I watched Master Sergeant Cross scowl at the unusually mundane shift in questioning, but remain silent.

With a subtle nod and another sip form his cup, the Magistrate acknowledged the loaded compliment; “The Heaven’s Luck Garden is host to many species of flora and fuana cultivated over the years by our exceelent gardeners. Our camphor trees, naturally, are a most beautiful centerpiece to their labors.”

Agent Jin seemed to pick up on Captain Yao’s angle of approach and added, “The largest of the group at the center appears to be sixty, maybe seventy meters tall, is that correct?”

The Magistrate nodded in the affirmative. Another sip of tea.

As mine and my colleagues early suspicions may have hypothesized, a tree that size told us a whole host of information. First, anything growing that large takes a few centuries at least. Second, camphor trees of those type are in no way native to the American Northwest. If the observable fauna was our primary variable, it strongly suggested a two hour train ride couldn’t have possibly taken us deeper into the wilderness of Oregon.

So where the hell did we go?

“How long has your prefecture been physically outside of mainland Japan?” I asked politely righting the conversation back on a more direct path. I could smell the green tea leaves steeping inside my own ceramic cup, but I held off on taking my first sip.

The Magistrate set his tea cup down and regarded me with what was almost a small smile, “Mr. Calloway, may I ask where you consider home?”

I knew that the stone, or device rather, had recorded my information. Then I remembered that unlike the others, my home address hadn’t been one of the stonck questions. I suspected my physical address wasn’t what the Magistrate was asking for. He'd answer my question with another question, and his response would likely be a crypic answer. So, I played along; “My home is wherever and whenever I am closest with my wife, Magistrate.”

Satisfied with my answer, Masta Killa took another sip of tea; “Similarly, our prefecture has been away from our home for a year, yet we still reamin close to our countrymen.”

Agent Cooper stepped in to the converstaion as one who knew the song without necessarily understanding the right dance moves; “So, you admit to having infiltrated American Soil before the war ended, is that correct?”

 “We’ve witnessed many wars, Agent Cooper. Some are still going on as we speak. Others, long since ended. It is prudent that we learn from such conflicts and progress towards peace,” The Magistrate replied in a less than helpful riddle. "It is all a manner of persepctive as to where one stands."

“I agree, but that’s not what I’m asking-” Agent Cooper started, but caught a look from Captain Yao.

“Magistrate,” I made a second attempt to steer the coversation back on track; “May I ask what is the Shogun’s vision for peace in the Hirawa Province?” There was a deliberate attempt to mirror the phrasing of my question to match the Magistrate’s inquiry of me. I watched carefully as the question steep in his mind.

“In his wisdom, Shogun Hirawa considers peace to be a well balanced scale; where one's individual purpose is equal to their purpose within the community. To preserve this balance, we cultivate all members of our society to achieve perfection in their purpose to serve the community as a whole.”

Master Sergeant Cross finished his tea in a single gulp. He placed the tea cup upside down on its saucer with a gentle clink; “I suspect things ain’t too peaceful if somebody decides they don’t wanna do their job then? Or, perhaps if they want to change jobs?” The table was silent: equal parts embarrassmed and frustrated as MSG Cross derailing the conversation. Yet, he persisted; “Sounds like y’alls peace comes at the cost of personal freedom.”

Before any of us could respond, the lights were snuffed out.

We heard the scrapping of metallic armor plates sliding against one another: the Samurai shifting into position. We rose from the table in the dark, unsure where the attack would come from first.

Orders were shouted in Japanese; “[Protect the Magistrate and the American Guests! Ignite the torches at once!]”

In the chaos, staff members came dashing in with lit torches.

As my eyes readjusted to the flickering light, I could just barely make out Masta Killa standing over someone lying on the ground. The body under foot was covered in head to toe in dark grey clothing. Breathing heavily, the Magistrate removed the mask from his foe's head; “[Shinobi. Guards, escort the American’s to their rooms--]”

An explosion and a billow of smoke filled the room. The clanging of steel against steel. Sparks flew in the pale flickering light of the torches. Shadows danced in a frenetic blur against the smoke as the Samurai guards warded off the attack. I rememer the sensation of something that zipped past my face. I felt something wet run down my cheek. Before I could wipe it away, someone had grabbed hold of my collar and pulled me forward.

One of the Samurai had me by the shirt and charged forward through the main entrance of the dinning hall. The large wooden double doors burst outward off their hinges. Once out into the hall, the warrior stopped suddenly, turning his body in front of mine. I saw something protrude from his side between the armor plates, something sharp. More twangs from bow strings somewhere down the hall. Then another arrow, and another. The Samurai pushed me to the ground, pivoted, and threw his Nagitata into the hallway. An agnoizing scream followed shortly after the spear left the Samurai’s hand.

“[On your feet, gaijin. Move!]” The Samurai commanded, pulling me up on my feet.

I could hear footsteps behind and more clanking amror.

Torches followed. The hallway illuminated now showing a handful of retreating bowmen in grey clothing.

Glancing over my shoulder as the wounded samurai and I sprinted down the hall, I caught a glimpse of a few of my teammates; Yao, Jin, Cross, each escorted by an armed guard.

A clamoring of massive bourdon bells resounding throughout the hotel.

The alarms had been rung.

We were under attack.