Urashima Book 1 Going Back

INTRODUCTION

IT IS DECEMBER 1949. Four years have elapsed since the end of World War 2 but the economies of the western nations still lie in ruins. The United States’ wartime ally, the Soviet Union, has consolidated its iron grip on those European countries to the east. Four months earlier, it exploded its first atomic bomb. In China, another wartime friend has just fallen by the way side. The Nationalist Chinese leader, Chiang Kai Shek (Jiang Jieshi), has lost his lengthy civil war with Mao Tse Tung’s (Mao Zedong’s) Communists and has fled to his final stronghold in the mountains of Taiwan. Meanwhile, in the United States, anti-communist hysteria is sweeping the country, fanned by Republicans who seek to blame the ‘Red Menace’ threat on President Franklin Roosevelt’s successor, Harry Truman and his continuation of Roosevelt’s New Deal policies. 

Across the Pacific in Japan, the Allied Occupation- under the maverick control of General Douglas MacArthur- is entering its fifth year. The Supreme Commander’s GHQ is charged with democratizing the country and curing the Japanese elite of its totalitarian tendencies. MacArthur and his civilian/ military administration have embarked upon a radical program of social and economic reform, yet progress has been slow. The country remains racked by strikes and crime, and the popularity of the newly legalized Communist Party grows by the day. Alarm bells sound in Washington. Truman is forced to demand policy changes in Tokyo but General MacArthur ignores him. Belatedly, the president and his advisors come to realize that the fate of America, itself, may lie in the increasingly fallible hands of the aging war hero on the other side of the sea … 

CHAPTER 1

New York June 1948

THE ELEVATOR JUDDERED to a halt, the doors slid open, and Harry Kern stepped out into an ocean of sea-green carpet. Beyond it, lay the Harvard Club's main banquet room and a sign that read:

Private Function

Mr James Lee Kauffman, Mr Harry Kern

American Council on Japan, June 28th, 12-2:00pm

No Press

Kern grinned as he read it. It had taken a long time and no little effort to corral the Great and the Good into this one place. Two years of hosted dinner parties, thousands of prawn canapés, tens of thousands of scotches and soda- why, he'd pressed the flesh so many times he thought his hand would fall off! In the end, though, it had been worth the candle, for now they were all up here waiting to be saved and he, Harry Kern, was determined to save them.A man wearing a black suit and bow tie hurried towards him. It was the maitre d'.

Thank you, Henry. Tell Mr Kauffman he can make a start.

Kern slipped into the banquet room via the rear entrance just as a small stocky man with a powerful voice strode onto the stage. He harrumphed into the microphone and tapped a wine glass three times.

"Gentlemen! Your attention, please! Most of you know me- Lee Kauffman's the name- and I want to thank you all for finding time to attend today's inaugural meeting of the American Council on Japan.H Now we've just enjoyed a fine meal courtesy of Molly and her girls but as you know there's no such thing as a free lunch so I give you fair warning- I'm coming after your wallets!"

A ripple of laughter followed. Harry Kern thought he could smell the brandy in it.

Now many of you have been clients of my law firm for more years than I care to remember. Some of you even go back with me to the early thirties, to those lucrative days when we first opened our offices in Tokyo…

As Kauffman droned on, Harry Kern hovered at the back of the room, nervously surveying the scene in front of him. There were a dozen or so round tables, each seating eight to ten people. His eyes moved from one to the next, checking off the big names: John Curtis of First National, Standard Oil's Clarence Meyer-. On the far side of the room, a raft of ex-State Department people were huddled together and further away, near the stage, he could see Admiral Bill Pratt and General Bob Eichelberger- war heroes both- sitting with the party from Westinghouse.

Up on the stage, Lee was getting into his stride. Another joke, another ripple of laughter. The crowd was warming to the pudgy lawyer as he worked effortlessly on them: the humor, the folksy charm:

... and over the last couple of months, some of you have openly expressed your disquiet about what's going on in Japan. Those crackpots in GHQ are running hog wild, you've complained. Well, let me tell you we share your concerns! Kauffman jabbed his spectacles at them. "You've made investments over there and you don't know if or when you're gonna get your money back.

But isn't this about more than money? Like us, I'm sure you're disturbed that some people in Washington- especially in the State Department- are supporting the development of the Japan Communist Party at a time when leftists world-wide are threatening to turn our wartime victory into peacetime defeat-.

Shame! someone shouted out.

A national disgrace! yelled another.

Kauffman beamed down at them. You don't like it, eh? Well, neither do we! We want changes, and it's our estimation that with your collective influence we can get 'em. Now I know it's difficult for some of you to come right out and declare for us. Those still active in military and diplomatic circles may find it all but impossible to go against what is the official policy of the United States' government at this time. We appreciate your dilemma. Just make yourselves known to us and we'll exercise the utmost discretion-. He shot them an indulgent little smile before slipping his spectacles into the top pocket of his jacket. Well, I've said what I came to say and now it's time for this boring old lawyer to shut up and make way for someone much more interesting. I’d like to introduce a man to you who's worked tirelessly with me over the last few years to get this thing up and running. Some of you know him personally; all of you will have read his opinions in the press. Gentlemen, put you hands together for the Foreign Editor of Newsweek magazine, Mr Harry Kern!

Something propelled Kern forward. He found himself wading through the applause, nodding, smiling, as his brain effortlessly matched faces to names. And as he moved amongst them, so his confidence grew, so his nerves withered and died. He clambered up the three steps to the dais and moved smartly over to where Lee was stage-managing his entrance. The applause was reaching its crescendo now. Harry stood at the podium and milked it, enjoying every moment of their adulation of him. Then pulling out his speech, he begged for silence and started in on the most important twenty minutes of his young and exceedingly ambitious life.

Half an hour later, their work all done, Kern and Lee Kauffman adjourned to the Harvard Club bar. Once more, Harry found himself pressing flesh and trying hard to deflect the plaudits that had rained down on his head the instant his speech had drawn to its rousing conclusion.

One man edged ahead of the others. Kern recognized his lupine smile. It belonged to General William Draper.

What can I say, Harry? Draper gushed. Great speech! Impressed a lot of folks. As far as the ACJ is concerned, I want you to know that Dillon Read is one hundred percent on board. And so am I- unofficially, of course! I've already authorized this check. Will two hundred thousand be satisfactory?

More than generous, sir! Kern was about to take the money when he was assailed by a blinding flash. What the hell!

It was Kauffman who reacted first. 

Who let the goddam newspapers in here? Stop that man! Stop him, I say! 

He careered into the crowd leaving Kern and Draper somewhat bemused.

I- I'm sorry about that, general, Kern mumbled. The front office had strict instructions-.

No harm done, Harry! Draper was keeping his irritation on a tight leash. No point letting one ill-mannered hack ruin our big day.

Quite so, sir.

Draper took a long toke on his cigar then he said: You'll be popping down to Washington? Now things are up and running?

I thought Friday.

Excellent! I'll tell them to expect you. And now-, the general peeked at his gold pocket watch, I'm afraid I must run. Perhaps that newspaper feller can give me a ride, eh?

He shook Kern's hand and, with one more lupine grin, ducked out through the fire exit. 

A few minutes later, an irate Kauffman returned, looking less than mollified.

Did you catch him? Kern asked.

No! the lawyer fumed. I've organized a search. The fucker can't have got far!

Harry looked down at the check burning a hole in his right hand. Let's hope not, he said.

§

Three days later, Harry Kern rode the B and O down to Washington and spent the night at the Fairfax Hotel. The following morning, after a simple breakfast of bagels and coffee, he took a cab to East Street. Number 2430¹ was a block and a half down on the right. He pushed open the door and walked inside. The officious-looking woman at the front desk gave him a less than cordial welcome.

Good morning, sir. Are you sure you're in the right building?

Quite sure. Unless The Director has moved. Tell him Harry Kern's here.

Allen Dulles' office was up on the third floor, lost in a maze of corridors. A rat would have had trouble finding the place but not Kern. He'd been there before. Outside the door, a well-built man packing a shoulder holster was checking IDs. Kern offered up his driver's license and was admitted to an outer office where a sultry-looking secretary was parked in front of a silver Underwood. She batted her eyelids at him before inclining her head towards a dividing door.

Mr Dulles will see you now, sir. Do go through.

Allen Dulles looked just like his desk. Disheveled. Harry! he chirped when Kern walked in. I believe congratulations are in order!

You've heard from Draper?

Let's just say there was talk. Dulles' smile was evasive. They all showed up then?

Most of them. Kern helped himself to a chair. We're still counting the money. Three million at least.

Excellent! Excellent! Dulles pushed a well-stuffed brown envelope at him. This is...uh... yours, I believe. Your expenses. You know this job is entirely self-financing? We can't have a money trail leading back to this office.

Don't worry! Kern chuckled. Let those who benefit pick up the check!

Dulles’ grin kept getting wider. My sentiments, exactly. By the way, we're going to need a person to handle the Tokyo end. As insurance.

You have someone in mind?

It wasn’t a hard decision. Dulles passed across a photograph. After all, why break up a winning team?

Harry Kern hardly glanced at it.

Why indeed! he smirked.

CHARACTERS

MAP

GLOSSARIES

WEB

FOOTNOTES

¹CIA address at that time

CHAPTER 2

Japan, December 1949

ANY SIGN OF the Japs, sir?

Captain James ‘Jimmy’ Miller raised himself on one elbow and peered through the dirty storehouse window. The fishing ketch opposite was sheathed in gloom.

Hard to tell! he grunted. Gimme the binoculars, will ya?

The young sergeant passed them over and Miller scanned the dock. Down below, the ketch was still creaking gently against its moorings. Beyond it, on the far shoreline, the city of Yokohama lay crouching like a great, beached whale.

They’re hunkered down. Waiting. There’s no one in the wheel house. He swung the glasses to the right, following the line of cranes up the pier as far as the gate man’s hut, a quarter of a mile distant. A dim light was burning there- he could just make out a figure hunched inside. Our guy’s in place. When are the GIs supposed to come?

The major said midnight.

It’s midnight now, goddamit!

Miller was crammed into a tiny crawl space and, though he’d tried to twist his body into a more comfortable position, he’d been thwarted on every occasion. Worse, his army fatigues had ridden up into his groin and were chafing at his balls. It was a far cry from what he’d expected when he’d landed at Yokota Air Base thirty-six hours earlier. His old China pal Major Don Packard had been there to meet him, but instead of whisking him east into Tokyo, to the relatively plush confines of the Nomura Hotel,² Packard had turned the staff car south, to Yokohama’s G-2³ annex. 

Sorry, buddy, but I got personnel shortages. There’s an operation tomorrow night an’ I need you to head it up for me.

For months now, the Eighth Army had been having trouble with pilfering from the local office of the Quartermaster’s Corps. In recent weeks, it had reached epidemic proportions. The culprits appeared to be a group of larcenous GIs who had access to the Corps. They were selling supplies to a local yakuza gang that was moving