Tojo concurred. He would discuss it with his army subordinates. “There are those who feel that such harsh actions may hasten the Americans to the conference table.”

“Have you seen any indication of that, Prime Minister?”

Tojo was surprised at the sarcasm in Yamamoto’s voice. “None yet, but it will come.”

The prime minister rose. The audience was over, but the admiral wanted the parting shot. “I hope it comes soon, Prime Minister. In a short while, the American fleet will be strong enough to confront us on even terms. In a while longer, we will be dreadfully outnumbered and facing the possibility of defeat.”

When Yamamoto left, Tojo sat alone in the room. He was close to despair. Why hadn’t the Americans asked for a truce, an end to the conflict? He felt totally inadequate. Events were running out of his control. He was like an engineer on an accelerating train whose brakes wouldn’t work. He had to prevent a crash.

However, he did not agree with Yamamoto about the kempetei’s actions being counterproductive. No, he felt that the screws could be tightened even more on the Americans in Hawaii.

Alexa knew that the Japanese colonel was mentally undressing her and ignored it. At least he was a little more subtle than his assistant, Lieutenant Goto, who had practically fucked her with his eyes as he admitted her to Omori’s office.

Goto’s hand had brushed her hip as she passed him in the doorway, and it was not an accident. She was glad that she had worn an older dress, one that came well below her knees and was baggy as a result of weight loss. Jake would have been proud of her. In her mind’s eye, she looked absolutely sexless.

“Be seated,” Omori said in only slightly accented English. “I am pleased that you could meet with me, Mrs. Sanderson. First, let me extend my condolences on the tragic loss of your husband.”

“You’re very kind.”

“You must be wondering why I requested the opportunity to talk with you, Mrs. Sanderson.”

Indeed she was. It had come as a request, but few were foolish enough to decline such a summons from the head of the kempetei.

Alexa thought it amusing that Omori made any implication that the meeting was voluntary. The “invitation” had come the day before and said that a car would pick her up.

The office was fairly small and sparsely furnished; a slightly ajar door led to what appeared to be sleeping quarters. She wondered if that was where Omori lived. She caught a glimpse of an Asian woman in the room and concluded she must be one of the prostitutes the Japanese were rumored to have brought with them.

Alexa smiled. “Before we get to that, may I ask you a question, Colonel?”

Omori was mildly surprised. “Certainly.”

“When will the schools reopen? I have almost forty students who haven’t been inside a classroom in several months, and this is not good for them. They should not be idle.”

Omori nodded in apparent sympathy. “I understand your concern. However, it will not happen for a while. Perhaps not until fall. All schools will remain closed until we can reorganize the curriculum. As Hawaii is now part of the Japanese Empire and the Greater Southeast Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, we must change the local schools’ academic focus toward Japan. Instead of American history and values, schools will teach everything that is Japanese, including the language to those who don’t know it.”

“I see,” said Alexa. His answer confirmed a rumor she’d heard earlier. To the conqueror went the spoils, and the schools.

“Now, Mrs. Sanderson, may I come to the reason you’re here? Are you aware that there was a dossier on you in the FBI offices?”

“No,” she said in genuine astonishment. It must have had to do with her pacifist activities and openly stated opinions. She was shocked to realize that the FBI was even remotely interested in what she did and said.

“The FBI destroyed many of their files, but they did not get to all of them, and yours was one of a number that remained. Tell me, Mrs. Sanderson, are you still a pacifist?”

“I consider war to be awful, and now I have personal proof of that awfulness,” she answered carefully.

“Then you would be willing to do what you can to bring a peaceful end to this terrible conflict, would you not?”

Alexa felt a trap opening. “Within reason.”

“I am aware that you have influence in Washington, and, therefore, your comments on war might be listened to. We have prepared a series of statements that we would like to publish under your signature.”

He handed her a sheaf of papers, each of which contained several paragraphs of virulently anti-American propaganda. After she read them a second time, Alexa returned them to Omori. “These go too far,” she said. “They would proclaim me as a traitor to the United States. I’m sorry, but I cannot sign them.”

Omori shrugged. “And afterward, we would like you to broadcast a number of prerecorded radio statements supporting the written statements. We will, of course, prepare the scripts for you.”

Alexa was puzzled. Hadn’t he heard her decline? “I’m sorry I can’t do that.”

“Are you aware that your friend Father Monroe was arrested yesterday?”

“For what?”

“Insulting a Japanese officer. The punishment can be as extreme as death by beheading.”

Alexa’s mind whirled. Father Monroe was a good man. A bit naive, perhaps, but not one to go about insulting their conquerors. “There must be a mistake,” she said.

“Would you like to see him?”

Without waiting for an answer, Omori took her arm and led her outside and across a road to a building that looked like a warehouse. Inside, the walls were bare with a number of cruel-looking hooks hanging from rafters. From one of them dangled Father Monroe. He was naked and blindfolded, and his hands were tied behind his back. A rope from his wrists was connected to one of the hooks, and his feet were tantalizingly but barely in touch with the ground. Alexa watched in horror as he groped for the ability to stand and ease the pain in his extended shoulders.

“The effect of suspending him from his hands as we have,” Omori said, “is to slowly dislocate his shoulders. As you can see, he is suffering terribly.”

Alexa was appalled. “That’s barbaric.”

“Not to us. We believe in quick, severe justice in these circumstances. A trial would simply be a costly and unnecessary delay. Punishment must occur immediately and must deter others from doing the same thing. However, we do not consider the incident with Father Monroe serious enough to require his death.”

“How long will he be like this?” Alexa wanted to vomit. Under the blindfold, Father Monroe’s face was a mask of pain. Bruises and welts showed where he’d been beaten, and there was a puddle of urine and feces on the floor. She felt ashamed to be looking at his old, frail body in his humiliation and pain. She could not, however, stop staring. It was so horrible as to be unreal. It must be a nightmare from which she would soon wake up.

“He will remain where he is for twenty-four hours. Of course, he might be dead well before that, which would be a shame. However, he could be released if you agree to work with us. If you decline, he could easily die. Perhaps I will just leave him up there until that happens. If he’s stronger than he looks, he could be in agony for days.”

Alexa took a deep breath. The trap had been sprung and she was helpless. “All right,” she said sadly. “I’ll sign the statements.”

Omori led her back to his office, where she quickly signed all the papers he put in front of her. She didn’t reread them. There was no point. “We could have forged your signature,” he said, “but this is so much better. We will get back to you when we’re ready to record your speeches. As an added benefit for your cooperating with us, you will immediately start getting better rations, and you will no longer be required to work in the rice fields.”