He was sitting in a chair, in the corner. His head hung and he stared between his white knees, into darkness.

She didn’t answer. She moved closer, but there wasn’t another chair. She sat on the edge of the bed.

“You didn’t find anything, did you?” he said.

She shook her head.

“See there? You want to know more about what’s been transported here, is that it?”

She didn’t reply.

Selfer sighed. “You ever hear the name Yamashita?”

“He one local boy? Plenty guys with that name.”

“He was one of the Japanese Imperial Army’s top generals. Responsible for their last stand in the Philippines. Back in ’45, General MacArthur put Yamashita on trial in Manila, first time in history that the US of A tried a defeated enemy general for war crimes. He was charged with massacres committed by Japanese sailors and marines in Manila, even though some of this happened against Yamashita’s own explicit orders or outside his command. The defense had a case, at least. Yet Yamashita was found guilty—and all appeals declined. He was promptly hanged. MacArthur, you see, was getting his old nemesis out of the way as swiftly as the rules allowed. Many thought MacArthur was just taking his revenge, the general making it personal because the Philippines had always been his claim. Oh, he was probably doing that, too—two birds with one stone, as it were.”

“In that trial, they didn’t mention . . . ?”

“Mention what, Kanani? Get to the point, please.”

She couldn’t say it.

“Then bear with me,” Selfer continued. “Meanwhile, members of Yamashita’s staff were interrogated on the sly, to put it mildly. Especially those serving with him in the Philippines.”

“By who?”

“Ah. That depends. I can’t say, but you can probably guess.”

General Macarthur. His intelligence section in Tokyo. Later, other intelligence operators unspoken. Miss Mae had told her some of this, but Selfer didn’t need to know that. “This was where Mister Lansdale washes ashore. What about that Japanese thug, Kodama?”

Selfer nodded. “Officially, Yoshio Kodama is supposed to be in a high security prison in Tokyo—awaiting trial. He’s heading back now. Certain players were giving the man a secret little prison leave.”

Kanani grabbed the covers and pulled them around her, even though she was hot. “Now it’s a gold rush,” she said.

“Correction: It’s a secret gold rush. Full-scale retrieval, to be even more precise. Way I hear it, it lasted into 1947 at the least.”

“But this is now 1948, the last I checked.” So that meant it was starting all over again, based on new intelligence.

“That’s right.” Selfer swallowed a gulp of air, as if holding his breath, and fell silent for a good few minutes.

The revelations were over, Kanani realized. But she tried anyway. “You once mentioned something called ‘The Directorate.’”

“No, I did not. Never say that again.”

“Okay. Calm down.”