“He may see his duty as belonging to Japan.”

“But we are Japan!”

“Not his idea of it.”

“Ideas! Damn your ideas! The emperor is descended from gods! It is our destiny to serve him.”

Moertopo could feel the ground shifting dangerously. Hidaka was becoming overheated. Kakuta, who could not follow the discussion fully, was growing similarly agitated. And Moertopo was playing devil’s advocate on behalf of a man he had never met, and probably never would. If he pressed this case too far, they might leap to the assumption that he agreed with the unknown captain’s treasonous behavior.

Time to pour oil on troubled waters.

“Admiral Kakuta,” he said as soothingly as possible, “I am not responsible for the world I came from, nor for the men who came with me. I will assist you because I understand that it will assist my own countrymen in this time and in the future. If the officers aboard the Siranui prove traitorous and unreliable, there may be other ways of dealing with them—luring them into a trap, for instance, where they might be directly confronted by their treachery. They may then see reason, and choose the correct path. Or not. But the Siranui itself, which is undeniably the property of Japan, might then be turned over to her rightful owners.”

He knew he was talking a lot of crap, but his situation was precarious, and it was crucial to convince these two to trust him before they went off on some hysterical banzai charge of indignation, lopping off heads and arms with gay abandon to salve their wounded pride.

Kakuta, he was relieved to see, calmed visibly and nodded as Hidaka translated for him. Moertopo put the few seconds grace to good use, and asked for an update from signals engineer Damiri. In fact, there had been a development, but Moertopo was unsure how it might play with the Japanese.

They noticed the perplexed look on his face.

“You have something to tell us?” Hidaka demanded.

“Yes. Our discussion appears to have been premature. Sub-Lieutenant Damiri informs me that the Siranui has been hit. A shell strike on the bridge, which has killed the captain and a number of officers.”

Hidaka informed his superior, who had by this time regained his equilibrium. He digested the information without any visible sign of distress.

“The admiral asks if the ship itself was badly damaged?”

“I don’t know, but probably not,” said Moertopo. “The bridge of a modern warship is more for sightseeing than for fighting. There will be peripheral damage, and we know of casualties, but her combat capability should be relatively unaffected.”

Kakuta smiled when this was relayed to him. He searched for a suitable reply, and when he spoke at last, it was in English.

“Good,” he said.

His contented grin didn’t leave Moertopo feeling cheery at all.

Chapter 13

13

SAR 02, 0024 HOURS, 3 JUNE 1942