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no exception. His instructions from the prime minister had been as clear as they were vague.
    “Exploit this window of opportunity to our advantage. We have China and North Korea salivating now that the U.S. is focused on their upcoming Iraq war. And we have pressing resource and economic issues that we must confront. You are a Harvard man. Help me solve them.”
    Takishi knew that most people recognized a window of opportunity by the sound of its slamming shut; always in hindsight. But not Mizuzawa and especially not him. Takishi was proud of the phased operation he had begun planning right after 9-11. Whether the Americans had engineered that attack or not, he didn’t care. There were so many conspiracy theories about how the U.S. had invited Japan to attack Pearl Harbor, but he doubted them all. It was Japanese brilliance that had led to the most stunning victory in the history of the world, not American conspiratorial cunning.
    Takishi felt relieved as he spied his Shin Meiwa US-1A float plane, a Japanese air-and-sea craft with four Rolls-Royce AE 2100 engines that drove the amphibious craft’s four propellers, tethered just one pier away. The sun was already spreading its morning glow on the rugged terrain of the atoll, where Japanese explorers claim to have found a city that sank when the island broke away from the continent in the twelfth century.
    A sinking Japan, Takishi thought, was exactly what they were trying to avoid.
    “Satisfied, my friend?” Kinoga asked as he walked to the starboard ramp with Takishi, the morning brightness hurting his eyes.
    “Yes, I am getting satisfaction,” said Takishi. “I was much too bothersome to you last night, Admiral.” He snapped from his reverie as he held a stanchion at the top of the ramp.
    “It is good that you are not in my line of work—don’t ever pretend you could handle it.”
    Seagulls circled nearby, hoping for the ceremonial dumping of the ship’s slop bucket. Their loud squawks hurt Takishi’s ears, causing him to flinch and narrow his eyes. The fresh morning air returned some coherency to his thoughts.
    “If you could gather your crew, the prime minister has given me the authority to award you and your men the Imperial Cross.”
    Kinoga hesitated, ever suspicious. But the Imperial Cross was the highest military decoration, and his men had earned it.
    “Why are you so generous, Takishi?”
    “It’s not my idea, Kinoga. Our prime minister instructed me that if you successfully completed the mission, your men were to receive the Cross,” Takishi said, avoiding eye contact.
    “Do you not believe we deserve the medal?” Kinoga scoffed.
    “What I believe is irrelevant. Your men accomplished the mission, and they deserve the prime minister’s compliments.”
    “Very well, I will be in the cockpit debriefing the men.”
    Kinoga assembled his six men while Takishi debarked and walked to a black limousine waiting near the pier. Inside the small room, Kinoga told his men to sit. They did so at a rectangular wooden table.
    “You performed a difficult and sensitive mission for your motherland last night. You should be proud,” Kinoga said, his mouth dry and sticky. “Whether you know it or not, you all have taken part in the first of a series of activities that will lead our great nation back to its rightful place. Because of your actions last night, the Japanese Empire will rise again.”
    The sailors, all hand-chosen by Kinoga, were weathered seamen who wanted only the best for their country. They all nodded with approval at Kinoga’s words.
    Kinoga then individually congratulated them, reminding them of the secrecy of the mission.
    “Your prime minister will reward you highly for your accomplishments,” said Kinoga, facing the table with his back to the door. He heard the door open with a metallic squeak.
    Before he could turn around, a whisper shot through the room. Kinoga fell forward at his men’s feet, bleeding from the skull.
    Standing in