Cordelli did not have difficulty getting brief meetings with Roosevelt, and the representative, both wise and cunning, did not abuse the privilege. He had to wait only a couple of days before seeing the president, while other petitioners waited a lifetime.
Admiral William Leahy, the president’s chief of staff and soon to be chairman of the Joint Chiefs, had arranged the meeting and was with FDR, who quickly noticed Cordelli’s agitation. “Dominic, my friend, be seated and tell me what’s on your mind,” Roosevelt said.
Cordelli wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief that had been clean earlier in the day. “Mr. President, I need a favor. No, not a favor. Perhaps information and assurances would be more like it.”
Roosevelt shrugged and smiled disarmingly. “Ask.”
“I have a niece, a Mrs. Alexa Sanderson. Her husband was killed in the attack on Pearl Harbor.”
“Dreadful,” Roosevelt said with genuine sympathy. Then he turned impish. “Sanderson doesn’t sound terribly Italian, though.”
“She’s not. She’s a WASP from Virginia and related on my wife’s side. The problem is that the niece is still in Hawaii. The FBI has been out to see us because she’s making radio broadcasts and signing documents that could be considered treasonous. I want you to know that my niece would never do such a thing except under extreme duress. The FBI may be thinking of prosecuting her for something she was forced to do or say with a gun pointed at her head.”
Roosevelt stole a glance at Leahy, who had been briefed when Cordelli had asked for the meeting. This had enabled Leahy to do a little research.
“Have you heard the speeches?” the admiral asked.
“Yes. The FBI was kind enough to play a couple for me. The language is convoluted and awkward. It isn’t hers. She’s highly educated and simply doesn’t speak that way.” Cordelli managed a wan grin. “Hell, it sounded worse than some of my constituents. No, sir, she’s reading from a prepared script, and I’m convinced she’s being forced to do it.”
Roosevelt smiled. “If that is the case, she cannot be charged with any crime.” He looked at a note that Leahy had handed him just before the congressman’s arrival. The president leaned forward and looked intently at Cordelli. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course,” Cordelli said.
Roosevelt spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “It does not surprise you that we are in contact with certain elements in occupied lands, does it?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Well, what I am going to say must not leave this room, is that understood?”
“Of course,” Cordelli responded eagerly. Both men knew he would tell his wife.
“Your niece is among several who have been forced by the Japs to send messages like that. We know they have been forced to do it.”
“Poor Alexa.” Cordelli sighed. “My wife is upset enough as it is without her thinking of Lexy being mistreated.”
“Without going into detail,” Leahy continued for Roosevelt, “I can assure you that your niece is no longer under Japanese control. She has been moved by our people to a different location in the islands, and there will be no further broadcasts of that sort by her, although, of course, some old ones might be replayed. She is not out of danger, but she is much freer than she had been.”
Cordelli exhaled in a whoosh of relief. “Thank you.”
They shook hands, and the congressman departed.
“You know what I wish?” Roosevelt mused.
Leahy smiled. “I have no idea, sir.”
“Just once, I wish that the FBI would learn a little about tact and discretion. Why should the President of the United States be so involved in so minor a problem?”
Leahy smiled. He knew better. Roosevelt was exuberant at being able to give his friend Cordelli some good news. That simple act had lifted some of the stress from FDR’s shoulders. That he had been able to be angry at the FBI was an added bonus. Admiral King and General Marshall had been right. The way to keep FDR alive and well was to keep him happy. Helping Congressman Cordelli was the perfect tonic. As to Roosevelt’s lament about the problem being too small for him, Leahy knew that was so much hogwash. The president had enjoyed the whole thing immensely.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt had had a good day, and that was all that counted.
Lieutenant Uji Goto knew he wasn’t much of a warrior, but his new commander at Hilo, Major Osami Shimura, was even less of one. Shimura was short, fat, flabby, lazy, and dissolute. He was generally drunk by noon, and Goto thought he might be using opium as well.
Shimura also was a coward. He had close to five hundred men at his disposal and had done nothing to rid the island of Hawaii of the American guerrillas who, in the opinion of Goto and other more determined officers, operated with impunity outside Hilo.
“Too many,” Shimura had said on several occasions. “There are hundreds of them out there just waiting to ambush us. Our job is to hold Hilo, not run all over this wretched island chasing shadows.”
Goto wondered how a group of well-armed Americans could become shadows, but he said nothing. He had read the raw intelligence data and knew there was only a very small American force in the field, somewhere between fifty and a hundred, and they would not be able to stand up to a battalion of Imperial marines if they were cornered.
Of course, Goto acknowledged that cornering them was the problem. Hawaii was four thousand square miles of jungle, mountain, and volcanoes, some active, in which the Americans could hide. As a boy visiting relatives, he had hiked some of the trails and knew that a full division of Imperial marines might not be able to root them out unless they had to stand and fight for something they deemed important.
With an active campaign out of the question for the immediate future, he settled into a fairly comfortable existence. Like the other officers, he got drunk almost every evening and spent many of the nights in the local brothel. The madam, a fat Hawaiian with many gaps in her smile where the teeth had rotted out, quickly understood his unique pleasures. She made certain he had access to several girls in their early teens, although she had been disturbed by his requests for girls who were even younger. So far, she had not been able to get any prepubescent children for him, and that disturbed Goto as well.
Of course, if he could get back to Honolulu, with its larger population, his needs could be more readily fulfilled. In order to get back, he had two choices: First, he could wait out the necessary time, as Omori had suggested, or, second, he could do something outstanding that would require him to be sent back to Honolulu regardless of what the civilians thought. Who gives a shit, he snarled to himself, what the civilians think?
Thus, it was with some eagerness that he greeted the foul creature who stood before him. “Sergeant Finch, you are to be congratulated on all you have done for Japan. I can only hope you will be as successful here.”
Finch was uncomfortable but tried to hide it. He should not have been sent to Goto’s quarters, where his presence might be noted. Even though it was night and he was wearing civilian clothing and a hat, someone might have recognized or remembered him.
“As always, Lieutenant, I will do my best.”
“It was easy for you on Lanai. The Americans there were total idiots and there was really no place for them to hide. Here on Hawaii, it will be different.”
Indeed it would, Charley thought. Finding the guerrillas would be the first part of the problem.
“How will you explain yourself?” Goto asked. “You will appear to them as a reasonably healthy POW. How will you explain yourself?”
Finch bowed. He had not been invited to sit. “I’m fortunate in that most of the POWs on Oahu have been sent to Japan. I will say that I escaped during transit, made it to Molokai by boat, was hidden on a farm, and then fled to Hawaii with the purpose of meeting up with the Americans. It is a simple story, and one they won’t be able to check out.”
Goto grunted. Finch couldn’t tell whether he agreed or not. “When you find the Americans, how will you contact us?”
“Sir, on Lanai I was able to drop notes in a stump by the road. This island is too big for that sort of thing. I’m afraid I will have to desert the Americans when the time comes.”
