The headlines on the San Francisco and Oakland newspapers said it all. The United States Navy had won a major victory over the Japanese and the nation was exultant. The string of agonizing defeats had ended and there would be more victories.
Amanda, Sandy, and Grace were not immune to the festive air as they walked down Funston Avenue near the Presidio in San Francisco on their way to the law offices of Goldman and Swartz. The articles following the headlines made for sparse reading, as it was obvious that the government wasn’t releasing much in the way of information. Nothing was said about which Japanese ships had been sunk, except to say that four were cruisers and five were destroyers. It was painfully evident that no Japanese carriers or battleships had been involved, which meant that the main Japanese battle fleet remained unscathed. Nor was anything said about what American ships were involved or where they’d been based, except to say that two battleships had done much of the work. The article also said that Japanese army shore installations had been pounded and destroyed, and that a large number of terribly mistreated American civilian refugees had been saved from Japanese clutches.
It was like a cloud lifting. The litany of defeats had come to a screeching halt. Now the United States would continue to strike back; at least, that was the prevailing hope and thought. There was, however, the nagging sense that the Japanese would seek revenge for the slaughter.
Even reading between the lines, it did not look like something Tim Dane would be involved in, and for that Amanda was thankful. Captain Harding had dropped by that morning with copies of their nursing credentials, which meant they could get a job, and gasoline ration coupons that would enable them to drive to San Diego in the ’38 Buick they’d purchased.
The law firm of Goldman and Swartz consisted of one person, Richard Goldman, Swartz having died several years earlier. The offices were on the second floor of a nondescript building that had a men’s clothing store on the first floor. Goldman was a small, frail man in his sixties and the women had asked for an appointment with him because Mack had suggested him.
“I’m sorry to hear of Mack’s passing,” Goldman said. “I’ve known him for a very long time, and yes, he did do some very questionable things when he was young and aggressive, but nothing that would have put him on the wrong side of the law. I think what you heard was his conscience speaking. He felt responsible when he made money while others lost theirs. Perhaps it was best that he wound up on a beach in Hawaii. Maybe I’ll go there myself someday.” He sighed. “Of course, I’d look like the devil in a bathing suit, so perhaps it’s best I don’t.”
Goldman took the envelope containing Mack’s will. “Alleged will” is how the lawyer phrased it.
“We have to prove its authenticity and, unfortunately, the only ones who witnessed it are the supposed heirs, you people, which is an obvious conflict of interest. You shouldn’t be witnessing something that will reward you; however, I don’t know what else you could have done. Also, we’ll have to prove that Mack is actually dead, and, since you are the witnesses as well as the heirs, the police might want to talk to you about the possibility that you killed him for his money. Again, however, since any alleged crime took place on the high seas, and likely out of anyone’s jurisdiction, that would be an uphill fight for the cops unless one of you wanted to confess, of course. If one of you would kindly implicate the others, I’ll get whoever confesses first a light sentence.”
“I didn’t kill him, I loved him,” lamented Grace.
“And I’m joking,” said Goldman. “Unfortunately, it was a bad joke.”
“I’m confused,” said Amanda. “Are you implying there’s enough money involved for someone to want to murder him?”
Goldman shrugged. “Who knows? He apparently cashed out all, or at least most, of his investments and put whatever he got into the safe-deposit boxes for which you have the keys. What’s in them we won’t know until and if they are opened.”
“Do you think it’s worth the effort?” Amanda pressed.
“I’d say probably. By the way, the legal effort will include someone, me, locating any of his living relatives who might file a claim that the will is invalid as well as dealing with the State of California, who might also say that the will is invalid and the contents of the boxes belong to the oppressed citizens of the state. What they’ll probably do is negotiate a percentage if it looks like you might prevail in court. By the way, we haven’t discussed my fee.”
Amanda sighed. “And how much will that be when you consider that we don’t have all that much money?” She decided not to mention the cash “refund” they’d recovered from Mack.
“Normally, I charge twenty-five percent of the proceeds. But, since you’re Mack’s friends, I’ll only charge a third.”
“What!” said Amanda.
Goldman laughed. “Glad to see you’re paying attention and understand basic math. Twenty-five percent is my fee.”
They agreed, signed a contract and some other forms, and left. It was time to go to San Diego and start earning a living. Goldman had a relative named Zuckerman in San Diego and they would communicate through him. Zuckerman was an attorney as well as an investor in real estate.
“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” Sandra mused as they waited for the ferry that would take them across the bay to Oakland and their car, “but I don’t know what the wrong thing could be.”
Amanda was about to answer when air-raid sirens went off. They looked about and scanned the skies along with thousands of other people who were staring skyward, puzzled and confused.
“There,” Grace shrieked and pointed. Hundreds of tiny dots were approaching from the south and heading over the Bay.
The Japanese were striking back.
Masao Ikeda piloted his Zero with the consummate skill of an experienced Japanese pilot, the best in the world. He and close to two hundred others flying both Zeros and the Nakajima B5N2 two-man carrier-based bombers had approached from the south of San Francisco because senior officers said that American radar likely did not extend that far. So they had circled behind where they thought radar would be, and apparently they were right. Radar was only dimly understood by the average pilot, and Japanese planes and most ships did not have it yet.
The waves of Japanese planes had flown at very low levels, well below what the experts also said were the limits of the radar devices that could identify a flying plane that could not be seen by the human eye. They had flown only a hundred feet above the ground and had been more concerned about trees and power lines than American warplanes. By coming from the south, it looked as if they’d also managed to avoid being spotted by any patrolling planes and ships.
The flight was both stressful and intoxicating. The terrain south of San Francisco surprised Ikeda. Unlike Japan, where cities were jammed with teeming multitudes, there was so much empty space and room for growth. He idly thought that he would like to visit the place some time. Perhaps after the successful conclusion of the war, where he would be treated as a conqueror and take his pick of white-skinned American women.
Today, though, he and his comrades would take revenge on the Americans for their disgraceful ambush of the Japanese convoy in what was a massacre unworthy of warriors. The planes from four carriers were taking part in this raid that saw them sweep unmolested over the rugged terrain south of San Francisco. Their knowledge of the area was minimal and they’d been reduced to reading road maps and magazine maps from sources like automobile clubs and
Ikeda had another hope. He was still a virgin when it came to enemy kills, and he was sick and tired of the teasing from his comrades. He would not even think of discussing the fact that he was a virgin when it came to women as well.
“Many enemy fighters!” came shrilly over his radio. “All directions.”
Ikeda looked around. Yes, American planes were swarming like angry bees from a hive. He exulted. There was no way he would not emerge with a kill; perhaps several enemy planes would fall to his guns. Another order sent the Kates back toward San Francisco, their secondary target. There were far too many American planes
