sealed away in his attic and in the “eyes only” files of the military.
But governments change. Policy and administrations change. His son was being interviewed by one of the most renowned publications in the country. Everything would slowly begin to unravel. He knew it as sure as he knew it would rain by the aches in his knees.
He pulled out a faded picture of a beautiful young geisha, Sukihara—Suki, whom he’d loved like no other. How different would his life have been if he’d remained in Tokyo…?
Tokyo, April 1960
The month of April is one of the busiest times in the geisha quarters. In the evenings, the teahouses and restaurants where the geishas—or artistic persons—entertain, are crowded with guests from surrounding cities who have journeyed to Tokyo for the cherry blossoms and the geisha dance festival.
It was late one April evening when James and his army buddy Larry Templeton, who’d been stationed in Tokyo for two months, decided to venture out and see what all the mystery was surrounding the geishas. Since being stationed in Tokyo, they had seen no more than their barracks and their immediate area. They felt totally isolated. Not only was there the language and cultural barriers to deal with, they were the only two black men they’d seen since their arrival. They started off with two strikes against them; they were the American military in a foreign country and they were black—the lowest men on the totem pole no matter where they went.
“Whaddaya want to do tonight?” Larry asked, lacing up his regulation boots.
James chuckled in his deep robust voice. “How many choices do we have, man? It’s not like we’re the most welcomed folks in town.”
“I guess you’re right. But it’s Friday. We have the whole weekend off. There ought to be something.”
James shrugged his wide shoulders. His dark brown eyes slowly lit up. “How about checking out one of those teahouses I’ve always heard about?”
“Hey, why not? How do we get there?”
James sat down on the edge of his single bed and pulled out a slim map from the drawer.
“From what I’ve been hearing the really good ones are in Kyoto.” He unfolded the map and spread it out on the bed. Both young men hovered over the finely drawn lines. James stuck out his index finger and traced a path.
“It’s a good half-hour drive,” Larry said, straightening up.
“You have something better to do?”
“Very funny. Let’s go while the night is still young.”
They drove for nearly an hour.
“You sure you know where you’re going?” Larry taunted.
“It can’t be too much farther. As a matter of fact, good buddy, there’s the Kamo River now. I do believe we have arrived.” James grinned and pointed to the elaborate structure that was pinpointed by brightly lit lanterns, the only illumination for miles around—giving the entire scene a picture postcard feel.
“Hot damn,” Larry exclaimed. “I’m finally gonna meet me a real-life geisha. Wait till I tell the boys back home.” He slapped his thigh and hopped out of the jeep.
When James and Larry entered the teahouse, it was like nothing they’d anticipated. Although they received cold or indifferent looks from the Japanese and white men who were ensconced in various locations of the establishment, it was the role of the geisha to welcome and entertain every man who crossed the threshold. And they did—from singing and dancing to pouring their sake.
All of the preconceived notions about geishas being no more than high-priced prostitutes were soon erased. These were pampered, talented, beautiful, sexy women, who because of the Japanese culture, were a necessary way of life. Wives, on the other hand, were subdued, obedient, and anything but sexy. They were everything that a geisha was not.
James slowly relaxed and began to truly enjoy the performances and the pampering, but his breath stopped in his chest when a young, beautiful girl, dressed in an elaborate costume of brilliant red and gold, took center stage. Her name was Sukihara, the petite, exotic nymph who’d changed his life.
Far off, James heard the ringing of the phone. With reluctance be returned the photos to the box and placed the box back in the footlocker.
Quickly he ran down the short flight of steps and answered the phone that sat in the foyer of the top floor.
Returning from her part-time job at the local library, and unaware that her husband was at home, Claudia picked up the extension on the ground floor. When she heard her husband’s voice she intended to hang up until she heard the voice of the caller.
“Hello?”
“Colonel Knight?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“This is Major General Murphy at Chevy Chase Air Force Base.”
James’s heart began to race with dread. He’d been expecting this call and hating its inevitability.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“We’ve arranged to have a car pick you up at your home tomorrow morning at 0800 hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I hope this won’t pose a problem for you.”
“No, sir. Of course not.”
“Good. See you then, Colonel.” He broke the connection.
James Knight had spent forty years of his life in the Special Forces unit of the Air Force. Taking orders without question was second nature. Slowly he replaced the receiver. Taking orders was the reason his life had never been his own, the reason that haunted him every day of his life for the past fifteen years—the reason why his son must never discover what those orders had commanded him to do.
Claudia clutched the phone to her breasts and squeezed her eyes shut. When would they ever leave them alone? For fifteen years, they’d lived under the thumb of that demon from hell—Murphy. They’d never let James live in peace even after all that he’d done in their name. The military had stolen his spirit and Sukihara had stolen his heart.
Chapter 6
“After we check into the hotel, I need to head over to the office,” Maxwell announced, as they moved through Los Angeles International Airport.
Reese and Carmen doubled their steps to keep up with his brisk, long-legged strides.
“I’ll be going with you,” Reese stated. “So I’ll need a few minutes to freshen up.”
Maxwell looked at her over his shoulder. He wanted to say that she looked fabulous just the way she was. Her raven mane was twisted into a fuss-free French roll, and her statuesque form was coated in a teal suit of micro-silk with a skirt that hit her just above those gorgeous knees. His eyes snaked down to those luscious legs that were shadowed by a sheer pair of black hose. Briefly he wondered if she wore pantyhose or real stockings with garter belts. In any event, there was no way she looked like she’d been on a plane for six hours.
“If you think it’s necessary—to freshen up,” he qualified. “But I don’t have time to wait around all afternoon.”
Reese and Carmen exchanged glances. “I’ll be sure not to keep you waiting—too long,” Reese coed sweetly.
Once inside her hotel room, Reese was suitably impressed. This room outdid the Hilton by light years. The living area looked out onto rows of swaying palms and gentle breezes. The thick ecru carpet was so deep it tickled her ankles when she walked. She crossed the room and twisted the gold knob of the door.
Her breath caught in her throat. A huge canopy bed of eggshell white demanded her immediate attention. Along the canopy’s posters, white diaphanous fabric was dramatically draped. She smiled. Maxwell Knight certainly knew