Page 8 of Daikon
The captain turned the map around for Sagara to see.
It was of the western Pacific, from Japan south to New Guinea, with Guam and the Northern Mariana Islands halfway between.
“The B-29s based on Guam”—Onda pointed the island out as he consulted his notes—“use V500 call signs: V501, V502, V503, and so on, a unique identifier for each plane. The bombers on Saipan use V400 call signs, and for the ones on Tinian, it’s V700.
So we know where the B-29s are coming from—Guam, Saipan, or Tinian—just from these call signs.
And by triangulating the signals we know where they’re going, what cities they’re going to attack. ”
Colonel Sagara grunted and nodded. He understood the principle of triangulating radio signals to obtain a position.
“About five weeks ago,” continued Onda, “the Unit began intercepting new call signs from Tinian, planes using V600 identifiers instead of the usual V700s. There have been only a few of them, just ten or twelve. And they always operate on their own, never as part of a larger sortie. So we know they’re not usual bombers, but used for some special purpose.
That’s why the Intelligence Unit calls them Special Task Planes. ”
“And the planes yesterday,” prompted the colonel.
“Yes, yesterday.” Onda turned to his second page of notes. “On August first, at 0205, signals from three Tinian B-29s were intercepted, call signs V670, V689, and V683, flying singly, heading north. One went to Hiroshima, another to Kokura, the third to Nagasaki. Then they turned back.”
“Weather planes,” Sagara surmised.
“Then, at 0320, signals from three more B-29s from Tinian were intercepted, following the same general route, heading to western Honshu, flying together. Here they are.” Onda turned the paper around and pointed out the numbers.
“V680, V665, and V691. They had almost reached Kokura when V680 turned away. The other two planes circled Kokura, then returned south.”
Colonel Sagara leaned forward to examine the map, running his eyes along the route from Tinian to Kokura. Three planes on the outward journey, two going back. He turned to Onda’s notes with their list of call signs.
V680. That was the B-29 that had crashed outside Hikari. That was his plane.
He steepled his fingers and touched his lips, softly caressing.
Reconnaissance planes in the lead to report on weather conditions over three cities, followed by a single plane and support aircraft proceeding to one of those cities: Kokura.
It was the sort of behavior that one would expect of a mission to deliver a very powerful weapon.
But could the Americans actually have developed such a thing as a uranium bomb?
The limited understanding he had derived from the file on Project Ni-Go was that it was merely a preliminary investigation, years away from the development of a hypothetical weapon.
Could the Americans really be that far ahead?
The colonel lit another cigarette as he reexamined his options.
He considered and rejected the idea of contacting Second General Army headquarters in Hiroshima and involving Field Marshal Hata.
Hata, with overall authority over defenses in western Japan, could order the naval officer in charge of Hikari Special Attack Unit to transport the American bomb to Hiroshima for examination, where it would then be under Army control.
Involving the Second General Army, however, posed several problems, starting with the possibility that Hata and his staff, mindful of the directive on Army-Navy cooperation, might not act decisively in the matter.
They might not act at all. And if they did, what then?
The weight of military bureaucracy would descend: stultifying interservice rivalry and a mass of red tape.
No, Sagara concluded, he would not inform Hata and the Second General Army. It would be better, given the war situation, for him to proceed on his own.
He glanced at his watch—it was just after eleven o’clock—then at Captain Onda. There was no point in sending him out of the office. His aide knew everything already, perhaps more than Sagara should have told him, but these were perilous times.
The colonel referred to the personnel list in his file on Project Ni-Go. It was headed by Dr. Yoshio Nishina, the “Ni” in the name of the project. He picked up the telephone and dialed the number at the top of the page. Six rings, then a young woman answered.
“This is Lieutenant Colonel Sagara at the War Ministry, Ordnance Bureau. Put Yoshio Nishina on the line.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice informed him, “but Dr. Nishina is away for a few days.”
“Well, who do you have there? I need to speak to someone about the project.”
The voice informed him that almost everyone involved with Project Ni-Go was now gone, reassigned following the destruction of the Riken in the air raids in April. The only project member still around was Dr. Kan.
Sagara ran his eyes down the list of Ni-Go personnel, twenty names in total. There he was. Keizo Kan. Separation Team. Team leader.
“Well, put him on,” he snapped, irritation rising.
The woman set down the receiver. Sagara heard her voice calling in the background. The passage of three interminable minutes. Then the scrape of the receiver being picked up and her voice again.
“I’m sorry, but Kan-sensei is not in the building at the moment.”
“Well, go and find him,” barked Sagara. “Send him here. I want to see him at once!”
He hung up the receiver and pushed the Ni-Go file to Captain Onda.
“Keizo Kan,” he said, tapping the name. “Find out what you can about him.”