Toward Night's End Read online

  Contents

  Prologue

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 29, 1942

  Chapter One

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Chapter Two

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Chapter Three

  123 Miles South of Seattle, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Chapter Four

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  217 Miles South of Seattle, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Chapter Five

  Pacific Ocean, 6 Miles Northwest of Port Townsend, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Pacific Ocean, 6 Miles Northwest of Port Townsend, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Chapter Six

  Pacific Ocean, 6 Miles Northwest of Port Townsend, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Chapter Seven

  Seattle, Washington. March 31, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. March 31, 1942

  Pacific Ocean 22 Miles West of Rockaway Beach, Oregon. March 31, 1942

  Chapter Eight

  Seattle, Washington. March 31, 1942

  Pacific Ocean 18Miles West of Rockaway Beach, Oregon. March 31, 1942

  Seattle, Washington. March 31, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. March 31, 1942

  Chapter Nine

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. March 31, 1942

  Seattle, Washington. March 31, 1942

  Pacific Ocean 16 Miles West of Rockaway Beach Oregon. March 31, 1942

  Chapter Ten

  Seattle, Washington. April 1, 1942

  Pacific Ocean 14 Miles Southwest of Rockaway Beach, Oregon. April 1, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 1, 1942

  Chapter Eleven

  Seattle, Washington. April 2, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 2, 1942

  Pacific Ocean 24 Miles West of Charleston, Oregon. April 2, 1942

  Chapter Twelve

  Seattle, Washington. April 2, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 2, 1942

  Seattle, Washington. April 2, 1942

  Chapter Thirteen

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 2, 1942

  Seattle, Washington, April 3, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 3, 1942

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bainbridge Island, Washington, April 4, 1942

  Seattle, Washington. April 4, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 4, 1942

  Seattle, Washington. April 4, 1942

  Chapter Fifteen

  Somewhere in Northern California. April 6, 1942

  Pacific Ocean 23 Miles West of Eureka, California. April 6, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 6, 1942

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 6, 1942

  Chapter Sixteen

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 7, 1942

  Pacific Ocean, 168 Miles Southwest of San Francisco, California. April 7, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 7, 1942

  Chapter Seventeen

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 7, 1942

  Pacific Ocean, 84 Miles Southwest of San Francisco, California. April 7, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 7, 1942

  Chapter Eighteen

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 8, 1942

  Wilmington, Los Angeles, California. April 8, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 8, 1942

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wilmington, Los Angeles, California. April 10, 1942

  Seattle, Washington. April 10, 1942

  Chapter Twenty

  Seattle, Washington. April 10, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 10, 1942

  Seattle, Washington. April 10, 1942

  Wilmington, Los Angeles, California. April 11, 1942

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 11, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 11, 1942

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wilmington, Los Angeles, California. April 12, 1942

  Wilmington, Los Angeles, California. April 13, 1942

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 13, 1942

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 15, 1942

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 17, 1942

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 17, 1942

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Manzanar War Relocation Center, Owens Valley, California. April 21, 1942

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. April 26, 1942

  Epilogue

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. May 30, 1947. Memorial Day.

  Prologue

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 29, 1942

  He had been here twice before. Once in the mid-afternoon when the tall cedar trees blocked much of the sun, making the base of the small canyon surprisingly dark. Then again a week later around ten at night. The desolate area was pitch black then and very quiet. Now, close to midnight, it was just plain unnerving.

  As Matthew carefully backed the 15-foot cargo truck into the hiding place as instructed, he had to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake by agreeing to meet here. For all the past deliveries, he had driven to Cannery Cove Park. Meeting at night, there had never been anyone around to watch as the items in his truck were quickly put in the bed of a pickup truck. Where the men took the material after leaving the park, he had no idea. But at least in the open park he felt relatively safe. However, this was to be the very last shipment, and because of that, he was told they had to take precautions and meet here. But the closed-end canyon made him feel jittery. It was too secluded. Too dark.

  He wondered if Tom, his best friend, was in place, watching. He hoped so. So far, Matthew had done exactly as instructed – he had turned off the truck’s headlights a mile back, and an hour ago he had removed the light bulbs from the brake lights as well as the back-up lights. He had been told that this way, if by chance anyone was in the area, they wouldn’t see a large cargo truck in a remote area of the island. Of course, the men had forgotten to take into account the noise of the truck. There was a home a couple miles back, and he had to think the truck’s rumbling engine announced that he had passed by.

  With the transmission in park, Matthew leaned out the window to check the truck’s position. Too dark. He hopped out and walked to the back of the truck. The back tires were just about a foot from the edge of a steep ravine so that the rear portion of the truck hung over the edge, which meant the truck could now be seen by Tom from his hidden spot. Good. Matthew climbed back in the truck and turned off the engine.

  He was sweating profusely although the night air was cold, a gentle wind from the Puget Sound blowing through the open windows. It felt good. He checked his watch. He was early, as he had planned. Tom should have arrived a half hour ago, also as planned. The men would be here
in twenty minutes, if they were on time. Which he presumed they would be. They had been on time for all the other deliveries at Cannery Cove Park. He thought of what Tom had said to him just a few hours ago. “Toward night’s end, it will all be over. A new day tomorrow. And you just wait, I’ll make sure it turns out right.”

  Still a bit worried, he took comfort in Tom’s words. He knew his dear friend would be true to his word – he’d make it right. To calm his nerves, he reached into his front shirt pocket and took out Tom’s pack of cigarettes. Matthew had taken the cigarettes, so his friend wouldn’t be tempted to smoke while remaining hidden. Ordinarily, Matthew didn’t smoke. But once in a while, when he was upset, he found smoking helped calm his nerves. And his stomach was a tangle of butterflies right now. So, light up and calm down. Why not? Then he realized that the glow from the cigarette might be seen. But what difference did it make? No one was around, of that he was certain. Except Tom, well hidden and watching.

  He had just removed a cigarette from the pack when the passenger door suddenly flung open and Matthew found himself staring at a rifle aimed at his chest. The man holding the weapon was big, with a full beard, standing on the running board, his free hand holding the handgrip on the side of the truck. Matthew had never seen him before.

  Then suddenly another gun cocked loudly in his left ear. This one was a handgun, its barrel inches from his head. Standing on the driver’s side running board, the man holding the handgun wore a wool ski cap over his head. Unlike his cohort, this man was clean-shaven. With his heart pounding, Matthew realized he didn’t know either man. Who were they? Where was his usual contact? Why the change?

  “Move it up,” the man with the handgun told Matthew, holding onto the side mirror for balance.

  There was no choice really. Matthew started the truck, feeling it shudder beneath him. He thought about gunning the engine and taking off, but the handgun was still inches away, and he had no doubt the man would be more than happy to splatter his brains across the dashboard. Not to mention the bearded henchman who didn’t say a word, but hardly needed to. His rifle spoke volumes.

  He pushed in the clutch, found first gear, and slowly moved the truck forward. They obviously weren’t about to compliment him on his fine parking job just inches from the ravine.

  “Stop,” the clean-shaven man instructed after Matthew had driven about fifteen yards. He did as he was told, and the truck idled loudly. “Keys,” the man said next. Matthew shut off the engine and handed him the keys. “Out.”

  Matthew glanced at the big man with the rifle, still standing on the passenger running board, who hadn’t said a word. Obviously, the man holding the handgun was the leader. He was the only one who said anything.

  Matthew then climbed out, finally getting a good look at the leader, who kept his gun trained on Matthew. He was taller than Matthew, but that was hardly surprising considering Matthew stood all of five-five. Tall for a full-blooded Japanese, but compared to most Caucasians, including the man in front of him, he was small.

  As the bearded man came around the front of the truck, his boss tossed him the keys, which he deftly caught in midair. Matthew guessed the henchman must be at least six-three or four. He was certainly no match for either of them.

  “You did lock it, didn’t you?” the leader asked, holding the handgun steady. Matthew simply nodded. The bearded man moved quickly for a man his size, heading for the back of the truck. The leader waved his pistol, motioning Matthew to follow. For a brief moment Matthew hesitated. Then he complied.

  When he got to the rear of truck, Matthew saw that the big, bearded man was fumbling through the keys, clearly frustrated by the choice of over a dozen keys when all he wanted was the one for the padlock securing the two cargo doors. The leader shoved the gun barrel into Matthew’s back and barked, “Open it.”

  The bearded man lobbed the keys toward Matthew, who felt lucky to catch them. He toyed with the idea of flinging them over the ravine, knowing it would be hours before they’d find them, if that. He flipped through the keys, stalling for time, and having no idea what he should do. It was probably midnight now, and in just under twelve hours, he was to be on the Keholoken ferry, leaving Bainbridge Island for Seattle. Then he would be transported to an internment camp.

  He didn’t know where. No Japanese-American did, really. There were just rumors. All kinds of rumors. He thought of his mother. So stoic. Packing what the government had said they could take. And his little brother and sister. His sister – too young to really appreciate what was happening. And his brother – just upset that he wouldn’t be able to continue school or see his friends. What did he care that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor? It had nothing to do with him. Or so he thought. However, Matthew knew better.

  He finally decided his best chance of survival was to do what these men wanted. Finding the correct key, he slipped it into the lock and removed it from the door latch. For his cooperation, Matthew was whacked over the head with something extremely hard. He found himself on his knees, pain radiating down the right side of his body. He thought how odd that sensation was. He could hear one cargo door swing open and wondered what these men would do when they found the body. A bloody body that Matthew had had no choice but to throw into the truck. Just then he was struck again from behind, and this time there was no pain. Everything just went black.

  Chapter One

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  What amazed Lieutenant Donald Bollgen the most was the way they were dressed. There were nearly 200 of them, yet all of them wore their finest clothes, under long coats because the March air was still quite cold. The women in elegant dresses, sheer hosiery and smart leather shoes. The men wore perfectly pressed suits, fedora hats, expertly knotted neckties, and meticulously shined shoes. Even the children were in their Sunday best.

  “About fifty more on the way,” called out Private Shilling.

  “Right,” answered Donald. Of course, no one had told him to keep any kind of count. His captain had simply instructed him to stand guard on the dock, making sure none of the evacuees tried to resist in any way. Earlier that morning, the captain had warned that one or two might try to jump off the dock and swim under it, hiding from the soldiers. Should that happen, their instructions were to secure their weapons and jump in the water too, bringing back any wayward individuals. But it had been just the opposite – all the Japanese-Americans had been extremely polite and calm. A few had shed tears as they stoically made their way down the dock toward the ferry, but, to a person, they all seemed quietly resigned to their fate.

  “Lieutenant Bollgen, what’s your status?” asked his captain over the radio. Donald unbuckled his radio from his belt. “I’m at the dock, as ordered, sir,” he replied. There was no immediate acknowledgment, so he added, “Got about fifty more to go, sir.”

  Still nothing. Then, “You know the Kobata family?”

  Donald was surprised. “Yes, sir. Went to high school with Matthew. Eh, the oldest son, sir. Matthew Kobata.”

  Again, there was no reply for what seemed like an eternity. Why would his captain be asking about the Kobatas? Donald had wanted to be one of the officers assigned to a family. That way he could’ve driven a Jeep to pick them up and bring them to the dock. Instead, he was in charge of six privates guarding the boarding area. It had been boring. And depressing. He had seen many familiar faces and couldn’t look any of them in the eye.

  The radio crackled with static. Then his captain said, “I need you at the Kobata house, Bollgen. ASAP.”

  “Roger, sir,” Donald eagerly responded. He shoved the radio into its holster and jogged toward the street, fighting against dozens of Japanese residents heading resolutely to the waiting ferry. But when he got to the street, he realized that the Kobata house was on the other side of the island. It would take hours to get there on foot. He was about to pull out his radio to ask his captain how he should get there when he saw an open-air Jeep unloading a family of five – tw
o adults and three children. Dressed exquisitely, of course, as if all the Japanese on the island had gotten together and decided that, if they had to go to an internment camp, they would go with their heads held high and wear nothing but the best.

  Donald hurried up to the Jeep. A small boy stood on the backseat, unsure what to do. Donald lifted him out, gently setting him on the ground. “There you go,” Donald said to the boy with a smile.

  “Thank you, thank you very much,” the boy’s mother politely responded.

  A corporal was removing their luggage from the Jeep. His uniform had his name stitched over the front pocket. It read “Jenkins.”

  Once the family and their belongings were out of the Jeep, Donald turned to Jenkins. “I need this transport. Orders to get over to the other side of the island. ASAP.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “I know how to drive, Corporal,” Donald curtly replied.

  “I have orders not to leave this Jeep, sir. No matter what.”

  Donald had half a mind to argue, since he clearly out-ranked Jenkins, but then he changed his mind. Jenkins was just following orders, as was he.