Waiting For Shiva Page 3

bait,” says Mason.

  “Indeed, I was the lightning rod.”

  Mason holds me up steady as I urinate on the sand.

  “Looking good, Senator!”

  When I finish, Mason opens a bottle of Gatorade for me.

  “Thank you, Mason! Do yourself a favor and don't get old.”

  “Now don't talk like that! I fully intend to play with my great-grand children in my dottering old age! —So you and Rockenheimer took off on the Great Artiste.”

  “Correct. Good old Rocky, my babysitter. We finally got the green light, and took off in inclement weather. Did you know that at the very last minute, Captain Bock and his entire crew were bumped from the mission? A whole new flight crew boarded the bomber. The new pilot commander and crew all wore uniforms without identifying rank or insignia. A shadow captain and a shadow crew. By the way, all of this is still classified, for some insane reason. The story that was released to the public was all a big fat lie, but get this: the sealed classified documents were all lies also! Wintergren and Daddy's idea. Isn't that just rich?”

  “So you took off.”

  “Right after the Box Car, along with three spotter planes. Oppenheimer's man Dr. Serber, had a seat on one of the observation planes, but he was bumped at the very last minute, supposedly because they couldn't find him a parachute! I still wonder about that to this very day…”

  Rocky hunched down beside me and gave me a stick of gum.

  “I ought to have my head examined, Mr. Anacreon. Hey, how about that son-of-a-gun Mel Ott?”

  I did my best to ignore my rumbling stomach and chattering teeth. The turbulence was definitely more intense this time, compared to the breezy, carefree Hiroshima run.

  “Easy now, Sir.”

  Rocky then leaned in close and whispered one word into my ear: “Shiva.”

  Two hours into the flight, an officer ambled his way to the back and introduced himself. “Lieutenant Martin Ashe, Weaponeer and Assistant Bombardier for this run. Which one of you is Mr. Anacreon?”

  “That's me,” I said, thankful that my stomach had finally settled down.

  “Come with me, Anacreon. I might need your assistance with our, um, package. I'm shorthanded, so you've been drafted.”

  I didn't look at Rocky as I rose to my feet unsteadily. I followed Ashe up toward the bomb bay, where a man lay on his back, breathing hard.

  “Chief Bombardier Faulkner,” Ashe said rather breezily. “As you can see, he is too airsick to perform this drill, so I've designated you to be his stand-in. You were at Los Alamos, correct?”

  When I didn't answer, Ashe chuckled nervously.

  “Right. Look, if Faulkner can't perform his duties, I will need your help setting the firing bags and pins, and securing the bomb bay. We also need to reset this altimeter to 1,800 feet, when we are thirty minutes from Kokura.”

  “I have absolutely no training in electrical engineering—”

  “That won't be necessary. All you need to do is to hold these two little wires together—no, no, not that one! These two, right, right. —Hey, you've got it, good show.”

  “I was told the bomb was already armed.”

  “That it is, Anacreon. It can go off at any time.”

  “Why 1,800 feet?”

  “Maximum blast area.”

  “Right.”

  We then tested the bomb bay mechanism, and Ashe gave me a thumb's up.

  “OK, it looks like you know the drill. Get some sleep, and I'll give you a heads up if Faulkner can't cut the mustard.”

  Ashe then shoved an object into my hand.

  “Firing pin. The other one is in place and ready to go. Guard this with your life, and keep your eyes open, OK?”

  The hours dragged by. I managed to drift off for a while, until Rocky nudged me fully back to consciousness.

  “Good morning, Mr. Anacreon. Somebody messed up. Kokura has been scrapped because of the cloud cover. Some Zeros are circling around below us, and our spotter planes turned tail over Yakashima. Looks like we are going to head on over to Nagasaki and try to hit the Mitsubishi Complex.”

  “How long, Rocky?”

  “Less than two hours. I hope we have enough gas to make it back to Okinawa, let alone Tinian. We wasted too much fuel circling Kokura, the greenhorns.”

  “Who was the mole?” says Mason, as he lifts me up, walker and all, and carries me up to a little bench where the sand turns to sea grass. I debate in my mind whether I should tell Mason or not. I very much want to tell him the true story, but I also want him to live out his natural lifespan.

  “I'll tell you what, Mason. If you leave early on the afternoon ferry, I'll be glad to tell you everything right now—all of this is still classified, mind you! I can't tell you why, but you must go home to your wife and son tonight because… I won't be needing your services tonight, honestly.”

  “What are you up to, Sir?”

  I don't want Mason to die. I want him to live for his wife, his son, and for everybody who died at Hiroshima and Nagasaki—the howling ones that still haunt me almost every night in my dreams.

  “1018 North State Street, Wilmington Oaks, Delaware.”

  Mason opens his mouth and shuts it abruptly. “Senator?”

  “Repeat that last, Mason.”

  “Um, 1018 North State Street, Wilmington Oaks.”

  “My daughter Priscilla's house. She is now a widow who lives alone. Give her this, when you pay her a call.” I remove my gold Ouroboros talisman from around my neck and hand it to poor old Mason, whose eyes are wide with wonder. “My Phi Fraternity pin from Princeton. My daughter will leave you be, once you give her my talisman. She knows the drill and won't interfere. Downstairs in the basement there is an old coal tender that hasn't been used for thirty or so years. It's still full of coal. Dig deep, and you will find a crate that contains a satchel containing $700,000. Rainy day money, all unmarked bills. I want you to have it, so your boy can go to Princeton. You take that satchel, walk out that door, and don't look back. My daughter is a wealthy woman, and that stash of cash is mine, and mine alone. —Here comes the ferry, Mason.”

  Mason is silent for a moment as the ferry approaches the dock.

  “I'll say a prayer for you tonight.”

  “Don't do that! No, save your prayers for… Nagasaki… Hiroshima.”

  “Yes, Senator, as you wish. —Wait! What about the mole, the saboteur! Who was it, I need to know! Was it that Ashe fellow?”

  I smile grimly, as Mason helps me up from the bench.

  “I don't know, Mason. To this very day, nobody knows. I have often wondered—”

  “Sir?”

  “Sixty miles out of Nagasaki, Ashe summoned me up to the bomb bay and informed me that Faulkner had been relieved of his duties. Faulkner was extremely agitated and Ashe told him to go up to the front of the plane. The flight navigator came on down and wanted to know what the problem was. That's when Faulkner pulled out a revolver, and suddenly all Hades broke loose on the Great Artiste… this is where everything gets scrambled in my memory hole… everything happened so damn fast… I clearly heard somebody shout “I'll blow this fucking plane right out of the sky!” when the co-pilot dashed right up behind the navigator and shot the navigator right through the head. Rocky pushed me aside and shot the co-pilot as Ashe and Faulkner simultaneously shot each other—and then a violent bump of turbulence tossed Ashe, the co-pilot, and the navigator’s bodies right out the bomb bay and into the blue, right before my very eyes. Faulkner was bleeding from his gut as he and Rocky held their revolvers on each other.

  —Give me the firing pin, Prescott.

  —How do you know my name, Faulkner? Who are you working for?

  —You give me that goddamn firing pin or I'll blow your fucking head off—

  That's when Faulkner and Rocky shot themselves—dead. The whole surreal incident took less than a minute, it happened that fast.”

  “Oh my God, Senator!”

  The afternoon ferry slowly
parks along the landing and toots its horn. Mason waves to the pilot, who waves back at us. Mason turns back around and grips my walker impatiently.

  “The bomb, Senator, what about the bomb!”

  I chuckle at Mason's distress, and my mind returns to the nightmare.

  The Great Artiste shakes violently from turbulence and anti-aircraft flak, as I fumble with the firing pin.

  “The Shadow Captain was all alone up front and the bomber bounced around like an old jalopy. I later found out that several more crew members up front were already dead, most likely by poisoning. The shadow pilot was bellowing up a storm, as I frantically checked the altimeter and the firing bags. Somehow I managed to wire the firing pin with less than one minute before we approached the target. Suddenly fighters appeared out of nowhere and began to strafe us. That, by the way, never made it to the newspapers! Sweet Lucifer, the pilot was screaming bloody murder and I yelled I GOT IT, I GOT IT and then we were right above ground zero and the blasted bomb wouldn't release! I rolled Fat Man out of the rack and it crashed down so hard that it shook the entire plane—and then I gave it a good shove with all of my puny might and Fat Man sailed away… into infamy…”

  Mason says nothing as I gather my scattered thoughts. The ferry pilot toots his whistle again as my night guard Rufus steps off the ferry, slaps five with Chambers, and takes his fishing pole.

  “Only the Shadow Captain and I made it back to Tinian alive—just barely. Once we touched down, the spook was whisked away by other spooks… Colonel Wintergren took custody of yours truly, and debriefed me in his tent… he poured some brandy into me… I was pretty