1945 – Luzon, the Philippines
THE JUNGLE raised its hand to strike back. Oversized fern leaves smacked against the truck’s windshield as it lurched and bucked on the dark, narrow road. Their screams as they cracked and tore were unnerving. From childhood, Ginto had roamed beneath this lush, green canopy, but now it felt wrong. By all rights, he should have been asleep in his hammock, not helping the Japanese invaders. The jungle knew his betrayal, and it was shouting its anger.
         He wiped the sweat from his tanned forehead and pressed harder on the truck’s accelerator. The engine groaned and pulled against the weight of the cargo. The side windows were closed, making the cab stifling, but better the heat and humidity than the myriad of flying insects drawn to visit by the dancing headlights.
         Glancing over at his young son watching warily from the passenger’s seat, Ginto mustered a crooked smile, attempting to reassure the boy that everything was fine. He had to shout over the noise of the laboring engine. “Now remember what I said. When we get there, you hide on the floor. Understand?”
        Ben nodded his head in acknowledgement.
        “Don’t worry, boy. Everything will be all right.”
         The night before, outside the village café, a stranger had whispered the delivery instructions. Standing behind him in the shadows, the foreigner’s clear voice told him to drive the truck into the hills, alone. But ever since the slaughter of Ginto’s wife and the disappearance of his daughter, Ben had refused to leave his side. The horror was too much for the eight-year-old, and he often lay motionless on the dirt floor of their hut, as if imitating death. Little seemed to lift the almost permanent haze that clouded the boy’s eyes, and at times Ginto was sure he was losing his young son to madness.
         The boom of thunderous explosions echoing in the distance pulled Ginto’s focus briefly from the road ahead. When his gaze again flicked forward, he saw that a man was standing in the pathway. A submachine gun waved in the air, motioning the vehicle to stop. Ginto grabbed Ben and pushed him to the floor while struggling to slow the lumbering truck. The gunman leapt backward. The foliage swallowed him as the shuddering vehicle bounced past the spot where he’d stood. Quickly reappearing, the soldier raced forward, shouting and banging on the driver’s door.
         Ginto clambered down from the cab, his shaved head bowed. He stuttered as he tried to explain that he had done his best to stop. The strike from the gun butt caught him on the side of the neck and he dropped to one knee, his hands raised in a vain attempt to protect himself from the blows that followed.

Ninety feet to the south, under a camouflage canvas, Prince Takeda gazed up from his diary. He leaned back in his chair before crossing the arms of his crisp, white uniform over his belly. Adjusting his slim, round spectacles, he watched the unfolding events through the mosquito netting surrounding the tent. Finally, setting down a cup of steaming tea, he motioned slightly with a flick of his wrist. His lieutenant, standing nearby, ran and knelt before the chair.
         The Prince spoke in a gentle but authoritative voice. “See that those men get moving. We have very little time to finish this operation, and the cargo needs to be inside the cave.”
         “Yes, Your Highness, I understand. And when I return, shall I secure the official map and inventory list?”
         “No . . . that won’t be necessary this time.”
         Lieutenant Tetsuo Endo’s downcast face registered confusion and surprise.
         Prince Takeda flared his nostrils. “Did you misunderstand? I said, ‘not this time.’”
         As the lieutenant rose and began to turn, the Prince spoke again. “And make sure the truck driver is with the others when everything is complete.”
         The lieutenant stole a brief glimpse of the Prince’s dark brown eyes before he bowed again. Exiting hastily through a gap in the netting, he cut across the muddy, open ground.
         For a man of his royal stature, Prince Takeda could on occasion show extraordinary kindness, but this was not one of those times. With the Allied army advancing throughout the Philippines, time was quickly running out. The Emperor would not reward failure, even from a favored cousin. For three years, Prince Takeda had spent his life in these jungles, scouting for locations and overseeing construction. It all came down to completing the final tasks just hours ahead of the enemy.
         The epic 1942 battles of Midway and Guadalcanal had turned the tide of World War II in the Pacific. Now, two and a half years later, the few weakened Japanese troops led by General Yamashita were sacrificing themselves to slow down the Allies’ progress. But the enemy forces were too strong, and the area would soon fall into American hands.
         The Prince’s tent rested in a 40-foot-wide clearing. Hemmed in by jungle on three sides, it could be seen only from the sharp, vacant peaks of the surrounding mountaintops. Broken slivers of moonlight reflected off the scattered pools of water that had formed in the open earth.
         The lieutenant cursed to himself as he marched toward the truck; his boots had become caked with mud. Drawing closer, he motioned to the armed guard. “Soldier, get back to your post. And you!” He pointed at Ginto. “Get this truck in there!” The lieutenant twisted his upper body and pointed southwest, toward a nearby mountain face.
         Ginto stared over the officer’s shoulder at a cavernous opening in the rock wall. The dimly lit entrance appeared large enough to swallow two trucks. Shadowy figures moved around the breach; their voices were barely discernible against the explosions from the village over the ridge.
         Lieutenant Endo moved closer and drew his handgun, pressing it to Ginto’s chest. “Are you going to drive, or do I have to do it for you?” he bellowed.
         “No, no, I’m very sorry. Yes, right away,” Ginto implored as he backed away, bent at the waist. His head bobbed up and down while he displayed the palms of his hands. Turning, he leapt into the cab and motioned for Ben to stay down, closing the truck door quickly before the officer could get a clear view inside.
         Prince Takeda watched with satisfaction as the truck finally rolled into motion. He unlatched the two buckles on the front of his chocolate brown satchel. A golden sixteen-petal royal chrysanthemum, the size of his palm, was clearly embossed on both sides of the case. He glanced at the final tan-colored map lying on the desktop before folding it between the pages of his diary. There was no need to pass this one onward. He would keep it to himself. As he packed away the inventory list, he ran his hands over the corners of the Italian leather satchel and thought of how pleasurable it would be to soak once again in the steaming pools of Hakone. He could almost feel the chill of sake sliding down his throat. Nearly three years of drawing maps and digging holes was enough. The Emperor should let him rest. The Prince closed his eyes. He anticipated the end of this terrible task with every fiber of his being.
         Lieutenant Endo returned to his post and began to wipe the mud from his boots. The Prince opened his eyes and stared blankly at the officer. “Why are you back here and not supervising the unloading of that truck?”
         “My post is to provide guard for Your Highness.”
         In a smooth voice, the Prince replied, “No, your post is to do as I ask, and my instruction was to get that truck unloaded. We are behind schedule.” Lieutenant Endo’s head drooped in a show of conciliation. “Your boots can wait until later. For now, I need the bags from the truck placed along the entrance walls. Once you are done, bring the truck here and load this tent for immediate departure. Do I make myself clear?”
         “Yes, Your Highness,” Lieutenant Endo mumbled as he turned and splashed toward the cave.

Ben lifted his head and peered cautiously over the edge of the driver’s side window. Teams of men were moving sacks from the back of the truck and piling them along the walls on either side of the cave’s entrance.
         Ben could feel the aching in his stomach. Afraid he would be noticed, he inched back from the window and turned to look through the front windshield at the tunnel that stretched into the mountainside. The lone overhead light bulb was no match for the cave’s darkness, yet he could still see the outline of crates stacked deep inside.
         Suddenly a green jacket covered the driver’s side window. An officer had leapt up onto the sideboard and was directing the movement of the other men. Ben slithered onto the floor and crawled backward toward the passenger door. His breaths were short and his body shook as he wrapped his arms around his bare knees. The memory of soldiers standing over his mother’s body flashed before him, while tears burned down his cheeks. The officer’s head moved from side to side, and each time it did, Ben was sure the man would turn and look straight at him. With a groaning whimper, Ben willed himself to slide up and crack open the passenger door. Inching down between the door and the seat, he lowered himself to the ground before finally dashing westward into the tunnel, along the rock wall.
         As he drew closer to the back of the cave, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could make out a group of more than twenty men huddled on the ground beyond the crates, bound at their feet and hands. He didn’t know if they were alive or dead until he saw one man lift his head and cry out. A nearby soldier raised his rifle. Ben heard the crunch of breaking bone as a shriek of pain rose, then faded.
         Staying low to the ground, he turned back to watch the entrance, his body quivering. He saw four more men enter the cave. They were struggling to carry a box the size of a small casket. Swaying in a side-to-side motion, the cargo hung from slings of webbing gathered over their hunched shoulders. As the men entered the darkness, they passed the spot where Ben lay frozen.
         Without warning, one of the men stumbled on a rock and collapsed under the weight of the load. The box’s impact on the cave floor sprung the lid open, the contents tumbling into the powdery dirt. Ben’s eyes widened and were transfixed. Cursing loudly, the men shouted for assistance from the nearby guard. The commotion gave Ben cover to turn and creep back the way he’d come.
         Lieutenant Endo stepped down from the truck’s sideboard while the last of the bags was unloaded from the back. Approaching Ginto, he waved toward the far end of the passage. “Please allow me to show you what we have accomplished here.”
         Ginto’s heart stopped as he watched a soldier leap up to the driver’s side of his truck and clamber into the cab. Frozen in place, he expected the soldier to begin shouting that a child was in the truck. But strangely, nothing happened. The engine roared to life, and the driver backed the truck out of the cave.
         Thinking that Ginto was surely stupid or deaf, the lieutenant repeated his statement and then grasped the protesting Filipino by the arm, pressing him deeper into the mountain.
         Ben watched while his father was ushered past. He wanted to shout out and run into his papa’s arms. But fearing he would be scolded for leaving the truck, he bit his lower lip and remained invisible as the two men passed.
         Soon, the soldiers near the entrance moved outside. Ben followed. Cautiously making his way forward, he crept past the sacks and drew close to the mouth of the cave. He could see men busy disassembling a tent near the far side of the clearing. With his heart pounding, he raced outside. Running south along the outer slope of the mountain, he stopped only when he was hidden behind the leaves of a low-lying fern. Crouching in the darkness, he shivered and watched the entrance, waiting for his father to return.
         Mere moments passed before Lieutenant Endo exited the cave, followed by the soldiers. Two of his men were rolling lines of wire toward the roadway leading into the jungle, while others were loading the tent and the last of the supplies into the truck.
         Prince Takeda would have the honor of sealing the last of the hiding places before making an escape. Suspended in the deep blue waters of the nearby Pacific Ocean, an I-55 submarine waited silently, ready to surface and retrieve him at the appointed hour.
         Standing straight-backed, the Prince waited while a technician rolled out the last of the wire and handed him the detonator switch. From behind the far side of the truck, his royal ears listened for distant Allied explosions before he twisted the device in his hand. The ground shook, and flames shot from the mouth of the cave. A plume of thick dust choked the air as the roof and sides of the opening collapsed into a heap of jagged rubble.
         Ben screamed and stumbled backward, protecting his head from the debris raining down on his hiding place. His only thought was that his father would never find him, and he would be left behind in the dark, frightening jungle. He strained to see the cave through the smoke. Only a jumble of rock lay where the entrance had once been.
         The noise of revving engines drew his attention. Across the clearing, he saw the truck and a black, six-wheeled touring car begin to pull away. Ben sprang from his hiding place. Muddy water splashed his legs and arms. He ran forward, screaming, “PAPA . . . PAPA . . . I’m here! Don’t leave me! PAAAAAAPAAAAAA!”
         Brakes squealed as the vehicles screeched to a stop. Canvas flaps flew open and half a dozen soldiers leapt from the truck bed with guns drawn. Desperately trying to stop, Ben slipped and fell in the mud. He turned to crawl away from the charging men. The first one caught him easily and pinned his face down before pulling him to his feet.
         Climbing from the touring car, Prince Takeda held a silk scarf to his face and waited while the soldiers came back.
         Ben cowered with his head down, his nostrils frothing with mud, tears pouring from his terrified eyes.
         Prince Takeda bent slightly forward. “Did your father drive this truck?”
         Ben stood rigid as the Prince gently placed a finger under his chin and lifted his grimy head. “I asked you, did your father drive this truck?”
         Ben nodded yes, with his eyes downcast.
         “Do you know where we are?”
         Ben shook his head.
         “You are a brave boy—in the jungle all alone.” Prince Takeda addressed the soldiers in Japanese. “Clean him quickly and put him with me in the car.”
         “Where’s my papa?” Ben cried out before dropping his head again, afraid to gaze into the man’s dark eyes.
         The Prince stared down with a wry smile on his face. “Guarding the Emperor’s things,” he said.