Codebreaker

Codebreaker

March 8, 1942

I should have listened to my father. I was always good at listening, perhaps too good. And now I’m standing face to face with Major Kenji Tanaka, the “Special Higher Police,” or so what I heard from the radios, assigned to the Sambo-bu, intelligence.

He looks down on me, too tall for my taste, even handsome, my father would swat me with Opa’s cane.

“The Dutch built this radio station to speak over your people, Miss van der Meer. I am here to listen to them. And I think you and I are hearing the same… echoes… from the past.”

I would see his side was turned as he spoke, the gun strapped to his side, and his hand rested upon it, but I was not scared; I was scared about the bigger picture.

______________________________________________________________________

I sat with my headphones on, to some this was the most boring thing, translating and listening, I found myself ecstatic. Every code is like music made just for me. One code came in: KA-17 KA-17, perfect, routine call sign, nothing unusual, nothing to worry about. I tapped my pencil against the paper, waiting, humming, listening; Officer Janson and De Lange talked in hushed voices down the hall. I pulled one side of my headphone off.

“…the fleet cannot hold them,” Officer Janson said.

De Lange did not say anything for a second; in doubt, he replied that it was impossible, even with the combined forces of the Netherlands, the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia, against Japan. My heart dropped. How could we be losing the tide? My face pales whiter than the sheet of paper on the desk, my hand shakes as I pull my headphones back on, despite the officers arguing back and forth on the heavy news, that is when I hear it, that almost makes me fall off my seat.

dot dot dot

dash dot dash

Separator

dash

dot

dash

dot dash

dash

dot dash

dot dot dot

… -.- / — .- -. .- -.- .- …

SK TANAKAS

I could only stare at the paper, my pencil no longer in my hand, not Dutch, not Allied, this was different, Japanese. This was sent through the same frequency we monitor for our own traffic. The weight of the unknown presses down on me. The code is a barrier, a whisper from the enemy. It’s a name, a threat, a mystery. And I am caught in the middle — listening, decoding, and wondering if I will live to see what comes next. Officer Janson came into the operating room. He asked me a question, and I felt out of place. I should have listened to my father.

“I said–you are still here, Miss. van der Meer.”

I look up at him, knowing the intercepted code I made is hidden among the logs of regular traffic. Yes, I answered him. He looked exhausted, this war weighing on him, his morality questionable by now, as for all Dutchmen.

“I’m on shift until midnight, sir.” I hesitate to mention my interception.

I could hear Father in my head. Listening is power; speaking changes the world, Lara. Know when to speak, my dear. I steel myself, I pull out the paper, my hands still trembling, I tell him there was a signal on channel four, unidentified operator, Japanese.

I don’t look at Officer Janson or De Lange; I only look at the scribbles on the paper, my pencil markings. De Lange repeated me,

“Japanese?”

I saw something in his expression. Fear, perhaps. For the first time, I felt I had something in common with my officer. He took the paper from Janson and studied the characters. He asked me if I was sure, and I agreed with my previous statement. He looked up from the paper, and it was not fear in his eyes, but recognition. He asks me where I have heard from this operator before, how did he know I knew? It was not the way he looked at me that shook me; it was his instruction.

“You did not hear this transmission.” My eyes snapped up at him,

“Sir, you cannot sug–” he cut me off with a look that brooked no argument. “That is an order, Miss. van der Meer.”

All I could reply with was “yes, sir” as I stared up at him. Officer Janson’s voice stopped arguing at some point, replaced by the sound of footsteps. The room went silent. Even the radios seemed to soften, as if the building itself were listening. The room grew hotter as the night grew. I suddenly felt suffocated as a tall, imposing man stood in the room. Japanese uniform neatly pressed, cold, sharp eyes fell on me, not on my commanding officers, but on me. As if he had been watching, listening. He walked further into the room, towards me, and my officers gave me a look. Do.Not.Move. I do not think I could move if I wanted to; my ass seemed glued to my operating chair. The man smiled warmly at me.

“Good evening, miss,” he said in perfect Dutch, and my body seemed frozen; I could hear the Japanese accent underneath.

Is this how my father felt when he was forced to leave my mother and I? It was not until I heard his voice, the perfect Dutch that left his lips, that I understood something: the codes I had intercepted were not for the Japanese; they were for him.

“The Dutch built this radio station to speak over your people, Miss van der Meer. I am here to listen to them. And I think you and I are hearing the same… echoes… from the past.”

I would see his side was turned as he spoke, the gun strapped to his side, and his hand rested upon it, but I was not scared; I was scared about the bigger picture, I was scared of what this radio tower would become, if it would make me a traitor or get me killed. I should have listened to my father. I was always good at listening, perhaps too good. And now I’m standing face to face with Major Kenji Tanaka, the “Special Higher Police,” or so what I heard from the radios, assigned to the Sambo-bu, intelligence. He looks down on me, too tall for my taste, even handsome, my father would swat me with Opa’s cane. The war was already a lost cause against an overpowering enemy army. It was still a matter of honor to put up a battle, and we were determined to do so. But now it was too late. The war was over. At least that is what they wanted us to believe; the Japs were already here, and Tanaka was unwavering. My boots felt like they were sinking into the floor, still. I just wanted the floor to open up to swallow me whole; that would fix a lot of issues, at least for me. Only if father could see me right now, Tanaka’s gaze pinning me in place, and all I could think was–

” For someone so young, Miss.” He stepped closer, “You do not just hear.” He said softly, “You understand.”

I could feel my throat tighten; I could not even swallow.

“Duty,”

I look up at him. I could smell him, the smoke, from the war or cigarettes? It smells all the same now. I can see the amusement in his eyes. He repeated me,

“A dangerous word in times like these, Miss van der Meer.”

I glanced down at his hand, resting lightly on the handle of his pistol, not threatening, at least not yet, but present. Always present.

“That signal, you understood it, yes?”

I knew it was not a question, and I could have answered it like a fool. “It was incomplete, Major, no value.”

He did not move, and I dared not either; the pistol was a good enough reason to stay put for now. “Lying,” Tanaka said, “Is also kind of a code, Miss van der Meer.”

I could feel my heart in my stomach, the blood pounding against my skin, to the bottom of my toes. He knew. I could not hold my breath much longer; my lungs burned for air, but breathing seemed like a pleasure to my mind in this moment. He reached over, and I thought he would grab the paper. His fingers brushed the edge of my headphones, lifting one side from my ear.

“Listen,” he whispered. I looked up at him as I did. Static filled my ear, then a light rhythm, almost like soft rain.

Dot

Dot

Dash

My breath hitched. I knew Tanaka was watching me, not the machine, and somehow that felt worse.

“There it is,” He leaned into me, “An echo,” his lips brushed against my ear, “Tell me, Miss van der Meer, who taught you to hear like that?”

My father. The answer on the tip of my tongue almost slipped between my teeth. I thought about the letter my father sent with the ticket for the last ship out of Tijilatjap bound for Australia. I should have left as soon as I received the letter; it will be almost impossible to escape now, even if I tried, I dare not think of the consequences if caught, especially from Tanakas. Would it be worth dying for?

“You hear something.”

I snap out of my mind, his voice like cold water, the ticket burning in my pocket. I realize he never asks questions; he states them, another trap. I shook my head,

“Only interference, Major.” The silence after was thick, then he smiled, sweeter than kue manco, perhaps too soft. “Of course, Miss van der Meer.”

I know he does not believe me; I could feel it, even with his smile, the way he stepped back, and suddenly I had room to breathe. His hand never left the handle of the pistol.

Before he took his hand off, his eyes never left mine. He inhaled sharply and turned to both officers, Janson and De Lange, dismissing them as if they were dogs.

“I will return.” He said, turning to leave, “We have much to discuss.”

He gave me one last look before closing the door behind him. The room was silent, except for the radio’s static and my breathing. I realized trust is a luxury not even I can give to my commanding officer, not to anyone, only myself. I need air, I need out of the room. I look around. Am I being watched? I leave the room, and Officer Janson grabs my arm and pulls me into another room. He locks it.

“I know you heard something. What was it, Elara?”

I could see the torment in his eyes, the survival. I have my own now. “Nothing, sir, static.”

I kept my eyes steady on his, and I shifted from one foot to the other. “Do not lie–”

“I need air.”

“Elara-”

“I’ll be back before the end of my shift, sir.”

I did not wait for permission; my hand tightened on the door handle. I needed out, and I need it now. Second lie: I will not return. The hallway felt elongated, dark, and colder; every shadow stretched into the walls and floors, every sound echoed within, the unfamiliar voices speaking Japanese, the occupation settling in, flags and insignia making their way, the Japanese claiming their early victory, and my heart ached. I force my legs to move. I could not walk too fast, not with the purpose I have in mind for my ticket out of Tijilatjap. By the time I reached the stairs, my hands stopped shaking, not because I was calm, but because I realized I had to play this right. I have to make it to my father in Australia; he’s waiting for me. I avoid the main corridors, and suddenly I feel like I’m ten years old, playing games, back when he taught me hide and seek, how to disappear, and how to survive. The west tower was barely lit, dark with the occupants. I know Tanaka is watching; I know he knows where I am, getting fresh air.

If he wanted to stop me, he would have already, but why not? Perhaps he takes me as a man to submit like Janson and De Lange.

I would rather die than submit to a Jap, I might be a coward and run, but what is a coward to submission? I have a way out, and I would be damned if I did not try.

I long to go home. I want to pack a bag, grab my things, it is not safe, not now, I cannot risk getting caught, I have to leave now before I lose more time, it will take six hours to get to Tjilatjap. The last ship leaves at five-thirty pm. I get on my bike, everything is dark and closed, fear has yet to spread by morning. Realization hits harder than the wind on my face as I race to the train station, Batavia-Centrum, which would be the closest. Sweat beaded down my brow, and my hands shook as I gripped the handlebars. I felt trapped in a nightmare I could not wake from. I looked to my left and saw a group of Jap soldiers. I slowed as I approached the station. I propped my bike against a wall, and I went inside, where people were gathering throughout the station. The Japs have not reached the transportation yet.

I go to the teller, “Tjilapjap.” I say, fidgeting with the letter and the ticket.

“Two guilders for transport fee”

“Two?! It was one–”

“It was one before the Older Brother joined the war.”

“But I–”

“Do you want it or not, blauwe?”

“Did you just–”

I waste time I do not have; his words are none of my concern. I have bigger issues to worry about. Father would laugh and tell this man he’s a fool, steeped in desperation instead of picking up a gun.

“Here, blauwe, wait by the red gate line; it should be an hour or so.”

He slides the ticket over to me, and I put it in the same pocket as the one Father gave me for Australia. I pull my cover closer to me. I can feel exhaustion weighing me down. I need to stay awake for this hour; I must get on that next train.

The red line was crowded, too crowded, children crying and confused, clinging to their mothers; I would do the same. Nobody looked at each other for too long. Anticipation silently killed us all. How long until we make it out?

I walked over to a support beam, perfect for quick boarding and perfect for staying away from lightning. I traced my father’s letter. I could imagine the fear on his face, the look in his eye as if he were writing my mother instead. Between the two of us, I do not know who misses her more. I counted the minutes and watched the babes sleep in their innocent peace among the evil reality. I press my tickets flat into my pocket as if they would disappear in my hands, hands…Maybe I do have a blue tint; my father does not. Mother always said they were jealous because I was special to have two cultures. Now my heart is in the same state, split in two.

I could feel the rumble underneath my boots, the faint whistle of the train. I have counted to fifty-six, four minutes to spare. I slipped my smaller body between a family, blending in, finding a spot. I picked once next to a window, and I felt my body less tense as I held onto the tickets. I leaned my head against the glass, closing my eyes, not wanting to leave my mother, her home, her memory. My home, my memory. Mother, forgive me. My hot tears poured down my flushed cheeks; I could not stop them if I wanted, I failed, just as much as those soldiers who lost at sea, except I have not drowned yet.

“Close your eyes, my dear,” Father said as he pulled me into his lap. I thought it was another game like hide-and-seek. Father placed his oversized headphones over my ears, and his laugh rumbled from his chest as I tilted my head.

“I hear nothing,” I whined. I did not like this game.

“That,” he tilted my head up, “Is because you are trying to hear everything, darling.”

“Hphm, that makes no sense,” I pouted and traced the codes on his notepad. He rested his hand on my head, and he smiled warmly, almost proud. “Then listen differently, Lara.”

Static.

Pure static was too loud for my sensitive ears.

Loud. Sharp. Meaningless.

I tried again, again, again, and again, then–

A rhythm.

Soft.

Shuffled and hidden underneath the meaningless, sharp static.

I beamed up at him, pride filled my chest, and my smile hurt my cheeks.

“I hear it,” I whispered like a secret, as if he could not believe me.

Dot

Pause

Dash

“Of course you do, darling.” He said, he gently took the headphones off my head, “Most people just listen for words, Lara, that is why they miss the truth.”

“And what do you listen for?” I look up at him, waiting for his cryptic response as always. “The person behind them,” I groan at his response. This man is crazy, or so I thought. I understand now. I have gotten just as crazy as he was, maybe even more so.

Tanaka leaned close to me. I could still feel him, his lips against my ear, telling me to listen; he was not asking what I heard, he was asking who.

I opened up my eyes again. I fell asleep, my eyes crusted with dried tears, and as I rubbed them, I felt like a little girl, looking for her parents. Lost. No one sat next to me, nobody even dared to disturb the silent passing. It was too quiet for me, one can start to hear things that are not there at all–or worse, things that are.

“May I?” The voice haunted the silence as he sat beside me, trapping me against the window. I felt like it was the seal in my coffin, and panic paralyzed my body. I dared not look up. The smell from his coat- this time it was not cigarettes; it was war.

“You already have, Major.” My hands shook, and I could not calm myself.

“You left in such a hurry, love.” He adjusted his gloves with careful precision. “I was concerned.” His brows furrowed, mocking a genuine look. Concerned. The word hung in silence, a loaded weapon between us, and I itched to shoot first.

“I needed air.” I could not let my voice break; it is bad enough that my hands are shaking. “And now?” I turned my head slightly, just to see his eyes, “Now I have it,”

He reached over and placed his gloved hand over my shaky ones.

“Traveling alone,” He paused, and retracted his gloved hand; my hands stopped shaking.

“Yes”

“What a dangerous choice.”

“Both, I did not realize I needed permission.”

His gaze lingered on me, as if I were to be understood and not a threat,

“That depends, of course,” He shifted in his seat, “where you are going.”

I did not shift or move or take a breath, and the silence stretched like the static on the radio, but I can clearly hear the other person.

“You hear patterns, Miss van der Meer.”

“I am trained to do my job, Major.”

“No, you are trained to listen,”

I said nothing, and I looked out the window. I found myself praying to a God I did not believe in, please do not let this be my coffin. I looked back at him, facing him, facing my fate. I watched his hands resting on his knees, relaxed and controlled. Always controlled.

“There are only a few people who can do what you do, Miss van der Meer,”

He leaned into me as if conspiring, his body pressing against mine, his lips close, and I could feel his breath upon me.

“Fewer still who do it…” He pointed his gloved finger at my heart, “Instinctively.”

“You give me too much credit, Major.”

I could still feel paralyzed, fear grounding me.

“Do I?”

He reached into his pocket, and my nerves tingled in every cell of my body.

Is this it? He took out a piece of old, wrinkled paper. He did not give it to me; my breath caught between my lips, and my eyes widened as he deliberately placed it on his knee between us. The unfolded paper had dots and dashes, not mine. Familiar.

“You know this pattern, the writing.” He looked down on me, and I wanted to trace the code as if I were a little girl. “You recognize it immediately, even when you pretend not to.”

I look back at the window, the rush of trees and fields, huts passing by in a blur.

“It is an incomplete code, major.”

“Ah, just like the last one, Miss van der Meer?”

My head twitched towards him, and my heart beat fast against my chest.

“I was wondering when you would show me.”

“I do not know what you are implying.”

“Implying? No, love, I am remembering; he was very careful.”

“Who?”

I knew who he was speaking of, but I just did not want to hear it.

“Your father”

The words came as if a third person was seated between us, softer than the lapping water of the Leuwiliang River, where the Blackforce had fallen, louder than every gun I have ever heard. My burning eyes drift to the paper resting on his knee; those three dots stare at me, a pause, and one dash.

I know that pattern; to forget the rhythm would be to forget a fragment of myself. I had known it since I was a child on my father’s lap. Drowning in static and believing that every hidden secret of the world could be heard if I listened hard enough, I have never shown anyone, not even my mother, when she made her own patterns, weaving baskets for the farmers.

“Do not,” I whisper to him.

Tanaka tilted his head.

“Do not what, Miss van der Meer?”

“Speak about him as though you knew him.”

For the first time since he sat next to me, the smile on his face disappeared, and outside the window, the world appeared to slip from my fingers.

Tanaka folded the paper once,

“Your father was a very careful man.”

I hated how Tanaka spoke of him, as if he were gone.

“My father is alive”

I stated like I was a child throwing a tantrum. This man knew nothing of my father. Nothing.

“Is he?”

My head tilted up at him, and a curl of a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. The major watched me with those dark, infuriated eyes, composed. I figured that is what I hate most about him, his composure, the silent arrogance of this man; he had a talent for making two normal words sound like the opening of a grave, and I wanted to throw the dirt at him first.

“He sent me a letter,”

I said, trying to prove something, trying to outwit him, maybe I could throw him off.

“I know.”

My hands tighten under my seat at the edge; a small laugh escapes my throat, not a genuine laugh, not comical, no. Of course, he knew; he had followed me onto the train, after all. He knew where I had been, what I had heard, and even perhaps what I had written on the sides of my notebooks when I was too young to understand that certain thoughts were dangerous.

But Australia? That was supposed to be the one thing I had kept for myself.

“How?”

“Your father was not the only man who understood radio communications, Miss van der Meer.”

“Then perhaps you should find yourself another operator.”

“I have several.”

Several.

​ “Then I’m not useful to you, Major.”

“On the contrary.”

He looked outside the window; on my side, I wondered if the blurred trees and huts were the same for him or maybe slower.

“You are considerably more useful, more so than others.”

“How flattering”

“I was not complimenting you”

I looked out the window too, except I was watching his reflection, watching my country pass. A moment of silence, a peaceful moment with no words spoken; the carriage rocked as the wheels rattled against the tracks, the vibration traveled under our feet. Some people were standing beside the railway, watching the train pass with some waving and some staring. I wondered what they thought of us. A Eurasian sitting beside a Japanese officer. Perhaps they thought I was a prisoner and, perhaps they were right. My body leaned towards the window, trying to put some distance between us as the narrow train allowed.

“So…where are you taking me?”

Tanaka spared a glance before looking back at the window.

“That depends”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you intend to keep lying to me”

I laughed without humor.

“Major, if I told you everything, I would be dead before I could step off this train”

His look did not change; it stayed the same in his reflection.

“An interesting assumption”

“An accurate one,” I remarked.

He looked down at his glove, adjusting the position.

“You have inherited your father’s habit of answering a question with a question.”

My smile disappeared.

“Do not speak of him”

“There it is again”

“What”

“That instinct”

I turned towards him.

“Would you mind speaking clearly for once?”

He studied me for a moment; his dark eyes moved over my face, not quite examining me, but something across his memory flickered in those eyes.

“Your father once told me that a person could spend their lifetime listening and still fail to understand what was being said.”

My stomach tightened.

“How do you know that?”

My hands gripped under the seat; I could hear my knuckles pop.

“He said it to me”

“When?”

“Some time ago”

“Where?”

Tanaka looked out the window again.

“Java”

I swallowed.

“The heart of Indonesia”

“Your father was a difficult man to find”

“Then you were looking for him?”

He did not follow up; he stayed silent, contemplating his words; his silence made my anxious body tremble, fear creeping underneath my skin.

“Why?”

He turned back towards me.

“Because I was ordered to”

The train grew quiet from the rattling.

“By whom?”

“That is not a question you should ask”

“Then perhaps you should stop giving me reason to”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile.

“Your father would have said the exact same thing”

I hated him for that, hated that he knew him. Tanaka cannot know my father better than me. I hated the way he could take a piece of my father and hold it between us as though it belonged to him.

“Stop”

“Miss van der Meer–”

“I said stop”

I looked away.

Outside, a group of Japanese soldiers stood beside a railway crossing. Their rifles hung against their shoulders; one of them turned as the train passed. I pulled my coat closer around myself as if shielding against their mark of violence. I wondered if any of them knew who I was; I wondered whether any of them had been given orders concerning me. Did Tanaka give them orders?

“Major?”

“Hm?”

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“Am I under arrest?”

“No”

“Am I being detained?”

“No”

“Then why are you here?”

“I was asked to find you”

“By whom”

He looked at me.

“Your father”

For a moment I forgot how to breathe; the words seemed so ordinary, so horribly ordinary. Your father. He had asked for this man. I shook my head.

“No”

Tanaka waited.

“It’s not possible”

“Is it?”

“He would never”

“Never what?”

“Ask a Japanese officer to look after his daughter”

Tanaka’s expression went through about six expressions in three seconds, then hardened.

“Your father did not ask me to look after you.”

I tilted my head up at him.

“What did he ask?”

He leaned back against his seat.

“He asked me to keep you alive”

The words hit me like a bullet.

Keep you alive.

​

I thought about the ticket burning a hole in my pocket; now, I thought about three fundamental things:

1. The letter.
2. The instructions.
3. The last ship.

“Why?”

Tanaka did not answer right away.

“Because he knew I would find you”

My head lifted, and I looked at him, the light from the sunset setting over his face from the window, the train still rocking quieter than before, people speaking silently, with the same prayer.

“And how exactly would he know that?”

“Your father understood people rather well”

“Apparently not well enough”

His eyes narrowed.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he chose the wrong man”

For the first time, Tanaka looked almost offended. Almost.

“Perhaps”

I studied him, searching his face for anything that would tell me he was lying, and I found nothing- that infuriating composure.

“Did you like him? My father?”

“No”

“Did he like you?”

“No”

A small laugh left my lips. “Then at least we have something in common”

Tanaka looked at me for a moment before looking back at the window, the blackness of the night suppressing the radiance of the sunset.

“Your father was a stubborn man”

“He still is”

“Perhaps”

“He does not give up”

“No”

“He would never abandon me”

His jaw tensed; I noticed it briefly, but it was there.

“Major?”

He did not look at me, watching the last bit of the sun.

“Your father is not the man you remember, Miss van der Meer”

A whistle sounded just ahead; the train slowed and the wheels ground against the rails. I looked outside: the station. Small, crowded, unfamiliar. My heart began to beat faster.

“Are we stopping?”

“Temporarily”

“Then I should get off”

“No”

“Excuse me?”

“You should remain seated”

“Are you giving me an order?”

“Advice”

“I did not ask for it”

“Your father did”

That quieted me.

Tanaka reached into his pocket and retrieved an envelope. Old, yellow at the edges, with a familiar crease running diagonally across its front, I knew the handwriting. I closed my eyes before even seeing my name inscribed on the front; my fingers reacted before I could stop them.

“Give it to me”

“No”

“That is mine”

“Yes”

“Then give it to me”

“Not yet”

“Where did you get it?”

“Your father”

“When?”

“Before he disappeared”

“Give it”

“Before I do,”

he started, and held the envelope up.

“I want you to understand something”

I look up at him.

“I am not your father”

“Yeah, I noticed”

“And I am not your friend”

“I noticed that too”

“Good”

He placed the envelope between us, and I reached for it, but this time he let me take it. My hands were trembling so much I almost tore the paper opening it. I recognized the paper immediately; my father always used the same kind of ink, rough beneath the fingertips with a slight smell of tobacco, the one mother hated.

My darling Elara, I am sorry.

You will not like him; I suspect you will find him insufferable, which is unfortunate, because I have found him equally difficult for many years. There are things I have not told you, things I could not tell, even when you were old enough to ask. I had hoped that by this time the circumstances would have changed. They have not; you must listen carefully now, Lara. The man with you was not sent to bring you home.

I look up from my letter, and my eyes meet his; he was watching me. I look back at the letter.

He was sent to find me; he was sent to kill me. Lara, if Tanaka has found you, then I have failed to keep out of this. I know what he represents to you, his uniform. I know what his country has taken from ours and what it has taken from your mother. You have every right to hate him. You must understand that hatred and danger are not always the same thing. He is the only man I know who can keep you alive. Do not trust him because I have asked you to; do not hate him simply because I have not explained why. There are things in this war that are not as they appear, my darling.

Listen different.

Always.

Papa.

“You were sent to kill my father”

“Yes”

“Why am I here?”

“Because your father requested”

“What request”

“To make a choice”

“Which choice”

“Whether I intend to obey my orders or keep my promise”

My mouth went dry.

“And which did you choose?”

“I have not decided”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“No”

“Then what do you expect?”

“Nothing”

My father knew about Tanaka; he knew about the orders, he knew I would be frightened, that I would run, that I would eventually find myself sitting beside the very man I had been taught to fear. And he had me sent to him anyway. I looked at the Major.

Tanaka looked out the window.

“Your father has enemies”

“I gathered”

“Some of them are Japanese, some Dutch, some are neither.”

My eyebrows furrowed.

“Neither?”

He nodded.

“Your father became involved in something considerably larger than radio interception”

“What did he do?”

Tanaka did not answer.

“What did my father do?”

“He listened to the wrong people”

I almost laughed, of all the things he could have said.

“Indeed”

“And what did he exactly hear?”

Tanaka turned towards me, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

“Something that would cost thousands of lives”

The warmth left my body; I looked at the dots and dashes on the folded paper still resting between us. The signal. The incomplete transmission. The echoes. I remember my father’s notebook now, the strange sequences he would write down and hide. The letters he burned in the kitchen fireplace. I thought it was all part of his work; perhaps it had been, maybe it was something else entirely.

“Why did he teach me?”

He looked at me with something that passed in those dark eyes. Recognition, maybe regret.

“Because he loved you”

I shook my head. No.

“That’s not what I mean”

“I know”

“Then answer me”

“Your father believed that you could hear things that other people overlooked”

I felt my throat tighten.

“He taught me to listen to the radio”

“He taught you considerably more than that”

“Such as?”

“How to recognize a voice without hearing a name, how to distinguish between a genuine transmission and one intended to mislead. How to identify a person by the rhythm of their communication.”

I stared at him.

The games.

The static.

The patterns.

The strange little exercise he had given me when I was a child; I thought it was just a hobby.

“Was he training me?”

Tanaka said nothing.

Bastard. That answer was enough.

“Did you know me before you met me?”

“Yes”

“How long?”

“Long enough”

“How long”

He exhaled slowly as I looked at him. Infuriated.

“Before the occupation.”

I felt sick.

“So, you have been watching me.”

“I have been aware of you.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give you.”

I folded the letter carefully, placing it inside my coat. I would not let him take it. Not this. Not something my father had written to me. The train began to slow again. The time, the station was larger; I could see another group of soldiers under the lamp lights that flickered on the platform, people gathering their belongings at the railway, to a Japanese officer at their destination.

Tanaka stood, and I looked up at him. I looked back at the people, men comforting their wives and children.

“Where are you going?”

He adjusted his uniform.

“With you”

“I do not recall inviting you”

“You did not”

I stood as well, putting my hands inside my coat.

“I am going to Tjilatjap”

“I know”

“My father is in Australia”

“I know”

“I intend to get there”

“I know”

He took a sharp breath.

“Miss van der Meer, I would strongly recommend that you reconsider”

I felt my temper rise.

“You have no authority over me”

“No?”

“No”

He stepped aside, allowing the other passenger to leave before us, then silently he said something that made my blood run cold.

“Your father did not send you to Australia, Elara.”

I froze; he had never called me by my name, not once.

“What?”

Tanaka looked out on the platform.

“He sent you to the ship”

He stated simply, with that infuriating composure.

“That is the same thing”

“No”

I could hear the station around us, the shuffling of shoes, the voices, the whistles of the train. The distant commands of Japanese soldiers. But all I could hear was his voice.

“What ship?”

Tanaka stepped down onto the platform, then he turned back towards me.

“The one your father told you to board”

My fingers slipped between the tickets; the paper was still there. The last ship, five-thirty. I looked at Tanaka.

“What is on it”

He studied me for a moment.

“That, Miss van der Meer, is precisely what your father wanted you to find out.”

He extended his hand, not to help me down, not quite, an invitation, a guide. I looked at his hand and then up at him.

I thought of my mother.

Of my father.

Of the house I had left behind, the radio station where my sisters were raped, the codes, the people who suddenly became strangers. I thought of the letter. “Do not trust him because I asked you to”

I stepped out onto the platform without taking his hand.

Tanaka withdrew it.

A faint expression of amusement crossed his face.

“Still stubborn”

“Still insufferable”

“Your father will be pleased”

I stopped walking.

“Then you can tell him yourself”

For the first time, Tanaka had nothing to say, and that frightened me more than anything he had said. Because I had suddenly understood something, he had been talking about my father in the past tense, not because he believed him dead, but because he knew something I did not. I turned towards him.

“Major?”

He looked at me.

“Is my father still alive?”

A long silence followed on the platform; everything was quiet now.

“I hope so, Miss van der Meer.”

And walked ahead.