While the United Nations special committee was carrying on these intense discussions marked by a show of idealism, behind the scenes political activity was also at a peak. In Washington, Moscow, London, Paris, Peking, hot lines were constantly ringing, and the circuits were filled with voices talking in all sorts of languages, simultaneously translated. Diplomats of the second rank, who could travel without attracting too much notice, were forever on their way to conferences in every part of the world. The subject of all these negotiations did not escape the notice of journalists: how would the disappearance of Japan affect the Far East and, indeed, the world? Of prime importance was the long-range effect upon the military balance. Historically, Japan’s role had been one of vast influence in the Far East, both politically and economically. Once that presence was gone, what would happen? This is what the diplomats were so anxiously trying to ascertain as they hurried to develop new options and sought to grasp what was going on in the minds of their opposite numbers.
The Japanese government, the Defense Agency, and Plan D headquarters were besieged with inquiries. In Plan D headquarters, in turmoil because of its crushing work load, research papers disappeared and key personnel were constantly being asked to meet secretly with important foreigners. Foreign newsmen loitered about headquarters, and two staff members disappeared together with important papers.
“It’s a matter of life and death for us, but these foreigners don’t give a damn about that,” Yukinaga cried out in frustration and fatigue when Kataoka brought him the news that these two men had turned up abroad. “How could those two have done such a thing? Their work was vital to us.”
“Well, it won’t do any good to get angry about it,” said Nakata. “And, anyway, there’s nothing of much importance that we haven’t already told the International Geophysicists. What these people are interested in is the effect upon the surrounding area, and that’s something we haven’t had time to go into much. If these two want to investigate that for them, let them do it, and good riddance.”
In the meantime, as the earthquakes and eruptions continued, as the Pacific coastline sank, and as the lateral movement of the Archipelago became more apparent, the activity of Japanese society slowly began to wind down. People received their food ration every day, and as anxiety mounted to an explosive pitch, they waited for their local government offices to inform them of the location of their assembly points and their order of evacuation.
And all the while a muted power struggle was going on in the international political sphere. The American President announced that elements of the Atlantic Fleet as well as the entire Pacific Fleet would aid in the evacuation of Japan, but there was some indication that, besides humanitarian motives, the Americans were anxious to counter recent Russian moves in the Far East, activity brought about by the imminent demise of Japan. With Japan gone, there would be no strong non-Communist nation in Southeast Asia to back up South Korea. And with Japan, of course, would go the American naval bases at Sasebo and Yokosuka. Also a strain was put upon Japan relations with South Korea by the arrival of refugees, who were fleeing across the straits in whatever craft they could find. South Korea, already concerned about the damage that she would incur in the catastrophe to come, treated these refugees harshly and threatened to sink every boat intercepted. Reverberations from “The Japanese Problem” traveled around the world, reaching as far as South Africa.
In the United Nations, the special committee headed by Chairman Sobayo was in session eight hours a day.
“It looks like it’s going to be troublesome,” said Secretary Kitowa, of the Zambian delegation, as he and Sobayo sat in a corner of the delegates’ lounge. He glanced around the room as he spoke, a frown on his black face. “There’s been an unconfirmed report that South Africa has sent a number of units into Nambia.”
“Do you think they might have found out about the plan?” asked Sobayo, leaning forward as he pursed his thick lips.
“They could not have done that. We have not even broached it to the Nambian commissioners yet. But they probably see it as a possibility.”
Nambia, formerly a German possession called Southwest Africa, had been under the jurisdiction of South Africa until 1966, when the United Nations put an end to the South African mandate and put it directly under the United Nations. The plan that Sobayo and Kitowa were secretly refining was to have the General Assembly pass a directive providing for the settlement of a large number of Japanese refugees in Nambia, providing them with a security force. There were a number of advantages to such a plan. Nambia would benefit immensely from the introduction of the skilled Japanese, and then, too, the introduction of such Asians into Africa might help to lessen the prejudice felt in East Africa toward the native Asians there, the Indians.
“Well, if South Africa has started that sort of thing,” said Sobayo, standing up, “we had better bring our proposal to the attention of the commissioners immediately. At any rate, I shall be talking with the Secretary General. ...”
Just then there was a sudden flurry of activity in the lounge. Everyone was getting up and heading for the entrance, talking excitedly.
“What’s going on?” Sobayo asked a passing clerk.
“They say there’s a special TV program, sir,” said the clerk, turning around. “Ed Hawkins of CBS is broadcasting from Japan by satellite. It’s about the sinking of Japan. It’s actually started, in Shikoku or some place like that.” The clerk hurried out.
“Shall we take a look?” asked Kitowa, starting to follow the crowd.
“Wait,” said Sobayo, laying a huge hand on the other’s shoulder. “Look there.”
With a nod of his head, the chairman indicated a corner of the room where a small gray-haired Oriental was standing quietly, paying no notice to the stream of people hurrying by him, his eyes fixed upon the red sunset that silhouetted the skyline of New York. He had taken off his glasses, and Sobayo and Kitowa could see, even from where they stood, that the hand with which he held them was trembling. The old man’s deep-lined face was lit by the sunset glow, and he was lightly dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. It was Shintaro Nozaki, the Japanese member of the special committee.