-San Francisco, California-
-March 12, 1938-
Hojo at last arrived in the San Francisco Bay after such a long time traveling from island to island, changing papers, changing boats, going through great pains to ensure the Japanese would have no way of tracing the espionage attempt to the United States with any verifiable proof. Hojo was the only proof there was, and he would soon disappear forever from the eyes of the Japanese. He felt no shame for what he had done, no remorse for the two men he had killed. Hojo had been born in Hawaii, and raised in California. He loved liberty, and the Japanese had turned their backs on Liberty in favor of Fascism. He would do whatever his country asked him to do. For the price of a small luxury car in the States, Hojo had acquired plans that had cost the equivalent of millions of US Dollars. Not that Hojo would see much of that money. True, he was being paid quite well, but most of that money had gone towards transportation, intelligence, room and board, and the like.
Along the way, Hojo had transformed himself back into the hojo he really was. He removed the phony glasses and shaved his moustache. He slicked back his hair and let it grow a little longer. He was entirely unrecognizable as the man who had walked into Nissan and Kawasaki and Mitsubishi headquarters and factories casually looking for plans. Thick hemp ropes were tossed to men on the concrete and steel pier and tied to deeply rusted and smooth-worn metal posts embedded into the concrete after the boat had pulled up alongside in the deep water harbor. Hojo merely walked off with the captain and a few crew and headed off into the bustling street as casually as though he had done this a thousand times. No one stopped him. How easy it must be for spies to enter our country, he thought to himself. But then, maybe those people at the dock had already been told not to bother anyone coming off of the docks by the FBI.
Five hours later, after settling into a Hotel under an alias, Hojo headed for a small “Chinese” restaurant with his papers and folders and found a conspicuously obvious G-Man sitting in a booth near the back of the smoky, grease-stained, sorry-excuse-for-a-restaurant. He wore a beige overcoat, shades, and a hat of the same color as his coat. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself when he saw this – the image of a private investigators and spies from American Gangster movies of the time. He man was either an imbecile or had a very hazardous sense of humor. Hojo slid silently into the booth with the man who showed his FBI identification in reply. He then lanced another piece of beef with his fork – Hojo doubted anyone in this place used Chopsticks except maybe some of the employees. The man scooped up some rise on top of the beef and put it into his mouth.
“Beef!” He said with a trace of glee in his voice. “Haven’t had good beef in a while! Say what you want about this place, but the food ain’t half bad!”
“I’m sure.” Hojo replied, smirking a bit. “So where do we go from here?”
“Adwannta” The man answered with his mouth full. Judging by the ravenous pace at which the man was eating, Hojo now started to believe him about the quality of food. Of course, he had meant ‘Atlanta,’ where the headquarters of the FBI was, currently. Though, with Hoover at the head, it might very well change to Omaha or Juneau the next day as likely as not. The man swallowed for his next words. “Hoover wants to receive the package directly from you and then give you some sort of award or another. Then you’re off to Panama. After that? I have no clue, pal.”
“It’s best that way.” Hojo said idly, as though it was nothing, but the man looked back up from his food and looked at Hojo and burst out laughing. He reached across the table and slapped Hojo on the shoulder. Hard. Hojo’s small 5’5” frame buckled from the blow, his entire torso moving towards the table. Hojo returned the chuckle as best he could, though he was really laughing at the personality of the man and certainly not the stinging blow he had just delivered. Finally, after what seemed to Hojo like an hour, the slightly vulgar special agent finished up his food and the pair left for Los Angeles where they could catch a military transport plane to Atlanta.
(Along with this Stolen Tech, two other blueprints were also captured and reverse-engineered during Hoover’s reign of absolute power over intelligence matters.)
Please note that in this timeline, Floyd B. Olson never died from his stomach cancer. He is still my Foreign Minister in spring of ’38 when he should have already been dead. I have no idea why this is so, but there you have it. =D
-March 13, 1938-
“I’m sure something can be arranged.” Hoover was saying to an obese Sicilian man across from him. You’ve certainly done so much to help me and your country. You should not have to suffer under the weight of such unfounded accusations. Clearly, you only have to endure this nonsense because those responsible don’t know all you’ve done for them.”
“I’m glad we have an understanding.” He answered in a crude New England accent, Boston or New York, one of the two, probably. Just then, the door burst open and the same man who had come to him before entered, his face beet-red again – or maybe still? Hoover smiled at this thought.
“You had me investigated?!” The man asked incredulously. The large man scooted his chair away and rose, as Hoover tucked a mysterious envelope into his pocket.
“Now, now, Mr. Olson, you’ll give yourself and Ulcer by shouting like that.” Hoover said in a very calm, mock-sweet voice, smiling inwardly with a dark pleasure at the effect of his words. Olson was positively blustering with fury.
“How dare you bring that up?! I nearly died from my illness! You are a wicked, wicked man, sir!” He shouted.
“Mr. Olson, please contain yourself! I meant nothing by that! Please have a seat and be calm so that we can discuss this rationally.”
“You speak to me about rationality?”
“You wound me, Mr. Olson.”
“Now you listen to me, Hoover, you leave my family out of this you sonofabitch! Stop sending threatening calls to my wife! She’s in tears and refuses to answer the phone! Stop sending men to look through my trash!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Floyd.” Hoover said innocently, showing the empty palms of his hands as though to show them clean of any wrong-doing. “However, a little bird did tell me that on a lovely day in May, some twenty years ago, a certain Foreign Minister, though he didn’t hold that title at the time, may have paid a young woman for sex in downtown St. Paul. Don’t you find that to be just fascinating?”
“Mr. Hoover, do you recall what I said to you last time I was here? I told you our enemies would find out. Well, Germany has found out what we did. The German Ambassador came to me and confronted me with the evidence and a signed confession by one of your reckless spies in captivity by the Germans. They’re HOLDING him, Hoover. HOLDING Him. Do you know what that means? That means they’re waiting until they are in a position to declare war on us so that they can parade him out in front of their brainwashed people and use your crimes as pretext for their war! You’ve overstepped your bounds, and I’ve spoken with the president. You’re fired, Hoover!”
He slapped the papers down on Hoover’s desk, who merely stared at them for a long moment, then looked up and smacked his lips as though to speak, though for a second no sound came out.
“You’ve made a terrible mista—“
“Oh don’t I just bet? Get out.”
“Who are they replacing me with?”
“Charlie Chaplin?! That Jew-Commie?! I’ve got so much dirt on him--”
“Get out, Hoover. And I’m sorry to tell you this, but being a ‘Jew-Commie’ isn’t a crime in this country, even though I shutter to think that you believe it is. I wonder what might have happened if you had stayed in office with this overwhelming level of power. I warned you you’d go down even if I went with you. You didn’t listen. Get out.”
With that, it was Olson who left while Hoover just sat in his chair, dumbfounded. Where did everything go so terribly wrong? Well, they’d pay. They’d all pay. Hoover opened up a drawer in his desk and took out a heavy bundle of folders and files and put them in a box as he began to pack…
(During this chaotic month of March, many things happened, including the German Auchluss of Austria, and it was only a bit more than halfway through. Who could say what would happen in the future? This third violation of the Treaty of Versailles raised even more eyebrows in France and the UK, and they continued their preparations for war with ‘Greater Germany.’)
(J. Edgar Hoover was not only fired and replaced, but was also put on trial of a lengthy list of crimes and finally sentenced to nine months in prison. Hopefully for him, he wouldn’t meet anyone he had put away there.)