Flash

Hiroko Tokunaga wedged his hand into the drawer and took out a generous handful of paper. He read the first newspaper clipping, and threw it in the garbage.

It was really amazing what people kept. And it just piled up. He took the next envelope and threw it in the garbage, tired already of organizing his bureau.

Suddenly, he plucked the envelope out of the garbage can and tore the envelope open. A photograph fell into his lap. Hiroko paused, and examined the picture. It was a photo he hadn't seen in over fifty years. A photo he wanted to forget.

Frank Harper looked so alive in the photo. He was smiling that silly American grin.

It was almost as if he was still alive. He would have been an old man, like the rest of us, Hiroko thought. Uchida, Tado, and Tanaka were still alive. Frank shouldn't have been killed.

Oh, who am I fooling? thought Hiroko, defeated.

Hiroko examined the picture. He was standing at Frank's right. The man with the glasses was Uchida. Beside Uchida was Tado, and at Frank's left was Tanaka. Tanaka had been Hiroko's best friend since grade school, and they still kept in touch.

The four of them worked for Japanese Intelligence. Frank was the U.S. contact, secretly working for Japan. The letter was short and incriminating. It was a tip that one of them was a double agent for the CIA.

Trouble had erupted. The five of them had been best friends. Now none of them could trust the other. Hiroko smiled sadly.

There hadn't been a lot of rational thought at that point. Tanaka had pointed out that the four of them had known each other their entire lives, and been friends for decades. It had to be Frank. It had to be.

No one had believed it. Frank was one of them-a man who had genuine allegiance with his chosen nation. Hiroko crinkled the edges of the worn photo. But Tanaka had believed it. He had convinced everyone that Frank must be eliminated. They had journeyed to Frank's dwelling at night. They had let themselves in. Frank had smiled broadly when he saw them. Then he noticed the small, silver revolver . . .

Hiroko shut his eyes. Frank had to die. Frank was a spy. And even today, he still had to convince himself. He placed the photo carefully on the bureau. He began to throw out the envelope, when he noticed a small sheet of paper. Hiroko smiled sadly when he recognized Frank's loopy handwriting. Almost as if he were still alive.

"Hiroko," it read. "My contact in Kyoto took this photo recently. Don't let him know we're on to him!" Hiroko unfolded the second sheet of paper. It was another old photo.

A photo of Tanaka shaking hands with the director of American Intelligence.