“It was a matter of common knowledge that the Japanese Consulate in Honolulu was the hotbed of espionage in Oahu,” said Herron. “The Consul General himself was always under suspicion no matter who his errand boys were.”1 In 1941 this consulate was one of the busiest in Japan’s diplomatic service. It also formed a key link in the long chain of Japanese Naval Intelligence.
Japanese agents had long been active in Hawaii, and when Roosevelt based the Fleet in those waters in May 1940, the Japanese Foreign Office requested Consul General Kiichi Gunji to send regular reports on the size, disposition, and activities of the U.S. Navy in Hawaii. This request originated in the Naval General Staff, which, like its Army counterpart, enjoyed the closest possible relations with the Foreign Office and used its representatives abroad for espionage and other intelligence purposes. In turn, Gunji relied heavily on the Honolulu newspapers for his information on the U.S. Fleet. At that time the press consistently reported on the size, numbers, and movements of Richardson’s warships, conveniently citing exact names and times of arrival and departure.
Gunji returned to Japan on September 11, 1940, and his deputy, Otojiro Okuda, took over as acting consul general. Alert, suave, and knowledgeable, Okuda was a seasoned careerist. Medium-sized, with strong features reflecting business and duty, he exuded a certain air of Oriental mystery.
There is no direct evidence that Japan dispatched Okuda to Honolulu specifically to run its intelligence net in Hawaii. He had never served in the United States or any of its possessions. Nor had he any special background in naval lore.2 Nevertheless, evidence available to American Intelligence circles indicated that in the Japanese consulate at Honolulu the vice consul was ex officio in charge of espionage.3 Certainly, Gunji lost no time in giving Okuda the word. He explained that he had received instructions from the Navy through the Foreign Office to report on U.S. Fleet movements and ship locations. This information did not exactly amaze Okuda. But he did not like it; the responsibility imposed a risk, and it did not accord with normal consular duties and functions. Gunji assured Okuda that he would not find reporting on the U.S. Fleet difficult because the press covered all its movements.
Okuda swung into his espionage quickly and efficiently. For a time, as Gunji had predicted, checking on Fleet movements presented no special problems. The local press reported them faithfully, and Okuda extracted the germane items, coded them, and sent them to Tokyo by commercial telegraph. What was public information in Hawaii became classified as soon as it reached the Foreign Ministry, which immediately relayed it to the Naval General Staff. There it all became grist for the intelligence mill.
But Okuda was too thorough to depend only on newspapers. He sent his agents to check on the Fleet in Pearl Harbor and to verify press stories. Toward the end of 1940 he thought he noted a tapering off of such accounts.4 Perhaps he did, because the news leaks at Hawaii had caused reverberations as far as Manila. On December 15, 1940, Admiral Thomas C. Hart, Commander in Chief of the Asiatic Fleet, wrote to Bloch “in the interest of stopping undesirable publicity about the movements of naval ships and forces.” He was considering asking the Navy Department for “a certain amount of general shutting down . . .” but stated frankly “that the news source that has been worrying me most is somewhere right around where you are.”5 In any case, Okuda decided that he had to turn to other means of information gathering. He hesitated to attempt recruitment of dependable agents from among the Japanese nationals living on Oahu, so he inventoried his staff.
The only individual present with any qualifications for the task proved to by Kohichi Seki, the consulate’s treasurer, a frail, rather sickly looking man of thirty-nine. He had attended the Naval Academy at Eta Jima but had been honorably discharged because his health did not meet Navy standards. The Foreign Office secured for Seki’s use a copy of Jane’s Fighting Ships. After about two months of practice in learning the types of American vessels, Seki set forth to scout the U.S. Pacific Fleet.6
He required no more than an hour to check on Pearl Harbor, which lay within seven miles of the consulate. So long as he stayed off the military reservation and avoided restricted areas, Seki broke no law. He made a practice of taking a taxi to the harbor area, watching directly from the taxi windows, then returning to the consulate to draft a report. Okuda reviewed these messages and passed them along to Sainon Tsukikawa, the secretary in charge of the code room. Like many men engaged in coding, Tsukikawa was completely wrapped up in his work; if he ever took the slightest interest in any other subject, his colleagues did not notice it.
Throughout January 1941 messages raced off to Tokyo periodically. Sometime in that month Seki received help in his espionage activities when Okuda asked one Richard Masayuki Kotoshirodo to drive Seki to Pearl City and Aiea, overlooking Pearl Harbor from the north and east respectively.7 An engaging, sturdy young Nisei* of about twenty-five, Kotoshirodo had joined the consulate in 1935. Just as his name was part Japanese and part American, so he himself was a somewhat ambivalent individual. Like many of his background in Hawaii, he was a Japanese citizen by Japanese law and an American citizen by American law. Kotoshirodo’s wide teak-colored face, intelligent eyes, crew cut, and easy, companionable ways were a familiar part of the consular scene. Being a native of Hawaii, he could and did give valuable service to Seki as combined chauffeur and guide. Moreover, he was a clever young man, blessed with almost total recall and remarkable powers of observation.
Tokyo took increasing interest in American military activities and buildup, as evidenced by a message dispatched to Washington on February 15, paragraphs one and two of which especially applied to Honolulu:
The information we particularly desire with regard to intelligence involving U.S. and Canada are sic the following:
1. Strengthening or supplementing of military preparations on the Pacific Coast and the Hawaii area; amount and type of stores and supplies; alterations to air ports (also carefully note the clipper traffic).
2. Ship and plane movements (particularly of the large bombers and sea planes). . . . 8
Okuda required no prompting. By this time his reports had become regular and detailed, and Seki’s scouting had improved considerably. But the United States was quite security-conscious by now. On February 10 Knox pleaded for protection of military secrets. And he begged American citizens “not to disclose the movements of fleet personnel.” He could have saved his breath. The very day Short arrived in Hawaii—February 5, 1941—the new department commander had to take a back seat to a large headline splashed across the Honolulu Star-Bulletin: MAIN BODY OF FLEET TO SEA. What reasonable spy could ask for more? Evidently that thought occurred to Bloch, for on March 4 he protested to the Star-Bulletin about a similar story because “such information as published by your paper, if true, would furnish any real or potential enemy a valuable basis on which to predicate their operations.”9
Seki did not rely solely on newspaper accounts. With typical Japanese thoroughness he kept on checking with his own eyes. On the twenty-seventh Okuda could tell his superiors, “Apparently the Fleet goes to sea for a week of training and stays in Pearl Harbor one week. Every Wednesday, those at sea and those in the harbor change places. This movement was noted on last Wednesday, the 26th. . . .”10
Here began what would persist throughout the year—report after report accurately identifying the schedules and routines of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. Schedules and routines! How beguiling they are, so easy to follow! What a comforting sense they give of security and predictability! For this reason, over many generations the men aware of the value of such intelligence have handed down a mighty commandment: Thou Shalt Not Establish a Habit Pattern. But by early December 1941 the American commanders had neglected this cardinal rule. The Japanese planners had to know where to put their finger on target ships; reliable U.S. patterns plus excellent reporting from the consulate enabled them to do just that.
Honolulu’s new Japanese consul general, Nagao Kita, disembarked from Tatuta Maru on March 14; after being duly wined and dined, he paid courtesy calls on local dignitaries, including Short. Kita’s broad face, thick hair, bushy brows, and flat pug nose above a short, chubby body gave him the look of a prizefighter. He dressed well, played an enthusiastic, if average, game of golf, and was something of a social lion. His years on the Asian mainland had given him the Chinese gentleman’s gift of infinite leisure. He was flexible and adjusted to the needs and circumstances of the moment, always calm, detached, and alert. A widower whose only son attended school in Japan, he could devote his abundant energies exclusively to his job in Honolulu.11
To assist him, his superiors sent him a young man whose name appeared as “Tadashi Morimura” on the passenger list of the liner Nitta Maru as she nosed into Pier 8 in Honolulu Harbor on March 27, 1941. Actually he was Takeo Yoshikawa, a trained intelligence agent. When Okuda draped a welcoming lei around Yoshikawa’s neck and shepherded his charge through customs, the Japanese Navy had slipped ashore its top secret spy as unobtrusively as any tourist. Okuda immediately took him to the consulate and ushered him into Kita’s office. Yoshikawa presented the consul general with a letter from Captain Bunjiro Yamaguchi of the Intelligence Section of the Naval General Staff. The letter enclosed six $100 bills for use in Yoshikawa’s mission.12
Kita saw before him a slender man of medium height who looked much younger than his twenty-nine years. His rather long black hair waved back from a smooth forehead. Large startled-fawn eyes looked out from beneath mobile brows. The first joint of his left index finger was missing—just the sort of disfigurement that would make identification easy. Altogether he looked wildly unlike the popular conception of a spy. Moreover, he had no previous experience as a field agent.
After a flurry of bows and assorted pleasantries Okuda escorted Yoshikawa from Kita’s office to meet the rest of the staff. These people would know him only as Tadashi Morimura. At first Kita, like Okuda, wondered whether this man could make a good spy.13 But Tokyo had not been mistaken. Yoshikawa was a walking encyclopedia of the United States Navy. A graduate of Eta Jima, he had appeared well on the way to advancement in his chosen career when a serious stomach ailment forced his retirement. He was moping unhappily when a Navy personnel officer told him that the service still held a place for him. However, he must forgo all hope of future advancement. This seemed to Yoshikawa a small price to pay for a return to his beloved Navy.14
In the Intelligence Division of the Naval General Staff, Yoshikawa received simple but comprehensive instructions: He must improve his English and become an expert on the U.S. Pacific Fleet and the American bases at Guam, Manila, and Pearl Harbor. After four years of intensive study he took the Foreign Ministry’s English-language examinations, and a few weeks later he became a junior diplomat. Now he had the necessary cover for his true mission. In August 1940 his chief, Captain Masao Nishida, informed him that he was going to Honolulu as a diplomat and would report by diplomatic code on the daily status of the U.S. Fleet and its bases. Captain Bunjiro Yamaguchi gave him his final instructions just before he sailed, directing him to place major emphasis on Oahu.15
For security reasons, Kita assigned Yoshikawa one of the cottages in the compound. Here he could work in seclusion and privacy. Shortly after he settled in, Kita briefed him thoroughly. He gave his agent a broad view of the situation on Oahu, then got down to particulars, stressing the need for caution.16
Yoshikawa was given a desk in Okuda’s office adjoining Kita’s inner sanctum. Ostensibly his job involved processing dual-nationality Japanese. Yoshikawa’s co-workers—consular secretary Kyonosuke Yuge and his clerk, Takaichi Sakai—were swamped in papers and looked forward to more help. But Sakai soon noted that “Morimura” appeared to know nothing about this sort of work and for the first three or four weeks confined his efforts to aiding in routine matters. Thereafter he abandoned all pretense of helping, and the burden fell back on Yuge and Sakai.17
Soon after his arrival Yoshikawa took several sight-seeing trips around Oahu, observing the terrain and keeping a sharp eye out for military installations and airfields.18 On his initial expedition and for many other drives around Pearl Harbor, Yoshikawa hired a taxi driver, John Yoshige Mikami. This man was in his sixties and looked it. Although poorly educated, he made a hobby of naval affairs and had acquired a broad, if somewhat superficial, knowledge of the subject. By 1941 he had made himself so useful as an errand boy that he was practically a member of the consular family. Yoshikawa soon came to rely upon Mikami and to use his taxi frequently.19 But Mikami had a low opinion of Yoshikawa. When the consular clerks speculated about their elusive co-worker, Mikami insisted that Yoshikawa “lacked the sharp eye and the smart gait of a Japanese military or naval officer.”20
Yoshikawa also had at his frequent disposal Kotoshirodo’s 1937 Ford along with its owner, who became Yoshikawa’s trusted and valuable assistant. Within a week of his arrival the agent had visited the Pearl Harbor area.21 In these early days Okuda occasionally went along. But as the spy became more surefooted, Okuda eased out. This was probably all right with Yoshikawa because he never warmed to Okuda, who was not so “open-hearted” as Kita.22 When Yoshikawa first arrived, Seki went with him to observe ships in Pearl Harbor, and Kotoshirodo sometimes accompanied them. Yoshikawa coached Kotoshirodo to the point where, in addition to the trips the two men made together, Kotoshirodo could scout the Fleet by himself or with Mikami at Yoshikawa’s direction.23
Kita gave Yoshikawa the title Chancellor in the consulate as a cover for his real activities. In due course the consul general introduced him to a Japanese-style teahouse called the Shuncho-ro. The place charmed Yoshikawa, for the proprietress came from his native prefecture in Japan and the geishas reminded him of home. More important, the teahouse, located in Alewa Heights, contained a second-floor room which commanded a view of Pearl Harbor and Hickam Field. Although too far removed for precise checking with the naked eye, the Shuncho-ro had a telescope which Yoshikawa used to advantage.24
By the end of April 1941 Yoshikawa had acquired a number of espionage locations. From a point on Aiea Heights he had an excellent view of Pearl Harbor, while the best look at the submarine base called for a stop on Kamehameha Highway between Aiea and Makalapa. Occasionally he would take a jitney to Honolulu bound for any point beyond Pearl Harbor, get off at Aiea, and prowl about. The cane fields at Aiea gave the best view of all. Yoshikawa would dress in laborer’s garb and hide amid the cane. After using this site ten times, he broke off the habit, deciding that he had pushed his luck far enough or else had seen all he could see.25
Mikami and Kotoshirodo often drove Yoshikawa to Pearl City, northwest of the naval base. On a pier at the end of the peninsula there Yoshikawa could clearly see Pearl Harbor and Ford Island and its airstrips. He observed that the battleships moored in pairs, so that the inshore ship was practically impervious to torpedo attack. Despite its value, Yoshikawa dared not risk visiting the pier more than twice or three times a week, and each time he did so, he wore a change of clothes.26
In general, the western part of Pearl Harbor held little interest for Yoshikawa. However, he wanted to see the channel which Hickam Field blocked from view on the eastern side; he tried to reach the channel mouth by going west of Waipahu and then swinging south. This area near the West Loch was closely guarded, and Yoshikawa feared to risk moving close enough for a good view. Neither he nor the other consulate members knew for sure whether or not submarine nets guarded the entrance, but they went on that assumption. Spying on the submarines was difficult for Yoshikawa, and he never developed satisfactory notes on them.27
With true Japanese meticulousness, Yoshikawa charted every bit of information he secured. In time a pattern emerged. As the year progressed, he observed that a large number of ships always were in port on Saturdays and Sundays. To check air patrols, he left the consulate very early and went to some vantage point. There he observed the number of planes, their general direction of flight, and times of departure and return. He knew this to be a primitive method, but it was the only one he could use. He dared not risk field glasses, which would have drawn attention to him. He recorded patrol flights carefully, but once the planes took off, they flew rapidly out of sight, so he could never be sure exactly where they went or if they changed direction. But one thing he soon discovered—north of Oahu the Americans conducted scarcely any patrols at all.28
To anyone whose ideas of espionage derive from Hollywood and the works of Ian Fleming, Yoshikawa would seem a peculiar sort of spy. But neither Kita nor Okuda had the faintest intention of trying any spectacular coups which could backfire on them. So for the most part Yoshikawa’s duties were tame enough, if one discounts the ever-present fear of discovery: study—scout—evaluate—report—study—scout—evaluate—report—day after day.
Yoshikawa assures us that he always worked alone, but the evidence does not support this. Obviously a highly efficient central team carried out the consulate’s espionage mission, ranging from Kita, the polished career diplomat, down to Mikami, the taxi driver. Yoshikawa, the star, often scouted alone, but he was ably seconded when necessary by his predecessor, Seki, and by Kotoshirodo with his detailed memory. And always in the background moved the courtly, sound, and shrewd Okuda.