Free Honorable Enemies (1994) by Joe Weber Page A

"loyal U . S . citizens, including my grandparents."
    There was a long silence as Steve began to understand why Susan had been compelled to join the FBI. He suddenly had the clear impression that she was reading his mind.
    "Sometimes," she said steadily, "when an organization does something so grotesque to innocent civilians, you want to challenge the system, to join the organization and rise to the top so you can work toward seeing that it never again happens to anyone, regardless of race or creed."
    Susan quietly sighed while a nagging protest tore at her nerves. "I know that sounds idealistic, but I really believed that I could make a difference."
    "And now?"
    "Well, I suppose I've matured over the years," she conceded. "I realize now that I can't single-handedly change the system, but I still like to think that I've made an impact--in some smal l w ay. "
    She noticed the uncomfortable, almost grim look on Steve's face. "I didn't mean to get so serious."
    "I'm sorry, Susan. I was just trying to imagine what your family must have gone through--the humiliation and absolute loss of pride and dignity."
    "It was beyond belief," she replied sadly and looked down for a moment. "For years I lived with the psychological scars that my parents tried to conceal under a facade of smiles and happy talk. They pretended, for the sake of their children, that everything was wonderful, when deep inside they were living in mortal fear that a man with a badge might knock on their door at any moment."
    Struggling to find the right words, Steve studied Susan's delicate hands and thin fingers. "How long was your family kept in the relocation center?"
    "Almost four years," she answered sadly. "From December 1941 to September 1945. I'll never forget the dates.
    "Actually," she continued, gathering her composure, "they were moved from the stables at the racetrack to another retention center--concentration camp is a more fitting description--in Amache, Colorado. They lived in cramped, partitioned compartments in rows of wooden barracks surrounded by sagebrush and barbed-wire fences."
    Lost in her thoughts of the past, Susan looked down at the floor and recalled the afternoon her mother and grandmother unknowingly revealed the family's dark secret that had been kept from the children.
    It was a warm spring day in Oakland when Susan's oldest sister discovered the awful truth. Sitting quietly under the open kitchen window, Betty Nakamura heard the two women alternately crying and talking about the atrocities of the detention camp.
    Susan was six years old when she found out how her grandfather escaped the utter humiliation of being imprisoned in the wartime camp. He committed suicide by hanging himself with a strand of wire. Susan's grandmother awakened to find her husband dangling from a parallel beam that supported the pitched roof over their 8-by-10-foot room.
    After a moment's hesitation, Susan glanced at the movie screen, then turned back to Steve. "At any rate, after enduring years of blazing heat and numbing cold, with hot dust storms in the summer and freezing blizzards in the winter, and suffering the embarrassment of sharing one bathroom with scores of other people, my family was finally released from Amache after the war ended."
    Wickham frowned and shifted in his seat. He felt uncomfortable, as if he were prying. "That's when they moved to Oakland?"
    "Yes. There was an American-owned company advertising jobs for the Japanese who had been detained in the wartime camps, so that's where my folks headed."
    Susan paused. She liked talking about the close-knit famil y s he loved, but it still hurt. "My father got a job with the company and my grandmother moved in with them. My parents, who were afraid to even take a day off for seven years, finally decided it was safe to have children by the early fifties. I was the last of four daughters."
    Steve cast a quick look at Susan's attractive face, noting the soft eyes. "That must have been