Nipplin Building, San Francisco — Office of Vice Admiral Arimoto
The low hum of the imperial fan buzzed in the background as Vice Admiral Arimoto sipped his lotus tea from a porcelain cup, the bitter aroma blending with the incense that faintly burned near the window. The polished floor glimmered in the mid-morning sun. Across from him stood Chief Inspector Sugiyama, crisp and composed in his dark Kempeitai uniform.
Without a word, Sugiyama extended a black leather folder and placed it on Arimoto's desk.
Arimoto didn't look up at first. "What is this, Sugiyama?"
"A report, Vice Admiral. On Sarah Lin, and her husband, Jack Hutto."
He opened the folder slowly, eyes skimming the neatly typed contents.
"I interrogated Hutto," Sugiyama continued calmly, "He refused to give up Sarah's location. I followed standard procedures. His family… has been dealt with."
Arimoto paused, setting down his cup.
"So," he said, with a breath, "you executed his family under Reich doctrine?"
Sugiyama nodded once. "Affirmative."
Arimoto closed the folder gently. "You did what was necessary. The Reich appreciates obedience. But…"
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze growing distant.
"Keep an eye on Sarah Lin. She's still out there. Something about her doesn't sit right."
"Yes, sir."
Nipplin Building — Trade Ministry Lobby
The marble lobby gleamed. Red-and-gold banners of the Japanese Rising Sun hung tall above the receptionist desks. Sarah Lin, dressed modestly in a plain skirt and white blouse, sat on a bench beside a striking Japanese woman in her late 20s — elegant, confident, with glossy black hair tied in a formal bun.
"First time applying here?" the woman asked with a soft smile.
Sarah nodded. "You?"
"Third." She smirked. "Government men want more than just secretaries. I'm Meka."
"Sarah," she responded, eyes scanning the hallway nervously.
Minutes passed. Then a Kempeitai clerk stepped out and called, "Meka Sato."
Meka stood, adjusted her blouse, and disappeared behind the door. Ten minutes later, she re-emerged, casually wiping the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief, adjusting her skirt. She gave Sarah a small smirk as if to say, "that's how you get the job."
"Sarah Lin," the clerk called next.
Sarah stood and entered a sleek office where a short, older Japanese man in his late 40s leaned back in his chair. His eyes lingered too long as he spoke.
"We'll keep this short. You match the criteria. But are you willing to do what it takes to secure the position?" he asked, standing and unbuckling his belt.
Sarah's heart raced.
A few minutes later, she rushed out of the office, flustered, holding back tears. Her head down, she didn't see the man turning the corner—
Thud — she collided with Trade Minister Togo Masuri, scattering papers across the polished floor.
"I'm sorry!" she said quickly, kneeling to help him gather the documents.
Togo paused, noticing a small silver necklace slip from beneath her blouse. A crane charm hung delicately on the chain. His eyes softened.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"My grandmother," Sarah replied. "It's for luck."
Togo smiled faintly. "In Chinese tradition, the crane brings peace and longevity. I like that."
"I'm here for a job interview," she added, bowing quickly.
Before he could respond, his aide appeared. "Minister, we're needed upstairs."
Togo nodded, then turned back to her. "Sarah Lin, was it?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll remember that."
Later that evening, back in his office, Togo sipped sake while reviewing documents. "Bring me the applications from today's interviews," he told his aide. "Specifically… Sarah Lin's. I'd like to review it personally."
Nazi Embassy, San Francisco — Communications Room
The iron gates of the Nazi Pacific Embassy loomed as Leo approached, credentials in hand. A Waffen-SS guard saluted, took his papers, and escorted him inside. They moved quickly through the hallways before placing him in a communications room.
"Wait here," the soldier said. "Name. Rank."
"Agent Leo Debelfor. SS-Untersturmführer. Eastern Division."
The door closed behind him.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then, crisp boots echoed against the marble floor.
The door opened.
A tall, sharp-eyed man with a silver skull pin and a long black coat stepped in.
"I am SS-Obersturmbannführer Felton," he said with a cold grin. "Ambassador to the Pacific Reich. Effective today, I oversee all Nazi operations in the Japanese Pacific States."
"You'll no longer report to SS-Obergruppenführer Adams. You answer to me now."
Leo hesitated. But replied with calm obedience, "Leo Debelfor. SS-Untersturmführer. SS Party member. Deployed from the Reich's Eastern Division."
Felton nodded. "Brief me."
Leo laid out everything — contacts, intercepted communications, Sarah Lin's movements, the suspected infiltration of the Nipplin Building.
An SS officer in the corner recorded every word.
When Leo finished, Felton clasped his hands behind his back. "What do you need?"
"An apartment. Secure, low profile. Somewhere I can operate."
Felton reached into a desk drawer and slid over a slip. "Money. A contact. You'll be placed in the Castro district — neutral ground. Consider it… yours."
Berlin — Shadows Among Giants
Back in Berlin, Lucy's influence was deepening. She now brushed shoulders with the elite — SS officials, Nazi bureaucrats, and scientific attachés. The Chancellery trusted her.
But Bertha, Imel's wife, watched. From dinners to whispers in corridors, her unease grew. Lucy's proximity to power — to Imel — was no accident. Bertha's instincts screamed louder every day.
Meanwhile, Imel met again with the Reich's inner circle.
Himmler, pale and thin, had begun recovering. But the one who now worried Imel most — was Hitler.
The Führer's condition was deteriorating rapidly. His hands trembled. He muttered to himself even during high-level talks. He refused to return to the Wolf's Lair, having only left it because of false rumors of Himmler's failing health.
Now, Hitler sat across from Imel in a grand, cold room—eyes clouded, voice strained.
"You must be ready, my boy," he said, barely coherent. "When I go… Himmler leads. And Himmler trusts you."
"Yes, mein Führer," Imel responded, kneeling.
Hitler's gaze flickered. "You are his son in everything but name. Can you carry the future?"
Imel rose. "Yes, my Führer. I will."
As Hitler drifted off, whispering to shadows, Imel exited quietly. Goebbels, waiting outside, caught his eye.
"Say nothing," Imel murmured. "He's worse than we feared."
Goebbels simply nodded.