Despite the official holiday, everyone went to work like any Monday. Last night between 0200 and 0230 we heard a loud explosion and two more from a distance. I thought it had been a dream, but others said Camp Murphy and Nichols were hit. The alert went on this afternoon as a few American planes were about. The Military Police here wore their helmets for the first time.

Ten new Japanese twin-engine fighters or light bombers with very streamlined noses blew in. No doubt the Japanese are sending their best equipment here. Leyte is still mired in rain. La Vanguardia reported that 13 vessels were damaged in the Camotes Sea; seven American PT boats and one destroyer were sunk.

Our House: Act III took place at 0930 at an Embassy office in the Watson Building on Aviles. Bessmer had warned me: "Okazaki can be nice; he can be happy, but he is slippery and difficult to handle. Good luck — you may need it." We had all agreed that I must be polite, not stir up any animosity, and prevent any tempers from exploding.

I met Okazaki almost immediately. The plump man wearing white drill pants, a white shirt and modern glasses exuded an air of self-importance. He wasn't surprised to see me and actually appeared anxious to get through what might be an unpleasant interview. I followed him into three rooms before he finally settled on the most crowded one, full of the bustle of clerks, typists and officials. I began immediately.

"Yes, yes" — he knew everything about the Kempeitai guarantee even a month ago. He had written a letter — "er, November 2"; had seen a Major Kobayashi, aide de camp of the highest chief of the Kempeitai; and had been referred to Captain Ito. Ito confirmed that the guarantee applied to everything except cases of military necessity. Now a new MINISTER of the Embassy had arrived and needed a house. Ito had said that in such a case, the Embassy must provide us with houses and transportation, which, Okazaki added, had already been arranged and were ready. That was my darkest moment — he was getting too far ahead. But then he made his mistake. "Wait," he said, "I'll show you the correspondence."

I thought we were doomed, but he returned visibly embarrassed five minutes later without the letter. I smelled a rat! If there was a letter, something else was written on it. I changed tack; he was forced to listen and didn't like it a bit ... so he exploded. "Your mother, I presume that was your mother, was impolite," he said, lifting a large blotter and putting it down with a gesture of finality.

continues...