‘I’m here to see Yamanaka Fumiko,’ he ventured, congratulating himself on remembering the correct order of the names in Japanese usage.
But the congratulation was premature. The man behind the counter frowned at this uncomprehendingly.
‘Yamanaka Fumiko. It’s very important.’
The frown deepened. ‘Yamanaka-san?’
‘Yes. Yamanaka-san.’
‘Nanji no goyoyaku desuka?’
‘Just tell him I’m here. My name’s Twentyman. I know his brother Yamanaka Eisaku. This is urgent. You understand? Urgent.’
‘Excuse me,’ came a voice from behind Sam.
Turning, he found himself looking down at a small, bright-eyed woman with shorter hair than he had seen on most Japanese women. She was wearing a flower-patterned kimono and a wispy scarf. Her face was kind and soft-featured. Bewilderingly, she was looking at him with apparent recognition – and surprise.
‘You are Sam Twentyman?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, you are free.’
‘I … Who are you?’
‘Shimizu Chiyoko. I have been waiting to speak to Yamanaka-san. Shall I explain to this gentleman for you?’
‘Well, thanks, yes. I suppose so. But …’
She rolled off a statement that appeared to satisfy the frog-like man entirely. He plucked the receiver from the telephone beside him and dialled a number.
‘I am here on behalf of Miss Hollander, Mr Twentyman,’ Chiyoko said in an undertone, stepping closer to Sam to ensure he could hear her.
‘Malory?’
‘She also is free.’
‘How?’
‘Later I will explain.’
The man was speaking on the telephone now. Sam heard his name mentioned as ‘Two-enty-man’. Then there was a pause.
‘What is it you are wearing, Mr Twentyman?’
‘Disguise.’
‘Is that a bandage under your hat?’
‘Yes. But it’s just a scratch.’
‘You are very pale.’
‘That’ll be the lack of beer.’
‘You are trying to be funny?’ She appeared perplexed by the notion.
‘Not hard enough, obv—’
The man with the telephone interrupted with a stream of Japanese, to which Chiyoko responded. ‘Mr Yamanaka’s secretary will come down,’ she explained. ‘Your arrival has made a difference, I think. I expected to wait much longer.’
‘Pardon me, miss, but I really don’t understand who you are or what you have to do with Malory.’
‘I am a friend. And you both need a friend, yes?’
‘You can say that again.’
‘So, be glad I am here.’
YAMANAKA FUMIKO WAS a pudgier, older, balder version of his brother, though equipped with an uncannily similar pair of circular steel-framed glasses. He received his visitors in a dark, heavy-marbled office, wearing a morning suit, complete with carnation buttonhole. Apart from the fact that the photograph over the mantelpiece was of the Taisho Emperor rather than King George, Sam might have suspected they were in a ministerial building in London rather than Tokyo.
But Tokyo it was. And amid his troubles Sam now had two unlikely, though as yet untested, allies. Shimizu Chiyoko, who had so far told Sam only that she was a friend and former pupil of Malory’s; and Yamanaka Fumiko, who looked an improbable saviour to say the least.
Early signs were encouraging, however. He thanked Sam profusely for helping his brother emerge unscathed from their clash with Count Tomura in Paris and spoke fondly of the late lamented Commissioner Kuroda. ‘I do not believe he drowned accidentally, Mr Twentyman. We live in dark times.’
Sam’s account of the events of the previous night, supplemented by Chiyoko’s explanation of how Malory had escaped arrest, hardly made the times sound any less dark. Mention of the Kempeitai in particular threw Yamanaka into head-shaking despondency.
‘If Kempeitai have your friends, they will be forced to confess to whatever crimes they are accused of. Kempeitai are … yabin-jin.’
‘Savages,’ said Chiyoko for Sam’s benefit.
Yamanaka nodded. ‘Yes, savages. They get what they want. Always.’
‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ Sam pleaded.
‘For you and Miss Hollander, perhaps. I have an idea.’ Yamanaka pressed a buzzer on his desk. ‘I saw nothing in Asahi Shimbun this morning concerning the arrests you describe, Mr Twentyman, but—’ His secretary looked round the door. There was an exchange between them in Japanese. The secretary withdrew.
‘I’ve told you the truth, sir,’ said Sam.
‘Please.’ Yamanaka looked appalled at the implication that he doubted Sam’s word. ‘I believe you. Eisaku has vouched for you. Also for Mr Morahan and Miss Hollander. And the gratitude Eisaku owes you I owe you also.’
Chiyoko asked something then in Japanese, at considerable length, and with head-bowed deference. As far as Sam could judge, the issue was a delicate one. Yamanaka gave his reply after much thought.
‘Shimizu-san wishes to know the office I hold here, Mr Twentyman. She wonders if I can use my position to help you.’ Yamanaka smiled, apparently amused by the notion. ‘Osaraku, osaraku. How would you say that in English, Shimizu-san?’
‘Probably. Possibly. Perhaps.’
‘Which is it?’ asked Sam.
‘We will find out,’ said Yamanaka. ‘The office I hold is less important than the people I know.’
‘Do you know Count Tomura?’
‘I have met him.’
‘What d’you think of him?’
‘A bad choice of enemy.’
‘It wasn’t exactly a choice.’
The secretary returned. There were further exchanges in Japanese. He withdrew again.
‘The police confirm the arrests last night,’ Yamanaka announced. ‘One in Tokyo, two in Yokohama. Two fugitives are sought, one male, one female. All are accused of involvement in the murder of an Englishman named Farngold. The three men arrested were taken by the Kempeitai because they believe the murder was part of a plot against the government.’
‘There’s no plot against the government, sir,’ said Sam. ‘I swear it on my mother’s life.’
‘Not necessary, Mr Twentyman. Once again I believe you. But that does not help you and your friends. What will help is action.’
‘You’ve got something in mind?’
‘I have a question in mind. When did you first see an aeroplane fly?’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Because I would like to know.’
‘Well, that would have been … Hold on.’ Sam snapped his fingers. ‘I told your brother this, when we were trapped in Schools’ apartment in Paris. Thought it’d take our minds off the stew we were in.’
‘And what did you tell him?’
‘Summer of ’09 it was. Walthamstow Marshes. Aviator by the name of Vernon-Roe. There was a big crowd.’
‘Eisaku did not remember his name. But date and place, yes, those are as he said in his letter.’
‘You’re checking up on me, Mr Yamanaka?’
‘Eisaku said I should. Though I do not think anyone could pretend to be you successfully, Mr Twentyman.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
The telephone rang at that moment, sparing Yamanaka the need to reply. He picked up the receiver and spoke for some minutes to someone he seemed to know well. There were many uses of hai and arigato gozaimasu – yes and thank you. Eventually the call ended.
‘What—’ Sam began. But Yamanaka cut him off with a gesture. He seized a sheet of notepaper, dipped his pen in the inkwell and began writing at a furious pace.
‘The man he spoke to is an old friend,’ whispered Chiyoko. ‘He has asked him if he will allow you and Miss Hollander to stay in his house for a few days. The old friend agreed.’
‘What’s he writing now, then?’
‘A letter for Shimizu-san to take to Commissioner Fujisaki at Police Headquarters,’ said Yamanaka, without
looking up. ‘He was trained by Commissioner Kuroda, so he will help us as much as he can, I think.’
Yamanaka finished the letter, then wrote another, briefer note, clipped the two together and handed them to Chiyoko. ‘You are willing to do this, Shimizu-san?’
‘Yes. I am.’
‘What are you asking this Fujisaki to do for us, sir?’ asked Sam.
‘As much as he can. Now, the friend I spoke to? He is Professor Nishikawa Hideoto. We were students together. He teaches at Tokyo University. At least, he teaches there when he does not have something better to do. He is … fugawari na hito. He does not … play the game.’
‘Is that good?’
‘It is good for you, Mr Twentyman. And for your friend, Miss Hollander. Nishikawa-sensei is the only man I know who will enjoy keeping a secret such as this. If he believed you were plotting against the government, probably he would congratulate you. His house is in Sendagi, north of the university. You will be safe with him for a while. I will order a car to drive you there now, Mr Twentyman. We will collect Miss Hollander tonight, when it is dark.’ Yamanaka said something to Chiyoko in Japanese, to which she nodded her assent. ‘It is settled, then.’
‘All this is very kind of you, I’m sure, Mr Yamanaka,’ said Sam, ‘but we can’t just hide in your friend’s house.’
‘For the present, you must.’
‘What about Schools and the other two?’
‘I hope Commissioner Fujisaki can do something. But they will not be set free. It has gone too far. A man is dead.’
‘Killed by Lewis Everett. I’d be happy to sign a statement saying that.’
‘Again I believe you, Mr Twentyman.’ Yamanaka looked pityingly at Sam. ‘But no one else will. I am deeply sorry. What you came to Japan to do you will not be able to do. Count Tomura is too strong for you. He is too strong for all of us. That is the truth. And you must accept it.’
MORAHAN, WARD AND Djabsu had eaten and drunk nothing for more than twelve hours when they were taken from the cage, chained hand and foot, and led to separate rooms along a corridor off the chamber they had been held in overnight.
Morahan did not delude himself about what lay ahead. Mikanagi required confessions and would relish doing whatever was needed to extract them. But confessions to complicity in a plot to assassinate the Prime Minister guaranteed they would be executed. Morahan had emphasized the point to Ward and Djabsu during the long, hot, thirsty night.
‘Whatever they do to you, don’t give them what they want,’ had been his parting remark when the guards came to fetch them.
As he was well aware, however, that was much easier said than carried through. The windowless cell he was marched into contained a low table long and wide enough to accommodate a spreadeagled man and furnished with sinister gutters and drainage holes that fed into a runnel in the floor. There were hooks in the ceiling at several points and the peeling walls were stained with blood and excrement. A foul smell lingered in the stale air, along with the silent echo of screams uttered by other men who had been led into this room.
The guards fastened his wrist-chain to one of the hooks in the ceiling, then tore off the thin cotton yukata he had been given to wear, leaving him naked. His arms were stretched so far above his head that he was standing on his toes to spare his wrists. But this, he knew, was a minor discomfort compared with what was to come.
Mikanagi entered with the air of a man looking forward to his day’s work. He had removed his tunic but was still wearing his cap. He was carrying a long bamboo cane. And his hands were gloved. That last detail struck Morahan as particularly ominous.
‘How did you sleep, Morahan?’ he asked, with no hint of irony.
‘Like a babe.’
‘Have you decided to confess?’
‘I was raised a Protestant. It’s a Catholic you’d want for confession.’
‘You think being funny is the same as being brave?’
‘Maybe it’s possible to be both.’
‘Not for long. And we have as long as we need.’ Mikanagi flexed the cane and prodded him in the stomach with it. ‘You are old, Morahan. You are not as strong as you were.’ He moved the cane lower and pushed it against Morahan’s genitals. ‘You are not even as strong as you think you are.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘Yes. We will. And the other two – Ward and Djabsu – will hear.’ Morahan did not doubt that. Sound would carry well in the bare stone corridor and they were only a few cells away. ‘They will hear you beg me to let you sign a confession.’
‘You think they’ll hear that?’
‘I know they will. Now, are you willing to confess?’
‘Guess.’
The morning passed in an agony of inactivity for Malory. She could not leave the tatami-matted rear room of the Shimizus’ tenement and she had to make as little noise as possible for fear of attracting a neighbour’s attention. Mrs Shimizu played her part doggedly, but made it clear by her scowling expression that she considered her daughter’s behaviour madly imprudent. And Malory strongly suspected she still hated her for breaking her son’s heart – or for engaging his affections in the first place.
The scowl lifted only once, when she noticed Malory’s embarrassment at being supplied with a chamber-pot to spare her risking a visit to the communal latrine behind the building. Their proximity and their complicity were otherwise unbearable for both.
But borne they had to be.
On Yamanaka’s advice, Sam spent much of the car journey from the rear entrance of the Home Ministry to Professor Nishikawa’s house in Sendagi crouched out of sight. He consequently had little idea of where in relation to the centre of Tokyo the house was, although it was certainly some way off. Stillness and silence were the dominant features of the residence, a large, traditional Japanese house of carved wood and paper walls and narrow corridors and tatami-matted expanses of quietude.
Dispossessed of his shoes and supplied with ill-fitting slippers by a mute manservant, Sam was briefly received by Nishikawa in his book-crammed study. The Professor was a stooped, hawk-nosed little man with a grey beard and an air of distraction, clad in a kimono speckled with ink stains around the sleeves. ‘You are welcome, Mr Twentyman. Stay as long as you need to. But, please, do not disturb me.’
Sam had the impression when he left the study that he had just had the longest conversation with Nishikawa he was ever likely to. The manservant popped up and led him to the bathroom, where the floor-sunk tub was full and waiting for him. Sam could not deny he probably needed a bath.
He gingerly removed the bandage from his head before climbing in. He could not find a mirror, but there was no fresh blood, which he took as a good sign.
He was drying himself after the bath when the manservant’s wife – or so he assumed she was – appeared in the room, ignored his flusterings and applied a fresh and rather smaller bandage to his wound. ‘Kurushi?’ she asked several times. The word sounded a little like excruciating. He shook his head and smiled, which seemed to satisfy her.
Professor Nishikawa had one room in his house furnished in Western style, with table and armchairs. There Sam was served a meal of grilled eel and noodles. Afterwards he sat out on the verandah. The garden of clipped trees and ornamental ponds was a restful sight, but Sam felt only a gnawing anxiety.
‘You should never have left home, Sam, my boy,’ he could imagine his mother saying. And for once he would have had to agree with her.
Chiyoko’s return to the tenement on Fukagawa was a relief to both Malory and Mrs Shimizu. There was a whispered conversation between mother and daughter – with an argumentative edge to it – before Chiyoko entered the room where Malory was waiting.
‘Is there good news?’ Malory asked at once, for Chiyoko looked slightly less sombre than when she had left.
‘There is some, Miss Hollander. And there may be more to come.’
Morahan lay chained to the table, face down, his legs and arms stretched taut. He was breathing shall
owly and gingerly after repeated beatings with the cane. The pain he felt was both general and specific, beating to its own pounding rhythm in his head and his lungs and his limbs.
Mikanagi had alternated between insisting Morahan confess to plotting against Prime Minister Hara’s life and demanding he reveal where Malory Hollander and Sam Twentyman might be hiding. Morahan had held his tongue on both counts. So far.
‘Tell me, Morahan,’ said Mikanagi, appearing above him, ‘is Miss Hollander your woman?’
‘She’s no one’s woman.’
‘I do not believe you. She is yours. But you will be no use to her when I have finished with you.’
There was a dimming of the light. Morahan’s chains were loosened and the guards pulled him over on to his back before tightening them again. He heard something being plugged into one of the overhead lamp sockets. A few seconds later, an electric shock coursed through his genitals. His back arched with the pain.
‘That was just a few seconds,’ said Mikanagi, stooping close to his ear. ‘Longer and your flesh will begin to burn. You want that, Morahan? You want—’
He broke off at the sound of the door opening. There was an exchange in Japanese with someone who entered. The exchange grew heated. The newcomer stepped into Morahan’s field of vision. He wore Kempeitai uniform and looked older than Mikanagi. He handed Mikanagi a piece of paper, then glanced down at Morahan. ‘Amerika-jin,’ he said, in a fatalistic tone.
There was nothing fatalistic about Mikanagi’s response to whatever the document was. He glared at the newcomer and gabbled some angry words, then stalked out of the room.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Morahan.
The newcomer ignored him. He said something to the guards, then left.
Nothing happened for a moment. Then the guards moved to either end of the table and began to release the chains.
MALORY FINALLY LEFT the tenement at ten o’clock that night. Chiyoko walked with her to the street, where the car promised by Yamanaka was waiting. Malory had already thanked Chiyoko profusely for her help, but it was unclear if they would meet again and she felt the moment of parting keenly. The car drove away towards the river. A tram passed between it and the receding figure of Chiyoko. When Malory looked again, she was gone.
James Maxted 03 The Ends of the Earth Page 6
