James Maxted 03 The Ends of the Earth

by Robert Goddard

  Young Eugen, they discovered, was keen on sports, which led him to cram in solitary cross-country runs between lessons and meals, presumably in order to bolster his physical superiority over his classmates. These runs took him along the hill-top trail above Rolle, which he often had more or less to himself in the late afternoon and early evening. Whether his father would have been happy to learn now vulnerable this made him was hard to say. After all, it was impressive evidence of a Spartan temperament and no one was supposed to know who his father really was.

  But Appleby knew.

  Veronica emerged into the market square and walked briskly across to the café where locals and visitors were sitting at parasol-shaded tables, with twittering birds competing for any crumbs that fell from late-breakfast croissants.

  Appleby was not eating, having already consumed bacon and egg at the villa, fried for him by Veronica. Much to her relief, Brigham had not been staying at Les Saules. Appleby preferred to keep him on hand on the Swiss side of the lake, where he had installed himself, no doubt in some luxury, at the Hôtel Beau-Rivage Palace in Ouchy.

  Appleby looked up from his coffee and newspaper as she approached and saw at once the envelope in her hand. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ he asked.

  ‘A telegram, yes. At last.’ She handed it to him and watched as he tore the envelope open. ‘It can only be from him.’

  ‘I should say so.’ Appleby squinted at the message, then looked up at her. ‘And it is.’

  ‘The green light?’

  ‘Yes. The waiting’s over.’

  She sat down at the table, feeling suddenly and unaccountably nervous. ‘My goodness,’ was all she managed to say.

  Appleby smiled. ‘There’s time for you to have a cup of coffee.’

  ‘I’d rather have a cigarette.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  She lit one and took a deep draw on it. ‘When will it happen?’

  Appleby looked thoughtful, as if weighing his answer carefully. Then he nodded. ‘Today.’

  Appleby was not, as it happened, the only person known to Max who had received a telegram from Japan that morning. Winifred, Lady Maxted, carried hers with her as she travelled up to London, where she had arranged at short notice to have lunch with her brother George.

  Her departure from Gresscombe Place had been slightly delayed by the persistence of her daughter-in-law Lydia in demanding to be told what the telegram contained. She had been disappointed, although Winifred knew the subject would be reopened when she returned home that evening.

  They met at the Ritz, which George had nominated as really the only place for lunch with a lady, especially when that lady was his sister. ‘Champagne always tastes better at the Ritz,’ he asserted, before putting his assertion to a thorough test.

  But, champagne or no, it was obvious to him from the outset that she was worried about something. ‘Why not just come out with what it is, Win?’ he suggested after they had ordered their meals.

  ‘This,’ she said simply, sliding the telegram across the table for him to read.

  She watched George wrestle his reading glasses on to his nose and peruse the brief but telling message. A twitch of his eyebrows was the only immediate sign of his reaction. Then he handed the telegram back to her. ‘A bit of a facer, Win,’ he said with a grimace.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded and looked down at the stark words printed on the form. ‘Indeed.’

  YOUR SON IN TOKYO SEEKING TRUTH. PLEASE ADVISE WHAT IF ANYTHING YOU WISH ME TO TELL HIM. HODGSON

  ‘When did this arrive?’ George asked.

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘Does Ashley know what it says?’

  ‘No. He was out. And I declined to satisfy Lydia’s curiosity on the point.’

  ‘Hodgson’s the fellow who …’

  ‘Arranged our departure from Tokyo, yes. I had no idea he was still there, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Someone told me he married a Japanese woman.’

  ‘Can you rely on his discretion?’

  ‘Oh yes. He’s of the old school. The question he poses is how discreet I want him to be, now James has arrived in the land of his birth.’

  ‘The boy’s after Tomura, of course.’

  ‘Yes. That’s clear. It’s what I’ve feared all along. I’d hoped persuading Count Tomura to leave Paris would prevent this. There must have been other events we don’t know about that prompted James to follow him to Japan. Where he is, as Mr Hodgson says, seeking the truth.’

  ‘But will he find it?’

  ‘I don’t know, George. Nor do I know with any certainty what the truth is.’

  George frowned in puzzlement. ‘Surely—’

  ‘When I spoke to Count Tomura in Paris I had the odd and rather disquieting impression that my threat to reveal all was actually more of a threat than I knew.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I told him, quite falsely, of course, that I’d met Jack Farngold a couple of years before the war. The possibility seemed to agitate him. I sensed he was harbouring a secret beyond the secret I implied I was willing to lay bare; that it amounted to more – yes, even more – than I was aware of.’

  ‘How could it?’

  ‘I simply don’t know. But he gave way to me just a little too easily.’

  George mulled her answer over as their first courses arrived. When the waiter had gone, he said, ‘Do you want my advice on how to reply to Hodgson?’

  She nodded. ‘Very much.’

  ‘Tomura’s a dangerous man. James is risking his life in Japan, whether he knows it or not.’

  ‘Oh, he knows it.’

  ‘Trying to stop him going was obviously wise. It’s a pity you weren’t successful. But now he’s there, now he’s … on the scent …’

  ‘You think I should help him as much as I can.’

  ‘There’s only one thing worse than him learning the truth, Win.’

  She sighed. ‘Better a living son who may disown me than a dead one who never had the chance?’

  George winced. ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that.’

  Winifred gazed around the restaurant then, at the brightly dressed parties at the other tables and the decorative murals and the verdancy of Green Park, glimpsed through the open windows. ‘Here we sit, amid all this prettiness, while thousands of miles away…’ She shook her head. ‘I wish I could protect James, I truly do. I have always wished that. And I have never been able to. All I have done is … delay the inevitable.’

  ‘What will you tell Hodgson?’

  She gave a wintry little smile. ‘What I must.’

  At that moment, on the Swiss shore of Lake Geneva, the ferry from Evian-les-Bains was drawing alongside the pontoon at Ouchy. As the vessel tied up and its passengers began to disembark, Lionel Brigham rose from the nearby bench, where he had been idly smoking a cigarette, and moved forward.

  Appleby was one of the first off the boat. He exchanged a nod with Brigham and they marched smartly away.

  The day was sunny and warm, the light diamond-sharp, the waters of the lake sparkling. Summer ease had descended on Ouchy. But there was nothing suggestive of ease in the two men’s urgent pace and grave expression.

  ‘I gathered from your phone call that Max has been in touch.’

  ‘He has. He’s ready for us to move.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Assuming the boy obliges us by sticking to his routine, yes.’

  ‘Oh, I think he will. You’ve alerted the Marmiers?’

  ‘All the arrangements are in place,’ Appleby replied, with a hint of curtness.

  ‘I can’t tell you what a joy it’s been working with you,’ said Brigham, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘We’re not here for the pleasure of each other’s company, Brigham.’

  ‘I console myself with that thought.’

  ‘So do I.’

  WITHIN MINUTES OF his reunion with Sam and Malory, Max realized how unrealistic his plan was of learning all he c
ould of the events leading to Jack Farngold’s death and Morahan’s arrest before seeing his friends aboard the Star of Batavia and waving them off on their voyage to safety.

  It was not simply that they were dumbstruck and overjoyed to see him. It was the discovery that he too was moved, almost to tears, by the potency of the moment. They had thought him dead, believed him erased from the world. Now, on Yokohama pier, in the soft glow of the gas lamps, he saw their faces and they saw his.

  ‘Is it true, sir?’ Sam gasped. ‘Is it really you?’

  ‘Oh yes. It’s me.’

  Sam hugged him, which was something Max could never have imagined him doing. And Malory kissed him. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘How can this be?’

  ‘I got the better of Dombreux in Marseilles. I agreed to let him tell Lemmer he’d killed me so Lemmer would believe I was dead.’

  ‘But Dombreux showed me a photograph, sir,’ said Sam. ‘He bragged about shooting you.’

  ‘The photograph was faked. I’m sorry it was so convincing, but it had to be. Dombreux wasn’t supposed to come to Japan. I don’t know how that came about. You were never intended to think I was dead. If everything had gone as I’d hoped, Lemmer would have had no cause to suspect you were even here.’

  ‘There was treachery in the camp, Max,’ said Malory. ‘We walked into a trap. Everything went wrong, terribly wrong.’ Then she smiled. ‘But now, at last, something’s gone right. So right I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘We don’t have long,’ said Max, noticing the gesticulations of the Dutch sailor by the gangway. ‘I think we should go aboard. I’ll get off with the pilot. That’ll give us time to talk.’

  Malory looked at him in some amazement. ‘You surely don’t think we’re leaving now?’

  ‘You must. You’ll be safe from arrest in Shanghai.’

  ‘We were clearing out because we couldn’t think of anything we could do here to help Schools, sir,’ said Sam. ‘But you’ve thought of something, haven’t you? You’ve thought of a way we can beat the bastards.’

  ‘Maybe I have. But I told Schools I didn’t want you involved and you’ll recall I wasn’t happy about you coming either, Malory. You should both leave. While you have the chance.’

  In the end, Max talked them into boarding on the understanding that, if he failed to convince them they should carry on to Shanghai, they could all leave the ship with the pilot at the mouth of the bay. Money had to change hands and the captain’s agreement be obtained before the matter was settled. The captain made a brief and exasperated appearance when they reached the deck. He objected, as far as Max could gather, to the alteration of a fixed arrangement. He also muttered ominously about ‘het getij’ – the tide, as an English-speaking crewman explained. It was the tide – and the extra money – that finally swung the argument. The Star of Batavia set sail.

  They stood by the starboard rail as the lights of Yokohama slipped away behind them. Max listened as Sam and Malory related what had happened in the week since their arrival from San Francisco. The extent to which Lemmer had outmanoeuvred them was breathtaking. By seeking to delude Lemmer into believing him dead, Max had unwittingly handed their enemy a weapon to use against them. As for Dombreux, it was impossible to judge what kind of game he was playing, though his own well-funded survival was probably the sum of his ambition.

  Max then revealed the move against Lemmer – and through him Tomura – that he and Appleby had prepared. It came close to matching their opponents’ ruthlessness. It was bold and it was drastic. It was the only way to win.

  ‘I never imagined we’d have to resort to kidnapping a fifteen-year-old boy,’ said Malory when she understood what was involved.

  ‘We can’t afford to be squeamish,’ said Max. ‘We have to strike where Lemmer’s weakest. And a son is any man’s greatest weakness.’

  ‘Will he realize Dombreux gave you this information?’

  ‘That’ll be Dombreux’s problem.’

  ‘And not his only problem once Lemmer knows you’re alive, sir,’ Sam pointed out.

  ‘It’s surely better if he continues to think you’re dead,’ said Malory. ‘No one will look for you in Tokyo if they think you were murdered in Marseilles.’

  ‘He’ll have to find out soon,’ said Max. ‘The minute I receive word from Appleby he has the boy, I’ll go to Lemmer and deliver our terms for his release.’

  ‘What if he rejects those terms?’

  ‘He won’t. His only son; his bloodline; his stake in the next generation: he’ll give us what we demand for that.’

  ‘Unless he thinks we’re bluffing.’

  ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t.’

  ‘You should let me do it.’

  Max stared at Malory, dismayed by what she appeared to be proposing. ‘It has to be me who faces him, Malory.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I disagree. I speak enough Japanese to talk my way into his presence. He’s never met me, so personal animosity won’t cloud the issue. Also, I’m a woman. He’ll believe the threat when I deliver it. And I’ll make it clear we’d be happy to take his son’s life to avenge the taking of yours. He won’t think we’re bluffing when I’ve finished with him.’

  The force of Malory’s argument took Max aback. Capitalizing on the fiction of his death would undeniably give them a stronger hand in their dealings with Lemmer. And it was crucial Lemmer should believe they were willing to kill his son if necessary.

  There was a silence. Then Sam said, ‘I think she’s got you there, sir.’

  Max was not altogether sorry to lose the argument, even though he continued to urge them to stay on the ship. He took Malory’s point: she probably would handle the confrontation with Lemmer better than him. And if she stayed it was futile to suggest Sam should go. Besides, the reason Morahan had decided to bring Sam to Japan in the first place still held good. A swift escape, in circumstances that could not yet be foreseen, might well be needed. And there was nothing swifter than a plane. Max the pilot and Sam the engineer might yet be back in business together.

  It was a much faster return journey across the bay in the pilot’s boat than the outward crawl in the freighter, but still there was ample time to ponder the difficult question of where Sam and Malory should go next. Back to Professor Nishikawa’s house was the obvious answer, but travelling there without the services of a chauffeur was hazardous. For them to be arrested now would be disastrous, especially if Max was arrested with them. Then Appleby would have no means of communication with Lemmer. For that reason alone, they had to go their separate ways as soon as they left the pier in Yokohama.

  As it transpired, however, that moment never came. As they reached the top of the steps after leaving the pilot’s launch, a figure stepped into view from the shadow of a storage shed. It was Fujisaki.

  Sam and Malory were momentarily alarmed, but Fujisaki set them at their ease once Max had introduced him.

  ‘I was sure you would not persuade your friends to leave, Maxted-san. And I worried about what would happen to them if they stayed. I followed their car from Tokyo. I watched the Ster van Batavia sail. But I was sure you would return soon, together with your friends. And here you are.’

  ‘It seems you’re a better judge of us than Max is, Commissioner,’ said Malory, with a sidelong glance in Max’s direction. ‘Despite never having met us before.’

  ‘A policeman becomes familiar with human nature, Miss Hollander. It would not be wise for you and Mr Twentyman to return to Professor Nishikawa’s house. Count Tomura may suspect you will have turned to Yamanaka Fumiko for help because of your association with his brother. And Yamanaka’s friendship with Professor Nishikawa may become known to him. Therefore I offer you shelter in a small house we use occasionally to lodge witnesses to crimes who are in danger. It is presently empty. I keep the keys and control its use. So, you will be safe there, I think, until your dealings with Herr Lemmer and Count Tomura … are determined.’

  ‘It won’t need to be long,’
said Max, ‘one way or the other.’

  ‘I hope it will not be the other way, Maxted-san. Oh, the house has a telephone. You will be able to speak to your friends whenever you wish to. The police are still looking for you, Miss Hollander, and you, Mr Twentyman. But I will ensure the search is ill-directed.’ Fujisaki looked at Max. ‘We should not travel together. You should return to Tokyo by train. I will drive Miss Hollander and Mr Twentyman to the house. It is close to the entertainment quarter of Shinjuku. They will not be noticed there. Now—’ He looked around. ‘We should stand here no longer.’

  THE EVENING LIGHT spread goldenly across the placid waters of Lake Geneva, furrowed only by the wake of a paddle-steamer heading westwards, towards the lowering sun. Appleby drew on his pipe, sparing the view of the lake and the rooftops of Rolle and the vineyards above the town no more than a glance before he returned his attention to the woodland path that crossed the track where he and Brigham stood.

  They had pulled the Bugatti on to the verge, virtually blocking the path in the direction from which they confidently expected Eugen Hanckel to appear. The path followed the crest of the hills, with the lake on one side and fields and forests on the other. The track they had driven along led north from Rolle into the countryside.

  The bonnet of the Bugatti was up and Brigham stood by it, as if pondering a mechanical mystery. This was all show, intended to persuade young Hanckel their car had broken down. He might stop and offer assistance, helpful boy that perhaps he was. Or he might not. In which case they would have to stop him.

  Appleby consulted his watch and noted there was no cause for concern as yet. According to Brigham, Hanckel ran this way at least every other day and he had missed the previous day, so it was virtually certain they would not be disappointed. If they were, they would have to return the following evening. A delay of twenty-four hours would test everyone’s nerves, but Appleby was familiar with such contingencies. It was not a game played to precise rules.

  ‘Have you done this kind of thing often?’ Brigham asked between draws on his cigarette.

  ‘Often enough.’