A new day had dawned. Max saw it initially as thin grey light ahead of them after they had passed from the tunnel into the cave. It grew and strengthened. And then they were out, beyond the mouth of the cave, beyond the last of Zangai-jo.
He set Matilda down and rested for a moment against a boulder, gazing at the hills and valleys spread before him, limned in shades of pink and purple. The sun was rising, fat and golden, behind bruised hummocks of cloud. It looked as if it would be a good day for flying.
Now he allowed himself to believe for the first time. They were going to make it. What he had pledged to do was within his grasp. Freedom beckoned.
He urged Matilda on. ‘One last push,’ he told her, though she hardly seemed to register the words. ‘We’re nearly there.’
He slipped and slid down the steep slope of scree and rock with Matilda on his back.
It was a relief to reach the first stand of cedars and to be able to use their trunks for support. He looked back several times, but only the clouds were moving. There was no pursuit. Not yet.
They reached the track, then the car. The key had been taken from Max with all his other possessions, so he had to start the vehicle with the crank-handle, something he began to fear would be beyond him. But, eventually, it fired. He lowered Matilda gently into the passenger seat, then started off.
He began to relax as they descended. All he had to do was reach the boatyard and take off in the seaplane. The worst was behind them.
Then, round a sharp bend in the track, overhung by trees and boulders, he came suddenly on another car, blocking the way. Its engine was not running and its driver was nowhere in sight. Max pulled up close behind it, yanked on the brake and climbed out.
The bonnet of the other car was cool. It had evidently been there for some time, slewed across the track, effectively ensuring no one could pass in either direction. Max did not like the look of it. He found it hard to believe the obstruction was not deliberate. Logically, he should have sounded the Apperson’s horn in the hope the driver – wherever he was – would hear him. But something held him back.
He turned round and smiled at Matilda, raising his hand to reassure her all was well, though he was far from sure it was. She did not react. She had seemed dazed since leaving the castle, overwhelmed, he guessed, by the avalanche of events and the shock of re-entering the outside world. She sat hunched in the car, gazing ahead without focusing, engulfed in the folds of the cloak.
He decided to push the other car off the track. That would send it down a rocky slope, where it would certainly be stranded, even if its radiator did not burst or its axle break. But he was not inclined to worry about that. He reached in to release the brake.
‘Don’t do that, Max,’ came a voice.
Max whirled round. Lemmer was there, in front of him, standing by the rear off-side of the Apperson, clad in a duster coat and travelling cap. In his right hand he held a long-barrelled revolver. It was trained on Matilda.
She did not turn to see who had spoken. She bent her head slightly and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could bear no more tumult and disorder, as if another stranger’s voice was one too many.
‘What do you want?’ Max demanded.
‘Where is Ishibashi?’ Lemmer asked.
‘What’s he to you?’
‘He has worked for me for many years. An informant within Tomura’s household has proved invaluable to me. His name never appeared in the Grey File. Anna knew much, but not everything.’
‘Ishibashi was acting on your orders?’
‘Yes. It was not in my interests for you to languish in captivity in Kawajuki Castle. So, where is Ishibashi, Max? Is that his blood I see on you?’
‘No. But he is dead. Killed by Noburo.’
‘And Noburo?’
‘Also dead.’
‘Killed by you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, now you have slain Tomura’s son as well as mine.’
‘Eugen’s death was an accident. You know Appleby would never have meant to kill him. As for Noburo, it was him or me.’
‘And it is always you who survives.’
‘So far.’
‘Tomura will pursue you to the ends of the Earth to avenge his son. You should understand that. It is his nature. But it is not mine.’
‘Why did you want me free?’
‘I wanted you and Countess Tomura free, Max. Both of you. Because you are to blame for Eugen’s death, whether it was accidental or not. So, why should I not kill the mother you have striven so hard to rescue?’ Lemmer cocked the gun and pointed it at the back of Matilda’s head. ‘Why should—’
‘Don’t!’ pleaded Max. ‘Please. She’s never harmed you in any way.’
‘Nor did Eugen ever harm you.’
‘I’m begging you. Don’t kill her.’
‘There is no need to beg, Max.’ Lemmer smiled at him knowingly. ‘You can save your mother’s life. If you agree to my terms.’
‘Your terms?’
‘I will spare her, if you swear to do as I ask.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Nothing. Yet. But one day, months or more likely years from now, I will ask you to do something for me. And you will pledge yourself now to do it. Without question. Without hesitation. Whatever it is.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘But I am. I will spare Appleby as well as your mother. In return, I may ask anything of you. And you will do it. Because you will owe me your mother’s life. And Appleby’s too.’
‘Are you mad?’
‘I believe not. We must each do the best for ourselves in this world. You have defeated me. But I choose not to surrender. I choose to fight on. Revenge will not help me prepare for the challenges ahead. But I will take it, if that is all you offer me. So, what is your answer?’
Max could not find one. If the promise Lemmer demanded was what it would take to save Matilda, he had to give it. Yet he knew he would come to regret it if he did. Desperately, he played for time. ‘How can you be sure I’d honour such a promise?’
‘Because of that word, Max. Honour. It means everything to you. I know I can trust you to keep your word, when you have solemnly given it. If not, what ground can you stand on? What justification can you offer for the things you have done? You are not like the rest of us, are you? For you, the struggle must be for more than survival. It must be for a cause. It must be for honour. Your father’s; your own; your country’s. So, the choice is before you. I advise you not to deliberate too long. When Tomura finds that you have killed his son, he will respond with all his strength. And he will do it quickly. I do not know what plan you have for leaving Japan, but I hope you can leave speedily. You certainly need to. And I will not stop you, once we have concluded our business here. Which you can do by uttering a single word. Yes. Or no. Which is it to be?’
SAM HAD KNOWN from the outset he would not be leaving with Malory from Kobe. It was clear to him his place was with the seaplane. Only then could he guarantee it would be ready for use when Max returned from Kawajuki Castle, as Sam had not allowed himself to doubt he would.
Malory had tried to talk him out of it, before realizing the hopelessness of the task. Sam’s plan was simple. He would see Max and his mother off, then travel by train to Nagasaki, where Malory would arrange for the Ptarmigan to call and wait for him, before sailing on to Shanghai.
Sam was not prepared to countenance the possibility that anything would go wrong. ‘It took Max three days to get from Nagasaki to Yokohama, so I should be able to make it there from here in closer to two. That means Monday. Tuesday at the latest. You can count on it.’
‘I wish I could, Sam,’ Malory had said. ‘You know Max wouldn’t want you to do this, don’t you?’
‘I don’t trust that Muchaku geezer. I want to be sure the plane won’t let Max down. He’ll complain. But he’ll be glad of my help in the end.’
Malory could have warned Sam he might find himself waiting at th
e boatyard in vain. The truth, of which both were well aware, was that Max’s raid on Kawajuki Castle was appallingly dangerous, even with Junzaburo’s help. But Sam believed, as Malory clearly realized, that to prepare for anything other than success was halfway to admitting defeat.
‘I can’t stop you, can I?’ she had said, shaking her head at him.
‘Not a chance. Don’t worry, though. You’ll see me in Nagasaki. And I’ll have good news when you do. Just you wait and see.’
He left the Kobe train at Osaka and was back in Ohtsu by early evening. He walked out to the boatyard in the fading lakeside light, wondering how Max was faring up in the mountains, away to the north. He had eaten a meal of sorts on the train, promising himself that one day soon he would dine on pie and mash and a pint of Bass.
The boatyard was deserted, save for a caretaker, a spindly, wizened, glittery-eyed old fellow who naturally spoke no English. But Muchaku had told him about the buyer of the seaplane and Sam had taken the trouble to glean a few key phrases from Chiyoko, which, even in his mangled delivery, persuaded the caretaker of his bona fides. Soon, Sam was on first name terms with Soho, as the old man was apparently called. Then he was sampling Soho’s sake, essential, much miming of shivering implied, to survive a night’s caretaking.
The night was in truth quite balmy. Soho allowed him to sleep for a few hours on his futon in the boatyard office in return for keeping watch while Soho took a nap of his own. He evidently did not expect anything to happen. And it did not.
Muchaku was less welcoming when he encountered Sam the following morning. But he could hardly object to a friend of the seaplane’s new owner tinkering with it, so reluctantly he let Sam carry on.
Sam brought the plane out of its shed, opened out the wings and applied oil to just about every moving part. With each hour that passed, he expected Max to arrive, but he did not. The day elapsed slowly and ever more anxiously. Sam exhausted his supply of cigarettes and eventually paid the boy who had assisted him the previous day to go and buy him more, along with some food. The pot of eel and noodles the boy returned with tasted surprisingly good, the Japanese cigarettes unsurprisingly not.
When the working day came to an end, Muchaku made it obvious he wanted rid of Sam. Shooing gestures were accompanied by the word ‘Ashita’, uttered with much emphasis. Sam had picked up enough Japanese to know what it meant. Tomorrow. But he did not admit to understanding, appeasing Muchaku with repeated apologies. ‘Sumimasen. Sumimasen with knobs on.’ Muchaku looked irritated, but helpless. He had been paid well. The discussion ended inconclusively.
Tomorrow weighed on Sam’s mind every bit as much as on Muchaku’s. Something had gone wrong. Even Sam’s excessive optimism could not resist that realization. Max was in trouble, held captive, perhaps, or worse. At some point in the small hours, during one of his chain-smoking spells as stand-in caretaker, Sam decided he would have to seek help if Max did not arrive by noon the following day. He would go to the temple in Kyoto and find out what Junzaburo knew. If Junzaburo had also failed to return, he would go to Laskaris and ask him to persuade the police to search the castle. Max had said Fujisaki had vouched for a Kyoto chief inspector called Wada. He was the man to turn to. Wada would probably be in awe of Count Tomura, of course. But he would have to be talked round. It was as simple as that.
But it would not be simple, as Sam well knew. And whatever he accomplished might not be enough. It might already be too late for Max. Which was not a cheering thought to be alone with, in the middle of the night, in a foreign land.
Worried though he was, Sam slept soundly when given the chance, exhausted by his own anxiety. It was dawn when Soho woke him. And it was immediately obvious he had not woken him merely to say goodbye. He was gabbling and gesticulating, in an attempt to communicate something of importance. And he was smiling, as if the something was not bad news.
Nor was it. The Apperson was parked in the yard. And Max was standing beside it. In the passenger seat of the car sat a tiny, frail woman Sam would have judged to be seventy or so, wearing a fur-lined cloak, with the hood raised, over a yukata.
Max looked tired and strained. There were bloodstains on his shirt. His clothes were dusty and torn. There was a bruise on his forehead and a short length of chain was hanging from a handcuff attached to his right wrist.
‘Bloody hell, sir,’ said Sam.
‘Bloody hell indeed,’ Max responded. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Reckoned you’d get off safer with my help.’
‘You’re supposed to be aboard the Ptarmigan, for God’s sake, heading for Shanghai.’
‘I will be once you’ve left, sir. You and …’ Sam approached the car. ‘Countess Tomura, is it?’
The woman in the cloak looked at Sam and smiled feebly, though whether she was smiling at him was unclear. A veil seemed to hang between her and the world.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Sam. The greeting drew no reaction. He turned to Max. ‘I’ve been having kittens, sir. What kept you?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
‘This is … who you went after?’
‘Yes. Matilda Tomura, née Farngold.’ Max looked bemusedly at the woman who was his mother but also a stranger. ‘I’ve done what Pa died trying to do. I’ve freed the prisoner of Zangai-jo.’
‘I knew you would, sir.’
‘But we’re not out of the woods yet. Is Malory safe?’
‘She’ll have left on the Ptarmigan yesterday, as planned. She’s going to have them put in at Nagasaki to wait for me. I’ll go there by train as soon as—’
‘You can’t do that, Sam. It’s too risky. Tomura will be after my blood. And yours, if he finds out you’re still in the country. I killed his son, you see. I killed Noburo Tomura.’
Somehow, Sam was not surprised. ‘He had it coming, sir.’
‘Yes,’ Max nodded. ‘He did.’
‘But it’s a two-seater plane. Room for you and the Countess only.’
‘The Countess is as light as a feather, Sam. You’ll have to squeeze in with her. We can cable Malory from Weihaiwei and tell her not to wait for you at Nagasaki. We need to be out of Japan as soon as possible. I’m not leaving without you.’
‘There’s already extra weight with the added fuel tanks, sir. I’m not—’
‘Stop arguing and let’s get on with it. That’s an order.’
A SINGLE JOY-RIDE from Hendon Aerodrome in the summer of 1911, during his first Cambridge long vacation, was enough for Max to fall in love with flying. The ardour cooled to some degree during the war, but he remembered his early experiences with a keen edge of nostalgia. He talked his way into the Royal Flying Corps before he had even graduated and took his first solo flight at Upavon, on Salisbury Plain, one warm September afternoon in 1913, when the skylarks were singing and the cotton-wool clouds were scattered across a vault of pure, enticing sapphire.
It seemed longer ago to him than six years as he steered the seaplane away from the boatyard pontoon that morning on Lake Biwa. The caretaker watched him with rising curiosity from the lee of the tumble-down office building. A heron took to the wing from a nearby perch as the engine growled. Max eased the machine out into the clear water and swung her nose round to face the open lake.
He had not flown a plane since going down behind German lines in Flanders in April 1917. He had worried he might be rusty after two years with his feet on the ground, but he felt no sign of it. He felt, as he always had, at one with the machine he sat in. Floats in place of wheels made no difference. It was an aeroplane. And he was a pilot. He was born to it.
He glanced over his shoulder and exchanged a thumbs-up with Sam. Matilda, swaddled in the cloak and cradled in Sam’s lap as if she were a child, did not seem to see him. Whether she understood what they were about to do he rather doubted. But Sam understood, grinning gamely at him as he fastened his flying helmet. A lot could go wrong. But they could not fritter away their time debating what that might be. They had to go.
/> Others had taken their chance and died in the course of Max’s pursuit of the truth. He thought of Kuroda and le Singe in particular and wondered if their lives were worth what he had achieved. It was too late for such wondering, of course. He had striven to finish what his father had started and they had suffered for it. Nor were they the only ones. His path to this moment was drenched in the blood of the deserving and the undeserving alike.
What the future held he could not guess. He did not feel able to look beyond the flight to Weihaiwei. The journey would be difficult, especially when it came to refuelling. There would be all manner of hazards. There always were. The weather was set fair, but it was a long way, he was unfamiliar with the plane and much of the navigation would have to be done by eye. Sam’s presence was a welcome reassurance. On the spur of the moment, he decided to say so.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Sam,’ he shouted over his shoulder.
‘Me too, sir,’ Sam shouted back.
‘Shall we get this bird in the air, then?’
To that Sam replied with a double thumbs-up.
Max turned back to the controls and tightened the chin-strap on his flying helmet. He thought of his father then and the flight together they had never taken. He would surely be proud of what Max had accomplished on his behalf.
It was not over. It would never be over while Tomura and Lemmer and Matilda lived. Tomura would seek to avenge his son’s death at Max’s hands. One day Lemmer would call upon him to fulfil the promise he had reluctantly given. Matilda, the woman who had given birth to him, would have a place to find for herself in a world she hardly knew. And she too would have Tomura to fear. The things Max had done would never be far from him. The past lay ahead as well as behind.
But in the present, this present, he could savour the satisfaction of beating the odds. ‘I did it, Pa,’ he murmured. ‘Not bad, hey? Not bad at all.’
James Maxted 03 The Ends of the Earth Page 34
