James Maxted 03 The Ends of the Earth

by Robert Goddard

  Still Malory said nothing. She held Nadia’s gaze and tensed every muscle in her face to suppress the least sign of a reaction.

  ‘This is the message I have for you. With Max dead, your mission here is over. There is nothing for you to do. And if you try to do anything you will be stopped. There is an NYK steamer leaving for Seattle Tuesday. You will be on it. All of you.’

  ‘Why would I leave so soon after arriving?’ Malory asked, slowing her words so that none of her alarm inflected them.

  ‘For your health. You will be on that ship. Or we will come for you.’

  ‘I’m not going to Seattle, Miss Bukayeva.’

  ‘Because you do not believe me?’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Proof, then. Here.’ Nadia took an envelope from an outer pocket of her coat, stepped forward and offered it to Malory.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘A photograph taken by Dombreux of Max dead. You will not believe me without, will you? So, you must have it. Take it, please.’

  Reluctantly, Malory took the envelope. The flap was not sealed. She saw the border of the photograph inside. She slid it out. And gasped.

  ‘There. That is your reason to go to Seattle. That is how it ended for Max. And that is how it will end for you. If you stay.’

  THE PHOTOGRAPH SHOWED Max lying on his back, his arms spread, his head angled to one side. There was a bullet hole in his right temple and his head was resting in a pool of blood. In the open palm of his right hand was a revolver, his fingers curled around the butt and trigger.

  Malory and Sam each had a copy. Dumbstruck by the photographic evidence of Max’s death, they had hardly noticed the departure of their informants – Nadia slipping away between the gravestones, Dombreux hailing a passing taxi. The proof had been supplied and the message had been delivered: abandon their mission and leave Japan as soon as practicably possible. That was Lemmer’s generous offer.

  Malory had hurried back to the Eastbourne Hotel, struggling to compose herself as she went. The caretaker, who had come upon her at the grave, had invited her to his hut to recover from what he had assumed was grief for the long-deceased Farngolds. She had declined, assuring him she would soon be herself again.

  But there was little prospect of that. And she saw her reaction mirrored in Sam, red-eyed from his own tears. Shock, disbelief and disabling sorrow had assailed them both.

  They told Morahan what had happened and adjourned to his room, where he poured stiff whiskies for all of them and heard their stories in solemn silence, staring at the photograph as they spoke.

  ‘My God,’ he said at last, ‘I never imagined it would turn out like this. Max always seemed to have enough resourcefulness to see him through any challenge.’

  ‘Dombreux said he arranged it to look like suicide,’ murmured Sam. ‘But he also said it was an empty house. You don’t think … Max is still there, do you, waiting to be found?’

  ‘We must pray not,’ said Malory, her head drooping.

  ‘They said this happened May sixth?’ Morahan asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That was the day Lemmer and Tomura sailed from Marseilles. Their ship arrived here June twentieth. So, chances are they know what the French police have done about this. We should find out too.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We’ll cable Yamanaka in Paris. With Tomura out of his hair, he’ll be free to get the information for us.’

  Sam groaned. ‘All those times I saw his plane flying back to base in one piece. It often seemed like a miracle he’d survived when so many others didn’t. Some miracle, hey? He didn’t survive the war by so much as a year.’

  Malory grasped his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ she said softly. ‘Your loss is much heavier than ours.’

  ‘What will I tell his family?’

  ‘That he died taking risks he believed worth taking.’

  ‘But it wasn’t a clean death, was it? He wouldn’t have given us away without a struggle. I don’t like to think about how hard that was for him.’

  ‘We only have their word for it Max gave us away,’ said Morahan. ‘It’s possible they guessed what was going on after hearing we’d left Paris.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I reckon it’s possible. Nadia and Dombreux do as they’re told. It’s clear now Dombreux must have been Lemmer’s man all along and Nadia’s as close to Lemmer as anyone. They do his bidding. Which, remember, doesn’t necessarily involve telling us the truth.’ Morahan glanced at his watch. ‘Everett should be here soon.’ He slipped the photographs into the drawer of the desk. ‘Say nothing about this to him – or the others.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell them?’ asked Malory in surprise.

  ‘Not yet. We have until Tuesday at least.’

  ‘But what can we do without Max?’

  ‘That’s what we have to decide, Malory – you, me and Sam. We’re here because we chose to be. The others are here because they’re paid to be. It’s for us to say whether we pull out or go on.’

  ‘I’d like to go on,’ said Sam. ‘Otherwise Max died for nothing.’

  ‘With Lemmer and Tomura on our tail,’ said Morahan, ‘we could easily finish up dying for nothing ourselves.’

  ‘How would we go on?’ Malory pressed.

  ‘There’s a lead I haven’t mentioned to you. Everett’s been following it up for me.’

  ‘What kind of lead?’

  ‘Jack Farngold’s been a sailor most of his life. He’s skippered vessels for Jardine Matheson all over the Far East. A lot of people in the shipping world would know him – crew and owners. So, while we were in San Francisco, I reckoned it was worth asking a few questions round the docks. Everett had been given the names of some people to talk to by his contacts in New York, a few of them Japanese. Anyhow, the sum of it was that Farngold never made many friends, but one of them is the woman who runs a notorious chabuya here in Yokohama.’

  ‘What’s a chabuya when it’s at home?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Restaurant, teahouse, bar, dance-hall, gambling den, brothel. Any and all of those. There are dozens of them in the city. They cater mostly for foreigners. Tarazumi Yoshiko runs one of the older established chabuyas: the Honey Bee. She met Jack Farngold when he went there to bail out members of his crew who couldn’t pay their debts. Over the years, they struck up some kind of friendship. The word is that if anyone knows how to find Jack Farngold it’s Tarazumi Yoshiko. I sent Everett to see her because he fixed an introduction for himself with an acquaintance of hers in San Francisco, who told him she speaks serviceable English.’

  ‘What will he have told her?’ asked Malory.

  ‘That James Maxted, son of Sir Henry, wants to speak to Jack Farngold.’

  ‘But Max—’ Sam cut short his objection. It hardly needed spelling out.

  ‘I’ll decide what to do when we hear how far Everett got with her. Their little tea-time tête-à-tête had to be agreed in advance with her assistant. These things have to be handled delicately here. I’d hoped to have some progress to report to Max’ – Morahan’s voice dropped – ‘when he arrived.’

  It was Sam who broke the silence that followed. ‘Isn’t Jack Farngold locked up in a lunatic asylum?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But, in Kuroda’s report to Marquess Saionji, Kuroda said he couldn’t confirm Farngold’s current whereabouts. So, he may be on the loose. And Tarazumi Yoshiko may know where he is. It’s a long shot, I admit, but—’

  The knock at the door was only just loud enough to be heard. Sam and Malory both looked at Morahan, who signalled for them to be calm.

  ‘Remember,’ he whispered, ‘not a word about Max. Unless and until I deem it necessary.’

  They nodded and Morahan stepped across to open the door.

  Lewis Everett entered smiling, as usual. He looked his normal relaxed and confident self. It appeared his visit to the Honey Bee had been a success, though he might well have carried himself in much the same way even if it had not been
.

  ‘Someone died?’ he remarked casually, noting their subdued expressions.

  Sam flinched, but fortunately Everett was looking at Malory, whose face gave nothing away. Sam admired her more in that moment than ever.

  ‘If it’s Wilson, we should break out the champagne.’

  Everett had recorded his loathing of President Wilson – ‘puritanical sonofabitch’ – on more than one occasion. Morahan sighed in a way that implied impatience and said, ‘How’d you get on at the Honey Bee?’

  ‘Well, I sure wasn’t stung like most of their customers. It’s a high-class clap-house, if you’ll pardon my French, Malory. As for Tarazumi-san, she ain’t exactly what you’d call garrulous. I wouldn’t have got a word out of her but for the intro from friend Higashida in Little Osaka, San Fran. And you’d never have heard of Higashida, Schools, but for my New York connections.’

  ‘I’m impressed, Lew, OK? But there’s no bonus clause in your contract.’

  ‘Maybe there should be.’

  ‘Maybe you should just get on and tell us what you found out.’

  ‘All right.’ Everett flung himself into an armchair and lit a cigarette. ‘The Tarazumi dame didn’t deny knowing Captain Jack, even though she didn’t exactly admit it either. She claimed she couldn’t understand everything I said, although her grasp of English seemed pretty damn good to me. Eventually, after a lot of tea-sipping and brow-beetling, during which I lost all feeling in my legs thanks to kneeling on her damn mats, she said it was possible she could get a message to him.’

  ‘How did you leave matters?’

  ‘I – we – call round tomorrow afternoon for news.’

  ‘Did you mention the report we’d had that Farngold was being held in a lunatic asylum?’

  ‘I hinted at it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said, “I am sure Farngold-san is where he wants to be.”’ Everett shrugged. ‘You can make what you like of that. One thing, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was followed part of the way to the Honey Bee. Japanese and not bad at the job, but not quite good enough. I lost him, obviously, but considering no one’s supposed to know we’re here …’

  ‘We’ll have to take extra precautions.’

  ‘How would they have got on to us so quickly, Schools?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hope none of the team has spoken out of turn.’

  ‘You know us better than that. Maybe Max has given himself away.’

  ‘And maybe you’d like to take that back,’ snapped Sam, suddenly angry.

  Everett looked at him in surprise. ‘No need to be so prickly, Sam. We all make mistakes.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Morahan said, shooting a warning glance at Sam. ‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I told you the people we’re up against are well resourced, Lew. Maybe this proves it. There’s nothing we can do but tread carefully. We’ll go visit Madam Tarazumi tomorrow and see what she has for us.’

  ‘No word from Max yet, then?’ said Everett, who was still eyeing Sam curiously.

  ‘No,’ said Morahan. ‘No word.’

  A CABLE WAS despatched to Yamanaka at the hotel bristol in Paris, where Morahan judged he would still be, despite the formal end of the peace conference. Such an event was bound to leave a lot of clearing up to be done in its wake, certainly enough to keep Yamanaka busy for a while yet. PLEASE CONFIRM REPORT OF DEATH OF JAMES MAXTED MARSEILLES MAY SIXTH was the simple but desperate message.

  Malory went to the NYK offices to book eight berths on the Iyo-maru, due to sail for Seattle on Tuesday. Morahan’s reasoning was that they should at least be seen to be complying with Lemmer’s demands even if they had no intention of doing so. As it turned out, eight berths had already been reserved in Morahan’s name. It had been made as easy as possible for them to accept defeat.

  But the contemplation of defeat only sharpened Sam’s anguish. Considering the number of fine and noble pilots he had seen take off and never return during the war, he was dismayed by the force of his reaction to the news of Max’s death.

  ‘Give me something to do, Schools,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll go mad just sitting around here.’

  Fortunately, Morahan did have a task for him. ‘I want you and Malory to take Ward, Duffy, Monteith and Djabsu to Kamakura tomorrow. It’s an easy trip on the train. Highly recommended for sight-seeing, I’m told. Shrines, temples, a giant Buddha: the full works. Make a day of it.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for sight-seeing.’

  ‘If there’s a tail on us, Sam, as there evidently is, we should lead them astray. While you’re wandering around Kamakura, towing one or more of Tomura’s people on an invisible line, Everett and I will have less to worry about when we pay a call on Madam Tarazumi. OK?’

  Sunday was as hot and sunny as Saturday had been. The sights – and the beaches – of Kamakura had lured many Tokyoites out from the city. Anyone delegated to follow Sam and his companions through the crowds had his sympathy. Only Djabsu and Monteith gave any sign of enjoying the excursion, Djabsu because he took a child-like pleasure in seaside attractions, however alien they might be, and Monteith because of the prospect of seeing Japanese women taking a dip in the ocean. Duffy and Ward kept their thoughts to themselves, though well aware they were serving as decoys. Whatever came with the job was all in a day’s work to them.

  Aside from strolling on the waterfront, they visited a few Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, which, in a different frame of mind and on another day, Sam knew he would have found fascinating. Japan, he already realized, was like nowhere else he had ever been. But too much had travelled with him to be cast aside. The splendour of the place was lost on him.

  Even standing before the Great Buddha, all fifty bronze feet of him, up in the woods above the shore, failed to move Sam. Malory was clearly appalled when Djabsu scrambled up on to the Buddha’s left knee, but to Sam this and everything else that occurred passed by him beyond a gauze curtain. He saw it, but could not engage with it.

  ‘Cheer up, buddy, for Pete’s sake,’ Monteith said to him at one point. ‘Or if not for his, then Buddha’s.’

  But Sam did not cheer up. And knowing he could not explain why he was so downcast only made it worse. The one meagre consolation he could find was to hope that Morahan would have something promising to report when they returned to Yokohama.

  The Honey Bee was located on the other side of the Bluff, overlooking Mississippi Bay. Its boundary wall was high and plain, but its front door was decorated with a luridly painted beehive and the young woman who greeted Morahan and Everett was clearly no demure miss. It was doubtful if she was even Japanese.

  A few customers lingered in the main salon with attentive hostesses. A man of Scandinavian appearance was playing a ballad very slowly on an out-of-tune piano. Morahan and Everett were required to wait while Madam Tarazumi prepared herself to receive them.

  In his pocket Morahan had the reply from Yamanaka, delivered to him as he was leaving the Eastbourne. WILL INVESTIGATE AND REPORT SOONEST. He would do his best, Morahan knew.

  He had detected no sign of a tail. Perhaps whoever had tried to follow Everett the previous day was panting round Kamakura to no purpose. The thought gave him some meagre satisfaction.

  The call came after they had toyed with bowls of green tea for twenty minutes or so. They were fetched by an English-speaking assistant, who led them up to Madam Tarazumi’s sitting room.

  It was tatami-matted and entirely Japanese in style, with panels thrown open to admit as much of a cooling breeze as there was. A balcony gave the proprietress of the Honey Bee an imposing view of the bay, on which she had chosen to turn her back.

  She was an elegant, kimono-clad figure, of some age between forty and sixty, carefully made up and immaculately coiffured. She spoke English more than adequately, but very slowly, as if weighing every word – as she well might have been. Her expression gave nothing away.

  Morahan treated her to several respectful bows as Ever
ett introduced him, without any discernible effect on her demeanour. More tea was served. They knelt either side of a low table. The air, even when it moved, was damp with heat. Morahan felt like a giant in a doll’s house – and about as comfortable.

  ‘Where is James Maxted?’ was Madam Tarazumi’s opening question.

  ‘He is on his way,’ Morahan replied.

  ‘When will he arrive?’

  ‘When can Jack Farngold see him?’

  Madam Tarazumi pursed her lips. ‘What are you to James Maxted?’

  ‘Friends. Advisors. Representatives.’

  ‘What do you know about Farngold-san?’

  ‘That he’s an enemy of Count Tomura Iwazu. That his sister was married to the Count. That he blames the Count for his father’s death and probably his sister’s too.’

  ‘Only a fool makes an enemy of Count Tomura.’

  ‘We can’t always choose our enemies.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Jack Farngold since we met yesterday, Tarazumi-san?’ asked Everett.

  She did not answer directly. In fact, she said nothing at all for fully half a minute while she scrutinized each of them in turn. Then: ‘What kind of women do you like?’

  If she had hoped to embarrass them she had mistaken their character. ‘The young and willing kind,’ Everett replied with a laugh.

  Madam Tarazumi did not laugh. ‘You prefer Russian to Japanese? I have Russian women here. Born in the nobility. They came to Japan after the Revolution. Some men like their ways. But you cannot trust them. They are greedy for their old life. They are … ruthless.’

  Morahan had the distinct impression she was talking now about one Russian woman in particular. ‘Have you ever employed a woman called Nadia Bukayeva, Tarazumi-san?’ he asked.

  ‘Perhaps. I do not remember their names.’