James Maxted 03 The Ends of the Earth

by Robert Goddard

She smiled at him. ‘You should not be so eager, Mr Greaves. It is bad to look eager in business. Lucky for you I hate Count Tomura enough not to raise my price.’

  ‘That’s not luck,’ said Malory. ‘That’s why we’re here.’

  ‘True.’ The Dragonfly acknowledged the point with a courtly bow. ‘So, I—’ She broke off as the throaty roar of an engine rumbled through the still air. ‘Ah, not a walk. The motorcycle.’ The machine growled away. She seemed relieved to know her darling Dentaro had left them to it. ‘I will soothe him later. Now … Uchi-gawa. The Inside. The Kansei era was a difficult time in Japan. Tomura Munetada – Count Tomura’s great-grandfather – had many enemies. He wanted a place within his castle where he would be completely safe. Also where he could hold a prisoner beyond the possibility of escape if he needed to do so. My great-grandfather designed and built it for him. And then he was killed. Kansei Ten was the year. 1798, by your reckoning. My grandfather was eight when his father died. He never forgot what happened to him. He kept many papers and other things – left behind by his father. Come. There is something you must see.’

  The Dragonfly rose and led the way down from the verandah and round the villa towards the rear. There were several outhouses in this shadier reach of the property. One was built of stone, with narrow, barred windows and a stout iron door.

  ‘When my grandfather built this villa, he wanted to be sure his father’s records would be safe from fire. They are stored in that building. Hundreds of documents. All the details of all the work he did. And models he made of his designs.’

  ‘There’s a model of the Inside?’ Max asked urgently.

  She nodded. ‘The model is as it really is, but smaller, naturally. It is complete. It is accurate. It is better than any guide. Though you will need a guide – and a better one than any I know – to get into the castle. Only when you have done so will the model be of use to you.’

  ‘Leave me to worry about that.’

  ‘Gladly.’

  ‘The model is ours for fifty thousand yen?’

  ‘Yes. But this transaction cannot become known to Count Tomura. I must be able to say the model was stolen from me. I will leave the door of the storehouse unlocked tonight. I will say later someone must have opened it. How? A Ninja trick, maybe. Or they picked the lock. Who knows? The models are stored in wooden boxes, identified by labels recording the names of the buildings they matched. The intruder will steal the chest labelled Zangai-jo. You cannot read Japanese, of course. That fact will divert suspicion from you, if you escape … with whatever you seek there.’

  ‘And it is a fact, Hashiguchi-san. I can’t read Japanese.’

  ‘Have you paper?’

  Max tore a sheet from the notebook he carried and handed it to her, along with a pencil. He watched the swift and intricate movements of her fingers as she wrote down the symbols. Then she passed the sheet of paper back to him.

  ‘Zangai-jo,’ said the Dragonfly. ‘That is what the label will show.’

  ‘Won’t there be other labels looking remarkably similar – to the untrained eye?’ said Malory.

  ‘There will, Miss Bowles. You have a sharp mind. My great-grandfather made many models. Some were built, some not. He worked in many places, though nothing he did was quite as unusual as the installation at Zangai-jo. Naturally, the intruder must be sure to take the right box.’

  ‘Maybe you could show us where it is,’ said Max.

  The Dragonfly frowned at him. ‘And risk you taking it now? Then you may never pay me a sen. Do you think me a fool?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘The box you want is on the third shelf up from the floor on the left side as you enter the storehouse. That should be enough for you.’

  ‘We’ll manage,’ said Max, catching Malory’s eye. Already, he had thought of the surest way to identify the correct box. ‘What if it can’t be done tonight?’

  ‘I will leave the door unlocked each night until it is done. Or you tell me you have changed your mind. Which would be wise. I spoke of a Ninja trick. You will need a great many of those to enter Zangai-jo and leave again unharmed. If you do change your mind …’

  ‘The twenty-five thousand isn’t refundable.’

  The Dragonfly smiled. ‘I see you already understand me, Mr Greaves. That makes doing business with you much easier. The money must be in my account at the Kyoto branch of the Bank of Japan in Sanjo-dori before they close their books this afternoon. It is agreed?’

  Max bowed. ‘It is agreed.’

  THEY WERE AT the bank within the hour. It was a grand, Baroque building, replete with dark wood and high ceilings. The staff were unfailingly polite and helpful. Max did not have ¥25,000, but he did have sterling of more than equivalent value. After much stamping of dockets and inscribing of chits, the money was deposited in the account of Hashiguchi Yoko.

  They drove back to Seifu-so, to be told Laskaris had rung and left the telephone number of the inn where he was staying. Max called him straight away.

  An hour later, Max was striding along a hot and dusty avenue of the park surrounding the old Imperial Palace, heading for the pond at its southern end.

  Laskaris was waiting there, as promised, squinting with apparently fixed concentration at a flotilla of carp, while puffing at one of the cigars that were his constant companions.

  ‘I judge from your expression, Max,’ he said, ‘that your visit to the Dragonfly went well.’

  ‘We have a deal with her, yes.’ Max at once set out the terms. ‘The model can be in our hands by tomorrow. That, together with Shimizu Junzaburo’s services as guide, will get us into the castle, into the Inside – and out again.’

  ‘As simple as that?’

  ‘I never said it would be simple, Viktor. But it’s feasible. Feasible enough, I think.’

  Laskaris went on studying the carp for a moment, then said, ‘I agree. But I detect in your tone a need to ask rather more of me than I have so far offered.’

  ‘It’s true. First, there’s the money. I don’t have enough left to fund the entire fifty thousand yen.’

  Laskaris chuckled. ‘Une bagatelle. I will supply as much as you need.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘No. There’s the question of readily identifying the Zangai-jo box.’ Max took out the piece of paper which the Dragonfly had given him and handed it to Laskaris. ‘That’s what appears on the label.’

  ‘There are many boxes in the storehouse, also labelled?’

  ‘Yes. She has told me where the one we want is. But even so …’

  ‘It would be easy for a gaijin – a foreigner such as you or I – to become confused and take the wrong box.’

  ‘The Dragonfly’s told me where to look. But yes, I fear it would.’

  ‘Show this once to Seddik, however, and he would know it again at a glance.’ Laskaris smiled at Max. ‘That is what has occurred to you, of course.’

  ‘I confess it has.’

  ‘When do you plan to do this?’

  ‘First light tomorrow. There are thick bamboo forests around the villa and there’s cloud coming over. By night, I reckon it’ll be impossibly dark. Just before dawn would be the time.’

  ‘Yes.’ Laskaris nodded. ‘That would be sensible.’

  ‘I’ll go with him, of course. I could go alone, but it’ll be quicker and surer if Seddik retrieves the box. And it’ll be a useful rehearsal for our visit to Zangai-jo.’

  ‘Which will be the night after?’

  ‘I’ll take advice from the monk, but I imagine so, yes. Schools and the other two will be on their way to San Francisco by then.’

  ‘And you can leave from Kobe later in the day.’

  ‘Don’t you mean we can leave?’

  ‘I shall stay, Max. This will hurt Tomura. But not enough for my purposes.’

  ‘As you please.’

  ‘It’s settled, then. Seddik will go with you tonight.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we ask him fir
st?’

  ‘My consent is his consent. He will go with you. When will you leave?’

  ‘Three ack emma.’

  ‘Ack emma?’

  ‘Sorry. Buzzers’ slang. From the war.’ Max smiled, as much as anything because of how strangely distant – and how simple – his wartime life now felt to him. ‘Three a.m. From Seifu-so.’

  ‘He’ll be there.’ Laskaris held up the piece of paper. ‘I’ll keep this for him.’

  There was little of Kyoto south of the railway station. The city dribbled out into rice-fields and dusty vistas. The temple of Minami Hongan-ji stood close to the railway tracks, tranquil and rustic on one side, noisy and modern on the other, with trains rumbling past.

  Max was not kept waiting long at the gate. The monks of Minami Hongan-ji wore red. Shimizu Junzaburo was instantly identifiable by his orange robe. Max knew he must be in his mid-forties, but he looked younger, with his shaven head and his placid expression. Whatever he had once been, he was armed now with the shield of Buddhist enlightenment. But he could not shrug off his past and the obligations it imposed on him. Nor, clearly, did he intend to try.

  ‘You are Max,’ he said with a bow.

  ‘Chiyoko said you would be here.’

  ‘I am where I have known long I would one day be. The prisoner of Zangai-jo is not forgotten.’

  ‘You know who she is – and what she is to me?’

  ‘Yes. Also what she was to Jack Farngold.’

  ‘You agreed to help him.’

  ‘Yes. Then he went to Chosen to learn the secret of Uchi-gawa. But he did not return.’

  ‘The Dragonfly betrayed him. Tomura held him captive, before killing him. He died nine days ago, in Tokyo.’

  ‘I am sorry for him. Also for his sister. And for you. Man does not live to strive and suffer. There is a higher path.’

  ‘And I’ll happily tread it once I’ve set my mother free.’

  Junzaburo’s large, lambent eyes seemed to look into Max’s very soul. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘You are a warrior. You will not turn away. Even if there is no enemy left to fight. I will pray I am wrong.’ He smiled beneficently. ‘But I am not.’

  ‘You’ll lead us into the castle?’

  ‘I will. But I cannot fight for her, Max. I cannot kill. That is behind me.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to fight.’

  ‘You have what Jack Farngold sought from the Dragonfly?’

  ‘I will have, by tomorrow. A model of the Inside, made by the man who designed and constructed it.’

  ‘I have never been there. Few who served Tomura were ever allowed to go there. But I know where it is. I will lead you as far as its entrance. Then …’

  ‘We’re on our own?’

  ‘How many will you be?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘The other?’

  ‘Is highly gifted.’

  ‘But not a warrior?’

  ‘Not in the sense you mean.’

  ‘Maybe that is best. Maybe you will succeed. I will pray you do.’

  ‘Malory—’

  ‘I cannot speak of her.’ For the first time, Junzaburo’s composure faltered. ‘I wish her everything good. But I am still not strong enough in my heart to hear her voice or know what she thinks. You understand?’

  Max nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘When shall we do this, Max?’

  ‘Tomorrow night.’

  Junzaburo gazed up at the sky, in which clouds were building, and appeared to speak, though no words were audible. Then he looked at Max and said, ‘We must be in the hills by early evening. It is an hour’s climb from the nearest road. We should pass the night in the tunnel and enter the castle at dawn.’

  ‘You think that’s the best time?’

  ‘The night watch will be tired. And there will be just enough light for you to see by. I do not know the hazards you will meet. There will be many. But any other time is worse.’

  ‘Dawn it is, then. I have a car. It won’t take us long to reach the area. Wait for me in front of the railway station at five o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘I will be there. And I will be ready.’ With that he bowed and walked away.

  ‘There and ready,’ Max murmured to himself. ‘Well, I can’t ask more than that.’

  Max had walked to Minami Hongan-ji. He boarded a tram to return to Seifu-so, knowing the route would take him to the northern end of the Imperial Park. It was crowded with people going home from work, hot and tired from their labours. Many fell asleep as the journey proceeded through the centre of the city. Conversation was limited, conducted in whispers. The vehicle rattled and swayed onward, its bell jangling at intervals.

  Max found himself thinking of another tram-ride, in Paris earlier in the year, when his father had suddenly seen Lemmer, standing close to him in the car. But for that one glimpse, Sir Henry might have lived to mount his own rescue mission in Japan. Max himself might be in Surrey, running the fabled flying school he and Sam had dreamt of. The secrets he had uncovered would be unknown to him. He would be leading a different life.

  But chance had decreed otherwise. And he was not sorry.

  Sam and Chiyoko had returned in his absence and Malory had elicited far more from them about their activities than she had from Max.

  ‘A plane, Max? I thought the plan was to leave by sea.’

  ‘You and Sam are leaving by sea, Malory. But unlike a plane, a boat can be overhauled and stopped. If it is, you’ll have nothing to hide. I’m a pilot. This is the best way, believe me.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention it before?’

  ‘I wanted to be sure we could lay our hands on a suitable machine. Can we, Sam?’

  ‘Yes and no, sir.’

  Max sighed. ‘Take a turn with me in the garden and explain what the hell that means, would you?’

  ‘I’d have got ruddy nowhere without Chiyoko, sir, and that’s a fact. No one in these parts seems to speak a word of English. She did all the talking. We went to the only aerodrome round here, south of the city. Fookoo something. An Army base, with a small civilian operation tacked on. I was hoping they’d be getting rid of surplus planes at a knock-down price, like at Hendon. No such luck. Nothing doing. But Chiyoko charmed some bloke into suggesting we try a boatyard on a lake east of here.’

  ‘Lake Biwa?’

  ‘That’d be it.’

  ‘What use is a boatyard to us, Sam?’

  ‘They’ve got a plane for sale. But that’s where we come to the snag. She’s a seaplane, sir. And you’ve never flown one, have you?’

  ‘It can’t be that difficult.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that, sir. My thoughts exactly. This machine could be just what we’re looking for. Japanese Navy surplus. Two-seater biplane, twin main floats, built for reconnaissance. Engine in good condition. Range of nearly eight hundred kilometres. I make that about five hundred miles. Now, I’ve checked and double-checked the map. Your nearest friendly port is Why-high-why, one of our colonies on the Chinese coast. The Royal Navy’ll look after you there. That’s about eight hundred miles. Shanghai’s closer to a thousand. Either way—’

  ‘It’s too far.’

  ‘Extra fuel’s the answer, sir. We can strap tanks to the fuselage. The plane was designed to carry a machine-gun, so we’ll be all right for weight. You just have to put down somewhere halfway and fill her up.’

  ‘By somewhere halfway you mean in the middle of the Yellow Sea?’

  ‘I was thinking more of an inlet on the Korean coast, sir. The route to Why-high-why takes you straight across Korea. Originally, I was reckoning on you putting down in a field. It’ll have to be the sea now. A quiet stretch, obviously.’

  ‘And a calm one.’

  ‘It’s not perfect, sir, I know, but what is? At least you don’t have to worry about a runway this end. You’ll have the lake. I reckon it should work. The plane’s ours for a thousand yen. A fair price, according to Chiyoko. Though what she knows about the price of second-hand pla
nes …’

  Max smiled. At a fiftieth of the price of Hashiguchi Azenbo’s model of his design for Zangai-jo, it sounded not so much fair as extraordinarily generous. Max clapped Sam on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done well, Sam. Better than I could have asked for. Tomorrow, you and I are going to buy a seaplane.’

  SCHOOLS MORAHAN SHIFTED uncomfortably in the chair he had walked to from the bed in his room at the University Hospital in Tokyo. He was feeling much better today, no question about it, but even so the journey from the bed had left him breathing in a fashion reminiscent of his emphysemic old dad in the Lower East Side tenement that was the scene of his earliest memories.

  He was contemplating a walk to the window to see how his patched lung coped with the effort when the door opened and Takatsuki came in. He was the only policeman Fujisaki had sent to guard Schools who spoke any English.

  ‘You have a visitor, Morahan-san. She has not been before. Roshia-jin, I think.’

  ‘Roshia-jin?’

  ‘From Roshia.’

  A Russian. And a woman. There was only one person it could be. They had never met before, though, in a sense, they knew each other quite well. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Kisleva, she say.’

  Schools reminded himself that Nadia Bukayeva was a hardened killer. He was unarmed and none too robust. He could not afford to take any risks. But he was curious – as doubtless she had known he would be.

  ‘I told her to go away,’ Takatsuki continued. ‘But she say she has something for you.’

  ‘A bullet, maybe.’

  Takatsuki frowned. ‘Wakarimasen.’

  Schools mimed firing a pistol.

  The frown became a grin. ‘You like us search her?’

  Schools nodded. ‘Hai. Yes. Search her. And do a thorough job. Thorough? All over?’

  The grin broadened. ‘You no worry, Morahan-san. We search her good.’

  Fully ten minutes passed after Takatsuki left the room. Then the door opened again and Nadia Bukayeva walked in. She was not beautiful, but she was vital and alluring. Schools felt sure Takatsuki had enjoyed searching her and that he had indeed done a thorough job of it.

  She appeared unruffled, however, and, above all, undeflected. The directness with which she looked at Schools was a statement of intent.