Beneath Gray Skies (49 page)

C allowed himself a rueful smile. “If I had not had this story verified, I would have dismissed it to the realms of fantasy. The Nazis wished to assist the Confederacy financially, but as we all know, their supply of hard currency is minimal. Their solution was to ship an archeological treasure from Germany to the Confederacy, where it could be converted into US dollars on its sale to a US collector. In this case, the treasure being shipped was the Jewels of Helen and the other gold artifacts discovered at the site of Troy by Henrik Schliemann last century.” A low whistle sounded from a junior minister, and the Prime Minister frowned. “The value, it was estimated, would be sufficient to compensate slave owners for the first phase of emancipation, and to take care of the poor freed wretches.”

“It would be worth that much money?” asked the Chancellor of the Exchequer, incredulously.

“Apparently so, sir, to the right collector.” The Chancellor shook his head in amazement. “The treasure was to be carried in a special pod, which was to be jettisoned from the airship before its destruction. The jettison mechanism failed, and the treasure pod crashed to earth with the rest of the airship.”

“So the Jewels of Helen are lost to the world?” asked the Chancellor.

C smiled in response. “Not at all, sir. The pod was designed to withstand crashes and fire, but…” he smiled even wider, enjoying the suspense he was generating, “when they got there the cupboard was bare. In other words, when the pod was opened, all that was discovered inside was a glass necklace worth approximately one shilling and sixpence.” Laughter from round the table. “However, gentlemen, for the coup plotters, this was no laughing matter. They had taken possession of their country, but had no way to implement their proposed reforms. At this point, our ex-agent made one or two suggestions to the junta, with the result that the Prime Minister will now describe.”

“Thank you, C,” said the Prime Minister, rising as C resumed his seat to a round of hearty applause. “For the past forty-eight hours, the telegraph wires between Downing Street and our Legation in Richmond have been burning red-hot, and the ones to Washington have only been slightly cooler. The time differences between our nations are the very devil.” He yawned. “But I digress.”

“The basis of the discussions that I and Sir Edmund,” he indicated the Foreign Secretary, “have been conducting is that we would welcome the Southern states of the Confederacy into the world again, subject to certain conditions relating to the abolition of slavery, greater democracy, and so on and so forth. As C has just explained, the junta also welcomes these changes to Confederate society, but lacks the means to do so. To cut a long story short, in return for the United Kingdom supplying the finance to make these changes possible, the ruling government of the Confederacy has agreed to join the British Empire, on a short-term temporary basis, as the Confederate Dominion of America.”

The Cabinet rose as one and applauded loudly. “That’s incredible news! Congratulations, sir,” said the Minister of War as the Cabinet resumed their seats.

“Let me continue in a little more detail. The terms by which the Confederacy will be governed are essentially the same as those pertaining to Canada, but with one important difference; that at the end of every five years while they are part of the Empire, a plebiscite will be held to determine whether the Confederacy should remain as part of the Empire or not.”

“In the case that they left the Empire, they would be free to rejoin the USA or to return to full independence?” suggested the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

“Indeed they would,” replied the Prime Minister. “And it was that first alternative, as much as anything, that brought Washington round to accepting the deal with a good grace. In addition, I may add that Secretary of State Kellogg has a very high personal opinion of C’s man in Washington. The advantages for the Confederacy are many: their society becomes free and open, they become actors on the great world stage, and they gain self-respect as a member in good standing of the League of Nations. No-one is pretending that the changes to their society will be painless, but I think we may be in a good position to provide some real assistance there, and we can help with emigration to Australia, Canada, New Zealand, or Africa for any members of Confederate society, white or black, who may not wish to live in the new Dominion. We, of course, gain access to their cotton, and their raw materials, including oil. Not exclusively, of course, and we hope to work together with the renewed democratic Germany to help build up the industrial power of the Confederacy.”

“We will be making the public announcement in two days’ time,” said the Colonial Secretary. I must ask you to keep this absolutely quiet until then. The interim Confederate President will come over here in the near future to sign all the treaties and protocols, and to resign his Presidency in favor of a Premiership. We will probably be sending over one of the Royal Family with all due pomp and ceremony to act as the first Governor-General—it appears that anti-Royalist sentiment is not so strong in the Confederacy as in the USA.”

The door to the Cabinet office opened, and a tray of brandy and sodas was placed on the table. When the servants had left and the door was closed, the Prime Minister, who had rung for the drinks while the Colonial Secretary was speaking, stood. “Gentlemen, please take your glasses. I give you the Confederate Dominion of America.”

The toast was heartily echoed.

“I have two more questions,” the Chancellor of the Exchequer said to C. “What was the point of the glass necklace, and where is the real treasure?”

“We have Hermann Goering, the recently deceased Nazi Air Minister, to thank for that,” replied C with a smile. “He considered himself a connoisseur of art and a loving husband, and when he saw the Jewels of Helen, he took them for himself, or rather, for his wife. The rest of the treasure was hidden in a safe in his office from where it has been recovered by one of our friends in Berlin who worked in Goering’s office. It’s all been returned now to the museum from which it originally came.”

“And the glass necklace?”

“Goering’s idea of a joke, one assumes. Maybe he valued the whole Confederacy at one shilling and sixpence. I doubt if we will ever know what went on in his mind.”

T
he next morning saw Sharpe up bright and early, repairing the damage to his computer and to his office. Mieko was still sleeping, snoring slightly, as he made his way to the shower to wake himself up for the day ahead. His face still felt sore, and he decided not to shave that day. As he’d said to Sugita/Ishihara, there was little work that had been lost, but there was still a mass of papers and general level of messiness in the room that exceeded even the usual standards for the place. Looking through his appointments, he realised that there was nothing that couldn’t be put off for a day or so. He sent off a couple of e-mail messages to take care of a progress meeting demanding a report (yesterday’s neglected task), and attendance at a lecture given by a technical society that Sharpe only attended when he was on the prowl for new clients.

As he strolled into the kitchen to make the coffee for breakfast, he heard waking-up noises from Mieko. He could almost hear her smile as she walked into the kitchen behind Sharpe and flung her arms around him, pressing her breasts against his back. She was stark naked.

“Get dressed, you lewd and lascivious wench,” he said, turning in her embrace, returning her kiss and playfully slapping her backside. She put on a pout of mock annoyance, and sashayed out of the room.

By the time she returned, dressed and made up for the day, the coffee was ready, and they sat down to discuss the day ahead, as they usually did. Sharpe told her that he wasn’t going to the customer today, and was going to continue with the work he should have done earlier, and Mieko informed him in return that she was going to go round to Meema’s to pick up a few things she’d left there. Sharpe wasn’t aware that she’d taken enough with her for one night to be able to forget anything, but he knew from experience that Mieko was capable of leaving a trail of belongings behind her wherever she went—one reason why she put up with his own messiness, he supposed.

“Aren’t you going to Tokyo station?” asked Mieko.

“What for?” he replied, and then remembered the key he’d been given the previous night. “Oh, yes. I suppose I’d better find out what it’s all about. I’ll do it when I find a place to stop in the report I’m meant to be writing. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour or so to go there and back. And I can buy a spare hard disk while I’m there.”

He carried his third cup of coffee of the morning to his office, and started on his report for a major investment bank (not the one where Vishal worked), who had the idea that they might save some money by outsourcing some of their information technology to India, so that all their Tokyo databases would be managed from Bangalore. Sharpe’s job was to analyse the possible risks and downsides of this approach, as seen from the Tokyo end.

As it happened, Sharpe thought this proposal was one of the silliest ideas he’d heard in a long time, but he was finding it difficult to put his thoughts into diplomatic language for the report, so after an hour or so, he put on his jacket and walked to the station to catch the train for Tokyo. On the way there he passed a small builder’s yard, and made a mental note to call in there on the way back to get the broken window fixed.

The journey to Tokyo station was quite long, and involved two changes. He spent the time on the train idly reliving last night’s adventures, from the time he’d rushed out of the house to rescue Mieko, to the time when they’d fallen asleep contentedly in each other’s arms. On balance he decided that he rather liked Katsuyama’s father-in-law. At least he seemed to say what he meant, unlike Major Barclay, for one.

-o-

O
n arrival at the vast sprawling complex of Tokyo station, home to any number of Japan Railways and subway lines, he wondered where to try first. The Yaesu side of the station was the busiest side of the station, so he decided to try his luck there first. Pushing his way through the crowds of middle-aged ladies, all of whom seemed to be determined to block his way by moving in front of him before stopping dead in their tracks and standing rooted to the spot, Sharpe entered the underground area near the Gin-no-Suzu meeting place, where many of the coin lockers were to be found. A look at one bank of coin lockers there showed that they were of a new electronic keyless type where his key would obviously be useless. The next bank had numbers which were completely wrong, and the key tags were the wrong colour. By the time he’d checked the tenth bank of coin lockers around the meeting area, he was beginning to get more than a little discouraged. He guessed that the lockers at platform level would be of the same type, but felt he had to check them, all the same. A trudge up the stairs confirmed this.

His next stop was the other side of the station—the Marunouchi side. Remembering a factoid he had heard once, that more people use Tokyo station every day than live in New Zealand, he fought his way to the other side against the flow of human traffic with some difficulty, passing a couple of other banks of lockers in the underground passage, neither of which seemed to offer anything useful. Nothing there which looked promising. The coin lockers had keys, but one set had a completely different set of numbers, and the other set seemed to use a completely different shape and size of key to the one in his pocket.

Time for the subway lines. He couldn’t find the coin lockers at the Marunouchi line for some time, as the area was under construction, but emerging from that area, he spotted a small isolated group of lockers opposite, in an area with relatively little traffic, and somewhat off the beaten track. He saw that the top row contained locker 7415, that there was no key in it, and his key fitted. He swung open the door to disclose a large bag with the name of an electronics retail chain on it, drew out the bag and peeked inside. His first thought was that Al Kowalski wasn’t going to be burgling any houses in the near future. His next was that he had to find a place to be sick very soon, preferably out of the way, where he would not draw any attention to himself and the locker with the bag and its ghastly contents.

He stuffed the bag back where it had come from and re-locked the locker quickly, pushing in three 100-yen coins to do so, trusting that no-one had seen him. He walked fast, almost running, following the signs for the toilets and dashed inside.

Thanking God that at least one cubicle was empty, his stomach heaved, and what seemed like the whole of last week’s meals erupted to fill the porcelain. Flushing the mess away, he wiped his chin with toilet paper, and staggered out to the basins where he splashed cold water over his face. He drew a few curious looks, but not that many—Japanese seem less shy about exhibiting the contents of their stomachs before the world than the British, but usually late at night. Mid-morning was a slightly unusual time for public vomiting.