The Ends of the Earth (7 page)

Listening to Chiyoko, Malory had finally understood how Tomura knew of her years in Japan. The realization that he had been aware of her existence for some time had dismayed her during their encounter in Paris. Now all had become clear.

‘It was not you who broke Junzaburo, Miss Hollander. He was sad after you left. Oh, he was very sad. Yakuza had no use for him. He had not much use for himself. Our uncle is a servant at Count Tomura’s house in Tokyo. He arranged for Junzaburo to work for the Count. Not in Tokyo. In Chosen. In Taiwan. And other places. I did not know what the work was. Later, when he came back to us, wounded in his mind, he told me. Count Tomura sent him to assist a man called Muraoka Iheiji. Muraoka ran a gang that kidnapped Japanese women, in Kyushu and Shikoku mostly, and sold them in China, for men to use. You understand, Miss Hollander? You understand what this was?’

‘Forced prostitution.’

‘Yes. That was the work Count Tomura gave my brother. I could not believe it. It was horrible. And I was worried Tsuyoshi, the man I was to marry, would reject me if he knew. He was a soldier. Lieutenant Misora Tsuyoshi. I loved him very much. In his uniform, he looked so fine.’

‘Did he find out what Junzaburo had been doing?’

‘No. But I lost him anyway. He was killed in the war against Russia. Battle of Mukden, March first, 1905. That was when he died. That was when I knew I would never leave this place.’

‘And Junzaburo?’

‘He is a monk, Miss Hollander. At a temple in Nara. I have not seen him for more than ten years. I pray he is happy.’

‘So do I.’

‘You were right to leave. I know that now. I think Junzaburo knows it also. You should not have returned.’

‘I had to.’

‘To help your friends – Mr Morahan, Mr Ten … Tooen?’

‘Twentyman. Sam Twentyman. And Schools Morahan. I can’t let them die like Max.’

‘Perhaps you cannot stop them dying.’

‘I have to try. But you don’t have to.’

‘Oh yes. Your enemy is Count Tomura Iwazu.’ A steely gleam appeared in Chiyoko’s gaze. ‘Therefore I also have to try.’

Malory took courage from Chiyoko’s resolve as she lay listening to the tenements stir slowly around her. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the awfulness of the situation. The little she could do to help Schools, Sam and the others she would do. As for herself, she was not yet ready to admit defeat, however starkly it stared her in the face. It was a new day. And she would not shrink from whatever it held.

SAM HEADED WEST
as he walked away from the hospital, steering by the swollen red sun rising over the city. He made eye-contact with no one and moved as fast as his throbbing head and general weakness allowed. Tokyo was utterly alien to him in its sights and sounds and smells and he did not doubt he looked utterly alien to it. All he could do was put one foot in front of the other and hope he was going in the right direction.

Confirmation that he was came with the welcome appearance ahead of the elevated railway line. He began to suspect he was not far from Sakashita’s shop. He had no wish to return there, of course, but the railway line would take him to Tokyo Central, where he could at least lose himself in the crowd. He followed the narrow street beside it, past mostly shuttered businesses trading in the arches beneath the line.

One restaurant was open, serving what Sam assumed was breakfast. Hunger drove him to mime his need for food until something edible – a bowl of rice and beans – was supplied in exchange for a handful of coins. Tea of a kind he would have discarded as dishwater in England accompanied the food. He gulped it all down gratefully, then pressed on.

Central Station was still relatively quiet. He bought an English language newspaper – the
Japan Mail
– and hid behind it in a café where he ordered coffee on the basis it was a safer bet than the local tea.

There was nothing in the paper about the arrest of American would-be assassins the previous night, nor about the hunt for one of them who had eluded the police. Sam derived some relief from that, but another problem was already weighing on his mind. Count Tomura knew Yamanaka had been in cahoots with them in Paris. He might easily deduce Sam would turn to Yamanaka’s brother for help in Tokyo. The Home Ministry might therefore be under watch. He could be arrested as he entered.

A taxi would safely take him as far as the door, of course. But he began to wonder if he could disguise himself in some way. The hat he had stolen from his fellow patient at the hospital had a conical, oriental look about it. What he needed was the sort of loose, enveloping garment he saw many men walking around in, although he drew the line at the wooden pattens they clunked along on.

Spying a clothing emporium among the several shops inside the station, he waited for it to open at nine o’clock, then hurried in and pointed out the sort of thing he wanted, generously sized. It was, he gleaned, called a
yukata
. To the assistant’s obvious horror, he put it on over his suit after paying and went straight out.

He loitered in the waiting room for another hour, where he pretended to read a Japanese language newspaper someone had left behind, although he soon realized he was spoiling the effect by turning the pages in the wrong direction. He abandoned the pretence and concentrated on smoking until ten o’clock came and went, giving him some confidence that Yamanaka the civil servant would have arrived at work if he was ever going to. Then he set off.

The taxi ride to the Home Ministry was short and stressful. The driver understood not a word of English, so could not grasp where Sam wished to be taken. Eventually, they settled for Sam sitting in the front with him and pointing the way.

The driver was clearly surprised when they reached their destination so quickly. Sam handed him more than enough to cover the fare, jumped out and rushed straight into the Home Ministry building.

He slowed to a seemlier pace in the high, hushed foyer. A reception desk stood ahead of him, with an impassive, frog-like man behind it, dressed in a morning suit. Sam held out little hope he spoke English either.

‘I’m here to see Yamanaka Fumiko,’ he ventured, congratulating himself on remembering the correct order of the names in Japanese usage.

But the congratulation was premature. The man behind the counter frowned at this uncomprehendingly.

‘Yamanaka Fumiko. It’s very important.’

The frown deepened. ‘
Yamanaka-san?
’

‘Yes. Yamanaka-san.’

‘
Nanji no goyoyaku desuka?
’

‘Just tell him I’m here. My name’s Twentyman. I know his brother Yamanaka Eisaku. This is urgent. You understand?
Urgent
.’

‘Excuse me,’ came a voice from behind Sam.

Turning, he found himself looking down at a small, bright-eyed woman with shorter hair than he had seen on most Japanese women. She was wearing a flower-patterned kimono and a wispy scarf. Her face was kind and soft-featured. Bewilderingly, she was looking at him with apparent recognition – and surprise.

‘You are Sam Twentyman?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, you are free.’

‘I … Who are you?’

‘Shimizu Chiyoko. I have been waiting to speak to Yamanaka-san. Shall I explain to this gentleman for you?’

‘Well, thanks, yes. I suppose so. But …’

She rolled off a statement that appeared to satisfy the frog-like man entirely. He plucked the receiver from the telephone beside him and dialled a number.

‘I am here on behalf of Miss Hollander, Mr Twentyman,’ Chiyoko said in an undertone, stepping closer to Sam to ensure he could hear her.

‘Malory?’

‘She also is free.’

‘How?’

‘Later I will explain.’

The man was speaking on the telephone now. Sam heard his name mentioned as ‘
Two-enty-man
’. Then there was a pause.

‘What is it you are wearing, Mr Twentyman?’

‘Disguise.’

‘Is that a bandage under your hat?’

‘Yes. But it’s just a scratch.’

‘You are very pale.’

‘That’ll be the lack of beer.’

‘You are trying to be funny?’ She appeared perplexed by the notion.

‘Not hard enough, obv—’

The man with the telephone interrupted with a stream of Japanese, to which Chiyoko responded. ‘Mr Yamanaka’s secretary will come down,’ she explained. ‘Your arrival has made a difference, I think. I expected to wait much longer.’

‘Pardon me, miss, but I really don’t understand who you are or what you have to do with Malory.’

‘I am a friend. And you both need a friend, yes?’

‘You can say that again.’

‘So, be glad I am here.’

YAMANAKA FUMIKO WAS
a pudgier, older, balder version of his brother, though equipped with an uncannily similar pair of circular steel-framed glasses. He received his visitors in a dark, heavy-marbled office, wearing a morning suit, complete with carnation buttonhole. Apart from the fact that the photograph over the mantelpiece was of the Taisho Emperor rather than King George, Sam might have suspected they were in a ministerial building in London rather than Tokyo.

But Tokyo it was. And amid his troubles Sam now had two unlikely, though as yet untested, allies. Shimizu Chiyoko, who had so far told Sam only that she was a friend and former pupil of Malory’s; and Yamanaka Fumiko, who looked an improbable saviour to say the least.

Early signs were encouraging, however. He thanked Sam profusely for helping his brother emerge unscathed from their clash with Count Tomura in Paris and spoke fondly of the late lamented Commissioner Kuroda. ‘I do not believe he drowned accidentally, Mr Twentyman. We live in dark times.’

Sam’s account of the events of the previous night, supplemented by Chiyoko’s explanation of how Malory had escaped arrest, hardly made the times sound any less dark. Mention of the Kempeitai in particular threw Yamanaka into head-shaking despondency.

‘If Kempeitai have your friends, they will be forced to confess to whatever crimes they are accused of. Kempeitai are …
yabin-jin
.’

‘Savages,’ said Chiyoko for Sam’s benefit.

Yamanaka nodded. ‘Yes, savages. They get what they want. Always.’

‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ Sam pleaded.

‘For you and Miss Hollander, perhaps. I have an idea.’ Yamanaka pressed a buzzer on his desk. ‘I saw nothing in
Asahi Shimbun
this morning concerning the arrests you describe, Mr Twentyman, but—’ His secretary looked round the door. There was an exchange between them in Japanese. The secretary withdrew.

‘I’ve told you the truth, sir,’ said Sam.

‘Please.’ Yamanaka looked appalled at the implication that he doubted Sam’s word. ‘I believe you. Eisaku has vouched for you. Also for Mr Morahan and Miss Hollander. And the gratitude Eisaku owes you I owe you also.’

Chiyoko asked something then in Japanese, at considerable length, and with head-bowed deference. As far as Sam could judge, the issue was a delicate one. Yamanaka gave his reply after much thought.

‘Shimizu-san wishes to know the office I hold here, Mr Twentyman. She wonders if I can use my position to help you.’ Yamanaka smiled, apparently amused by the notion. ‘
Osaraku, osaraku.
How would you say that in English, Shimizu-san?’

‘Probably. Possibly. Perhaps.’

‘Which is it?’ asked Sam.

‘We will find out,’ said Yamanaka. ‘The office I hold is less important than the people I know.’

‘Do you know Count Tomura?’

‘I have met him.’

‘What d’you think of him?’

‘A bad choice of enemy.’

‘It wasn’t exactly a choice.’

The secretary returned. There were further exchanges in Japanese. He withdrew again.

‘The police confirm the arrests last night,’ Yamanaka announced. ‘One in Tokyo, two in Yokohama. Two fugitives are sought, one male, one female. All are accused of involvement in the murder of an Englishman named Farngold. The three men arrested were taken by the Kempeitai because they believe the murder was part of a plot against the government.’

‘There’s no plot against the government, sir,’ said Sam. ‘I swear it on my mother’s life.’

‘Not necessary, Mr Twentyman. Once again I believe you. But that does not help you and your friends. What will help is action.’

‘You’ve got something in mind?’

‘I have a question in mind. When did you first see an aeroplane fly?’

‘Me? Why?’

‘Because I would like to know.’

‘Well, that would have been … Hold on.’ Sam snapped his fingers. ‘I told your brother this, when we were trapped in Schools’ apartment in Paris. Thought it’d take our minds off the stew we were in.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘Summer of ’09 it was. Walthamstow Marshes. Aviator by the name of Vernon-Roe. There was a big crowd.’

‘Eisaku did not remember his name. But date and place, yes, those are as he said in his letter.’

‘You’re checking up on me, Mr Yamanaka?’

‘Eisaku said I should. Though I do not think anyone could pretend to be you successfully, Mr Twentyman.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

The telephone rang at that moment, sparing Yamanaka the need to reply. He picked up the receiver and spoke for some minutes to someone he seemed to know well. There were many uses of
hai
and
arigato gozaimasu
–
yes
and
thank you
. Eventually the call ended.

‘What—’ Sam began. But Yamanaka cut him off with a gesture. He seized a sheet of notepaper, dipped his pen in the inkwell and began writing at a furious pace.

‘The man he spoke to is an old friend,’ whispered Chiyoko. ‘He has asked him if he will allow you and Miss Hollander to stay in his house for a few days. The old friend agreed.’

‘What’s he writing now, then?’

‘A letter for Shimizu-san to take to Commissioner Fujisaki at Police Headquarters,’ said Yamanaka, without looking up. ‘He was trained by Commissioner Kuroda, so he will help us as much as he can, I think.’

Yamanaka finished the letter, then wrote another, briefer note, clipped the two together and handed them to Chiyoko. ‘You are willing to do this, Shimizu-san?’