The Ends of the Earth (31 page)

I am no longer young, though I am younger than you. We will need others to help us. To hire them we will need money. I have some but not enough. That is why I have turned to you, Sir Henry. That is why I am sending you this letter.

We must save the person who has loved us both: your Matilda, my Tiddy. She is not dead, Sir Henry. She did not die of complications following childbirth. Tomura did not kill her. He imprisoned her, in Kawajuki Castle. There she has remained, held captive by him, all these years that number twenty-six. More than a quarter of a century. Nearly half her life. She has been his prisoner all that time.

The castle is said to be impregnable. Tomura seldom goes there, but he keeps it heavily guarded. Some say he hoards treasure there – gold and diamonds to protect him if his other sources of wealth fail. But I know what is really being guarded.

There is a secret way in, a tunnel constructed when the castle was built, but long forgotten. Its location is known to a man who once worked for Tomura. Sickened by what he was required to do, he left and became a monk. He has promised to show me where the entrance to the tunnel is. A way in can be a way out. It is our best chance.

There is a set of apartments within the castle, he told me, cut off from the other rooms, inaccessible unless you know how to reach them. They are protected by a series of traps. No one goes there without Tomura’s knowledge and permission. It is called by those who work at the castle
Uchi-gawa
– the Inside. It must be where Tiddy is held.

There is a woman in Keijo who knows how to pass through the traps. It is said she is descended from the man who designed them. It is also said she is no friend of Tomura. I will leave for Keijo tomorrow in the hope of persuading her to tell me how it can be done.

I hope to find a message from you waiting for me when I return, Sir Henry. Cable me at the Merchant Marine Officers’ Club, Yokohama. It will not be easy for you to travel to Japan in the current international situation. But the war cannot stand in our way. We must rescue her. You will know that, I think. You will feel it. And you will come, I trust.

We are her only hope, though she cannot know it. She must believe we have abandoned her, or suppose her dead, or are dead ourselves.

Do not let her die his prisoner, Sir Henry.

Help me save her.

J. F.

IT WAS A
warm high summer’s afternoon at Gresscombe Place. Winifred, Lady Maxted, had used the heat as an excuse to retire to her room after luncheon. A reappearance for tea on the lawn would be hard to avoid without arousing suspicion and she was therefore reconciled to it. The return from school of her grandson, Giles, was no incentive, in view of the bullying temperament he seemed to be developing. She could only hope the advanced state of Lydia’s pregnancy would have so exhausted her that she would not question Winifred about the telegram she had received that morning – the second within two days.

Winifred was still carrying the telegram, folded away in the small pocket of her dress. She could not decide whether to destroy it or conceal it somewhere. She favoured the former, although she did not delude herself that such action would spare her the eventual need to explain to Ashley – and to Lydia – that James was not her natural son.

James knew already, of course. It was strange to think of him, so distant from her in so many ways, reflecting on his long-delayed discovery of the truth. He might actually have a better opinion of her as a result, now he knew for certain Brigham was not his father. What concerned her most, however, was how he would respond. He would not let Matilda, the mother he had never known, go unavenged. Of that Winifred was quite certain.

It was not obvious from Hodgson’s telegram that he had done what she had authorized him to do. YOUR SON NOW IN FULL POSSESSION OF FACTS. So the message ran. Perhaps James had uncovered the facts himself and merely gone to Hodgson for confirmation. He was such a determined boy that anything was possible.

At twenty-eight, he was hardly a boy any more, of course, though she always thought of him as such. Winifred smiled at the irony that she loved him more dearly than Ashley, the son she had actually borne. They were very different men. And James was the better one by far. It was obvious. It was undeniable.

She regretted now her failure to assure James of her love. The suspicions harboured by him about her relationship with Brigham had always come between them. What she did not regret – what she never would – was agreeing to raise him as her own. He had been a credit to her in all those ways Ashley and Lydia viewed so disapprovingly. He had been a son to be proud of. And proud of him she was.

Whatever he did next, he would do it well, even if it led him to his death. She knew that.

‘Take care,’ she murmured, laying a finger on his face in the small photograph of him in RFC uniform that stood on her dressing-table. ‘Take care, my son.’

Appleby was surprised, yet not surprised, to find C waiting for them when he and Veronica Underwood left the cross-Channel steamer at Dover. C knew when they were due to arrive and, as he explained, he wanted to speak to them before they reached headquarters. ‘It’s rather hectic there at present, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

Appleby could imagine. The naming of Lemmer’s spies was a thunderbolt, unanticipated by all but a few. Many men – and a few women – trusted and relied upon by their governments had been exposed as traitors. They were under arrest now, or soon would be, or on the run, or being sought. They were creatures of the night scurrying in search of a hiding place from the glare of day.

C handed Appleby a copy of the list as they stepped into the first-class compartment he had reserved for their use. The blinds were down on the corridor side. The guard had been spoken to. They would not be disturbed.

‘You’ve done well, Appleby,’ said C. ‘Extraordinarily well. You’ve saved the Service. And a good many lives. I’m very grateful. As would your country be, if they ever knew about this, which they won’t, until you and I, and probably you too, Mrs Underwood, are long dead.’

‘Mrs Underwood has performed admirably throughout, sir,’ Appleby said. ‘I’ve had to ask her to carry out some unpleasant tasks. She’s never complained or shirked them.’

‘Good work, my dear,’ said C. ‘We’ll let you get back to your husband now this is over.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Veronica. ‘I was conscious we had to do what we did. The tragic outcome as far as the Hanckel boy is concerned couldn’t have been averted by any action of Mr Appleby.’

‘I’ll await your full report on that, Appleby,’ said C. ‘There’s no question it’s damnably unfortunate.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ said Appleby.

‘What about this Foreign Office fellow you used – Brigham?’

‘He played his part well, sir. We should acknowledge that. What I asked him to do fell well outside his normal duties.’

‘Very good. Now—’ The train lurched into motion. As it cleared the canopy of the station, sunlight flooded into the compartment. Shakespeare Cliff was a dazzling wall of white. Appleby lowered the blind to shade their eyes. ‘First things first,’ C continued. ‘Word from our consulate in Geneva. The boy found drowned at Morges has been officially identified as Eugen Hanckel, aged fifteen. Also, the lawyer Dulière and his secretary were found shot dead at his office in Ouchy, Lausanne, last night.’

Appleby gave a fatalistic nod. ‘Killed by one of Lemmer’s operatives, obviously. My money would be on Meadows.’

‘Mine too,’ said C. ‘The upshot is that Lemmer probably knows by now his son’s dead.’

‘I’ve advised Max to leave Japan as soon as possible.’

‘And will he?’

‘I doubt it. He has personal matters to settle with Count Tomura.’

‘Then we can do nothing for him. Lemmer has been defeated and we’d all have wished to settle for that. But the death of his son will have made matters personal for him as well. He’ll surely pursue Max.’

‘Undoubtedly, sir.’

‘We must hope you trained him well in the short time you had at your disposal.’

‘We must, sir, yes.’

‘As for your activities in Evian-les-Bains, I anticipate the French authorities will drop all inquiries once we’ve supplied the
Deuxième Bureau
with the names on that list. As for the Swiss, they’ll huff and puff if they discover our involvement, but huffing and puffing needn’t concern us. Talking of which, please smoke if you wish.’

With every appearance of relief, Appleby lit his pipe.

‘Now,’ C proceeded, ‘I take it there are no means by which Lemmer can establish that Mrs Underwood, or indeed Brigham, assisted you during this mission, Appleby?’

‘Definitely not, sir.’

‘But he will know you personally organized and carried it out?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then you must realize he’s likely to seek revenge on you too. To expose his spies is one thing. To kill his son …’

‘There’s nothing I can do to stop him coming after me,’ said Appleby, puffing philosophically on his pipe.

‘You could make yourself hard to find.’

‘I’m too old for that game, sir. I’d rather face him, if I have to.’

‘You’re thinking Max may help you out there?’

‘I can’t alter what’s happened. Or what will happen in Japan. I’d prefer to concentrate on doing useful work in London while we … await events.’

‘Well, there’s plenty of useful work to be done, no question about it. A lot of cleaning of stables is going to be needed in the weeks and months ahead. Not just by us. Other departments. Other countries. The French; the Americans; the Italians: they’ll all be seeking your advice as the man who revealed how deeply Lemmer had penetrated their defences. There are bound to be doubts about the terms of the peace treaty now we know some of those who framed them were on Lemmer’s payroll. Though since the treaty was hardly soft on the Germans, that renders his strategy all the more difficult to divine.’

‘I think we can say for certain what his strategy was in Japan, sir.’

‘Yes. And we’ve scotched it. Thanks to you.’

‘And Max.’

‘I haven’t forgotten him, Appleby.’ C looked thoughtful. ‘I never shall. Such men … shine brightly.’

Rousing himself almost physically from this brief descent into soulfulness, C smiled across at Veronica. ‘I wonder if you’d mind stepping out of the compartment for a while, Mrs Underwood. Appleby and I have matters to discuss which someone about to leave the Service needn’t be troubled with.’

Veronica smiled back at him, amused by the gentleness of her dismissal. ‘Certainly, sir,’ she said.

As the door of the compartment slid shut behind Veronica Underwood on the Dover to London train, the door of another compartment slid open on another train six thousand miles away.

Nadia Bukayeva stepped into Fritz Lemmer’s berth on the Tokyo to Kyoto sleeper and closed the door quietly behind her. The bed had not yet been made up and Lemmer’s expression, as he looked up from his seat, did not suggest sleep was something he had much use for. His eyes blazed with a fierce energy. His mouth was set in a determined line.

‘Is there anything you need?’ Nadia asked.

‘Nothing you can supply,’ he replied, with no implication of rebuke.

‘What are you reading?’

‘This?’ He raised the book he was holding in his left hand, his forefinger marking his place. ‘Clausewitz. He clears my mind.’

‘Can I ask—’

‘What we are to do now my network has been exposed? Now C has the contents of the Grey File before him? Now I am defeated?’

‘You are not defeated.’

‘I am, Nadia Mikhailovna. Oh yes. I am defeated.’ He gestured for her to sit down opposite him. ‘But not destroyed. I should have foreseen what Anna would be prepared to do for her son. I should have realized her love of him would outweigh her loyalty to me. When she learnt he was dead, I knew what she would do. I did not try to stop her. She was too weak to live. I am too strong to die. I will not be stopped by this. I will build another network. I will take back what I have lost. You ask yourself: how? Stand by me and you will see. I tried to recruit Appleby, you know. Shortly after his son was killed in the war. I thought the loss would make him vulnerable. I was wrong. It made him stronger. My loss will make me stronger too.’ He nodded to her in emphasis. ‘It already has.’

MAX ALREADY KNEW
Laskaris was a cautious man, so perhaps the location of their next rendezvous should not have surprised him: the roof garden of the Mitsukoshi department store, Tokyo’s answer to Harrods, a little before noon, when the shade of the artfully rigged arbours had drawn shoppers from the floors below to sip tea and nibble bean-paste confections while gazing out across the roofs of Nihombashi.

Laskaris was puffing at one of his ubiquitous cigars when Max joined him by the parapet, high above the traffic of the city, overlooked only by the limply hanging flag of the store.

‘You mean to rescue her,’ said Laskaris, running a keen-eyed glance over Max. ‘I see it in your face.’

‘You can’t have imagined I’d do anything else.’

‘Some might, in view of the impossibility of the task and the fact that you have no memory of her.’

‘She’s my mother. And I don’t believe the task is impossible.’

‘No? Kawajuki-jo is a well-guarded fortress. According to Jack Farngold, his sister is confined within an inaccessible inner portion of that fortress. The men you brought here to help you are either dead or under arrest, pending deportation. Your chances of success are close to zero.’ Laskaris smiled. ‘I take no pleasure in saying this. It is the simple truth.’

‘Why did you give me the letter, then?’

‘Because you were entitled to read it, as the son of the man it was sent to.’

‘You said you could tell me something about the Dragonfly.’

‘I can. But it will not help you, if all you have to offer is foolhardiness.’

‘It isn’t all. You’re right, of course. The odds against pulling this off are formidable. But it can be done. If you let le Singe help me.’