The Ends of the Earth (37 page)

‘Ready?’

Le Singe took a deep draught of air and gazed about him, widening his eyes, as if to accustom them to the level of the light. Then he nodded. And they both got out of the car.

It was a swift march up the bamboo-tunnelled lane to the outer gate of the villa. They climbed over and Max led the way along the footpath he had followed with Malory the day before.

Screened by the trees bounding the property, to the rear of the villa itself, stood the outhouses. The light was still thin, the outlines of buildings and hedges blurry, but the way ahead was readily discernible. After entering the garden, they diverted left, avoiding the lawn, where they might have been glimpsed by an early-rising servant.

They paused twenty yards or so short of the storehouse, beneath some ginkgo trees. All was quiet. Nothing stirred in the villa. The time had come to discover whether the Dragonfly had been as good as her word.

‘The box is in there,’ said Max, pointing. ‘It’s on the third shelf up on the left as you enter. We need to be certain we have the right one.’

Le Singe smiled, as if the matter was simplicity itself. He slipped the piece of paper Laskaris had given him out of his tunic and handed it to Max without even glancing at it. The
kanji
were imprinted on his mind. Max wondered how many times he had actually looked at them. Once? Twice? It did not matter. They were there. There would be no mistake.

‘Let’s go,’ said Max, starting forward.

But le Singe grasped his arm and held him back. He was still smiling. But he was also shaking his head, signalling for Max to stay where he was. He could do this alone. He
wanted
to do this alone.

Max shrugged his consent and le Singe moved away from the trees. Watching him go, Max wondered if his motive was to demonstrate his expertise in advance of their raid on Zangai-jo. It was unnecessary. His expertise was not in doubt. But perhaps he thought Max would be reassured to see it in action.

Just as le Singe reached the door, there was a drift of smoke from the far side of the outhouse. The source of the smoke was out of sight. Max could not have explained why it disturbed him. But, suddenly, he was uneasy.

Le Singe hesitated. He had smelt the smoke as well. But there was not a lot of it. Perhaps there was no cause for alarm. He stretched forward and turned the door handle.

It was not locked. There was a creak as the heavy iron door swung open. Le Singe stepped over the threshold.

In that instant, there were three powerful gunshots in quick succession. Le Singe staggered back. He was hit. He took two faltering steps, then fell.

Max had his gun in his hand and was racing towards the storehouse. It was a trap, he realized too late, intended for him. And le Singe had walked straight into it.

Terada Dentaro appeared in the doorway, holding a short rifle. The barrel was smoking. He looked down at le Singe and frowned. The Arab boy’s grimacing face was not the face he had expected to see. Then he saw Max.

But not soon enough. Max pumped four bullets into his chest. Terada was jolted back against the doorframe. He gave a spluttering groan and tried to raise the rifle. Max shot him through the head then. He slid down, blood smearing the post behind him. And toppled to one side.

Max crouched over le Singe and saw the pool of blood spreading beneath him. His coat and tunic were dark with it. His eyes rolled. He tried to raise his right arm. He seemed to be pointing at something, trying to focus on it.

Max turned and looked up. The object of le Singe’s attention was the figure of a dragon, carved on the ridge of the storehouse roof above the door, copper-green, taloned and fanged, jaws gaping in a silent snarl.

When Max looked back, the light had gone out behind le Singe’s eyes. He could see the dragon no longer.

Cursing himself for his failure to anticipate treachery, Max hurried round to the side of the building. The ashes of a fire were heaped there, fragments of wood still smouldering, smoke rising from them fitfully. An empty wooden chest lay discarded nearby.

Suddenly, what had happened was horribly clear. Terada had burnt the model of the Inside, then lain in wait to kill Max. No doubt he had hoped for a lot in the way of career advancement from Tomura in return for such distinguished service. Whether the Dragonfly was party to what he had done Max did not know.

But he meant to find out.

He ran to the villa and wrenched open one of the doors. Where the Dragonfly might be he could only guess. He strode along passages, flinging doors wide, seeing empty rooms beyond empty rooms, hanging lanterns and calligraphic scrolls stirring in the moving air.

Then he heard a scream. It was from some way off, unconnected, as far as he could tell, to his invasion of the house. It became a high, keening wail. He raced towards it, through the maze of rooms.

Its source was the room in which the Dragonfly evidently slept. Beneath a screen-painting of herons and cherry blossom, she lay stretched across a futon, pink-robed and motionless, her face frozen in the blankness of death. The maid who had served tea the previous afternoon was kneeling beside her, sobbing and howling, unaware of Max’s presence.

An argument; a struggle; strangulation; stifling. How Terada had killed her hardly mattered. They were both dead now.

And so was le Singe.

THE GUILT MAX
felt at le Singe’s death was rooted in knowing he had persuaded Laskaris to let the boy help him. It was only made worse by the fact that he had kept to himself Morahan’s warning that Tomura was heading for Zangai-jo. He should have considered why Tomura had left Tokyo, of course, though even if he had guessed Terada was the reason …

Sam, Malory and Chiyoko were waiting for him at Seifu-so. He told them as plainly as he could what had happened. He saw the shock blanch their faces. It was not supposed to have been like this. His plan had miscarried. And clearly, in their view, little of it remained. But that was not how he saw it. That was not how he saw it at all.

He telephoned Laskaris and broke the news. He heard the old man gasp and stifle a sob. Whatever Seddik Yala had been to Soutine, to Laskaris he was something close to a son. This was a loss he would find hard to bear, all the more so for being unexpected, if not unbelievable.

‘
Mon Dieu
,’ Laskaris groaned. ‘I thought he was immortal.’

An hour later, Laskaris was at Seifu-so, listening face to face to Max’s account of how le Singe had met his death. There was no cigar this time. Laskaris was grey and grave and sombrely spoken.

They stood in the garden, where the crows cawed and the breeze moved dark shadows across the surface of the pond. Many silent moments passed after Max had finished before Laskaris spoke. When he did, his voice was gravelly, his tone leaden.

‘I must go to the police. Seddik needs me more in death than in life. I will have to arrange his burial. I will say he told me he was going to meet Terada Dentaro. I will say I do not know why. I will say nothing about you.’

‘You should ask for Chief Inspector Wada. Fujisaki said he was a good man. He’s probably already been called to the villa.’

Laskaris nodded. ‘Wada. I will remember.’ He looked at Max, his expression tautening. ‘Tomura is responsible for this. I will make him pay.’

‘He’s due at Zangai-jo later today.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘A phone call from Morahan.’

‘When?’

‘Last night.’

‘And yet still you went ahead.’

‘It never occurred to me Terada had contacted him. It was supposed to be just a make-believe burglary.’

‘But once Tomura reached Zangai-jo, your chances of success would be much reduced, even with Seddik and the model of the Inside. When did you intend to inform me of the change in circumstances?’

‘I—’

‘You didn’t, did you? You were not willing to be deflected. And now, Max? With Seddik dead, the model destroyed and Tomura on his way to the castle, will you still not be deflected?’

Max said nothing. No reply he could offer seemed to fit the moment.

‘You will die in there. They will kill you. It is suicide to attempt a rescue with so little – with nothing – in your favour.’

‘It is my duty, Viktor. It’s as simple as that.’

‘
Your
duty? Not Seddik’s, you would agree?’

‘I’m truly sorry. If I’d known what Terada was up to … Seddik would still be alive.’

Laskaris turned away. He took and held a long breath, then slowly released it. He turned back and looked at Max again. ‘You should leave Japan tomorrow, from Kobe, in the vessel I have engaged. The
Ptarmigan
. The captain is a Scot named McFarland.’ He handed Max a sealed letter. ‘This directs McFarland to take instructions from you or Twentyman or Miss Hollander. He will convey you to Shanghai. He will be carrying a cargo of furniture, but he is at your disposal.’

‘Thank you. Sam and Malory will be aboard.’

‘But not you?’

‘Nor you, Viktor. We both have unfinished business here.’

‘I may be risking my life by remaining. You will be throwing yours away.’

‘He looked a broken man, sir,’ said Sam, coming out to meet Max on the verandah after Laskaris had left.

‘He thought le Singe was untouchable. So did I, if it comes to it. I never imagined – neither did Laskaris – that he could be killed by one fool with a gun.’

‘If a bullet’s got your name on it …’

‘We should be leaving.’

‘To go where, sir?’

‘Lake Biwa.’

Sam frowned in obvious dismay. ‘You mean …’

‘I’m not giving up.’

‘But … without le Singe and the model …’

‘After we’ve bought the seaplane and checked it over and fitted the spare fuel tanks, I want you to put Chiyoko on the next train to Tokyo. Then I want you and Malory to travel to Kobe. Stay there overnight. The ship Laskaris has engaged is the
Ptarmigan
, waiting in the harbour. I have a letter authorizing the skipper to take instructions from you or Malory. Go aboard tomorrow morning and tell him to make for Shanghai. We’ll meet there in a week or so. I’ll stand you a drink at the Astor House.’

‘That’s whistling in the wind, sir, and you know it.’

‘I have to do this, Sam. And I’m going to.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No. I’d be worried about you and you’d be worried about me. It wouldn’t work. I’ll go in alone after Junzaburo’s shown me the way. I need your help to fix up the plane and make sure Malory and Chiyoko are safe. Will you do that for me?’

‘’Course I will, but—’

‘Say no more, Sam. This is how it has to be.’ Max gave Sam a look that willed him to understand and accept his decision. ‘And we have work to do. So, let’s get on with it.’

Before they left for Lake Biwa, the argument was repeated, in an only slightly different form, between Max and Malory. But she was wasting her breath.

He dwelt in a place slightly apart from all of them now. He existed where previously only a fighter plane had taken him: the solitude of his own judgement.

‘Isn’t what happened to le Singe a warning to you, Max? Tomura knows you’re coming. You have no idea how the Inside is designed. You’ve lost every advantage you had.’

‘Not every one, Malory. There’s still Junzaburo.’

‘He can get you in. But no one can get you out.’

‘I’m backing myself to do that.’

‘Sam doesn’t want to lose you.
I
don’t want to lose you. Leave with us. Talk to Schools. Devise some other way to rescue your mother.’

‘There is no other way. Le Singe can’t be brought back to life. The model can’t be
un
burned. I have the resources I have. And I’m going to use them.’

IN THE END
, they drove to the boatyard together – Max, Sam, Malory and Chiyoko – prior to going their separate ways.

The yard was on the western shore of Lake Biwa, north of Ohtsu. The proprietor, Mr Muchaku, was a small, wrinkled, taciturn fellow, only moderately susceptible to Chiyoko’s charm. His susceptibility to a thousand yen, however, was never in any doubt. The plane was towed out of its shed, its propellers uncovered and its wings unfolded for Max to inspect.

‘What d’you reckon, sir?’ Sam enquired nervously after Max had looked her over.

‘She’ll do.’

‘Maybe you should ask to try her out.’

‘No. We don’t want to attract the attention of the locals. You passed her fit to fly?’

‘I turned the engine over. She’s sound enough. ’Course, the instructions in the cockpit are in Japanese, but a dial’s a dial when all’s said and done and the controls won’t give you any problems.’

‘What about the extra fuel?’

‘Included in the price. I’ll fix the tanks on as soon as you pay the man.’

Without further ado, Max paid. Muchaku’s mouth curled in a smile. He obviously reckoned he had struck a good deal. He had a brief conversation with Chiyoko, then bustled off to his ramshackle office.

‘He will give you a receipt,’ she explained.

‘It’s good to know I won’t be accused of theft, I suppose,’ said Max.

‘Also he will give you – ah! There is what he will give you.’

Muchaku reappeared, cradling two sets of flying jackets, boots, gloves, helmets and goggles.

‘You’ll be needing those, sir,’ said Sam. ‘However hot it is down here, it’ll be cold up top, specially over the sea.’

‘So it will.’ Almost for the first time, Max considered the practicalities of cladding Matilda Tomura in flying kit, loading her into the plane and taking off. She had been a prisoner for close to thirty years. She might well be frail and feeble, sick in mind as well as body. She might be incapable of even leaving the castle. Then what would he do?

‘Second thoughts, sir?’ asked Sam.

‘None at all,’ Max replied firmly. ‘You’d better see to those fuel tanks.’

While Sam busied himself with the tanks, cack-handedly assisted by one of Muchaku’s employees, with Chiyoko standing by to translate his instructions, Max waited with Malory by the yard’s slipway. Sunlight glistened on the surface of the lake and burnished the peaks that tracked its western shore. The seaplane stirred gently at its mooring.