The Mystery of Yamashita's Map (9 page)

‘We lost them,’ he said, but neither Lisa nor the professor was listening. They still chatted about maps and books and strange soldiers called Amichi whose family suffered from a curse that followed them about like a blue Nissan.
 

Chapter Four

Lisa staggered over to where the professor sat, where he always sat. She dumped the armful of books down on the table and slumped on the seat next to him. ‘These are all the army registers since 1930. Every name of every soldier enlisted during the period 1930 to 1945. There must be thousands of names here, uncle.’ ‘Hundreds of thousands, I’d say.’ Well, how are we going to get through them all?’ ‘Well,’ the professor said, ‘We know he was a soldier during the war, so we can discount every entry after, say, 1943. It is unlikely that a raw recruit would reach the rank of captain in so short a space of time. We can also discount anyone who joined before about 1935 – they would be far too old to be our Amichi. So there’s an eight-year space. However, we can also discount anyone joining from the very poor districts. You have seen Amichi’s handwriting. It was the script of an educated man, which would cut, say twenty per cent of the names. Also we know that he survived the war, so we could first check the register of war deaths; this would leave only about fifteen per cent of the names to check.’ The professor leaned back with his legs on the table and his arms behind his head. ‘Shouldn’t take you more than an hour or so, Lisa. If you need me, just ask.’ Lisa gave a laugh of incredulity and opened the first book.

The smoke rose about him but the wind had stopped completely. He was in the darkness again but this time he could hear movement. Who’s there?’ he asked, but heard no reply. He became agitated. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the darkness – to see the light again, to breathe the fresh air of the outside, to be free of this oppression. He grasped at his throat and gasped for air but the harder he tried the more difficult it became; the walls seemed as if they were closing in. Once again he heard the sound of movement and once again he cried out in the darkness. ‘Who’s there? Who is it? Speak, please!’ He felt a hand on his shoulder and was suddenly calm and quiet. The hand felt warm and reassuring, like a blanket thrown about him. He fell to his knees and still it caressed his shoulder and made him feel that he was not alone. The professor raised his own hand and placed it on top of the other. He knew he was safe now, he knew this presence would not let harm come to him; he felt as if everything had fallen into place suddenly, as if the world had become still. He looked up and saw the smiling face of a man he did not recognise. It was a harsh face, a face that had seen things, evil things, but a face that had come through. The skin that was stretched tight over the cheekbones was stained with mud and blood but it radiated a beauty that was easily discernible. The kind eyes looked down on the professor and seemed to absolve him of any sin he had committed, to take away any pain. For the briefest of moments the professor thought that he was witnessing a god.

The man lifted the professor up off of his knees and onto his feet. He took him by the hand and led him down the tunnel. As they walked, a strange eerie glow lit the tunnel and the professor was able to see the marks in the earth that had been left by the diggers. Here and there were finger marks scratched into the tunnel’s surface – a testament to the last few desperate hours spent here. He followed his guide deeper and deeper into the tunnel; the air became thicker and thicker but somehow it did not worry the professor any more. He held onto the hand of the man in front who walked with a sure-footed step and was happy to be led wherever he wished. Eventually they came to a door and they both stood for a moment.

Lisa tried to wake the professor to tell him that she had found three Amichis but no matter how hard she tried he would not budge and his snoring, quite frankly, was becoming a little embarrassing in the University library. His face had a kind of calm written upon it that she had never seen before so she decided to leave him and go to the refectory for a coffee instead. Sitting at a table drinking it, she idly glanced through the copy of the army register. Without quite being aware of what was happening, her attention was drawn to the street below and to the form of a running man. For the second time that week she watched a person weave in and out of the crowds below, desperate to get away; this time, however, they did not enter the University doors but kept on going, towards the docks. Looking along the street, Lisa saw three others chasing him. They were all wearing black suits and were finding it difficult to keep up. To her surprise one of the men pulled out a gun and fired it at the fleeing man, who ducked into a side street, the bullet missing him and hitting the side of a building instead, sending a shower of brick dust into the air. There were screams from the street. In the alley, Joe breathed heavily. The day had started badly and had got worse. He had met guys like this before but they had always given up by this point. It was a strange sensation to have to watch your back as soon as you woke up; an almost impossibility to everyone but a contortionist.

He peered out of the alley and looked around him. He couldn’t see them anymore, only the hole in the building that they had left. His glance took his eye up to the window of the university where the eyes of a pretty girl met his; they both looked away in embarrassment. He quickly looked around him and darted off down the street. Swinging on the awning that stood outside, he ducked into the Club One Hundred, a place where he had spent many an afternoon in recent weeks staring into the bottom of a glass and trying to block out the sound of the awful music they played constantly through large speakers on the wall. Of course, the music was made somewhat more bearable by the presence of the Club One Hundred dancers, who would give you anything you wanted for the price of the name of the club. Inside it was as dark as it always was. That was why Joe liked it there. It was too dark to see anyone’s face clearly so you blended into the background without risking too much. He strode up to the bar and ordered a drink. The barman turned slowly. ‘You back again?’ he said in a clipped tone. Joe looked sheepish. The last time he had been in the Club One Hundred he had been rather the worse for wear and had started a fight over the price of a book of matches; looking back he could see their point, it was only ten cents but at the time it had seemed extortionate. He gave a wry smile to the waiter. ‘Yeah . . . erm . . . you got that drink?’

‘You want a match?’

Joe laughed and the memory of the beating he took from the doormen came back to him in a flash. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I bought a lighter.’

‘Very wise,’ the barman said. ‘Very wise.’

The music suddenly changed and the lights went even dimmer than usual. Joe turned around and propped himself up on the bar. Beside him the barman placed a small grubby glass with thick brown liquid in it. Joe took a swig and felt it hit him like a Hong Kong doorman – fast and low.

On the stage, the curtains opened to reveal a woman in a pair of boots and very little else. As Joe watched she writhed on the stage and turned and shook like a strange exotic play of light. Her body sparkled in the dim glow of the club and shot waves of energy to anyone who had come in out of the afternoon sunshine. Joe stared, his eyes desperate to take in everything they could. He reached into his pocket and felt the last of the grand that he had been paid. It must have been at least five hundred dollars.

He ordered another drink and sat on a bar stool to take in more of the girl on stage. Her eyes were half closed in a languid display of orgasmic tension. She would twirl around the pole in the centre of the stage, glide up it, licking its shiny surface and letting the coldness touch her skin. Joe brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead and let another run down his spine. The girl’s set was coming to an end. She gave a final twist to the pole and fell, clinging to it, to the ground.

The music stopped and she sat, head bowed, staring at the stage. The club was silent. Slowly, from the back Joe began to applaud. Only his hands could be heard clapping in the silence of the club. He stopped. Their eyes met for a moment, and the girl got up, thanked her audience and left.

Joe turned round to the barman and lit a cigarette. ‘Who’s she? Haven’t seen her before,’ he said.

‘She’s new, straight in from the mainland. She’s cute, yeah?’

‘Yeah, she’s cute.’

‘You want me to have a word with her?’ the barman asked.

Joe thought for a moment. He felt the money in his pocket again. It’s moments like these, he thought, that you need to make the right decision. It’s moments like these that need a cool head and a wise brain. I need to weigh up the pros and cons here, take each decision as it comes. I only have this five hundred dollars left, when that’s gone there’s nothing. I have no plane and no job. I have some guys after me who want my blood and the police aren’t too happy to see my face either. He thought hard and long.

‘Yeah, sure. Why not?’ he said and ordered another drink.

She had the eyes of a cat and the long black hair of a horse’s mane. She moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew what she was doing to those around her. Joe watched as she crossed the club, her heels making a slight clicking on the dance floor that was quite audible above the sound of the music. Her dress was open at the front and allowed him to glimpse the pure honeyed tone of her chest. Joe swallowed a mouthful of the cheap bourbon and the two things together – the booze and the girl – made him choke.

She eased her way onto the seat next to him.

‘You want a drink?’ Joe asked.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Whatever you’re having.’

Joe hesitated. There was something about a woman who could take strong liquor; perhaps it was his innate sexism but somehow it made him nervous. He shrugged it off and ordered.

‘You from China?’ he asked and she nodded. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Gem.’

This took Joe by surprise. He had expected a Chinese name, though he did not push. He guessed it was her stage name.

‘Nice, like a diamond,’ he said feebly and the girl made an attempt at laughter. Joe gave her the drink and she looked at him with those eyes of hers. Quietly she leaned forward to whisper in Joe’s ear.

‘You want to go somewhere else?’ she asked and for the second time that day the situation and the drink got the better of Joe and he coughed in his glass.

‘Sure,’ he said, composing himself. ‘Sure.’

‘I’ll just get my things.’

Joe paid up and waited for the girl to come out from her dressing room. He knew a small place where they could go for only a few dollars. Hong Kong was full of places where you could go for an hour or so and no one would ask you what you were doing or, more importantly, who you were doing it to.

Outside the day was in full swing. As they came blinking into the sunlight like two moles exiting their burrow they crossed over the road and entered the front door of a small hotel that catered for the patrons of the Club One Hundred on numerous occasions.

The guy behind the counter found them a room and they ascended the stairs. Inside it looked as though the previous occupants had only just left and had had a fine old time. There were beer bottles and cigarette stubs on the bed, condoms in the toilet, the TV had been stolen leaving only a bare wire and an aerial, and the smell of sweat and bodies permeated the air. Joe gingerly stepped over the detritus of someone else’s good time and sat on the bed. Gem sat beside him. He held her face and they kissed for what seemed like minutes. Joe felt as though he had found the calm in the eye of the hurricane with this quite beautiful girl he hardly even knew. As he felt her hair and her body his hands rejoiced that, finally, they had something worthy to touch; her breasts were firm and rounded, her thighs were small and smooth. Joe lay back and pulled her beside him, feeling the light breath from her mouth flick over his face.

The breeze gently roughed his hair and everything was quiet. The hands upon his shoulders were gentle but heavy. For some reason he looked up and saw the face of a man staring at him; the eyes were gentle and still and seemed to fill Joe with a calm and an awe that left him breathless. All about him the tunnel was becoming lighter, things were becoming clearer. It was obvious now that whoever this man was he was leading Joe to some other place, some place that was dangerous but that was vital and important. Joe closed his eyes and let the man lead wherever he needed to. His feet scraped and tore at the earth, his legs moved through their own volition.

Joe awoke and saw that the sun was just going down. It took him a while to realise where he was and what had happened. He looked around him. The girl was gone and the mess in the room remained. He stroked his head and wondered what had been in the drink he’d been served. He felt as though he had been sat on by a rhino. Suddenly he thought and checked his pockets. The five hundred was gone. Meanwhile in the library Lisa looked up from the book with triumph. ‘Captain Amichi,’ she said. ‘Served under a General Takimoto in the Philippines. Had an honourable career until his disappearance just before the war ended.’ The professor opened an eye and stared at the ceiling. He placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. ‘What’s that book?’ ‘A history of the Japanese military. He barely gets a mention and then only because of his disappearance.’