C flipped open a file on his desk. ‘Otto Krenz. Private secretary to their finance specialist, Theodor Melchior. I agree with Appleby, Max. Krenz is tainted by association with Political.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Max boldly. ‘I don’t intend to hide from Lemmer. He claims he still wants me to work for him. My best chance of getting close to Anna Schmidt is to let him think I’m willing to consider it.’
‘That’ll be a dangerous game,’ said Appleby in a tone suggesting he knew his warning would be in vain.
‘But there’s no other game to play, is there?’
Appleby looked at Max and shook his head. ‘No. But watch out for Nadia Bukayeva. There’s nothing she’s not capable of.’
‘You believe Miss Bukayeva killed Political rather than that he shot himself?’ asked C.
‘I do, sir, yes. And there’s Meadows to worry about as well. He’s on the loose somewhere.’
‘It seems we can give you little in the way of encouragement, Max,’ said C, smiling wanly. ‘Fortunately, you don’t appear to need much.’
‘I’ll give it my best, sir.’
‘We can have you on a nine-fifteen express to Paris,’ said Appleby.
‘That suits me.’
‘You’ll escort him to the station, Appleby?’ asked C.
‘Yes, sir. We’ll go via the Athenaeum so I can retrieve the negatives.’
‘Yes. We must have them. Though without the code . . .’ C cast Max an impenetrable glance. It bestowed no great confidence. But any scepticism he felt was buried deep. ‘I can offer you a hearty breakfast before you go, Max. We have a Scottish cook. Breakfast is really the only meal she has any talent for. Shall we go and have some?’
NORMAL LIFE HAD
resumed in Paris now May Day had passed. The concourse of the Gare St-Lazare was bustling with commuters, some of whom had time to sit at one of the tables outside the station café and peruse newspaper reports of the previous day’s disorders over coffee and a croissant. Among them were Sam Twentyman and Schools Morahan, whose newspapers served mostly to camouflage their frequent scans of the crowds in search of a Japanese face: that of the indispensable Mr Yamanaka.
He contrived to appear in the end from a corner of the station they could not see, shortly after Morahan had complained he was late, though by no more than five minutes.
He too was clutching a newspaper, along with an umbrella and a briefcase. He was wearing an overcoat that appeared to be a couple of sizes too big for him and an expression of suppressed apprehensiveness.
‘Mr Twentyman,’ he greeted Sam, joining them at their table. ‘Who is this gentleman?’
‘Schools Morahan,’ said Morahan, offering his hand.
Yamanaka gave a formal little half-bow as he shook Morahan’s hand. ‘You are Travis Ireton’s partner,’ he said with a frown.
‘Ex-partner.’
‘I see.’
‘Schools and I are working together, Mr Yamanaka,’ said Sam. ‘We need your help.’
‘Then you will have it. Mr Twentyman has explained that Commissioner Kuroda is my master, Mr Morahan?’
‘He has. You don’t dance to Count Tomura’s tune, then?’
‘Ah. He is my superior. I dance, as you say, if he tells me to. But he is not my master.’
‘He mustn’t hear anything of this.’
‘He will not.’
‘How are things between your delegation and the Chinese right now, Mr Yamanaka?’
‘Ah. You have heard there is . . . friction . . . over Shantung?’
‘A little more than that is what I’ve heard.’
‘Yes. The Chinese are angry. They do not believe the assurance they have been given that Shantung will eventually be restored to them. They blame President Wilson for the bargain he struck with my lord Saionji. I hear the President has been given extra bodyguards in case there is an attempt on his life. There are many Chinese students in Paris. Some of them are very . . . hot-headed.’
‘What about Saionji? Has he been given extra bodyguards?’
‘No, no. My lord Saionji is not a fearful man.’
‘Maybe he should be.’
‘Maybe so. But . . .’ Yamanaka glanced at Sam. ‘We should not sit here too long in public view like this, Mr Twentyman. What help do you need from me?’
‘We’ve got a Japanese document we need you to translate.’
‘It may have been stolen from your delegation’s hotel, Mr Yamanaka,’ said Morahan. ‘Or from Saionji’s residence.’
‘Stolen by whom?’
‘Le Singe,’ said Sam in an undertone.
Yamanaka looked alarmed.
‘Is he thought to have stolen anything?’ asked Morahan.
Yamanaka dropped his voice. ‘Yes.’
‘It’s vital we know what it says.’
‘I understand.’
‘My apartment’s near by. You can look at it there.’
‘I do not have long. I have duties to perform. If I am missed . . .’
‘How long?’
Yamanaka consulted his watch. ‘I must be at the Hotel Bristol in one hour and a quarter.’
Morahan nodded. ‘Let’s step on it, then.’
As Sam and Morahan were hurrying out of the Gare St-Lazare with Yamanaka, Max and Appleby were boarding a taxi outside the Athenaeum in London. In his hand Appleby held the package Max had deposited with the club’s porter the previous evening.
‘Two, Whitehall Court, then Victoria station,’ Appleby said to the driver.
‘Right you are, sir.’
‘We’ll drop this off first,’ Appleby said to Max as the taxi drew away. He closed the glass between them and the driver. ‘There’s time enough.’
‘You don’t have to come to the station with me, Horace,’ said Max. ‘I’m not a schoolboy being sent back after the holidays.’
‘I’ll come and there’s an end of it.’
‘Very well.’
‘I’ve been thinking about what Lemmer said to you on the telephone.’
‘Have you?’
‘Would you have guessed he might be planning to sell his operation if he hadn’t said, “Those who’ve been bought can be sold”?’
‘Probably not.’
‘I think he only said it to lure you back to Paris.’
‘So do I.’
‘You do?’
‘Certainly.’ Max craned his neck for a view of Nelson as they headed across Trafalgar Square. ‘I decided to turn a blind eye to the possibility.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have to go, whatever Lemmer has in mind for me.’
‘He’s well aware you’ll never become his loyal lieutenant, Max. He wants you in Paris because it suits his purpose.’
‘I know.’
‘Yet still you’re willing to go?’
‘I have to go. And you have to send me.’ Max looked around and smiled at Appleby. ‘It really is as simple as that.’
The doings of Max’s family had not crossed his mind in many days. If asked, he would have said they were doubtless pursuing their humdrum existences, his brother, sister-in-law and mother in Surrey, his uncle George in London, his nephew and niece at their places of genteel education.
He would have been well wide of the mark, of course, where his mother and uncle were concerned. George Clissold was just then being roused at the Hôtel Dieu in Paris by a nurse bearing a cup of coffee, for which he was grateful, though even more so on account of her radiant smile.
‘’Zere ’as been a telephone call, Monsieur Clissold,’ the nurse announced. ‘From ’ze ’Otel Mirabeau.’
‘Tell them to hold my room,’ George said, surprised by how hoarse his voice had become overnight.
‘’Zey did not call about your room. Your sister is ’zere.’
‘She is?’
‘And soon she will be ’ere. So, we must make you . . .
beaucoup arrangé, non
?’
‘Win will soon be here,’ George murmured to himself, staring dolefully into his coffee. He looked up at the nurse. ‘Any chance of some whisky in this?’
‘Veesky?’ Judging by her horrified expression, the chance was slim.
‘I’ll settle for brandy.’
YAMANAKA WAS NOT
a fast reader, but his concentration suggested he was a thorough one. Sam smoked his way through numerous cigarettes while he and Morahan waited for their translator to speak. Morahan spent most of the vigil standing by the window, gazing down at the street. Sam wondered if he feared they might be under observation, but was not disposed to ask. Dangers he could not avert were in his view best not dwelt upon.
Yamanaka marked the end of his reading with a pensive sip of tea. ‘What time is it?’ he asked.
‘Half an hour before you’re due at the Bristol,’ said Morahan, perching himself on the edge of the armchair facing Yamanaka.
‘What’s it say, Mr Yamanaka?’ asked Sam.
‘Ah, what does it say?’ Yamanaka drew breath. He looked nervous – intimidated by what he had read. ‘I wish Commissioner Kuroda was here to advise me.’
‘And I wish I read Japanese,’ said Morahan. ‘Just give us the gist.’
‘Yes,’ said Yamanaka. ‘Of course. This document has come from the most secret files of Marquess Saionji, Mr Morahan, Mr Twentyman. It includes reports made to him by several people and notes in his own hand. Some of the reports are by Commissioner Kuroda. I have never seen any of this before. It is extremely sensitive. I am not authorized to have access to such material. Telling you what it contains is not allowed by my oath of loyalty to the Emperor.’
‘But Kuroda said you’d give me any help I needed,’ said Sam in alarm.
‘Yes. He told me also. And I revere Commissioner Kuroda almost as a son reveres his father. So, I will tell you. It is not easy for me. But I
will
tell you.
‘The document concerns Count Tomura Iwazu. Marquess Saionji appears to regard him as a threat to the harmony of the state, perhaps to the Emperor himself. He has assembled information about Count Tomura’s life in order to assess the threat he may represent.
‘Count Tomura is an unusual man. He was born into a princely family, like Marquess Saionji. But he has not followed a princely life. He has fought in wars and entered court service. That is as it should be. But he has also done business in the wider empire, some of it not respectable, according to this document – some not even legal.’
‘Such as?’ asked Morahan.
‘It begins in Taiwan, colonized after the war against China. He seems to have been close to Goto Shinpei, Chief of Civil Affairs on the island at that time. Through the Bureau of Opium, he acquired large tracts of poppy-growing land. Then, after the war against Russia, he moved into Manshu–Manchuria. He has been a director of the South Manchurian Railway Company since its foundation. Its first president was Goto Shinpei. The SMR owns coal-mines as well as railways. Its reputation is for profit above everything else. It works its coolies hard – often to death. But it makes much money for men such as Count Tomura.
‘He is active in Chosen also – Korea, as you would know it. He has been a director of the Oriental Development Company since its foundation.’
‘Travis mentioned that to me,’ said Morahan. ‘And a lot more about the heroin and morphine trade – a real money-spinner for Tomura, apparently.’
‘Oh yes. He is very wealthy. And ruthless. Marquess Saionji comments here on the strategy Count Tomura has proposed to Prime Minister Hara for dealing with unrest in Chosen following the March first riots in Keijo. His idea, according to this document, is to suppress opium selling in the colony and encourage the sale and consumption of morphine. You see what he means to do? Literally to drug the Koreans into submission. It is a horrible idea. But it is also very clever, since it will help the Japanese morphine-producing companies whose market has declined now the war is over and there are no more wounded soldiers to treat. Count Tomura is believed to be a large shareholder in Taisho Seiyaku, one of our biggest drug companies. Marquess Saionji calls this in his notes “unprincipled self-interest”.
‘But that is not the worst. Marquess Saionji also believes Count Tomura has a secret business partnership with Muraoka Iheiji, who is suspected of trafficking kidnapped Japanese women to brothels in Chosen, Taiwan and China. He has no proof, but there is a reference in his notes to a woman kidnapped from her home near Nagasaki and forced to work as a prostitute in Keijo who says she saw Muraoka with Count Tomura on several occasions.’
‘Drugs, prostitution and sweated labour,’ growled Morahan. ‘He’d fit right in in Chicago.’
‘If he is a gangster, Mr Morahan, he knows how to hide it. Maybe his political connections are the answer. It is clear from this document that Marquess Saionji believes they are. My lord Saionji is sometimes criticized for treating younger courtiers disdainfully – for not understanding them. When he was born, Japan was still a closed country. Now it is open to the world and the world is open to it. Count Tomura is of the same generation. But some would say he has moved more readily with the times. He has made allegiances with younger politicians. Konoe Fumimaro, who is a junior member of our delegation, is a contemporary and friend of Count Tomura’s son, Noburo. Konoe is from a princely family and is spoken of as a future national leader. Count Tomura is also a close ally of Prime Minister Hara. Marquess Saionji notes that in his opinion the Prime Minister is unwise to trust Count Tomura. Clearly, Marquess Saionji does not.
‘His reasons involve Commissioner Kuroda, who has long believed Count Tomura was involved in the 1891 assassination attempt against the Tsarevich. I know that because he has told me so. It is not directly mentioned in this document. But Count Tomura’s connections with the Dark Ocean Society are.’
‘Travis told me Dark Ocean were responsible for the assassination of Queen Min,’ said Morahan.
‘Queen who?’ asked Sam in bewilderment. The conspiratorial intricacies of oriental politics were beyond him.
‘Empress Myongsong of Korea, Mr Twentyman,’ Yamanaka explained. ‘Assassinated in the Korean Royal Palace in October 1895. Both Commissioner Kuroda and Marquess Saionji fear Dark Ocean remains committed to the murder of its political enemies. But the society does not act openly. It works through intermediaries. That is why it is so difficult to deal with the organization. Some do not even believe it exists.’
‘But it does, doesn’t it?’ asked Morahan.
‘Yes.’ Yamanaka nodded solemnly. ‘Assuredly it does.’
‘And Tomura’s a member?’
‘A
senior
member, according to this document. That is why these . . . pieces of paper . . . are so dangerous. They commit Marquess Saionji to the contention that Count Tomura is a criminal and a terrorist – a traitor to his country. There is no proof. There are only rumours and allegations and suggestive reports and interesting coincidences. But it is hard to read them and not to believe he is those things.’