The Samurai Inheritance (33 page)

‘As sure as they can be without hauling him in and giving him the third degree,’ Colville replied steadily, meaning rigorous interrogation.

Churchill winced as if gripped by some internal cramp. ‘Give me the details. I can’t condemn a man on tittle-tattle.’

Not a man, Colville thought, but an old and very close friend; a confidante who has been selling you and his country down the river for decades. You were told, but you didn’t listen. But he couldn’t fault the old man, not really, because loyalty had stayed his hand and loyalty was one of his most appealing characteristics.

‘His affection for the Japanese before the war was well known.’ The other man grunted – ancient history – so he moved on quickly, reciting the facts as if he were giving evidence from the witness box. ‘The security service was first alerted to the possibility of an informant close to the heart of government in the summer of nineteen forty-one after your meeting with President Roosevelt in Canada on the
Prince of Wales
. We intercepted and decoded a communication between the Japanese Embassy and Tokyo—’

‘I remember,’ Churchill snapped. ‘Accurate transcript of the conference notes, down to the very words and phrases.’

‘That’s correct, Prime Minister. The investigation was inconclusive and the closure of the embassy after … at the outbreak of the war with Japan, meant a temporary end to our ability to read the Japanese codes, specifically Code Purple.’

‘Temporary?’

‘From mid nineteen forty-two we have been able to intercept messages between their embassy in Berlin and the Japanese government in Tokyo. The diplomatic communications continued to be sent in Code Purple, but the people at Bletchley Park noticed that certain others were sent in what at first was assumed to be a personal code. However, they continued to work on it and last week they were able to begin deciphering the backlog. It wasn’t until yesterday they began on this.’ He handed over the flimsy sheets of paper and took a step back from the desk. ‘Fortunately, Brigadier Tiltman understood immediately that it must be for your eyes only and sent it to me by courier. The cryptographer who decoded it has been encouraged to apply an even greater degree of secrecy than is usual at that establishment, if that’s possible. I think the words Tiltman used to the poor woman were “on pain of death”.’

Jock Colville had been private secretary to Winston Churchill from the day he walked into 10 Downing Street and he had seen him confronted with many setbacks, some of them five-star disasters, but he had never witnessed him grow old in the space of a single heartbeat.

‘The Americans …’

Colville shook his head. ‘We believe the Berlin–Tokyo link is our domain. We share Code Purple transcripts, but as far as we’re aware this is
our
exclusive property.’

Churchill grunted from deep in his chest, a deep bass rumble like a male lion challenging its rivals. ‘Keep it that way. They are playing what Mr President calls
hardball
, whatever that is, over the Pacific transcripts, so it’s what they should expect.’ He hunched low over the desk, his broad shoulders around his ears. ‘You know what it would mean if this ever became public, Jock? Particularly now, when we are embarking with our allies on the planning for this greatest of all military enterprises.’

‘Yes, sir, I think I do, sir.’ He remembered the day he’d brought the original intelligence to the man on the other side of the desk. It had originated with a double agent in Tokyo, a man who spied for the Soviets, but who shared his take, and the requests of his masters, with British intelligence. A devastating piece of information that could save many thousands of lives. He’d expected a shout of ‘Eureka’ or some such and the usual explosion of energy, barking of orders and boundless enthusiasm. But he’d been wrong. Winston Churchill had studied the piece of paper for a long time, his head down and his face as sombre as Colville had ever seen it. There would be a meeting of the Cabinet inner circle to discuss it, but the decision had been taken in those first few moments. No action.

‘Comrade Stalin already has his eyes on half of Europe in the event of ultimate victory. If he had this information he would demand the other half.’ Churchill picked up a document from the side of the desk, scanned it and produced a harrumph of displeasure before initialling it. ‘And you know, Jock, I should have to give it to him. That is how important this is.’ He paused for a long moment, his eyes on some distant image before focusing once more on Colville. ‘We’re sure it’s him?’ he asked again.

‘Counter-intelligence narrowed the field to two men; the other was a Commander McGrath, who was also in Japan before the war. We had them both followed, and I’m sorry to say, sir, that there’s no doubt he’s our man. We have enough evidence to charge him under the Treason Act.’ He licked his lips. ‘Presumably he could hang, sir.’

The Prime Minister of Great Britain glared at him over the top of the reading glasses he refused to let the public see in case they looked like a sign of weakness. Colville knew he had made the civil servant’s greatest mistake, positing a solution unacceptable to his minister.

‘No,’ the other man said softly, and Jock Colville felt a twinge of distaste that the person he admired more than any other should show such a human flaw; to put personal friendship before country. But he was mistaken. ‘Certainly, he deserves to hang, but he is too high, too prominent and with too many well-placed friends.’ Churchill allowed himself a self-deprecating smile to acknowledge that he was one. ‘The King would never forgive me, but it is not friendship that stays my hand. To drag him before the courts, even a secret court, would cause a scandal. We would alert his spymasters and, worse, those who spy upon them. I doubt we can afford that, Jock. No, I think we must promote the honourable gentleman.’ He saw Colville’s instinctive look of disgust and his eyes took on a mischievous twinkle, like a little boy bent on dirty deeds. His voice changed tempo, all hesitancy gone. ‘A memo to the First Sea Lord. Commander is too low a rank for one so diligent and so talented. Another stripe, I think. Yes, captain sounds much better. There must be a post for such an officer in the far north. Scapa Flow, I believe, has a vacancy for a supply officer of that rank, and if it does not we will create one. Counting long johns and crates of ships’ biscuits should keep him too busy to make mischief. Any refusal or demur to be met with a mandatory posting to the North Atlantic convoys. If not Scapa, Murmansk, eh, Jock? That should take the starch out of our spy. Now,’ he smiled grimly, ‘let us get on with the war.’

XXXVII

‘Can I use my iPad on this thing?’

‘No problem,’ Jerry, the co-pilot, told Magda. ‘There’s a socket beside every seat if you need to plug it in.’

As they prepared for take-off he explained that Devlin Metal Resources’ Gulfstream G650 was basically a flying boardroom. ‘But there are a couple of full-size beds beyond the bulkhead if you feel like taking a nap. If you don’t mind me saying so, you guys certainly look like you could do with one.’

They thanked him and he told them to help themselves to food and drink from the galley during the flight. ‘Just treat it like your own home,’ he said. ‘We’ll be landing in Brisbane in about five hours depending on the wind strength. Conditions are good and it’s a damn sight warmer over there than it is in Tokyo.’ He went off to join the pilot for the pre-flight checks.

Jamie exchanged a tired smile with Magda. ‘I don’t know about you but sleep seems like a good idea. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.’

‘Maybe later,’ she said, strapping herself into one of four deep cushioned leather seats at a mahogany table. ‘First of all I think you should come and sit here.’ She patted the seat beside her. ‘There are things you should know.’

‘That sounds mysterious. Or perhaps the word is ominous?’

‘I’ll let you decide.’ She placed her hand on top of the computer tablet as the plane taxied out towards the end of the runway. ‘It didn’t seem all that relevant until last night, but I think it’s time you knew a little more about Bougainville, Jamie. When people say “You don’t know what you’re getting into” it’s usually an exaggeration, but in this case …’ She paused as the Gulfstream’s engine pitch rose in a few seconds from a soft roar to a shriek and the plane gathered momentum, tyres bumping and fuselage swaying, until with almost miraculous ease it left the earth and climbed at an almost impossible angle. Jamie looked past Magda’s shoulder and saw the bulk of Mount Fuji dominating the horizon through the oval window. ‘Well, I think the statement is probably accurate.’

‘Then perhaps it’s time I found out,’ he said and smiled.

Magda studied him gravely. ‘Where do I start?’

The plane levelled out and a few seconds later the seat belt sign above the cockpit door turned green. Jamie unstrapped himself and went to the kitchen, removed a bottle of remarkably fine white wine from the refrigerator, gathered up two crystal glasses and an ice bucket and returned to the table. ‘It’s traditional to start at the beginning.’ He poured the wine and put the bottle into the ice bucket. ‘That seems as good a place as any.’

‘Okay.’ She ran her fingers across the face of the tablet, scrolling down a list of subjects. ‘Let’s begin with a geography lesson. Bougainville is actually not one principal island, but two: Bougainville, the larger, to the south, and Buka, to the north, separated by the eight-hundred-metre-wide Buka Passage. The main island is about a hundred and fifty miles long by forty wide. Mountains run down the spine, including one active volcano and two dormant ones. They’re covered by thick jungle, and the warm, wet climate means they’re cut with streams and rivers. The centres of population, generally quite small villages, are all in the coastal areas where their main employment is – was – tending the coconut plantations or fishing. You with me so far?’

‘Yes, miss.’ Jamie grinned. ‘Somewhere to avoid at all costs. I take it the wildlife is just as welcoming.’

‘Go to the top of the class. No bears or wolves. Just bats and wild pigs. Oh, and snakes, spiders and man-eating salt-water crocodiles.’

‘That’s very reassuring.’ His face told a different story. ‘I wish I’d packed my swimming trunks.’

‘All right. Let’s get to the population.’ She brought up a new page and pointed to a picture of four or five almost naked wire-haired islanders glaring at the camera. ‘Bougainville has been inhabited for something like thirty thousand years. As you can see, the native Bougainvilleans are unique to this region, being extremely black skinned – the difference is so distinctive they call the other Melanesian races Redskins – and of a very ancient and unknown origin. A French navigator called Louis Antoine de Bougainville gave the islands their name in the eighteenth century.’

‘And introduced them to civilization, I’m sure.’

She nodded solemnly. ‘If by civilization you mean slavery, disease, poverty and material exploitation. Oh, and religion, which is worse than any of the above. The French were followed by the Germans, who developed the copra industry – you know what copra is?’

Jamie thought back to his less than comprehensive briefing in Keith Devlin’s office. ‘Coconut fibre?’

‘That’s right. It meant that huge amounts of land that could have been used for food production became coconut plantations, and the people who had worked that land now depended on the plantation owners for a living.’ She paused as the co-pilot appeared from the cockpit and walked to the galley, returning a few minutes later with two bottles of water.

‘We’re making good time,’ he announced as he passed. When he’d gone Magda continued with her briefing.

‘The Germans also joined the islands politically to Papua New Guinea, six hundred miles to the west, although their traditional affinity and trading links lay with the Solomon Islands, the nearest of which is six miles to the south. As you will see, this stored up a great deal of trouble for the future.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘Any questions so far?’

‘You haven’t mentioned headhunting.’

Small white teeth nibbled her lip as she considered her answer. ‘Traditionally, the practice was limited and mainly confined to the defeated enemy chief. It only became widespread after the Europeans arrived …’ She preempted his question before he’d even decided to ask it. ‘Once it became clear the newcomers were prepared to pay for a shrunken head it created a market, so instead of a trophy of war it became the reason for it. Every fight created a new blood feud and eventually the Germans had to ban the taking of heads. It still went on, of course, our Bougainville head is from this period, but it was illegal.’

Jamie nodded. It made economic sense. There was no point in letting your workforce slaughter each other before you’d had the chance to work them into the ground. All this had nothing to do with Keith Devlin, of course, but he knew Magda would get to that part of the story in her own time.

‘The Germans were thrown out by the Australians during the First World War.’ Magda wrapped up the first half of the twentieth century in a sentence. ‘The Australians by the Japanese in nineteen forty-two, and the Japanese by the Australians and the Americans in nineteen forty-four and ’forty-five. The age of colonialism was over – for the moment – and the islanders, much to their dismay, reverted to the administrative rule of what became Papua New Guinea.’

He picked up on her hint that colonialism hadn’t ended for good. ‘For the moment? You mean the mine?’

‘The Panguna Mine,’ she confirmed, and now her voice took on a new intensity. ‘What none of Bougainville’s past exploiters knew was that they were sitting on one of the most lucrative pieces of real estate on the planet. Enormous deposits of silver, copper and zinc were hidden beneath those jungle-covered mountains, but they would never have been found but for one thing: gold. The gold rushes of the late nineteenth century caused a revolution in mining, and in the early twentieth that revolution finally reached the island. The islanders sincerely believe Bougainville is the land known in the Bible as Ophir. They will tell you that King Solomon was led to the island by the Angel Gabriel and that gold from his mine here was used to build the Temple of Jerusalem. It’s no joke, Jamie,’ she reacted to his smile of disbelief, ‘this is where Keith Devlin is leading you, so you’d better listen and learn, because not all that long ago Bougainville was a war zone. Think Vietnam fought out on a tiny island, but with all the viciousness, slaughter, destruction and cruelty; up to twenty thousand dead out of a population of less than two hundred thousand. The tensions that created that war still existed when I visited a few years ago and it seems your Mr Devlin is intent on stirring the pot.’