The Samurai Inheritance (43 page)

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Jamie said. ‘We’re talking about an ally who stood back and watched as eight thousand US sailors died, in an event that suckered their nation into a war most of them wanted no part of and cost hundreds of thousands more casualties. Tell Joe Public their boys were killed on Guadalcanal or Omaha Beach, not because America chose to send them to war, but because Winston Churchill tricked Roosevelt into it, and I don’t think any US president would be able to ignore the backlash.’

Muttering to himself, Kristian Anugu ponderously rose from the step beside him and carried the head into the longhouse.

Jamie watched him go before he continued. ‘You’d probably be talking about a trade boycott at the very least. Britain could be forced out of NATO, American bases would be withdrawn from the UK and without American support in the South Atlantic, Argentina could walk into Port Stanley and take back the Falklands any time they liked. And that’s just the Yanks. If Yamamoto’s fleet had sailed into an ambush it would have set Japan’s preparations for a Pacific war back twenty years. Without those battleships and carriers there would have been no war in Burma or Malaya, Indo-China would still be French and there might have been no Vietnam War. How many people died in a war that didn’t have to be fought? Indians, Africans, Malays, Chinese, Dutch …’

‘Australians.’

‘Yes,’ Jamie answered Magda. ‘Australians, too. How do we know it’s not a fake?’ He turned to Michael. ‘I don’t know that for certain. But everything I know about Churchill tells me it
could
be true. He was prepared to go to almost any lengths to get what he wanted and he wanted – needed – above all to get America involved in the war. He gave the go-ahead for the Dieppe raid that killed thousands of Canadians, even though he’d been warned it would be a bloodbath. He sent British bombers to bomb French cities and sank their Mediterranean fleet despite the fact they were Allies. It’s perfectly possible that a man who would do that would sacrifice the American fleet, Singapore and Hong Kong to get the Yanks involved.’

‘So he allowed his own people to die?’ Michael said incredulously.

‘Judging by this it could be worse than that,’ Jamie admitted. ‘He may have deliberately sacrificed them. At Singapore, Australian and British reinforcements were still arriving when the Japanese landed on Malayan beaches to the north. If he’d called them back the Japs would have known something was up. Without America in the war there’d have been no Second Front, no daylight bombing of German cities. The Red Army would have been penned up east of the Volga. At worst, the war would have been lost and the Nazis would have ruled from Siberia to Spain. At best, Europe would have gone on bleeding for an entire generation. To avoid that, I have a feeling Winston Churchill would have counted all the sacrifices a bargain. The question is what do I do with it?’

Magda handed him back the files. ‘You’ve made the exchange, they’re yours now. Nothing has changed. You still have to get Fiona and Lizzie away from Keith Devlin.’

‘Now that you have Doug Stewart’s testimony you can do something to stop Devlin taking over the island.’ Jamie appealed to Michael.

‘We still need more evidence,’ the islander repeated. Magda went to stand beside him and the set of her jaw told Jamie she was laying down a marker. He remembered the dangers they’d shared in Tokyo and Siberia, and the time spent on the Trans-Siberian trapped with the monosyllabic Ludmilla and her flatulent husband. Did he really want it to end like this?

‘All right,’ he surrendered, ‘I’ll help you, but I won’t do anything that will put Fiona and Lizzie in any more danger. Tell me what I have to do.’ Michael bent his head so Jamie had to do the same to hear the whispered instructions. A few moments later the rhythmic whup-whup-whup of a faraway helicopter interrupted the conversation and Kristian Anugu beckoned his grandson to him. Jamie slipped the Yamamoto papers back into the briefcase.

‘My grandfather has invited you to witness the fire dance tonight,’ Michael said. ‘It is a great spectacle when he will burn his grandfather’s remains and bury the ashes, so that his spirit will no longer roam. I’m sorry you will miss it, because it is followed by a great feast, but I’ve told him that you must travel with your wounded comrade. He wishes you well. He says you have a good heart, the heart of a warrior, and he thanks you for bringing the head home to Papa’ala.’

Jamie looked at the old man’s grinning face and felt a momentary twinge of conscience that he’d been on the point of turning Michael down. ‘Thank him for his invitation and tell him I hope to feast with him another time.’

The sound of the helicopter increased to a thunderous clatter as it appeared above the trees like a giant hoverfly and settled over the landing ground that Michael’s men had marked out on a patch of clear ground a hundred and fifty paces away. Michael and Magda ran to Doug Stewart’s stretcher. The pair had a brief conversation before Jamie joined them. As he approached Magda rose up and surprised him by kissing him on the cheek.

‘What’s that for?’

‘For the good times and the bad times.’ She shrugged. ‘Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?’

She looked into his eyes and he saw hers were shining. He smiled. ‘I think they just about balance each other out, so there’s nothing to forgive.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I hope you remember that.’

He looked on puzzled as she accompanied the stretcher to the helicopter. Michael’s men lifted Doug Stewart on board and the big islander came up to say farewell. He clapped Jamie on the shoulder. ‘I have to stay for the fire dance, but we’ll meet up again tomorrow. I’m depending on you, mate.’

‘I know what I have to do.’

Michael held out his hand. ‘At noon, then,’ he said.

Jamie took the big fist. ‘Just don’t be bloody late, mate. That’s all I ask.’ With a nod he ran to the chopper, bending low to avoid the whirling rotor blades, the briefcase that could change the world heavy in his right hand.

XLVI

Jamie’s eyes swept his surroundings as he walked stealthily up the empty street in the shadow of the derelict apartment blocks and shops. Michael had said Keith Devlin’s private army of security guards mainly kept to the area around the community centre where he’d set up his headquarters, but there were no guarantees tonight. He checked his bearings and stifled a yawn. It would be dawn in an hour. The house where Fiona and Lizzie Carter were being kept was about five blocks ahead and off to the left. Adrenalin had seen him through the last two days, but after waiting three hours in the Toyota up in Panguna his bones ached as if he’d been sleeping on a pile of concrete rubble. He needed to finish it. Now.

When the helicopter had dropped him near the mine, Magda Ross had stayed on board to see Doug Stewart safely to the hospital in Buka. He found it ironic that just when he thought he’d got to know her she’d turned out to have been playing a double game all along. But, as he’d said, even after everything that had happened there was nothing to forgive. In the short time they’d spent together her strength of character and easy companionship had been a beacon in some dark times. Okay, maybe it was a little more complicated than that, but she’d become a friend and you couldn’t have too many friends.

He’d left the car on the Buka side of town. It wasn’t ideal, but he hadn’t dared bring it any closer. Still it was in easy enough reach for his purposes. All he had to do was get to the girls.

A sudden movement up ahead made him freeze, but it was only a feral cat. It crossed the road like a wraith, stopping in the middle to study him suspiciously with glowing green eyes before moving on. When he reached the point where it had disappeared he followed its route between the houses. Fiona had said most of the occupied homes kept dogs and he hoped they’d react to the cat before they reacted to him.

The jungle had encroached on the rear gardens of the abandoned houses. It wasn’t thick enough to delay him, but he took his time nonetheless. There was no point in reaching Fiona’s place too early. He ran over the layout in his mind. The entrance of the apartment was at the rear and reached by a set of wooden stairs. Fiona’s room was to the left and Lizzie’s to the right. Every few metres he stopped to listen. When he heard the sound of a car passing nearby he crouched behind a dilapidated outhouse among the vines for ten minutes after it was gone. Not one of the old rattletraps the locals drove, something more modern. Two blocks to go. No point in taking any chances. He dropped to his belly and slithered through the long neglected vegetable patches using his elbows and knees, trying to ignore the nameless slithering and hopping things that shared his environment.

Within sight of the house he stopped again and waited, attuning himself to his surroundings. When he was certain, he got to his feet and silently approached the stairs.

‘Mr Devlin thought you might try something like this.’ The words were accompanied by the cold steel of a gun barrel on his neck and Jamie’s heart jumped into his throat. ‘As it happened, we moved the girls last night just in case, but we’ve had the place more or less surrounded since Joe spotted your car.’ Andy’s tone was almost conversational, but Jamie knew that didn’t make him any less dangerous. The security man patted him down with an expert hand, the pistol never leaving his skin. ‘You didn’t do too badly, really. I’ll be kicking a couple of arses in the morning for letting you get this far. Where is it?’

‘Where’s what? Ouch.’ Jamie grunted as the pistol barrel rattled playfully off his ear.

‘Don’t get cute with me, Mr Saintclair. Where’s this briefcase the boss is getting so fired up about?’

‘You won’t find it even if you take this town apart.’ Jamie tensed for another blow, but it didn’t come and he hurried on. ‘Devlin can have it as soon as I have proof Fiona and Lizzie are on the eleven-thirty flight for Port Moresby. Call him now and tell him that.’

Andy spun him round so they were face to face with the pistol barrel square between Jamie’s eyes. ‘I admire a man who looks after his ladies,’ he was grinning, but there was no humour in the deep-set grey eyes, ‘but I really don’t think you’re in a situation to make any demands.’

‘Come on, Andy.’ Jamie kept his voice as steady as the circumstances dictated and prayed the safety catch was on. From where he was looking the pistol appeared to be a 9mm Ruger that would turn his head into a canoe if it went off. ‘We both know you’re not going to shoot me. No more games, but I’m not having Devlin bugger us about any more.’

Andy stared at him for a long moment before emitting a low whistle between his teeth and removing the pistol from Jamie’s head. A moment later they heard the sound of large bodies rustling through the bushes.

‘Keep Mr Saintclair nice and close,’ the guard ordered. ‘And if he tries anything break one of his legs.’

Andy went off a few feet and Jamie heard him whispering into a phone or radio as two men he hadn’t seen before took him roughly by the arms. Andy was back within two minutes.

‘Mr Devlin is not best pleased. I told him we’d be happy to use a little gentle persuasion to locate the item in question, but he’s grown attached to the girls and he sees your point of view. He says to tell you that if you play silly buggers with him again he’ll let us break
both
your legs.’

‘So what happens now?’

Andy nodded towards the stairs. ‘Now we wait.’

Four hours later Jamie Saintclair felt like the condemned man on his way to his execution as the three guards escorted him through the streets towards the community centre. He was filthy, hungry and thirsty and the feeling was compounded by the knowledge that his companions would happily form his firing squad. A door opened as they approached the building and he squinted against the sun as a portly figure dressed in a freshly pressed white shirt and tan slacks walked towards him across the potholed car park. When the man’s identity slowly seeped into his sleep-deprived brain Jamie’s steps faltered and he automatically searched his surroundings. Had someone rewritten the script and not told him?

‘A fine morning, Mr Saintclair, if a little humid.’ Mr Lim ignored the guards and his smile confirmed that all was well with his world. ‘You look perplexed. Are you not pleased to see an old friend?’

‘Actually, I was wondering where your acquaintance, Mr Lee, was hiding.’

‘Mr Lee?’ The smile turned into a frown as if the bodyguard had slipped from his memory, but only momentarily. ‘Of course. Today, I have left him in Shanghai. He was never the most talkative of companions and an honest Chinese businessman requires no assistance. Besides, it saves an air fare. Do I take it from this unfortunate scene that your mission is not yet complete?’

Jamie glanced over his shoulder at the three guards and the Chinese laughed.

‘I have nothing to do with this, I assure you, Mr Saintclair, though I am aware how keen Mr Devlin is to lay his hands on a certain article. My presence here was merely to make him an offer, which he has unfortunately refused. It is a pity, because had he accepted I too had a gift that might have been to his advantage. Still, in the event he succeeds I have assured him that the Chinese People’s Republic will become his best customer. Of course, if he does not …’

Jamie felt the guards stir restlessly, but he didn’t move. ‘I’m not entirely sure what you’re telling me, Mr Lim?’

‘Oh, I am not
telling
you anything, Mr Saintclair. We are just two old friends having a chat. I must, however, express my admiration for your efforts. The fact that you have got this far against such odds is truly remarkable. I still cannot understand how you managed to escape the clutches of that terrible woman; and as for your vanishing act from Tokyo airport …’ He shook his head. ‘I would advise against any inclination to return to the East for a while, and it might be wise to avoid Japanese restaurants on your return to London, the food can be terribly spicy.’

‘I generally only eat the sushi.’ Jamie managed to return Mr Lim’s conspiratorial smile.

‘No, no. Please stick to Chinese; it would be much better for your digestion. The world would be a worse place without you, Jamie Saintclair.’