The Corners of the Globe (34 page)

Winifred looked her brother in the eye. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘He may find it out for himself.’

‘Not if I can prevent it.’ She nodded solemnly to herself. ‘And I believe I can.’

MADAME BERTON’S TELEPHONE
was in the tiny room – scarcely larger than a sentry box – from which she supervised arrivals and deliveries to the building. Morahan squeezed the door shut behind him and stood while he made the call.

He was mightily relieved when he heard Commissioner Zamaron was in his office, since there was no one else at the Préfecture likely to help him. He was put straight through.

‘Léon?’ Morahan had been on first-name terms with Zamaron since helping him conclude a clutch of murder inquiries in one night a month earlier. The assistance he had rendered should, he calculated, guarantee him a helping hand now, when he so badly needed one.

‘Schools.’ Zamaron sounded oddly stiff, his normal jauntiness of tone noticeably absent. ‘Are you in difficulties,
mon ami
?’

‘What makes you ask?’

‘
L’intuition. Aussi
. . .’ Zamaron’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘
Le Deuxième Bureau
. They have been to see
le Préfet
.’

‘About me?’

‘
Oui
. Count Tomura, joint deputy head of the Japanese delegation, has spoken to the
Ministre des Affaires Etrangères
. You must understand. This is all above my head. It is said you have stolen documents belonging to the delegation.
Le Ministre
has ordered full cooperation with the Japanese in order to retrieve the documents and to place you under arrest. Monsieur Twentyman also. Is he with you?’

‘Better I don’t say.’

‘
C’est vrai
. I told them there were reasons to believe people close to the Japanese delegation – and therefore close to Count Tomura – murdered Soutine and kidnapped Monsieur Clissold. But they did not listen, Schools. They did not want to. There has been a
marché
. How would you say? A deal.’

‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.’

‘What is it you want me to do?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ If there was to be a rescue party, it would not be coming from the police. That was graphically clear. They would merely serve as reinforcements for Noburo Tomura. Zamaron had his orders. And they were the sort of orders he would have to obey if called upon. ‘Thanks for putting me in the picture, Léon.’

‘I am sorry, Schools.’

Morahan did not doubt he was. But in sorrow there was no salvation. He hung up.

Lady Maxted was well aware that her arrival at the Hotel Bristol had caused something close to consternation among the members of the Japanese delegation she had so far encountered. They were evidently unused to visitations from unaccompanied English-women, especially those of Lady Maxted’s age and pedigree. Her request to see Count Tomura Iwazu, which had carried a finely judged element of peremptoriness, had thrown them into confusion. Should they brush her off? Or should they ascertain Count Tomura’s wishes in the matter? His ogreish reputation made the decision a difficult one. But in the end they did what Lady Maxted had relied on them doing. They undertook to inform their master of her presence.

Whether Count Tomura was actually on the premises was not made clear to her. She was escorted to a first-floor room overlooking Place Vendôme and asked to wait there. It was furnished as a writing-room, thickly curtained, austerely decorated and cold at that hour of the morning.

She took it as a sign that her wait might be lengthy when a grey-waistcoated young man came in, lit the fire for her and asked if she would like some coffee. She accepted.

Tomura was coming. She did not doubt it. He knew all that had occurred and would understand what had brought her to Paris. She imagined he was no keener than she was to have the past disinterred. He had doubtless kept as much from his son as she had from hers. If a line was to be drawn, it was for them to draw it.

Oh yes. Tomura was coming.

‘What d’you want, Morahan?’ Carver growled down the telephone line.

‘A favour.’

‘I’m out of stock.’

‘I did you a good turn with the name of our contact at the Hôtel des Réservoirs. That must have won you a lot of credit with
le Deuxième Bureau
.’

‘For which your reward was me going easy on you and Ireton. Well, I’m going easy. Though if the
flics
catch Blachette and he squeals . . .’

Morahan could almost see Carver smirking and shrugging.

‘I’m in a hole, Frank. I need a hand to get out of it.’

‘What kinda hole?’

‘Noburo Tomura and a bunch of ex-sumos have my apartment staked out. I’m here now. I need a safe passage.’

‘I’ll bet you do.
Le Deuxième Bureau
have already been on to me. Stolen documents, Schools. That’s the story. And Count Tomura kicking up a storm. Twentyman was mentioned. With you, is he?’

‘Yes. Along with a junior member of the Japanese delegation.’

‘Right. Plus the documents?’

‘I just need to get us out of here in one piece. You could arrange that. If you wanted to.’

‘What’s in the documents?’

‘I can’t discuss that on the telephone.’

‘But you could discuss it? Later?’

‘Maybe.’

‘OK.’ There was a pause. Then: ‘Here’s what I can do for you, Schools. You and the documents, under my escort. Twentyman and your tame Jap will have to fend for themselves, though. I can bale out a fellow American. That’s as far as it goes.’

‘It’s not far enough.’

‘Are you sure about that? The Brits will look after Twentyman. And the Jap’s not your problem, is he? You could come out of this set up nice and sweet if you play your cards right.’

‘You reckon so?’

‘I do.’ Carver gave Morahan a chance to mull his offer over before adding, ‘What d’you say?’

Morahan said nothing, beyond a weary sigh. He hung up.

‘Schools Morahan will work something out,’ said Sam in an effort to calm his companion’s nerves. Yamanaka was pacing the room, rubbing his hands together and taking in ever shallower breaths. ‘He outwitted Tomura before. He can do it again.’

‘It does not matter . . . whether he can or not,’ Yamanaka stammered. ‘If Count Tomura believes I have acted against him, I am . . . finished.’

‘It can’t be as bad as that.’

Yamanaka looked despairingly at Sam. ‘You do not understand. I have read the file. He will know I have read it. He will kill me, Mr Twentyman. Today. Tomorrow. One day soon. He will
kill
me.’

Sam could think of nothing to say to that. He lit a cigarette and offered Yamanaka one. It was eagerly accepted. The pair stood together by the window. The street below was empty. But round the corner, at the front of the building, it was, they knew, a different matter.

‘I have thought about the document,’ murmured Yamanaka.

‘And what have you thought?’ Sam prompted.

‘That my lord Saionji is not a careless man. If le Singe was able to steal it from his residence, which is where it must have been kept, it was because Marquess Saionji allowed him to steal it – wanted him to steal it.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘But it does, Mr Twentyman. Oh, it does.’

‘Call me Sam.’

‘Very well. I am Eisaku.’

They shook hands in a gesture of solidarity Sam found faintly disquieting. It was the kind of solidarity bred by the contemplation of extinction.

‘I believe Marquess Saionji anticipates Count Tomura may try to remove him from his path to power.’

‘Remove him how?”

‘By killing him.’ Yamanaka dragged fretfully on his cigarette. ‘Dark Ocean has a history of killing its enemies. And Count Tomura is Dark Ocean. Marquess Saionji stands for the old ways Tomura and his kind wish to sweep away. And he is respected. The Emperor listens to what he says. His assassination – blamed on someone else: the Koreans, the Chinese – would advance Tomura’s cause. It may be Tomura knows Marquess Saionji has a file detailing his dirty secrets. With the authority granted him by Prime Minister Hara, he could have hoped to secure the file and destroy it. Then he would be free to strike at my lord Saionji. But with the file missing, in unknown hands . . .’

‘He couldn’t strike in case the contents of the file ended up in the newspapers.’

‘Exactly so . . . Sam. And if that is so . . .’

‘We’ve done Tomura a big favour by finding it.’

‘Yes.’ Yamanaka took the longest drag yet on his cigarette. ‘We have done more than he could have hoped. And for our reward . . . he will kill us. Before he kills my lord Saionji.’

‘Schools?’ said Malory. “Where are you?’

‘My apartment. Sam and Yamanaka are with me.’

‘Did Yamanaka translate the document for you?’

‘He did. Now I know why Tomura
père et fils
are so desperate to get hold of it. And Tomura junior has the building staked out. It looks like Yamanaka was followed. Or else Travis gave them my address.’

‘He’s angry enough with you to have done that. But how are you going to get out?’

‘Is Travis there?’

‘No. I’m expecting him within the hour.’

‘Then I’ll have to ask you to pass on a message for me, Malory. And it’s not one Travis will enjoy hearing.’

‘What is it?’

‘The short version? If I go down, he goes down with me.’

‘What exactly does that mean, Schools?’

‘It means he’ll have to save me to save himself. And he won’t have long to think about it.’

COUNT TOMURA IWAZU
entered the room with a soft-footed hint of stealth. He was a bullishly built man of sixty, straight-backed and square-shouldered. He wore his morning-suit as if it were a military uniform: every crease precise, every button just so. He had once been handsome, but age had dragged at his features and one of his ears was disfigured. A stray bullet or an errant blade had robbed him of half of it. His eyes blazed with the pride his bearing confirmed. Except it was not pride so much as hauteur. Winifred clearly saw that as she looked at him. Count Tomura Iwazu almost quivered with the force of his own certainty – in himself and the justness of his wishes.

‘Lady Maxted,’ he said, his voice gruff, his accent a curious hybrid of Japanese and aristocratic English. He bowed faintly to her.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Count Tomura,’ she responded. ‘You must be very busy.’

‘You are right. I have many duties to perform.’

‘But you have found time for me. I am grateful.’

Tomura took a curving route towards her, delaying a direct confrontation. ‘What has brought you to Paris, Lady Maxted?’

‘Complications arising from my husband’s death.’

‘I heard of that. My condolences to you.’

‘Thank you.’

He reached the mantelpiece and glanced at the painting above it: a dark oil of a hunting scene, with dogs ravening a fallen stag. Winifred saw bared teeth and rent flesh, but heard only the crackle of the fire and the deep, powerful breaths of her companion.

‘Do you remember when we first met, Count? It was at an Imperial garden party, was it not?’

Tomura looked at her, but did not reply. He had never been a loquacious man and Winifred did not propose to attempt anything amounting to a conversation with him. Much of what needed to be established between them did not need to be spoken.

‘Don’t worry. I haven’t asked to see you in order to reminisce about Tokyo society thirty years ago.’

‘It has changed little.’

‘As have you.’

‘You also, Lady Maxted. I saw the steel in you then. And I see it now.’

‘Not long after that garden party, there was an attempt on the life of the Foreign Minister. Do you remember? A dreadful business. What was his name?’

‘Okuma.’

‘A bomb was thrown at his carriage. He lost a leg, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘The would-be assassin committed suicide. His name was . . .’

‘Kurushima.’

‘Your memory is excellent, Count. Henry told me Kurushima was a member of a secret organization called . . . I can’t recall. But no doubt you can.’

‘
Genyosha
.’

‘What would that be in English?’

‘Dark Ocean.’

‘Ah. Yes. That was it. Were they connected with the subsequent assassination attempt against the Tsarevich?’

Tomura said nothing. He stared at her expressionlessly for fully half a minute. Then: ‘No.’

‘No. Of course they weren’t. Nor you with them.’

Another silence followed, an altogether tenser one. Then: ‘What did you say, Lady Maxted?’

‘When will you be returning to Japan?’

‘When will you be returning to England?’

Winifred smiled. ‘I believe I asked first.’

Tomura did not smile. ‘What do you want with me, Lady Maxted?’

‘An assurance that you and your son will go back to Japan on the next available ship.’

Tomura gave a short, barking, derisive laugh. ‘I think your husband’s death must have affected your judgement, Lady Maxted.’

‘It has. It has greatly sharpened it. You were not in Paris when Henry died, of course. But I understand your son was. Then
my
son, James, came here to find out why his father was murdered.’

‘Was he murdered?’

‘He was enquiring into your affairs, Count. This is known to both of us, as is the reason.’

‘The reason?’ Tomura puffed out his considerable chest and glared at her. He looked as if he wanted to snarl. But he did not. ‘You should be careful what you say, Lady Maxted.’

‘I will be. I want to protect my son, as I feel sure you want to protect your son. On that at least we can agree, as parents, can we not?’

Tomura went on glaring. ‘Yes.’

‘I shall tell you something I have told no one else. Henry was in St Petersburg at the time. I was alone at home in Surrey. This was a couple of years before the war. I received a visit from a Mr Jack Farngold.’

Tomura visibly flinched. ‘Farngold?’

‘Yes, Count. Jack Farngold. You know who he is, of course.’

‘I do not believe you.’

‘He told me many disturbing things. He could not prove they were all true. He said he needed to carry out further investigations before he could be sure.’ She paused for a moment, then continued. ‘You’re not going to ask sure of what?’