Free The Ends of the Earth by Robert Goddard Page A

advice, Sam spent much of the car journey from the rear entrance of the Home Ministry to Professor Nishikawa’s house in Sendagi crouched out of sight. He consequently had little idea of where in relation to the centre of Tokyo the house was, although it was certainly some way off. Stillness and silence were the dominant features of the residence, a large, traditional Japanese house of carved wood and paper walls and narrow corridors and tatami-matted expanses of quietude.
    Dispossessed of his shoes and supplied with ill-fitting slippers by a mute manservant, Sam was briefly received by Nishikawa in his book-crammed study. The Professor was a stooped, hawk-nosed little man with a grey beard and an air of distraction, clad in a kimono speckled with ink stains around the sleeves. ‘You are welcome, Mr Twentyman. Stay as long as you need to. But, please, do not disturb me.’
    Sam had the impression when he left the study that he had just had the longest conversation with Nishikawa he was ever likely to. The manservant popped up and led him to the bathroom, where the floor-sunk tub was full and waiting for him. Sam could not deny he probably needed a bath.
    He gingerly removed the bandage from his head before climbing in. He could not find a mirror, but there was no fresh blood, which he took as a good sign.
    He was drying himself after the bath when the manservant’s wife – or so he assumed she was – appeared in the room, ignored his flusterings and applied a fresh and rather smaller bandage to his wound. ‘ Kurushi? ’ she asked several times. The word sounded a little like excruciating. He shook his head and smiled, which seemed to satisfy her.
    Professor Nishikawa had one room in his house furnished in Western style, with table and armchairs. There Sam was served a meal of grilled eel and noodles. Afterwards he sat out on the verandah. The garden of clipped trees and ornamental ponds was a restful sight, but Sam felt only a gnawing anxiety.
    ‘ You should never have left home, Sam, my boy ,’ he could imagine his mother saying. And for once he would have had to agree with her.
    Chiyoko’s return to the tenement on Fukagawa was a relief to both Malory and Mrs Shimizu. There was a whispered conversation between mother and daughter – with an argumentative edge to it – before Chiyoko entered the room where Malory was waiting.
    ‘Is there good news?’ Malory asked at once, for Chiyoko looked slightly less sombre than when she had left.
    ‘There is some, Miss Hollander. And there may be more to come.’
    Morahan lay chained to the table, face down, his legs and arms stretched taut. He was breathing shallowly and gingerly after repeated beatings with the cane. The pain he felt was both general and specific, beating to its own pounding rhythm in his head and his lungs and his limbs.
    Mikanagi had alternated between insisting Morahan confess to plotting against Prime Minister Hara’s life and demanding he reveal where Malory Hollander and Sam Twentyman might be hiding. Morahan had held his tongue on both counts. So far.
    ‘Tell me, Morahan,’ said Mikanagi, appearing above him, ‘is Miss Hollander your woman?’
    ‘She’s no one’s woman.’
    ‘I do not believe you. She is yours. But you will be no use to her when I have finished with you.’
    There was a dimming of the light. Morahan’s chains were loosened and the guards pulled him over on to his back before tightening them again. He heard something being plugged into one of the overhead lamp sockets. A few seconds later, an electric shock coursed through his genitals. His back arched with the pain.
    ‘That was just a few seconds,’ said Mikanagi, stooping close to his ear. ‘Longer and your flesh will begin to burn. You want that, Morahan? You want—’
    He broke off at the sound of the door opening. There was an exchange in Japanese with someone who entered. The exchange grew heated. The newcomer stepped into Morahan’s field of vision. He wore