King Rat

“I’m in,” said the King, and then he looked up and Grey was standing at the door. Between Brough and Yoshima. And behind Yoshima were Shagata and another guard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Stand by your beds,” Brough ordered, his face stark and drawn.

The King shot a murderous glance at Max, who was the night’s lookout. Max had failed in his job. He had said “Cops” and not noticed the Japanese. If he had said “Japs” a different plan would have been used.

Peter Marlowe tried to get to his feet. Standing made his nausea worse, so he stumbled to the King’s table and leaned against it.

Yoshima was looking down at the money on the table. Brough had already seen it and winced. Grey had noticed it and his pulse had quickened.

“Where did this money come from?” Yoshima said.

There was a vast silence.

Then Yoshima shouted, “Where did this money come from?”

The King was dying inside. He had seen Shagata, and knew Shagata was nervous, and the King knew he was within an ace of Utram Road. “It’s gambling money, sir.”

Yoshima walked the length of the hut until he was in front of the King. “None from black market?” he asked.

“No, sir,” he said, forcing a smile.

Peter Marlowe felt the vomit rising. He reeled heavily and almost fell, and could not keep his eyes focused. “Can—I sit—please?” he said.

Yoshima looked down the room and noticed the armband. “What is an English officer doing here?” He was surprised, for his informants had told him there was very little fraternization with the Americans.

“I—was—just visiting…” But Peter Marlowe could not continue. “Excuse—” he lurched to the window and vomited.

“What’s the matter with him?” Yoshima asked.

“I think—it’s fever, sir.”

“You,” Yoshima said to Tex, “sit him on that chair.”

“Yes, sir,” Tex said.

Yoshima looked back at the King. “How is there so much money without black market?” he said silkily.

The King was conscious of the eyes upon him, and conscious of the appalling silence and conscious of the diamond inside him, and conscious of Shagata in the doorway. He cleared his throat. “Just, we’ve—saved our dough for gambling!”

Yoshima’s hand cracked against the King’s face, rocking him backward. “Liar!”

The blow did not hurt, really, but at the same time it seemed to be a death smash. My God, the King told himself, I’m dead. My luck’s run out.

“Captain Yoshima.” Brough began to walk up the length of the hut. He knew there was no use in trying to interfere—perhaps he would make it worse—but he had to try.

“Shut up!” Yoshima said. “The man lies. Everyone knows. Stinking Yank!”

Yoshima turned his back on Brough and looked up at the King. “Give me your water bottle!”

In a dream, the King got his bottle off the shelf and handed it to Yoshima. The Japanese poured the water out, shook the bottle and peered into it. Then he tossed it on the floor and moved to Tex. “Give me your water bottle.”

Peter Marlowe’s stomach heaved again. What about the water bottles? his brain screamed. Are Mac and Larkin being searched? And what happens if Yoshima asks for mine? He gagged and staggered to the window.

Yoshima worked his way around the hut, examining every bottle. At last he stood in front of Peter Marlowe.

“Your water bottle.”

“I—” began Peter Marlowe, and again nausea overwhelmed him and buckled his knees and he was beyond speech.

Yoshima turned to Shagata and said something furiously in Japanese at him.

Shagata said, “Hai.”

“You!” Yoshima pointed at Grey. “Go with this man and the guard and get the water bottle.”

“Very well.”

“Excuse me, sir,” the King said quickly. “His water bottle’s here.”

The King reached under his bed and pulled out a bottle, his spare, kept in secret against a rainy day.

Yoshima took it. It was very heavy. Heavy enough to contain a radio or part of a radio. He pulled out the cork and upended it. A stream of dry rice grains poured out. And kept pouring until it was empty and light. No radio inside.

Yoshima hurled the bottle away. “Where is the radio?” he shouted.

“There isn’t one—” began Brough, hoping to God Yoshima wouldn’t ask him why the Englishman, who was visiting, should put his water bottle under a bed.

“Shut up.”

Yoshima and the guards searched the hut, making sure that there were no more water bottles, and then Yoshima went through the water bottles again.

“Where is the water bottle radio?” he shouted. “I know it is here. That one of you has it! Where is it?”

“There’s no radio here,” Brough repeated. “If you like we’ll strip the whole hut for you.”

Yoshima knew that somehow his information was wrong. This time he had not been told the hiding place, only that it was contained in a water bottle, or water bottles, and tonight one of the men who owned it was, at this moment, in the American hut. His eyes looked at each man. Who? Oh, he could certainly march them all up to the guardhouse, but that wouldn’t help—not without the radio. The General didn’t like failures. And without the radio—