The Japanese Naval Depot was also in Hong Kew, not far from the Japanese Club. Officially this was Chinese territory, but unofficially it was known as the Extended Settlement, and was under the control of the Shanghai Council. The Japanese had taken over control of the area by building their headquarters there.
It was when they tried to cross Garden Bridge that Danilov noticed the difference from just a day ago. Yesterday, the bridge had been quiet, only a few people slipping past the soldiers guarding its approaches. Today, it was almost impassable due to the weight of refugees trying to cross the narrow span to apparent safety.
The flood of refugees from the days before the troubles had become a torrent; whole families with all the goods they possessed loaded onto whatever moved. Rich people dressed in furs and fine coats were struggling with petty merchants, hawkers, sing-song girls, farmers and grandmothers, all fighting to get across the narrow walkway to safety.
The detectives were driving against the one-way traffic. The ravaged humanity of China surrounded the car, slowly shuffling past as if it were one more meaningless obstacle blocking their path. It had taken them nearly thirty minutes to cross from one side of Soochow Creek to the other, a distance of only seventy yards. And they had only managed with the help of a platoon of the Worcesters jostling people out of the path of the car with their Lee–Enfields.
Once across the bridge, the area had also changed since Danilov had left just a day before. It now had all the surliness of an armed camp. Japanese marines were positioned at every crossroads. Japanese flags flew from each window. No people were on the streets, not even the usual women sweeping the six-foot way outside their shops.
A company of marines dressed in their dark-blue uniforms with bright white spats were resting by the side of the road, scooping balls of rice from small bowls into their gaping mouths. An officer eyed the detectives suspiciously from beneath his soft cap. At one side, an artillery howitzer was parked, its barrel pointing towards Chapei and the tall tower of Shanghai North railway station.
The place was quiet, watchful, waiting for something to happen, knowing that it would soon.
Strachan drove past the building site where the body had been found. Had it been just twelve days ago? To Danilov, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since they had first seen the young boy’s body laid out on the steel table at Dr Fang’s. A lifetime that had seen two more murders of innocent children.
The car turned left along Boone Road and then right onto North Szechuan, carefully avoiding the trams by driving on the left.
As Strachan turned into the Japanese Naval Depot, he was brought to a sudden stop by a surly guard carrying a rifle. On either side of the roadway, more marines dressed in blue lounged in front of sandbagged emplacements. Danilov could see the shiny metal barrels of machine guns behind the slits in the sandbags.
Another squad of soldiers was carrying boxes of ammunition and placing them behind the position in neat square piles.
Strachan pulled out his warrant card and gave it to the guard, who merely grunted and passed it to an officer. The officer nodded his head, the barrier was moved aside and Strachan was waved through to park in front of the entrance.
The officer followed the car, handing Strachan’s warrant card back after he had parked.
‘You must be Inspector Danilov,’ he said, studiously ignoring Strachan. ‘I am Tanaka, aide-de-camp to Colonel Ihanaga.’
‘We have met before.’
Tanaka’s eyes narrowed and he sucked in his breath. ‘So we have, Inspector, at the Japanese Club. You have an excellent memory. Please to follow me.’ He bowed slightly from the waist, turned and strode up the steps.
Danilov began to follow him.
‘Shall I stay here, sir?’ asked Strachan.
Danilov thought for a moment. ‘No, come with me, you might be useful.’
Strachan looked up at the imposing structure of the headquarters and then at the blue-uniformed guards in front of the entrance. ‘I’d rather not, if that’s all right.’
Danilov understood. This was the centre of Japanese power in Shanghai and these people had annexed a large portion of Chinese territory. Strachan was still half Chinese, after all.
The officer waited impatiently at the top of the stairs.
‘Wait for me in the car,’ Danilov said. An armed soldier walked past staring at Strachan. ‘I wouldn’t move too far if I were you.’
‘I don’t intend to, sir.’
Danilov started up the stairs. Before he reached the top, Tanaka turned and walked past a saluting sentry into the interior. The inspector hurried to catch him up. He stepped through the door but couldn’t see Tanaka. The lobby was full of officers carrying papers, and soldiers in blue and field green rushing around, a buzz of activity amplified by the high marble dome soaring over his head.
‘This way, Inspector. The colonel is waiting.’
The officer was calling from a small office off the main lobby. Danilov followed him down a long corridor. On either side were pictures of the emperor: on a white horse, reviewing a parade, bending over maps, staring through thick glasses out into the distance; a thin, nondescript man who looked as if a fresh breath of wind would knock him over.
Tanaka knocked on a large door. A muffled voice spoke in Japanese. He stepped back, allowing Danilov to enter first.
The office was sparsely furnished. A desk, cleared of all papers; a bookshelf, the contents neatly filed by author; two hardback chairs, a large standing globe and, in the corner, sitting in an armchair, Inspector Nakamoto.
For the first time, Danilov saw him without his cap. His head was round and smooth as a billiard ball.
‘We meet again, Inspector.’
The voice came from behind Danilov. He turned to find Colonel Ihanaga standing beside another bookshelf, replacing a book.
‘Of course, you have met Inspector Nakamoto before?’
‘I have, but I am surprised to see him here.’
‘Why, Inspector? Don’t the British military authorities and the police work closely together? Many of your policemen are also members of the Volunteers. And isn’t there a special force of your Russian compatriots attached to the army?’
‘Nonetheless, I am surprised to see him here rather than in his office at Hong Kew station.’
Colonel Ihanaga walked round to face Danilov. ‘I asked him to come. You see, he recommended you as the person to contact regarding a problem.’
Danilov’s eyebrows rose a fraction.
‘You seem surprised, Inspector?’
‘The contrariness of humanity always surprises me, Colonel.’
Nakamoto spoke from his seat in the armchair. ‘The colonel asked me who the best investigator in the Shanghai Police was… ’ A small pause, and then, ‘I told him that as far as I knew, it was you.’
‘But we have never worked together, Inspector Nakamoto.’
Another pause, almost reluctant this time. ‘Your reputation precedes you, Danilov.’
Colonel Ihanaga pulled out one of the hardback chairs. ‘Please sit down, Inspector.’
What was going on here?
The colonel offered him a cigarette. ‘These are Balkan, created specially for me. I’m afraid I picked up an affection for them living in London. I still have them sent regularly from Robert Lewis on St James’s Street.’
Danilov remembered the distinctive aroma when he had met the colonel at the Japanese Club. He took one of the cigarettes and rolled it under his nose, the richness of the tobacco filling his nostrils.
The colonel produced a lighter, lighting his own cigarette and Danilov’s. The first inhalation of smoke danced like a cloud wearing cotton-wool slippers down the inspector’s throat. For a moment he was entranced by the smoothness of the taste, before remembering where he was.
‘You haven’t asked me here to compliment you on the quality of your tobacco, Colonel.’
The colonel stared at him, before answering coolly, ‘No, I haven’t, Inspector. My son has been kidnapped and I need you to find him before he is murdered.’