"That is in the hands of God."
Suddenly Smedly-Taylor felt the weight of his fifty-four years. He shuddered under the responsibility of his burden, for though he was glad to serve, and glad to be here in a time of need, and glad to do his duty, now he had to find the traitor. When he found the traitor he would have to punish him. Such a man deserved to die, as Daven would die if the wireless was found. Pray God it is not found, he thought despairingly, it's our only link with sanity. If there is a God in heaven, let it not be found!
Please.
But Smedly-Taylor knew that Yoshima was right about one thing. He should have had the courage to die like a soldier — on the battlefield or in escape. Alive, the cancer of memory ate him — the memory that greed, power lust, and bungling had caused the rape of the East, and countless hundred thousand useless deaths.
But then, he thought, if I had died, what of my darling Maisie, and John —my Lancer son and Percy — my Air Force son — and Trudy, married so young and pregnant so young and widowed so young, what of them?
Never to see or touch them, or feel the warmth of home again.
"That is in the hands of God," he said again, but, like him, the words were old and very sad.
Yoshima snapped orders at the four guards. They pulled the bunks from the corners of the hut and made a clearing. Then they pulled Daven's bunk into the clearing. Yoshima went into the corner and began to peer at the rafters, at the atap thatch, and at the rough boards beneath. His search was careful, but Smedly-Taylor suddenly realized that this was only for his benefit — that the hiding place was known.
He remembered the night months upon months ago when they had come to him. "It's on your own heads," he had said. "If you get caught, you get caught, and that's the end of it. I can do nothing to help you - nothing." He had singled out Daven and Cox and said quietly: "If the wireless is discovered - try not to implicate the others. You must try for a little while.
Then you are to say that I authorized this wireless. I ordered you to do it."
Then he had dismissed them and blessed them in his own way and wished them luck.
Now they were all steeped in unluck.
He waited impatiently for Yoshima to get to work on the beam, hating the cat-and-mouse agony. He could hear the undercurrent of despair from the men outside. There was nothing he could do but wait.
Finally Yoshima tired of the game too. The stench of the hut bothered him.
He walked to the bunk and made a perfunctory search. Then he studied the eight by eight. But his eyes could not find the cuts. Scowling, he examined it closer, his long sensitive fingers plying the wood. Still he could not find it.
His first reaction was that he had been misinformed. But this he could not believe, for the informer had not yet been paid.
He grunted a command and a Korean guard unsnapped his bayonet and gave it to him, haft first.
Yoshima tapped the beam, listening for the hollow sound. Ah, now he had it! Again he tapped. Again the hollow sound. But he could not find the cracks. Angrily he jabbed the bayonet into the wood.
The lid came free.
"So."
Yoshima was proud that he had found the radio. The General would be pleased. Pleased enough, perhaps, to assign him a combat unit, for his Bushido revolted at paying informers and dealing with these animals.
Smedly-Taylor moved forward, awed by the ingenuity of the hiding place and the patience of the man who made it. I must recommend Daven, he thought. This is duty above and beyond the call of duty. But recommend him for what?
"Who belongs to this bunk?" Yoshima asked.
Smedly-Taylor shrugged and went through the same pretense of finding out.
Yoshima was sorry, truly sorry that Daven had only one leg.
"Would you like a cigarette?" he said, offering the pack of Kooas.
"Thank you." Daven took the cigarette and accepted a light but did not taste the smoke.
"What is your name?" Yoshima asked courteously.
"Captain Daven, Infantry."
"How did you lose your leg, Captain Daven?"
"I - I was blown up by a mine. In Johore - just north of the causeway."
"Did you make the radio?"
"Yes."
Smedly-Taylor thrust away his own fear-sweat. "I ordered Captain Daven to make it. It's my responsibility. He was following my orders."
Yoshima glanced at Daven. "Is this true?"
"No."
"Who else knows about the radio?"
"No one. It was my idea and I made it. Alone."
"Please sit down, Captain Daven." Then Yoshima nodded contemptuously towards Cox, who sat sobbing with terror. "What's his name?"
"Captain Cox," Daven said.
"Look at him. Disgusting."
Daven drew on the cigarette. "I'm just as afraid as he is."
"You are in control. You have courage."
"I'm more afraid than he is." Daven hobbled awkwardly over to Cox, laboriously sat beside him. "It's all right, Cox, old boy," he said compassionately, putting his hand on Cox's shoulder. "It's all right." Then he looked up at Yoshima. "Cox earned the Military Cross at Dunkirk before he was twenty. He's another man now. Constructed by you bastards over three years."
Yoshima quelled an urge to strike Daven. Before a man, even an enemy, there was a code. He turned to Smedly-Taylor and ordered him to get the six men from the bunks nearest to Daven's, and told him to keep the rest on parade, under guard, until further orders.
The six men stood in front of Yoshima. Only Spence knew of the radio, but he, like all of them, denied the knowledge.
"Pick up the bunk and follow me," Yoshima ordered.
When Daven groped for his crutch, Yoshima helped him to his feet.
"Thank you," Daven said.
"Would you like another cigarette?"
"No, thank you."
Yoshima hesitated. "I would be honored if you would accept the packet."
Daven shrugged and took it, then hobbled to his corner and reached down for his iron leg.
Yoshima snapped out a command and one of the Korean guards picked up the leg and helped Daven sit down.
His fingers were steady as he attached the leg, then he stood, picked up his crutches, and stared at them a moment. Then he threw them into the corner of the hut.
He clomped to the bunk and looked at the radio. "I'm very proud of that,"
he said. He saluted Smedly-Taylor, then moved out of the hut.
The tiny procession wove through the silence of Changi. Yoshima led and timed the speed of the march to Daven's progress. Beside him was Smedly-Taylor. Then came Cox, tear-streamed and oblivious of the tears.
The other two guards waited with the men of Hut Sixteen.
They waited eleven hours.
Smedly-Taylor returned, and the six men returned. Daven and Cox did not return. They remained in the guardhouse and tomorrow they were going to Utram Road Jail.
The men were dismissed.
Peter Marlowe had a blinding headache from the sun. He stumbled back to the bungalow, and after a shower, Larkin and Mac massaged his head and fed him. When he had finished Larkin went out and sat beside the asphalt road. Peter Marlowe squatted in the doorless door, his back to the room.