(Author's note: No, I haven't accidentally pasted in part of another story. This is part of The Case of the Missing Shells. We'll be back to Doctor Fung and Dan in LA in the next chapter.)

Major Watanabe of the Imperial Japanese Army had a problem. It was not, strictly speaking, a military problem, and his military training and experience had not equipped him to deal with it. But his superior had ordered him to take care of it, and so he would bring all his energies to bear on it.

When Singapore had surrendered to the Japanese two weeks previously, Watanabe had become responsible for the island's civilian prisons, along with their staff and the several thousand prisoners they housed. Watanabe's superior had ordered him to make room in those prisons, so that at least some of them could be used for other purposes. He had not seen fit to explain what other purposes he had in mind, and Watanabe was not sure he wanted to know.

Watanabe had decided that, since the prisoners were now subject to Japanese law, he could re-evaluate their sentences according to that law, which prescribed the death penalty for many more offences than British law did. He was now studying the prisons' records to gain some idea of how much room this plan would make. He had a good knowledge of English, acquired while working in Malaysia in the 1920s, but was finding it a poor tool for the task. The records used a great deal of specialised jargon, and were often written in such difficult hands that he thought the clerks must have had their eyes closed. He had asked his superior for a couple of translators, but so far had received no reply. He wondered whether by make room, his superior had actually meant, shoot them all.

His calf throbbed again, and he waved his foot around in a mostly-futile attempt to ease the pain. For the thousandth time, he cursed the Chinese saboteur who had forced his retirement from front-line duty. His men had killed her too quickly. They had made up for it with her family.

A commotion from the anteroom made Watanabe look up. Before he could decide whether to tell his staff to throw the troublemakers out, the door of his office burst open.

Two tall pale-skinned men entered and stood on either side of the door. They wore broad-brimmed hats, together with long coats that looked much too warm for the climate. A young woman in a patterned silk dress followed them, seeming very pleased with herself. She stopped a few paces from the desk.

"What is the meaning of this?" Watanabe demanded. "Do you have an appointment?"

"I don't need an appointment."

"Chinese?" It was obvious from her accent. "Get out, before I have all of you shot!" A moment passed, and he wondered why his guards had not entered the office in response to his raised voice. Then he glimpsed one of them lying on the floor of the anteroom. He stood, reaching for his pistol.

His hand stopped halfway to the weapon, with a cold grip on his wrist, and his arm was suddenly behind his back. Someone was twisting it, as though intent on pulling it from its socket. One of the men by the door had gone, but how had he moved without Watanabe seeing him? The man put his other icy hand on the side of Watanabe's head and pushed, exposing his neck. Surely these intruders didn't mean to behead him?

The woman barked a command, and the man let go of Watanabe. He moved to one side of the desk, leaving a strong smell of carbolic soap.

Watanabe stood straight, wanting to massage his wrist, but unable to show weakness in front of a foreigner. "Who are you? What have you done to my guards? Why are you here?"

The woman dipped her head and smiled. "Names are dangerous things in these times. Your guards will live, although I would advise light duties for the next day or two. As for why I am here... you have something that I want."

Watanabe decided to play along for the time being. He could shoot the man by his desk, but the other might have the same inhuman speed, and he wasn't sure he could bring his pistol to bear on that man before he closed the gap.

"What is this something?" Watanabe asked. "And why do you imagine I will give it to you?"

"You will give it to me," the woman replied, "because if you do not, I will take it, and that will result in your superiors asking you many unpleasant questions."

"You dare to threaten me?"

She raised her eyebrows and glanced over her shoulder to the doorway. The guard whom Watanabe could see still hadn't moved. "What I want is a British civil servant by the name of David Beresford, awaiting trial in Changi Prison for breaking one of their antiquated morality laws."

"Out of the question. He is subject to Japanese justice now. He will have to await his trial, the same as every other criminal. Even if he is acquitted, British subjects are forbidden to leave Singapore." As he spoke, Watanabe thought that if he released this Beresford man, it would go some short distance towards making room in the prisons. But the notion of doing anything at the request of a foreigner—​a Chinese at that—​revolted him.

"I did not say I wished to remove him from Singapore," the woman said.

"Why do you want him?" Watanabe asked.

"You will be happier if you do not know."

He scowled. "A Japanese soldier cares nothing for happiness, only for serving the will of his Emperor."

"Then perhaps I can help you to carry out his will." She nodded to the man by the desk, who took a thick white envelope from inside his coat and offered it to Watanabe. As he took it, Watanabe noticed that the man wore gloves. How then had his grip seemed so cold? He might have put them on after letting go of Watanabe, but why bother?

"Open it," the woman said.

The envelope contained a dozen folded sheets of thin paper, mostly covered in dense Chinese characters. Watanabe could not read these, but one sheet had a map of north-east China.

"Your war against the Chinese has stalled," said the woman. "You are too busy chasing peasant saboteurs in the occupied territories to push any further west or south. Those papers state who their leaders are, where their bases are, and where and how they smuggle supplies across your lines. Send the papers to your superiors and give me Beresford in return."

"How do I know this information is genuine?" Watanabe asked, folding the papers and putting them back into the envelope.

She shrugged. "I assume your superiors have ways to determine that."

"You are Chinese, are you not?"

"Yes."

"Why are you willing to betray your own people?"

Her eyes flicked in the direction of the man by the desk, who had not moved since giving Watanabe the envelope. Watanabe had a sudden fear that she was deciding whether to tell the man to kill him.

"The war against you cockroaches is not the real war," she said. "If you lose—​as seems likely now that you have been foolish enough to provoke the Americans—​the Communists will take over, and the same thing that happened in Russia will happen in China. If you win, you will simply replace our rulers. If they win, they will replace our entire way of life."

She nodded to the man by the desk, and he walked to her side—​slowly, as though he feared aggravating an injury.

"Exactly one week from now, I will come to the goods entrance of Changi Prison. Beresford will be delivered into my custody. If he is not, I will ensure that you live long enough to regret crossing me."

The three of them left without another word.

The pain in Watanabe's leg flared again, but he forced himself to remain standing until he heard the door of the anteroom open and close. He sank into his chair and wiped his forehead. What the woman had said about wanting to defeat the Communists sounded plausible. She looked like the sort of person who would suffer if they came to power. But if her information was false, it would reflect badly on Watanabe. And what was so important about this David Beresford that the woman, or whoever she was working for, had handed over so much information in the mere hope of obtaining his release?

Watanabe felt like a novice go player facing Hon'inbō Sansa. He needed advice from someone not in the official chain of command. His hand shaking, he picked up the receiver of his phone. He dialled a number that was not in the directory. He heard two rings, then someone picked up.

"This is Kaneda," he said. "I need to meet Tetsuo, as soon as possible."

"Rendezvous forty-three," said a muffled voice. "Twenty fifteen hours."

The line went dead.