She lingered there for several minutes, studying the unkempt grounds for some hint of watchful eyes or a menacing presence, but if anyone was there, they were well hidden. As she drew near the house, she could hear music — something classical — punctuated occasionally by a sharp clicking noise. The sounds seemed to originate from behind the house, so she circled the perimeter and found herself on the edge of an expansive English-style garden, gone mostly to seed.
The source of the music was a battered old boom box which rested on a well-weathered wrought iron patio table. Despite its age, the portable stereo player was the only piece of modern technology in evidence. The clicking noise came from a pair of pruning shears, wielded by an older man — she guessed him to be in his early seventies — who was humming along with the music as he snipped runners from a rose bush, in an effort to bring the landscape under a semblance of control. Judging from his doddering pace, it was a Sisyphean labor. She paused about twenty yards from him and called out. If her greeting startled the old man, he gave no indication. He merely looked up and waved her over as if he had been expecting such a visit.
That frightened her a little, but there was no turning back now. The old man had a kindly expression and she couldn’t picture him harming anything but the dandelions. She hiked the rest of the way and stuck out her hand. “Hello, sir. I’m trying to find the Hancock place. Is this it?”
“It is indeed.” His smiled only seemed to deepen. “Though not for much longer I suppose, seeing as I’m the last of my name.”
“Then you must be Lord Hancock.” She extended her hand. “I’m Alex.”
“Please, just call me Edward. The title is rubbish and I squandered the last of my inheritance long ago. Can’t even afford a proper gardener now.” He bowed, pressing her hand to his lips in a gesture that seemed more quaint than debonair. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Alex. You’re a Yank if my ears do not deceive?”
“That’s right, Lord…Edward. I’m a historian. That’s why I’m here.”
He cocked his head sideways and the smile seemed to slip a little. “Not much history here, I’m afraid. I’ve done rather a good job of staying out history’s way.”
“I…uh…” Alex realized that she had been so focused on surviving the journey that she’d given little thought to what she wanted to accomplish upon arriving. “Actually, I’m looking for information about one of your relatives. At least I think he was. Trevor Hancock?”
The smile vanished completely, replaced by a sad wistful look. “Trevor was my brother. I was just a boy when he…well, went off to war.” He returned his gaze to her. “I’m not sure I can be of much help to you, Miss. It was a long time ago, and he died before I ever really got to know him.”
“I understand. If I could just ask a few questions?”
“You can ask.” He walked over to the table and shut off the music. “If you don’t mind waiting a little longer for my woefully inadequate answers, I’ll put on a kettle and we can have a spot of tea.”
She nodded, and while Hancock headed into the house, she set about brushing moss from the chairs. He returned a few minutes later and set down a tray, upon which sat a silver tea service, along with a plate of scones, a dish of butter, and a small jar of marmalade. Alex was famished after the long walk, but thought it best to ask her questions before digging into the snack.
“Your brother served in Asia, right?”
Hancock decanted hot water into a pair of delicate china teacups on matching saucers. “Among other places. He was captured in Burma and died there as a prisoner of war.”
“I came across his name on the manifest of a ship that was transporting POWs.” She chose her words carefully so as not to upset her host. “Does that sound right?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. As I told you, it was long ago and I was only a boy when the letter came. The War Ministry wasn’t exactly forthcoming; not like today where we always have to know every last bloody detail.” He blushed suddenly. “Ah, forgive me. I should have better manners. Truthfully though, all I know is that he went away and that was the last we ever saw. There’s an empty coffin beneath his gravestone.”
Alex sensed that she wouldn’t get anything more from Hancock without revealing the whole truth about her search. She reached into her backpack and brought out the file containing all the information about the hell ships.
“I found a message in a file relating to the sinking of the Nagata Maru, a Japanese liner sunk in the South China Sea.” She shuffled out the paper and passed it to him.
He studied it for a moment then handed it back with a perplexed expression. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see how this sheds any new light on my brother’s fate. Nor, I might add, how it rates the attention of an historian.”
“This is a message from the Pacific Command of Allied Forces.” She shook the paper emphatically. “It’s an order to sink the ship that was carrying your brother…to sink it because it was carrying your brother. Don’t you see? ‘Prevent LT Hancock Trevor RA from reaching Cabanatuan by any means necessary.’ They wanted him dead.”
Edward Hancock shuddered but quickly regained his implacable demeanor. “It was war, and in a war, tough decisions must be made. Perhaps dear Trevor was keeping some bit of information vital to the war effort, and the Allies couldn’t allow the Nips to get their hands on it. Who can know why the order was given? You’d do better to ask your own government, though I can’t imagine anyone will remember the answer fifty years later.”
“Edward…Lord Hancock, listen to me. This isn’t just old dusty history. Someone is willing to kill for this information.”
The old man’s eyes widened. “Kill? And you’ve come here? Led these killers to my doorstep?” His clipped precise accent made the words sound even more accusatory, and Alex felt her face go hot with embarrassment. “Who exactly is after you?”
“I don’t know. And until I can figure out why, I can’t trust anyone. Not even the government. I have to know why your brother was specifically targeted.” She could see in his eyes that she was finally getting through to him, and sensed that he might know something after all. “Do you know why?” she pressed.
Hancock reached across the table. “May I see those papers, all of them?”
She gave them up. “All the files relating to the sinking of the Nagata Maru are on the top. The rest are about other ships.”
“Thank you.” Hancock commenced scanning the papers, flipping each one over after a few moments of scrutiny. His eyes no longer had the watery look of advanced years, but moved back and forth with laser-like intensity. “There’s a discrepancy here,” he said. “This page gives a different latitude and longitude for the sinking.”
“Let me see.” Alex was surprised that she had missed that in her own review of the documents but Hancock was correct. The first page, the official report on sinking of the Nagata Maru did indeed have a different set of coordinates than the second — an excerpt from the log of the USS Stingray, the submarine that had torpedoed the hell ship. The latter document, she noticed, had only been recently declassified. It was very likely that she and Hancock were the first persons to read the sub skipper’s words in five decades. “You’re right. They must have changed the official report.”
“So that no one could find the ship,” said Hancock. “Or Trevor’s body.”