Shevich drew close and peered at the card. “Jacob Akhatov, Ministry of Internal Affairs Security Department. Another member of the Okhrana.”
There was nothing else remarkable about the contents of the man’s pockets. Sherlock placed his nose near the dead man’s temple. “He smells of seawater. He has changed his suit, but before that he may have been swimming in the ocean. There is a depression in his skin where wire was wrapped around his finger. It was not made in one day—he did this every few days. The mud on his shoes is mixed with sand.”
The detective withdrew several small paper packets from his own breast pocket. Each was inscribed with a place name, in English. He opened the packet marked “Daiba.” There was soil inside. He withdrew a pinch with his fingers, and with his other hand scraped some of the dirt from Akhatov’s shoes. He rubbed his fingers together on each hand. “They are the same,” he muttered. “This man was walking along the shore at Daiba, no more than an hour ago.”
One of the other packets caught Ito’s eye. “Hold on, does that say pleasure quarters?”
“Consider it insurance, to maintain the domestic bliss of your household.” Sherlock stood up. He approached the remnants of the gunfire-decimated desk, and opened each of the drawers. Next he moved to the bookshelf and began rifling through the books, tossing them aside as he searched.
Shevich eyed Akhatov’s corpse. “I travel to Daiba frequently and I have never seen this man. Perhaps he was disguised as a sailor.”
Sherlock continued upending the contents of the bookshelf. “He has no suntan so he could not have been passing himself off as a sailor. The compression marks on his face indicate that he was wearing a diving suit. Yes, here we are.”
He waved a large book in the air and opened the cover. The insides had been carved out into the shape of a cone. He turned to Kanevsky.
“Can you think of any weapons or equipment used by the Russian military that would fit this cavity?”
Kanevsky peered inside the book. His expression grew pinched. “A suction plate for a land mine. It has a waterproof guard so that the mines, usually buried underground, can be used at sea. The plate is attached with wire.”
Ito gasped. “You think that this Akhatov was going to sink the warships?!”
“Wait,” Sherlock said. “The timing would be too coincidental. We must assume that there have been explosives on the ships all along, and that Akhatov was only checking and replacing them.”
Kanevsky nodded. “The waterproof cover is not perfect. If it is left in the water, the cover must be replaced once every two to three days.”
Shevich furrowed his brow. “Are you telling me that there have been explosives attached to our ships all this time? To the Laskar?”
“They must have taken measures to ensure that Russia would mount an invasion, should their plan to lead Japan down a path of self-destruction flounder at its inception.”
“When you say measures…” Shevich’s eyes widened. “You mean Tsarevich Nicholas!”
Ito stared at Sherlock. “If Chekhov learns of what has just occurred…”
“He will act immediately. If the warships in port are sunk and Nicholas is killed, it will surely spark a war. Our discovery of the switched books will be for nothing.”
“Do you think they are already on the move?”
“I cannot say. But Tokyo is very quiet once the sun goes down. That volley of gunshots earlier was probably audible from a mile in every direction. It’s probable that Chekhov and Denikin are in Daiba, but if either one was still nearby and heard the reports, they would be speeding to Daiba by carriage.”
Then there was not a moment to spare. “We must mobilize the police immediately,” Ito declared.
Shevich cleared his throat. “We shall telegraph the Laskar, as well.”
Sherlock took charge. “Telegraph Russia first. If the ships in the harbor are sunk, they must know it was the Okhrana’s doing, not Japan’s. You must notify the Emperor quickly. Otherwise, Chekhov wins.”
Then he rushed out the door. Ito chased after him.
They were in the midst of the greatest threat Japan had encountered since the Restoration. Once, Ito had failed to prevent the Battle of Shimonoseki. He would be damned if he failed again, even were it to cost him his own life. If he failed now, modern Japan would meet its demise at the young age of 24.
34
The Daiba port was illuminated with a faint glow. Torches burned, and constellations of lantern light migrated across the area. The sound of hoofbeats was constant. Carriages arrived in droves, assembling at the top of the hill, from which uniformed police officers poured down the narrow path toward the shore.
Ito and Sherlock alighted from one of the carriages and joined the frenzy. The smell of the tide was omnipresent. Cool air blew in from the sea, stealing the heat from their bodies.
Sherlock directed his attention toward the pitch-black sea. The nine warships were still parked in harbor. So far, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Ito rendezvoused with Sonoda. Kanevsky had brought his guards with him and was yelling at the sailors in Russian. Leaving the chaos of the hilltop behind, Sherlock headed for the outlook.
He peered over the balustrade, down at the shoreline, where there were several small boats being gathered. It was a random assortment—everything from steam-powered crafts to rowboats. Policemen crowded around the boats, impatient to board.
“Mr. Holmes,” Ito caught up to Sherlock and panted. “Sonoda has gathered over 100 boats. With all these people searching, I am sure we will find the attached explosives.”
Sherlock shook his head. “They are not all in diving suits. The ocean is dark, and the explosives are attached to the bottom of the ships. The men will be useless unless they dive.”
“The navy is on its way now. They have a great number of divers. Until then, we must do what we can.”
From behind, a voice called, “Ito!”
They turned and were confronted by a Japanese man in a blazer. He approached quickly. Kaoru Inoue! He held his cane in one hand—the one with the hidden blade. “I put a call out to the fishermen as soon as I received your message,” he said. “They are all men accustomed to nighttime skin diving.”
Sherlock couldn’t hide his surprise. “You plan to have them fumble around the bottom of the ships with their hands?”
Inoue nodded. “Of course. With enough men searching, I’m sure we will find the explosives.”
“It is dangerous. And the bottoms of the ships are quite deep.”
“Japanese fishermen dive naked as far down as the ocean floor. They cannot afford expensive equipment.”
Their courage, at least, was commendable. But there were other worries to contend with. Sherlock called: “Lt. Colonel Kanevsky! If the land mines beneath the waterproof covers are tampered with, will they explode?”
“There is no saying how they were set,” the lieutenant colonel replied, “but if they need to be replaced on a regular basis I doubt they are so delicate.”
“Then how do Chekhov and his man plan to detonate them?”
“Probably they would dive down and attach a wire to the fuse in advance, and pull the wire from some faraway location. That is the only method I can think of. Fishing boats travel between the ships on a regular basis, so I doubt the wires would be constantly tensed.”
Sherlock turned back toward Ito. “Excellent. Get the police and fishermen out onto the water, and Chekhov and Denikin will be unable to run the wires.”
“According to the sailors, Chekhov set out toward the ships on a steamboat with a young man. They had many sailors aboard with them, so it is unlikely they could dive anywhere along the way. But it’s not clear which ship they boarded.”