Fujihara came into my office and Uncle Lim followed behind. I felt fearful immediately. He had aged so much. His hair was almost completely white and his clothes hung loose as withered leaves. I felt the guilt of Ming's death, fresh as though it had been the day before.

"Is this not your driver? He says he has some useful information for us," Fujihara said, the anticipation of a prey's fresh blood making him vibrate with excitement.

"Uncle Lim, whatever you are going to say, I hope you've thought carefully of the consequences," I said, trying hard to remain calm.

He did not answer me, but in a firm, steady voice that only shook once before he controlled it again he said, "There's a radio transmitter in Istana. I believe the daughter of the house has been using it to pass information to certain people on the mainland."

"He's lying," I said quickly. "He's been affected by his daughter's death."

"Let us see, then," Fujihara said. "I think you should come with us."

Fujihara left to round up his men and I went into Endo-san's office and told him of the Kempeitai chief's intentions.

"He is acting within his powers; you cannot expect me to intervene," Endo-san said.

"You can prevent any mistreatment of my sister," I said. He knew of the exchange between Fujihara and Isabel at Istana before the surrender but I reminded him of it again.

He shook his head. "Fujihara-san's mandate comes from the emperor's representative in Malaya and that person is-"

"Saotome," I said.

"Who has taken a personal interest in this matter," Fujihara said, entering the room. "I have spoken to him now. He has requested to be present when we interrogate this Hutton woman." He gave me a smile, the first time I had seen him do so. "Your sister. Ready to go?"

I pleaded to Endo-san with my mind, reaching out to him with unspoken thoughts-come with me, at least come with me, and give me strength.

"I think I would like to join you as well, Fujihara-san," Endo-san said.

The head of the Kempeitai, triumph in his nostrils, agreed readily. "You are most welcome, Endo-san. I shall wait for you outside."

"Get me my coat," Endo-san said. I went out to the cloakroom and paused, listening. When I was certain that I was alone I telephoned Towkay Yeap. "Tell my sister to destroy everything she has. The Kempeitai are coming."

It was all a mistake, I thought. Surely Isabel could not have been in league with any anti-Japanese groups? She would not have known anyone who was involved and she would never have been so foolish as to place herself and her family in such danger. As I hurried out to the car I tried to convince myself of this but all my efforts were useless against an overpowering feeling of dread.

All the way to Istana I could see only the fluttering flag on the bonnet of the car. The two cars entered the driveway, through the stone pillars that gaped now like a toothless mouth. All the iron fittings and decorations in the country had been taken down by the Japanese, smelted down and sent back to Japan. I was saddened by the derelict condition of the gardens, the trees growing wild, the grass uncut and scattered with leaves. My father had taken such great pride in his garden before the war.

The windows of the house were closed and only a single shutter was open, a thin wisp of curtain curling in and out like a lolling tongue, as though mocking me.

I stood by the car, unsure if this were still my home, unsure if the house would recognize me.

Two Kempeitai officers walked up the steps and knocked on the door. Uncle Lim stared ahead, perhaps remembering the first time he had entered by these doors, to see the master of the house. He refused to look at me.

My father opened the door, saw me and his shoulders slumped. I hoped desperately that Towkay Yeap had managed to warn him.

Fujihara pushed himself in. "We are here to search your house. This man here," he pointed to Uncle Lim, "is certain that your daughter has been passing information to people sympathetic to the enemy."

The officers went upstairs. "Make sure the servants are all kept in the house," Fujihara said to them. I attempted to follow but Endo-san held me back with a soft touch on my shoulder.

My father's glance went to Uncle Lim and back to me but his blue eyes betrayed nothing. There was nothing to say. I could feel the heavy silence of the house, disturbed only by the sounds of doors being opened and closed upstairs. We heard the breaking of glass and splintering wood in the library as my father's collection of butterflies was destroyed by the officers but he remained expressionless.

The officers came down again. "There is no one. We found nothing."

"The boathouse," Uncle Lim said.

We made our way down to the beach, and the sea winds, so reminiscent of the lazy, happy days of my childhood, were unnatural companions to our business. We approached the boathouse. It was just a wooden hut, large enough to store my boat and the small sailing boat my father had long since stopped using. They found the box in the cupboard where we kept our fishing lines and rods. They also found Isabel hidden in the cabin of my father's sailing boat.

She kicked and fought them as they dragged her out. Fujihara reached over and, faster than I could stop him, slapped her twice and pushed her onto the sand.

"Where's your rifle now?" he asked and kicked her in the face. I anchored my father, restraining him from going to Isabel.

The box was opened and I cursed silently. A small transmitter set fell out, then a headset and a small microphone. A pile of papers took flight in the gusting wind and the Kempeitai officers chased after them, like boys on a beach.

"No," my father whispered. "Lim, what have you done? Why?"

"Your son led Ming to her death, Mr. Hutton," Uncle Lim said. "This is justice."

"That's not how it happened," I said, but nobody was listening to me.

"We now have incontrovertible evidence," Fujihara said. "Thank you, Mr. Lim."

"Isabel ..." I said. I took her hand and lifted her to her feet. "Why? Why did you have to risk your life like this?"

She looked at me with such hatred that I flinched from the physical force of it. "William and Peter are dead, Edward is dying day by day in the prison camps and Father is working himself sick trying to keep our company and our workers alive. Everyone is playing their part in fighting these animals. Everyone except you. You chose the easy way: to work for the Japs. I feel sorry for you because when the British come back and kick your friends out, this house, this island, this country, will never be home for you again. You'll remember too much. And too many people will never forget what you did."

I thought of Saotome and Fujihara, waiting, ready to participate in her interrogation. "Don't you know what's going to happen to you? Did you ever consider the consequences?" I asked.

"Remember what I said to you, such a short time ago, the night we spent on The Hill?"

I knew, I remembered. But still she said it again, as though to ensure I would never forget. "I would die before I would even consider working for them."

Endo-san pulled her roughly and said, "Come, enough of this nonsense. Fujihara-san, gather the radio and whatever else you require and let us return. The sun is too hot."

Isabel pulled free and hugged my father. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

My father rubbed her head, smelled her hair. "You did the right thing. We'll find a way to get you out of this."

I stood alone, outside them, knowing I had no right to be with them now.

Fujihara lifted a camera from his case and walked around the boathouse taking photographs, humming all the while. Endo-san said to Isabel, so softly I thought it was just a stream of wind. "You must not escape."

My father looked up sharply. Endo-san repeated his words. "You must not escape." He patted his coat pocket once, as though to feel his heart. I did not understand, but Isabel did.

She pulled away from my father as he was wiping the tears from her face. Isabel nodded slowly at Endo-san. Then her eyes met mine.

"Forgive me," I whispered, as a horrible comprehension awoke inside me. She held out her hand and I took it, it seemed, for the longest time. I was unwilling to release her, but she pulled her fingers away and turned and ran along the waterline, her shining figure reflected on the wet smooth sand, leaving behind a trail of footprints. The waves came in and rubbed them away and still she ran, creating new ones, running forever, in eternal motion. The world in my head was silenced. All I seemed to hear was her breathing-or maybe it was hers and mine. We breathed together and I felt her exertion, her fear, and her exhilaration. She had an unnatural lightness, moving so easily her feet seemed to glance across the wet sand, her weight never once falling entirely onto it.

Endo-san shouted a warning to Fujihara then reached into his coat pocket and brought out a pistol. He lifted it in the calm, natural motion he had once taught me in the jungle near Kampong Pangkor. He took aim before Fujihara could drop his camera and stop him.

He fired only one shot. It brought her down slowly, her body still moving as if she were sinking into the sand as she ran. My feet could finally move and I sped toward her as the waves came in and washed her, waving her arms and her hair gently, moving her as though she were still alive. But I knew she was dead the moment Endo-san shot her. He never missed.

I lifted my sister out of the water, feeling it stream over me. So precise was Endo-san's aim that I almost missed the wound in her back that had struck her heart. And so skillful had he been that the bullet appeared to have plugged the wound, for the blood had already stopped flowing. Only a bright circle of crimson stained the water where I stood until it broke apart and the waves carried it out to sea. Isabel appeared unblemished, her eyes gently closed, drops of seawater pierced by her lashes, her lips half open to the air that she would never taste again.

I kissed her forehead and laid her down on the sand above the reach of the sea. In the seconds before the rest of the Japanese officers reached us I opened myself up to my anguish, knowing I was responsible for driving my sister to the acts that had finally come to this. A constricted sensation gathered deep within me, seeking to release itself. My mouth opened but no sound emerged. It was a silent lament that only I, and perhaps Isabel, could hear.

No one, I told myself, could ever understand how much I had suffered and to witness such sorrow without comprehending would be to cast dishonor upon it. So the hurt would be lodged inside, like the bullet within Isabel. I placed a heavy seal over my wound. No trace of my blood would ever show.

I stood up slowly, straightened my wet clothes and turned to face the Kempeitai officers. They took a step back, frightened by the intensity in my eyes. There was a moment of total silence. No one knew what to do next. Even Fujihara was quiet. I sought out my father but his face was as rigid and blank as mine. I was brought back to myself by Fujihara's voice.

"You let her go! How dare you shoot her! Saotome-san will be informed when he arrives!" he shouted. It was the first time I had seen an eruption of emotion from him and it assuaged me, however slightly, that Isabel had been the cause of it, had broken his self-control.

"Your prisoner was escaping and I shot her to prevent that. Please do inform Saotome-san," Endo-san said, as unruffled as a courtier. "I shall, of course, prepare a written report for him as well, telling him how you let the girl escape."

Fujihara kicked the radio, breaking its shell. "Get the body! She will not be properly buried. I want her thrown onto a heap."

I protested, but Endo-san said, "Be quiet. There is nothing more to be done. And what is a body anyway? Your sister is gone."

So she was. They lifted her body and took her up the steps. We followed behind and I had to hold my father up, for he could not walk. But when we reached the top he broke away from me, stopped Endo-san, and bowed to him, before turning his back on us.

The Kempeitai could find nothing of any use in the papers Isabel had not managed to destroy but Uncle Lim gave them the names of two of her contacts. Fujihara took out his frustration and fury on them. One of the names was my Aunt Mei's and he forced me to sit and watch as they tortured her. She only screamed toward the end and she never revealed anything of use to them.

I sat with her as she began dying, her nose broken, one eye blinded. I held her and warmed her, feeding her water from a teaspoon.

"You must forgive your sister," she whispered.

I shook my head, puzzled, and she said, "That day, when you came to seek shelter with me, it was not Isabel who told me to chase you away. No, she never wanted that. She was there to find a way to help in the war." She stopped, taking a deep breath. "She said she had to do something, anything. And so she came to her old aunt, her old teacher ..."

"To balance the harm I was doing, to restore the family name," I said, feeling numb.

"Yes. I was the one who said she could hide the radio for us and transmit the news we heard from Madras to Singapore. Lim knew about it from the start."

She let out a cry of pain as she tried to shift her body. "The war will be over soon," she said. "We've been getting news every day. Japan is finished."

The door opened and Fujihara's shadow darkened the cramped cell. I sat there on the rough stone floor as they took her out into the square. Her trailing hand brushed mine softly as she was taken away.

Uncle Lim had obtained the vengeance he wanted for Ming's death and we never saw him again. Some said he was murdered and some said he ran to avoid retribution from my grandfather. But sometimes I think he returned to China and I pray that he found some happiness there in his fading days.

My father was detained for over a week. I visited him in the Fort Cornwallis jail every afternoon but we seldom talked. Endo-san had used all his force of character to prevent Fujihara from employing his extreme methods on my father.

The cell was damp and hot, the walls scrawled with names and the final messages of the men before they were taken out to die. I placed the tiffin carrier of soup on the floor and knelt in front of him. A sparrow hopped onto the sill, stood between the bars, cocked its head at us, and then flew away.

"They'll let you leave soon. Fujihara just wants to play with us. You didn't know about the radio, nor about what Isabel was doing," I said.

"That old woman was right," he said. "She spoke the truth." He laughed softly. I held my breath, hoping he was not going mad. "You're the one who will bring us all to an end," he said.

My grandfather's words-and those irresponsible words of the soothsayer at the snake temple-returned to me. I cursed her then for determining my life with her careless utterances. I cursed my fate, all written even before I had a chance to have any say in it. And I cursed the day I met Endo-san.

My father grasped my hands. "My poor boy," he said.

Chapter Eleven.

Akasaki Saotome arrived in Butterworth and I met him on the island side as the ferry came over. The season of the monsoon surrounded us again and the skies were dark with energy. Lightning stabbed out of and into the clouds and the wind picked up the scraps of rubbish on the pavements. Saotome strode down the gangplank, as filled with power as the skies over us.

We bowed, and he said, "You are still considered a loyal member of our government. I am sorry about your sister. But traitors must never be tolerated."

"I'm sorry too. She was shot while trying to escape." He stopped. "Fujihara-san did not mention that to me." "It happened just a few days ago." I could see his disappointment and a wave of disgust came over me. "You have wasted your trip, I am afraid," I said.

"Now what has Fujihara-san been telling you, hm? I am here to catch a tiger." He recovered from his disappointment and laughed. "Come, let us go before we are drenched. How I loathe this country and its endless seasons of rain."

The briefing was held in the main meeting room, which was furnished only with an ikebana flower arrangement created by Hiroshi. It was a lush, almost monstrous design, unlike the spare, stark forms that Saotome favored. All the flowers were indigenous to Malaya and the combination of hibiscus and ferns and orchids was quite unrefined.

Hiroshi was rearranging it with great fuss when we entered, his coughs shaking his entire body. They racked him frequently: only a few of us had been informed that he was afflicted with tuberculosis, but there would have been talk among the staff as well, of that I was certain. He had lost so much weight we could almost see how his ribs rattled when he coughed. There were days when he could not get out of bed and Endo-san had taken over the majority of his responsibilities.

Saotome sat down and said, "Hiroshi-san, please excuse us. I do not wish to breathe your air."

There was a long silence, Fujihara not even bothering to hide his amusement. I looked down onto the table, feeling embarrassed for Hiroshi. Such a public humiliation was quite unwarranted. He pushed back his chair, arranged his notes on the table, bowed, and closed the door after he left.

"Good," Saotome said. "We are here today to shut down the activities of a group of irritants once and for all. The group calls itself the White Tiger and it is one of the cell organizations of Force 136 and the MPAJA which has been inflicting serious damage on us. I have reports confirming it was responsible for the loss of our radar station here. We have a well-placed source within it."

Saotome passed a brown file around to Endo-san and Fujihara. He waved for me to leave them. "I've always attended the meetings," I protested. I had to find out more, find out what they had in mind for my friend Kon.

"Not today," Saotome said.

I closed the door behind me, passing Goro, who was standing outside the room. I walked down the corridor, sat in my office and began to think calmly. In the next room I heard Hiroshi coughing wetly and I decided to see if he was feeling all right. As I placed my hand on the slightly open door of his room I paused, wondering if I was hearing voices. I was confused, for Saotome's voice seemed to come from behind Hiroshi's door. I could hear, though with some difficulty, Saotome say: . . . act as the bait, and our man will let them know that the second highest ranking Japanese is passing through their territory. Once they attempt to capture me our troops will come out and seize them. We will cut them open and hang them in the Padang in Kuala Lumpur, make them an example to the other groups who dare fight us. That will show them we intend to remain masters of this country, however much we are losing battles. I want that White Tiger's head.

I heard Fujihara laugh, and from behind the door a cough rippled through Hiroshi. I realized this was how he kept his finger on the affairs of his staff. Cunning little bastard, to place a microphone in the meeting room. I smiled when I realized the device had been hidden in the ikebana.

The past days had been typical of the monsoon weather, balmy days turning to heavy rains in the early afternoon. It was sticky and hot. I left work early before they came out from the meeting, so as to avoid the rain. My mind was in turmoil as I cycled out of the army headquarters, past the saluting sentries. How to warn Kon's team that it was about to be ambushed? And who was the man working for the Japanese in their group?

I cycled into town and parked my bicycle near the steps of Empire Trading. The windows of Hutton & Sons were shuttered and the office had been closed until my father could return. The staff would be waiting for him, for without his presence throughout the Occupation the Japanese would have sent them to the prison camps. Walking across the back lanes I made a few evasive turns. I stopped at a battered shophouse and knocked rapidly on the door. After a few long minutes it was opened and I was ushered into the gloomy interior. I was immediately lifted by the fragrance of burning opium, sweet and cloying, the scent of too-ripe fruit. I felt giddy, and had to take a few deep, deliberate breaths. A harridan led me up a flight of creaky stairs, past yellowing calendars showing girls in cheongsam selling beer and whiskey, their tight dresses slit up to their hips. I came to a landing divided into separate cubicles by wooden screens. A shaft of sunlight sprayed in from a cracked shutter. Outside, the flutter of pigeons on the gutters added to the oppressive silence within. The sound of breaths, inhalations and drawn out exhalations, were like spectral whispers, as though the walls were murmuring to each other across the space. Dark figures lying on wooden divans shifted as smoke curled up from their pipes. Soft moans and softer cries floated from them. All the normal sounds of an opium den, I supposed. I tried to shut them out.

Towkay Yeap lay on an opium bed facing me, a look of repose on his face as his cheeks collapsed to haul in another drug-saturated breath. A young girl, no more than twelve, tiny-waisted and looking ancient in her face paint, knelt before him, rolling pinches of the dark, sticky opium into balls. As he finished the pipe she took it from him and lit another opium ball, her movement expert and her face quite bored. The air burned with the heated opium as she passed the pipe back to him. His wisps of hair trembled slightly as the fans above us spun lazily, too slow to cool the air. They seemed to turn without purpose, like flowers spinning on the wind.