by Joe Lane
The splashing noise came from beyond a large expansion of shoreline bushes and willow trees. I edged closer and moved around the bushes and there she was emerging from the lake, a naked bronzed sculptured goddess that left me gasping for breath. Shayna was undoubtedly a classic woman; a portrait of pulchritude. Her skin glistened as the suns rays bounced off the droplets of water dripping from her primed muscles that stretched from her shoulders to her calves. In comparison she made my body look like a wrecked temple. I had a cold sweat as I watched her. I could feel her magnetism attracting me and even though she never turned around to check, I sensed she knew I was standing there watching her.
She towel dried her body and began to dress; a striptease in reverse. She slipped into a pair of white lace panties, no bra, put on a white shirt and white pants, and soft white shoes. I found I was lusting after her despite my bitterness towards her.
Without turning round to acknowledge me, and over her shoulder she said, “What did you think of my grandfather?”
“Honest opinion?”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
She ran a large toothed comb backwards through her damp hair.
“He’s certainly eccentric,” I said positively. He’s possibly crackers. And he’s a murderer to put it in better prospective.”
“He told you then?”
“I left him no option. I already knew what he was. By the way; did he teach you terrorism or is it built into the genes?”
“Stop trying to be clever, Shackleton, or I might rip your head off.”
I smiled cheekily. “Is that a promise?”
She obviously knew what I meant.
“Your mind is in a very sick condition, Shackleton.”
“People I know usually call me, Shacks.”
“I’ll stick to Shackleton. It has that adventurous sound that impresses me. Walk with me back to the house?”
I’d nowhere else to go. “Yes…sure. I was about to head back anyway.”
We sauntered back with the deliberate slowness of newly met lovers trying to make time last a little longer. And we didn’t find one thing to squabble over until I decided to spoil the occasion.
“You do know Deveron is dying?”
“He’s told me. I suppose that’s the reason why he was prepared to tell you of his deceitful past. He obviously feels he’s nothing to hide anymore.”
“He could be challenging the law to come and try to get him for his crime?”
“You want to turn him over to the police?”
“He deserves nothing less.”
“It wouldn’t be beneficial to anyone by putting him in prison now.”
“It makes me proud that I’ve uncovered a murderer from the past.”
“He’s not to blame for your loss.”
“Is that your professional opinion or do you know something differently?”
“I know enough to confirm that he isn’t your target. All he wants to do is rectify a mistake he made during the war. You can help him do that.”
“He wants me to participate in his treasure hunt?”
“Would it be that difficult for you?”
“He might not be strong enough to survive the quest; if there is one.”
“Maybe he won’t but it isn’t going to prevent him from trying to put things right.”
I gestured toward the approaching building and said, “And when he’s gone to hell what will happen to all that splendour?”
“I believe I’m the sole beneficiary of his entire estate.”
“What will that gain you?”
“I’ll not be poor.”
“It’ll be no use to you when you’re dead too.”
“I’ve no intention of dying for a long time.”
“I should imagine the life span of an active terrorist diminishes with every day that passes.”
“I’ll retire.”
“You could, but I can’t quite picture terrorist chiefs leaving you in peace when there’s a fight to be won. Can you? Once a terrorist always a terrorists, it simply can’t be erased from your record.”
“I might just surprise you, Shackleton.”
“I don’t think you’ve anything left that would surprise me, Shayna.”
“We’ll see.”
We entered through the kitchen door and back into the hall where we met a stoutly built woman who I presumed to be Deveron’s housekeeper.
Shayna said to her. “Greta, is my grandfather resting?”
Greta wasn’t the prettiest of women I’d come across. She was on the plump side and had greying hair tied back, yet she spoke with such charm that if I were to shut my eyes for a moment I could have quite easily mistaken her for a younger woman rather than her fifty years of age. “Yes, my dear. And the maid has prepared Mister Speed’s room as instructed. Shall I take him there?”
“Thank you, Greta, but there’s no need. I’ll show Mister Speed to his room.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
Greta smiled at me as she passed.
I followed Shayna up the stairs and along the landing like a besotted stalker. She could have been leading me into a trap but I didn’t care. She stopped outside an oak panelled door, turned the handle and went inside to spring the surprise. Like a fool I followed her into the room rather hoping that when I entered she would ravage me with all that sexual starvation she had bottled up inside. She disappointed me. She didn’t make any attempt to ravage me. I wondered if my expression gave away the fact that she hadn’t.
“I hope you find everything comfortable, Shackleton. There are evening suits of different sizes hanging in the wardrobe. All brand new. There’s a bathroom through the far door where you will find all utilities: shaving equipment, soaps, cologne, bathrobe, pyjamas.”
“I never wear pyjamas,” I said quickly.
“Am I supposed to be impressed? Anything else, just ask.”
“This anything, does it literally mean anything?”
“Within reason, please Shackleton. See you at seven.”
She closed the door behind her leaving me in a room of silence, so still and quiet I heard one of my shoes creak as I began to move. I had a quick shufti round the room looking for hidden miniature microphones or concealed cameras checking me out. I quickly dismissed the idea as pretty stupid. Even if the room had any type of listening device, it would be ineffective and serve no purpose as any conversation between me and my sub-conscience was solely restricted to my head. And as far as I know I don’t talk in my sleep.
I’d no complaints about the standard of the room. I was going to be fed and watered, so what had I to worry about? I stripped down to my briefs and went into the bathroom to fill the bathtub. As in all my excursions into expensive hotels I always get my monies worth from the room: fill the bath to the brim with hot water mixed with relaxant salts and soak myself for a good hour. Which I did, and promptly fell asleep until the water chilled and woke me up.
Chapter Seventeen
I dressed into a crisp, fresh Tuxedo, shirt and bowtie. Satisfied with the way I looked I followed my nose to the dining room and breezed in with the charisma of a person entering a top class casino. I heard the sound of familiar voices as I went through the door.
The dining room was illuminated by an impressive crystal glass chandelier hanging over the dining table. I glanced round the room noting things: the walls were lined with maple veneer below a dado rail with decorated walls above; an assortment of water coloured painting lined the walls, openly displayed by picture lights, the extra brightness creating a spectacular phosphoresce effect. The centralized large dining table was laid with an entire set of silver cutlery and side plates for five people. Deveron was there seated at the head of the table looking rather more energetically younger than he was at our earlier meeting; it must have been his boost of medication that he’d taken earlier.
Shayna was there too, sitting on his right. To his left sat an Oriental couple. The maid began serving punch as I strolled towa
rds the table in such a casual manner that I nearly converged into a whistled tune as I walked.
Deveron, his tinny sound prominent, displayed a joyous reception when he caught sight of my approach.
“Mister Speed. Come! Come! Please, sit beside Shayna. We’re about to sample a new recipe of punch; Japanese style.”
The moment I’d sat and pulled my chair in, Deveron began announcing me to his Japanese guests.
“This is the gentleman I told you about, Mister Shackleton Speed. Mister Speed, allow me to introduce a special friend of mine, Shun Tanamoto San, and his adoring wife, Ryoko.”
Tanamoto raised courteously, a slight bow of his head as he spoke. “It is an honour to meet you, Mister Speed.”
I returned the gesture with a simple nod of the head and avoiding any sharpness in my tone, I said, “No disrespect, Tanamoto San, but I’m afraid I’ve heard nothing of you.”
He never even flinched by my bluntness, as if he had been warned beforehand what he could expect from me.
Deveron went on. “Ah-but you’ll know a great deal by the end of the evening, Mister Speed, after Shun has relayed some fantastic information to us. Shun, fortunately for us, holds a top position at both the Japanese Embassies in London and Dublin. His position puts him well in contention to assist us in our quest to pursue the truth. He has certain privileges which allow him access to confidential information relating to secret activities during the Second World War. Isn’t that so, Shun?”
“That is indeed, correct,” Tanamoto confirmed with another smart bow and then sat down.
With the initial formalities of introduction completed I took the opportunity to lean across to Shayna, and whispered to her. “Wow! Shayna, you look wonderful. For a moment I almost confused you for a sophisticated and posh Lady rather than the brutal bitch I really know.”
She forced a smile, as if I’d said something funny to her which I guessed was for the benefit of the others who might be watching. She shuffled in her chair and stabbed the heel of her stiletto down onto my foot. I didn’t feel any pain but I got the hint and left her alone. I sipped my punch and turned my attention instead to the Japanese guests.
As characteristics go amongst most Orientals, he was short in height, had a slight chubby appearance, with heavy sacs of flesh below both his eyes. His full head of grey hair was smartly trimmed, combed back and required no generous helping of hair cream. It was hard to imagine his age was anything less than sixty, but he didn’t give me the impression his life had been an arduous one. He dressed immaculately in an expensive Japanese silk tuxedo which only proved he wasn’t short of money either.
His wife, Ryoko, who I guessed was at least twenty years younger than Tanamoto, was dressed in a strikingly colourful traditional Japanese costume. I thought her complexion was a little heavy in the make-up department for my liking, and from what I could make out, beneath her costume she had a shapely figure and overall she was well worth a second look at any time of the day. Her smile and her slight downward tilt of her head reminded me of a shy teenager associating with a boy for the first time; it made her look cute. Without realizing I was smiling at her a little longer than I perhaps should have done, but nobody seemed to care that I was gawping at her. Not even Tanamoto himself.
Tanamoto said to me, “Dillon tells me you have an exceptional skill in metal detecting.”
“I’ve been lucky so far.”
Tanamoto had the habit of constantly grinning when he spoke. He said, “The subject, it has always fascinated my curiosity.”
“In what way does it fascinate you?” I asked and finished off the punch.
“Where do you begin such a quest? There has to be a secret to your success?”
I smacked my wet lips, thoughtfully. “The successful finders use sheer hard graft and know where to look.”
It was at that moment Shayna decided to play footsy with the back of my calf. I didn’t mind the attention while I studied Tanamoto’s puzzled expression.
“What is-ah-this graft, Mister Speed?”
Deveron chuckled and stepped in. “Simple hard work! Shun. Something you and I pay other people to do.”
Tanamoto, too, joined in with a brief chuckle. “Ah-yes, now I understand. Well then perhaps, Mister Speed, you could find the time to educate my ignorance on the subject and take me along on one of your treks out into the wild world.”
“I’m a lousy teacher,” I said, discouragingly. “Besides, no one can teach a person to be patience, which is what it takes when stuck in the middle of a muddy field on a miserable wet and windy day.”
Tanamoto expressed surprise. “You would still endeavour such a task even in dreadful conditions?”
“If I thought it would be worthwhile and there was something there to be found.”
“Perhaps we could venture out together soon?”
“No offence, Tanamoto San, but I don’t carry passengers. I prefer to be alone. I find it more productive that way.”
The maid entered the dining room pushing a large an electrically heated dinner trolley. Her timing was perfect and the smell of food distracted Tanamoto from trying to wriggle his way into my life.
After dinner we moved to the lounge for coffee and brandy. I was hoping he’d forgotten about metal detecting but once he’d settled in an armchair and sipped a wonderful French brandy, he was back on the subject. I felt like going home.
“Mr Speed,” he began. “Does digging things from the ground consume a great deal of your life?”
I wondered where his line of questioning was heading. I shrugged. “I suppose a lifetime wouldn’t be far wrong; since my school days most definitely.”
Tanamoto was impressed. “That is indeed dedication to what you enjoy immensely as leisure.”
“It’s a little more than that.”
“It is not a hobby then?”
“Hobbies are for weekend enthusiasts. I’m a profes sional detectorist and to me it’s a full time dedication.”
“It’s more like a risk, “Shayna interrupted with a smirk.
“Life’s a risk, Shayna. You should know.”
“These outdoor pursuits never bore you, Mister Speed?” Tanamoto asked.
“It keeps me out of mischief.”
“Until you find something that you’re not entitled to keep,” Shayna interrupted again. “Then you’re in deep trouble.”
Tanamoto grew concerned. “What kind of deep trouble, Mister Speed?”
“She’s referring to the intolerable treasure trove officials sniffing into my business affairs.”
Tanamoto smiled. “Ah-yes, I understand. You’re not the type of man to share your discoveries with the proper authorities?”
“Something on those lines,” I admitted.
“I admire a man who isn’t afraid to admit his roguish ambitions, Mister Speed. You’re obviously damned good at finding things. You’re independent and obviously work on your own initiative. I like that. I think you’re going to be our man for the job.”
“The job? Tanamoto San.” I enquired speculatively.
“It’s a job of the utmost of importance to me and the Japanese people.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Dillon tells me that you are searching for the Japanese submarine I-52? Is this true, Mister Speed?”
“Now why should I want to bother searching for a submarine that was sunk in the Atlantic Ocean during the war? And I’m not considered to be in the field of marine archaeology. Anyway it’s already been located by an American team.”
“Yes, the American team did locate its resting place, Mister Speed. And we were most grateful for the personal artefacts the American team returned to our government. But their intentions were directed to a more precious commodity, which they failed to find.”
“The cargo of gold the I-52 carried, allegedly?”
“That is precisely their reason, Mister Speed. The Americans had in their possession an impressive inventory of the cargo the submarine had aboard when
she sank. Facts and figures showed that the submarine I-52 was on a mission to deliver raw materials to Germany. Official war documents confirmed that was completely true. And according to the inventory the I-52 also carried gold bullion. Well, she didn’t. The inventory was falsified; a white lie. I can clarify that the I-52 didn’t carry gold amongst its cargo on that tragic day.”
“The salvagers were convinced there was gold on board,” I said. “Perhaps your government should have told them they were wasting their time.”
“They wouldn’t have believed us.”
“No they probably wouldn’t.”
“It wasn’t all entirely a wasteful journey for the American team. They extracted tin ingots from the wreck, and there would have been canisters of opium, which was to be used for medical purposes during the war, if only the seawater hadn’t contaminated the product. Even, probably, the scattered bones of a few gallant submariners, but that’s all, Mister Speed. I can verify that it carried nothing more than what I have stated. No, Mister Speed, the Atlantic bound I-52 served a more prominent purpose other than to deliver the raw materials which was listed, which I hasten to add, would have been a bonus if the I-52 had managed to escape the Allied attack.”
“What was its purpose then?”
“It was to create an elaborate diversion.”
I tried not to get too excited at what he’d said. “It must have been all worthwhile to lose so much?”
“It was a huge loss to Imperial Japan, but it was necessary. The diversion was to lure the Allied forces away from the main purpose of the operation. That was to allow a second type C-3 cargo submarine, bearing the same prefix number I-52, to slip through the Allied sea defences unseen. It was that submarine that held the elusive gold bullion.”
“Rather an inappropriate waste of lives for a simple diversion,” I said, cynically. “And then again, I shouldn’t really be surprised. I suppose Japan also had idiots disguised as military geniuses who beyond their great ideas needlessly sent men to their deaths.”