by Albert Able
“I understand all of those things, “said Alex, fixing his gaze on Big J, “but already you know too much, and if you don’t believe me, ask John. The problem for you is that once the Syndicate smell that someone is even loosely connected, enough to be the tiniest threat to them or their project, I know that without exception they will take terminal action,” Alex emphasised. He looked back towards John, who was refilling Alex’s cup at the hot water maker. “Am I right?”
John looked towards Big J.
“I’m afraid he’s right. The last time I became involved with them, they slaughtered everything in sight that was considered to be a threat.”
“Just who the fuck do you say these people are?” Big J, accustomed to making his own presence felt, was incensed.
“If you let me finish the bit about why I need your help, I’ll tell you and then you can make up your own mind.”
John put the fresh mug of tea in front of Alex.
“The cargo is already stored in the warehouse across the basin from here. I understand that a ship could be here to collect it within the next twenty-four hours. I have to ensure that the cargo doesn’t reach the Philippines or anywhere else for that matter.” Alex sipped the tea without tasting its brackish flavour. “I want to sink the ship at sea - this I believe is the only way of ensuring complete destruction of the cargo.”
“And the crew?” Big J blurted out.
“I am certain that the ship will be fully manned by Syndicate operatives. In which case I can assure you that they are all professional killers,” Alex replied positively. “John here will fill you in with the gory details of their various skills later. Right now I need to know if there is some way that you will help me?”
“Look I’m sorry but I still don’t see how we can help. Surely this is a matter for the government, the local police, I don’t know - anybody but us?” Big J tried to reason.
“The problem with that understandable reasoning is that the local police are almost certainly riddled with Syndicate informers. The local military are not likely to be any better. Just to give you a stark example. I have a local associate; his brother works at the Hong Kong Harbour Authority offices. I asked him to check on the lease of those warehouses across the way. Within twenty-four hours we found him almost choked to death. His wife had been tortured and decapitated in front of him in some kind of macabre ritual execution,” Alex growled with controlled anger. “These are the kind of people we are up against.”
“They cut her head off?” Big J asked incredulously.
“Yes and nailed a message written in her own blood to it; they have a simple philosophy. ‘We only ask questions once’ they will tell you. Then they punish failure or hesitance with torture and murder and start with your own family. In this way they easily command the loyalty of their followers.” Alex stood up. “I’m going to leave you, John, to fill in the details of the Syndicate’s various techniques. I have to make some telephone calls and organise a few things before this day is too old. I need to find out exactly when the shipment is scheduled to leave. Then perhaps we can think of how we ‘spoil their day’!” Alex smiled and stepped from the galley.
The chef ducked out of his way. “Sorry mate,” he muttered in his rich Australian accent.
“Thanks,” was all Alex replied.
He stood on the side deck for a moment looking towards the warehouse and the fenced enclosure. There was no sign of the guards but he knew they were there.
Taking out his mobile as he walked briskly along the quayside, he selected Hans de Wolf’s mobile telephone number and pushed the instrument to his ear. The call was answered after the second ring.
“Hans, thank God I caught you. I’m going to need some special equipment - detonators etc. Can you manage that from there?” Alex listened briefly. “Good, that’s excellent. Now I must bring you up to speed on the current situation here, which to save me time you should relay to the Boss, then I’ll give you my detailed shopping list OK?”
Hans acknowledged.
Alex continued, “Well, thanks to Haki in Tokyo, we’ve hit the jackpot here………….”
5
Oscar Nippon sat on the terrace quietly trying to piece together the situation with Moby Dick. The immensely expensive boat and the attack by the two high-speed craft were hardly the right credentials to generate enough confidence to share their secret. Yet he was convinced that there was something genuine about Moby Dick.
“Good morning Oscar can you spare a minute?” Remi called from edge of their garden, interrupting his concentration.
“Of course, come on up. Fancy a cup of tea or coffee?” Oscar offered, rising from his chair.
“That would be nice. Tea for me.” Remi accepted, walking onto the terrace.
The sea quietly lapped the shore; half a dozen terns squawked with delight as they whirled before diving into a shoal of tiny fish.
“What a pleasant morning eh?” Remi commented and accepted Oscar’s offer to sit in one of the wicker chairs.
“It certainly is.” Oscar watched one of the terns lift out of the water with something wriggling in its beak. “I made a fresh pot about ten minutes ago - it should be OK” He looked back at Remi.
“I’m sure it’s just fine,” he agreed politely.
“So what can I do for you this lovely morning?” Oscar started.
“Well it’s a bit of a long story and I am a little bit worried that what I want to tell you may leave you thinking that we are completely mad and you won’t want to know us any more.” Remi looked sheepish.
“Remi, I’ve listened to many stories and never lost a neighbour yet,” Oscar offered with cheerful encouragement. His mind flashed to the memory of the dead friends, murdered by the Syndicate not much more than a year ago. “I’m old enough to tell a white lie,” he thought to himself, momentarily letting his mind drift away from Remi.
“The thing is, my Grandfather; Mother’s father, as she told you, was in the Japanese military during the war here. Well according to his letters, he claims to have seen crates of gold being loaded into a submarine, which was apparently sunk out there somewhere.” He gestured out to sea. “So about two weeks ago we chartered a fishing boat and some local divers and tried looking for wrecks. Well, two days ago the local police warned us that diving for treasure, as they put it, was illegal without a special permit. We therefore tried to obtain one and that’s when the shit hit the fan. Yesterday, someone calling himself the Commissioner of Wrecks visited us; he warned us that wreck diving was only permitted by approved government agencies. Then he told us that all the wrecks around this coast were sacred and the souls of the many sailors who perished in those ships were not to be disturbed under any circumstances.” Remi paused for breath and drank some of his tea.
“A bit odd don’t you think, when the wrecks in the bay have always been diving sites and most have already been stripped of their brass, copper fittings and anything else of interest. Now suddenly they’re sacred graves!” Remi raised his shoulders gesturing his disbelief. “The other interesting thing is, about three or four weeks ago, apparently a local fisherman scooped up a gold ingot when he was trawling out towards the island of Corregidor. Do you know where that is?” Remi queried.
“Yes I do actually. General Macarthur’s last stand and all that, yes?” Oscar confirmed, adding cautiously, “It’s all very interesting but I don’t quite know what you expect me to be able to say or do about all this,” he added.
“Well you told us about your wreck fishing the other day; did you have any problem getting your permits? Because this so called official stated quite categorically that wrecks must not be violated for any reason - not even fishing?” Remi waited for a reply.
Oscar was mentally putting this new information together with his own strange experience. “Actually we didn’t have any trouble at all. Our man obtained all the necessary permits for us so we didn’t have to get involved,” he lied convincingly and then asked, “Now just a minute let’s try
and make some sense out of all of this. Are you telling me that you were expecting to send a couple of local divers down to an old wreck, collect a sack of gold and just sail away?” Oscar looked questioningly into Remi's face. The young man looked embarrassed, bowed his head and remained silent.
“The Filipinos” Oscar continued “are some of the most delightful people in the world. Unfortunately there are also hundreds of very nasty parasites living here and taking advantage of their trusting nature so I’m absolutely certain that if you told a local diver, you wanted him to look for some Japanese gold the news would spread like an unstoppable fire. The main reason is, because every now and again some gold and other treasures plundered by the occupying Japanese army, genuinely are discovered.” He looked at his cold tea, remembering the excitement of seeing the rows of bars of gold bullion that he and Greg had discovered. “This story about the submarine could be true but without an accurate position you are not likely to find it. The problem for you now is that every crook and gold hunter for hundreds of miles will be chasing after you in the belief that you have the actual coordinates. If you want my opinion I’m afraid that you have put yourself and your family in terrible danger!”
“Well actually that’s why I called in. You see Mother had a very strange telephone call this morning. She suggested that I spoke to you. She seems to trust you; she’s always been a very good judge of character.” Remi smiled modestly.
Oscar accepted the compliment without offence. “So just what did this caller want?” Oscar was worried now.
“Let’s go and talk to Mother - or will I ask her to come around here?” Remi asked tensely, jumping up from his chair.
“Perhaps she wouldn’t mind coming around here?” Oscar suggested. “Greg should be back soon - if you don’t mind he should be in on this. He has considerable experience with some of these locals.”
Remi dashed back to their bungalow to reappear a few minutes later with his mother.
“Mother’s here but Sophie’s gone shopping - she doesn’t know much about any of this anyway,” Remi explained.
Oscar’s heart gave a distinct flutter when he saw Marion; she, however, appeared calm and typically reserved.
“Thank you for coming round here. I’m expecting Greg any minute now.” He took her hand gently. The touch was soft and warm and he felt a tingle of excitement when she squeezed his hand in a respectful handshake.
“Good morning and thank you for your time. We didn’t know what to do next?” she said quietly but clearly.
“Tea or coffee?” Oscar invited her.
“Thank you but nothing for me.” She sat gracefully into a chair. “I feel we’ve been enough trouble already.”
At that moment Greg appeared on the terrace.
“Hi there everybody. Party time already?” he suggested good-humouredly.
“Greg, come in and sit –down. Marion and Remi have a rather strange story to tell and are asking our advice.” Greg sat down and listened in silence as Oscar recapped his earlier conversation with Remi. “Now what is rather worrying, Marion received another strange telephone call this morning.” Turning towards her, Oscar suggest gently, “Do you want to tell us about that Marion?”
“Yes I thought it was very odd, particularly because of the officials saying just how impossible it was to obtain permits anymore. Yet this person claimed that his company was licensed to dive for treasure and would be pleased to negotiate a contract with us to find the gold. The idea, he said, would be quite simple: we put up a fee of ten thousand dollars, to cover the initial mobilisation costs, and after that everything would be on a percentage basis of the gold recovered.”
There was total silence in the room; even the terns seemed to have gone quiet for the moment.
Greg broke the spell.
“Mind If I ask a couple of questions?”
Marion smiled.
“Of course not.”
“Well first of all, what percentage split did they suggest? Second and perhaps more importantly, do you actually have the map reference of this mystery submarine?” Greg’s face was unusually serious.
“They wanted twenty percent of the sale value of any gold recovered.” Marion took a long breath. “As to the coordinates, we only have the notes left by my father. She opened the book she had been carrying and removed a frail and faded piece of paper. “My father wrote this letter to my mother the night before he was killed.” She held up the letter to Greg; it was written in Japanese characters.
Marion was flustered and near to tears. “I’m sorry but you see while I’m half Japanese I only speak the language; I have almost no reading skill.”
“I think Oscar should read this, if you approve?” Greg suggested.
“I’d be grateful if you would.” Marion placed the letter carefully on the table.
Oscar leaned over the document without actually touching it at first.
“Don’t worry Marion, just relax a little. I’m sure we can sort something out here.” He gingerly turned the first page. “Are you saying that you’ve never had this translated?”
Marion shook her head. “I always thought of it as personal love note for my mother’s eyes only. It was only when I found it again recently that I recognised a few characters referring to gold and submarines, that I realised it had some special meaning.” She was near to tears.
Oscar touched her hand caringly as he tried to comfort her.
“Mind if I read it through first? Then I need only translate the details of the treasure ship, if there are any.”
Marion nodded approval.
Oscar studied the document for a couple of minutes. The others remained silent.
“Right,” he exclaimed, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat, “the first page is all personal stuff - I’ll read that to you later Marion - the bit referring to the position of the submarine is here on the third page.”
“The bombs were raining down all over the dockyard. The sub pulled away from the quay, apparently undamaged. We watched it leave the harbour, then it vanished into the night. We were ordered back to our units and told to shut up about what we’d seen. Very early in the morning, I was stationed on lookout with the radioman from the barracks. He’d heard about the gold - the news had spread like oil on water. He told me that he’d been listening to routine radio traffic when he’d heard a faint message in plain language from an unknown ship trying to locate a submarine. No names or numbers were used, just, ‘Subman, we’re on station. Confirm rendezvous?’ They called a couple of times before a reply was heard. ‘Stand-by, Subman running late. Prepare for immediate transfer when we arrive.’ Then, ‘Standing-by’ was all that had been said.
Just as the first rays of dawn were lighting the sky a gigantic silent explosion illuminated the horizon. A huge mushroom of fire filled the sky. It took quite some time for the sound of the massive detonation to reach us. The position we noted was somewhere South of Corregidor. The radio operator excitedly rushed to his equipment where he heard a desperate cry for help. It lasted for a few seconds only. But he claimed that he had obtained a good fix on the sound, which we believe came from the submarine or the other vessel.
Keep this information safe. This war must end soon and then we can be together. Perhaps there could be a crock of gold out there for us? If however this letter gets to you and I don’t survive these dreadful attacks, then it could still be good for you, if the position is accurate. Then maybe you may find a golden treasure to remember me by.”
“The rest is personal again.” Oscar took a pen from his pocket. “This is the location he has written down.” Oscar scribbled the numbers on a piece of paper, casually showed them to Greg, and then passed them to Marion.
Greg stood up and walked over to sideboard and the notepad where he’d listed his own selection of possible locations of the submarine’s last resting place. One set were almost identical. It was an exciting moment for Greg but he would have stay calm until he could talk to Oscar privately and asse
ss what everybody’s intentions were.
Greg turned back to the little group, his tone very serious.
“You do realise don’t you, that if these coordinates really are of a lost submarine full of gold, you’ve already given away this position to us. If I may say so, you took a great risk; we have shared a Bar-B-Q and a pleasant evening together but what else do you know about us?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “What do we know about you for that matter?” He looked at Oscar. “I need to have a chat with you before we go any further with this. I’m not prepared to stick my neck out with the authorities and end up enjoying the rest of my holiday gazing through bars.” He looked around the group. “Oscar I think it best if we have that little talk in private right now. Fancy a little walk?”
Feeling a little embarrassed by Greg’s forthright approach, Oscar looked towards Marion. “I’m sorry folks but Greg is right; we have to decide just how far we want to be involved with this! So excuse us please. Help yourselves to anything you need. We won’t be long.”
Oscar walked down the steps to the little garden and followed Greg out onto the beach. They walked in silence for a while.
Greg spoke first.
“That location is quite close to ours you know. I suppose they could just be genuine; what do you think?”
“I said before that I think it’s all just too much of a coincidence.” Oscar sounded disappointed. “Here we are in Manila, having found a holiday chalet at random, then just by chance our neighbours have detailed information on the same submarine that were looking for!”
“It does seem that way doesn’t it; did that letter seem genuine to you?” Greg tried changing the direction of the conversation.