Gold Sharks

by Albert Able

  “Well actually I think it is genuine. The question is; are our neighbours?” Oscar was despondent; the possibility that Marion was some sort of con artist had dashed iced water on his flutter of infatuation. “In the meantime I think we have to test them somehow. Though I can’t think how for the moment. One thing is certain though, if they are really genuine and as naive as they appear to be, your comment about half the crooks this side of the planet knocking on their door before long will certainly be true!”

  Greg stopped walking and turned to face Oscar.

  “Well old friend, one thing is certain, we’ve either managed by some extraordinary coincidence to find a fellow treasure hunter or we’ve managed to attract some very unwelcome attention to our project.” He turned and faced back towards the bungalow.

  Oscar followed. “You promised me that this little project of yours would be a piece of cake!” He shook his head and laughed. “It looks to me as though were about to be starting another of your hair-raising adventures!”

  Greg looked back at his friend. “You could opt out now; it’s not too late?”

  “What and let you young scallywags have all the fun! Not on your life.” Fascinated by the intrigue and still harbouring a ray of hope for Marion, Oscar had a new spring in his step.

  “OK then. Now first we need to try and clarify who’s who and what’s what. Moby Dick for instance, those sharp shooting speedboats, the government officials and these so called diving contractors! We need to check them all out.” Greg was thinking and talking as they walked.

  “We need to tell Remi and Marion something about us as well,” Oscar reminded Greg.

  “Yes well, I’ll leave that to you. I’ve noticed that twinkle in your eye every time Marion gets close, you dirty old man. So you can tackle that one!” He laughed and mounted the steps to the terrace.

  The others were still sitting looking nervously expectant as Oscar moved over to the empty chair next to Marion.

  “We’ve agreed between us that we may be able to assist you but we will have to have a proper commercial arrangement.” Oscar looked towards Marion; she held his stare without challenging him. “We will use our sources here to check out the various people involved. The diving contractor for instance; then we will try to help you to locate the wreck and, if successful, recover the gold. Then don’t forget the next equally difficult stage you have to dispose of the goods and convert them into cash!”

  “What would you say to fifty-fifty partners?” Greg interrupted, anxious that Oscar was about to be too generous.

  Remi looked at his mother and placed a hand on her arm. “What do you think mother? Fifty percent of something is infinitely better than one hundred percent of nothing; I don’t really think we have a chance on our own, do you?”

  Marion looked at Remi. “Remember what your grandfather said in his letter: ‘Hope you find a little golden treasure to ‘remember me by’. Our expectations, you see, were not really very high, so any sort of reward would be a big prize for us.” She looked up at Greg. “Do we simply shake hands or do we need bits of paper?” She looked serious.

  “A handshake is all we need, eh Greg?” Oscar proposed spontaneously.

  “Certainly is,” Greg agreed, thrusting out his hand.

  Marion stood up and gracefully took the outstretched gesture, bowing slightly at the same time. Taking Oscar’s hand next, she said, quietly but clearly,

  “I hope we succeed - but most of all that we remain friends.” She looked away shyly.

  Remi followed his mother through the handshaking routine.

  “So where do we start? And is there something I can be doing?” He looked hopefully at his new partners.

  w

  Alex walked along the quay, his mobile telephone held to his ear, carefully detailing his specialist-shopping list for Hans. The most important items he stressed were the ‘depleted uranium underwater magnetic mines’.

  “Yes they’re available,” Hans confirmed proudly, “but effecting delivery in Hong Kong! You must be kidding me?” he blustered down the phone.

  “You know me Hans. I only joke about your generosity!” Alex coaxed him.

  Hans chuckled. “Yes and don’t I know it.”

  Alex ignored the comment. “I’ll leave that little conundrum with you for an hour or two, eh?” Alex paused.

  Hans chose not to comment.

  “Oh and the only other thing is that I need it all within twenty-four hours!” Alex waited for a reaction.

  “Normally” Hans replied quite calmly “I can get equipment anywhere, well almost anywhere, within that timescale - but into Communist China, I’m not quite so sure.” He was genuinely concerned.

  Normally when he needed “goods” delivered urgently, the RAF cooperated via their network of military bases around the world.

  “If General Montgomery only needed twenty four-hours’ notice for his Eighth Army to perform a miracle, I’m sure you can do the same,” Alex encouraged his friend.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I have some information,” Hans replied without emotion. I’m going to have to call in a few favours to pull this one off, he mused to himself as he returned the telephone to its cradle.

  f

  The two men watched the apartment from the shadows on the other side of the busy road. They’d been contracted to find out what the man had been doing in the Harbour Authority land records room and who, if anyone, he was working for. It had all gone went quite well at first. The man, David, had been cooperative, especially when the short man held the serrated bread knife to his wife’s throat, but that was when she had started the hysterical screaming. The short man had slapped her, ordering her to stop, but the repeated blows failed to silence her.

  “You stupid bitch,” he bellowed at her. “Don’t worry I’ll sort her out next door” he shouted at his companion as he dragged her by the hair to a bedroom and closed the door behind them. “Now you stupid bitch, stop that noise.” He’d slapped her again and again but she’d just become even more hysterical. The piercing note penetrated the short man’s head and triggered a fuse in his manic brain. Something snapped and before he knew it he had slashed her throat from ear to ear with the serrated knife. The woman crumpled onto the bed. Her head fell sideways at a strange angle. The noise stopped instantly. The man, however, became enraged by the sight and feel of the warm blood jetting from the severed artery. In a wild frenzy now, he hacked mindlessly at the scraggy tissue and bone until the head fell with a heavy thump to the floor. He stepped back from her body, panting like an exhausted bull. “She won’t scream any more now will she?” he laughed, calling out to his companion with a tremble in his voice.

  Curious, the taller man entered the bedroom. “My God! What the fuck have you done?” The perpetrator of many contract killings, even he recoiled in horror at the scene.

  “She wouldn’t stop!” The shorter man looked at his companion, pleading for understanding and beginning to tremble as the extra adrenalin in his blood gradually subsided.

  “Get yourself into that bathroom and wash that shit off you. We’ve got all we need,” the taller man commanded, looking away in disgust. The shorter blood-drenched man obeyed without question and moved out of the room.

  The taller man squared his shoulders and looked down at the broken body, bent down and without any sign of remorse picked up the bloody head and placed it on the pillow. He smiled quietly to himself as an idea came to him. Looking quickly around the room he found what he wanted: a pencil and a piece of paper. He dipped the end of the pencil into the puddle of blood and scribbled a brief note then looked for somewhere conspicuous to leave his masterpiece. He smiled as another macabre idea entered his warped mind and then nipped into the kitchen, opened the cutlery draw and found what he wanted. He returned the bedroom and pinned the note with the crab pick to the woman’s head.

  “I think they’ll get the message don’t you?” he said to the shorter man who was emerging from the bathroom drying his hands and brus
hing down his trousers with a hand towel.

  He did not reply just stared in horror.

  “Come on. We best get out of here,” the taller man addressed him again. “He made a telephone call, remember. Someone may be on their way to see what’s happening. We’ll wait outside and observe for a while. You OK now?”

  The short man looked away and muttered, “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about me,” and dejectedly followed the taller man out of the building.

  They concealed themselves in the shadows across the road and had waited for about an hour. When Alex and Ling appeared and mounted the iron staircase, the taller man silently tried a photograph with his infrared night camera; he instantly recognised Ling from the photograph in David’s apartment but not Alex. They waited patiently until the distant sound of the ambulance was followed by the hasty departure of Ling and Alex; the man tried another exposure in the faint hope of a better shot but realised it was probably ineffective. Aware that his employer would expect him to identify the stranger properly, he would have to get much closer.

  “Right, we have what we were contracted to do. You go back. I’m going to follow these two for a while, see if I can get a better idea of who the other bloke is. Might be worth a bonus for us!” He emerged from the shadow. “I’ll call you, OK?” he dismissed the short man and crossed the road.

  ‘That bloke is going to have to go,’ he admitted to himself, looking back to ensure that the man had left -but the street was empty. Pleased to be rid of him, the taller man discreetly followed his quarry to Ling’s apartment block, where he managed a couple more infrared exposures and then slipped away, confident that he had at least one good picture.

  w

  The sign on the modest door read General Agents. The building was situated on a street running parallel to the waterfront. A smartly dressed businessman entered and went upstairs to his office. It was large and lavishly furnished; his male secretary had already prepared the daily batch of post and important papers. The businessman nodded a perfunctory good morning.

  “Good morning Sir. No urgent calls. You have one meeting at ten o’clock here in the boardroom.”

  The man nodded again and the secretary respectfully left the room.

  He’d been scanning the mail for about five minutes when his direct line rang; he let it ring three times. It stopped and a few seconds later it rang again. Although he should have been accustomed to the call, even after five years the Syndicate’s simple code always made his blood run cold, he shivered involuntarily as he reached across to the handset.

  “Good morning,” he addressed the mouthpiece.

  “When you called last night to tell me that you had secured the information, you didn’t tell me that your man had massacred the couple in what is being described as a ritualistic murder!” the voice snapped, and then waited for a reply.

  The businessman's mouth went dry. His tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his pallet; it seemed to be ages before he eventually formed the words,

  “What do you mean? My man reported the he had successfully obtained the information!” He trembled as he tried to retain his composure.

  “We don’t mind if people have to be eliminated but we do not like to draw attention to ourselves!” came the frigid response.

  “The man told us that he was checking on the warehouse lease at the request of his brother - Ling something or other. They’re looking for this Ling bloke now - what’s wrong with that?” he spat defiantly, his confidence returning with the saliva in his mouth.

  “You fool. Your man left a note nailed to the woman’s decapitated head! We start with the wives and children written in blood!” He voice paused. “Just where did you find him?”

  “I told you - I had them on loan from that warlord we’re shipping some of the arms to.”

  “Well I’ve had a very angry call about it, together with strict orders to ensure that, whoever they are, they must be taken out immediately. So, your task is simple: we want this Ling and his unidentified companion, together with those two maniacs dealt with immediately. Is that understood? By the way have you identified Ling’s companion yet?”

  “I’m waiting for the photos to be enhanced. They were not very clear. All we can tell at this time is that he’s European. I hope to know more in an hour or so.”

  “Well it would help if you produced something quickly, don’t you think?” The voice paused. “Either way, I recommend that you see that those two animals at least are dealt with now, then as soon as we know who the other man is, we can go to the next stage. You got that?” The voice did not wait for a reply. The line went dead.

  The businessman replaced the receiver; in spite of the air conditioning, perspiration ran freely down his furrowed brow. He wiped his face with a large handkerchief then picked up the telephone again, consulting a notebook with his other hand. He selected a number and dialled. The call was answered after a few seconds.

  “I have a job for you. Urgent. Extremely urgent. The usual place in thirty minutes please,” he said and replaced the receiver.

  His face was drawn as he visualised the scene he’d just had described to him. Getting up from the desk, he made towards the door.

  “My God, what have they done?” he said aloud to the empty room, closing the door as he left.

  The man he had arranged to meet was in his late fifties, of medium height and inconspicuous in his appearance. In fact, he looked very much like an ordinary innocent tourist. The businessman pulled up a chair at the café table and sat down. He did not greet the man already sitting at there in any kind of formal way.

  “I have a rather delicate job for you.” He passed over a photo. “Know these two?”

  The man looked up sharply.

  “You’re dammed right I do. That’s Franco Ebola’s two top hit men. What’s the problem?”

  “We used them for a job and they broke the rules. They have to be removed. I know that’s going to be a problem for you but I’ve had approval for double your usual fee. In all our interests, it should look as though they were caught in the act and we’d like these men to be seen as their executioners. Can you manage that?” He passed over another photograph.

  “We don’t know this one on the right - but this one is Ling Po.” The businessman stabbed the photograph with his finely manicured finger. “He is a small time British Government agent. I have some addresses etcetera.” He looked at the man in anticipation. “I’ll have the name of the other one soon; so what do you think?”

  The man was silent for a while. “Double the fee eh?” he smiled greedily. “Must be important then?”

  “Yes but don’t get too greedy. You know how sensitive my master’s about that sort of thing!”

  The man raised his hand.

  “Don’t panic - just joking! Double will be quite acceptable,” he soothed the businessman. “What’s the time scale?”

  “This one is most urgent!” The businessman tapped the men’s picture.

  “To set this up right, I’m going to need at least forty-eight hours.”

  “Alright but no longer.” The businessman man waved a piece of paper. “The addresses.” He passed it to the man and turned to leave but suddenly stopped, turned and faced the man, blurting out in uncharacteristic anger. “And in case you want to know why, they cut a woman’s head off and nailed a message to it.” He shook his head, still finding the act hard to believe and then walked briskly back to his office; his direct telephone was ringing as he entered the room and he grabbed the handset.

  “Yes?” he addressed the instrument. He listened. “Ah good you received the photos. Was the other man recognised?”

  “No,” the caller replied, “but I’ve sent them on for further examination. Have you organised anything re those maniacs yet?”

  “It’s all in hand,” the businessman was pleased to be able to confirm.

  “Good - and I’ll need confirmation the minute it’s completed,” was the firm reply; the voice did not wait for an acknow
ledgment. The line went dead.

  f

  Alex made two more mobile calls as he backtracked from the main road looking for the café in the old dock area. When he eventually found the place, it looked even scruffier in the daylight than it had before. He stepped cautiously through the open entrance and was surprised to find that it was cool, fresh and spotlessly clean inside. Two men sat huddled in conversation at a table in one corner; they were the only customers. The youngish woman behind the low counter looked up from wiping a copper water boiler.

  “Good morning,” she welcomed him politely in English.

  “And a very good morning to you,” Alex replied cheerfully. “A large breakfast tea and some toast please.” He chose a chair at one of the tables on the opposite side to the two men.

  “Sure thing,” the girl confirmed and vanished into the kitchen at the rear; four or five minutes later she reappeared carrying a tray with a plate of homemade rye bread. It had been cut into thick slices and freshly toasted - a pat of butter, some milk, sugar and a covered stone pot completed the offering. She placed the tray on his table.

  “I’ll be right back with the tea,” she said, scurried behind the counter and reappeared with a teapot and mug.

  “That looks fantastic,” he congratulated her. “What’s in the pot?” He peered at the contents.

  “Honey,” she smiled, “it is very good for you! So eat your toast now, while it’s still hot!” she ordered, walking back towards the counter.

  “OK, OK” Alex submitted happily. “But before you go, I have to get a message to my friend Old Ming-Ho. Do you know where to find him?” She turned to look at him, as did the two men.

  The smile had gone now.

  “What do you want with Ming-Ho?” she asked curtly.

  The two men appeared to return to their own conversation.

  “Oh, he’s helping me to find some people. Do you know where he is then?” As he spoke, Alex casually buttered a piece of the toast then spread a large spoon of the thick honey onto it. He studied the masterpiece for a moment then, apparently satisfied with his preparation, took a bite and munched noisily. He smiled slightly as his taste buds signalled that it was delicious.