by Albert Able
A loud explosion followed as some kind of missile detonated fifty metres ahead of Dick’s boat. He looked across to the tug only three hundred metres away and could clearly see a man standing on the protruding prow, holding a rocket launcher. Those on the boats astern had also seen the deadly weapon and pulled away heading at full power in the other direction. Dick pulled the throttles back and allowed his boat to come to rest. The man on the tug did not fire again. Greg and Oscar emerged from below. The tug slowed and stopped; armed men lined the rail. Slim and Rod discreetly pushed their weapons out of sight
“What’s the hell's going on then?” Big J shouted angrily from the wheelhouse Tannoy. “A bunch of bloody pirates I expect,” he said out of the side of his mouth to Alex, who was standing at his side.
“Looks more like a refugee boat to me. My God there’s even a child on board.” Alex was examining the boat with the binoculars. “I know that man!” he exclaimed suddenly. “And that one!” He fiddled with the focus. “I wonder what they’re up to out here?”
Alex dashed from the bridge to the deck as Dick’s boat drifted alongside the Tug. He called across to the boat,
“Greg, Greg Sing! It’s Alex, Alex Scott.” He waved. Greg looked up in alarm when he heard his name called out.
“My God Alex, where the hell have you come from? You’re supposed to be dead!”
“Not yet old friend, and you Oscar, what brings you out here?” Alex confirmed his recognition. “You’d better get your lot aboard here. I suspect we have some catching up to do!”
Dick reluctantly agreed to let his boat be towed behind the tug but he spent most of his time standing near the stern keeping a fatherly eye on her.
Alex, Greg and Oscar sat in the canteen sipping cool beer from the bottles while Greg explained their new treasure hunt venture, culminating with their current dire circumstances.
Alex listened patiently until Greg had completed his amazing story.
“Absolutely fascinating and such an incredible coincidence,” Alex responded. “I think you should meet my friend John Lawrence. He is a diver with all the equipment you need and more importantly he has the same crazy sense of adventure as you guys!”
Alex briefly explained his own mission and his chance meeting with John and Big J’s dive tug.
“I suspect that if you were to involve these chaps you would have a fighting chance of finding your pot of gold!” Alex looked at them. “Do you want to think about it?”
Greg looked at Oscar “My gut feeling, especially after today’s little episode, is that we are unlikely to make much progress without some big brother assistance. What do you think?”
Oscar smiled.
“Simple, I think to miss the opportunity of using all these professional facilities would be quite stupid.” Then he looked back at Alex. “I can’t tell you just how pleased I am to see you survived that air disaster.” He looked away and bowed his head. “This wretched gold - it’s claimed so many lives; what a terrible price and how much more is there to pay!”
Greg was never quite so emotional.
“Come on, I know that lives have been sacrificed but is not necessarily our fault, so I don’t think we should let that influence our decision to continue the search for the submarine.” He turned to Alex. “Do you?”
“I think it’s time for you guys to meet Big J and John. Perhaps that will help you with your consciences.” Alex stood up, taking out his mobile telephone. “I’ll have to call John on the satellite phone. He’s out there on the cargo boat.” He gestured vaguely towards the horizon.
w
At first the Captain was reluctant to agree to John’s terms. The idea of letting some stranger take over seventy-five percent of his ship seemed preposterous. However, after considering all the suggested possible alternatives, including being to be sent to the bottom with his ship or just being thrown overboard, as he now realised must have happened to Greg’s former partners, or perhaps even worse being returned to the arms of his not so understanding Syndicate partners. The alternative of retaining twenty-five percent of the vessel and working with John and Big J. made much better sense.
John of course saw it as a golden opportunity to obtain a ship and kick-start his own diving business.
“Would you be upset if I set up on my own Big J?” John asked anxiously.
Big J looked serious and did not answer for a moment.
“There must be enough work in the area to support two businesses,” John suggested in an attempt to soften his proposal.
“There certainly is but it would be better if there was just one, much larger, more efficient company working the contracts.” Big J looked at John. “It would be much smarter if we were to go into business together. So I propose a fifty-fifty partnership, what do you say?” Big J proposed, setting his jaw.
Stunned by the proposal, John reacted excitedly. “But your ship and all the gear must be much more valuable than this vessel?”
“Perhaps - and we can sort all that out by creating loans for the imbalance. Look I’ve worked with you for the last six months; I know that we think the same way, so for my part it would silly to miss the opportunity to join forces and to expand the business together. ‘Divide and grow’ my old man used to tell me, now I understand what he meant!”
It was all agreed on a handshake. They would sort out all the legal paperwork when they returned to Darwin. So John set course to Australia with the prize ship dreaming of his new exciting future.
Big J agreed to call into Manila to deliver his human cargo as well as to ensure that Sing the wounded diver and the Syndicate guard received urgently hospital treatment.
“Hospital’s too good for that Syndicate bastard, he should be shot and fed to the sharks,” Alex asserted but made no attempt to challenge Big J’s decision.
About one hour after the two ships started their separate journeys, Big J observed the three motorboats cavorting in their deadly chase.
Several miles away, John was still standing on the bridge gazing at the horizon, still high with the wonder of his sudden and exciting change of fortune, when the satellite telephone buzzed. The captain reflexively picked it up.
“Captain speaking.” He listened for a moment then passed the hand set to John. “It’s Alex for you.”
“Yes Alex.” John turned his back on the captain and walked out on to the starboard wing. He knew the tug was out there somewhere but the heat haze reduced visibility to a few miles. He listened in silence as Alex carefully explained the situation regarding Oscar, Greg and the sunken gold. John’s face remained expressionless though his heartbeat accelerated significantly.
“Just thought it may interest you, always assuming it’s all accurate.”
“What does Big J think?” John swallowed his excitement.
“I think he’s game if you are. You better speak with him.”
Big J came on the phone.
“The thing is John, we have about a week in hand before we start the next job. It would have been R and R time for us all, so why not spend a day or two having a look eh? I’m sure the lads will be all for it!”
“Well I suppose it’s only a couple of days after all,” John agreed casually, trying to sound businesslike and professional.
It had been difficult for him to keep the excitement from his voice; for all divers the temptation of hunting for sunken treasure was almost irresistible. John replaced the satellite telephone in its cradle and turned to the captain.
“Change of plan Captain; turn this ship about and set a course for a position about five miles south-west of Corregidor please; I’ll explain on the way.”
f
The Boss sat quietly and alone at his desk. Sir Gerald Fisher the minister responsible for national security had just left the secretly located City of London office of SONIC. Sir Gerald had called personally to deliver the terminal news. The department was to be merged “or effectively shut down” as the Boss prompted him. The meeting had been brief and somewha
t one-sided.
In fact Sir Gerald hated having to face his old friend and deliver the news. Well aware of the many times SONIC had been called upon to resolved embarrassing situations for the nation, it being the only efficient agency that could secretly resort to the same lawless tactics as its enemies.
He finished his formal termination of contract speech adding, “I’m truly sorry about this Adrian but you must realise that things are changing.”
Sir Gerald was the only person known to use his Christian name. To everyone else he was known as Jordon and then after he became head of SONIC simply the Boss.
“MI5 and MI6 are also being revamped, we’re ‘having to be more economical with available resources’ to quote the official document, so we’ve been looking at areas where there is serious duplication of responsibility. That means I’m afraid that there will be no place for SONIC in future. Any sensitive work will be contracted out or passed over to the CIA.” Sir Gerald raised his bushy eyebrows in a derisory gesture.
“All the mainstream agents that can not be redeployed will receive attractive redundancy packages and their full pensions of course. You my old friend are to receive a knighthood,” he smiled smugly hoping that that would be enough to appease the situation.
“I have to say that it’s not entirely a surprise but it’s still a bit of a shock when hearsay becomes reality,” The Boss paused and sighed. “They’re making a terrible mistake you know. The job we are doing is probably going to be even more necessary in this growing age of independent lawless terror activities.”
“I actually agree with you but we live in a passive ‘politically correct’ era now and I was not able to persuade our political masters otherwise; just where it will end I don’t like to think.” Sir Gerald stood up to leave. “I know it won’t help but just so as you know, at the end of the next session I am to be put out to grass as well.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that Gerald.” They shook hands as he left the office.
“Thanks.” Sir Gerald turned a walked out of the office, then looking back, he smiled and bowed his head reverently. “See you on the golf course perhaps, Sir Adrian?”
w
The tug sailed into Manila harbour and went straight to the fuel berth; it was almost dark as they tied up to the quay.
Big J had ordered the fuel in advance, timing his arrival to be a little after the normal operating hours. As expected the berth was unattended and his enquiry on the ambiguously named courtesy telephone, failed to produce a reply.
“Perfect. We will stay tied up here until morning, and in the meantime we get our passengers ashore without any questions asked.”
Dick volunteered to organise some transport and discreet medical treatment for Sing and the Syndicate guard, so with the assistance of Greg, gratefully boarded his own boat and headed slowly to the busy local part of the harbour where their presence would be less likely to attract attention.
Once they were ashore, Dick went straight to the house of an old pal. He was out but fortunately his girlfriend recognised Dick, who explained briefly in a low tone that he had some urgent business with Philip. With merely a nod of understanding, she scurried away calling out, “I know where he is; I’m sure he’ll want to help you.”
“Tell him to go to the Rope Walk - the boat’s moored there.”
“OK” she called back and vanished from sight.
Philip appeared at the side of the boat in his colourful Jeepnee within minutes.
“So what’s all the excitement and the secrecy about Dickie?” he asked quietly. He’d responded to Dick’s plea for help without question.
“We have to get a couple of people to hospital.”
“You don’t need me for that Dickie,” the man queried.
“Yes we do! You see they’re on a boat in the harbour and the wrong side of the Customs and Immigration barrier.”
“Ah, then you do need me,” he grinned with obvious glee.
They climbed aboard the Jeepnee and headed to the commercial port.
Gunshot wounds inevitably attract official reports and unwanted attention. It was imperative that they kept the shooting and especially the treasure dive secret for as long as possible.
The ever-resourceful Philip was able to deliver his patients to a friendly clinic, where they were soon enjoying expert treatment without any awkward questions being asked.
Ling and his wife slipped ashore and temporarily moved into a tourist hotel. SONIC would provide all the necessary paperwork for them to travel inconspicuously to Singapore where they intended to start their new lives.
Old Ming’s daughter and grandson would stay aboard and travel with the rest of the crew to Darwin.
It was just after Alex had made his farewells to Ling and Mui that his telephone vibrated. He checked the caller’s number, pressed the key and answered the Boss’s call. Listening carefully, he learned of the demise of SONIC. Numbed by the news, his first thoughts had been of Ling and Mui, who had only just stepped ashore, hoping for a new life.
“What about Ling and Mui?” Alex asked anxiously.
“Don’t worry all those matters are to be honoured and maintained albeit not by SONIC. Look at it this way Alex.” The Boss tried to sound encouraging. “With a pension provided by a grateful government, we can live without taking any more risks eh?”
“Does that mean the Syndicate are off the hook now then?” Alex enquired.
“Far from it. Let me tell you that within minutes of the news release the arms shipment had been lost and our sources detected a mass of angry transmissions; one in particular was intercepted with the details of a contract to kill the Syndicate leader. I’m pretty certain now that the two killed by your Chinese marines were Syndicate executives. By my reckoning that only leaves the top man and one other; so I am confident that thanks largely to your efforts we have finished with the Syndicate for good.”
“So what happens now?” Alex asked calmly.
“Well if I were you, with my mission successfully completed, I’d get back to my beautiful wife and family ASAP. But perhaps you could call into my office en –route. I need to go through lots of details with you.” The Boss sighed. “I’m so sorry it had to finish like this; it doesn’t seem like a just reward for all our efforts over the last few years but that’s the strange world of politics we live in.”
“I’ll certainly call in on you - by then perhaps I’ll have had a chance to understand what its really all about. Thanks for letting me know.” Alex put the telephone back into his pocket. He sat in the little cabin stunned by the news. It wasn’t the loss of employment that concerned him, but the all too familiar ring of irresponsible, pacifist-style political incompetence. He would have to call Hans. He pressed the abbreviated dial code.
“I was expecting your call,” Hans answered almost instantly.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news Hans,” Alex started diplomatically.
“Don’t worry old friend I monitored your call. It was to be expected I suppose.” Hans raised his voice. “Political Correctness rubbish. The fact is Alex, nobody has any balls any more.” He calmed a little. “There will be a price to pay my friend. What democracy needs more than ever now is a Churchill, before it’s too dammed late.”
“I’ve never given much thought to long term political strategy,” Alex replied.
“I’ll tell you what I think; you finish up your business out there, then we’ll have another discussion as soon as you get back, preferably before you see the Boss. You can buy the beers, OK?” Hans chuckled.
“I thought it was your turn you mean old dog,” Alex chided him.
“Careful I admit to, but mean, never! I look forward to seeing you, so take care of your wallet.” Hans rang off.
Alex smiled weakly as he thought of Hans surrounded with all his electronic equipment.
“Perhaps we should go private?” he muttered to the dead mobile phone.
Rather than pack his few possessions immediately, Alex felt the
need for fresh air so he walked up to the deck and stood looking across the harbour. Several small vessels still moved busily about, their lights reflecting in the water. The noise of the evening traffic on the busy streets of Manila filled the air. He thought of his wife Rosie and his little son at home in Alaska. At least Rosie would be pleased that the risks he inevitably faced with each assignment would be over. He paced the deck, trying to unravel the mass of conflicting thoughts flashing around in his head. After an hour the only thing that was clear to him was that the “Bad Guys” were still out there. He needed a drink and more time to think.
“Is that you Alex?” Greg called from the shadows in the stern.
“Hi Greg, mission accomplished?” he answered.
“Yes - no problem at all. Our friend Moby Dick seems to know his way around OK. Good job he’s on our side if you ask me,” Greg replied good-humouredly.
Alex made his decision.
“Greg do you have a moment for a beer and a little chat?”
“Of course. You haven’t been ashore yet have you? I spotted a little wine bar just by the harbour gate, we could go there?”
“Great, lets do it,” Alex happily agreed.
They ordered two local beers and seated themselves in the corner of the almost empty wine bar.
“So what do we have to confess to today?” Greg invited Alex light-heartedly.
Alex paid for the beers and took a draught.
“Not bad,” he observed. “Well the situation is like this…”
He took the next half hour to tell Greg the dramatic change of events at SONIC. “Of course all this is top secret but you have been as close to SONIC as anyone so you understand the rules.” He looked at Greg for understanding.
“Yes of course.” Greg waved the question aside. “Listen Alex I haven’t thought it through, but why don’t you stay on here say as security chief or something - we are sure to have trouble once the locals see us out there. We did keep quite an arsenal from that cargo so we could put up a hell of a fight if we had to. It will only be for a few days so why don’t you stay? What do you say?”