by Albert Able
Alex had secretly hoped for the invitation.
“I’ll be honest I was really hoping that you’d say that. So thanks, I’d be delighted to assist; my first freelance contract!” he observed, thrusting out his hand to seal the deal. “I have a few loose ends to clear with the Boss but that said, we have a deal.”
f
The Syndicate guard lay comfortably in the private clinic as he recovered from the operation to remove the bullet. He’d been extremely lucky, as no vital organs had been seriously damaged and he would make a full recovery quite soon, a delighted young surgeon confirmed to his patient after completing his first solo operation.
“Well thank you Doctor,” the man cooed, suitably grateful. “I wonder if I could make a call to my wife? She will be worrying about me,” he pleaded gently.
“I don’t suppose one call can cause much trouble do you?” the naive surgeon smiled keen to please his patient.
w
At an office many miles from the diving operation, a grey-haired man sat alone. He had just received the news that the partner he had sent to oversee the arms shipment had been killed; but worst of all, from his point of view, the cargo had been completely destroyed and the inconsolable client was looking for answers; answers that could not be satisfactorily provided.
The Syndicate leader was tired; years of unparalleled success had been a stimulating elixir. So sudden had been their reverse in fortunes that the unfamiliar pressures had taken a great toll on his normally iron confidence. He still had a vast fortune of course but the thrill of punishing his old enemies had suddenly lost its edge. He picked up the ivory cordless telephone and called his sole remaining partner.
“Bad news I’m afraid. Orwell is dead and the whole shipment lost.” There was a pause as if time had stopped.
“I’ll be round immediately.”
f
Finding the location of the submarine was proving to be somewhat tantalising. So far, they had made three significant contacts with sunken vessels in and about the location identified by Greg but each time they had been disappointed. Finally at dusk one evening, as they swept around in a wide circle to start another long trawl with their dual magnetometers and side scan sonar, the monitors suddenly sprang to life indicating a large metallic object. No specific shape could be discerned but its mass was significant. Everyone tensed in expectation. Had they found something at last? Sixty-five metres flashed on the depth gauge. The robot camera was lowered reverently into the water and directed to the target on the seabed. The tide was beginning to run hard from east to west; there was only a little time left before it would be too strong for the robot camera. The cable drum whirled as it smoothly released the cable and the robot plunged towards its target.
As the robot camera sank silently into the depths, there was silence in the control room as everyone strained their eyes, desperate to catch the first glimpse of the object. The sea, clouded with microscopic grains of sand, made the visibility poor. Suddenly there was a brief but clear picture on the screen, showing a positive view of some metallic wreckage. The object, the powerful lamp attached to the robot’s camera, vanished almost as soon as it had appeared to be replaced with the image of shell encrusted rocks, passing rapidly by the screen as it swept out of control along the uneven seabed.
Big J tried to valiantly to slow down the robot camera but the current was so strong now that he could not persuade the tiny motor to hold against its growing power.
“It’s no go boys - I can’t hold her. I’m going to have to bring her up. Can’t risk getting snagged down there. Sorry! Wind her up!” he ordered curtly into the microphone then turned to face the disappointed audience. “Tomorrow boys. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, when the tide is slack.” He turned back to the microphone. “Let me know when she’s back on board.”
“I’ll print some stills from that brief image, see if it tell us anything.” Greg suggested to the silent crew.
Five minutes later he stood before the expectant divers.
“What do you make of that then?” He placed the A4 size prints on the wardroom table. Two were pictures of some coral encrusted metal; the third showed a round aperture in a metal panel. It appeared to be a tube; two small fish hovered inside close to the centre where a domed object protruded.
“Tell me what you think. Though I’ve got a bloody good idea of exactly what we’re looking at.” Greg stood back.
The others crowded around the table expectantly. “Looks like a porthole or something,” the taller Australian suggested.
“More like a torpedo tube if you ask me,” said one of the other divers quietly, “and with a fucking torpedo stuck in it too!”
“Let me look at that!” Big J pushed himself forward. “Christ I think you’re right. What scale are we looking at Greg?” he asked urgently.
Big J had never officially appointed him but Greg had instinctively assumed the position of second-in-command when John left to take over his prize vessel.
“It’s about ten to one; and I think you’re right. It’s a torpedo,” Greg grinned.
“My God at least that means we found a sub!” the taller Australian gasped.
“That’s true” Big J agreed cautiously, “so let’s hope that baby’s a dud eh?” He looked up at Greg. “I think we should call your friend Alex on the cargo boat - he’s supposed to be a munitions expert isn’t he?”
Oscar, who had been silently standing in the background, stepped forward. “You’re right, he is. I’ll call him right away.”
“Not on the VHF eh. Use the satellite telephone - it is supposed to be secure,” Greg urged him.
When John returned with the cargo vessel to take part in the “treasure hunt”, Alex moved across to it, as did Ming Ho’s daughter Ellie-Mae and her son Ming Lee, which significantly eased the pressure on the tug’s passenger accommodation. Ellie-Mae immediately took charge of the catering aboard the cargo boat, much to the relief of the rest of the crew who had endured the engineer’s makeshift cooking.
Dick and Annie had just returned from a supply run to Manila with a good selection of provisions so Ellie-Mae was able to cook them their “first civilised meal for days”, as the relieved engineer described it. Relaxed and contented, they were sitting in the tiny mess room enjoying their second glass of the French Cognac Dick had miraculously produced, when the satellite telephone rang. John moved up to the bridge and lifted the receiver.
“Good evening,” he cheerfully addressed the phone.
“Hi John, Oscar here. Is Alex about?”
“Right here,” John happily replied, holding out the receiver to Alex. “Oscar.”
A somewhat relaxed Alex took the proffered instrument.
“Oscar my old friend, how nice of you to call.” Oscar ignored the light-hearted banter and explained about the photographs of the suspected torpedo.
Alex sobered up immediately.
“Well if it is a torpedo we must take extreme care - the Japanese munitions were usually made with cheap and dangerously volatile explosives, which could mean that if the warhead is not damaged and the explosive is still dry, it could be quite easily detonated. When are they going to resume the search?”
“Slack water tomorrow with any luck,” Oscar confirmed.
“I recommend extreme caution and only robot probes for the moment, at least until we are sure it’s our sub. No point in taking risks if it’s not the one eh?” Alex thought for a moment. “I suggest we move away a couple of miles into shallow water and anchor until dawn, then start again, but no heroics OK?”
“Aye skipper - I’ll tell Big J. Goodnight - see you tomorrow.” Oscar replaced the telephone and relayed Alex’s stark warning.
“That’s all we want isn’t it!” the tall Australian muttered, “tons of gold buried under a pile of delicate explosive.”
“Maybe it’s the way to unearth the gold - blow the old wreck apart?” the other Australian offered with a grin.
“Yes, well first we mov
e as suggested, then we’ll see tomorrow. Come on, we’re going inshore a bit to anchor for the night as Alex suggested.” Big J’s words closed the conversation as he rose and move towards the wheelhouse.
w
So quiet and peaceful, it was a near perfect night; the stars twinkled like snowflakes in the crystal clear sky, the sea as calm as the proverbial millpond, allowed the tug and the cargo vessel to rest tugging gently at their anchors.
Some two hundred miles south in a little port on the Southern Philippine island of Panay the scene was very different. Angered and frustrated by the news that their cargo of arms and munitions had been lost, together with the information that one of their trusted allies from Manila had been murdered, the leaders of the Abu Sayyaf terrorist group, were feverishly preparing to exact their revenge. Franco Ebola had taken little persuasion when invited by the lawyer to assist the terrorists, especially when he learned of the two hundred and fifty thousand dollar fee.
“We must exact revenge on the western pigs,” the enraged leader screamed with passion. Ebola was of course not fired by such fanatical religious fervour, merely by the opportunity to get his hands on the cash and possibly the gold bullion he now knew the westerners were diving for.
Elboa had been provided with twenty heavily armed men and three high-speed offshore boats. His own boats were no match for these sleek-looking thoroughbreds. His instructions were simple: kill the westerners responsible and anyone else aboard the two ships that got in their way, then recover the gold; his bonus would be a handsome share of the booty.
Ten of the men were experienced divers; their gas air bottles together with large compressor and other “special items” the diver in charge of loading had said, tapping his nose in the traditional knowing all sign, formed the largest bulk of the group’s equipment. Finally, with the fuel tanks full to the brim and everything secured, they sailed out of the harbour at midnight. Travelling at a comfortable and economic twenty knots, they settled into a V shaped convoy formation, carving three clean white wakes in the flat calm sea. They were scheduled to arrive at the little fishing village three miles south of Manila around noon the following day.
9
The Syndicate leader welcomed his partner.
“Thank you for coming around at such short notice.” In spite of his black mood he was being unusually considerate. “Everything that could go wrong with this dammed arms shipment seems to have happened so if we are to salvage something from the mess, we urgently need to agree our next move without delay.” He was not accustomed to such indecision.
The partner sat slowly and deliberately into the luxuriously upholstered chair.
“I imagine the gentlemen in the Philippines are a bit pissed off?” He tried a weak smile.
“Yes I think you can safely say that,” the leader agreed, trying to mimic the lighter humour.
“Well Carl,” he looked towards the plate glass window - it was extremely rare for him to use the leader’s Christian name, “We are both extremely wealthy and we have a completely clean sheet with every authority,” he asserted himself. “Yes, I am also convinced that this is finally the right time to slip silently away from the business.” He returned his gaze to look directly at the leader. “I’ll warrant those crazed fanatics out in the Philippines will use considerable energy trying to exact vengeance on us.” He smiled confidently. “Our prime advantage has always been that they don’t know who or where we are and it must always remain so. Fortunately the fact that we are the only ones left makes keeping that secret so much easier.”
“You’re right of course but it peeves me to think that SONIC may have won the last round.” The Syndicate leader stood up and paced the floor, his steps falling silently in the deep piled carpet. “I just wish we could leave them with a bloody nose somehow eh.” He continued to pace the room, deep in thought.
“Did you have something in mind?” the partner asked inquisitively.
“Yes I do; firstly we make an immediate refund of all the cash that Abu Sayyaf paid for the arms plus we add a further sum equivalent to fifty percent of the total value as compensation.”
The partner made to speak.
The leader held up his hand. “At the same time,” he continued uninterrupted, “we identify the people actually responsible for destroying their munitions. That I believe will take the heat away from us.”
The partner was bursting to ask how such a proposal could be justified in spite of knowing from experience that the leader would reveal the answer in his own time.
“Secondly you will remember the Golden Lily people who handled the gold for us last year? Now I have been advised that they have fitted out a full dive and search mission looking for a World War Two submarine alleged to be loaded with gold bullion. They have been searching for weeks without any success. Now, according to our informer in Manila, the two so called businessmen he had in his office last week were the same people who found and so generously handed over the gold in the Philippines last year. Thirdly, we let these people find the gold, possibly even let them bring it to the surface, and then we sell the location to the Golden Lily. Fortunately Kyoto, the man we negotiated with last year, is personally in charge of their expedition, so we know, based on his track record, that he will honour the contract. The price I propose will be a sum equivalent to twice the value of the lost arms!” He raised his eyebrows and stared at the partner. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s brilliant and we must do it,” he respectfully agreed. “Promise me one thing though.”
“And what would that be?” Carl queried.
“That this really will be the final act?”
“Don’t worry, I guarantee it will be the final act. After this we retire!” He turned and looked out of the window as he thought to himself, Yes and then you’ll be the only one left you knows my identity! So perhaps not quite the final act!
f
Alex received the call from Hans just as he was preparing for bed.
“Sorry to call so late but I thought you should know that there have been several phone calls from that Manila number to a mobile or mobiles on the tug. The same number you asked me to check out!” Hans paused. “It seems, my friend, as though you have a rat in the cupboard. You need to be very careful until you catch him.”
“Anything to go on? Can you trace his number?” Alex asked hopefully.
“There’s little chance - it’s the same as a pay card phone, no trace of ownership possible. The only thing I can tell you for certain is that it is from Manila to the tug.”
“Thank you Hans. I’ll get onto it. Take care, I’ll call as soon as I have anything.”
w
Towards the end of World War two as the Japanese retreated from their invaded territories the gold that had been accumulated in the Philippines became a major factor in ensuring that the islands were successfully defended for long enough to ship the hoard to Japan.
To ensure military success, one of Japan’s most illustrious Commanders, General Yamashita, was sent to the Philippines to ensure that the task was properly conducted. At the same time a secret organisation known as the “Golden Lily”, which claimed to be a patriotic group dedicated to ensuring the continuation of the Emperor’s dynasty, appeared in the Philippines to take charge of the treasures.
Emperor Hirohito was so concerned about the many security risks involved that he placed a high ranking member of his family, Prince Deshibo, in charge of the “Golden Lily” The prince then sent his first cousin Prince Decator Sunoshi to the Philippines who with co-operation of General Yamashita, was to hide the gold, at least until it could be safely returned to Japan. They completed the task by burying the treasure in no less than one hundred and seventy separate sites throughout the main islands.
Some say that “Golden Lilly” still exists to this day; some say that it died when General Yamashita was executed for war crimes soon after the war. There were also some questionable circumstances surrounding the general’s hasty t
rial and execution. Certain historians imply that it was at the command of General Douglas Macarthur who was out for revenge after his embarrassing defeat and withdrawal from the Philippines at the start of the conflict. Others suggest the most likely scenario is that the Central Intelligence Agency found the key to the locations and was able to secure the majority of the treasure for their own covert purposes. In these circumstances it is quite plausible that General Yamashita was indeed quickly brought to trial and summarily dispatched to ensure that he could not point the finger at General Macarthur or the CIA. It also ensured, that no one else would ever learn the secret of the golden locations.
None knew about the “Golden Lilly” survivors.
f
Moby Dick and Annie delivered the stores to the cargo boat. Politely refusing the invitation to stay for dinner, they returned to Manila, each secretly eager to be together and alone t last; alone that is with the exception of Dick’s rescued baby.
They chose not to return to their usual mooring, preferring to keep a low profile as advised by Alex, so they slipped into the busy commercial fishing port a few miles down the coast, where they were able to tuck unnoticed into a quiet corner at the shallow end of the harbour.
The child was only about eight months old and spent much of the time happily crawling about the cabin floor or sleeping in between guzzling large intakes of bottled milk and mushy baby food. Annie was in her element with all her female instincts reacting willingly to the sudden blessing of a child.
With the boat finally tied up and secure they relaxed in the cabin, Annie nursing the baby, Dick watching in wonder.
“I think we should have a little celebration drink, don’t you?” Dick ventured, getting up from the couchette seat. He bent down to the little drinks refrigerator and stood up holding a bottle of Champagne. “I think this is the right moment for us to open this!” He held the bottle out triumphantly.
“An excellent idea,” Annie agreed.
Dick busied himself with the problem of opening the Champagne. Never having opened such a bottle before, he cussed lightly as he assessed the problem.