Fall Out

by M. N. Grenside

  Under the Major’s direction, local troops quickly blasted a large hole in the cracked rock-face at the side of the cliff. It was large enough to drive trucks through. Next they cut through the roof of the cavern, creating a hole to provide sunlight to help them in their work. One by one the mass of assembled vehicles that had been arriving in a constant stream over the previous ten days was driven inside.

  * * *

  Not quite everything had gone to plan. As instructed, Major Okobudo duly supervised the storing of the vehicles and their cargo. Every day he stood on a small rock in the cave that served as a stone rostrum. Waving two long white batons, he pointed to each driver in turn and directed them to their designated space.

  One afternoon a driver misjudged the distance from the rear of his flatbed truck to the neighboring half-track. There was a crack as the five and a half thousand-pound truck slammed into the six-and-a-half-ton half-track.

  A crate fell out onto the rocky floor where the Major was standing, its contents spewing out. At the sound of the crash, the work force immediately stopped, all eyes instantly fixed on the roof of the cave. No one would dare glance at the Major or the contents at his feet. Each knew it was instant execution to even peek under the heavy tarpaulins secured to the trucks, let alone see the actual contents.

  “Guard,” the Major shouted. The soldier at the entrance snapped to attention. “Execute that fool of a driver.” The Major's gaze swept over the upturned faces, still desperate not to be accused of looking at what had fallen to the ground.

  “I need one volunteer,” barked Okobudo. Silence. No one was that crazy.

  “Thank you, I accept,” he said to one hapless Filipino conscript who, of course, had not offered it.

  “Everyone else. Out!” Major Okobudo commanded in sharp clipped tones.

  It was not until they had all left that Major Okobudo himself looked down at the contents strewn at his feet. When he saw what was inside the crate, it filled him with shock and anger; a tidal wave of utter betrayal engulfed him. He immediately understood the significance of the 16 petal chrysanthemum stenciled on the side of the broken crate. It was the symbol of the Imperial Family. His loyalties changed in an instant. The values he had cherished and honored simply evaporated. He cursed his own naivety. Pragmatism won. Especially if you had power. And right now, Major Okobudo had the power. He just needed to cover his tracks and hide the evidence.

  He looked around and saw some artillery shells stacked in wooden crates. They had been brought up to the cave to supply the Type 11 37 mm infantry gun that had been positioned outside to deter prying eyes.

  The Major briskly made his way to the parked vehicles and removed several gas caps. Then he walked over to the box of artillery shells, grabbing one. “Fetch those wrenches,” he ordered. The conscript ran to collect the tools. Kneeling at the box the Major locked the teeth of his wrench onto the body of a shell.

  “Now grip the casing,” he barked. Together they pulled the shell apart.

  “Pour the explosive powder and charges into the gas tanks. Replace the caps and bring the empty shells back to me,” he commanded.

  One by one they exchanged the explosive cores inside each brass shell casing with the contents strewn on the floor from the packing case.

  Within an hour all the shells were back in their original wooden box. The Major then placed his shell box the furthest away from the gun, confident that the other cases would be chosen first in the unlikely event of the gun being needed. His own stash should be untouched until he could recover it.

  Okobudo then broke up the wooden case that had fallen from the truck and shoved the pieces into the duffle bag containing his personal supply of food and drink that Tan brought to the cave each day.

  He was certain the contents of each Imperial container were well documented. If there was an audit, it would be far better to lose an entire crate and say it was never delivered, than be left with any evidence of its existence. He could claim it must have fallen out on the journey and simply have another driver shot. No one would doubt the Major.

  All that was left was the head, which was still lying on the dusty floor. He needed to get rid of the thing. It had no value to him. “Bring that to me,” Major Okobudo hissed at the man.

  The scraggy man bent down to pick it up. There was a pause. “I can’t,” said the meek voice.

  The Major looked over and saw the half-starved Filipino squatting down on his haunches. He was heaving, trying to lift the face, which was staring up at him. The serene calm features and tightly curled ringlets of hair made it instantly recognizable as Buddha. Life size, the bust was made from a pale stone and delicately carved. Only the base of the neck seemed worn, badly scratched with a myriad lines and markings.

  The Major looked around and found an empty square tin box with handles at each side. It had contained some of the flares his troops had used when they had originally entered the cave. He brought it over and placed it on the ground close to the head.

  “Together,” he said. Slowly they raised the head and turned to lower it into the open box.

  Suddenly the Major lost his balance on the uneven floor and the smooth stone figure slipped from his grasp, dropping back to the rocky ground. A splinter of stone came away from the back of the head with a loud crack.

  The young conscript’s eyes widened at what he saw. There followed another even louder crack as the bullet from the Major’s Nambu service pistol closed those eyes for good. Okobudo would explain it away with ease. Local conscripts could never be trusted. The fool had started to look into the vehicles.

  The Major bent down and examined the Buddha head. He understood now why it weighed so much. He rolled the head into the overturned container, righting it again with an almighty shove.

  He dropped in the chip that had come away from the head and snapped the top shut.

  “Tan,” he shouted. His personal bodyguard’s vast frame filled the entrance way. Behind him the anxious looking faces of soldiers peered into the cave, rifles at their shoulder in response to the gunshot.

  “Throw this corpse in the river and take this box and my duffle bag to my office. The rest of you, back to work.”

  The glare on the Major’s face made it clear he would brook no further questions. He strode back to his stone rostrum. The huge bodyguard managed to lift the metal container onto his broad shoulder, sling the duffle bag over the other and dragged the dead soldier by his leg out of the cave.

  The work force silently filed back in.

  “Begin,” the Major ordered, as the men nervously clambered back into their cabs. One at a time the engines coughed back into life and the drivers nervously edged their vehicles where instructed.

  After a few days the entire cavern floor resembled a car park, filled with trucks and wagons of every size; each vehicle crouched low on its axles, the weight of their canvass-covered loads compressing nearly all travel out of the springs in the suspension.

  Once all the vehicles were in place, the Japanese engineers began fashioning a three-foot-thick fake ceiling above them. The base was made from steel girders that formed a honeycombed roof. This was filled in with rock, which the workers smeared with a mixture of porcelain and concrete, like icing a giant cake. When it had hardened, they painted the ‘floor’ to match the surroundings, strewing the new surface with large jagged stones.

  Next, with boulders hauled in from the surrounding area, the men constructed fake walls to reduce the width, leaving the chamber a fraction of its true volume. Finally, the entrance way was filled up with rubble and painted with more porcelain cement, with the last of the workforce exiting via the hole in the ceiling via the winched platform. Once the giant boulder was heaved back over the airshaft like a giant stopper, the cave itself would be nearly impossible to find. If it was, no evidence of the vehicles entombed beneath would be visible. Even if someone got inside, there were booby-traps to contend with. The only safe way back in was by using the sole copy of the coded and heav
ily waxed map, which had been updated daily by the Japanese engineers. The place was impregnable. It’s secret safe for eternity.

  * * *

  On the evening of the completion of the works the Major commanded the three senior engineers to come to his office with the map. He glared at the men as they came in, each saluting the superior officer with fear in their eyes.

  The Major walked right up to the men, his face inches from their own.

  “Information I have received tells me there is a traitor amongst you,” he barked at them. He pulled out his pistol. “I am not sure who this man is… so I simply choose you!” he said to an astonished engineer, shooting the innocent man before he was able to utter a single word of protest. “Is there anyone else?” he added.

  The shock and terror on the other men’s faces assured the Major of total cooperation.

  “No one is to be trusted. I alone will guard this document on behalf of the Emperor. Leave. Remember, we are on parade in two days for the ceremony. And take that body with you.”

  Tan’s silent presence ensured there would be no argument. They all respectfully bowed to the Major and exited, carrying the body of their dead comrade.

  This is my chance, the Major thought to himself. Among the stick-thin British prisoners working on the cave was an expert draughtsman. That night Tan hauled the man from his insect infested straw mattress and dragged him before the Major.

  Okobudo pulled out the map that he had taken earlier from the terrified engineers. His heart thumped as he remembered General Yamashita’s precise orders. Any copies would result in instant execution.

  The Major took out his gun and held it to the prisoner’s head. He leaned forward to whisper in the man’s ear. “Copy it exactly and I will ensure you and your men receive some extra rations. I might even be prepared to allow you to relocate to a less strenuous place.” He then pointed to the Buddha and the shard that had broken away. “And repair that. You have till morning. Tan, stand guard outside. Get him whatever he needs. No one comes in, no one goes out.” The Filipino saluted and did as ordered.

  The exhausted draughtsman had no fight left in him. All through the night, he painstakingly replicated the intricate designs of the coded map. Finally, he managed to reaffix the broken stone chip to the sculpture’s neck as the sun was rising. Throughout Tan stood guard, displaying no emotion; but he was a conflicted man. His sense of loyalty to his superior officer was wavering.

  Tan never even opened the box he had carried back on the day the trucks had crashed, nor when he returned it to the cave on the final parade. However, he had been at the Major’s side when General Yamashita had made it clear no one was to make a copy of the map. The Major had disobeyed a General of the Imperial Army. His mind was made up. It would be Tan’s duty to report it.

  “Take this prisoner back to his quarters,” the Major snapped when he returned in the early morning and inspected the engineer’s work.

  “And Tan, all this never happened,” he added, arrogantly sure of the Filipino’s loyalty. “Now leave.”

  Once alone, the Major eagerly poured over the duplicate document. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. A myriad of symbols and signs, flags pointing to the left, flags to the right. There were clock faces with different numbers of hands and with the numerals on some faces going clockwise, some counterclockwise. Each icon had a different and precise meaning. Symbols for bombs, symbols for poison and symbols for the fulcrum point that would allow a man to dig through to the right depth… yes, Okobudo was coming back. All he had to do was survive the inevitable Allied victory. The Emperor had betrayed his loyalty, and in return the Major would betray the General.

  In a way Major Okobudo kept his promise to the draughtsman about relocation to a better place. The poison in the meagre extra portion of rice given to him at breakfast that morning had eventually sent the man, jack-knifed over in agony, into the next world.

  But it was Tan, who sealed the Major’s fate. Terrified, he had managed to obtain a brief interview with the fearsome General during a snap inspection ahead of the Major’s closing ceremony. The General listened expressionless to Tan’s tale, undecided whether to have him shot for his own disloyalty to his superior officer. However the General had heard about Tan’s skill with his bolo and had a use for him.

  * * *

  As the last breath of life choked out of him, the Major found what he had been looking for. One hand clasped the handle of the metal box, which tipped to its side as he pulled it towards him, the other gripped the wooden box full of artillery shells. The items he clung to were the ones he had hoped would ensure his future, but his future was over. The last thing he saw as the cave returned to darkness was the smile of the Buddha’s face from where it had rolled out of the box toward him.

  49

  WILL ROGERS POLO GROUNDS, PACIFIC PALISADES, CALIFORNIA

  The only thing ‘polo’ in Los Angeles that Louis really liked was the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  Nevertheless there had been an association between talent and the game of polo for years. This morning Louis was at the Will Rogers Polo Ground in Pacific Palisades basking in the spring sunshine that was spearing down from a cloudless sky. The air was heavy with the scent of designer perfume as he watched Tyler Gemmell’s polo ponies in action.

  The grounds were overlooked by the deceased film star’s white ranch house and set in 186 acres of lush parkland. It was all preserved exactly as it had been when the famous silver screen cowboy had lived there.

  Every Sunday in the early 1930s, Will Rogers played polo on his own pitch with David Niven, Errol Flynn, Hal Roach, Spencer Tracy, Clark Gable, and Walt Disney. There had been over 25 polo fields in those heady days, now this was the only one left.

  God, I wish I’d been around then, Louis thought to himself. He got a real kick out of the idea of studio heads and big shots of the day playing a game whose origin was using the severed heads of their enemies instead of a ball.

  “They need to score from this ‘bowl in’”, the actress seated next to Louis said with an air of superior knowledge. The umpire resumed play by rolling the ball down a line-up of polo players. She was Tyler’s current girlfriend. She took a sip of champagne as she watched a lithe Argentinean check, turn his pony, and then chase after the white wooden ball.

  The young man’s wiry piebald pony darted expertly between the others. The lean rider, clutching the flying mane and reins in one hand, swooped down and making a well-judged ‘neck shot’, struck the ball as it rolled in front of his mount’s chest, rocketing the sphere between the two posts.

  “Wow,” said the actress exhaling with a slight sigh that betrayed her admiration for the horse was also directed at the tanned rider. “That is one hell of a ‘made’ pony.”

  Louis found the term used for a well-trained polo pony ironic considering Tyler Gemmell owned it. Hoods buying respectability. It now even extended to owning polo teams. This particular team owner had better not catch his actress girlfriend with the handsome ‘10 handicap’ rider, or the rider’s handicap would just be busted knees, mused Louis.

  Originally a bit part actress, she was kept on the books at Louis’ agency with an annual retainer. In reality she was a hooker whose starring role was to help smooth deals. A fully co-operative player in the power game who no doubt now was adding to the chorus of #MeToo outrage that Louis thought was blighting his industry. She, of course, had seen herself more as a star-in-waiting. Her working name when Louis had hired her had been Lucy Aurore but not anymore.

  She had gone to an open audition a couple of years ago and surprised everyone by winning a small returning part in a legal drama show. It had become a major hit, with the main characters on the covers of every magazine, even though in private the stars seemed to be at loggerheads.

  Lucy had become a minor celebrity too, basking in the reflected glory of the show’s success. She had changed her name in a vain attempt to distance herself from her past, but no one forg
ot a face and body like hers. Her previous ‘starring role’ was an open secret to all those involved in film and television. Nevertheless, members of the public who knew nothing of her earlier life now stopped to chat, or covertly pointed at her as she walked by. This agreeing to and acceptance of visibility was a novel experience for her as she was more used to creeping away from hotel rooms or lying down in the back of stars’ limos, eager not to be noticed.

  The whistle blew for the end of the final seven and a half minute period of play. “End of the chukka and this game,” said the girl, eager to continue showing off her knowledge of the arcane terminology of the sport. “Time to tread in the divots,” she added a little too loudly.

  A riot of women in wide-brim hats and body-hugging dresses walked onto the pitch. Louis could not help but smile at the irony of all these overpriced high heels tottering over the turf to stamp back down the gouged sods of grass cut up by the flying horses’ hooves.

  Louis was counting on Jonathan stamping down right now on some sods of his own. The fact that he had twice let Marcus and Melinda slip through his hands made dealing with other matters even more important.

  “There’s Tyler,” said the girl, waving madly at the broad figure lumbering towards them.

  “Louis, I hope you are making a pass at my girlfriend,” greeted the big man extending a hand the size of a baseball mitt.

  “It means you think she still has something special.”

  Tyler had singled the actress out months ago at a discreet party thrown by Louis. He had no real interest in her but she had been easily seduced by his wealth and charm. It was not long before she was happily gossiping to him about the excesses on the set, tantrums about billing, the squabbles about wardrobe, and jealousy about the size of the trailers. After Tyler asked her to snoop around the studio a bit, she’d found the back lot was littered with the ‘mega-trailers’ he had asked her about.