“In the cave. It suddenly clicked. Bill’s death had nothing to do with THE LAST COMPANY at all. It was never part of the plan. To Louis McConnell it was a surprise bonus too good to miss. I am so sorry, Cara.”
A puzzled look appeared on Cara’s face.
“That’s why Bill was added as a rider to the ‘Essential Element’ clause so late in the game?” Mako whispered, starting to understand.
“Let’s start with the facts from both Sam and Bill’s past. The rest is pure hunch. But it fits.”
“Mr. Riley. Please, if you would explain,” asked Haribon. Marcus took a deep breath.
“When Sam first sent McConnell a writing sample to try and get his agency to take him on, he sent him a book, a thriller. Louis did indeed take Sam on. However the book was never published. Sam eventually sent it to me after we had worked together to see what I thought.”
“I still don’t see any relevance,” said Cara, the look of confusion now mixed with exhaustion.
“Sam’s book was based loosely on the true story of NORAID, the Northern Irish Aid Committee, the former Chief of Staff for the IRA, Joe Cahill, and a Boston-based IRA veteran Ronan O’Neale. In Sam’s book, the plot focused on a fictitious gang who were smuggling weapons from the U.S. to Ireland by ship. When I saw Jonathan’s jumpsuit, I remembered something from Sam’s book. Sam mixing reality with fiction as he would do later in FALL OUT. He named the ship in his fictional version of the story after the IRA emblem, The Morning Sunburst. A golden sun on a bright blue background.”
That got everyone’s attention. “The IRA?” said Mako.
“Louis was obsessed with them,” said Haribon, recalling the drunken and drug-infused conversation on the set of APOCALYPSE NOW.
“Haribon, the airline, was it Louis’ idea?” asked Marcus.
“It was. We needed our own air freight company to get things out of the country. The local company was useless. Louis was keen to handle this, so Stefan and I left the job to him.”
“I thought so. Maybe in defiance, or out of misplaced romanticism for ‘the cause’, Louis named his airline after the emblem and the ship in Sam’s book. He even had the old battle cry of the Republican struggle as his company’s motto, ‘Our day will come’. Sam must have somehow found out about the airline when he came back here. He would have immediately seen the relevance of a connection between the IRA and Louis.”
The photo in the banker Rafael’s office, thought Haribon. “But this was after Bill’s death,” said Mako.
“Bear with me. It established for Sam a connection between McConnell and the IRA,” said Marcus. “Cara, that first night here on the set. You told Jonathan all about yourself and Bill…?” Cara’s eyes widened as she understood the implications of what she had set in motion when she had sat and talked with her cousin.
“Oh my God,” she said, visibly shaken. “I told Jonathan in detail all about Bill’s time in the British Army. The ambush…”
“Jonathan must have been reporting everything back to Louis. Cara’s conversation and the bit about the stunt Bill performed at the party,” Marcus added. “Sam repeated that stunt in FALL OUT to underline Bill’s bravery and ruthlessness. His patented booby-trap damn near killed Mako and me.”
“The killers that ambushed Bill and his unit in Ireland…?” Cara’s question hung in the air.
“Louis McConnell is closer to his roots than we thought. My hunch is McConnell decided to execute Bill in retaliation. Some kind of delusional retribution. Louis saw an opportunity to stop the film, pull the bond, and get revenge for his IRA heroes. Three birds with one stone,” Marcus quickly explained to Haribon and Cara about the ‘Essential Element’ clause they had found hidden in Mako’s certificate.
“Of course, to prove I’m right we need to find an actual connection between Bill, the men he killed in retaliation and Louis’ ‘cause’… or get McConnell to tell us.”
There was a long silence. Finally, Cara spoke up.
“I’m sorry, Marcus, for what I said to you. McConnell forced me to try to get you to drop the movie. I didn’t know or understand then. That man…”
“Cara, it doesn’t matter. Really. Please forget it. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“At least your conscience is clear now,” she whispered to him. “They were going to kill Bill anyway. His bravery is what sealed his fate, not your rashness.”
Marcus felt a huge sense of relief as Cara’s words sank in.
There was a long pause in the conversation, everyone mulling over the implications of what Marcus had said.
“I am so sorry, Cara…,” Mako finally said, breaking the silence. “But I still need a lot of answers,” she continued looking directly at Haribon. “The Buddha head and my mother for a start. I wanted that bastard in there to explain,” she said nodding her head back towards the cave.
The Jeep rumbled round the base of the rock, Rizal at the wheel. “I know who can answer your questions Miss de Turris,”
Haribon said, “Come,” he added, motioning to the 4x4.
“You want us to go with you? Marcus, is he crazy? After what he just put us through? I don’t think so.” She pulled away. “And who the hell was that other guy, Tyler someone-or-other’s little angel of death? I’m not going anywhere.”
“I insist,” said Haribon, his face a deadpan expression. “At my house here in Pagsanjan, you will get your answers.”
They were in the middle of nowhere. Marcus looked at Mako.
There was no choice but to get in.
“You never know,” whispered Marcus. “We might even get to the truth.”
“Let’s just hope we survive long enough to hear it,” answered Mako out loud and staring at Haribon.
72
PAGSANJAN, PHILIPPINES
“Find what you wanted?” Mako asked Haribon with as much sarcasm as she dared as she surveyed the scene in Haribon’s neat drawing room back at the small house.
She was glaring at Consuela huddled over the laptop, the red USB in the port and an open copy of FALL OUT on the table next to it. Mako watched in frustration as the computer screen filled with the numbers, she and Marcus had spent so much time deciphering.
Consuela turned around. “Nü-shu,” she said. “Clever.” Haribon sat down next to Consuela. He scrolled through page after page of the spreadsheet on the computer.
“Nothing in here about a head, but it’s clear McConnell just couldn’t resist skimming from me. It looks like no one else except de Turris kept any part of a share, unless you have anything to add, Mr. Riley?” Haribon said, still looking at the laptop.
Marcus looked shocked. “I’ve no money.”
“So you keep saying,” said Haribon without looking up.
“My father’s money; take it back. The art. All of it,” snapped Mako.
“And the damned head,” added Marcus. “Whatever its meaning.
People were killed for it.”
“Including my mother,” added Mako, her memory still raw from Jonathan’s revelation in the cave.
“Where is it anyway?” asked Haribon.
“It’s in Kenwood,” replied Mako dryly.
“Go back,” Consuela said to Haribon, pointing at the computer and totally ignoring the conversation.
The image of the black and white tiger filled the screen. “Freeze now.” Consuela stared at the image. “In Hunan, where Nüshu came from, the religion before Buddhism was Tujia. They worshipped the white tiger.”
Mako peered at the screen in astonishment. Marcus leaned over the back of the rattan chair examining the image in front of him.
“We were looking at this image of the tiger the wrong way. It’s like a negative from a photograph; the stripes are black and the rest of the fur white. This tiger is a white one,” Marcus said, the implication dawning on him. “It’s not just representing the Tiger of Malaya; it must mean more.”
“Exactly,” said Consuela. “Mako, my dear. You want to know what this is all about? You are
the only one here who holds the key.”
Mako looked at her, unsure, caught off guard by the gentleness in her voice. This frail woman seemed to have answers and wanted to help her. Consuela smiled, beckoning to Mako as she turned back to Haribon and the computer.
“Run that sequence again.”
Haribon followed her instructions, the tiger dissolved and then the jumbled lines about to form the tiger once more reappeared on the screen.
“Stop again. Right here,” directed Consuela. With a glint of satisfaction, she turned the screen towards Mako.
The animated jumble had occurred so fast that Marcus had barely noticed it when they had previously unlocked the security code; they’d been so eager to see the actual files. The lines that morphed so quickly into the tiger weren’t random. It was a form of script.
“It’s Nü-shu isn’t it?” murmured Consuela, looking at Mako.
“I’ve only ever seen it once before, but I don’t know how to translate it.”
“But you can,” Marcus said looking at Mako hopefully.
“Help us,” asked Consuela, “or at least see if you can find the answer to why this nearly killed you.”
“I need some paper,” Mako whispered as she stared at the frozen image.
Thinking back to the strange scratches Marcus had noticed on the statue when he held it briefly at the house he said, “The Nü-shu writing on the screen, I think it may also be what’s etched on the base of the Buddha head.”
Mako squinted at the screen and the delicate script. It took her nearly an hour to decipher but she slowly pulled from her memory what her mother had taught her.
“OK,” she said looking up, a triumphant look on her face. Everyone gathered around as she read.
* * *
“To my dear sisters,” she started hesitantly, “the secret I give to you is no longer fit for men. Long ago, when the tribes of Tujia were founded we expressed our beliefs in the worship of nature, veneration of our ancestors, and the adoration of our totems of Ba Wuxiang.
Ba Wuxiang was our first chief. His spirit became the Great White Tiger. Over centuries we hoarded our gold, dug it out from our mine in the hills and our cache grew and grew. All the gold we collected went to make up our prize, our two statues by which the Tima our priest would help us communicate with our forefather; the cub and the resplendent mature lord of the jungle.
But men became greedy. The warlords enslaved us; tried to force us to change our beliefs and they started to hunt for our tigers.
The priest hid the full-grown golden beast in the holy lake, killing himself afterwards to protect the location of the sacred lair. But he had told his secret and given the cub statue to someone whom he deemed to be all that was left that was pure and innocent, a young lowly peasant girl. The priest’s words were passed from mouth to mouth of specially selected women. As we developed our own secret script our sisterhood grew. We still hoped to reclaim the large statue depicting our ancestor one day in the future, when the evil done by man stopped and we had returned to the values of our forebears.
But as the time passed one warlord changed to another, none worthy of our secret. Now we are overrun with invaders from overseas. They have tortured, raped and killed. Most villagers are dead, our own warlord fleeing to the hills instead of protecting us. The Wa loot all they find, always hunting for more. The last of us here alive, we await certain death, but we hide in this head the smallest of the totems, a golden cub. Carved on its belly is the location where lies its majestic older form. We pray one day a woman will return and reunite the statues, our beliefs and way of life. Hunan 1944”
* * *
They looked at Mako in stunned silence.
“Who are the Wa?” asked Marcus, breaking the quiet.
“It’s the word the Chinese use to describe the Japanese. This must refer to the Zhijiang campaign and the Rape of Hunan… “ said Consuela.
“A life-size tiger in gold… worth finding,” said Haribon quietly. “How on earth can you mount an excavation at some lake in China without anyone knowing what you are doing,” began Marcus but then he stopped. China was now attracting movie productions with cheap labor and locations. He had no doubt what Louis and Stefan’s plan had been. They’d done it before.
“No, no!” Mako made everyone jump. “This time the works of art go back to the people who owned them. All this death, the stealing. These tigers are to be reunited and returned to their rightful owners.”
Haribon raised his hand, but it was Consuela who spoke.
“That isn’t the head’s only value,” she said softly. “It is insurance. The Chinese will ensure immunity to anyone who can prove that Yamashita’s Gold was no myth and contained items looted from China. That’s why McConnell’s so desperate to get it.”
“Are you saying McConnell killed Mako’s mother, because he not only wanted that gold baby tiger for himself but, even more importantly, indemnity from prosecution?” asked Cara.
“Louis McConnell is only interested in one thing… he has no loyalty to anyone but himself,” sighed Haribon. “Even to your father. I suspect that is why Stefan kept those insurance documents should Louis double cross him. Unfortunately…”
“My father was a thief but no murderer. Sam, however, found out about the money, the murder, and the deception,” said Mako, with some relief in her voice.
“And Sam thought I might have received some of this money, along with Cara and Robert…,” said Marcus.
“Maybe. I certainly wondered,” said Haribon. “It’s clear to me though you did not, despite my gentle tease just now. You behaved with honor and courage in that cave. Even now you have no desire to find the tiger for yourself.”
“You never bothered to check if we were paid. Might have saved some lives,” replied Marcus with rising incredulity.
“Louis and Stefan said you all had to be paid. For silence. Why would I not believe them? Tracing the funds once they left the Pagsanjan accounts was impossible anyway. They bounced through dozens of accounts. Those payments reaching the right destination? Not my circus, not my monkeys. In a way, sending the money eased my conscience. I insisted on Cara getting Baines’ share. Once the banker Rafael Satow told me about Sam, I guessed. Before I could act though I had to be sure who had and who hadn’t been paid.”
“What do you mean, act?” asked Mako dryly.
Haribon did not answer. “And Kelso?” asked Mako.
“On balance I bet he got screwed too,” said Haribon. “In the immediate aftermath of Bill’s death, I was furious. Tried to get hold of McConnell, but he kept avoiding my calls. It took days before we connected. By that time Jonathan was firmly holed up in Los Angeles. Louis refused to discuss Bill, it was over and done with as far as he was concerned.
As for Kelso, Louis had been worried the drugs might get him talking despite the money we’d be sending him. I told Louis if he touched Kelso or anyone else, he would answer to me.” Haribon paused for a moment. “Louis laughed. He told me not to worry. Before Jonathan disappeared to LA, they scared the shit out of him. Strung out on coke, the day after Bill’s death, Kelso was grabbed by Jonathan in Pagsanjan, blindfolded and dragged to a local graveyard. Kelso stumbled to the ground and Jonathan pulled off the bandana covering his eyes. He shoved his face into some foul-smelling purple flowers tangled around the gravestones. Told Kelso what they signified. A dead body. If he ever thought about saying anything, the last thing he would remember before he died would be a gift of purple flowers,” said Haribon. “They are a symbol I have used myself on occasion…”
“Did you ever go back?” asked Cara. “To where all this happened.”
“I returned only once. On the wall I left my message of apology to Bill and painted a crucifix. I then sealed it up for what I thought was forever.”
“And Tyler Gemmell and his messenger?” asked Mako.
“Came out of the blue,” deadpanned Haribon. “One McConnell double cross too many, perhaps?”
Marcus susp
ected there was more to it, but Haribon was clearly saying nothing else.
“We free to go?” Marcus said after a pause.
“As Miss de Turris noted, we have your bags. I have booked you on a first-class flight back to Geneva tomorrow,” said Haribon as he headed towards the door.
Mako had a puzzled look on her face. “Geneva… how did you know that?”
“Miss de Turris, not only could I tell you the seat number you flew in on but what you had for lunch and the movie you watched.” He turned to Cara. “And you’re on a flight to LA. My offer is still open.”
“Thank you, but no thank you,” she replied.
Cara had earlier rejected Haribon’s financial help. It was blood money and always would be. She owed Bill more than that. In fact, she knew exactly what she owed him.
“And Louis McConnell? Is he just to go free in the wind?” Marcus asked.
“I have no doubt his greed will ultimately undo him long before the law catches up. He’ll screw over one person too many,” Haribon replied.
Marcus looked skeptical. However, Cara was sure of it.
“And now, goodnight,” said Haribon. He turned towards his bedroom.
“One thing. The money that developed Pagsanjan?” Marcus asked.
“It was I who insisted,” said Consuela. “One place where real people could benefit from that treasure.”
“She held out for twenty-five percent of my share. Schools, roads, electricity, jobs, water supplies, roads,” replied Haribon, looking fondly at the old woman.
“The art and treasures in London and Habkern, along with whatever is left in my father’s accounts, I’m returning to you,” Mako said looking directly at Consuela.” She turned to Haribon.
“Not impressed. You’re still a thief.”
“Only seventy-five percent of one,” replied Haribon raising his index finger at her.
“Me? I’m zero percent,” replied Mako.
73
HABKERN, SWITZERLAND
Fall Out Page 35