Secret Cargo

by John Day

  The nurse cleared her throat. She had completed her duties with the late Lady Patterson and proceeded to partly open the curtain.

  Alan and Sarah moved over to their mother’s side, solemnly thought their final goodbyes and kissed her on the cheek. The sheet was pulled up over the body and they both returned to their father, to start their long vigil.

  The old man briefly regained consciousness, and died peacefully 4 hours later.

  Alan was truly relieved at his father’s wise decision to exclude him from any inheritance. At the end of the year when his debts were due, his creditors would have taken the lot. Ironically, he would have had to pay death duties as well.

  With time to think over his predicament, following the funeral, he wondered what his own future would hold if he went bankrupt.

  Try as he might to reject and smother it, one evil thought kept recurring…

  Montevideo.

  Following Benny’s call to Ellen, from Berlin, a courier delivered all the flight tickets and travel information to the Russian, just as Ellen had promised.

  His last project with her had been in Guatemala, so he had no further travel issues like visas, for Montevideo.

  He remembered the caper well. It was a mixture of fun, frustration and pain. It was fun tracking down tombs under Mayan pyramids in the ruins of Holmul. The tunnels under the pyramid they searched had been looted long ago and it became increasingly frustrating coming up empty. It was then that he experienced pain in the form of a good slapping from Walter to focus his mind. Benny admitted he had two other teams searching nearby sites and he planned to exclude any team from a share, unless they found something. Rather than being fed his own body parts by Walter, Benny sent the other teams packing, all expenses paid. More pain, but of the financial kind.

  As a peace offering Ellen received a bottle of rare perfume.

  The next day they found artefacts of a Snake King dating back to 675AD. It was the prime haul actually, because a subsequent Archaeologist found another 2 tombs, but with little monetary value in them, by comparison. It seems even amongst kings, some are worth more than others.

  Based on what Benny had said to Ellen during the phone call outside the War Records Office, Walter contacted the police in Berlin. He asked the switchboard operator who he should speak to, about someone who was trying to sell him artefacts from a war grave.

  The operator gave him the man’s name and department and put him through, but Walter cut off the call - the name and department were all he needed.

  Next, he called the War Records Office in Berlin and asked to be put through to the archives section, where researchers registered to look at the records. He had been there several times himself, in the past.

  “Guten abend Frau Kepler, I am with the Landeskriminalamt investigating a case with Heir Steiner of the Berliner Polizei. Perhaps you would assist me by referring to your register of researchers. I am concerned with the name, Benny Markowitz, and he is probably listed with you in the last two weeks. Is he on your list?”

  It was just a slim chance Frau Kepler might have heard the name Steiner in the Police Department. If she had, it added authenticity to the enquiry. If not, and the name was confirmed upon checking, she might leave it there. Either way, she cooperated and searched the list as he requested.

  “Ja, Herr Markowitz is listed, he was here for the last two days

  “Was he researching with anyone else?”

  “Ja so, Herr Alan Patterson, I remember him in particular.” Judging by her recall, it was a good impression.

  “Vielen dank, Frau Kepler, guten tag.” He hung up and informed Ellen that Benny seemed to have someone working with him.

  Ellen purred out her thoughts. Her soft seductive tones were cultivated, but now she spoke that way automatically. “Benny works alone, he trusts no-one, so Patterson was being primed for a deal. It’s likely Benny has others interested in this project and is lining them up for a bidding war.

  “The good thing about dealing with Benny is he trusts so few people, he ends up cycling through the same contacts.

  “See what you can find out about Patterson.” Norris nodded like an obedient employee receiving an order from the chairman, though he needed no such instructions from Ms Fox.

  ***

  Four days passed and at 8.00pm Fox, Norris and Markowitz downed their cocktails at the bar and sauntered into the dining room of the Alma Histórica Boutique Hotel, Montevideo.

  So far, conversation was limited to the usual small talk and pleasantries, Benny hadn’t made his pitch yet. It was the way of the man to engage with his potential partners, offering them a tantalising sniff of the potential wealth they might make.

  The wealthy are so conditioned to getting what they want by paying for it, they would endeavour to outbid the competition. The winner would pay Benny the largest cut of the profits, and first dibs on what they recovered. As Benny would remind them, he wasn’t a greedy person.

  So far, he had Alan Patterson and Mr Mendez on the hook. True, Patterson’s interest seemed to have waned, but the man was desperate for money and like a gambler, he would return when he had justified the risk to himself.

  Now it was the turn of Fox and Norris to be enrolled in the bidding. As was Benny’s way, no expense would be spared ensnaring them, particularly since they were paying.

  Having taken their seats at the best table in the house and placed their order, Walter rounded on Benny and fixed him with a hard stare. He watched the treacherous Russian’s face for traces of deceit as he kicked off with his first question. “So, Benny, you have a sunken submarine loaded with $400million in bullion, why have you come to Ms Fox?”

  Ellen smiled, amused at Benny’s discomfort at the interrogation. He would be wondering if Walter had already looked into the Russian’s recent activities and had some idea of their likely competition.

  Benny broke eye contact and looked at Ellen. Her appearance was stunning, from her perfectly quaffed jet-black hair, down to her silver diamanté shoes. The woman was English, that much he knew, but as to her background, that was sketchy. He guessed from her avaricious nature, that she came from a deprived family, as he did.

  The jewellery she wore was bespoke, no doubt about that. Although dainty, the gemstones emitted a spectrum of light that only the best establishments would have access to. Less was more, apparently. The simple white dress clung to her perfect form, supported by a single tapered strap over one shoulder. By the look of the flesh hugging fabric, she wore no underwear. A thought that disturbed the Russian, so near yet so far…

  It actually amused the frugal Russian that she had decided to wear Chanel Grand Extrait perfume, at $4,200 per ounce. He knew this, because he gave her one of the only three bottles in the world, liberated from a dodgy deal. He had given it to Ellen last year, to prevent Walter from hitting him again. Well, Walter could beat him senseless, she wasn’t getting another bottle from him.

  “As you know Ellen, I hold you in the highest regard and who else would I go to with a discovery like this. As you will appreciate, Germany owns the vessel and its cargo, wherever it may rest. It is almost certainly a war grave, if any of the crew are aboard. At the very least, recovery of the cargo must remain a closely guarded secret. I know you understand the importance of such delicate matters.”

  Waspishly she replied. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, so don’t beat around the bush with me, it makes Walter very irritable.”

  Now the vision of an angry Norris, dangled by a thread of anxiety, in front of him. He cast his eyes down submissively and speeded up his presentation.

  “Of course, Ellen, of course. Yes, yes.

  “The Captain of the U-159 was duped with false orders to transport the loot and the thief, Grupenfurer Franz Kaltman, to Caracas. The sub was sunk by a homing torpedo in the Venezuelan Basin. It lies in water two and a quarter miles deep. Based on timing, it could not have reached Caracas and unloaded, so it is logically still on board. With a hol
e in it, the sub would have filled up and not been crushed, so if it hung together when it struck the seabed, it will be in one piece. The pressure hull is so much stronger than a ship’s hull.

  “Will you finance the search for the vessel?”

  Her answer was immediate. “Find it and we can talk again.

  “Now, what about the Château Latour 1982, a bit pricy at $2700, but it is a delightful red wine and will go well with the red meats we have ordered.”

  She looked away from Benny, his opinion on the wine was of no interest. “Tell the wine waiter we have chosen the wine will you Walter. I admit, I am quite hungry.”

  Her rich bitch attitude was no skin off Benny’s nose, she was hooked and would watch the progress of the survey.

  With her experience of treasure hunting, and Benny, she would wait till the wreck had been found and evaluated. Some amateur could pick up the search tab, not her.

  Walter Norris could see Benny’s mind ticking away as he weighed up his next move, the Russian seemed to be smiling to himself.

  We will see if he still wants to smile in a moment? “What part does Alan Patterson have to play in your plans Benny?” The artful man couldn’t have looked more surprised and panicked if Walter had actually slapped him with a large cod.

  “I see why that bothers you, Walter. Patterson declined the project due lack of money.”

  Smart little toad, Walter thought. He dares not lie, because he doesn’t know how much we know, and he needs to build trust.

  Walter pressed for an unambiguous answer.

  “So, he is not going to be involved or be aboard the survey ship then?” The question seemed to cover all bases.

  “I can assure you both that Patterson will not be involved with the search and will not be on the survey ship. He may still be investigating alternative funds, but for him, that ship has sailed…”

  Benny concluded his pun with one of his nasally laughs, to the embarrassment of everyone within earshot.

  ***

  Fate is cunning, it lays just one card at a time… no matter how certain the future trend might seem, there will always be jokers and trump cards, somewhere in the pack.

  Sonar survey.

  On the bridge, Charles Henshaw manned the helm. He guided his survey and salvage vessel, Celeste, out of Port-au-Prince, Haiti under the watchful eye of Mr Mendez. Benny was due to join the Celeste by helicopter near the wreck site. As soon as he left Fox and Norris, he had flown to Haiti, chartered a long-range Kaman UH-2 Seasprite and made a splendid entrance on the vessel’s small helipad.

  Mendez watched everything closely. He was fully aware of the sonar search pattern. Someone had briefed him well before he boarded, and he happened to be highly intelligent. Charles felt relieved he would not have to explain everything to this thick-set sinister man. The less he had to do with the gangster, the safer he felt.

  The ruthless businessman wore bespoke tailored long-sleeved shirts, sometimes plain white, sometimes with a faint stripe, never gaudy or flamboyant, like the Hawaiian stuff. His Chinos were also expertly tailored and even at the end of the day, hardly showed an unwanted crease. The soft leather tan deck shoes were not off anyone’s shelf, either.

  The thing that disturbed Charles the most was the man never seemed to sweat, even in the tropical sun. Was Mendez a cold-blooded reptile? Did it explain why his reputation was chilling? Those who crossed him would know, but they wouldn’t tell, they were all dead! Those black piercing eyes that could stare down an angry viper, certainly sent chills through Charles’s soul.

  Henshaw was a hard and ruthless man himself, no one picked a fight with him twice. However, the scorching sun on this tranquil blue ocean didn’t stop a trickle of cold sweat breaking out, when in Mendez’s company.

  ***

  It was a week into the search. Benny ambled along the deck towards the bow, enjoying the warm breeze and the swish of the sea, as the powerful ship sliced through the gentle waves. This far forward, the deep drone of the turbines was left behind.

  “Benny!” The deep and commanding voice from behind startled him. Mendez had followed Benny and was demanding his full attention.

  “Hello Mr Mendez, I didn’t hear you sneak up. I was enjoying the peace and tranquillity up at the pointy end.” A squeal of nervous laughter emanated from the Russian. An attempt to sound out the Brazilian’s mood.

  “You can enjoy peace and tranquillity all you like when you’re dead, not when I’m paying.

  “Tell Henshaw the survey is over. I see no point in wasting another dollar.”

  Benny could have sworn he saw flames of rage flickering inside the infinite blackness of the man’s eyes. Possibly the volcanic force of rage about to erupt. More likely a reflection of a seaman’s orange hi-vis tabard, as he walked by.

  “As I am sure your advisors will have confirmed, just like I explained to you before you embarked on this enterprise, there is no guarantee we will find the U-159. We certainly won’t find it if we stop searching. For all anyone knows, it might be seconds away from discovery.” Every addicted gambler justifies their next hand of cards the same way.

  “Choose a fool like Alan Patterson to pay for your search whilst he still has a shirt on his back. Come the end of the year, he won’t even have that. I will make sure of it. Should he find this submarine and its treasure, tell me immediately. I don’t intend he thwarts my plans by stumbling on a financial windfall.”

  Henshaw watched the verbal exchange from the bridge. As Mr Mendez walked away, Charles slid the colt 45 back in a drawer. Benny was an incorrigible wheeler-dealer, but there was no violence in him. Probably. Mendez was different, evil to the core. Charles even wondered whether the bullet from a Colt would stop him, or just bounce off. Others had tried to kill the man, yet he remained unscathed.

  Benny entered the bridge. “What was all that about, Benny?”

  “Mendez has pulled the plug on the search and we are to head for home, pronto.”

  “He does realise the sub might be along the next sweep. The Titanic was only found just as they prepared to go home.”

  “I think you and I both know it isn’t here, Charles. Somehow the U-159 got away. It is time to go home.” Charles shrugged and gave the order to haul in the sonar array, magnetometer and other systems and stow them away.

  “When will we be back in Haiti, Charles?”

  “About this time tomorrow I reckon. What do you plan to do next Benny?” A non-committal shrug was the only answer he got as the sneaky Russian mooched away.

  So far, Charles was the only winner, as he reviewed Mr Mendez’s cleared funds, in the Bank, back in Haiti.

  News.

  Back in London, and inseparable as ever, Alan and Sarah organised and prepared for their parents’ funeral and the reception. It was a suitably grand affair, due to take place in the City a week later.

  They both retreated within themselves emotionally, to cope with the formalities and the challenges they presented. Actually, they were both glad of the distraction. An unspoken question weighed heavily upon them. Eventually one or other of them would ask it, but what would be the reply?

  Even after the funeral, the endless formalities and details concerning their parents’ affairs had to be addressed. It was a week later that Alan decided to face his own nightmare.

  “Sarah, I wonder if you can spare me now. I need to return to work or they will realise they can manage quite well without me.”

  She gave a light laugh at his humour. It was the moment she had been dreading. Now everything rested on her shoulders. The estate was complex and all manner of legalities needed to be analysed, fine-tuned and implemented if the family fortune was going to be administered efficiently. She had a good business head on her shoulders, but her chosen profession had been in marketing, not high finance and tax law.

  Alan though, seemed to take it all on board and got things sorted so she could negotiate and sign off on decisions. The perfect team, like they always had been. Now he was le
aving. It crossed her mind that she was just lazy and could easily cope on her own, or was the real reason, emotional?

  Perhaps the Freudian slip about Alan not asking to marry her was the problem. Well, he still hadn’t asked her, so he couldn’t be interested.

  Just as she had men friends aplenty, she had no doubt girls were queuing up at his door. Now she felt jealous as well as depressed.

  It struck them both as quite odd. Until now, they had never once found it difficult to discuss anything with each other. The emotional aspect of romance had destroyed that wondrous gift. Was it the thought of rejection or the prospect of intimacy that held them back?

  Somewhat snappily she retorted, “Better run along then, I have a sea of leases to wade through, I will be able to concentrate better on my own.

  “Thanks for all your help, I appreciate it and do keep in touch.” She regretted her attitude already, but he had his life too and this way he could leave with a clear conscience that he was not leaving her in the lurch.

  Alan frowned briefly. “A little harsh, Sarah, perhaps I would have phrased it differently.

  “As long as you know I will return if you need me, I can go without feeling guilty of desertion.” He walked over to where she sat at her desk and bent down to give her a reassuring hug. Their eyes met and for the first time they saw a different person looking back. What did it mean?

  Alan walked off to his bedroom and packed. A phone call to his PA sorted the flight back to his office for the following morning.

  ***

  As he waited at Heathrow to board the aircraft, he felt lost. He hadn’t known that feeling before, as many questions dominated his thoughts.

  Why had Sarah turned on him?

  Why had he seen Sarah as a woman, for the first time in his life?