by John Day
Alan and Walter hit it off straight away and so did Sarah and Ellen, it was like they had always been close friends.
The odd one out was Benny. He preferred listening anyway, it gave him time to analyse and scheme…
The thief.
As the evening progressed, Alan decided to do some probing.
“Benny tells me you and Ellen are treasure hunters. That is quite fascinating, perhaps you might share a tale or two with us.”
Walter appeared flattered at Alan’s interest, but knew it was only to find out more about himself and Ellen, as individuals. Which side of the law did they swing? Were they trustworthy? Did they play well with others?
Topping up his wine glass, Walter took a sip as he chose what to say next.
“Our last caper involved a priceless Ming vase that had been stolen from a collector more than 10 years ago…
Flashback
Edwardo Minelli poured petrol from a large plastic container over the outside of a stone wall. It formed part of an art collector’s cliff top house, in Italy.
Edwardo needed to distract the guards that patrolled the perimeter of the property. The other half of the container he used for another wall, on the other end of the building.
The problem was not actually the guards, but the security system inside the house. There was no way for anyone to get in undetected. Inside was the impressive display of Ming ware, in plain sight, under glass. That way, the owner and guests were free to enjoy the collection.
Edwardo then fixed a shaped charge fashioned from detonation-cord and plasticine, around the armoured glass French doors. This was linked to remote detonators at the petrol soaked walls.
He pressed the remote button and there was a loud bang, a brief flash.
A tinkle of glass at the doors was masked to some degree by two loud whoomphs, as the petrol ignited and lit the ends of the building. Alarms sounded that even the deaf could have heard.
Edwardo was only interested in a vase, although many other beautiful items were up for grabs. With a heave, he lifted off the glass dust protector. Reverently he lifted out the vase and gazed at it for a moment in the subdued light.
Being an art lover himself, it felt wondrous to touch the precious artefact before slipping it easily into his padded back pack.
Just 10 seconds after the detonation, he could hear shouts and running feet within the house. The guards though would be targeting the fires, and in a few more seconds, he would slip away under the black shroud of the night.
As Minelli escaped along the cliff top path towards his village, he glanced back. The blazing clifftop home lit the velvet black sky with a red glow.
The police would be waiting for him at his home, but he had planned for that.
Even as he jogged along through the dark backstreets of Manarola, the sound of police sirens and the stray flashes of their blue lights grew ever closer. Free of his back pack, gloves and dark clothing, he imagined he could bluff his way out of trouble.
The woman who had commissioned the theft would be keen to settle up. In his eyes, what she offered was a large fortune. His family would no longer want for anything.
However, he had failed to allow for the influence of the vase owner over the police. They managed to get a conviction, without adequate evidence. Minelli would stay in prison until he returned the vase.
As soon as sentence was passed, his wife left him, taking their young daughter with her. The wife made it clear, neither of them would ever visit him.
It was a year later in prison that his persistent cough was diagnosed as lung cancer, by the local hospital. It was terminal. What was he to do?
He could return the vase, but now he was dying, what benefit would freedom be? He was also destitute. He had no way of contacting the buyer, so he couldn’t raise money from her.
Edwardo guessed the police and the vase owner scrutinised every communication he made, so there was no prospect of giving his daughter instructions on how to find the vase. Apart from that, at 12-years old she was too young to risk her life recovering it.
Minelli decided to make a vase of his own with a hidden meaning. The intricate picture, looking up at Manarola, contained the clue. A solicitor was instructed to give it to Minelli’s daughter on her 21st birthday.
What happened to Minelli’s vase after it was sent to the daughter is unknown, but it came to light again 10 years later.
Ellen spotted it for sale in an arts and crafts shop in Manarola. Something about it intrigued her and she puzzled over it from time to time. The result of Ellen’s enquiries revealed the history of Minelli’s vase and the man who made it. The decoration on the vase was actually a map.
She revisited the village and compared the actual scene with the picture. A feature of the cliff on the vase did not actually exist. A simple error perhaps, but Ellen didn’t believe it. She sent me down a rope to explore the cliff face and there it was, a rotted canvas bag in a deep fissure. And inside the protective bag, I found the Ming artefact...
Alan wondered if Ellen had traced the daughter and given her money. It seemed unlikely, because he felt sure Walter would have mentioned it. He decided not to ask, it was none of his business.
***
After the feast, washed down with fine wine, the five sat around a small table. Walter steered the conversation towards Alan and Sarah’s cruise. “Where exactly are you two headed on your trip?”
Sarah saw no harm in telling him the abridged version.
“Cabo San Juan del Guia is as far as we intend to sail. It’s on the north-east coast of Columbia. We plan to dive on reefs and I dabble in photography, so the reef fish and interesting coves and bays will keep me occupied. According to what I was told, there is a large lagoon at Cabo and the photos I have seen look stunning.
“Do you and Ellen dive?”
“Ellen and I are qualified wreck, cave and open water divers, rather necessary in our line of work.”
“Alan and I are qualified to the same level as you. What an amazing coincidence?”
Walter smiled at the revelation and momentarily flicked his eyes towards Ellen, to judge her reaction to the news.
It had been Ellen’s intention to become the best of friends with their hosts to wheedle out all the information she could.
If Ellen thought she had manipulated the situation to her will, she hadn’t. What Alan suggested next took everyone by surprise. “Ellen, why don’t you and Walter come with us on the cruise. We all get on well and the boat has 5 bedrooms, so we can easily fit you in. Even Benny can come, if he wants too.”
Alan was certain that the fact Benny was involved, had something to do with the submarine. He felt sure Fox and Norris were in on the hunt, as well.
As Alan and Sarah saw it, they needed Benny and his contacts like Charles Henshaw to raise the wreck and fence the cargo. There was no way they could do those things themselves. Who better to trust with the secret than the devious little Russian who needed them just as much. Without them, he wouldn’t get his cut.
As Alan had rightly pointed out to Sarah earlier in the evening, it was far better to keep everyone together on the boat. The saying, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer,’ was particularly appropriate.
Ellen purred with delight. “What a wonderful idea, Alan. Is that alright with you Sarah?”
“Alan is the captain, I am just enjoying the ride but yes, I think it is a wonderful idea. I don’t want this party to stop.”
Benny jerked into life like a rebooted cyborg. It was at times like this when all his scheming seemed a waste of effort.
“Oh! Can I join you? I have never been on a cruise in my life.” With everyone together, he could sleep nights and not have to worry whether anyone was trying to put one over on him.
Alan sounded genuinely pleased to include him. “Of course you can Benny, we would be at a loss without you.”
The party really took off as everyone started to relax and put away their hidden agendas, to enj
oyed the brilliant evening.
Now, the only question on everyone’s mind was, what would happen if they discovered the U-159?
***
Early next morning, extra diving equipment was hired for Ellen and Walter. To fill the additional air bottles, a larger compressor was brought on board.
Benny confessed he couldn’t swim. There was no need for that skill in his world of murky deals.
Although there would be places to eat out at the many harbours and coves along the way, they would need extra food. Sarah ordered more drink as well, which the guests eagerly helped to store away.
***
It was late morning before the five friends cast off and headed full sail on their exciting journey. The one worrying thing was the warning of an approaching hurricane named Matthew. It was a strong one, but slow moving so its path was impossible to predict at the moment.
After 7 days of sailing and having massive fun diving on coral reefs, and exploring the small fishing villages on shore, the Lady Jane reached Cabo San Juan del Guia.
The large lagoon, formed by an almost continuous reef was the choice place to anchor. It was a shallow basin of white sand and almost mirror smooth, crystal clear water. They soon discovered that to swim there was perfect, but the fish seemed to prefer the sea outside the reef, so fishing and diving would require them to anchor outside.
When Alan and Walter guided Lady Jane through the narrow natural break in the reef for the first time, they decided to dive down and visually check the depth and clearance at the sides, as the catamaran eased through.
It seemed far more fun, and safer to do this than rely on the echo sounder. They worried that the gap might suddenly narrow or a pinnacle of rock appear in their path, before they could back out.
The cross currents and rapid transition from chop to calm called for extreme caution, at least for the first time through.
After dropping anchor and an additional line to the beach, they all waded ashore to meet the village chief. As Jake Saunders had said, the villagers were very friendly and ran to greet them, from their simple huts made from jungle vegetation.
The small fishing village had picked the lowest end of a valley where a tongue of sand ran up from the beach, towards the sharply defined edge of the dense jungle.
The natives’ colourful dugouts with outriggers had been pulled up on the beach where the sea rolled right in. They never used the lagoon, except to swim and play.
As the group of friends walked closer to the huts, surrounded by jabbering children, an old man came out of his hut to greet them.
He shooed the children away and spoke to Alan in excellent English. This was the village chief. “Welcome to my village. Are you wanting to trade for food? We have fresh and dried fish, fruit from the jungle and animal meat.”
“Thank you, Sir, we might do that. However, we are here about another matter. Jake Saunders mentioned a man called Oona who visits you from the jungle, every 7 to 10 days. He speaks German and we have come to speak with him.”
The Chief seemed less friendly as he replied. “Oona. Yes, that’s his name. His people eat each other. Not good. He wanted to take a woman with him from here, and we would not let him.
“Why do you want to speak to him?”
Alan looked at the others for support, but he was on his own on that one. “I wanted to find out why he spoke German.”
“Oona speaks to us in our language, I don’t know this German.”
“When do you expect to see Oona again?”
“May be one or two, perhaps three days’ time.”
“We will wait for him then on our boat, if you don’t mind.”
The chief sensed an opportunity.
“We can lay on a feast tonight, plenty of good food and special jungle drink. Make you want good time, long time. How much you want to pay?”
The old chief was only interested in getting money for his village, Alan thought, no harm in that.
“You tell me what you want. We have Pesos and US dollars.”
The old man thought for a moment.
“Very good party, last all night, $200. That OK?”
Everyone was excited at the idea of a jungle style beach party.
The chief added. “Men and girls dance to jungle drums, you drink, plenty of fun.”
He nodded vigorously and smiled knowingly. The others were up for it and agreed to chip in. The chief looked pleased, shouting the news to the villagers who had gathered around the group to find out more about them. Now the five friends were pestered for their attention.
Benny, Ellen and Walter were surprised that Alan had let the cat out of the bag in front of them.
They had expected him to get the answers he needed about Oona in some underhand fashion and then return some other time without them, to claim the U-159.
Walter turned to face Alan, as the two of them walked back to the shore.
“That was a bombshell. So, you are still on the trail of your missing submarine. This is not a holiday after all.”
He was lying of course. They were already aware of the German speaking man, from Walter’s eavesdropping in New York, and could see that, however Alan came by it, this was enough of a clue to be worth following up.
Benny and Ellen had a deepening respect for this unassuming and friendly man. What other secrets did he and Sarah have?
Alan stuck to his version of the truth, adding a veiled warning.
“Actually Walter, it is a holiday. I decided to follow this longshot, that’s all.
“The only other thing that you should know is, I am in love with Sarah, and hope she will come to see me in the same way…”
The embrace.
It was nearly sunrise when the beach party drew to a close. The friends returned to Lady Jane for a few hours’ sleep. Perhaps Oona would visit the village today.
Ellen had gone to her room alone. Sarah had been trying to pluck up courage to tell Alan she would marry him if he asked her. She longed to hold him close and conclude that interrupted kiss, over a week ago on the plane.
Sarah trusted Ellen’s judgement, now she knew her, and believed they were best friends. After gathering her thoughts, she slipped on a thin robe and knocked lightly on Ellen’s door.
Who could that be, Ellen wondered. Not Walter, he wouldn’t dream of intruding at this time of morning, anyway, he wasn’t a timid knocker.
Unlikely to be Alan, he and Sarah were damn close, although there were no signs of post coital embarrassment at breakfast times. I hope he hasn’t decided to come for a frustration easing fumble to tide him over.
God, please don’t let it be Benny!
She threw a diaphanous robe around her naked body and opened the door.
“Sarah!” she purred. Suddenly all Ellen’s dreams and Christmas had come true at once. At last the girl has succumbed to temptation and I will make sure she never wants to go back.
Ellen reached her hand out and pulled Sarah’s head towards her, open mouthed, against her own craving lips. Her tongue probing deep into the surprised girl’s mouth. The other arm passed behind Sarah’s waist, pulling her hard into her soft, hot body as her robe fell open.
Sarah was completely stunned. Her senses overwhelmed by the animal passion that flowed between the two of them.
Intrigued by the disturbance outside his cabin, Alan opened his door and saw the embrace. True, he had suddenly come upon the scene, but neither woman appeared to care, as seconds later, he clicked his door shut.
Hearing the click, Sarah broke away from Ellen and hid her face in her hands, as she realised what her friend had done. Not only that, Ellen was practically naked and worst of all, Alan had seen them together.
Sarah turned and ran to her room. Not a sound escaped her lips, sealed shut by her hands. She fell on her bed and lay there wracked with shame and guilt. She had enjoyed the moment of female intimacy and that was the problem.
Harsh reality.
The riotous beach party three days ago wa
s now a distant memory and Oona still hadn’t arrived in the village.
The usual 7.00am fun and laughter at breakfast for the five of them, was just a restart to the wonderful time they had been having throughout the waking hours of the trip.
At this time of day, the air felt cool and refreshed after a night under the clear starlit sky, and the gentlest breeze caressed their bare skin. Formality at mealtimes had been dropped soon after the adventure began. Fresh clothes had given way to swim wear, as they sat around the table eating, under the deck awning.
Even though they stayed in the shade, frequent dips in the sea and the reflected glare from the amazing blue water had turned their skin a deep, healthy brown.
“You’re quiet this morning Alan,” remarked Walter as he reached for milk to add to his coffee.
“As you all know, I have been keeping up with the weather reports. With hurricane Matthew veering towards the coast, and no safe haven for Lady Jane here at Cabo, it makes good sense to up anchor and head back down the coast. With luck, we might keep clear of the storm’s path. It isn’t likely to die out any time soon and it’s expected to head north towards the Caribbean.”
Everyone groaned with disappointment and the raucous mood took on a sombre tone. They were all thinking the same, today might be the day the native from the interior came calling for fish, in the village.
Each person also took stock of reality. This was not an everlasting party for people who were having the best time of their lives, but a serious hunt for a large fortune. Their scheming minds jolted back onto familiar tracks.
***
For Alan, it was the realisation that he was days closer to Christmas, and apart from a massive bill for the boat hire, food and drink, he was no nearer to solving his business problem. That U-boat was somewhere near, it had to be. Wishful thinking, of course, there was no ‘had to be’ at all.
He imagined the faces of his staff, all gathered together in the general office. They would be expecting the usual Christmas cheer and speeches, patiently waiting for the envelopes containing bonus cheques, gift vouchers and a corporate greeting card.