China Marine: Tsingtao Treasure

by Buzz Harcus

  Chapter 39

  KING NEPTUNE PAYS A VISIT

  “I vill check on der information you gave me last night about der putty und let you know," Peter said joining Harry for breakfast. "It does seem strange."

  "I’d appreciate it if for no other reason than peace of mind," Harry answered as he dug into his grapefruit sending small jets of juice spurting in several directions.

  They ate in relative silence, interrupted occasionally by crewmembers inquiring of Peter about the ship's current position. When he was through eating, Peter gathered up his tray and left. Harry settled back savoring one last cup of coffee. He sipped at it slowly enjoying the aroma, the warmth. Exhaustion tugged at him and he fought it. Maybe he'd hit the sack a little later. The next twenty-four hours were all his; no work, his own personal time, time to relax, to write those dozen or so letters he'd delayed writing, do some laundry, clean up the cabin, work on his jacket and seabag, or whatever struck his fancy. He yawned. Would one full day be enough time? His eyelids drooped. He yawned again, blinking his eyes several times. No, he didn't want to sleep just yet.

  Osa came into the galley from the kitchen. Their eyes met. Harry winked. She started to smile, then froze, wheeled about and headed back into the kitchen. He grinned. I didn't realize I'd been that bad, he thought, as the grin widened. Apparently my apology hasn't warmed her up one bit. It'll take a lot to melt that cold, cold heart, and I sure as hell don't have the time.

  He finished his coffee, piled the empty dishes on his tray and dumped the tray at the dirty dish window. Out of the corner of his eye he caught her looking at him. He waved. She turned quickly away. "Screw you," he said softly.

  Stopping by the railing he gazed out across the sea. Martin, he scolded himself, get the bitch off your mind. You're going to have to concentrate every bit of your free time to your mission in China to retrieve that damned money.

  Astern, the first faint light of a new day stretched across the horizon. Harry pulled his collar tighter around his neck as a chill wind swept across the deck. He could sense an inner tiredness tugging at his body. No sense in fighting it any longer; it was time to call it a night.

  Harry blinked his eyes open. Peter was standing at his side of the bunk grinning ear to ear, shaking him awake. "Harry, I haf good news for you," he beamed. "I haf good news."

  "What, what are you talking about?" Harry replied shaking his head, trying to come fully awake. "What good news?"

  "Der putty. I confronted Ernst right after breakfast. I told him it appeared dere might be some unusual materials below deck dat could be dangerous. He vas puzzled. I told him dat you had seen a substance dat looked like plastique explosive along der ribbing of der ship next to der hull. He vas still puzzled. Den I told him about your exploration below decks und seeing him vis der putty, or vat ever it vas. All of a sudden his eyes lit up and he started laughing. He said vat you saw vas ship's putty. It is special putty used as a sealer. He took me over und showed me a can of der putty. Den I recalled hafing seen dis putty before. It is not explosives. No. Only putty." He laughed. "Dat is funny."

  Harry gave Peter a questioning look. "He actually showed you the stuff?"

  "Yah. Of Course. It is vat he said it vas, just putty. Ernst asked me to bring you down und he vill show you."

  "This I gotta see," Harry said throwing off his covers and bounding out of bed. Quickly he dressed and the two headed below deck to the engine room.

  "Vell, Mr. Martin," Ernst beamed as they came into view. He extended his hand, shaking Harry's vigorously. "I am sorry for der misunderstanding. Mr. Selham made me avare of your concerns

  und I vant to allay any suspicions you might haf. Come, please. I vill show you"

  Harry and Peter followed Ernst as he led them back to a storage locker in a far corner of the engine room. Yanking open the door, Ernst pulled out a five-gallon can clearly marked as putty. "As you can see, dis is der kind of putty ve use in der ship for sound proofing, to seal joints, small pipe leaks und for odder minor repairs." As he spoke, he popped the lid on the can exposing the pale yellowish textured material for Harry to see. His voice was loud above the roaring sound of engines. "See, up here," he said pointing up along the edge of two adjoining steel bulkheads. Harry saw a thick seam of putty that looked much like the gob he had seen down in the bilge area.

  "Is this the same stuff I saw along the outer skin of the hull the other day?" Harry asked, watching for his reaction to his question. Why did he feel so uncomfortable in his presence? Why was he so damned nice all of a sudden? A real Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde. It wasn't him, the angry, bitter Ernst. He was fawning, maudlin, definitely out of character.

  "Same ting. Come, I vill show." He started away heading for the hatchway leading lower into the ship's bowels. Peter was right behind him. As Harry followed after them, he reached down and pinched off a small piece of putty from the can, rolled it up in a ball, then wrapped it in his handkerchief.

  Ernst led them deep into the ship, then along the walkway to the spot where Harry had first seen the gob of putty. Strange, Harry thought; he'd led us to the exact spot. Stranger, too, was the fact that there were now several gobs of putty forming a seam along the ribbing next to the hull.

  "See," Ernst said, pointing with his flashlight, then reaching up and pinching off a piece of the putty. He handed it to Harry. "It is der very same ting."

  Harry felt the material. He smelled it. It smelled the same as putty back in the engine room, probably the same as the ball in his pocket.

  "Well, I guess I was wrong," Harry said, handing the sample

  back. "My apologies. When I'm wrong, I admit it. Sorry for the misunderstanding."

  "No. Is not necessary to apologize," Ernst was quick to reply in an ingratiating tone of voice. "I jus' vant to make sure you know vat dis stuff is. No. Ve don't carry any kind explosives on board dis ship, especially a grain carrier. Vun bad spark und BOOM!" He threw his hands in the air to exaggerate his point.

  "I get the picture," Harry replied.

  "No. No explosives on dis ship, too dangerous," Ernst repeated.

  "Dere," Peter said to Harry. "I tought you might be mistaken. Dat is vy I vanted to see for myself before reporting dis to der captain." He smiled. "Much ado about nosing, right? Ve don't mention dis to der captain. Okay?"

  "Okay," Harry agreed. "You've satisfied my curiosity. No sense in making a mountain out of a molehill; no sense in mentioning it to Captain Andress." He shook hands with Ernst. The man's hand's were cold, sweaty. As their eyes met, he still sensed anger in spite of a forced smile.

  Back in his cabin, Harry reviewed what had just transpired. Ernst was out of character, his answer too pat, and why all of a sudden were gobs of putty all over the place, especially down in the bilge. Somehow, Harry knew he'd been conned. Ernst was too condescending, making too much of an effort to allay any possible suspicions he might have. There had to be skulduggery going on down below.

  Reaching inside his pants pocket, he pulled out his handkerchief and unwrapped the small ball of putty. He examined it closely, rolled it around in his hand and smelled it. It was putty; there was no doubt about it. In fact, it was drying much like putty does leaving a white-ish residue in his hand. Plastique explosives didn't crumble, and the sample he had from before was a different texture, definitely not putty. Somebody had made some fast "repairs" below deck between the time Peter came and got him and they returned to the engine room. Why hadn't Peter picked up on it? Was he that gullible?

  Then he shrugged; maybe he was reading too much into the whole damned thing. Climbing back into his bunk, he pulled his blanket up tight around his neck. Thoughts of putty and plastiques faded as he dropped back to sleep.

  The noise of a claxon blaring startled him abruptly awake. What the hell is this all about? Was it a fire drill? Had something dreadful happened? Ernst! Had he blown up the ship? Jumping off his bunk he grabbed his pants, pulling them on as he headed for the main deck. Stepping on deck, he was immedi
ately confronted by two garishly dressed characters aiming what looked like vintage World War I Springfield rifles at him. "You are a prisoner of Neptune, keeper of der oceans," one said trying to keep from laughing, looking out with twinkling eyes from under an old GI helmet liner and stringy seaweed hair. They prodded Harry with the rifles motioning him toward the bow of the ship. "Go und learn your fate." Humoring them, Harry marched forward playing the role of prisoner to the hilt, knowing full well what was coming.

  On top of the center hatch cover, resplendid in a flowing cape, a gold-painted cardboard crown set jauntily atop his mophead wig, sat King Neptune, alias a grinning Captain Andress. He was holding a large golden trident, wet seaweed trailing from the pointed tines. Flanking him stood his, also grinning, costumed court. Standing in trepidation before him were several hapless members of the crew, including Osa. Harry was shoved forward unceremoniously to join them.

  Rising to his full height, now glaring down at the misbelievers, King Neptune spoke out in a booming voice. He berated these mere mortals for daring to cross the International Dateline, the Domain of the Golden Dragon, without paying tribute to King Neptune and the Golden Dragon. "All sailors who haf ever sailed der seven seas und der mighty oceans of der vorld, all pay tribute to me, King Neptune. You flotsam shall be no exception!" As he spoke, he looked askance at each, his eyebrows furled in mock anger.

  Turning to his court, he bellowed, "Prepare dese lowly mortals for indoctrination into der Domain of Der Golden Dragon. I, in my dual role as Golden Dragon, Ruler of der vun hundred und eightieth meridian, vill oversee der ceremony."

  Each prisoner was forced to crawl across the tarpaulin cover and

  kneel before King Neptune. Members of the court forced them to partake of a concoction that repulsively resembled dinner leftovers of stew, spaghetti, meatballs, bread, soup and other edibles all swirled together and topped off with a splash of green food coloring. To wash down the stew, they were forced to drink an ample helping of Dragon's brew from an oversized ladle. Harry gagged at the taste. It had to be stale beer, cooking wine and a strong dash of tobasco sauce. Still, like the others, he forced it down and was released to stand with the others by the railing. He noted Osa, too, almost gagged at the concoction but managed to drink enough to satisfy the watchful eye of King Neptune.

  As the clustered prisoners huddled close together at the railing they were suddenly set upon by a group of screaming, gyrating, outlandishly dressed characters carrying buckets and large paint brushes. All were generously splashed from head to toe with water- based paint from the over-sized paint brushes, thoroughly drenched with blue and yellow colors that streamed down their bodies, mixing, turning to a muddy brown as the streams puddled at their feet and ran across the deck and overboard. Although sopping wet, no one laughed lest they get the whole treatment again.

  And then the next assault struck, characters who sprayed them with shaving cream, working it in their hair and lathering it across their faces and bodies. Before they could catch their collective breaths, and most unexpectedly, the ship's hoses were trained on them. The powerful streams of water doused them thoroughly from head to toe. Harry twisted and turned trying to escape the full power of the hoses. The paint washed off quickly while the drowned rats stood watching as the last of the color washed overboard.

  Several feet away from him, Harry caught a glimpse of Osa trying to compose herself. She was a mess; hair hanging limp and stringy, devoid of makeup, wet clothing clinging tightly to her lithe body, water still running in small rivulets down her deeply tanned legs. Yet, in spite of her disheveled appearance, he couldn't help but admire her natural beauty. Not bad for an old broad, not bad at all.

  Towels were quickly dispensed followed by cold beer, sandwiches, the singing of salty sea chanties, laughter and general socializing. A carnival atmosphere enveloped the group with everyone singing, slurping down cold beer and having a fine time. Harry was surprised that Osa joined in. She even had a few pleasant words for him. How do you figure her out, he wondered. Terrific personality when she was warm; cold as an iceberg when she was pissed; and there was no doubt that she held grudges.

  When he could no longer feel the tip of his nose, Harry excused himself. He'd had enough. It was time to go. Trying to maintain his equilibrium, he meandered back to his cabin, shrugged out of his damp clothing, toweled off, and then climbed back to the beckoning warmth of his bunk. Damn, he thought, as he drifted off, it had been one hell of a good party. He chuckled, then hiccupped and then laughed. It was a hell of a lot more fun than the simple dateline crossing ceremony held on board the troopship Breckenridge bound for China in the late 1940s. Aw, hell, it was fun. It was worth it just to see Osa sopping wet, and a damned good body for an old broad.

  Chapter 40

  THE LADY'S AN ICEBERG

  Waking was an agonizing experience. Besides a throbbing head, Harrys mouth felt like it was stuffed with used cotton balls. Groggily, he glanced over the edge of the bunk. Peter was gone; no one to commiserate with. It was just as well, actually, for he didn't feel much like being sociable at the moment. Lurching forward, he rolled over the end of the bunk landing unsteadily on the deck. "A cold shower," he mumbled, stumbling toward the head.

  Twenty minutes later, showered, clean shaven and dressed, a new, alert Harry Martin addressed himself in the mirror. "You look a hell of a lot better," he said to his reflection. His stomach growled. Glancing at his watch; he saw it was 1930 hours. Dammit, the kitchen would be closed. At best he might scrounge up a cup of coffee and sandwich from the dinner leftovers.

  The galley was deserted. The newly indoctrinated members of the Domain of the Golden Dragon were probably sleeping it off, save for those on watch. He picked through the scraps of food finding enough to make a sandwich. It would hold him until breakfast, he thought, munching away.

  The sun was low on the horizon when Harry stepped on deck picking at his teeth with a toothpick. He took in several deep breaths of air, and then strolled leisurely along the main deck toward the bow, stopping now and then to lean on the rail gazing out across the ocean. Clouds stretched out across the distant horizon in flaming reds and golds, contrasting sharply against the dark blue ocean. The air was still, warm but soon cool evening breezes would sweep across the ship.

  Reaching the bow, he paused at the port rail. Leaning far out

  over the railing he watched the bow slicing through the swells like a huge knife. Dolphins darted alongside the ship leaping high in the air, disappearing beneath the surface and then breaking free, leaping high once again in a continuing rhythmic pattern.

  Moving around the bow Harry was somewhat surprised at seeing Osa standing at the starboard railing looking pensively toward a magnificent sunset.

  "Hello," he said, approaching her. "I thought I was the only one on board ship who appreciated beautiful Pacific sunsets."

  Osa turned, startled at hearing his voice. "Oh, it's you."

  She seemed somewhat disappointed at his presence. She offered a half-hearted "let's be friends" smile. "Yes I luf der sunsets. I get up here often."

  "You do," Harry chuckled. "I get up here, too, but I must confess that I've never seen you here before. Apparently I stay on the port side and you're over here on the starboard side."

  She laughed. It was a warm, friendly laugh, the infectious laugh he remembered before he made an ass of himself. Once again he began to feel comfortable in her presence.

  "Der sunsets are beautiful out here on der ocean. Dey are truly vun of God's masterpieces. He paints der sunset vis der brilliant strokes of Matisse or Gauguin," she said pointing toward the distant clouds. She took a deep breath and exhaled. "Und der air, so clean und fresh." She breathed deeply again.

  "I agree," Harry replied taking a deep breath, holding it momentarily and then slowly exhaling. He leaned against the railing close to her. In silence they stood looking out across the rolling seas watching the sun turn into a brilliant orange ball which slowly disappeared below
the horizon.

  The golden glow of the clouds turned into a dull, blue-gray, then to a somber, deeper hue. The ocean, too, changed, taking on a deeper, foreboding demeanor. Night had descended engulfing the two in darkness.

  Harry finally broke the prolonged, almost embarrassing silence. "Uh, about the other night, as I said, uh, I am sorry. I guess I got a little bold and -"

  "No. Please. I understand. It is done," she said. Turning toward him, she leaned forward, her lips lightly bussing his cheek. "It is hard sometimes to be a vidow such a short time, to review my life, to restructure my life knowing I must go forvard, dat I can't go back. Ven you touched me der odder night, it brought a new feeling; toughts entered my mind." Her voice became almost a whisper. "I tried to fight such toughts, der toughts I entertained after you kissed me, sinful toughts." She looked away into the darkness.

  "How long have you been widowed?" Harry asked, knowing, but feeling he had to draw it out of her, to let her talk, to be a good listener. Maybe he could help her, could be a better friend to her. Something was troubling her, that he was sure of.

  "Since last August," she said. "Rudy, my husband, vas killed in an auto crash." Her voice was halting, as though finding it hard to speak. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and then began streaming down her cheeks. Harry pressed his handkerchief into her hand. She took it, dabbing quickly at her eyes, but the tears wouldn't stop. She turned her back to him, her body shaking convulsively.

  "I'm sorry, I -" Harry started to speak, feeling helpless, wanting to help her, but how? He wanted to hold her, to take her in his arms and console her, to let her know everything would be all right. Time heals. Yet, if he moved to hold her, she might get the wrong impression, shades of their first encounter, and then he was pulling her close, turning her around, resting her head lightly on his shoulder as he wrapped his strong arms about her. "There, there, it's hard to lose someone you love, someone you care for." As he spoke his hands gently massaged her shoulders in a soft, soothing manner.