Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  She deliberately moved forward, picking her way through the hazardous debris. Rusted metal, broken glass, and a weak floor had her testing each carefully placed footfall. Large sections were down to nothing but support struts, and she balanced her way toward the aft of the plane. Ivy had snaked its way in from the busted windows, crawling its way to the ceiling only to hang down and block her path. She brushed it aside and took a long reaching step to find the next strut. A lizard dashed in front of her and she nearly lost her balance, but Craig reached out to steady her.

  It was comforting in a weird way. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “No worries. That cargo bay looks promising,” he said with a nod to the tight mesh strung from wall to wall.

  It was still secure and intact, which meant whatever lay behind it had value. If the Pearl had any chance of surviving, it would be in there.

  Despite an urge to race to the cargo and rip the netting free, slow and steady won the day. She grasped the cargo net and tugged. The woven straps didn’t budge, secured tight even after all these years. Behind it lay a five-foot-high stack of wooden crates, metal ammo boxes, and at least two padlocked chests.

  Her heart rate jumped. This was it. The Pearl had to be in one of those crates. She could almost feel it calling out to her.

  “Have a knife on you?” she asked Craig.

  He patted his pockets. “Afraid it’s out in my backpack. Let me go get it.”

  “I might be able to help,” said a new voice from behind them.

  “Bloody hell,” Craig said as he whipped around.

  Riki moved slower. She knew exactly who that voice belonged to. Trouble. She took an angry breath and turned to face a smiling Dallas Landry. “Why do you keep turning up where you’re not wanted?” she asked.

  “It’s my specialty.”

  Chapter 15

  Dallas couldn’t believe his good luck. And that’s exactly what it was, because finding this plane was nothing short of a miracle. He’d never been through a more grueling trek in his life. He’d been scratched, bitten, harassed by a spider big enough to take out Seattle, and currently ached in places he hadn’t known existed. He’d cursed his job, questioned his sanity, and swore an oath that he’d make Riki Maddox pay for every single hell he endured.

  It was the only thing that had kept him going.

  Plus, there was no way he’d let a retired supply clerk outlast him in these God-forsaken hills. He’d never hear the end of it. Oscar had cussed his way up the climb, but he knew Mount Webb. He’d examined the photo of Riki’s map, read the handwritten coordinates on the sidelines, and suggested their route. Dallas had trusted local knowledge, and it had paid off.

  “Don’t even think about interfering, Landry,” Riki snapped.

  Her words echoed his to Layla Sanchez just before he left Singapore. It hadn’t worked out then, and it damn sure wouldn’t now.

  “This is a joint operation, whether you like it or not.” He was fast not liking it, but he was a professional. He’d get the job done. “No matter how far you run, I’m right behind you.”

  “So help me,” Riki continued to berate him, “you better not have been followed.”

  Part of him enjoyed the fury he heard in her voice. She deserved that and more for leaving him stranded and chained to the bed. He owed her payback for that. The fact he’d caught her off guard was an added bonus. It almost made the agony he’d endured on the trail worth it.

  “You have a shockingly low opinion of my abilities,” he said to her. “But if I were you, I’d be more worried about that helicopter flying around. Ken Cho is looking for you. He’s not too pleased that you’re here.”

  “I understand the sentiment,” she said with narrowed eyes.

  “Maybe so, but angry Japanese crime bosses aren’t to be taken lightly,” he replied.

  “We’re definitely talking about a raise,” Oscar said to him. “Lethal criminal underworld, scary dead guys…” He pointed to the two uniformed skeletons strapped in their seats. “And some long-lost treasure piece everyone is after. God’s truth, this is the most fun you can have earning an outrageous paycheck.”

  “Meet my new best friend, Oscar,” Dallas said to Riki and her sidekick. “And you’re the pilot, Craig Lawson, I presume?”

  Craig gave him the silent stare, summing up his opponent and weighing his options. That actually made Dallas feel better about the man. But then again, a bush pilot like him had to have sharp survival skills.

  “And you must be the American agent sent to muck up the operation,” Craig replied.

  “Correction. I’m the only one with any interest in returning this piece to its rightful owners. Everyone else,” he said with a pointed stare at Riki, “is out for their own gain.”

  If looks could kill, she’d be a death ray. It was satisfying, in a regretful sort of way. He certainly owed her, but the victory felt hollow.

  “Wait a minute,” Oscar exclaimed. “You’re the Craig Lawson who rescued that survey team way up the Lockhart River, aren’t you?”

  Craig grinned. “Afraid so. Turned me into a bit of a celebrity for a spell.”

  “As it should,” Oscar said. “That was a smasher move. You landed a Piper Cub on a sandbar, right on top of the giant help me letters the team carved out. Never seen anyone make a plane perform like that.”

  “It’s a gift,” Craig said with a shrug.

  Dallas stared between the two men in surprise.

  “Don’t be bloody modest. It got your name listed as one of the country’s top bush pilots,” Oscar said with obvious appreciation. “Didn’t you receive the Master’s Medal from Australia’s Air Navigators?”

  “That I did. Also got nominated as one of Queensland’s most eligible bachelors.” Craig smiled. “Made the most of my newly minted fame, too. Best year of my life.”

  Dallas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They were in the middle of nowhere, sweating inside a seventy-year-old plane wreck with the Yakuza hot on their trail. Yet here they stood, talking about something as useless as People Magazine’s sexiest man of the year distinction.

  “I got a nice plaque for my wall,” Craig kept saying. “Along with enough money to buy a sixty-nine Mercury Cyclone.”

  “A sixty-nine?” Oscar asked incredulously. “That’s the CJ year. You found one of those?”

  Dallas suddenly got interested, despite the urgency of their situation. “You’re talking the limited edition with a Cobra jet engine and dual exhaust?”

  Craig nodded to them both. “Fastback. High-performance handling package, four-speed manual tranny, hydraulic lifters. Had a friend who hooked me up.”

  Dallas whistled low and thumbed toward Oscar. “He’s got an Alfa Romeo Montreal. Hard to say which is the better car. I’d pay money to watch the two compete in a race.”

  “My Cyclone would take a half-meter sprint,” Craig replied. “She’s never—”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Riki interrupted in a tone that implied she spoke to toddlers, not grown men. “I hate to break up the male bonding happening here, but how about we get down to business?” She pointed to Dallas and the knife holster strapped to his leg. “Mind if I borrow that?”

  Not a chance. He wasn’t about to hand her a weapon. Something would surely come up missing. Like his head. But as much as he hated to admit it, she was right. Time to get busy.

  Fading afternoon light shone through the windows, and Dallas used his light to maneuver the obstacle course between them, trying hard to focus on his steps and not the macabre death scene he had to pass. He reached the platform she and Craig stood on and joined her next to the canvas mesh still holding the C-47’s cargo in place.

  “It’s always about work with you, isn’t it?” Dallas accused. Not that he wasn’t guilty of the same thing, but anger still burned from waking up alone this morning. He’d underes
timated her. Again. What was it going to take for him to learn?

  “Wasn’t it yesterday that you harped on about the importance of this one-of-a-kind historical artifact?” she countered. “Now you’re complaining I’m too focused. There’s no pleasing you, is there?”

  Her tone was smart, pissed off. Well, join the club, sweetheart. “We also made a deal, one you didn’t keep. I’ve a right to complain.”

  “That deal broke the minute you handcuffed me to the bed.”

  “Whoa,” Oscar said, putting up a hand in defense. “As interesting as that sounds, I don’t want to know what sort of kinky stuff happened between you two last night. Keep it to yourselves.”

  Craig turned an inquiring glance at Riki.

  Though she looked angry enough to chew nails, she kept her words measured. “Seems Mr. Landry didn’t trust me to stick around. So I proved him right.”

  “Are you seriously going to go with that?” Dallas said. “Because we both know you’ve proven me right four times before this. Nothing in our two-year history has ever led me to believe you were a team player. You’re the lone wolf, the hit and run. Locking you down seemed the best option.”

  “And how did that work out for you?”

  Just as badly as every other attempt in the past two years. At least this time he’d managed to get close enough to cuff her. That was progress.

  “You two have some serious anger issues,” Oscar declared. “But I for one would like to finish this job and get off the mountain before that Cho fellow has a chance to trash another vehicle of mine.”

  “What are you talking about?” Riki asked.

  Oscar started gathering up a spent parachute and signaled to Craig to help. “The guy jacked up the bumper of my truck to deliver a message.” He gave a nod toward the unfortunate soldiers, and together they draped the chute over the bodies like a sheet.

  Riki turned her evil eye his way. “What message?” she asked.

  “The usual,” Dallas replied. “Go home. Make the girl go home. Do it or die. That sort of thing.”

  “Cho doesn’t make idle threats. Maybe you should have listened.”

  “And leave you to face him alone? I don’t think so.”

  She stared at him with a perplexed frown. “I don’t need a protector.”

  “You’re good, better than most I’ve seen.” That was the absolute truth. “But everyone needs someone to watch their back. Even you.”

  Dallas slid the knife from its sheath. “Now, how about we quit arguing and get busy?”

  She took a step away from the netting and gave him permission with a wave of her hand.

  He moved closer and leaned in. “We can help each other, Riki, if you’d only drop that wall long enough to let someone in.”

  Why he said that he couldn’t explain. He needed to put the brakes on her, not offer a hand. She was tough as nails, and yet there seemed to be a vulnerability about her that fired his protective instincts. Were both sides real? Or part of an act? He couldn’t figure it out, and she kept her silence.

  He let it drop and turned to work on sawing at the weathered straps. She fell in alongside him and helped by pushing away the cut mesh to expose the stacked cargo.

  Despite being well secured, it hadn’t escaped unscathed. Boxes were jumbled, some on their sides, others busted open. Dallas saw gun barrels, bayonets, and hand grenades. The combination brought home the fact they were standing in a time capsule, a stark reminder of a vicious world war.

  “There’s a lot to go through here,” Dallas noted. “but I’m guessing the padlocked crates in the middle are the best bet.”

  She agreed, and they got to work shifting the cargo. Oscar took charge of the ammunitions, gingerly repacking the grenades and moving those boxes to the side. They formed a tag team of sorts, Dallas and Riki taking from the top of the stack, inspecting the contents, and handing the boxes back to Oscar and Craig, who in turn, laid them out on any available surface.

  The minutes ticked by in silence as they worked. When visibility faded into darkness, they set flashlights in strategic locations and kept working their way down to the two locked travel trunks voted most likely to contain sealed government documents, payroll yen, and the ultimate prize, Phantom Pearl.

  With each layer removed, the atmosphere grew more charged. By the time they cleared it down to the wooden trunk, anticipation had climbed higher than the mountain they were on. She ran her fingers over the tarnished brass corners, brushed a layer of dust off the stenciled lettering on the lid.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  She nodded and grasped a handle on one side, he the other, and they shifted the large, heavy trunk to the floor. Dallas got down on his knees to use the knife to pry open the rusted padlock. When it broke off with a metallic snap, the sound drew Oscar and Craig who came to stand behind them and watch.

  “You should do the honors,” he said to Riki.

  Her smile was genuine, and he was again struck by how much it changed her face. She was too serious, as if she carried the weight of the world. Yet when she laughed or smiled, for a quick second or two, that weight lifted. She should do it more often.

  Craig shined his light directly down on the crate. “Let’s do this, koala girl.”

  She took a deep breath, released the rusted latch, and lifted the lid.

  * * * *

  The old flat-top military travel trunk was like many of its day, large and serviceable, with a tray several inches deep on top, supported by wooden strips beneath. The first thing Riki saw when she lifted the lid was a stack of papers. She picked up the top sheet, but it was written in Japanese, so she set it back down. Craig kept his light centered as she sifted through the contents. Underneath the papers, she found money, both coin and bills, a plain silver ring, and a journal. She opened the cover and found a photograph of a woman. She wore a kimono and a warm smile, one that likely had faded when her soldier never returned home. Riki closed the book and set it down.

  She reached for a thin, long box, surprisingly heavy for its size. She left it sitting and flipped the little latch. Inside were neatly stacked rows of gold ingots. Six across, two deep, and embossed with the Japanese sun.

  Riki lifted out two, handing one each to Craig and Oscar. “For luck,” she said. She took two more, giving one to Dallas and pocketing the other. “Let’s lift this tray, shall we?”

  Dallas did the honors, plucking the tray out and setting it aside. Oscar’s light joined Craig’s and focused inside the trunk. It was full of banded stacks of paper yen. Military payroll dollars. She rooted around, dug in deep, but there was nothing but paper money.

  A sigh of disappointment escaped her, but they weren’t done yet. “The Pearl isn’t in here,” she said. “Let’s get the second one.”

  Oscar helped Dallas shove the trunk aside and shift the slightly smaller footlocker forward. Again he used the knife to break the padlock.

  There was no tray inside. Instead, wool blankets filled the space, wadded up and stuffed in tight. Riki held her breath as she began to pull them out, one by one, until a gray satchel appeared, too small to hold the Pearl. She handed it over to Dallas to investigate.

  Rust held the zipper fast, but after a brief struggle, he won the day and opened the bag. “They’re pearls, but not the one we’re looking for,” he said as he pulled free a strand of lustrous, silvery jewels.

  More blankets came out, then Riki hit a layer of plain white towels. When she shoved them aside, her heart began to pound. She uncovered a long, wooden box, perfect size.

  “This has to be it,” she whispered. “Dallas, help me.”

  He reached in, took one end, she the other, and they lifted it from the locker. Craig dropped the lid, and they laid the box on its flat surface. It was a little over three feet long, a foot thick, and tall enough to accommodate the curve of a mammoth tusk. There were
no latches, hinges, or handles, only a two-piece wooden box bound together with rope.

  “Shall I?” Dallas held up the knife.

  “Just do it!” Oscar ordered.

  It was exactly what she would’ve said if she could have talked around the lump in her throat. Part of her wished Menita was here. This was his passion, his dream. He should be here for the unveiling. She grabbed her phone and activated the camera, the flash, and snapped off a couple pictures as Dallas worked the tip of the blade under the rope and twisted, breaking the first strand.

  He went to work on the others, all of them brittle with age and easily breaking away. When it came time to separate the two halves, she handed her phone to Craig.

  “Please? For Menita.”

  “No,” Craig said. “I’ll do it for you.”

  She nodded her thanks. As long as he got the photos, it didn’t matter. She and Dallas positioned themselves, one at each end, fingers gripping the corners.

  “On the count of three,” Dallas said. “One, two”—he took a deep breath—“three.”

  They lifted. Sawdust tumbled onto the footlocker. Then she saw it.

  Ancient ivory gleamed warm and sepia. The mammoth tusk curved gracefully upward, its intricate carvings inspiring a hushed sense of awe. The glitter of jewels sparkling in the light quickened her breath and tightened her throat simultaneously, as a profound sense of reverence washed through her.

  “Dear Lord,” Oscar exclaimed.

  Riki reached out to gently brush away more sawdust from the base. “It’s exquisite,” she whispered.