Gold Sharks (14 page)

“I'm sorry to interrupt, Alex, was it?”

Alex nodded.

“But why are you telling me all this?” Big J's own beverage had not been touched.

“Alex is a sort of United Nations James Bond. He needs our help to destroy the arms,” John blurted out.

Alex smiled. “I never quite thought of my role like that but I suppose that's a simplified description.” He pushed the mug towards John. “Fresh tea?” he asked.

“Now listen guys. I don't want to seem like a spoilsport, but we're here to fulfil a dive training contract, OK?” Big J leaned towards the table. “We have developed a good working relationship with the locals, so we simply can't afford to jeopardise the final and major part of the payment of our contract. I'm sorry but we have to be strictly commercial; there are families to think about and they have mortgages to pay. So with respect, I can't see how we can help.” Big J was clearly becoming irritated and noisily gulped some of his coffee.

“I understand all of those things, “said Alex, fixing his gaze on Big J, “but already you know too much, and if you don't believe me, ask John. The problem for you is that once the Syndicate smell that someone is even loosely connected, enough to be the tiniest threat to them or their project, I know that without exception they will take terminal action,” Alex emphasised. He looked back towards John, who was refilling Alex's cup at the hot water maker. “Am I right?”

John looked towards Big J.

“I'm afraid he's right. The last time I became involved with them, they slaughtered everything in sight that was considered to be a threat.”

“Just who the fuck do you say these people are?” Big J, accustomed to making his own presence felt, was incensed.

“If you let me finish the bit about why I need your help, I'll tell you and then you can make up your own mind.”

John put the fresh mug of tea in front of Alex.

“The cargo is already stored in the warehouse across the basin from here. I understand that a ship could be here to collect it within the next twenty-four hours. I have to ensure that the cargo doesn't reach the Philippines or anywhere else for that matter.” Alex sipped the tea without tasting its brackish flavour. “I want to sink the ship at sea - this I believe is the only way of ensuring complete destruction of the cargo.”

“And the crew?” Big J blurted out.

“I am certain that the ship will be fully manned by Syndicate operatives. In which case I can assure you that they are all professional killers,” Alex replied positively. “John here will fill you in with the gory details of their various skills later. Right now I need to know if there is some way that you will help me?”

“Look I'm sorry but I still don't see how we can help. Surely this is a matter for the government, the local police, I don't know - anybody but us?” Big J tried to reason.

“The problem with that understandable reasoning is that the local police are almost certainly riddled with Syndicate informers. The local military are not likely to be any better. Just to give you a stark example. I have a local associate; his brother works at the Hong Kong Harbour Authority offices. I asked him to check on the lease of those warehouses across the way. Within twenty-four hours we found him almost choked to death. His wife had been tortured and decapitated in front of him in some kind of macabre ritual execution,” Alex growled with controlled anger. “These are the kind of people we are up against.”

“They cut her head off?” Big J asked incredulously.

“Yes and nailed a message written in her own blood to it; they have a simple philosophy. ‘We only ask questions once' they will tell you. Then they punish failure or hesitance with torture and murder and start with your own family. In this way they easily command the loyalty of their followers.” Alex stood up. “I'm going to leave you, John, to fill in the details of the Syndicate's various techniques. I have to make some telephone calls and organise a few things before this day is too old. I need to find out exactly when the shipment is scheduled to leave. Then perhaps we can think of how we ‘spoil their day'!” Alex smiled and stepped from the galley.

The chef ducked out of his way. “Sorry mate,” he muttered in his rich Australian accent.

“Thanks,” was all Alex replied.

He stood on the side deck for a moment looking towards the warehouse and the fenced enclosure. There was no sign of the guards but he knew they were there.

Taking out his mobile as he walked briskly along the quayside, he selected Hans de Wolf's mobile telephone number and pushed the instrument to his ear. The call was answered after the second ring.

“Hans, thank God I caught you. I'm going to need some special equipment - detonators etc. Can you manage that from there?” Alex listened briefly. “Good, that's excellent. Now I must bring you up to speed on the current situation here, which to save me time you should relay to the Boss, then I'll give you my detailed shopping list OK?”

Hans acknowledged.

Alex continued, “Well, thanks to Haki in Tokyo, we've hit the jackpot here………….”

5

Oscar Nippon sat on the terrace quietly trying to piece together the situation with Moby Dick. The immensely expensive boat and the attack by the two high-speed craft were hardly the right credentials to generate enough confidence to share their secret. Yet he was convinced that there was something genuine about Moby Dick.

“Good morning Oscar can you spare a minute?” Remi called from edge of their garden, interrupting his concentration.

“Of course, come on up. Fancy a cup of tea or coffee?” Oscar offered, rising from his chair.

“That would be nice. Tea for me.” Remi accepted, walking onto the terrace.

The sea quietly lapped the shore; half a dozen terns squawked with delight as they whirled before diving into a shoal of tiny fish.

“What a pleasant morning eh?” Remi commented and accepted Oscar's offer to sit in one of the wicker chairs.

“It certainly is.” Oscar watched one of the terns lift out of the water with something wriggling in its beak. “I made a fresh pot about ten minutes ago - it should be OK” He looked back at Remi.

“I'm sure it's just fine,” he agreed politely.

“So what can I do for you this lovely morning?” Oscar started.

“Well it's a bit of a long story and I am a little bit worried that what I want to tell you may leave you thinking that we are completely mad and you won't want to know us any more.” Remi looked sheepish.

“Remi, I've listened to many stories and never lost a neighbour yet,” Oscar offered with cheerful encouragement. His mind flashed to the memory of the dead friends, murdered by the Syndicate not much more than a year ago. “I'm old enough to tell a white lie,” he thought to himself, momentarily letting his mind drift away from Remi.

“The thing is, my Grandfather; Mother's father, as she told you, was in the Japanese military during the war here. Well according to his letters, he claims to have seen crates of gold being loaded into a submarine, which was apparently sunk out there somewhere.” He gestured out to sea. “So about two weeks ago we chartered a fishing boat and some local divers and tried looking for wrecks. Well, two days ago the local police warned us that diving for treasure, as they put it, was illegal without a special permit. We therefore tried to obtain one and that's when the shit hit the fan. Yesterday, someone calling himself the Commissioner of Wrecks visited us; he warned us that wreck diving was only permitted by approved government agencies. Then he told us that all the wrecks around this coast were sacred and the souls of the many sailors who perished in those ships were not to be disturbed under any circumstances.” Remi paused for breath and drank some of his tea.

“A bit odd don't you think, when the wrecks in the bay have always been diving sites and most have already been stripped of their brass, copper fittings and anything else of interest. Now suddenly they're sacred graves!” Remi raised his shoulders gesturing his disbelief. “The other interesting thing is, about three or four weeks ago, apparently a local fisherman scooped up a gold ingot when he was trawling out towards the island of Corregidor. Do you know where that is?” Remi queried.

“Yes I do actually. General Macarthur's last stand and all that, yes?” Oscar confirmed, adding cautiously, “It's all very interesting but I don't quite know what you expect me to be able to say or do about all this,” he added.

“Well you told us about your wreck fishing the other day; did you have any problem getting your permits? Because this so called official stated quite categorically that wrecks must not be violated for any reason - not even fishing?” Remi waited for a reply.

Oscar was mentally putting this new information together with his own strange experience. “Actually we didn't have any trouble at all. Our man obtained all the necessary permits for us so we didn't have to get involved,” he lied convincingly and then asked, “Now just a minute let's try and make some sense out of all of this. Are you telling me that you were expecting to send a couple of local divers down to an old wreck, collect a sack of gold and just sail away?” Oscar looked questioningly into Remi's face. The young man looked embarrassed, bowed his head and remained silent.

“The Filipinos” Oscar continued “are some of the most delightful people in the world. Unfortunately there are also hundreds of very nasty parasites living here and taking advantage of their trusting nature so I'm absolutely certain that if you told a local diver, you wanted him to look for some Japanese gold the news would spread like an unstoppable fire. The main reason is, because every now and again some gold and other treasures plundered by the occupying Japanese army, genuinely are discovered.” He looked at his cold tea, remembering the excitement of seeing the rows of bars of gold bullion that he and Greg had discovered. “This story about the submarine could be true but without an accurate position you are not likely to find it. The problem for you now is that every crook and gold hunter for hundreds of miles will be chasing after you in the belief that you have the actual coordinates. If you want my opinion I'm afraid that you have put yourself and your family in terrible danger!”

“Well actually that's why I called in. You see Mother had a very strange telephone call this morning. She suggested that I spoke to you. She seems to trust you; she's always been a very good judge of character.” Remi smiled modestly.

Oscar accepted the compliment without offence. “So just what did this caller want?” Oscar was worried now.

“Let's go and talk to Mother - or will I ask her to come around here?” Remi asked tensely, jumping up from his chair.

“Perhaps she wouldn't mind coming around here?” Oscar suggested. “Greg should be back soon - if you don't mind he should be in on this. He has considerable experience with some of these locals.”

Remi dashed back to their bungalow to reappear a few minutes later with his mother.

“Mother's here but Sophie's gone shopping - she doesn't know much about any of this anyway,” Remi explained.

Oscar's heart gave a distinct flutter when he saw Marion; she, however, appeared calm and typically reserved.

“Thank you for coming round here. I'm expecting Greg any minute now.” He took her hand gently. The touch was soft and warm and he felt a tingle of excitement when she squeezed his hand in a respectful handshake.

“Good morning and thank you for your time. We didn't know what to do next?” she said quietly but clearly.

“Tea or coffee?” Oscar invited her.

“Thank you but nothing for me.” She sat gracefully into a chair. “I feel we've been enough trouble already.”

At that moment Greg appeared on the terrace.

“Hi there everybody. Party time already?” he suggested good-humouredly.

“Greg, come in and sit –down. Marion and Remi have a rather strange story to tell and are asking our advice.” Greg sat down and listened in silence as Oscar recapped his earlier conversation with Remi. “Now what is rather worrying, Marion received another strange telephone call this morning.” Turning towards her, Oscar suggest gently, “Do you want to tell us about that Marion?”

“Yes I thought it was very odd, particularly because of the officials saying just how impossible it was to obtain permits anymore. Yet this person claimed that his company was licensed to dive for treasure and would be pleased to negotiate a contract with us to find the gold. The idea, he said, would be quite simple: we put up a fee of ten thousand dollars, to cover the initial mobilisation costs, and after that everything would be on a percentage basis of the gold recovered.”

There was total silence in the room; even the terns seemed to have gone quiet for the moment.

Greg broke the spell.

“Mind If I ask a couple of questions?”

Marion smiled.

“Of course not.”

“Well first of all, what percentage split did they suggest? Second and perhaps more importantly, do you actually have the map reference of this mystery submarine?” Greg's face was unusually serious.

“They wanted twenty percent of the sale value of any gold recovered.” Marion took a long breath. “As to the coordinates, we only have the notes left by my father. She opened the book she had been carrying and removed a frail and faded piece of paper. “My father wrote this letter to my mother the night before he was killed.” She held up the letter to Greg; it was written in Japanese characters.

Marion was flustered and near to tears. “I'm sorry but you see while I'm half Japanese I only speak the language; I have almost no reading skill.”

“I think Oscar should read this, if you approve?” Greg suggested.

“I'd be grateful if you would.” Marion placed the letter carefully on the table.

Oscar leaned over the document without actually touching it at first.