Gold Sharks (15 page)

“Don't worry Marion, just relax a little. I'm sure we can sort something out here.” He gingerly turned the first page. “Are you saying that you've never had this translated?”

Marion shook her head. “I always thought of it as personal love note for my mother's eyes only. It was only when I found it again recently that I recognised a few characters referring to gold and submarines, that I realised it had some special meaning.” She was near to tears.

Oscar touched her hand caringly as he tried to comfort her.

“Mind if I read it through first? Then I need only translate the details of the treasure ship, if there are any.”

Marion nodded approval.

Oscar studied the document for a couple of minutes. The others remained silent.

“Right,” he exclaimed, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat, “the first page is all personal stuff - I'll read that to you later Marion - the bit referring to the position of the submarine is here on the third page.”

“The bombs were raining down all over the dockyard. The sub pulled away from the quay, apparently undamaged. We watched it leave the harbour, then it vanished into the night. We were ordered back to our units and told to shut up about what we'd seen. Very early in the morning, I was stationed on lookout with the radioman from the barracks. He'd heard about the gold - the news had spread like oil on water. He told me that he'd been listening to routine radio traffic when he'd heard a faint message in plain language from an unknown ship trying to locate a submarine. No names or numbers were used, just, ‘Subman, we're on station. Confirm rendezvous?' They called a couple of times before a reply was heard. ‘Stand-by, Subman running late. Prepare for immediate transfer when we arrive.' Then, ‘Standing-by' was all that had been said.

Just as the first rays of dawn were lighting the sky a gigantic silent explosion illuminated the horizon. A huge mushroom of fire filled the sky. It took quite some time for the sound of the massive detonation to reach us. The position we noted was somewhere South of Corregidor. The radio operator excitedly rushed to his equipment where he heard a desperate cry for help. It lasted for a few seconds only. But he claimed that he had obtained a good fix on the sound, which we believe came from the submarine or the other vessel.

Keep this information safe. This war must end soon and then we can be together. Perhaps there could be a crock of gold out there for us? If however this letter gets to you and I don't survive these dreadful attacks, then it could still be good for you, if the position is accurate. Then maybe you may find a golden treasure to remember me by.”

“The rest is personal again.” Oscar took a pen from his pocket. “This is the location he has written down.” Oscar scribbled the numbers on a piece of paper, casually showed them to Greg, and then passed them to Marion.

Greg stood up and walked over to sideboard and the notepad where he'd listed his own selection of possible locations of the submarine's last resting place. One set were almost identical. It was an exciting moment for Greg but he would have stay calm until he could talk to Oscar privately and assess what everybody's intentions were.

Greg turned back to the little group, his tone very serious.

“You do realise don't you, that if these coordinates really are of a lost submarine full of gold, you've already given away this position to us. If I may say so, you took a great risk; we have shared a Bar-B-Q and a pleasant evening together but what else do you know about us?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “What do we know about you for that matter?” He looked at Oscar. “I need to have a chat with you before we go any further with this. I'm not prepared to stick my neck out with the authorities and end up enjoying the rest of my holiday gazing through bars.” He looked around the group. “Oscar I think it best if we have that little talk in private right now. Fancy a little walk?”

Feeling a little embarrassed by Greg's forthright approach, Oscar looked towards Marion. “I'm sorry folks but Greg is right; we have to decide just how far we want to be involved with this! So excuse us please. Help yourselves to anything you need. We won't be long.”

Oscar walked down the steps to the little garden and followed Greg out onto the beach. They walked in silence for a while.

Greg spoke first.

“That location is quite close to ours you know. I suppose they could just be genuine; what do you think?”

“I said before that I think it's all just too much of a coincidence.” Oscar sounded disappointed. “Here we are in Manila, having found a holiday chalet at random, then just by chance our neighbours have detailed information on the same submarine that were looking for!”

“It does seem that way doesn't it; did that letter seem genuine to you?” Greg tried changing the direction of the conversation.

“Well actually I think it is genuine. The question is; are our neighbours?” Oscar was despondent; the possibility that Marion was some sort of con artist had dashed iced water on his flutter of infatuation. “In the meantime I think we have to test them somehow. Though I can't think how for the moment. One thing is certain though, if they are really genuine and as naive as they appear to be, your comment about half the crooks this side of the planet knocking on their door before long will certainly be true!”

Greg stopped walking and turned to face Oscar.

“Well old friend, one thing is certain, we've either managed by some extraordinary coincidence to find a fellow treasure hunter or we've managed to attract some very unwelcome attention to our project.” He turned and faced back towards the bungalow.

Oscar followed. “You promised me that this little project of yours would be a piece of cake!” He shook his head and laughed. “It looks to me as though were about to be starting another of your hair-raising adventures!”

Greg looked back at his friend. “You could opt out now; it's not too late?”

“What and let you young scallywags have all the fun! Not on your life.” Fascinated by the intrigue and still harbouring a ray of hope for Marion, Oscar had a new spring in his step.

“OK then. Now first we need to try and clarify who's who and what's what. Moby Dick for instance, those sharp shooting speedboats, the government officials and these so called diving contractors! We need to check them all out.” Greg was thinking and talking as they walked.

“We need to tell Remi and Marion something about us as well,” Oscar reminded Greg.

“Yes well, I'll leave that to you. I've noticed that twinkle in your eye every time Marion gets close, you dirty old man. So you can tackle that one!” He laughed and mounted the steps to the terrace.

The others were still sitting looking nervously expectant as Oscar moved over to the empty chair next to Marion.

“We've agreed between us that we may be able to assist you but we will have to have a proper commercial arrangement.” Oscar looked towards Marion; she held his stare without challenging him. “We will use our sources here to check out the various people involved. The diving contractor for instance; then we will try to help you to locate the wreck and, if successful, recover the gold. Then don't forget the next equally difficult stage you have to dispose of the goods and convert them into cash!”

“What would you say to fifty-fifty partners?” Greg interrupted, anxious that Oscar was about to be too generous.

Remi looked at his mother and placed a hand on her arm. “What do you think mother? Fifty percent of something is infinitely better than one hundred percent of nothing; I don't really think we have a chance on our own, do you?”

Marion looked at Remi. “Remember what your grandfather said in his letter: ‘Hope you find a little golden treasure to ‘remember me by'. Our expectations, you see, were not really very high, so any sort of reward would be a big prize for us.” She looked up at Greg. “Do we simply shake hands or do we need bits of paper?” She looked serious.

“A handshake is all we need, eh Greg?” Oscar proposed spontaneously.

“Certainly is,” Greg agreed, thrusting out his hand.

Marion stood up and gracefully took the outstretched gesture, bowing slightly at the same time. Taking Oscar's hand next, she said, quietly but clearly,

“I hope we succeed - but most of all that we remain friends.” She looked away shyly.

Remi followed his mother through the handshaking routine.

“So where do we start? And is there something I can be doing?” He looked hopefully at his new partners.

w

Alex walked along the quay, his mobile telephone held to his ear, carefully detailing his specialist-shopping list for Hans. The most important items he stressed were the ‘depleted uranium underwater magnetic mines'.

“Yes they're available,” Hans confirmed proudly, “but effecting delivery in Hong Kong! You must be kidding me?” he blustered down the phone.

“You know me Hans. I only joke about your generosity!” Alex coaxed him.

Hans chuckled. “Yes and don't I know it.”

Alex ignored the comment. “I'll leave that little conundrum with you for an hour or two, eh?” Alex paused.

Hans chose not to comment.

“Oh and the only other thing is that I need it all within twenty-four hours!” Alex waited for a reaction.

“Normally” Hans replied quite calmly “I can get equipment anywhere, well almost anywhere, within that timescale - but into Communist China, I'm not quite so sure.” He was genuinely concerned.

Normally when he needed “goods” delivered urgently, the RAF cooperated via their network of military bases around the world.

“If General Montgomery only needed twenty four-hours' notice for his Eighth Army to perform a miracle, I'm sure you can do the same,” Alex encouraged his friend.

“I'll call you as soon as I have some information,” Hans replied without emotion. I'm going to have to call in a few favours to pull this one off, he mused to himself as he returned the telephone to its cradle.

f

The two men watched the apartment from the shadows on the other side of the busy road. They'd been contracted to find out what the man had been doing in the Harbour Authority land records room and who, if anyone, he was working for. It had all gone went quite well at first. The man, David, had been cooperative, especially when the short man held the serrated bread knife to his wife's throat, but that was when she had started the hysterical screaming. The short man had slapped her, ordering her to stop, but the repeated blows failed to silence her.

“You stupid bitch,” he bellowed at her. “Don't worry I'll sort her out next door” he shouted at his companion as he dragged her by the hair to a bedroom and closed the door behind them. “Now you stupid bitch, stop that noise.” He'd slapped her again and again but she'd just become even more hysterical. The piercing note penetrated the short man's head and triggered a fuse in his manic brain. Something snapped and before he knew it he had slashed her throat from ear to ear with the serrated knife. The woman crumpled onto the bed. Her head fell sideways at a strange angle. The noise stopped instantly. The man, however, became enraged by the sight and feel of the warm blood jetting from the severed artery. In a wild frenzy now, he hacked mindlessly at the scraggy tissue and bone until the head fell with a heavy thump to the floor. He stepped back from her body, panting like an exhausted bull. “She won't scream any more now will she?” he laughed, calling out to his companion with a tremble in his voice.

Curious, the taller man entered the bedroom. “My God! What the fuck have you done?” The perpetrator of many contract killings, even he recoiled in horror at the scene.

“She wouldn't stop!” The shorter man looked at his companion, pleading for understanding and beginning to tremble as the extra adrenalin in his blood gradually subsided.

“Get yourself into that bathroom and wash that shit off you. We've got all we need,” the taller man commanded, looking away in disgust. The shorter blood-drenched man obeyed without question and moved out of the room.

The taller man squared his shoulders and looked down at the broken body, bent down and without any sign of remorse picked up the bloody head and placed it on the pillow. He smiled quietly to himself as an idea came to him. Looking quickly around the room he found what he wanted: a pencil and a piece of paper. He dipped the end of the pencil into the puddle of blood and scribbled a brief note then looked for somewhere conspicuous to leave his masterpiece. He smiled as another macabre idea entered his warped mind and then nipped into the kitchen, opened the cutlery draw and found what he wanted. He returned the bedroom and pinned the note with the crab pick to the woman's head.

“I think they'll get the message don't you?” he said to the shorter man who was emerging from the bathroom drying his hands and brushing down his trousers with a hand towel.

He did not reply just stared in horror.

“Come on. We best get out of here,” the taller man addressed him again. “He made a telephone call, remember. Someone may be on their way to see what's happening. We'll wait outside and observe for a while. You OK now?”

The short man looked away and muttered, “Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me,” and dejectedly followed the taller man out of the building.

They concealed themselves in the shadows across the road and had waited for about an hour. When Alex and Ling appeared and mounted the iron staircase, the taller man silently tried a photograph with his infrared night camera; he instantly recognised Ling from the photograph in David's apartment but not Alex. They waited patiently until the distant sound of the ambulance was followed by the hasty departure of Ling and Alex; the man tried another exposure in the faint hope of a better shot but realised it was probably ineffective. Aware that his employer would expect him to identify the stranger properly, he would have to get much closer.