Gold Sharks (30 page)

“Well I suppose it's only a couple of days after all,” John agreed casually, trying to sound businesslike and professional.

It had been difficult for him to keep the excitement from his voice; for all divers the temptation of hunting for sunken treasure was almost irresistible. John replaced the satellite telephone in its cradle and turned to the captain.

“Change of plan Captain; turn this ship about and set a course for a position about five miles south-west of Corregidor please; I'll explain on the way.”

f

The Boss sat quietly and alone at his desk. Sir Gerald Fisher the minister responsible for national security had just left the secretly located City of London office of SONIC. Sir Gerald had called personally to deliver the terminal news. The department was to be merged “or effectively shut down” as the Boss prompted him. The meeting had been brief and somewhat one-sided.

In fact Sir Gerald hated having to face his old friend and deliver the news. Well aware of the many times SONIC had been called upon to resolved embarrassing situations for the nation, it being the only efficient agency that could secretly resort to the same lawless tactics as its enemies.

He finished his formal termination of contract speech adding, “I'm truly sorry about this Adrian but you must realise that things are changing.”

Sir Gerald was the only person known to use his Christian name. To everyone else he was known as Jordon and then after he became head of SONIC simply the Boss.

“MI5 and MI6 are also being revamped, we're ‘having to be more economical with available resources' to quote the official document, so we've been looking at areas where there is serious duplication of responsibility. That means I'm afraid that there will be no place for SONIC in future. Any sensitive work will be contracted out or passed over to the CIA.” Sir Gerald raised his bushy eyebrows in a derisory gesture.

“All the mainstream agents that can not be redeployed will receive attractive redundancy packages and their full pensions of course. You my old friend are to receive a knighthood,” he smiled smugly hoping that that would be enough to appease the situation.

“I have to say that it's not entirely a surprise but it's still a bit of a shock when hearsay becomes reality,” The Boss paused and sighed. “They're making a terrible mistake you know. The job we are doing is probably going to be even more necessary in this growing age of independent lawless terror activities.”

“I actually agree with you but we live in a passive ‘politically correct' era now and I was not able to persuade our political masters otherwise; just where it will end I don't like to think.” Sir Gerald stood up to leave. “I know it won't help but just so as you know, at the end of the next session I am to be put out to grass as well.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that Gerald.” They shook hands as he left the office.

“Thanks.” Sir Gerald turned a walked out of the office, then looking back, he smiled and bowed his head reverently. “See you on the golf course perhaps, Sir Adrian?”

w

The tug sailed into Manila harbour and went straight to the fuel berth; it was almost dark as they tied up to the quay.

Big J had ordered the fuel in advance, timing his arrival to be a little after the normal operating hours. As expected the berth was unattended and his enquiry on the ambiguously named courtesy telephone, failed to produce a reply.

“Perfect. We will stay tied up here until morning, and in the meantime we get our passengers ashore without any questions asked.”

Dick volunteered to organise some transport and discreet medical treatment for Sing and the Syndicate guard, so with the assistance of Greg, gratefully boarded his own boat and headed slowly to the busy local part of the harbour where their presence would be less likely to attract attention.

Once they were ashore, Dick went straight to the house of an old pal. He was out but fortunately his girlfriend recognised Dick, who explained briefly in a low tone that he had some urgent business with Philip. With merely a nod of understanding, she scurried away calling out, “I know where he is; I'm sure he'll want to help you.”

“Tell him to go to the Rope Walk - the boat's moored there.”

“OK” she called back and vanished from sight.

Philip appeared at the side of the boat in his colourful Jeepnee within minutes.

“So what's all the excitement and the secrecy about Dickie?” he asked quietly. He'd responded to Dick's plea for help without question.

“We have to get a couple of people to hospital.”

“You don't need me for that Dickie,” the man queried.

“Yes we do! You see they're on a boat in the harbour and the wrong side of the Customs and Immigration barrier.”

“Ah, then you do need me,” he grinned with obvious glee.

They climbed aboard the Jeepnee and headed to the commercial port.

Gunshot wounds inevitably attract official reports and unwanted attention. It was imperative that they kept the shooting and especially the treasure dive secret for as long as possible.

The ever-resourceful Philip was able to deliver his patients to a friendly clinic, where they were soon enjoying expert treatment without any awkward questions being asked.

Ling and his wife slipped ashore and temporarily moved into a tourist hotel. SONIC would provide all the necessary paperwork for them to travel inconspicuously to Singapore where they intended to start their new lives.

Old Ming's daughter and grandson would stay aboard and travel with the rest of the crew to Darwin.

It was just after Alex had made his farewells to Ling and Mui that his telephone vibrated. He checked the caller's number, pressed the key and answered the Boss's call. Listening carefully, he learned of the demise of SONIC. Numbed by the news, his first thoughts had been of Ling and Mui, who had only just stepped ashore, hoping for a new life.

“What about Ling and Mui?” Alex asked anxiously.

“Don't worry all those matters are to be honoured and maintained albeit not by SONIC. Look at it this way Alex.” The Boss tried to sound encouraging. “With a pension provided by a grateful government, we can live without taking any more risks eh?”

“Does that mean the Syndicate are off the hook now then?” Alex enquired.

“Far from it. Let me tell you that within minutes of the news release the arms shipment had been lost and our sources detected a mass of angry transmissions; one in particular was intercepted with the details of a contract to kill the Syndicate leader. I'm pretty certain now that the two killed by your Chinese marines were Syndicate executives. By my reckoning that only leaves the top man and one other; so I am confident that thanks largely to your efforts we have finished with the Syndicate for good.”

“So what happens now?” Alex asked calmly.

“Well if I were you, with my mission successfully completed, I'd get back to my beautiful wife and family ASAP. But perhaps you could call into my office en –route. I need to go through lots of details with you.” The Boss sighed. “I'm so sorry it had to finish like this; it doesn't seem like a just reward for all our efforts over the last few years but that's the strange world of politics we live in.”

“I'll certainly call in on you - by then perhaps I'll have had a chance to understand what its really all about. Thanks for letting me know.” Alex put the telephone back into his pocket. He sat in the little cabin stunned by the news. It wasn't the loss of employment that concerned him, but the all too familiar ring of irresponsible, pacifist-style political incompetence. He would have to call Hans. He pressed the abbreviated dial code.

“I was expecting your call,” Hans answered almost instantly.

“I'm afraid I have some bad news Hans,” Alex started diplomatically.

“Don't worry old friend I monitored your call. It was to be expected I suppose.” Hans raised his voice. “Political Correctness rubbish. The fact is Alex, nobody has any balls any more.” He calmed a little. “There will be a price to pay my friend. What democracy needs more than ever now is a Churchill, before it's too dammed late.”

“I've never given much thought to long term political strategy,” Alex replied.

“I'll tell you what I think; you finish up your business out there, then we'll have another discussion as soon as you get back, preferably before you see the Boss. You can buy the beers, OK?” Hans chuckled.

“I thought it was your turn you mean old dog,” Alex chided him.

“Careful I admit to, but mean, never! I look forward to seeing you, so take care of your wallet.” Hans rang off.

Alex smiled weakly as he thought of Hans surrounded with all his electronic equipment.

“Perhaps we should go private?” he muttered to the dead mobile phone.

Rather than pack his few possessions immediately, Alex felt the need for fresh air so he walked up to the deck and stood looking across the harbour. Several small vessels still moved busily about, their lights reflecting in the water. The noise of the evening traffic on the busy streets of Manila filled the air. He thought of his wife Rosie and his little son at home in Alaska. At least Rosie would be pleased that the risks he inevitably faced with each assignment would be over. He paced the deck, trying to unravel the mass of conflicting thoughts flashing around in his head. After an hour the only thing that was clear to him was that the “Bad Guys” were still out there. He needed a drink and more time to think.

“Is that you Alex?” Greg called from the shadows in the stern.

“Hi Greg, mission accomplished?” he answered.

“Yes - no problem at all. Our friend Moby Dick seems to know his way around OK. Good job he's on our side if you ask me,” Greg replied good-humouredly.

Alex made his decision.

“Greg do you have a moment for a beer and a little chat?”

“Of course. You haven't been ashore yet have you? I spotted a little wine bar just by the harbour gate, we could go there?”

“Great, lets do it,” Alex happily agreed.

They ordered two local beers and seated themselves in the corner of the almost empty wine bar.

“So what do we have to confess to today?” Greg invited Alex light-heartedly.

Alex paid for the beers and took a draught.

“Not bad,” he observed. “Well the situation is like this…”

He took the next half hour to tell Greg the dramatic change of events at SONIC. “Of course all this is top secret but you have been as close to SONIC as anyone so you understand the rules.” He looked at Greg for understanding.

“Yes of course.” Greg waved the question aside. “Listen Alex I haven't thought it through, but why don't you stay on here say as security chief or something - we are sure to have trouble once the locals see us out there. We did keep quite an arsenal from that cargo so we could put up a hell of a fight if we had to. It will only be for a few days so why don't you stay? What do you say?”

Alex had secretly hoped for the invitation.

“I'll be honest I was really hoping that you'd say that. So thanks, I'd be delighted to assist; my first freelance contract!” he observed, thrusting out his hand to seal the deal. “I have a few loose ends to clear with the Boss but that said, we have a deal.”

f

The Syndicate guard lay comfortably in the private clinic as he recovered from the operation to remove the bullet. He'd been extremely lucky, as no vital organs had been seriously damaged and he would make a full recovery quite soon, a delighted young surgeon confirmed to his patient after completing his first solo operation.

“Well thank you Doctor,” the man cooed, suitably grateful. “I wonder if I could make a call to my wife? She will be worrying about me,” he pleaded gently.

“I don't suppose one call can cause much trouble do you?” the naive surgeon smiled keen to please his patient.

w

At an office many miles from the diving operation, a grey-haired man sat alone. He had just received the news that the partner he had sent to oversee the arms shipment had been killed; but worst of all, from his point of view, the cargo had been completely destroyed and the inconsolable client was looking for answers; answers that could not be satisfactorily provided.

The Syndicate leader was tired; years of unparalleled success had been a stimulating elixir. So sudden had been their reverse in fortunes that the unfamiliar pressures had taken a great toll on his normally iron confidence. He still had a vast fortune of course but the thrill of punishing his old enemies had suddenly lost its edge. He picked up the ivory cordless telephone and called his sole remaining partner.

“Bad news I'm afraid. Orwell is dead and the whole shipment lost.” There was a pause as if time had stopped.

“I'll be round immediately.”

f

Finding the location of the submarine was proving to be somewhat tantalising. So far, they had made three significant contacts with sunken vessels in and about the location identified by Greg but each time they had been disappointed. Finally at dusk one evening, as they swept around in a wide circle to start another long trawl with their dual magnetometers and side scan sonar, the monitors suddenly sprang to life indicating a large metallic object. No specific shape could be discerned but its mass was significant. Everyone tensed in expectation. Had they found something at last? Sixty-five metres flashed on the depth gauge. The robot camera was lowered reverently into the water and directed to the target on the seabed. The tide was beginning to run hard from east to west; there was only a little time left before it would be too strong for the robot camera. The cable drum whirled as it smoothly released the cable and the robot plunged towards its target.

As the robot camera sank silently into the depths, there was silence in the control room as everyone strained their eyes, desperate to catch the first glimpse of the object. The sea, clouded with microscopic grains of sand, made the visibility poor. Suddenly there was a brief but clear picture on the screen, showing a positive view of some metallic wreckage. The object, the powerful lamp attached to the robot's camera, vanished almost as soon as it had appeared to be replaced with the image of shell encrusted rocks, passing rapidly by the screen as it swept out of control along the uneven seabed.