They had been very fortunate because, even after losing a considerable quantity of the recovered bullion to the Syndicate, the remainder would eventually provide a substantial fortune for each of them, and their dead colleagues’ families.
Most people would have been satisfied with this — but Greg Sing’s effervescent adventurous spirit, in spite of all they had endured, wanted to pursue more of the gold, which was, he was convinced, still hidden in the Philippines.
On the other hand, the older and undoubtedly wiser Oscar was quite content and pleaded, “I need no further excitement thank you!”
The two friends sat quietly sipping their tea and reminiscing over the last two years.
It was Greg, who had always enjoyed collecting odd bits of wartime memorabilia, who had found an old map case in a street market in Jakarta. Unaware of its hidden potential at the time he took it home and enthusiastically polished and refurbished the tired old case. That was when he discovered the secret pocket in the back, which contained some faded old military maps. Because it was written almost entirely in Japanese characters, he was not initially able to decipher what the various markings really implied. His imagination in the meantime conjured up colourful Treasure Island fantasies until he was convinced that somehow he was looking at a detailed map of some of the many suspected hiding places, of the fabled Yamashta's Gold.
One hand-marked position in particular encouraged him. It was in fact the only note in English. ‘Bingo!’ it declared with a cross well away from all the other land born positions.
Some months later his dream became reality when, financed by Oscar, he eventually found the ‘Bingo’ location. It turned out to be a large cave about one hundred kilometres inland from Manila. In it were three large rusting World War Two Japanese military lorries, each loaded with rotting wooden cases filled with rough cast gold ingots.
The hoard consisted of about fifty tonnes of gold, five tonnes of silver and almost five tonnes of Platinum.
After a desperate and tragic adventure, Greg and Oscar finally managed to salvage a little over one tonne of gold and all of the platinum. It had now been converted into over fifty million American dollars.
Utilising sixty percent of the proceeds, they’d just completed setting up the promised trusts for each of the families of their murdered business partners. The balance would be divided between Greg and Oscar.
“I have to say,” Oscar smiled, rubbed an imaginary beard on his smooth chin. “I often wondered if this day would ever come.” He looked at his friend. “Now here we are! Quite honestly I still get a shiver when I think of those Syndicate killers. The whole episode was like a prolonged nightmare. I feel a great sense of relief knowing that now we can avoid any more confrontations with the forces of evil.” He shook his head slowly. “We are comfortably well off, yet I don’t feel elated. The memory of our dear friends fills my every waking moment.” He looked sad. “Without them and their faith in me, I would never have been able to kick my drug addiction; in fact I would certainly have been dead long ago.”
Greg smiled understandingly.
“Sadly, we can’t change the past but we have honoured our friends’ memories and ensured that their families are financially secure — for a couple of generations at least — haven’t we?” He looked seriously at Oscar. “So, isn’t it time to make further use of our share?”
Oscar looked at his friend cautiously.
“Just what harebrained scheme have you in mind?” he replied slowly.
“Well,” Greg started, clearing his throat. “You remember the old map?”
He looked up questioningly. Oscar nodded without speaking.
“Then you’ll remember when you translated those notes written in Japanese just near where the Island of Corregidor appears on the map?” He wrinkled his eyebrows and looked cheekily at Oscar.
Oscar raised his hand.
“Oh no, not another treasure hunt.” He shook his head vigorously. “Count me out, I told you before, I simply couldn’t cope with any more of your style of excitement!” He paused, thinking desperately for something to say. “Haven’t we enough money now? We can buy homes and put funds in trust that will ensure you have everything you need for the rest of your life.” He raised his hands in supplication.
“I hear you Oscar but it’s not the money. You know very well that it’s the thrill of the chase and the urge to succeed that we love. That gold is down there somewhere, of that I’m certain. After all we did find the stuff they left behind on land, well at least some of it didn’t we?” He didn’t wait for a response. “It does mean that we would be starting with much more certainty of success, yes?” he reasoned with a wry smile.
“But the odds of finding some treasure at the bottom of a shark-infested sea are pretty poor. That makes it a much more perilous proposition than scratching around in the foothills doesn’t it?” Oscar protested. “Who’s to know if that location was correct? It could be miles out,” he added hopefully trying to suppress the bubbling enthusiasm. “We don’t even know if that’s the position of a rendezvous or of a wreck.” He tried again to cool down the conversation.
“You are well aware of the report! Damn it, you translated it!” Greg persisted. “On the night that last submarine left Manila harbour, there was a huge explosion reported in the general area of that location and the sub never returned,” Greg smiled encouragement. “So with the modern sophisticated equipment available these days at least we could scan the seabed for a wreck.”
“There’ll be hundreds of wrecks out there surely?” Oscar protested. “How could we be sure we had found the right submarine — the one supposedly full of gold?”
“We dive down and take a look!” Greg concluded simply, looking up sporting his most infectious grin.
2
Stiletto knife in hand, the attacker lunged forward in a head down rugby style charge. Alex dropped to his knee and fired two rapid shots into the man’s massive chest, killing him instantly but in spite of the impact of the soft nosed .38 slugs, the momentum of his vast bulk was not hindered. Alex staggered under the weight and fell back. The knife sliced into his groin as the man fell on top of him. Yet in spite of searing pain in his abdomen, it was the nausea brought on by the halitosis stench from the gaping mouth that dominated his senses, giving him an additional burst of strength to heave the massive dead body to one side.
“Hey, take it easy big guy! You don’t have to wrestle with me. I’ll submit willingly!” Rosie called out as she hauled herself up from the floor where Alex had pushed her in his rambling nightmare.
Alex returned instantly to consciousness with perspiration soaking his body and face and peered blearily towards Rosie’s voice. A sharp pain in his groin reminded of his dream.
“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded quietly, realising what he must have done.
It was almost twelve months since that bloody brawl with the Syndicate enforcer and it was not the first time that he had relived the heart-stopping moment.
“Perhaps you’d like to get back into bed and I’ll try to make it up to you?” his face set in a cheeky grin as he quickly recovered his composure.
“Some chance young man. You go back to what ever you were trying to do — I’ve got more important matters to attend to.” She moved away haughtily.
Alex knew Rosie too well so, smiling inwardly; he lay back and closed his eyes. About ten minutes later Rosie re-appeared carrying a tray of fresh coffee; she slipped off her flimsy dressing gown and jumped into bed. Alex stirred slowly and placed his arms around her.