“You’ve got it all wrong Mufasa. There is nothing inside to interest you or your men. I swear it.”
“We’ll see when I open it.”
Von Brest was horrified.
“No Mufasa you mustn’t open it. I beg you! I’ll triple your salary.”
“Not enough. Take them topside,” he ordered one of his men.
“When we get to Malta they’ll hang you,” Von Brest shouted as he was bundled up the stairs, “You’ll not get away with this.”
“I’m afraid my dear Doctor that I already have.”
Domingo waited until they were gone.
“What he says is true Captain. They’ll hang us for sure.”
Mufasa thought for a moment. Then made a decision.
“Get up to the bridge. We sail for Algiers. Plot the course for the helmsman then get back here and help me to open this.”
Once on deck Domingo saw the three captives were sitting in a group huddled against the biting, cold, wind. The Doctor appeared to still be complaining about their situation. Domingo watched as the dead body was brought up and tossed over the side.
“Any trouble from them?” he asked a crewman watching over the captives with an old rifle.
“The Doctor is complaining endlessly.”
“Herr Doctor just remember that the Captain spared your lives. Or if you would prefer you can feed the fishes,” Domingo said, his voice accompanied by the laughter of his crewmen.
Von Brest shut his mouth and sulked.
“That’s better,” Domingo waved his gun and put it in his pocket, “You’ll get no more trouble from him. Now I must report to the bridge.”
The man at the helm turned as Domingo opened the door and stepped onto the bridge. The helmsman had the chart out in front of him. Domingo followed a line with his finger until it came to a stop on the island of Malta.
“Malta Domingo! Malta! And for us money, real cash. This will be the most we’ve ever earned. I’m going to spend mine on the best whore money can buy.”
“We’re not going to Malta.”
“Eh?”
“The captain has taken the German’s prisoner. There is gold in that box of theirs. The Captain is convinced. A ton of gold.”
The helmsman’s eyes lit up at the prospect. Then a dark thought.
“The Germans will kill us,” he said instinctively feeling for the pistol in his waistband.
“Not where we’re going my boy.”
Domingo pointed on the chart. The helmsman pushed Domingo’s finger out of the way so he could read the place name.
“Algiers? Algiers is good.”
Domingo put crosses on the chart.
“Turn when you reach these points. We’ll keep close to the coastline.”
“Yes Sir.”
Domingo noticed some black dots on the window. He wiped his hand across it to smear the dirt away. The black dots remained. What was more they appeared to be moving. Domingo stepped outside and surveyed the horizon. The black dots were still there. There could be no mistaking it. They were aircraft. A crewman watching over the Germans edged closer. The aircraft engines could be heard.
“Do you think they maybe German planes?”
Domingo looked at the German flag fluttering from the ship.
“Let’s hope so. Man the machine guns just in case.”
“In case they’re enemy planes?”
“I think after this everyone will be our enemy.”
Domingo strode to the stairs and descended to the hold.
Mufasa was walking around the sarcophagus with a crowbar in his hand. He was stooped, peering under the lid and every time he thought he saw an advantage he jammed the end of the crowbar in. So far he hadn’t managed to move the lid. Domingo came in and pulled the heavy door to. Mufasa saw him.
“Grab that crowbar and help me. There has got to be a way in here somewhere. Whoever sealed it up didn’t want anyone breaking into it in a hurry. That’s good,” Mufasa said brandishing the crowbar, “That means that whatever is in here has not been touched in thousands of years and that means it’ll be worth even more,” he continued, jamming the crowbar into another crack and levering down with all his might.
Suddenly he felt the lid move. It was just a fraction but it spurred him on.
“Here I’ve got it. Quick get round here!” he shouted at Domingo, taking his crowbar out and jamming it in again. Domingo rushed round to help.
Bill Smith banked his Spitfire. The squadron of five were ahead of the bombers they had escorted. The bombers were returning from raids against enemy shipping. American fighters were in amongst the Lancaster’s. The five Spitfires turned and came about. From out of his window Bill could see the island of Djerba. He radioed the other pilots and then focused on the lone ship three miles out of the port of Gabes. It was only a small vessel but Bill had seen its wake from five miles away. The five Spitfires flew in low over the ship and to Bill’s delight he saw German flags fluttering from the freighter.
“Everyone got plenty of shot left?”
The five small fighters banked, gained height and came about. Bill in the lead. He brought his plane screaming down on the lone freighter amazed that she’d been left alone to fend for herself. Bill could see crewmembers running for cover as he strafed the deck. Bill pulled up and swung his aircraft as the second fighter charged in, its guns emitting their deadly fire. As the third Spitfire came in crewmembers had managed to reach the mounted machine guns on the ship. But the guns were poorly maintained. They both jammed and as the fourth Spitfire came in their operators were forced to abandon them and run for their lives. The fifth Spitfire strafed the deck and peeled off joining the others for another run. A Bristol Beaufighter joined them. This plane was carrying a torpedo.
On the deck Von Brest and his two German companions had been left unguarded during the attack. Despite their bonds they were able to move to cover and watched as crew members tried desperately to get the German flags down.
Down in the hold Mufasa had heard the first attack. A crewman rushed in to find the captain and the first officer who were frantically levering at the lid of the giant sarcophagus.
“Cap’n we’re under attack!”
“By who?” Mufasa answered without looking up.
“British fighter planes.”
“Get the flags down. Signal that we’re friendly….”
“We’re doing that Captain.”
“Push! Push!” Mufasa said to Domingo. The lid moved some more. Now there was a crack. Mufasa could smell musty air. Air that was thousands of years old.
“Captain!” the crewman called again.
Mufasa didn’t hear. He was too engrossed in what he was doing. The crewman turned and fled as the first of the Spitfires came in again. He reached the deck and dived for cover as bullets ripped past him and smacked into some barrels of petroleum. These exploded in a deafening shriek. A fireball rose fifty feet into the air as burning fuel rained down and set fire to anything in its path. Crewmembers having to sit by and watch it burn because of the planes still coming in. Bill looked out of the side of his cockpit and saw a pall of black smoke trailing the freighter. Two crewmen left their cover and ran for a fire hose. The concept of being burnt alive more terrifying than the bullets. They saw the last plane coming in and they saw the torpedo drop into the water.
The lid of the sarcophagus hit the floor with a crash. Mufasa and Domingo had heard the explosion two decks above. Their greed for gold had kept them here. The explosion had rocked the ship and moved the sarcophagus lid. Now they’d been able to lever it off. Excitedly they each grabbed a lamp and held it over the open tomb.