Gold!
Coins, cups, plates, statues. The finest funerary items ever seen.
They both stared puzzled.
There was none of it.
Just a painted wooden coffin and four canopic jars.
Mufasa stared open mouthed.
“Where is my gold?”
He reached in and tried to feel around the wooden coffin. It filled the sarcophagus. There was no room for anything else. Another explosion rocked the freighter. More fuel drums exploding on deck.
Mufasa looked up at Domingo.
“I thought it would be full of gold.”
“You arrogant ass! You’ve killed us for this!”
The torpedo exploded into the stern of the ship almost blowing it from the water. The captain and the first mate were thrown forward by the impact. The sarcophagus broke free of its bonds and crushed the legs of Domingo. He screamed in panic, trying to free himself as the sea rushed in. Mufasa waded through the rapidly rising water to try to free him. The sea water was soon over Domingo’s head and his hands frantically scrabbled at Mufasa’s legs until they ceased.
“I’m sorry my friend,” Mufasa said struggling up the stairs. Another explosion rocked the ship throwing Mufasa back into the hold. The sea was now almost to the roof. Mufasa kicked to the roof and found an air pocket. His freighter was going down by the stern, of that he was certain. He took a deep breath and dived, swimming for the stairs. Something was blocking them. He swam back to the air pocket and panicked when he found it was gone. He turned frantically in the water looking for an escape but the light just caused murky, blurred shadows that danced and twisted in his eyes. Mufasa tried again to find a way out then desperate for a breath he opened his mouth and felt his lungs fill with water.
Within minutes the ship had disappeared under the waves. A slick of debris all that remained.
Bill Smith flew by for a last time.
“Leader to base. German merchant freighter torpedoed. Vessel destroyed. No, repeat, No survivors. Leader out.”
He flicked the switch for plane to plane.
“That’s it boys. Mission complete. Return to base.”
Colonel Hans Koenig stood at the dock staring across the sea. His arm in a sling. His chest and shoulder heavily bandaged. His two British guards sitting idly by smoking cigarettes.
For Koenig the war was over.
Rushton had given him the privileges of rank. He was the only German not detained in the Medina. He was unsure of his future. That rested in the hands of General Francis Tuker. Alf and Johnny were repairing the disabled boats when a soldier approached causing Alf to glance up. The soldier handed him a piece of paper. Alf accepted it, returned the salute, and read it. He looked over at Koenig and headed for him.
Koenig was watching tiny fish swimming around the pillars that supported the concrete. He turned at the approaching footsteps and smiled as Alf stopped alongside. Alf smiled back. Hours ago these men had been enemies. Now it felt, somehow, different.
“Colonel I’ve just received a report. General Tuker will be arriving at any time ahead of his 4 Indian army. The 11 Panzer is on the run but the bulk of it has been smashed. Your General Von Arnim was captured two days ago.”
Koenig watched the fish again.
“Von Arnim is a good man Lieutenant. What will the British do to him?”
“He will probably be detained until the war is over and presumably be returned to Germany. He may stand trial. That is not for me to decide.”
“No of course not.”
Then a thought.
“It’s ironic isn’t it. Yesterday those two men over there tried to kill me. The small one threw the knife,” Koenig said lifting his bandaged arm to indicate his injury, “And now they are my guards.”
“The war is over for you Colonel but not for them. They will continue the fight.”
“I’m sorry that we’re enemies Alfred….If I may call you Alfred?”
Alf nodded his approval.
“Thank you.”
“I’m not your enemy Colonel just the flag you fight under.”
“I’ve only ever had an administrative position in the Wehrmacht. I’ve been based in Berlin my whole military career. I was ordered out here by General Hans Von Brockhorst.”
“What were you doing out here and what was in that sarcophagus?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“Hitler’s dream.”
Alf laughed.
“Well Hitler’s dream is now at the bottom of the ocean.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said. The freighter that escaped just as we took the town was destroyed by a torpedo.”
“A torpedo.”
“Yes one of our air patrols spotted it and it was attacked. They torpedoed it. Your ship is gone.”
“And survivors.”
“None. None found alive. The Doctor’s body was the only one recovered. He was easy to recognise because of his white suit.”
“I was supposed to be on that ship.”
Alf stood by watching the little fish.
“Are there truly no survivors?”
Alf shook his head.
“Hitler’s dream is gone,” Koenig said more to himself than the Englishman standing next to him.
“Who or what was in that sarcophagus?”
Koenig looked around to see who was within earshot. There were many people about. He leaned over and whispered in Alf’s ear. Alf’s eyes widened. He stared into Koenig’s eyes. Koenig met the gaze.
“It’s true Alfred I swear it. The greatest archaeological find in human history and it’s out there somewhere,” he nodded at the sea, “Lost again. This time, maybe forever.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Do you understand the importance of what I’ve just told you.”
“Yes. Yes of course I do.”
“I for one will never speak of it again. For as long as I live.”
“You’ll never be able to keep something like this quiet. People will find out.”
“Let them. But they won’t hear it from me.”
“It probably doesn’t matter anyway. That freighter went down in minutes. It’s probably by now buried under the wreck.”
“But it is out there somewhere.”
Alf heard the engine as Johnny started the boat they had been working on.
“I have work to do,” he offered his hand smiling. Koenig stared down at it for a moment then took the handshake firmly.
“Good bye Alfred.”
Alf only got a few steps when he turned back.
“Oh I nearly forgot,” he fished in his trouser pocket, removing something and throwing it to Koenig, who caught it. Alf raised his hand once more in farewell and was gone.
Koenig slowly opened his hand to reveal the dog tags.
“Major Otto Wurtz, SS,” he said aloud, “Elsa’s husband. And the most evil bastard I’ve ever encountered.”
He continued studying them for a moment running the tags and chain between his thumb and forefinger. Then grunting with the pain he drew his arm back and launched them into the sea. They fell into the water with a gentle plop. Koenig stood watching the small ripples until they disappeared then turned and headed for the square as the first of General Tuker’s jeeps entered the town.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY
Peter Dennis, award winning journalist, freelance photographer, writer, author and top columnist in half a dozen magazines and periodicals, sat wearily at his desk. He had just got back from Malaga, Spain, where he had been interviewing an English businessman, an ex-pat, who was widely rumoured by newspapers and tabloids to also be a crime boss. Dennis had been at university with the man’s son and had been granted a very rare interview.