Dragon's Triangle (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 2) (50 page)

In spite of all his failings, Wolfgang had done an excellent job of cleaning up the gold work on the ceremonial sword, but he had made no attempt at sharpening the blade. That was just as well, since working the blade was an art. Elijah had been taught to sharpen swords by a master swordsmith in Kyoto. He had explained that you could not force an edge onto the blade. Rather, one had to be patient and allow the edge to reveal itself.

His suite at the Manor provided a sitting area complete with a couch and a low coffee table. He’d had room service bring him a glass of scotch when he returned from a late dinner, and now Elijah took a towel from the bath and placed it on the table. He arranged his tools on the towel. Starting with the file, he took off the heavy layer of corroded steel along the edge. Then he dribbled a layer of oil onto the stone and began the tedious process of sliding the blade across the stone. When the oil turned too black, he cleaned the stone and re-oiled it with clear, golden oil.

For nearly an hour he worked the edge. Slow and steady. It was important to hold the blade at no more than a thirty-degree angle and to remain consistent with every pull across the stone. Elijah found the work soothing. It recharged him after the energy he had expended at the mine and gave him time to think.

Benny had failed repeatedly, but now his failure could turn out to work in Elijah’s favor. Rather than salvaging the wreck himself, Elijah would let this Cole Thatcher do it for him. Nils would tell him when Thatcher had brought the uranium to the surface, and Elijah could then hijack the salvage boat and dispose of the crew at sea. Al-Habib would then send one of his yachts to rendezvous at a remote location, and once they transferred the cargo, Elijah could sink the salvage boat in deep water and proceed with the Saudis to their next port of call.
No trail. A clean operation. God helps those who help themselves. And he intended to help himself to whatever Cole Thatcher found.

Elijah considered himself a devout man, but his God wasn’t the peace-loving God that his Quaker parents and sister believed in. His was a lightning-bolt-throwing, vengeful God. The fact that Elijah succeeded and excelled at everything he did was proof of his God’s love.

His thoughts were interrupted when his cell phone rang. He recognized the number. The day was dawning in San Francisco and the Philippines situation was first on their agenda.

“Elijah, I want an update. Now. These delays are unacceptable.”

He was beyond caring what Black thought now. The Saudi was his new boss. But he didn’t want Black to come looking for him until he’d had time to disappear.

“I was hoping to be able to give you better news. We’ve made progress, but the results are not what we hoped. I got our property back from the old man and we deciphered the map. My men have located the wreck in the Babuyan Islands, but the cargo isn’t there. Either someone got to it before us, or it never existed to begin with.”

Elijah held the phone away from his ear as the stream of curse words exploded from the phone.

When the other man slowed, Elijah said, “I was very disappointed, too. I was hoping the promised gold would keep me employed awhile longer.”

“You sound too calm about this, Hawkes. How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

“You don’t.”

“What kind of game are you playing?”

“You don’t know if I’m telling you the truth or not—but at the end of the day, you’ve got to trust somebody unless you want to do everything yourself. That’s your call. You know where I live. I know you can have me killed at any time.”

“Well, I don’t suppose you’d take that stand if you were trying to double-cross me. So what’s next?”

“Back to the archives, I suppose. We know the gold is there. We’ve only found fifty percent of what the Japanese stole.”

When he disconnected the call, Elijah hurled his phone at the couch cushion. He got up and with his fists balled up at his sides, he paced the length of the sitting room, pivoted, and strode back.
How dare he accuse me?

His phone chirped again. Certain it was Black calling back with more accusations, he barked into it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Hawkes, this is Nils.” The voice was very soft.

“Skar, I can barely hear you.”

“I can’t speak any louder. I stole their sat phone and I’m in the head. They dove on the wreck today and the hold was empty.”

“What? That’s not possible.” In an instant he wondered if somehow his lie to Black had been turned to truth. Was God punishing him for lying?

“The old man told me to tell the divers to look for a gold statue of a dragon. There was supposed to be maps to all the treasure sites inside.”

“So, did they find it?”

“Yeah, they did, but the maps had turned to mush from the seawater.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Wait. There’s more. Just now they found out there is something written on the silk cloth that was wrapped around the gau.”

“What do you mean ‘something’?”

“Like maybe another map.”

“I’m getting tired of these damn maps.”

“The old man says what you are looking for is in a sea cave close to Vigan. The Japanese sealed the front entrance, but there is another entrance in the mountains.”

“Are you still at Camiguin?”

“No. They say there’s a typhoon coming. We’re running for cover—but we just changed course for Vigan.”

“I’ll drive there tomorrow and meet you. Skar, if you can’t steal this cloth, at least get a photo of it. Then call me.”

When Elijah picked up the sandpaper and returned to the sword, he had to force himself to be gentle. Why couldn’t things have gone according to his plan? And how dare Black show him that kind of disrespect?

Stop, he told himself. Feel the power of the blade. Make her as beautiful as she was the day the swordsmith made her. He polished the rest of the blade, removing all corrosion on the fine steel. Using a washcloth, he wiped the excess oil off the blade and buffed the sword to a glistening shine.

Unable to help himself, he touched his finger to the edge, and a thin line of red split his fingertip when he pulled it away. He smiled at the line and watched the blood seep out the cut. A hot tingle of excitement traveled down his spine to his scrotum. He reached for the edge again, but drew his hand back. He looked around the room for something to cut. The bed, wood furniture, a television. Nothing that would satisfy his need to cut.

He placed the sword on the towel and slid down the couch toward the end table. When he picked up the phone receiver, he pushed the button to ring the front desk.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m in room 426. Could you have someone bring me up some fresh towels, please?”

The knock came sooner than he expected. He tossed the velvet cloth across the sword on the table and went to the door. The maid looked no more than eighteen years old, a petite little Filipina with her shiny black hair pulled back in a girlish ponytail. She smiled shyly at him as she offered him a stack of white fluffy towels.

He turned his back to the door and walked across the room. “Just put them in the bathroom for me.”

When he heard her in the bathroom, he picked up the sword and strode across to the entry door. He closed it, turned the dead bolt, and added the chain. He was standing in front of the door with the sword in his hand when she returned.

She stopped and her eyes grew large when she saw him. “Don’t scream,” he said. “I promise, I’ll hurt you if you scream.”

He walked closer to her and touched the tip of the sword to her chin. He inhaled and he was pleased she wore no perfume.

The girl blinked her big brown eyes and a single tear rolled down one cheek.

“Are you frightened?”

She nodded and he saw her shoulders tremble.

“Do just as I say. Take off your dress.”

A sob convulsed her body, but she did as she was told. Not like the American woman.

When the loose-fitting dress fell to the floor and she stood in her white bra and underwear, he was pleased to see that while she was not much more than five feet tall, she had large breasts for her small frame. He slid the tip of the sword off her chin and down to her chest. He tickled the tip up under her bra strap. When he turned the blade flat against her skin and slid it under the slender strap of fabric, the blade made a thin red line on the curve of her breast. She whimpered as a small drop of blood rolled down the inside of her breast. He inhaled the intoxicating scent of her blood before he turned the sword edge up and sliced through the other strap.

He felt that hot tingle again between his legs, and he clenched as he felt himself grow stronger. Yes, he thought. He deserved this. God helps those who help themselves.

South China Sea
Off the Philippines

December 6, 2012

Cole had made hot chocolate for them before he went off watch at midnight. Riley wished that she could have had Cole as her watch partner, but she understood why he wanted to pair himself with the Norwegian while she got paired up with Peewee. Cole didn’t trust either one of them.

She had tried to use the head right after Cole went to try to get some rest, but the door was locked. She returned to the helm.

The old man was seated in the helmsman chair, so she had wedged her body into the corner where the dash met the side of the wheelhouse. The seas were running twelve to fifteen feet now and the trawler was twisting and rolling in the wild swell. It sometimes took all her strength just to stay upright. The wind instruments showed a sustained thirty knots, with frequent gusts much higher. The motion of the trawler was quite a bit different from her sailboat, and there were too many open spaces with too little to hold on to.

Riley checked the radar screen above the helm. Still no sign of any traffic, but that was hardly surprising. It was no time to be heading out fishing. Theo had hooked up the iPad to the single-sideband radio, and using a special app, he was receiving GRIB charts that showed the typhoon was continuing the curve. Before he went off watch, Cole told her that the death count in the southern Philippines was at five hundred and climbing. In the Philippines they had renamed the storm Pablo and they were calling it a super typhoon.

All the motion was sloshing the contents of her bladder rather uncomfortably.

“Irv, you’re in charge for a bit. I’m going to try to get into the head again. Somebody’s camped out in there.”

Moving from handhold to handhold, she made her way slowly through the galley and down the steps to the head. When she turned the door handle, it was still locked.

“Damn,” she said in a whisper. It was too difficult to return to the bridge, so she decided to wait. The boat was on autopilot, so Peewee would be fine.

Riley knew that time moved slowly on night watches, but she kept checking her watch, and when it had been five minutes she rapped on the door. “Hey in there, somebody’s waiting out here.”

A couple of minutes later, the door opened and Nils Skar staggered out. “Sorry,” he said with his head down. He was hunched over and he didn’t look her in the face. He was clutching his stomach and supporting himself with one arm along the bulkhead. She wondered how seasick he really was. He’d been fine at dinner the night before.

When Riley returned to the bridge, she was surprised to see Greg there talking to Peewee. She overheard Greg say something about her grandmother.

“Everything okay here?” Riley asked.

“Sure,” Greg said. “That Nils Skar guy creeps me out. He came back into the crew quarters and woke me up. I wasn’t keen on being alone with him, so I thought I’d come keep you guys company.”

“I know what you mean,” Riley said. “Sorry to send him your way, but he’d been parked in the only head on the boat.”

Greg turned back to Peewee. “Like I was saying, my mom never got to know her mom, but she named me after her—my grandmother.”

“What do you know about your grandma?” he asked.

“Not a lot. I know during the war she was a member of the Katipunan.”

“What’s that?” Riley asked.

“It’s a Filipino secret society,” Greg said.

Riley thought,
Great. Conspiracy nuts in the Philippines, too.

“The Katipunan Society was started during the first Philippine Revolution against Spain in the 1890s. Bonifacio and Rizal. Our country’s great heroes started it. Then the guerrillas resurrected the organization during the Second World War when the people revolted against the Japanese occupation.”

“I heard something about that when I was with the guerrillas.”

Greg’s face lit up. “You were there? You might have met my grandmother.”

Peewee shrugged. Riley could tell he really liked Greg, and she wondered why he wasn’t launching into more of his stories.

“My grandma died when Mom was little, so she was raised in orphanages. Because of her and my features, Mom always thought her father was probably an American GI. Later in life, Mom was told she couldn’t have kids of her own. I came as a surprise when she was in her late thirties. She never married my dad. It was just her and me. We were close, but she died when I was seventeen, and I’ve been on my own ever since.”

“How long ago was that?” he asked.