Gold Sharks (4 page)

He looked furtively around as if expecting to see someone listening to the conversation. “Now with the US led war on international terrorism having some significant success, things are changing. The Syndicate have always been quite happy of course to co operate with most groups, sometimes in exchange for other services, such as the odd assassination or murder! And naturally the fat fee on the arms and equipment deals that they've agreed to supply.” He raised his free hand and pointed at Alex. “So while we can't yet expect to eliminate the Syndicate or global terrorism entirely in one simple operation,” he waggled his finger, “we do understand that the Syndicate have suddenly had to redirect a number of orders for some military hardware. This tells us that the Americans' claims of success must have some credibility. It follows then that if the Syndicate are suddenly looking for new customers, they may be a little more vulnerable than usual.” He smiled thinly. “Your last little confrontation caused them considerable damage; now we have the chance to wear them down a bit more. What do you think?”

Alex knew that whenever the Syndicate became involved in someone else's cause it was never because they believed in it. They were quite simply mercenary agents, willing to undertake any task, regardless of the cost in human souls, providing it supplied a significant contribution to their own bank balance.

“Sounds like a good assessment to me,” Alex nodded agreement.

“Well here's where I make a bit of a connection with ‘The World' of ResidenSea cruise liner. There have been recent reports of illegal arms slipping out of China via their reclaimed territories in Hong Kong and on to The Philippines. That would certainly be a familiar route for the Syndicate. There is an Islamic terror group located in the southern Islands. They are known to support the Al Qaida movement OK. Yesterday I received the itinerary for the World's next phase of the inauguration cruise. She is to go through the Panama Canal and cruises through the Pacific for the next six months, eventually visiting New Zealand, Australia and then on to Singapore, with possible stops at Jakarta, Manila and several other local locations. Which puts her high on the list of possible targets.”

Wrinkling his brow in thought, he paused for a moment.

“At least this gives us time to gather more intelligence, but as importantly, if we could disrupt the supply of ordnance to these people and perhaps winkle out some of their intelligence sources, it could seriously upset any ambitious plans they may have.” He took a large envelope from his tattered briefcase. “These particular clients of the Syndicate will be seriously pissed off, if their plans are buggered up.” He smiled. “I confidently expect that it will knock another hole in the Syndicate's armour don't you?”

Alex grinned in anticipation.

“The United States military is already sending some Special Services troops into the Philippine,” The Boss continued without waiting for a reply, “to try and sort out the mess there, mostly by training the locals in anti guerrilla and terrorist warfare. You must stay out of their way. Your prime target is the Syndicate's arms and their supply route,” he frowned questioningly.

“Understood,” Alex acknowledged, with a mock salute.

“I'd like you to make a start as quickly as possible. All the known details are in this report.” He held on to the package. “So, it looks very much like another holiday trip to the Philippines eh?” The Boss looked up smiling again. “Let me know when you have everything organised on the home front.”

The Boss stood up and handed over the envelope; the rest of his gin and tonic remained untouched. He patted Alex firmly on the shoulder. “Just take care my dear friend"

“ Have no fear,” Alex nodded confidently and then added firmly, “All I ask is that you make sure that my family remain incognito and safe, OK?”

“They should always be safe, just so long as they remain inconspicuous, but I will make it my personal responsibility to see that they stay that way!”

They shook hands and then left the pub, moving in separate directions as they stepped onto the street at the end of the cobbled courtyard. A bearded old man stood quietly on the other side of he road. He turned casually as they left and limped unnoticed, in the same direction as Alex, towards London Bridge.

w

Greg Sing spent many hours poring over various copies of the charts covering an area around Manila Bay and out towards the offshore islands. He was quite convinced that the submarine, known to have loaded some fifty tonnes of gold bullion, was sitting on the bottom somewhere out there. So, ever the optimist, he set about devising a viable method of locating it. That was all they had to do!

Greg believed that he had a pretty good location marked on the old original chart they'd found in the restored map case. He had marked it with the position from the war records, and then overlaid the position he'd marked on his own chart. They were about five miles apart in an East to West direction but, interestingly; they were perfectly aligned with a line drawn from Manila two miles South of Corregidor.

The problem was making the first move. He knew that if they were to succeed in finding any thing they would be obliged to involve other people. In that part of the world, any sniff of a treasure hunt soon became public knowledge, creating an open invitation to every crook and scumbag within a thousand miles to poke their grubby noses into the project.

So he decided to keep a low profile by hiring a fishing boat and doing a bit of wreck fishing. In this way he assumed that he might discover wrecks already known to the local fishermen and then relate them to the various wrecks already marked on his master chart. He also considered the possibility of joining the local Adventure Scuba Diving Club, which he understood regularly dived on the local wrecks. Now all he had to do was persuade Oscar to go fishing and he could do the diving!

“All you have to do Oscar is enjoy a couple of days or so of leisurely fishing and making a few notes of the locations, using the hand-held GPS. That shouldn't cause too much high blood pressure for you now should it?” Greg reasoned, beaming radiantly.

“OK Greg but there's definitely to be no more dodging the Syndicate or their like or smuggling bullion etcetera etcetera OK

“Oh Oscar you should trust me! Surely you know me by now?” Greg comforted him, looking hurt.

“That's the whole problem - I do know you and only too well!”

He shook his head in mock exasperation. Actually he was secretly tingling in anticipation, part of him excited, part terrified. “So when do we start?” he asked, feigning indifference.

Greg threw the airline tickets onto the table. “Tomorrow. OK?”

“You're impossible. So what are you getting me into this time Ollie?” Oscar mimicked.

They took the afternoon flight to Manila. Greg was like an excited teenager and wasted no time in organising the trip. The first job was to charter a local fishing boat for one or two days' wreck fishing.

“Not many people go wreck fishing. It's mostly game fishing around here!” the man he approached claimed. “Anyway if that's what you want, I know more good wrecks in this area than any other fisherman. You will catch many fish OK?” He gestured with his hands indicating large fish in the traditional way. “You must pay me each day before we leave OK!”

“Agreed,” replied Greg. “See you tomorrow morning then, here on the quay - at what time?”

“Eight-thirty sharp,” the man instructed.

They shook hands and then Greg and Oscar strolled back to their car.

“He seems a pretty confident sort of fellow,” Greg commented as he opened the passenger door for Oscar.

“Thank you. Well we'll soon see how good a wreck finder he is won't we!” Oscar smiled and ducked into the passenger seat.

The fisherman watched them leave and then wandered back to the warehouse on the other side of the quay. Entering the scruffy little office, he picked up the wall-mounted telephone and dialled. After a few moments his call was answered.

“Hi, it's me,” he addressed the person at the other end. “I've got another request for some wreck fishing. Japanese by the look of him. Old feller may be genuine. Just I thought I should call; it seemed odd to have two similar requests in the same month.” He listened. “No he didn't mention diving; he was with a younger man who paid the deposit and made the deal but they only seemed to want the fishing.” He listened a moment longer. “OK, I'll keep you posted,” he concluded and replaced the receiver.

f

Since the end of the Second World War there have been several conflicts, particularly in the Far East, each attracting the attention of the super powers. Russia and China rattling their sabres in the name of ‘The People', the United States of America in the name of democracy, while all sides welcomed the opportunity to exercise their military skills and test their ever-growing variety of military hardware. All of these conflicts end, once the super powers have lost their appetite for the cause.

In the aftermath of these conflicts, thousands of tonnes of armaments, which should have been destroyed or returned, are in fact simply abandoned and soon become available for sale to other ambitious combatants. The main problem for purchasers and vendors is usually the transportation of such illegal hardware.

This is where the more sophisticated players like the infamous Syndicate become involved. Over the last few years the Syndicate had established, an efficient worldwide network of transport routes for the shipment of a variety of contraband goods. Supplying criminal organisations, terrorist groups, private armies or independent Nations, barred by International treaty from trading in certain goods. Naturally those goods included arms and ammunition.

The IRA was a major client for guns and explosives as were the al Qaida network and the Taliban. Tamils in Sri-Lanka, Basques in Northern Spain...The list was long and hungry.

The Philippines sadly, is also an area rife with trouble. Several ambitious warlords still controlled certain areas of the country, sprawling as it does over some two thousand islands. The southern area in particular was controlled by a fanatical breakaway Islamic group Abu Sayyaf, said to have been linked with the infamous Osama bin Laden's al Qaida terror network.

Added to that, roaming groups of independent bandits cause mayhem from time to time and if that weren't enough, various political fractions frequently use force to make their views heard. The net result is that one of the world's most delightful peoples are frequently being held to ransom by these selfish and dangerous factions.

In such an environment, the Syndicate eagerly fulfils all requests and to all sides, regardless of the consequences of the application of the 'goods'.

w

In an abandoned and semi-derelict corner of Manila's sprawling docks, two Syndicate guards or enforcers as they are known, were supervising the discreet unloading of a shipment of crated arms. One of the enforcers, unusually philosophical, commented casually to his colleague, “Strange how things work out isn't it? The Americans supply arms to someone like the Vietnamese and they are eventually abandoned there. The Vietnamese sell them to us, and then we sell them to the Taliban at the time of their fight against the Russian occupation. They are paid for, with money supplied by the Americans.” He looked at his friend for agreement.

“Are you still with me?”

The other enforcer nodded vaguely.

“The Americans fall out with the Taliban and chase them out of the country. The weapons are abandoned again. Now the Afghan warlords collect them up and sell them back to us. I just wondered who the Americans are financing to buy them this time?”

He thought quietly shaking his head gently.

“I know it's not for me to question but it all seem a bit crazy doesn't it?”

“You're bloody right it's not for you to question; the best thing you can do my friend is to stop thinking and concentrate on the unloading or you'll be pushing up the daisies before you know it!”

They looked understandingly at each other and continued in silence.

Soon the last lorry was fully loaded; the ocean-going junk cast off it mooring lines and then motored slowly through the crowded waterway back to the open sea and on to its next mysterious destination.

w

John Lawrence and his wife Nancy had miraculously survived a major earthquake in Northern Greece. She wasn't Mrs Lawrence at that time but that is where and how they met. It was during the course of their amazing adventure that they discovered a cache of smuggled diamonds. But that was only the beginning of another and even more frightening series of events.

Claiming to be the rightful owners, the Syndicate relentlessly pursued John and Nancy to find the diamonds. Against all the odds they survived several frightening attempts on their lives and escaped with the diamonds.

After much soul searching they eventually sold all the stones for the benefit of the earthquake victims. Their extraordinary generosity was justified when they were awarded a significant percentage of the street value of the diamonds as a reward for recovering them. Perhaps even more importantly, SONIC arranged to place them in a special ‘protection programme' to ensure that they could enjoy the rest of their lives without fear of further persecution from the Syndicate.

Grateful for anonymity, they'd eagerly started their new life in Australia. The reward money provided them with ample financial resources to set up their home and allowed John to take up his passion of scuba diving. A willing student he progressed quickly to the sophisticated gas mixture diving technique, which allows for longer and safer free diving in greater depths, essential for the full time commercial diving he planned. Once fully qualified, he was accepted to work with a team of specialist offshore oilrig divers.

Eventually he and Nancy planned to set-up their own commercial dive business but wisely recognised the need to achieve as much commercial experience as possible with an established operation “before taking that last giant step” as his devoted Nancy used to warn, ever wary of the high commercial risk of such a venture.