Dragon's Triangle (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 2)

by Christine Kling

After the secretary had served them bottled mineral water and ice-filled glasses, Belmonte pulled his pack of Marlboros out of his jacket pocket.

  Elijah raised his hand like a traffic cop. “Please, I’ve inhaled enough poison today.”

  “Pardon me,” Belmonte said, slipping the pack back into his pocket. He walked over to the window and looked out over the mine facilities. “You must be certain to visit Wolfgang before you leave today. He always asks after you.”

  Elijah had had about enough of the man’s stalling tactics. “The news must be bad if you’re doing all this crap to postpone telling me. Just spit it out. Why did he bring me all the way out here?”

  “Well,” Belmonte said after a long exhale of air. “You do jump right to the point, I see.”

  “So spit it out. I need to get into town, have a decent meal, and check into my room.”

  “I’m afraid you may not have the chance to do that, sir.”

  “Why? Explain.”

  “Last week we sent the last shipment out to Hong Kong. There’s nothing left, except the small volume of new gold we still get out of the mine.”

  “We knew that was coming. How are things progressing on the Dragon’s Triangle situation?”

  Belmonte sighed again. “That’s where the problem is.”

  “I don’t understand. You located those artifacts at the Tuguegarao site that mentioned the Teiyō Maru.”

  Belmonte nodded. “We think the documents might show the site where the ship went down.”

  “And you hired the old man.”

  “Yes, that’s right. That was all in my last report. He’s worked for us for years. In fact, the organization has never used anyone else as a cryptographer.” Belmonte paused for effect, then clutched at his chest as though it pained him to have to speak. “What wasn’t in the report was that the old man disappeared with the artifacts.”

  Elijah was on his feet in a second. “You allowed that to happen?” he shouted. “What kind of a cretin would give a stranger unfettered access?”

  Belmonte threw his hands in the air. “It wasn’t unfettered, as you say. There was a guard. And the cryptographer, he’s not a stranger. He’s worked for us for what, fifty years?”

  “My God, you incompetent half-wit.” Elijah grabbed Belmonte by the front of his jacket, pulled him out of his chair, and held him so close their noses were nearly touching. “You do realize that the Dragon’s Triangle may be the most lucrative find yet. There’s much more than gold at stake here. What if your cryptographer is shopping it around? Did you consider that possibility?”

  “He’s an old man and he’s always been loyal.” Belmonte’s voice had risen in pitch. “I don’t know what’s got into him.”

  “He’s ninety-three fucking years old and you let him get away. How fast can he move? He probably shits his pants and can’t remember his own name. But because you don’t have either the brains or the cojones to deal with an old man, they’ve had to call me in. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Belmonte stuttered, “I—I . . .”

  Elijah shoved him down into the soft chair. “You disgust me.”

  The mine manager straightened his jacket and sat up. When he ran his fingers through his hair, Elijah saw that his hands were shaking. The little pig had good reason to be afraid.

  “How do I know you didn’t put him up to it?” Elijah said quietly.

  The man shook his head and his eyes grew large. “I swear to God, I had nothing to do with it.”

  Elijah swung his hand into the air, then stopped. He spoke in a soft, tense voice. “Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Belmonte had half turned his face away from the impending blow. From the corner of his eye, he looked up at Elijah. “I had him here at the mine, and I kept him under guard. If I am guilty of anything, it is in my choice of the guard. For that I take full responsibility, Mr. Hawkes. The guard fell asleep, and the old man escaped in the night. We didn’t know he was gone until morning.”

  “Were you able to track him?”

  “Yes, through my connections at the airport, we found his face on a surveillance video. He used a different name, of course. Very professional-looking passport. He left for Bangkok two days ago.”

  “And?”

  “I sent Benny, Mr. Hawkes. Benny Salim. He’ll find him. We had the old man under video surveillance here, too, and we examined the computer he had been using. I gave Benny some leads based on the old man’s correspondence. I’m certain Benny will locate him.”

  Elijah stepped closer to the fire and spread his fingers toward the flames. “And the guard?”

  “We told his wife that he did not report to work that day. She has reported him missing to the police. It won’t be any further problem for us.”

  “I see.”

  “You know Benny is the best. He will find him.”

  “You’d better hope so, Jaime.”

  Chatuchak Weekend Market

  Bangkok, Thailand

  November 17, 2012

  By the time the MRT approached Chatuchak Station, the train car was jammed full with people and Riley had forced herself to put away thoughts about her imagined Cole sighting. It had to have been her imagination, just like all the other times, so she stored the vision in that compartment in her head and moved on. It was time now to think more about the upcoming meeting with Peewee.

  Before she’d left Phuket, she’d done her research on this market she was about to visit. It was supposed to be the world’s largest weekend market, with around five thousand stalls on over thirty-five acres, so her first order of business was to walk the grounds and get her bearings. While this Peewee character might very well be on the up-and-up, he could just as well have chosen a restaurant or a coffee bar for their meeting. The only reason to choose this market was because it was so easy to get lost in here. Until she met this guy face-to-face, she could not walk into this meet-up assuming he was a friendly. It was standard operating procedure to go over the terrain first.

  When the train stopped, the crowd compressed to fit through the doors and surged forward like one big multi-legged insect. It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that Riley finally had enough space around her to breathe normally.

  The aroma of meat cooking over a charcoal fire was tainted by the stench of stagnant water that wafted up from a grate at her feet.

  Riley paused before descending the steps to take a look around. The place looked even bigger than it had in the online photos. She saw a clock tower in the middle of the grounds, which must have been well over a quarter mile away. It stood in the center of a permanent structure full of stalls. She turned right and followed a wide asphalt walkway with vendors on both sides selling everything from handbags to housewares, clothing to fresh coconut ice cream.

  The song “Gangnam Style” blared from speakers overhead. The crowd was mostly Thai. Bands of girls walked arm in arm, giggling and sneaking looks at the loose groups of boys who pushed one another and shouted over the music. Families herded their children in and out of booths and the occasional orange-robed monk passed on his way out, clutching his alms bowl to his chest.

  Though it was only ten thirty in the morning, the sun blazed down on Riley’s head. She should have brought a hat. After about a hundred yards, she came to another entrance gate where “schoolgirls” wearing low-cut white blouses, pleated plaid miniskirts, and knee socks were handing out maps to the market. Riley took one and stepped into the shade of a big umbrella spread above a bin of bootleg DVDs. The movies looked like the real thing, but she’d been in Thailand long enough to know they never were.

  As Riley unfolded the map, a tiny woman wearing an apron with huge pockets stepped out from behind a glass case containing cell phones.

  “Movies?” she asked. “You like Clin Easwood?”

  Riley raised her head and squinted. “No, thanks. Do you sell bottled water, by any chance?”

  The woman’s wrinkled face broke into a big smile. She walked over to a cooler and g
rabbed one of the bottles floating in the icy slush. She handed it to Riley.

  “Fifty baht.”

  Riley thanked the woman, paid her, and gulped the water so fast her chest ached. She then poured some into the palm of her hand and splashed it onto her cheeks.

  The woman stepped around the DVD bin and handed Riley a small hand towel. She smiled again and Riley saw several gaps where teeth should be.

  “You first time Bangkok?”

  Riley wiped her face and returned the towel with her own smile. “Yes. I came up from Phuket.”

  “Where you stay?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  The old woman reached into one of the big pockets of her apron and handed Riley a card the size of a postcard, but made of rough-looking artisan paper. On it was printed the name “Napa Place” and an address. The woman pointed to the address. “My family owns. Very nice place for lady.”

  “Thank you so much for your kindness.”

  Riley slipped the half-full bottle and the card into the mesh side pocket of her backpack. She hoisted the pack onto her back, and when she had walked half a dozen steps she turned and waved good-bye to the woman.

  According to the map, the layout of the market was fairly straightforward. Riley spent the next hour walking the main road around the perimeter before she plunged into the center aisles. She’d visited the weekend markets and night markets down in the south, but she had never seen the variety of goods they had here in Bangkok. The stalls were divided into areas where goods of a certain sort were offered. There was an entire section on pets and accessories where little baby bunnies wearing gingham dresses were for sale next to pen after pen of adorable purebred-looking puppies: pugs, beagles, shih tzus, and Pomeranians. In the dried-food section there were huge sacks of colorful spices and herbs, and dried fish, squid, prawns, and octopus. Aisle after aisle of teak and wicker furniture, clothing of all sorts, ceramics, appliances, gardening equipment.

  Since she was meeting Peewee at the Land of Smiles Antiques, Riley saved the antiquities section for last. The aisles that penetrated into the main building were called sois, or alleys, and there were more than sixty of them. They were like the spokes of a wheel that started at the center hub where the clock tower stood and then radiated outward. They were crossed by the fifteen or twenty aisles that ran all around the building from the center all the way out to the Main Road. She’d been counting down the sois, and now finally, Sois 2, 3, and 4 comprised the area where antiques and collectibles were offered. Here, Riley found Buddhas in all shapes and sizes, temple bells, masks, statues of Hindu goddesses, ceremonial swords, and incense-burning pots. The more valuable items, like those made of ivory, silver, and gold, were kept inside glass cases.

  Many of the stalls in this section were really more like shops, with hard walls, doors, and signs hanging overhead. The bright yellow sign for Land of Smiles Antiques was visible about a third of the way in down Soi 3. The sign promised Thai Buddhas, Khmer bronze, Lopburi pots. Riley checked her watch. She was about ten minutes early, but since the guy said he would be working there, she supposed early would be all right.

  The booth had no front wall, unlike its neighbors on either side that were enclosed shops. As she neared, Riley didn’t see anyone inside at first, but the stall was overflowing with furniture pieces, glass cases full of trinkets, and very lifelike, creepy-looking statues of wrinkly-faced monks in their saffron robes. Merchandise was piled in the center of the booth so that the walkway through it was essentially a U shape. Along the bottom of the U was the counter at the back of the shop. Riley had no idea what was valuable and what wasn’t, but the overfilled shop made her nervous, afraid she might break something. She slid off her backpack, tucked it under her arm, and stepped into one side of the booth. She walked back to the counter.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  A head popped up from behind the glass case. It was a young Thai girl, maybe ten years old. She offered a shy smile and a nod, then disappeared through a curtain into the back of the stall.

  A few seconds later, the curtain was swept aside and an elderly farang man walked out. He stood only a couple of inches over five feet tall, and he was wearing a US Army garrison cap, the fore and aft cloth hat that could be folded and tucked into a back pocket. The olive-drab cap was covered with colorful ribbons, medals, and patches. Emblazoned down one side were the words Military Order Purple Heart.

  Riley’s first impression was that he was certainly old enough to be a World War II vet. He looked like he was in his nineties but he moved with a lightness that belied his age. The left side of his face was disfigured with old scars that caused his features to droop, and even on the good side of his face his skin was mottled with age spots. On the ear that was visible she saw a bulky hearing aid, and he was working his lips like she’d seen older people do who wear dentures. There was something odd about the way he was looking at her—it was a hungry look, like he wanted something from her. Then his face broke into a wrinkled smile showing a lineup of too-perfect, artificial-looking teeth.

  He stepped around the counter, pulled up his pants that were already well above his waistline, and extended his hand. “You must be Miss Riley.” His voice was strong, but the enunciation sounded mushy, like that of a person who could no longer hear himself speak.

  She reached out and found his grip surprisingly strong. “Hello,” she said. “And you are?”

  “Irving Weinstein, but all my friends call me Peewee. Or you can call me Irv.”

  She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Irv.”

  “Come here, we got a couple of chairs.”

  The young girl pushed a teak chair out from behind the counter. Riley sat and perched her backpack on her lap. Peewee sat on a similar chair that was part of a display. The girl disappeared through the curtain, and Riley sat staring at her own entwined fingers resting on top of her backpack. The silence stretched out. She could feel Peewee’s eyes on her, but she wasn’t about to speak first. He was the one who called this meeting. Let him figure out how to get started.

  “You’ve got your grandmother’s eyes,” he said at last.

  “You knew her?”

  “Oh yeah, I was best man at the wedding. Is it all right if I call you Maggie?”

  “Actually, Irv, most people just call me Riley.” Only Cole had called her Miss Maggie Magee, then shortened it just to Magee. She’d found it both irritating and charming.

  Irv chuckled. “Riley. That’s what I called your grandpa when we were kids. Most folks called him Ozzie later on, though.”

  “You knew my grandfather as a kid?”

  “Hell yeah.” He bunched his hands into fists and made like he was throwing a couple of pretend punches. “They called us the trouble twins. Everyone thought we were brothers. We even looked alike. Grew up together in Middletown, Rhode Island. It was the Depression, but we were just kids, and when we weren’t in school we were playing in the woods or building sailing dinghies. My pops was a jeweler—he learned the trade in Europe and then did real well for himself when he immigrated to the US, so they let the Jews into the neighborhood.” His eyes met hers and he winked.

  “So, what did you want to see me about? And how did you find me?” Riley noticed he watched her mouth as she spoke.

  “I thought you’d want to know about your granddad. Especially after losing your pops the way you did, may he rest in peace. I read about that in the papers, and that’s when I learned Richie had a daughter. My condolences on your loss, Miss Riley.”

  “Just Riley.”

  He looked at her for a long time, working his lips over his teeth. Riley decided it was an unconscious thing. He’d probably be surprised to see a video of himself doing it.

  “Okay, then. Fine feathers do not make fine birds. Even with a man’s name, you are still the crême de ma café.” He winked at her again.

  Riley didn’t know what to make of him. Was he flirting with her? “About my grandfather,” she said. “What can you te
ll me?”

  “Let me show you,” he said. He slid one hand into the inside breast pocket of his blue canvas jacket. He removed something small wrapped in what looked like a white silk handkerchief, then just held it without unwrapping the cloth. “When we graduated high school, Ozzie left for university down in New Haven, and my pops wanted me in the family business. Wasn’t what I wanted, though. So, in July of forty-one, I enlisted in the infantry. I knew we’d be in the war soon, and I wanted to see Europe. Imagine my surprise when after boot camp, they shipped me out to a place called Manila.”

  The Pacific. That was where her grandfather had disappeared.

  “Are you saying you met up with my grandfather again during the war?”

  “Yes, ma’am. See, in Manila, I trained with the Philippine Scouts. Went on expeditions all over Luzon. Most of those Filipino boys couldn’t drive, so I became a jeep driver. Next thing you know, I’m driving General MacArthur’s chief of staff, General Sutherland. Moved out to Corregidor with him, too, when the Japs invaded. After the brass and the SIS guys hightailed it out of there, me and the rest of those boys hung on as long as we could. We surrendered after four months of hell.”

  “SIS?”

  “Signals Intelligence Service. Those were the code-breaker boys who were listening in on the Japs’ chatter.”

  “I’ve read about the siege of Corregidor and the Bataan Death March. I can’t believe I’m speaking to someone who was actually there.”

  “Not for long. I escaped in Bataan. Spent the rest of the war in the mountains with some of my buddies from the Scouts. Guerrillas. We captured a Jap radio and caused a little mayhem with the help of the OSS. Then long about the end of the war, who shows up but my old friend, Ozzie.”

  “What was he doing in the Philippines?”

  “It’s hard to say what their mission was. But he arrived on a US submarine.”

  “A submarine,” Riley said slowly. She shook her head. Not another submarine, she thought.

  “Yup. Last time I saw him alive was in the Philippines. He said if anything happened to him, I was to give this to his son.” The old man folded back the layers of silk cloth to expose an ornate gold tube just over two inches long, with pointed caps on both ends.