Dragon's Triangle (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 2)

by Christine Kling

  Northern Luzon

  The Philippines

  June 26, 1945

  The woman standing next to Peewee brushed one side of her long black hair behind her ear as though she needed to be able to hear better. “What? You know this man?”

  “Well, I’ll be goddamned.” Peewee walked up and placed his hand on the side of his friend’s face. “Ozzie Riley. And you’re a looie now. Big-man officer. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Ozzie wanted to be able to say the same to his friend, but it wasn’t true. Not that lying had stopped him in the past. But he was sure Peewee would know it was a lie.

  Gaunt. That was the best word to describe him. As his name suggested, Peewee had never been a big guy. Even at twenty years old, he’d only been about five foot four and maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. Not that Ozzie was much bigger—he only had a couple of inches on his friend, but he’d always have a bulkier build. Right now Peewee would be lucky to tip the scales past a hundred.

  “I’m surprised you’re alive,” Ozzie said. “Last I heard you were a prisoner in Bataan.”

  His friend smiled and Ozzie saw gaps where teeth should have been. Peewee patted Ozzie’s cheek and stepped back. He slid an arm around his girl. “Naw, the Japs didn’t keep me for long. I escaped and joined up with my buddies here. I’ve spent most of the war here in the mountains with the guerrillas.” He indicated the several Filipino men who had gathered around them. Most of them wore bits and pieces of uniforms or civilian clothes that looked torn and mended and then torn again. “That’s Manolo over there,” Peewee said, pointing to a bare-chested man with shoulder-length frizzy black hair, a cigarette in his mouth, and a Thompson submachine gun in his hands. “This here’s Rafi.” The older man wore a once-white peasant’s shirt and a straw hat. A long machete hung from his belt. “That pretty boy over there is Ferdinand.” The man he referred to wore a clean-looking Filipino Army uniform with lieutenant’s stripes, a very white smile, and pomaded black hair combed back into a wave reminiscent of Clark Gable’s. Judging from the man’s eyes, he was part Chinese.

  “You’ve already met Gregoria, here.” Peewee kissed her on the cheek and she smiled back at him. “And her partner on patrol there is Danilo.”

  “My backside got to know the barrel of his rifle quite well on the way here.”

  Peewee translated the comment and the men laughed.

  “So, buddy, what do you say you untie my hands?”

  “Most of these guys here don’t speak English. They don’t know what we’re saying right now—they only know that Greg and Danilo brought two prisoners to camp who were released by the Japs. Lucky for both of you, they also don’t know about the gold Greg found on both of you. Normally, these guys shoot collaborators.”

  “Peewee, I’m not a collaborator.”

  “Ozzie, this is me you’re talking to. I know you’d sell your mother if they offered you enough. And what about your friend over there?” He pointed at Ben.

  “No, he isn’t a collaborator either. That kid got kidnapped by the Japs, and he was made to work as a valet for a Japanese prince. The prince took a shine to him. Now the Japs are getting ready to head back to Nippon, and it didn’t make sense to take Ben with them, so the prince decided to let him go.”

  Ben was a problem. Ozzie was starting to see his encounter with his old friend Peewee as a way to get another chance at the treasure in the cave, but if he spun a yarn for them here, and Ben got to talking, he could mess up Ozzie’s plans.

  “So he was waiting on some damn Jap prince?”

  “Peewee, he’s just a kid. He was more like a slave, a POW just trying to stay alive. Make sure he gets back to his family, and you’ll never hear any more from him.”

  His old friend turned then and faced Ozzie. “Did you know they found this on him?” Peewee held up a dagger. “Are you sure he was on your side?”

  Ozzie looked at Ben, but the boy had his eyes on the ground.

  Peewee continued. “So what about you? What’s your story?”

  “I was assigned to a submarine, the USS Bonefish.”

  “But you’re Coast Guard.”

  “Let me finish. We were on patrol and we picked up some prisoners, survivors from a sunk ship. It was nighttime. Turned out they were a decoy. There were others—frogmen in the water. They overran us and took the captain and first lieutenant prisoner. They took over the ship and brought her into a cave on the coast here.”

  “Yeah, I know about the cave,” Peewee said.

  “Well, right now there’s an American submarine in there with all her crew.”

  “Still don’t see how you got out.”

  “Like I said, the prince had taken a shine to that kid.” Ozzie pointed at Ben. “He wanted someone to guard him to make sure he made it home safely. The skipper suggested me.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Like you said, I’m Coast Guard. I wasn’t part of his regular crew.”

  “So what were you doing on the sub?”

  “I’m OSS, Peewee. I’m a spy.”

  The Makati Shangri-La Hotel

  Manila, Philippines

  December 3, 2012

  Elijah slipped his key card into the door lock and pushed open the door. He felt great after his late-morning workout in the hotel’s health club followed by a steam in the sauna. When he walked into the suite’s bedroom, he saw Esmerelda was still there in his bed. Not surprising. Even though it was well past noon, he hadn’t paid her yet. She appeared to be fast asleep, though she’d kicked off the sheets and was displayed in an especially alluring pose—on her back, thighs parted, arms above her head, her breasts sweet, firm mounds. Elijah stopped to admire the girl and his body reacted just as it had several times the night before. She was probably no more than seventeen years old, but she already knew more than most American women about how to treat a man with respect and do as she was told. He knew when it came to sex, he could ask her to do anything. He dropped the thick white robe he’d worn back from his steam. He wore only shorts beneath it.

  He took a step toward the bed, then stopped. No, there was no time for that today. His Saudi friend was expecting a progress report this afternoon, and Elijah only had a few hours to come up with something to tell him. He walked over to the big picture window and drew open the curtains, revealing a deep blue sky over the city skyscrapers. He looked straight down twenty-seven floors at the tiny people walking the sidewalks along Ayala Boulevard. No more important than a train of ants leading back to their hill.

  He turned from the window and spoke to the naked girl. “Time to go,” he said. “Get up and get dressed.”

  She opened her eyes and formed her lips into a pout. “You come to bed?” she said.

  “Got to disappoint you this time, honey. You go on home.” He held up one hand with his fingers pointing downward, making like legs walking.

  She hopped out of the bed and came up behind him. She ran her hands over his back and made a sort of purring noise. “Your tattoo is very sexy.”

  Her warm hands on his sweaty back made him start to grow hard again. He thought of the massive dragon tattoo on his back as a source of his strength, and when women touched him there it went straight to his dick.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She walked around in front of him, her lovely naked backside to the glass. Fresh from the bed, her skin looked a rosy pink in the sunlight pouring through the window.

  He put his hand under her chin and tilted her up so she had to look him in the face. “That dragon you like so much? It’s there because I was born in the Chinese year of the Wood Dragon. That means I am a very powerful man.”

  She made that pout again and stood on her tiptoes, trying to kiss him. He had a better idea.

  He shoved down his shorts and kicked them across the room. Then he put his hand on top of Esmerelda’s head and pushed her down to her knees.

  Elijah reached forward, put his palms flat on the warm glass, and watched the ants crawl
ing around on the street as the girl worked on him. He flexed the muscles in his shoulders and knew that it caused the skin beneath his dragon to ripple, bringing the beast to life. He would collect his dragon sword and make the blade razor-sharp once more.

  He came just as he imagined swinging the dragon blade, causing all the ants to scatter.

  Elijah walked out to the suite’s living room, lifted the phone, and called room service. He ordered a late lunch for himself and extra coffee and cups. He asked that it be delivered in half an hour. Then he went to the room’s safe and removed his wallet. He knew better than to leave it in the room with a Filipina girl. He suspected she’d conducted a search the minute he left for his morning exercise.

  Esmerelda walked out of the bedroom wearing the low-cut minidress and platform shoes she’d had on when she’d arrived at his door the night before. He pointed to the table where he’d left the money and turned back to the window. She left without saying a word.

  After a shower and shave, and dressed in his best jeans and boots, Elijah stood in front of the huge bathroom mirror and tightened his bolo tie. He reached up and patted his hair, making sure not a single black hair was out of place, and stared into his own blue eyes.

  He was taking a tremendous risk by agreeing to Al’s proposal to cut the Enterprise out of this deal. You didn’t fuck with these guys without knowing that if they caught you, you’d be dead. But four million dollars? Some men wonder what their price is. Elijah now knew his. Maybe he’d take Caleb and Tess and head down to Argentina or Peru or South Africa. With the price of gold today, he knew his knowledge would be welcomed anyplace they were pulling the shiny stuff out of the ground.

  A knock on the door meant his lunch had arrived.

  Elijah had just started eating when the house phone rang and the desk told him that a Mr. Nils Skar was asking to see him. He told them to send him up, though Elijah found the man physically revolting. One would think that a true psychic would know better than to interrupt a man’s meal.

  He opened the door and told Skar to help himself to coffee while he finished eating. But when the man settled himself into the chair opposite and ran his hands over his long, stringy hair before grabbing a coffee cup, Elijah found his appetite gone. He pushed away the rest of his omelet and toast.

  “What have you found out?” Elijah asked.

  The Norwegian had just finished putting three sugars into his coffee cup and he held up his hand as he took a sip to test it. Elijah blotted his mouth with the cloth napkin and kept his eyes trained on Skar.

  After he swallowed, Skar nodded. “They make good coffee here,” he said.

  Elijah continued to stare without speaking.

  “Okay, okay. I just needed some coffee to get my brain working.” He rubbed his hands together, then placed them palms down on the table. “I’ve learned a few things about this John Paul Jones and his boat the Bonhomme Richard.”

  “That’s really his name?”

  “It is what he calls himself. As to his real name? I think not.”

  “Go on.”

  “He’s been in the Philippines just shy of two years. He befriended Brian Holmes, the wreck diver over in Subic Bay. He’s tried to keep a low profile while doing research on the sly on something called the Dragon’s Triangle.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “I bought drinks for some of the regulars at Holmes’s bar. They overheard Jones talking to Holmes about it. They said it was an area of ocean north of the Philippines that’s like the Bermuda Triangle.”

  “What about before he came to Luzon?”

  “That’s the thing. His boat was registered in the Cayman Islands a few years ago, but before that I can’t find much record of him or the boat. Both seemed to appear out of thin air.”

  Elijah pushed his chair back and stood. He crossed over to the window and stared out at the city. “And what about the woman? What did you learn about her?”

  “That’s where it gets interesting.”

  “Spare me the commentary, Skar. Just give me the information.”

  “There’s plenty about her out there. I got her name from the US Coast Guard documentation database. There was only one sailboat named Bonefish listed. She served for seven years with the US Marines. There are several old news articles from 2008 when she was involved with a boating accident off Guadeloupe in the Caribbean. There was an explosion and two men went missing and are presumed dead. One of two was a maritime archaeologist who was apparently looking for the wreck of a World War II submarine called the Surcouf.”

  Elijah’s head swung around slowly. “She’s that woman sailor?”

  “You know this story?”

  Elijah said nothing.

  “Well, unless she has some sort of fetish for male treasure hunters, there’s a good chance that our Mr. Jones might be the guy who went missing four years ago. If only we can establish some connection between the two of them.”

  They were interrupted by a knock on the hotel room door. Elijah assumed it was the room-service attendant returning to clean up. He crossed to the door and opened it.

  Benny stood outside.

  “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be out on Corregidor.” Elijah stepped aside so the man could enter.

  “My phone died. I saw her boat pass by last night. I waited until morning and took the ferry back to Manila so I could report to you. But by the time I got to the yacht club she and the old man were leaving.”

  “I assume you followed them.”

  Benny nodded. “But I lost them.”

  Elijah leapt forward and grabbed Benny by the front of his shirt. “You fucking stupid savage.” He pulled Benny close. “You were outsmarted again by this girl?”

  Elijah wanted to see fear in the man’s eyes. Instead he saw a blank face, and those dark, almost black eyes were trying to burn a hole right through him.

  Benny said, “They went straight to the docks by Rizal Park and they got on a seaplane. There was no way I could follow. The plane headed north.”

  Nils Skar interrupted. “Can you describe the plane?”

  “Just a seaplane. It did have a name on the side. It said ‘Gama’s Resort and Dive Center.’”

  Skar grabbed Elijah’s arm. “That’s Brian Holmes’s plane. There’s our connection.”

  Subic Bay, Luzon

  The Philippines

  December 3, 2012

  Greg opened the door to the room, stepped back, and handed Riley the key. “There you go. You’ll be in here and”—she pointed down the open corridor—“Irv, you’ll be right next door.”

  Irv gave Riley the thumbs-up sign and said, “Constant togetherness is fine—but only for Siamese twins.”

  Riley rolled her eyes at him.

  “This is a dive resort so the rooms aren’t fancy, but they’re clean,” Greg continued.

  “It looks great to me,” Riley said. “After almost two weeks at sea, I’m heading straight to the shower.”

  “Okay. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, come on down to the restaurant and we’ll talk about tomorrow. I know you are anxious to join the Bonhomme Richard, but there just wasn’t enough time to refuel and make it up there in daylight today.”

  Night had fallen by the time Riley left her room and headed to the bar. It was more crowded now than it had been when they’d arrived and Brian had taxied the seaplane right up to the floating dock in front of the restaurant and dive center. There was a flat-screen TV above the bar and though the sound was muted, Riley saw the headline “Typhoon Bopha takes aim at Mindanao with winds of 250 km/hr.”

  The crowd was mostly Caucasian men, a few with Filipina wives or girlfriends. They all seemed to know Brian, who was holding court behind the bar. He was in the middle of a story when he spotted her.

  “Riley, welcome to Gama’s!” he shouted. His Australian accent was even thicker than it had been
earlier.

  She leaned over the bar. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything,” he said. “Just ask.”

  “Have you got any way to contact the Bonhomme Richard?”

  “Sure. I’ve got a radio in my office and we usually chat in the evenings about this time.”

  “Could I—”

  “Follow me.” Brian came out from behind the bar and led Riley from the room and down a hall. He opened a door and switched on the light.

  What he referred to as his office looked a lot more like a workshop to her. There was a long table in the middle of the room on which were several artifacts in various stages of restoration. One piece looked like a blob of coral, while another was a perfect blue-and-white porcelain Chinese jar. The design on the jar was of frothy waves at the bottom and several winged dragons flying around above the waves.

  Brian sat at a desk along the wall of the room and turned on a single-sideband radio. “Those boys are frustrated. This ought to cheer them right up.” He only called their boat name a couple of times before Cole replied. Riley smiled when she heard his voice.

  “Bonhomme Richard, I’ve got a young lady here who would like to talk to you. I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Brian handed her the mike and closed the door on his way out.

  “Hey, Cole.”

  “You made it. I was getting worried about you. The southern islands are getting slammed by this typhoon.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty glad to be here, too. My boat’s at the Manila Yacht Club. How are things with you?”

  “Frustrating. We know it’s here somewhere, but we’re having no luck.”

  “Well, I’ve spent some time with an expert. Remember Irv?”

  “Yeah. The old guy from Bangkok?”

  “Right. He and I have been going over some things.”

  “Please tell me you’re not sharing information with him. Riley, I don’t trust him.”

  She wasn’t sure how she was going to explain to Cole that she’d been sharing her boat with him. “I know that. But Brian is going to fly us up tomorrow afternoon. Can you meet us off the island that is to the southeast of you? If you head out in the morning, you could be there by noon, right?”