The Mystery of Yamashita's Map

by James McKenzie

  The man lifted the professor up off of his knees and onto his feet. He took him by the hand and led him down the tunnel. As they walked, a strange eerie glow lit the tunnel and the professor was able to see the marks in the earth that had been left by the diggers. Here and there were finger marks scratched into the tunnel’s surface – a testament to the last few desperate hours spent here. He followed his guide deeper and deeper into the tunnel; the air became thicker and thicker but somehow it did not worry the professor any more. He held onto the hand of the man in front who walked with a sure-footed step and was happy to be led wherever he wished. Eventually they came to a door and they both stood for a moment.

  Lisa tried to wake the professor to tell him that she had found three Amichis but no matter how hard she tried he would not budge and his snoring, quite frankly, was becoming a little embarrassing in the University library. His face had a kind of calm written upon it that she had never seen before so she decided to leave him and go to the refectory for a coffee instead. Sitting at a table drinking it, she idly glanced through the copy of the army register. Without quite being aware of what was happening, her attention was drawn to the street below and to the form of a running man. For the second time that week she watched a person weave in and out of the crowds below, desperate to get away; this time, however, they did not enter the University doors but kept on going, towards the docks. Looking along the street, Lisa saw three others chasing him. They were all wearing black suits and were finding it difficult to keep up. To her surprise one of the men pulled out a gun and fired it at the fleeing man, who ducked into a side street, the bullet missing him and hitting the side of a building instead, sending a shower of brick dust into the air. There were screams from the street. In the alley, Joe breathed heavily. The day had started badly and had got worse. He had met guys like this before but they had always given up by this point. It was a strange sensation to have to watch your back as soon as you woke up; an almost impossibility to everyone but a contortionist.

  He peered out of the alley and looked around him. He couldn’t see them anymore, only the hole in the building that they had left. His glance took his eye up to the window of the university where the eyes of a pretty girl met his; they both looked away in embarrassment. He quickly looked around him and darted off down the street. Swinging on the awning that stood outside, he ducked into the Club One Hundred, a place where he had spent many an afternoon in recent weeks staring into the bottom of a glass and trying to block out the sound of the awful music they played constantly through large speakers on the wall. Of course, the music was made somewhat more bearable by the presence of the Club One Hundred dancers, who would give you anything you wanted for the price of the name of the club. Inside it was as dark as it always was. That was why Joe liked it there. It was too dark to see anyone’s face clearly so you blended into the background without risking too much. He strode up to the bar and ordered a drink. The barman turned slowly. ‘You back again?’ he said in a clipped tone. Joe looked sheepish. The last time he had been in the Club One Hundred he had been rather the worse for wear and had started a fight over the price of a book of matches; looking back he could see their point, it was only ten cents but at the time it had seemed extortionate. He gave a wry smile to the waiter. ‘Yeah . . . erm . . . you got that drink?’

  ‘You want a match?’

  Joe laughed and the memory of the beating he took from the doormen came back to him in a flash. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I bought a lighter.’

  ‘Very wise,’ the barman said. ‘Very wise.’

  The music suddenly changed and the lights went even dimmer than usual. Joe turned around and propped himself up on the bar. Beside him the barman placed a small grubby glass with thick brown liquid in it. Joe took a swig and felt it hit him like a Hong Kong doorman – fast and low.

  On the stage, the curtains opened to reveal a woman in a pair of boots and very little else. As Joe watched she writhed on the stage and turned and shook like a strange exotic play of light. Her body sparkled in the dim glow of the club and shot waves of energy to anyone who had come in out of the afternoon sunshine. Joe stared, his eyes desperate to take in everything they could. He reached into his pocket and felt the last of the grand that he had been paid. It must have been at least five hundred dollars.

  He ordered another drink and sat on a bar stool to take in more of the girl on stage. Her eyes were half closed in a languid display of orgasmic tension. She would twirl around the pole in the centre of the stage, glide up it, licking its shiny surface and letting the coldness touch her skin. Joe brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead and let another run down his spine. The girl’s set was coming to an end. She gave a final twist to the pole and fell, clinging to it, to the ground.

  The music stopped and she sat, head bowed, staring at the stage. The club was silent. Slowly, from the back Joe began to applaud. Only his hands could be heard clapping in the silence of the club. He stopped. Their eyes met for a moment, and the girl got up, thanked her audience and left.

  Joe turned round to the barman and lit a cigarette. ‘Who’s she? Haven’t seen her before,’ he said.

  ‘She’s new, straight in from the mainland. She’s cute, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s cute.’

  ‘You want me to have a word with her?’ the barman asked.

  Joe thought for a moment. He felt the money in his pocket again. It’s moments like these, he thought, that you need to make the right decision. It’s moments like these that need a cool head and a wise brain. I need to weigh up the pros and cons here, take each decision as it comes. I only have this five hundred dollars left, when that’s gone there’s nothing. I have no plane and no job. I have some guys after me who want my blood and the police aren’t too happy to see my face either. He thought hard and long.

  ‘Yeah, sure. Why not?’ he said and ordered another drink.

  She had the eyes of a cat and the long black hair of a horse’s mane. She moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew what she was doing to those around her. Joe watched as she crossed the club, her heels making a slight clicking on the dance floor that was quite audible above the sound of the music. Her dress was open at the front and allowed him to glimpse the pure honeyed tone of her chest. Joe swallowed a mouthful of the cheap bourbon and the two things together – the booze and the girl – made him choke.

  She eased her way onto the seat next to him.

  ‘You want a drink?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Whatever you’re having.’

  Joe hesitated. There was something about a woman who could take strong liquor; perhaps it was his innate sexism but somehow it made him nervous. He shrugged it off and ordered.

  ‘You from China?’ he asked and she nodded. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Gem.’

  This took Joe by surprise. He had expected a Chinese name, though he did not push. He guessed it was her stage name.

  ‘Nice, like a diamond,’ he said feebly and the girl made an attempt at laughter. Joe gave her the drink and she looked at him with those eyes of hers. Quietly she leaned forward to whisper in Joe’s ear.

  ‘You want to go somewhere else?’ she asked and for the second time that day the situation and the drink got the better of Joe and he coughed in his glass.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, composing himself. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll just get my things.’

  Joe paid up and waited for the girl to come out from her dressing room. He knew a small place where they could go for only a few dollars. Hong Kong was full of places where you could go for an hour or so and no one would ask you what you were doing or, more importantly, who you were doing it to.

  Outside the day was in full swing. As they came blinking into the sunlight like two moles exiting their burrow they crossed over the road and entered the front door of a small hotel that catered for the patrons of the Club One Hundred on numerous occasions.

  The guy behind the counter found them a room and
they ascended the stairs. Inside it looked as though the previous occupants had only just left and had had a fine old time. There were beer bottles and cigarette stubs on the bed, condoms in the toilet, the TV had been stolen leaving only a bare wire and an aerial, and the smell of sweat and bodies permeated the air. Joe gingerly stepped over the detritus of someone else’s good time and sat on the bed. Gem sat beside him. He held her face and they kissed for what seemed like minutes. Joe felt as though he had found the calm in the eye of the hurricane with this quite beautiful girl he hardly even knew. As he felt her hair and her body his hands rejoiced that, finally, they had something worthy to touch; her breasts were firm and rounded, her thighs were small and smooth. Joe lay back and pulled her beside him, feeling the light breath from her mouth flick over his face.

  The breeze gently roughed his hair and everything was quiet. The hands upon his shoulders were gentle but heavy. For some reason he looked up and saw the face of a man staring at him; the eyes were gentle and still and seemed to fill Joe with a calm and an awe that left him breathless. All about him the tunnel was becoming lighter, things were becoming clearer. It was obvious now that whoever this man was he was leading Joe to some other place, some place that was dangerous but that was vital and important. Joe closed his eyes and let the man lead wherever he needed to. His feet scraped and tore at the earth, his legs moved through their own volition.

  Joe awoke and saw that the sun was just going down. It took him a while to realise where he was and what had happened. He looked around him. The girl was gone and the mess in the room remained. He stroked his head and wondered what had been in the drink he’d been served. He felt as though he had been sat on by a rhino. Suddenly he thought and checked his pockets. The five hundred was gone. Meanwhile in the library Lisa looked up from the book with triumph. ‘Captain Amichi,’ she said. ‘Served under a General Takimoto in the Philippines. Had an honourable career until his disappearance just before the war ended.’ The professor opened an eye and stared at the ceiling. He placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. ‘What’s that book?’ ‘A history of the Japanese military. He barely gets a mention and then only because of his disappearance.’

  ‘Does it say why he went missing?’

  ‘No, just that he was in the Philippines and that he went missing before the end of the war.’

  ‘It would explain why he went into hiding.’

  Lisa read from the book: ‘A certain Captain Amichi, who had served under General Takimoto, disgraced himself in the eyes of the Imperial Army by deserting shortly after a period of serving in the company of General Yamashita. Yamashita will be well known to the reader of this volume.’ That’s it, that’s all there is on him. There’s still not a lot to go on, is there, uncle? Uncle?’

  The professor’s eyes had glazed over and he stared ahead of him like a man possessed by some strange spirit. His face shone with an inner light that seemed to illuminate the entire library. Lisa put the book on the desk and leaned further towards her uncle.

  ‘Uncle?’ she asked. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Read that again, Lisa. Read it again.’

  Lisa read it again. The professor’s mouth lifted slowly at the corners until he broke out into the biggest grin Lisa had ever seen him produce.

  ‘Amichi . . .’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Yamashita!!!’

  Lisa shook him by the arm. ‘Uncle, are you OK? What’s the matter? Do you know this Yamashita? Have you heard about him?’

  The professor slowly turned his head and looked at Lisa, his eyes barely registering her presence. ‘The dreams. They have been leading me here all along. Oh, those spirits of the forest, they know how to get their man.’

  ‘What are you talking about, uncle? What’s the matter? Who is Yamashita?’

  ‘It was during the war. People did bad things, people looked out for themselves. I thought it wasn’t true, I thought it couldn’t be true but here it is, this proves it, this proves it exists.’

  ‘What, uncle? Tell me. This proves what?’

  Her uncle sat bolt upright, the light still shining out of his eyes and Lisa thought he looked young again. It was as if the news, whatever was in his head, had taken the lines from his face, blackened the grey in his hair and made him a boy again.

  ‘Yamashita’s gold,’ he said at last, barely able to contain his excitement. He clasped his hands together and his eyes opened wide. ‘Amichi’s map – it must be for Yamashita’s gold.’

  Chapter Five

  Lisa and the professor sat across from each other in the University canteen, staring into their respective cups of steaming beverage: Lisa with hot chocolate, the professor camomile tea. For at least ten minutes neither had said a word to the other and the only sound they heard was the dull roar of a fairly busy restaurant: people coming and going, plates being stacked, the buzz of voices as people made their way to their tables. The professor held his cup in both hands and circled it in his saucer; Lisa occasionally dipped a little finger into the liquid, pulled it out covered in chocolate and licked it – more for something to do than actually wanting to taste it. The full meaning of their discovery of the morning had not sunk into either of their minds but it kept circling them. Suddenly, breaking the silence, the professor spoke: ‘Of course, this could be the making of us.’ Lisa did not answer.

  ‘The mystery of Yamashita’s gold has puzzled experts for years, ever since his death in 1946. There were rumours of what he had done but no one has ever authenticated it.’

  ‘Do you think we can? Do you think this does?’ she asked.

  The professor lowered his eyes. ‘The romantic in me says yes. The scholar says no. After all, what have we but a map that purports to be from a captain we are not sure exists from a time and battalion we don’t know existed in a place we don’t know?’

  Lisa stirred her chocolate. ‘But the girl, uncle, the girl was murdered for that map. And those men, why would they do that to your apartment if it wasn’t important, if they didn’t think you were on to something?’

  The professor thought, ‘Yes, of course you are right.’ Then he slapped his head. ‘Anderson! Why didn’t I think of him first?’

  ‘Who’s Anderson?’

  ‘An expert on Japanese military history. He’s an Englishman, his family moved over here about twenty years ago. They moved back and he stayed here. I’m sure he’d know if there were any truth in the stories or the map.’

  ‘But where is he, uncle? Is he far away?’

  Her uncle chuckled to himself. ‘About a hundred yards,’ he said, and pointed in the direction of the corridor.

  Lisa and her uncle set off down the corridor. Lisa expected them to turn right into the stairwell that led to the history department. She stopped at the top of the stairs and waited for her uncle but to her surprise he wandered straight past her and carried on down the hall. Lisa sighed to herself. She was used to her uncle’s little inconsistencies. She was used to him not knowing what day it was or that he had put on the wrong shirt with the wrong tie but, she thought to herself, considering all the time he had been at the university she might have assumed that he knew his way around.

  ‘Uncle!’ she called after him. ‘The history block is on 2B.’

  Her uncle shuffled ahead and turned back to face her. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But maintenance is on 3F.’

  Lisa was taken aback for a moment but eventually followed her uncle.

  The door was barely noticeable among the discarded waste paper baskets and the old vending machines that stood around like open bodies in a graveyard, their bright lights dimmed by time and neglect. On the floor, wires and sockets and tape and all manner of things stuck to their feet at every step. Lisa carefully picked her way through it all.

  ‘Uncle,’ she said. ‘What the hell are we doing here?’

  Her uncle stopped by a tiny blue door that was no bigger than himself. He turned round and put his finger to his lip.

  ‘Quiet, he is often asleep.�
� Gently, the professor knocked on the door and listened. Nothing. He tapped again and still nothing. Then, slowly, Lisa began to hear a shuffling. It was slight at first and then got louder and louder until, after a series of locks were pulled back, opened and set free, a small face appeared at the door, blinking in the sunlight like a mole.