Tainted Treasure (China Marine) Page 2

  Time had worked against the two. Fifteen years in Leavenworth, and then finding out the new Communist government had kicked all foreign nationals, including the Marines, out of China in 1949.

  When the two got out of prison, Stan pissed away what little money he had saved, and he did more time for armed robbery and other crimes. Joe waited patiently; times would change. When Nixon and Kissinger opened trade with Communist China in the late 1970’s, Joe knew it was time to go for the money.

  But a bout with cancer stopped him. His time was limited with only a few months to live. He needed help to get his money, and who the hell did he turn to for help—good old stupid Harry Martin, the guy who‘s testimony had helped send him to prison.

  Harry recalled vividly that fateful phone call this past January night, the call that turned his life around big time. Joe Gionetti calling from the local VA hospital. Could they meet, Joe had pleaded. It was urgent. They met at the hospital. Joe told him that he had left all his black market money stashed in the old Marine Corps barracks in Tsingtao, over two million dollars. Harry recalled almost falling off his chair, especially when Joe asked him to go and get the money. They argued; the money couldn’t be there, not after thirty years. Yet Joe had convinced him the money was there. They swore partnership. Now, Joe said, his partner should go back to China and retrieve the cache of money. He even gave him the exact location in the old barracks building.

  Bring it back and we’ll split fifty-fifty partner, he’d said; old Joe just wanted one more good fling with broads, booze and sex. He should have walked away right then; the whole deal was too far-fetched, but he didn’t.

  It had been a stroke of pure luck that very same night when he ran into First Officer Peter Selham at the Pub in Saginaw. Over a few friendly beers he found out Peter’s ship, Otto J. Nurad, was now loading grain for shipment to China: Shanghai and Tsingtao. It was his ticket to Tsingtao and the hidden cache of money!

  And then all hell broke loose. Harry didn’t want to think about that; about the murders of Joe and poor innocent Sandy, the love of his life; it was too painful. He knew it was Stan who killed Joe. Stan knew about the cache. He’d beat the information out of Joe back in Newark, but Joe had run away without telling Stan exactly where it was, and ended up here in Saginaw. Stan had tracked him down. He probably figured Joe told him where the money was stashed.

  Harry recalled sitting in his car that cold night sipping coffee at a drive-in, and weighing the events that had happened that night. He had to run for his life, and in so doing, he‘d made the fateful decision to go for the money.

  Stan had dogged him every step of the way from Saginaw half way around the world to Shanghai and Tsingtao, or as Mr. Ma had corrected yesterday, Qingdao.

  And it was Stan and Mr. Ma who were waiting for him last night!

  Leaving Osa behind at the Tivoli nursing a drink was a smart move, at least she’d be safe as he went for the money. How was he to know Mr. Ma would lure her from the restaurant by telling her Harry was injured. Naturally she came, and then she was caught up in the trap

  Stan and Mr. Ma had waited patiently in the basement of the Fine Arts building. They had left a door unlocked knowing Harry had to make his move tonight.

  Harry shook his head; the unlocked door had been a perfect invitation and like a dumb hick, he’d taken it. The two captured him immediately, tying his wrists behind him, then took him to a small room in the basement. Stan had flicked on the light, As he did, Harry’s heart sank. Osa lay gagged and trussed up in the corner.

  Stan had beaten him badly, slammed him into the wall, face bloodied. To save Osa, he begrudgingly told them the money was in the fourth floor storage room. The foursome moved upstairs to the storage room, cut the lock, and entered.

  In the dim light from a single bulb, they saw it was a storage room with several boxes, a dusty old chimney, and one plain plaster wall. It’s in the wall, Harry recalled telling them. He and Osa had been dumped by the old chimney while Stan and Mr. Ma punched dozens of holes in the wall, but no treasure. Stan pushed the action to the limit, a raving madman!

  There was no way he and Osa were going to get out of that damned room alive. Bound with rope, both of them lay back against the dusty, rough brick chimney watching as Stan and Mr. Ma continued punching hole after hole in the wall looking for the hidden money. Harry knew the minute he told the two exactly where the money was hidden, he and Osa were as good as dead. The poor girl was frightened to death. As long as he let them vent their anger at the wall, he and Osa stood a chance, slim as it was, it was still a chance.

  When that one brick he’d been fraying the rope tied around his wrists against had pulled loose from the chimney, he thought he was done. But then, for some odd reason, he had eased the brick aside and felt inside the opening. His fingers touched cloth.

  His thoughts flew back to that time thirty years ago, the day he‘d hidden his cloth encased K-bar knife in this secret spot in the chimney to keep it from being stolen during an M.P. sweep of the barracks.

  Quietly, he had eased the cloth from it‘s hiding place, unwrapped it, and touched the knife blade. It was as sharp as the day he had hidden it so long ago. Deftly, he had cut the rope freeing his wrists. Now he held the knife in his grasp, ready.

  At that moment Stan came back, gasping, sweating, and swearing. He had cocked his gun, pressing the silencer-fitted barrel tight to Harry’s temple, told him this was it, that if he couldn‘t have the money, neither would he!

  Harry knew this was it, he had to act, and act he did with the swiftness of lightning, driving the knife’s sharp tip deep into Stan’s gut, ripping into his heart. At the same moment he wrested Stan’s gun from his lifeless hand and, before a startled Mr. Ma could react, had fired Stan’s gun, the shot killing Mr. Ma instantly.

  Terror-stricken Osa had screamed hysterically into her gag.

  Harry tore the gag away and covered her mouth with his hand, ordering her to keep quiet. They had listened for several minutes. Nothing. It was then he realized there was no one outside the storage room door. At that instant, he knew he had to act. He had to go for the money now! Stepping to the door, he locked it.

  Ignoring Osa’s pleas to flee, to escape from this mad room, he bent to the task he had practiced so many times aboard ship. In a matter of minutes, he had unscrewed the cover to the heat register, reached inside, pulled out the black plastic bags of money, and then, before a totally startled Osa, proceeded to fill his many Velcro covered jacket pockets, and his seabag with money, scads of money.

  In order to make it appear like a falling out between two people, he had put the gun back in Stan’s hand, and molded the knife into Mr. Ma’s hand—and then hidden Mr. Ma’s gun and the ropes that had bound their wrists in the chimney opening, and then stuffed the brick back in place. Tidy.

  They had escaped through a secret hidden door the Marines had built into the other wall back in 1948, made their way down steps built in the side of the building by the same Marines, and faded into the darkness of Qingdao. Beat up as he was from being pounded time and again by Stan and Mr. Ma, he and Osa had made it safely back to the ship. Over a bottle of cognac, they had counted over two million dollars, had killed a bottle of cognac, and had made glorious love after he proposed to her.

  A smile crossed his face. Yes, he truly meant it when he proposed to her. She was definitely his girl. She had helped him, but moreso, he really loved her. She was it!

  He glanced over at her behind the serving line. Their eyes met but for a moment bringing a hesitant, somewhat contorted smile that dissolved almost instantly as tears blurred her eyes, then traced down her cheeks.. She rubbed at her eyes with her left hand, dropped her serving ladle and, suddenly fled from the galley. Harry frowned. What now, he wondered.

  He found her back in her office at the rear of the galley a few minutes later. She was bent over her small desk, head resting on her right arm, and sobbing her heart out.

  “Osa, what’s the matter?” Har
ry asked.

  She looked up at him through tear-stained eyes, gasping as she answered. “I-I tink about last night—dos two men. Dey are dead! Ve should call der police! Ve should explain to dem about dos two men, vat dey did to us—”

  “No!” exclaimed Harry, holding up his hand. “No police!”

  “But Harry—” she started to argue.

  “No police!” he reiterated. “I’m serious. No police!”

  He dropped his large frame into the small chair facing her desk. “If we talk to the police, we’ll be tied up here in Qingdao jails and courts for weeks, months or more—and we could be sentenced to jail for a hell of a long time. Sure we could tell the police exactly what happened—but would they believe us, two foreigners? And how could we explain the money? We have no idea of what the current attitude is toward outsiders in this communist nation. We could even be sentenced to death!”

  Reaching out, he grasped her two hands in his. “Those two were going to kill us. There’s no doubt in my mind that if they had found the money, it would be you and I lying up there in that damned room rotting. No. I’m very serious about this. No police.”

  Osa sat startled at the seriousness in his voice, in the look on his face. What kind of man was this? He had killed two men last night, killed them in an instant and showed no remorse. What kind of man was she engaged to? And yet he made sense: there was no telling what the Communist courts would impose, even if they understood the danger the two were in. No, he was right. No police.

  “I know you want to do the right thing,” Harry said, his voice softer, not as harsh as only moments before, “but stop and think. They were going to kill you—kill us. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Never. The money was important— that’s why I’m here—but it would mean nothing if I didn’t have you. Do you understand what I’m saying? I love you.”

  Blinking back tears, Osa beamed. He did love her. He would kill for her—had killed already to save her. Deep inside, she knew he was the strong man she had wanted all these years. But the two murders—

  “You, yourself, may run into a situation some time in your life where you will have to make a life or death decision like I did,” Harry continued, trying to make his point as to why he didn’t want the police involved, why he had done what he had had to do. “It may never happen, but if it did, would you be up to it? Would you be able to take a life to save your own?”

  Osa pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the tears, then softly blew her nose as she sat back in her chair looking at him. The question he had just posed put her mind in a whirl. What he had done, and done so swiftly; could she have done that? Would she have done that last night if it was up to her?

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you’re right. It’s chust dat—” The comment was left unfinished as she rose from her chair and came around the desk stopping before him. “I love you, Harry Martin. I really do,” she said easing onto his lap. She pressed her cheek against his neck. He could feel the softness of her breath, caught the little gasps still lingering from her crying. He raised her face to his and kissed her. It was a soft, lingering kiss. “And I love you,” he whispered.

  “Halloo!!!” came the booming voice of Captain Andress. “Anybody home?”

  “Uncle Karl!” Osa gasped jumping off Harry’s lap. ”Stay,” she hissed, as she rushed out the doorway into the galley. “Uncle Karl,” she exclaimed, “I vundered if you ver skipping breakfast. I vas just getting ready to close down der serving table. Is every ting okay? Are ve ready to sail?”

  “Yah. Soon. I’m vaiting for dat damned Mr. Ma to show up. He said he vanted to see us off today. He’s late.”

  “Oh!” she gasped, then quickly grabbed a coffee cup and rushed behind the counter to fill it. “Hot coffee,” she offered with a quick smile.

  “Have you been crying?” Andress asked studying her face.

  “No. I got some mascara in my eyes. Dey burned, so I been rubbing dem,” she lied. “Here, I fix you a plate of food. Pancakes, sausage, scrambled eggs, toast and jelly and more coffee—”

  Andress laughed. “Hold on girl. You are chust too good a cook. If I could promote you, I vould—chust like I promoted Sigmund. I haf made him my First Officer.”

  “Really?” she shrieked, snapping around and looking at him. “Sigmund! Yah, he is a good choice. He vill be an excellent First Officer.”

  “Yah. I have a lot of faith in him. He vill do der job vell.”

  She set a full plate of food before him. “Eat. Enjoy. Hans vill clean up der galley. I must go to der storeroom and check supplies.” With that, she hastily walked away.

  Harry sat quietly in the small office. He had heard. Waiting for Mr. Ma; that would be one hell of a long wait!

  “Excuse me, Captain Andress,” Hans said stopping before the captain. “Ve haf a visitor on deck looking for you. Colonel Wen Pui?”

  “Yes. Good. I be right up,” Andress said washing down a mouthful of pancakes and sausage with hot coffee. “I’m on my vay.”

  Two seconds later Harry was out of the galley and heading for the bridge. He wanted to be one of the first to congratulate Sigmund. He would indeed make a good First Officer.

  CHAPTER 3

  Wedding Plans

  “Good morning, Colonel Pui,” beamed Captain Andress arriving on the bridge to greet his visitor. “Good to see you. Vere is Mr. Ma?”

  Colonel Pui broke into a big toothy smile at the greeting from Captain Andress. “I have no idea. I thought he would be here to bid you farewell—”

  His voice choked off at the sight of Harry Martin walking toward them. His face went blank, then suddenly rigid, jaw line tightening. “I must go and find Mr. Ma,” he exclaimed, turning abruptly, pushing his way back through the door, hurrying down the gangway in the rain to his waiting car. In moments his brown military car sped off and disappeared around the corner.

  “Dat vas strange,” Captain Andress said.

  “What?” Harry asked stopping beside him.

  “Der colonel looked like he saw a ghost and suddenly he left saying he had to find Mr. Ma. Vell, I hope he does. I vant to get undervay.”

  “Strange, these Chinese,” Harry commented. “Hard to figure out.”

  “I expected Mr. Ma first ting dis morning. I vant to get undervay. He is a no-show. Vas he like dat before?”

  Harry shrugged. “Yeah. He was never that dependable as I recall. He may not show up at all.”

  “Give Sigmund a hand,” Andress said gruffly. “Get ready to sail.”

  “Aye, Aye, Sir,” Harry snapped throwing a sharp salute. An-dress grinned. “Ahhh, Harry, you make fun of me, yah?”

  “Yah.” Harry laughed. “Hell, you’ve got to have some fun in life.” The Captain slapped him solidly on his shoulder. “Yah, fun. Okay, but later.” He brushed past Harry and left the bridge.

  Harry turned to Sigmund and threw a smart salute. “Reporting for duty, Sir,” he grinned. “And I want to be one of the first to congratulate you on your promotion. A very good choice. But, then, you deserve it.”

  “Tank you, Harry,” Sigmund beamed. “I am pleased; I vill do a good job.”

  “I know you will,” Harry replied grabbing Sigmund’s hand, shaking it. “I know you will. Now, how about a cup of coffee before we tackle the work. I see you’ve got a fresh pot over there by the chart table.”

  Osa stood in the storeroom with a clipboard, packet of papers and pen in hand. She had ordered fresh supplies yesterday from the dock facilities store while her uncle, Sigmund and Harry had gone to lunch with Mr. Ma. In her haste to get ready to go to town with Harry last evening she had not really checked her purchases as thoroughly as she would normally have done.

  Over the next hour she checked her inventory sheets of stock and verified against all the new canned goods, fresh fruit, meat and other supplies in the storeroom and cooler. It was all here. She had a hungry crew to feed on the way back across the Pacific Ocean to Saginaw, and they did enjoy
her cooking.

  All of a sudden she broke into laughter. Here she was with a master’s degree in home economics, a highly recognized professor at the University of Stockholm, and yet, at this moment she was half way around the world in China serving as a cook aboard the Swedish ship, Otto J. Nurad.

  If it hadn’t been for her uncle’s graciousness after the death of her husband, Rudy, with that young whore back in Stockholm, she’d have been that new widow facing gossip and scrutiny of relatives, friends and the public about the painful event. But Uncle Karl had talked her into serving as cook on board Nurad after his cook retired. Although reticent at first, she had to admit, it was interesting cooking for a large crew of sailors, and seeing the world.

  Her grin widened at the thought of Harry Martin, at the awkward way they had first met bumping into each other in the corridor that one day. It was definitely not love at first sight. That night in Shanghai had changed all that. She knew now she was finally in love with a wonderful man, a man that cared, a man that made her enjoy being a woman, had brought out the sensual, sexual side of her. “Mrs. Harry Martin,” she whispered with eyes closed, what joy he brought to her. “Mrs. Harry Martin.”

  Suddenly she burst into tears. She couldn’t help it for with her eyes closed she also vividly recalled the lifeless bodies of those two men lying before her last night. Blood ran from their bodies in an endless stream, oozing out from each body and spreading out in a puddle of red across the floor They were horrible men. She was sure they would have killed her and Harry—but it sickened her that it came to such a deadly moment, such a deadly ending. Harry was right. Forget it. Move on with her life.

  “Osa!”

  Osa stiffened. She whirled around facing her uncle who had just stepped into the storeroom.

  “Vat’s der matter?” he demanded at seeing tears streaming down her cheeks. “Vy are you crying?”

  “I-uh-I—”