The Manila Deception Page 5

  Leather frowned. “I can’t talk you out of it?”

  “No, unfortunately this is just too important.”

  “Is this job-related?”

  “Yes. We might have a line on where to find Yamashita’s Gold.”

  “I’ve heard of that, I think.”

  “It’s the gold the Japanese looted during the war. Worth perhaps hundreds of billions.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  “Yes. So, needless to say, secrecy is important, and unfortunately, it’s in Mindanao where there are several active Islamic terrorist groups, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “You’re not.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think you’re crazy to go in there, ma’am, but I also know I’ll never talk you out of it.”

  “Can you send a team to meet us in Manila?”

  “I’ll come myself. I know some good men that are local. Too many Caucasians and we’ll attract attention. When will you be arriving?”

  “It’s a seventeen-hour flight, so let’s say twenty-four-hours.”

  “Very well. I’ll be there to meet you.”

  “You can get there before us?”

  “I’m already closer, ma’am.”

  She chuckled. “Sometimes I forget the world isn’t flat.” She paused. “Do you really expect trouble?”

  “Ma’am, it’s the Philippines, which means corrupt government officials are always a problem, but that’s just a money thing. Greased palms always get you out of those things. You’re coming in on a private jet, so they won’t bother you. They’ll be too scared you’re somebody important who can cause trouble for them. Just don’t let anything out of your sight. When we get into the city, it’s the normal petty crime stuff you’re used to in any third world country. We’ll try to minimize your exposure. It’s Mindanao that’s the problem. We’ll try to keep as low a profile as possible, but if we run into trouble, my men are trained for this. We’ll have satcoms as well with another team on standby if it turns into a hostage situation. Normally, they kidnap for ransom rather than just kill.”

  “Now you’ve got me really nervous.”

  “I won’t lie to you, ma’am, it’s a risk, but I also like to practice an overabundance of caution when it comes to my clients’ safety.”

  “And we love you for that. I’ll try to put it out of my mind, then. We’ll see you tomorrow in Manila.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He ended the call and turned to Adelaide.

  “Now you’ve got me worried.”

  He grunted. “Just another day in the life of a hero.”

  She laughed. “And God’s gift to mankind?”

  He shrugged. “Hey, you said it.”

  She rose to her knees and pulled him back into the bed, pushing him on his back. “Well, God’s gift, how much time do we have?”

  “I’ve got to make a few calls, then maybe a couple of hours.”

  She straddled him. “Then don’t let me interrupt you. I just need a few minutes.”

  He dialed his second-in-command, Warren Reese, then groaned. “You’re evil.”

  “I’m busy.”

  He ended the call before Reese could answer, and instead sent a text, each word more difficult to type than the last.

  He hit send.

  “You’ve got five minutes.”

  She moaned. “I don’t need it.”

  He grinned. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  She stared down at him, lust in her eyes. “Just one?”

  He grabbed her breasts. “I can think of two more right now.”

  14 |

  Mindanao, The Philippines November 6th, 1944

  Every structure within sight was engulfed in flames, the fields of crops and the jungle lit with an eerie orange glow as embers and smoke drifted high into the night sky. Scores of vehicles had been cycling through the small village for two days, unloading their cargo then continuing farther along the trail as there was no room to turn around until the entire convoy made it through. And their backbreaking work was finally done. The trucks were fully loaded with the personnel he had brought, and everyone but the drivers were once again blindfolded, the canvas backs of the transports closed tight to minimize the usefulness of any peeking that might occur.

  For men were curious, and someone was bound to wonder where they had been, and how to get back here. Though none knew what their cargo was, he was certain some suspected. If they had thought it was merely supplies and weapons, they were cured of that error when the villagers were sealed inside.

  Why kill an entire village for supplies?

  And why leave them alive inside with provisions, and likely explosives they could use to free themselves?

  No, he was certain the brighter ones among his men would realize that what was inside were not supplies, not weapons, but something more valuable.

  And they would have heard the rumors.

  Yet rumors couldn’t hurt them if they had no clue where they had been. The confiscated valuables were safe from their curiosity.

  Though not that of the drivers.

  Despite the fact they didn’t know where they were as he had the only map, he couldn’t risk any of them perhaps having a sharp memory and a knack for recognizing landmarks that might lead them back.

  This was the Empire’s future he was protecting, and he couldn’t risk it being stolen now, or after a failed attempt to defend the islands.

  Freedom could be bought by a captured, tortured soldier, with a secret such as this.

  And one life was too insignificant with what a treasure trove such as this could provide for a desperate nation.

  He suppressed the frown at the sight of his driver climbing into the lead truck.

  He would be dead before the sun set tomorrow, along with all the others.

  They just didn’t know it yet.

  He took one final look at the village as the walls of a once humble home collapsed in on each other, and prayed this wasn’t the fate of his homeland should the Americans succeed in their efforts. How many villages, how many towns, how many cities would be razed for what the Empire had done, by foreigners determined to exact revenge. Would the village he had grown up in be burned to the ground, to be reclaimed by nature over time, its history, its memories lost forever?

  He hoped not. Surely, some would survive to tell the stories, even if the homes were gone.

  He stared up at the hill nearly lost in the dark, and frowned.

  Who would remain to tell the stories of this village, of these people?

  An unfamiliar ache gripped his chest, and for a moment, a brief moment, he was overwhelmed with regret at what he had done.

  But only for a moment.

  For the Emperor and the Empire must survive.

  No matter the cost.

  15 |

  Kijima Residence Tokyo, Japan Present Day

  Kijima desperately wanted to stand, to show the proper respect the powerful and terrifying man that now stood before him was due, yet couldn’t. He was simply too weak to do so without help.

  “Forgive me, Oyabun, but in my state, I cannot rise.”

  The man, perhaps in his sixties, instead bowed deeply. “It is I who is honored to be in your presence, Captain Kijima.”

  Kijima chuckled then coughed. “It has been a long time since I have been called that.” He regarded the man. “I am pleased it is you I am dealing with. I know I can trust your word.” He waved a hand toward Akira in the corner. “This younger generation…”

  The oyabun smiled slightly. “I understand. I too fear for our future.” His face became serious. “I understand you have a proposition for me.”

  “Yes, Oyabun. You have heard of Yamashita’s Gold?”

  “Of course. Unlike my son, I am aware of the world outside the video screen.”

  “Good, good. Then I shall not waste your time. I know where it is, and I am willing to tell you in exchange for your word that my great-grandson’s debts will be forgiven, no more protection money will need to be paid, and that he, his family, and business, will be left alone.”

  The oyabun nodded. “You have my word, provided what you claim is true.”

  “It is.”

  The oyabun leaned forward and Kijima’s heart raced. “If you are lying to me, old man, I will show your great-grandson no mercy.”

  “I am not lying.”

  “I don’t believe you are, however, for insurance, we will take him with us just in case.” He rose, staring down at Kijima. “And if you are lying, I’ll have him skinned alive.”

  Kijima gripped the arms of his chair, his jaw squaring as he returned the stare. “If you are changing the terms, then so will I.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will tell you how to find the gold, but only through Takashi. I will guide you each step of the way, but should he come to harm, you will have nothing.”

  “Then I will kill you as well.”

  Kijima shook his head. “My soul died the day I buried that gold, and at long last, my body soon will as well.”

  16 |

  Mindanao, The Philippines November 6th, 1944

  Engines roared down the hill, the sound sending Juan scurrying into the trees, hiding behind the largest he could find. The sounds of the jungle never scared him, though the creatures that lay within did.

  He shouldn’t be out at this hour.

  Yet he had no choice.

  The fate of all those trapped in the cave depended upon him reaching the next village in time.

  His stomach grumbled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, beyond a small snack. And he was exhausted. He had been traipsing up and down the hill all day, hauling water to keep everyone fueled in preparation for their ultimat
e betrayal by what he now realized were evil Japanese soldiers.

  His father had been right to be afraid of them.

  The sounds of the trucks faded, and he was about to cut through the trees to the road below when he smelled smoke. He returned to the footpath traveled so heavily earlier and spotted a strange orange glow below. He picked his way down the path, the darkness nearly complete under the heavy canopy of trees, then gasped as he emerged into the clearing that was his village.

  Had been his village.

  Everything was afire.

  He rushed toward his home, the heat unbearable as the flames licked at him, and when he reached it, he cried out, the entire structure ablaze, everything he had ever known, everything he had ever owned, inside.

  He had to stop it.

  He raced toward the river that passed along the southern side of the village, where he had been fetching water all day, and grabbed one of the discarded buckets. He filled it then returned to his home, throwing it onto the flames.

  A hiss of protest was all he received in return.

  He repeated the process, over and over, and was convinced at one point his efforts were succeeding, until he realized they weren’t, any perceived success merely the fact there was little left to burn.

  His home was gone.

  And he was exhausted beyond anything he could have imagined.

  The flames continued their assault, and he found it hard to breathe, the heat unbearable despite the chill of the night. He made for the river, the safest place to be in a fire, he was certain, and spotted his father’s small boat. He pushed against the wooden hull, yet it wouldn’t move. He threw his shoulder into it and it budged, ever so slightly, toward the water. After several more attempts, he finally had it afloat, and he scrambled inside before the current could capture it. Grabbing the oar, he battled to keep it in place, yet with each stroke, he lost the fight, and soon his home was nothing more than a glow on the horizon.

  And eventually even that was gone.

  He collapsed in the bottom of the boat, his entire body aching, his stomach sore with hunger, his mouth dry, his exhaustion so overwhelming, the presence of mind to drink from the river was lost to him.

  He fell into blissful sleep, his vital task forgotten to him.

  17 |

  Ninoy Aquino International Airport Manila, The Philippines Present Day

  Takashi entered the packed terminal, his eyes wide, his pulse pounding as sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. It wasn’t that it was particularly hot, it was the terror gripping him. He had always assumed his hiijiisan would simply tell the Yakuza the location of the gold, then everything would be done.

  Never would he have imagined he’d be sent to the Philippines to collect it. He had never left Japan before, and never had any plans to for some time—starting a restaurant, even something as basic as a Japanese take on a pizza joint—was a fulltime job and then some. There was no time or money for travel.

  Yet here he was, against his will, with death hanging over his head with every breath he took.

  And the dozens of heavily armed soldiers mixed among the travelers wasn’t helping his state of Zen.

  He spotted Shiro, his assigned escort, and weaved his way through the throngs as they headed to collect their luggage. Shiro handed him a phone.

  “Tell the old man that you’ve made it, and we need to know where to go.”

  “Okay.” Takashi dialed the number for his hiijiisan, and was relieved to hear his voice. “Hiijiisan, it’s me. I’m in Manila.”

  “Are you all right? Have they hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine. They want to know where to go.”

  “Tell them to get to Cotabato City in Mindanao, then prepare for a drive of several hours and a brief climb. They’ll need equipment to clear a collapsed cave entrance.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell them.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will. I’ll call you when I’m out of the airport.”

  “Very well.”

  He ended the call and handed the phone back, his hands shaking, something they hadn’t stopped doing for what felt like days. Shiro took the phone then gripped Takashi’s wrist, causing him to wince from the small wound left behind when they had implanted a subdermal tracker. “Calm down or you’re going to get us caught.”

  Takashi nodded, though only shook more. This situation was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He wasn’t a brave man. He wasn’t used to these stress levels. It had taken everything he had to muster the courage to borrow money from Akira in the first place, yet overconfidence had played a major role in that. He had been certain his restaurant would be a huge success right out of the gate, and it had been, to a point.

  He had a steady clientele, lunch and dinners were great, the office crowd enjoying his unique offerings, and he’d already be profitable, making handsome payments to Akira, if it hadn’t been for the trick pulled on him.

  He would never forget the day the two Yakuza men had arrived after the first week, informing him of the new arrangement. He had protested, though the first sharp word nearly had him soiling himself.

  He definitely wasn’t a brave man.

  And even brave men didn’t defy the Yakuza.

  Not when one owed them money.

  And just like that, with the gentle gong announcing a new customer’s arrival, all his profits were gone, and then some. He was barely hanging on now, and he was very close to calling it quits and shutting down the business, though he feared that would be not only the end of his dream, but his life as well.

  Shiro grabbed their suitcases from the luggage carousel and handed him his. “Go. I’ll meet you on the other side. Try to stay calm or you’re going to get caught.”

  I wish he’d stop saying stuff like that.

  He drew a deep breath and was about to continue toward customs when a soldier approached. Shiro casually walked away but was blocked by an extended arm. The soldier said something in a language Takashi didn’t understand, though the body language and apparent constant anger on the soldier’s face suggested he wasn’t happy about something. When neither of them said anything, Shiro was pushed back toward Takashi. He glanced at Shiro, who had his hands slightly raised, a smile on his face.

  Takashi mimicked him, though from what he was sensing, his facial muscles were twitching fiercely.

  This turned him into the focus of the soldier’s attention, more Filipino spat at him.

  He had to say something. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  The soldier frowned, evidently not understanding Japanese. Another approached to see what was going on, the situation quickly spiraling out of control.

  He switched languages. “I speak English, if that helps.”

  Both soldiers immediately understood, the first snapping his fingers. “Passport.”

  Takashi passed it over, his hand shaking horribly.

  “Why you so nervous?” asked the soldier, handing the passport to his partner who indicated Shiro should hand his over as well.

  “I-I’m scared to fly.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Then why you here?”

  “Va-vacation.”

  The soldier jerked a thumb toward Shiro. “With him?”

  Takashi’s eyes widened. “No. I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Then why he grab your arm?”

  Shiro finally said something. “He looked like he was about to faint. I was just trying to help.”

  Takashi nodded a little too quickly. “Yes, that’s right. I was feeling a little woozy.”

  The second soldier eyed them suspiciously, especially the over-confident Shiro. Suddenly his hand darted out and he pulled down Shiro’s shirt, revealing part of his chest.

  And a portion of the full-body hand-poked irezumi tattoos so many loyal Yakuza bore.

  The soldier’s eyes flared and he stepped back. “Yakuza!”

  Everyone in the immediate vicinity froze, then the two soldiers raised the barrels of their rifles at them as more soldiers turned to see what had caused the outburst. Shiro’s right hand darted out and grabbed the barrel of the second soldier’s Remington R4 rifle, shoving it to the side then pulling it toward him. A shot rang out, missing Shiro, and sending the crowds around them scurrying in panic as his left hand grabbed the butt of the rifle and shoved it up and into the soldier’s chin, momentarily incapacitating him.