Rembrandt's Ghost Part 15

"What happened?" Finn asked, looking down at the distant circle of blue far below them.

"He circled the island a few times at low alt.i.tude. I heard it clearly enough and so did the locals. I made it down to the water in time to see the plane land. By the time he put down, there was a war party waiting. They dragged him out and sank the airplane, all without a by-yourleave."

"They didn't kill him?"

"Not that I saw," said Winchester. "They bundled him out of the plane, threw him into one of their big war canoes, and took him to sh.o.r.e. That's the last I saw of him."

"You didn't try to help him?" Billy asked.

"Help him how?" Winchester said. "I've been trying my best to avoid those people for three years. They're not cannibals but they're not civilized either and they definitely like to chop off people's heads and put them onto bamboo poles. I've seen it. I have no intention of joining them."

"How did you know he was Dutch?" Billy asked suspiciously.

"Because the name Boegart Line was written across the fuselage in orange letters five feet high," answered Winchester. "Did I jump to the wrong conclusion?"

"I would have gone after him," said Billy hotly.

"This is their island. Their customs. They've been here for six centuries. I haven't even been here six years and you haven't been here so much as six days. You have no idea what you're up against." He took off the binoculars and handed them to Finn. "Take a look," he said. She raised the gla.s.ses to her eyes and followed Winchester's pointing finger.

"My G.o.d!" Finn whispered. What she'd thought to have been small islands in the lake were something else altogether.

"What is it?" Billy asked impatiently.

"s.h.i.+ps," said Finn. "Hundreds of them. It's a graveyard of s.h.i.+ps." She could still see the names on some. M.V. Marcalla,SS Docteur Angier,SS Sebago,SS City of Almaco,SS Norma C., USS Geiger, MV Coolsingel,SS Morgantown Victory. They were everywhere, broken islands of long-vanished vessels that time had forgotten. Some of them were military, like the Geiger, apparently a troop s.h.i.+p. City of Almaco was an enormous and very oldlooking oil tanker.

There were even older s.h.i.+ps, rotted wooden hulls, something that might once have been an early steams.h.i.+p, its huge mast turned to dark, waterlogged stumps, all the wrecks thrown hither and yon across the lagoon, some packed tightly together, others standing off by themselves. At the far end of the lake, two or three hundred yards offsh.o.r.e, she saw what she took to be the remains of Pieter Boegart's plane. In front of the halfsunken aircraft was something that looked like a PT boat, the hull smashed in at the bow. She swung the gla.s.s around and her pa.s.sing eye caught a familiar shape. She focused the gla.s.ses and stared.

"It's the Queen!" The freighter was close to the neck of the lake at the reef end, beached on the sand and listing a good sixty degrees to one side, her rusted hull below the waterline fully exposed.

There was no sign of life anywhere. The whole bridge section had been crushed and from where she lay Finn could see that the forward hatchway had been sprung and that the cargo crane in the forward section had almost been torn away by the savagery of the storm.

The entire hull sagged in the middle as though her back had been broken. The bow of the Batavia Queen had been driven a good thirty feet into the palms and jungle at the edge of the beach. It was a pitiful, unhappy end for any s.h.i.+p, let alone one you knew and cared for. It was almost like the death of a friend.

"Let me see," said Billy. Finn handed him the binoculars.

"No sign of your friends?" Winchester asked.

"No," said Finn.

Billy scanned the wreck of the Batavia Queen. He lowered the binoculars.

"Could they have survived?" he asked.

"Anything's possible," answered Winchester. "The two of you managed it."

"If the local people got them, where would they have been taken?" Finn asked.

"They have three settlements, all on the far side of the island."

"Which one would they have been taken to?" Billy asked urgently.

Winchester pointed to a broad craggy hill almost directly across from them. "There's a river that flows down from that mountain to the sea. Their main village is close to the mouth. I don't know if it has a name."

"Do you know how to get there?" Billy asked.

"Well enough to stay away from it."

"Could you take us there?"

"To find your lost Dutchman?" the man in the goatskins scoffed. "Your friends?"

"To rescue them," said Billy "What's wrong with that?"

Winchester reached across and tapped the bra.s.scased binoculars. "What about these laddies?"

"What laddies?"

"The binoculars are Zeiss Feldstechers. Especially made for the Imperial j.a.panese Navy in 1942. Admiral Yamamoto had a pair just like them. Those laddies."

"We're supposed to worry about a few old castaways from World War Two?" Billy sneered.

"No, you're supposed to worry about their children," said the man in the goatskin cap. "The ones with the great b.l.o.o.d.y swords and the oldfas.h.i.+oned little caps with the flaps in the back. Those are the ones you're supposed to be worried about."

22.

"It's a monster," said Billy, staring at the ma.s.sive whale-sized hulk in the mangrove swamp. It was enormous, a four-hundred-footlong bulbous tube of metal with a tumorlike hump that ran along its upper surface, the huge conning tower partially crumpled. The designation I-404 was still faintly visible on the side beneath more than fifty years of rust, barnacles, and filth. The entire vessel was covered in a winding tangle of roots and vines.

"That's where your flag came from," said Finn. Winchester nodded. "I've done a little investigating. The j.a.ps won't come near it-some sort of superst.i.tion, I suppose."

They were lying on the gra.s.sy edge of a small sandy dune at the far end of the Punchbowl. To their right, below the sandy hummock, was the beach. In front of them was the swamp. Deepening jungle lay at their back, running in a steep slope into the ridges and hills at the far end of the island. "Enemy territory" as the professor called it.

"I've never seen anything like it," murmured Billy. "I didn't think the j.a.panese or anyone else had submarines this size during the war." "They were the largest ever built before the nuclear ones," said Winchester. "The Sen Toku 400 cla.s.s. They didn't make very many of them, only four or five, I think." He gestured toward the grotesque-looking wreck. "See that b.u.mp that runs along the front? That was to carry airplanes.

Three of them, with folded wings. They're still in there. They were meant for special a.s.signments, blowing up the Panama Ca.n.a.l, carrying hightechnology material. I've had the occasional fantasy about resurrecting one of the airplanes and flying it out except there's no one to give me flying lessons." He laughed harshly. "This one was full of bullion. Probably heading for the German U-boat pens in France. The bullion was to pay for exotic raw materials the j.a.ps were running short of. It wouldn't have been the first time for a j.a.panese submarine."

"Another video you saw on your research s.h.i.+p?" Billy asked.

"Stories my father told me," said Winchester, shaking his head. "He was an ANZAC . . . Australia and New Zealand Army Corps. He was a prisoner of war in a camp in Sandakan on the Borneo coast." The professor peered at Billy from under the sagging brim of his goatskin cap. "World War Two wasn't all Hitler and n.a.z.is and Pearl Harbor, you know. The people down here were a lot more concerned about Tojo and Yamamoto than they were about the Luftwaffe and Rommel." "None of that matters now," said Finn. "What matters is finding out what happened to our friends." She stared at the remains of the giant submarine entangled in the bowels of the swamp below them. "How many people do we have to be concerned about?"

"Hard to say," answered Winchester. "I think the submarine was carrying what my father used to call Rikusentai, the j.a.panese equivalent of Marines. The uniform rags they wear are green, not khaki like the ordinary j.a.p soldier. There must have been two or three hundred to start with. I have no idea how many survived originally. I've never seen more than three or four at any one time, and they don't seem to have any permanent homes like the Chinese here. They hunt in small groups."

"How could they possibly have survived?"

said Billy.

Winchester shrugged. "By killing. They had more firepower than the locals originally, but not the numbers. They must have raided the Chinese villages for women and for food at first. Now everyone keeps out of one another's way." He lifted his shoulders again. "There's never been much love lost between the j.a.panese and the Chinese anyway. They each think the other is inferior and subhuman"-Winchester smiled-"rather like the Americans think of the Muslim races and vice versa."

"Or what the Brits think of the Australians,"

added Finn, defending herself.

"How are they armed?" asked Billy, getting back to the point.

"I've found all sorts of rusty old Nambu pistols and Arisaka rifles lying about, but they must have run out of ammunition long ago," said Winchester. "The only things I've actually seen them carrying are ceremonial katana swords the officers must have had and old bayonets. Spears, bows, blowguns maybe. The locals have a strange sort of crossbow device I've seen once or twice." "They hunt?" Finn asked.

"They hunt, and they kill from time to time.

Not for sport or as a test of manhood like the old headhunter clans in Borneo and elsewhere in Malaysia and the Philippines. The two groups seem to have made up their culture as they went along. The local Chinese are organized into family units. The j.a.panese seem to promote complete self-sufficiency, a kind of solitary socialism if you like. I've watched small children out hunting with their friends. If one catches something they all share equally. They don't seem to have specialties, either. Everybody hunts. Everybody cooks. Everyone builds huts, gathers firewood. Men and women alike. Very efficient."

"You sound as though you've studied them carefully," said Finn.

"I'm a scientist, so it's in my nature. And it's a matter of 'know thy enemy,' as well. It's in my best interests to keep track of them, and to keep away from them," he added pointedly.

"Do they know you're here?" Billy asked. "I'm not sure," said Winchester. "I've never had them track me that I know of. As I said I've done my best to keep a low profile."

A breeze blew over the dune, bending the pale dense gra.s.ses at the summit and bringing the salt tang of the lagoon to their nostrils. Finn turned and looked out over the huge, lakelike expanse, ringed on every side by the high, jungle-shrouded sloping walls of the ancient volcano. The metal and wood islands of the old s.h.i.+ps rose like the skeletons of ancient dinosaurs in the dark, flat water. A few hundred yards out the upended fuselage of Pieter Boegart's floatplane stood like an immense child's toy, tossed aside and forgotten. In the far distance Finn could see the hazy, funnellike entrance to the hidden lagoon. Above her little puffb.a.l.l.s of fleecy cloud moved slowly across the bright blue sky. She tried to imagine what the island would look like from a satellite. Winchester was right. A speck in the middle of an empty sea. At best it would look like exactly what it was: the jungle-covered remains of an old volcano with an inner lagoon and a ring of dangerous, protective reefs.

She was pretty sure that people had come here out of curiosity from time to time over the years and she was just as sure what had happened to them. Sailors, desperate for food or water, would have found a way to bring a small boat through the reefs and they would have paid the price once they reached the sh.o.r.e. Kids looking for Leonardo DiCaprio's beach or the perfect place to scuba, a childless couple sailing around the world-the locals almost surely posted lookouts, and except in the storms like the ones that had brought Winchester and the Queen here, they would be aware of any unwelcome visitors. In the end it was the center of a spiderweb and she was trapped in it. "I wonder how Willem Van Boegart managed to do it," said Finn. He'd been s.h.i.+pwrecked here exactly the same way as she, Billy, and Winchester. "He was washed up here and he managed to get away again. Not only that, he managed to escape with a fortune."

"I'm not sure I catch your meaning," said Billy. "How did he do it?" Finn asked rhetorically. "The professor says it's impossible, but Willem managed it four hundred years ago, loaded down with treasure. There must be a way off the island that you don't know about, Professor. One that the locals are unaware of, as well as the survivors of that submarine down there. It's the only thing that fits."

"There is no way," said Winchester emphatically. "Believe me, my dear, I would have found it by now."

"Maybe you haven't looked hard enough," said Finn.

"Maybe we should put that aside for the moment," whispered Billy. "We've got company." He gestured with his chin.

Five figures walking in single file were trudging down the beach. The one in front was dressed in a pair of ragged shorts and an equally ragged s.h.i.+rt, salt bleached but still holding a bit of faint green coloration. A j.a.panese army kepi with a sun flap down the neck was perched on his head. There was an embroidered star on the crown, once red, now pale pink.

He carried a sword freely in his right hand and a bamboo spear in his left, the tip edge with some kind of copper-colored metal that glinted in the sun. His jet-black hair was shaven to the skull. He wore heavy boots and puttees like Winchester's although his were made of what appeared to be cotton, not goatskin. He was clearly the leader of the group and the forward lookout, his eyes scanning back and forth carefully.

Behind him two more figures carried a heavylooking net on a pole between them. The net looked as though it was closely woven from some kind of coa.r.s.e string. Probably rattan, Finn thought; she'd seen the stubborn vine growing around lots of the forest and jungle trees they'd pa.s.sed. A useful crop in a place like this. Both were women dressed in simple sarongs and ragged s.h.i.+rts the same green as the man in front. They wore hats made of broad leaves and they were barefoot and unarmed.

A fifth figure came behind, dressed in a rough patchwork loincloth and carrying a bamboo spear. He appeared to be much younger than the others, barely more than a boy. Across his shoulders on a thin bamboo yoke, he carried the day's catch- a dozen large fish strung with the bamboo through their gills.

"If they turn up off the beach, we're toast," whispered Finn, watching the group approach. Her heart began to pound.

"Then we're toast," said Billy, "unless they happen to be going into the swamp over there." "Follow me," said Winchester. He slithered down the backside of the dune and ran toward the mangroves, keeping to the heavy gra.s.s and trying his best to avoid open areas of sand where his tracks would show. He paused at the edge of the swamp, gesturing for them to hurry. They ran down the slope of the dune and into the tall gra.s.s, not stopping until they reached Winchester, crouching low with his back to the dark, putrid water of the mangroves.

"Down!" Winchester hissed. "Cover yourself with the mud!" He looked at Finn's flaming hair. "Especially that!" he said.

Finn and Billy did as they were told, following Winchester's example and dropping full length into the shallow, stinking water. Finn reached both hands into the muck and quickly plastered it into her hair and over her face. Keeping low in the water, and trying not to think about what might be swimming around in the slimy ooze, she raised herself just enough to keep her eyes on the top of the dune. A moment later the little troop appeared, one by one, and marched down the near side of the sandy hummock. They appeared to find some path or trail into the jungle beyond, but suddenly the lead man stopped. He looked around, raising his glance to the canopy of trees just in front of the group, then briefly stared into the swamp.

"He's seen something," whispered Billy, his voice thin.

"Don't move a muscle," warned the professor. Finn kept watching. The lead man barked a series of instructions and the rest of the group disappeared up the jungle path. The leader stayed where he was, continuing to look around, keeping his attention on the trees overhead. He c.o.c.ked an ear, obviously listening for any signs of movement. There was nothing except the faint sighing of the wind in the trees and the thudding of Finn's heart within her chest. Finally, he turned slowly through three hundred sixty degrees, the long ceremonial sword pointing like the extended hand of a clock, searching. Then he turned and followed the other four into the protective shadows of the jungle.

"Wait," Winchester said softly. There was only silence.

"Now what?" Billy said.

"Wait," repeated Winchester. "It may be a trick."

"We should go back to the cave," said Billy urgently. "We shouldn't have come out here without weapons. We should have had a plan." The only thing they had that could have been considered a weapon was a long, thick piece of bamboo that Winchester used as a staff.

"I think he's gone," the professor said finally. He rose up out of the mud, dripping. Billy helped Finn up and they stared at each other, grinning. "Very attractive," said Billy, laughing. Finn used both hands to slick the soggy ma.s.s of her hair away from her face. She swept away as much of the ooze from around her eyes, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

"I'm afraid your friend is right," said Winchester. "Our little voyage of discovery was ill advised. We should return to the cave at once. If that man spotted something we could be in serious trouble. They may send out a patrol to look for us."

Finn quickly checked herself over, looking for evidence of leeches, but Winchester's goatskin puttees seemed to have done the trick. They moved through the gra.s.s to the foot of the dune. "We'll leave tracks if we go down the beach," said Finn.

"Not if we stay in the shallows. The tide is coming in," said Winchester. "It will wash away any tracks."

"Let's get moving," said Billy. He stepped forward out of the tall gra.s.s. There was a sudden, startling shout from only a few feet away. "Otaku! Teiryuu! Sate!" The partially uniformed leader of the little band of fisherman stepped out of the shadows, sword at the ready. Behind him came the others, including the young boy with the spear. They eased to the left behind the leader, cutting off any chance at escape toward the dune. Finn, Billy, and Winchester were trapped; they either moved forward onto the point of the sword or backward into the dense mangrove swamp. "Now what do we do?" Finn said.

The man with the sword took a step forward, the sword moving back and forth hypnotically. The young boy swung farther to the right, flanking them, his spear raised. Winchester moved to the right, making a small feint toward the dune. "Yamate kudusai!" screamed the j.a.panese man in the hat. "Wakamare-wasu?" It wasn't really a question. Finn couldn't understand the words, but the intent was clear. "Da-me!" the young boy with the spear yelled. Both he and the man with the sword moved closer. Finn took a step back toward the swamp.

"We're in big trouble," said Billy. "He's not interested in negotiations here."

Suddenly the man with the sword made his move, charging toward Winchester, the blade upraised, an incoherent scream of rage erupting from between his clenched teeth. Winchester raised his stick to block the savage cut, realizing a split second later that the overhead blow had been a trick. Instead of bringing the blade directly down the man spun on his heel like a dancer, swinging the blade around in a sweeping arc aimed at cutting the professor in half from the side.

Winchester tried to back away from the swing, but it was hopeless. At the same time the young boy raised his spear, c.o.c.king his arm back, aiming the copper-tipped weapon at Finn's midsection. There were three harsh cracking sounds in quick succession. The man with the sword stopped in midswing, his hat flying back off his head in a fountaining spray of blood and tissue as the whole top of his head from the bridge of his nose upward vaporized in a gory blur. Magically two patches of rose-red color appeared in the center of the young man's ragged uniform blouse and he crumpled to the ground. The man with the sword, dead on his feet, fell backward in a heap, the sword still clutched in his fist for the killing blow. The sound of the shots echoed all around the deep expanse of the Punchbowl.

"What the h.e.l.l?" said Billy, astounded, staring at the bodies. He turned to the equally startled Winchester. "I thought you said these people ran out of ammunition a long time ago."

"They did," said Winchester.

"I did not," said a voice in heavily accented English. From the jungle appeared a squat man wearing camouflage with a long bolo machete on his belt and carrying a very large automatic pistol in his right hand.

"My name is Fu Sheng," said the man. "Come with me quickly if you wish to free your friends."

23.

Fu Sheng told his story. It was much like their own. He was a castaway as well. Caught in the typhoon while piloting Pedang Emas toward the position the fat pirate Lo Chang had finally revealed to them, he'd let the boat ride out the storm only for it to be thrown through the secret island's funnel like gap on the lip of the sweeping storm surge and then dashed to pieces on the far sh.o.r.e of the lagoon. According to him, he and his master, a man the Chinese man called Khan, were the only ones on board the old sardine boat who survived the storm and its aftermath.

After recuperating from their near drowning, the two men had separated to look for a source of fresh water. Returning to their rendezvous point, Fu Sheng had been just in time to see his friend and fellow survivor being carried off by what he first took to be wild men of some kind.

Following them at a distance, Fu Sheng watched helplessly as his friend was taken to a compound close to a river that flowed down from the mountains and emptied on the far side of the original mangrove swamp Finn had seen when she'd awakened on the beach. According to Fu Sheng, the village was occupied by at least two hundred of the natives.

"Is he talking about the j.a.panese or your socalled locals?" Billy asked Winchester quietly.

"The locals," answered the professor.

"How are we supposed to take on two hundred people?" Finn asked.

"Not to mention the j.a.panese," added Billy. "Those shots must have woken up everyone on the island."

"Those shots also saved our lives," said Finn. "I don't much like his looks, but he's got the gun and he seems to have the know-how as well."