The Mystery of Yamashita's Map (25 page)

Chapter Fourteen

It was almost dark but the moon ahead was throwing enough light to walk by as Kono and Tanaka trekked through the jungle. Their heavy footsteps crashed through the undergrowth and could be heard for miles in both directions. Every now and then they would stop and examine the tracking device that Tanaka held in his hands. ‘I think I need to sleep,’ Kono moaned, but Tanaka was having none of it. He pulled on the other’s shoulder strap and urged him onward. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘According to this we are almost upon them. We’ve been walking through this Godforsaken place for days now and we have almost got them.’ Tanaka examined the tracking device which sent a shaft of red light into the black jungle sky and pulsed with an ever-growing regularity. His eyes were fixed firmly on the light as he followed its path through the jungle, tripping over fallen trees as he went; nothing seemed to matter to him but the tracking device and the course it suggested: through the dense foliage, over the thick jungle floor, onward, always following where it led. Kono followed behind like a faithful puppy dog snapping at his master’s heels.

Suddenly, Tanaka saw the light flash faster than it had ever done before. His face was lit by its soft red glow and his eyes widened as he surveyed the landscape that the tracking device led him through. He pulled Kono nearer. ‘Over this ridge,’ he said. ‘They must be over this ridge. This is it. We must keep quiet. They must be near. They must be over this ridge.’ Tanaka inched forward, placing one foot on the steep angle of the ridge in front of him. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the tracking device as his other foot followed the first and he gingerly made his way up. Kono pushed at his behind in order to stop him from falling backwards. Tanaka could hardly control his breathing. Since Hong Kong he had been following Joe and the others and now he had finally caught up with them. His mind raced as he thought about the gold and the riches he would take from them. He laughed quietly to himself as he neared the top of the ridge. He steeled himself and peered over.

The first thing he noticed was the ocean as it breathed softly in the night air. The second thing was the cool breeze that seemed to wash over his face like the water itself. And the third thing was a white shard of fibreglass with a flashing red light upon it that was caught, eddying on the tide. In his hand the tracking device gave off a furious pulsing light that seemed to taunt him as he stretched his arm out to where the remnants of the plane that had brought Joe and the others to the island had been dumped on the shore by the ocean. Kono rounded the top of the ridge and looked with wide eyes at the scene. After a moment’s silence he spoke. ‘Where are they then?’ he said. ‘Is it safe to talk yet?’ Beside him Tanaka threw the tracking device into the waves. ‘Fool,’ he shouted. ‘They aren’t here.’ Kono was confused. He had been tracking them for days with the device that he himself had planted on the plane in Hong Kong.

‘But the device?’ he asked.

Tanaka calmed himself down. ‘They crashed the damn plane. Look, out there on the beach – that’s the tracking beacon.’

He grabbed Kono’s chin and roughly turned his head to where the tracking device lay.

‘They crashed the damn plane and we’ve been following a piece of it for days.’

The two were silent for a moment then Kono began to feel the information sink in, although he hadn’t quite yet made up his mind what it meant. His eyebrows knitted together in thought as he tried desperately to make sense of what he had just been told. ‘So,’ he said, slowly, ‘what does that mean for the treasure?’

‘There might not be any treasure,’ Tanaka replied. ‘If they’ve gone down with the plane, who knows, the map might have gone down with them. This could be it, the whole plan finished, right here and now. I’ll have to think this thing through.’

Kono sat down on the ridge, his feet pointing in opposite directions. In a way he was glad; he really wanted to go back home and forget all about this trip. Tanaka had made him come and, really, all he wanted to do was fire up the plane and get out. He picked up a stone from the ridge and threw it into the jungle, hearing the undergrowth ripple and tear. All he had ever wanted out of life was to be comfortable but, like his father had always said, he was dumb – he was big and dumb, there was nothing more to it. He picked up another stone and threw it into the undergrowth after the first one.

His father’s face came into his mind; those eyes, those disappointed eyes. He had tried his best at school but when you were as big as he was people challenged you, they wanted to fight you until all you knew was fighting. He picked up the biggest rock that was within reach and threw it hard against a tree.

‘Ouch!’

The tree had cried in pain. Kono stood up. Tanaka beside him continued thinking in silence.

‘What was that?’ Kono said to no one.

‘Quiet!’ Tanaka said. ‘I’m thinking.’

Kono screwed up his eyes in order to see. He was positive he had heard a voice in the jungle; he was sure that something had cried out in pain as he had thrown the stone. He knew he was stupid but he had never hallucinated before.

‘Hello?’ he shouted into the jungle but it offered back only silence and the odd sound of an insect buzzing. ‘Anyone there?’

‘Quiet!’ Tanaka shouted. ‘I’m trying to think. There’s no one there.’

In the jungle, Yamashita’s corporal watched his two countrymen on the ridge and rubbed his shin where the rock had hit. He wondered if they could be trusted. He had heard that they paid spies these days to try to flush the faithful like him out. They were wearing the clothes of the enemy, western trousers and western jackets, and they certainly didn’t look like any member of the Imperial Army he had seen. As long as there was a war on, he thought to himself, he would trust no one.

The corporal sniffed at the air and pulled his coat tighter around his neck. He had known times like these. He could recognise the scent on the breeze of something about to happen. He had lived on the island now for over sixty years and knew every inch of it. He also knew what it was like when a storm was coming. The corporal looked up to the sky. He could see no stars now. They were covered by the clouds that were full of rain, thunder and lightning. He gave one last look at the two men standing on the ridge and scuttled off back to his camp.

Kono heard the corporal move in the darkness and went to shout out again but stopped himself. He did not want to provoke Tanaka again; he would keep quiet this time and keep his fears to himself. He felt odd now, though. His skin was bristling and his hair was dampening; he thought he felt a little colder. He too looked up to the sky but, not being used to the conditions, saw nothing, only the vast emptiness of the universe overhead.

Suddenly, it happened: the rains came. They came like a river, pouring on the jungle in sheets of cold, clear water. Every inch of every tree was soon glistening and heavy and the noise of the insects and the animals ceased almost in an instant, as if someone had flicked a switch. On the ridge, Kono and Tanaka felt the full force of the storm and ran for cover under one of the trees but found that it was useless; in the jungle when it rains there are no hiding places. They huddled together, pulling their shirts over their heads and desperately trying to secure as much warmth as possible. The thunder roared and the lightning flashed across the sky like some angry god.

In their clearing Joe, the professor and Fraser too had been party to the full force of the storm. Joe had been quietly sleeping and was rudely awoken to the feeling of a rain cloud bursting on to his skin. He cursed as his eyes opened and he ran for cover under the shelter they had built two days before. The professor and Fraser were already under it.

‘It looks like it is going to be long storm,’ the professor said, pointing to the sky. His face seemed to light up like a child’s as he watched the streaks of sheet lightning burst across the sky and felt the peals of rolling thunder hit him in the chest and set his insides churning. Ever since he was a boy he had loved the feeling of a storm. It was Nature at her wildest – it swept away the old dust and debris and created new life and new opportunities for life. Beside him, however, Fraser was not so romantic. He could feel the rain seeping in through the holes of the hastily fashioned shelter. He was examining its roof and wondering to himself if they should not have spent more time on it. He managed to speak above the sound of the rain relentlessly falling. ‘Professor? How long do these storms last around here? How long can we expect this to go on for?’

The professor leaned over, a grin spreading across his face. ‘Hours, perhaps even days,’ he said gleefully. ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’

Fraser did not think so. He was busy pulling the collar of his shirt tighter around his neck and wishing that he were somewhere else.

The rain continued to come as if it was the end of the world. All night it came down and each minute, each hour brought down more upon the heads of those that sat, heads bowed, in the jungle waiting for it to pass. In the village, Winthrope had moved Lisa to his hut while the storm was at its highest and sat watching her sleep, still bound but free of the cage. He passed a hand over her head and was reminded, suddenly, of a distant memory that he had almost forgotten – someone as beautiful as her who had touched him once and had then disappeared. Someone who had entered his life briefly and then gone without a trace.

The rain fell on the roof of the hut and caused ripples of sound to emanate around its circular walls like the sides and skin of a drum. He knew he would blame this on the gods, use this incident to get what he wanted. He would explain to his wives and to his daughters that the rain was a sign of the anger of the gods, brought about by the presence of a foreigner in the village and that they must find the others to assuage them. He knew this but did not like it, momentarily, as he looked upon Lisa.

The river was beginning to swell. Hour after hour of the downpour had turned its already flowing rapids into a torrent that was unstoppable. It rushed onward like a speeding herd, taking everything in its path – animals, trees, the land that once formed its bank. Nothing was safe if it got in its way.

The more the rain came the more the river ran, sweeping away the dry ground around its edges, making itself wider and stronger with each passing minute until the banks could hold it no longer and it gushed over the floor of the jungle, sending animals scurrying and crushing plants and vegetation. In his shelter, the corporal had been watching the river. He knew every part of this jungle, but had never known a storm like this. He had never seen the sky so dark or the river so fearsome. With horror he saw that water had begun to seep under the sides of his shelter. He tried to stem it, to block the holes but to no avail. It came anyway. Nothing could stop it. The corporal began to panic. If only his general were here to tell him what to do; if only there were someone who could formulate a plan and get him out.

The rain made its way under the walls of the corporal’s shelter and formed pools on his floor. He stood on the bed to avoid wetting his feet, cursing the river. The water relentlessly poured into the shelter, lifting his meagre possessions and making them float around the room. His chest spilled its contents and the small bookcase, fashioned out of local material, fell into the steadily rising pool of water. The corporal quickly gathered together some of his things into a bundle and made his way out of the shelter. The rain hit him hard as he ran for the ridge that he had seen earlier. He grabbed the tarpaulin that was covering the shelter and placed it over his head. At least now he was dry. He made his way through the jungle at great speed, never tripping over the undergrowth that seemed to spring up underfoot for everyone else, never unsure of where to go but darting this way and that in the way a city dweller might traverse a network of streets.

All the time the rain fell, it drummed on the leaves overhead and made a curious rhythm that seemed to get louder and louder. The corporal pulled the tarpaulin tighter around his neck as he spied the ridge in the distance. Quickly he made his way over to it. He was a few steps from its edge when he felt a hand pulling him backwards. It was Kono, who had recognised the small but swift steps as those he had heard earlier. The larger man wrestled the tarpaulin out of the smaller man’s hands and then stretched it across himself and Tanaka. The corporal could not quite believe what he was seeing. He blinked as the rain fell in rivulets down his forehead and into his eyes. The sky cracked and the clouds boomed out a warning of yet another increase in the downpour and in the light of the storm the corporal squeezed his small frame in between the bodies of Kono and Tanaka; the three men sat not saying a word to each other.

All night it fell, minute upon minute, hour upon hour until it seemed as if the jungle could hold no more water. The skies opened and the heavens poured forth hundreds and hundreds of gallons of water, replenishing the ground with moisture and giving life to the foliage and the vegetation. The humans of the jungle did not appreciate it as much. They sat for the most part under cover, wishing it would stop, wishing that the gods would take pity on them and cease the relentless drumming that after a time seemed to be the very sound of the world turning.