professor said. ‘But I feel I have a calling. For some weeks now I have been having these dreams – oh, they mean nothing, I know. I am an old man now. In my younger years I would have dismissed them as a glass of Saki or a piece of stuck salmon but now, now I’m older, I find I want to believe.’
‘In Yamashita’s gold?’
‘Yes, in that, but more than that, I think I want to believe in the spirits that draw me to it. Anderson called them the aswang and they are very powerful, so he says.’
‘But surely that’s just myth, professor. You can’t believe in it?’
The professor tapped the side of his head with a finger. ‘The more I learn,’ he said, ‘the less I seem to know. I have known a frog to escape from rock strata thousands of years old, just like that . . .’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Out of the rock as they drilled, its skin almost translucent, its bones as dry as the dust. Who put it there? Who enabled it to survive? God? Nature? Who knows? These are merely different words for the same thing. I am a man of science, but who owns the science?’
Fraser tipped back in his chair. ‘So what next?’ he asked.
The professor shrugged. ‘Who knows? Hire a plane, perhaps, make a trip to the Philippines?’
There was a knock at the door and the professor turned to look. However, as he did, it stopped. ‘Perhaps that’s something you could do, Fraser. Do you know anyone in the aviation business?’
Fraser thought. ‘I once knew an old pilot from Guam but he would be dead by now. He flew into Vietnam, nearly fried him. Not sure he would make a good choice, anyway.’
The knocking began again. ‘Lisa, come in!’ the professor said.
‘I know very little about planes, professor, I’m afraid. I flew over here and that’s about it. To tell you the truth it rather makes me feel sick just thinking about it. I was never a great flyer. I’ll tell you one day about my experience coming over here; it wasn’t a good start.’
The knocking at the door continued. It was a slow, insistent sound that seemed to permeate the room and be of just the right pitch to cause the professor the most aggravation. He placed his hands to his ears in a show of frustration that shocked Fraser. ‘OK, Lisa, I am coming,’ he shouted. ‘I am coming. If you could only put the cups down I could . . .’
He stopped in his tracks. The sight that greeted him as he opened the door would have stopped a lesser man’s heart. Suspended from the door jamb by his belt was Anderson, his face blue and his eyes open in a display of fearful death. As he swung, urine seeped out of his bladder, ran down his trouser leg and pooled on the floor below him and his corpse swung this way and that causing his foot to tap gently on the wooden panel of the door.
The professor raised a hand to his mouth as Lisa came along the corridor. As soon as she saw the body she screamed, dropped the cups of hot coffee on the floor and then stood unable to move, the only sound the slight creak of the leather of the belt brushing up against the door frame. Fraser came out to see what was occurring.
‘Professor, I just thought . . .’ His words were taken from him as he saw the body.
The professor looked at Fraser. ‘Anderson,’ he explained.
Fraser grabbed the professor and Lisa and pulled them into the room. He reached for a letter opener that sat on the professor’s desk and cut Anderson down, letting him fall onto his shoulders. Struggling to cope under the weight of even this small man, Fraser dumped him down behind a pile of books and noticed that one of them, ironically, concerned the Book of the Dead.
‘We have to get out sooner rather than later,’ he explained. ‘This is more than a treasure map now. Whoever did this did it for a reason and they will probably do it again.’
‘But it’s no good going back to the flat, uncle, they know where you live,’ said
‘In Yamashita’s gold?’
‘Yes, in that, but more than that, I think I want to believe in the spirits that draw me to it. Anderson called them the aswang and they are very powerful, so he says.’
‘But surely that’s just myth, professor. You can’t believe in it?’
The professor tapped the side of his head with a finger. ‘The more I learn,’ he said, ‘the less I seem to know. I have known a frog to escape from rock strata thousands of years old, just like that . . .’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Out of the rock as they drilled, its skin almost translucent, its bones as dry as the dust. Who put it there? Who enabled it to survive? God? Nature? Who knows? These are merely different words for the same thing. I am a man of science, but who owns the science?’
Fraser tipped back in his chair. ‘So what next?’ he asked.
The professor shrugged. ‘Who knows? Hire a plane, perhaps, make a trip to the Philippines?’
There was a knock at the door and the professor turned to look. However, as he did, it stopped. ‘Perhaps that’s something you could do, Fraser. Do you know anyone in the aviation business?’
Fraser thought. ‘I once knew an old pilot from Guam but he would be dead by now. He flew into Vietnam, nearly fried him. Not sure he would make a good choice, anyway.’
The knocking began again. ‘Lisa, come in!’ the professor said.
‘I know very little about planes, professor, I’m afraid. I flew over here and that’s about it. To tell you the truth it rather makes me feel sick just thinking about it. I was never a great flyer. I’ll tell you one day about my experience coming over here; it wasn’t a good start.’
The knocking at the door continued. It was a slow, insistent sound that seemed to permeate the room and be of just the right pitch to cause the professor the most aggravation. He placed his hands to his ears in a show of frustration that shocked Fraser. ‘OK, Lisa, I am coming,’ he shouted. ‘I am coming. If you could only put the cups down I could . . .’
He stopped in his tracks. The sight that greeted him as he opened the door would have stopped a lesser man’s heart. Suspended from the door jamb by his belt was Anderson, his face blue and his eyes open in a display of fearful death. As he swung, urine seeped out of his bladder, ran down his trouser leg and pooled on the floor below him and his corpse swung this way and that causing his foot to tap gently on the wooden panel of the door.
The professor raised a hand to his mouth as Lisa came along the corridor. As soon as she saw the body she screamed, dropped the cups of hot coffee on the floor and then stood unable to move, the only sound the slight creak of the leather of the belt brushing up against the door frame. Fraser came out to see what was occurring.
‘Professor, I just thought . . .’ His words were taken from him as he saw the body.
The professor looked at Fraser. ‘Anderson,’ he explained.
Fraser grabbed the professor and Lisa and pulled them into the room. He reached for a letter opener that sat on the professor’s desk and cut Anderson down, letting him fall onto his shoulders. Struggling to cope under the weight of even this small man, Fraser dumped him down behind a pile of books and noticed that one of them, ironically, concerned the Book of the Dead.
‘We have to get out sooner rather than later,’ he explained. ‘This is more than a treasure map now. Whoever did this did it for a reason and they will probably do it again.’
‘But it’s no good going back to the flat, uncle, they know where you live,’ said
Similar Books
