They met in an almost deserted airport hotel bar. Douglas had cold-showered and only a slight unsteadiness revealed his intoxication. He made no mention of Nash’s change of heart, just handed him the contract.

Nash scanned it briefly before signing on the spot.

Douglas was thrilled. It might be Shangri-La’s scoop, he kept saying, but Nash was going to get all the glory and write the book.

‘Oh, and don’t forget 250 grand, laddie.’ Insisting on cracking a bottle of expensive champagne, Douglas raised his flute high. ‘Well, here’s to the mighty Hoosenbeck. And the man who’s going to plumb her virgin depths!’

Taking a token sip, Nash felt no emotion beyond a steely sense of duty, which was to cover his dread at the magnitude of what lay ahead. Never had he felt so ill-prepared for an expedition. All he could do was trust his experience would provide when the time came.

‘So, when are we going, Frank?’ He pushed away his plate of trout half eaten.

‘Three weeks.’ Douglas wiped his mouth on a napkin. ‘There’s a ship leaving Fremantle on Wednesday. A container for your gear is coming tomorrow. You’ll need to book a flight to Moresby. Get your shots up to date. Now, we’d better figure out your inventory before my gate is called.’

As they tallied up the lengthy gear list, Nash was suddenly curious.

‘Tell me, Frank, how on earth did you wangle this?’

Douglas gave him a lopsided grin. ‘After the Indonesians couldn’t get on to you, they came a-knocking on bended knee. For two hundred grand I agreed to get your signature, but only if they signed me on as pilot!’ He patted Nash’s forearm with a trembling hand. ‘The team’s back in business, Robbie my lad. Now, how about buying me one for the road?’

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Kebayoran Baru, Jakarta, Indonesia, one month previously

‘For you, my darling, a token of my appreciation.’

Sura stared in utter disbelief at the gleaming gold bar, for the chrysanthemum seal and Japanese logographs were unmistakable.

‘You found it already?’ She forced herself to smile through the turmoil raging within. One pathetic bar . . . How would she fund a new life with that?

Wijaya sat back in his chair, looking satisfied. ‘I’m afraid there was only a small cache at the mission, but thanks to you we now have the location of the submarine and an estimated two metric tonnes of gold bullion.’

Sura breathed again. ‘How wonderful! Where?’

‘Under our friend Martin Heider’s command, the I-403 was indeed sailed up the Sepik and Hoosenbeck rivers, before being hidden inside a huge cave at the end of the Hoosenbeck Gorge. The founder of the Ford Mission removed approximately half the gold before it sank in the 1950s.’

Sura’s head was spinning. ‘And they stayed up there? What on earth happened, Father?’