

The Goa Connection

by

Gerry Skoyles

© 2017 Gerry Skoyles

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1

A stiffening breeze caused Dan Mapleton's potting boat, Lucky Lucy, to pitch and roll a few metres out from Polminan harbour. Whitewashed cottages in the quaint Cornish village glowed in evening sunshine and the clock on the church tower showed seven o'clock when Dan's boat chugged into harbour. He cut the engine before tying up near concrete steps at the jetty. Herring gulls circled overhead, their screeching echoing around the community as they prepared to swoop on tasty morsels.

Tourists who'd flocked to that corner of south west England were enjoying a spell of warm June weather. Forecasters predicted that year would be the driest summer since records began. Sun worshippers lined ancient stone harbour walls, some munching fish and chips while admiring the view. Across the road, staff at The Mackerel Inn served thirsty customers seated around wooden tables outside.

Dan set about emptying the last wire and wood lobster pot into a plastic tray on the boat deck and stared in amazement when a strange object fell out, landing in the tray with a solid clunk. He picked up the curiously shaped thing—about the size of his hand—and turned it round and round. It wasn't heavy but seemed metallic. A few taps and a good shake suggested it was hollow. Using a penknife to scrape away some algae revealed what looked like bronze. Hmm. Funny. Looks sort of oriental, Dan thought. Although encrusted with marine growth he wondered if it might be a statuette of something ancient.

He decided not to risk damaging his find and reckoned it'd be sensible to consult someone capable of identifying it. After locking the wheelhouse, Dan shoved the mysterious object into his trouser pocket, picked up the tray, climbed the steps to the jetty and headed to the local indoor market to deliver his meagre catch of crabs, a small lobster and a crawfish. As he approached, a strong aroma of fish wafted out. After spending a few minutes enjoying light-hearted banter with merchants, he headed to his nearby rented home, a tiny slate and stone one-bedroom cottage, named The Nook, in Bramble Lane.

He ducked in the cottage doorway to avoid banging his head on the low frame; being almost two metres tall sometimes caused problems inside the humble dwelling. He showered his slim, muscular body, tanned by years of working at sea, and shaved before brushing his short, greying fair hair, bending to see in the bathroom mirror. At forty-five years old, he wasn't doing too badly looks-wise. After cleaning good white teeth, he went to the bedroom, wriggled into jeans and pulled on a shirt before picking up the intriguing little object from the dining room table.

"Right then. Let's go and find out a bit about you," Dan said to himself in a Home Counties accent, unchanged even after spending twenty years in Cornwall. He tossed the statuette from hand to hand before opening the door.

* * *

Mark Cunningham, landlord of The Mackerel Inn, glanced up from rearranging beer mats and coasters on the counter as Dan walked in and headed to a quiet corner in the cosy bar, which was renowned near and far for its wall displays of paintings and drawings depicting historical moments in the village's maritime history. Pewter tankards, horse brasses and assorted memorabilia hung from blackened oak beams.

Sixty-year-old Mark, with a developing beer gut, hitched up lightweight cotton trousers and unbuttoned his short-sleeved shirt. Perspiration glistened on his brow. He watched his friend Dan place something behind a seat cushion before sauntering over to order a pint of lager at the bar.

"Hi Dan, how's things?" The retired marine biologist's crinkled face lit up and a huge grin stretched from ear to ear. They'd been close friends for many years, and he respected him. Only he and a few locals knew that Dan had moved to the village following tragic events. His mother, a garage forecourt attendant, was killed in an explosion when a car lost control and ploughed into the petrol pumps. Weeks later, his father, a carpenter, died from a heart attack after diving into a freezing lake and saving a child who'd fallen through the ice.

"Strange sort of day really," Dan said, drumming his fingers on the bar. "Not much fish, but I did find something interesting."

"Yeah?" Mark said, absently wiping the counter.

"If you have a moment, I'd like to get your opinion."

Marked looked up, frowning. "I'm no expert on crabs, mate."

"No, but you've spent years working in oceans around the world. I might have dredged an antique off the sea floor."

Mark's eyebrows rose. "Well I've often stumbled on some unusual bits and pieces. What sort of antique?"

"It's over there," Dan said, pointing to his chair in the corner.

"Really? Right, I'll be over in a minute. The wife can cope now it's not so busy. Usual?"

Dan nodded and the landlord pulled a pint of draught lager.

Sally Cunningham, Mark's wife, smiled and called out, "Hi Danny," as she bustled around collecting empty glasses. She was cheerful, easygoing, slightly overweight and always wore her dyed black hair in a ponytail.

As soon as Mark joined him, Dan plonked the statuette on the table. "This fell out of one of my pots this evening. What do you reckon?"

Mark picked it up. After scrutinising it, he declared, "Now this might well be very interesting. It's probably quite old."

"Any value?" enquired Dan hopefully.

"Maybe—it's a Ganesh. But there're thousands of them all over the world—some valuable, others just tacky souvenirs. I wouldn't build your hopes . . ." He stopped talking abruptly for a moment, then exclaimed, "Hang on though—what's this?"

With the statuette upside down in his lap, Mark's fingers explored an uneven circular mark in the base. Eventually he said, "Ha! It's a plug, so there's a way to look inside. It'll need opening with great care though—been sealed for goodness knows how long. I'll go get my tool box."

Mark returned with his specialist tools and slowly began clearing the statuette of marine growth. After a while, the elephant-headed god, Ganesha, appeared in well-preserved detail.

Dan gazed at his Ganesh blankly. "So what's it all about?"

"Ganesha is a Hindu god," Mark explained.

"Pity one of his tusks got broken."

Mark laughed. "No, no. It's supposed to be like that."

"Why an elephant head anyway?"

Mark took a deep breath. "Briefly, Parvati, the wife of Shiva, wanted to take a bath while her husband was away so . . ."

"I thought Parvati was an Italian opera singer."

"That was Pavarotti, idiot. Do you want to hear this story or not?"

"Sorry. Carry on."

"Anyway, Parvati formed a young boy from clay. Her new son stood guard at the door as she bathed. Shiva returned and was angry to find a stranger guarding his home. He cut off the boy's head and then . . ."

"No! Cut off the poor kid's head? That's terrible."

"Just shut up. After discovering he'd killed his own son, Shiva rushed out to find a replacement head and the first one he came across was that of a young elephant. So he hacked it off, stuck it on the body of his son, Ganesha, and breathed life back into him."

Having listened to the story, Dan shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that's a bit dramatic. Where do you think my little Ganesh came from?"

Mark said, "Maybe there's a clue inside. Give me a few minutes and we'll find out." He worked carefully with a small tool, scratching round the rim of the plug. "Right. Easy does it." He gently eased the plug out and placed it on the table. Holding the statuette upside down, he shook it slightly and particles of dust fell out. "At least it remained watertight, but there doesn't seem to be anything in here." He reached inside his toolbox and picked up a torch. On directing the beam inside the Ganesh he murmured, "Oh! There is something—looks like paper or even parchment."

"Probably just some stupid message to whoever finds it," Dan muttered flatly.

"I think not. This looks fascinating." Mark gingerly eased out a rolled up length of parchment and opened it with meticulous care on the table top. "It's a map with wording in Portuguese. Something to do with Goa, India. It's incredibly old I reckon. Here—you look." He turned the map so Dan could read it.

"It's got a few little crosses dotted about—like the ones in pirate and desert island movies. Surely this can't be the key to hidden treasure?" Dan looked up expectantly.

Mark offered, "Who knows? One thing's for sure though—we have to get these things examined properly. My guess is a deep sea chest from an old Portuguese sailing ship broke open—probably after the ship sank on a voyage from Goa to Portugal. Could have been as far back as the sixteenth century when the Portuguese colonised Goa."

"Well I never. How come you know so much about that stuff? But I can't see how anything could get that far in the water."

Mark pondered on that observation then added, "You're right. It'd be just about impossible for anything from that location to drift to these waters."

"Right. Then this bronze thing probably disappeared from a ship bound for Britain—maybe it almost got here." Dan declared enthusiastically.

Mark nodded. "Far more likely, but don't let's get carried away. It'll take some time to get any feedback about the map from cartographers up in London. And you need to get that Ganesh looked at as well. We'll set the wheels in motion first thing in the morning."

* * *

Dan waited impatiently for news from London about his find over the next few days. One afternoon he decided to take a break from work and go somewhere to get away from routine. He drove his old Ford Transit van along a twisting lane close to cliff tops covered with brightly coloured lichens. He stopped and picked up his binoculars to view some puffins nesting in a crevice of an outcrop.

In Kensdown he pulled up at a parking bay off a narrow cobbled street lined with terraced cottages, each painted a different pastel shade. He walked to number seven, rang the bell and waited.

The door opened and a woman with grey wavy hair, a pleasant face and a flowered pinafore adorning her ample body greeted her unexpected visitor with delight. "Dan! Well! What a lovely surprise—come on in. How kind of you to drop by."

Dan kissed her on the cheek. "Good to see you, Rosie. You look as lovely as ever." He followed her in, closed the door and dropped into an armchair in the small sitting room.

"Still the same old flatterer. I'll pop the kettle on. You must be ready for a cuppa." She bustled off to the kitchen.

Dan crossed to the mantelshelf over an open fireplace and gazed at a framed photo of Katie Barnes, Rosie's thirty-four-year-old daughter. Katie looked elegant in a full-length scarlet evening gown that highlighted her tall, slender body. Blonde wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, blue eyes looked at Dan and shining red lips, slightly parted by a smile, highlighted dazzling white teeth. Dan sighed deeply, shook his head sorrowfully and swallowed hard.

Rosie appeared with refreshments, glanced at Dan still at the fireplace, and said, "Now come along, no use dwelling on it. What's done is done."

Dan slumped into his chair with a sigh but realised he must make an effort to brighten up. "I just miss her so much. Five years together and never an argument. It all comes down to my lack of cash. Who can blame her for taking off to backpack round the world?"

"Most young people do that these days, but I'm surprised Katie gave up that good career in . . . er . . .what's it called?"

"Corporate hospitality."

"That's it. Can't believe it was a year ago."

"Perhaps I was too old for her after all," Dan said.

"Never! Age and wealth don't matter in a relationship. Just because you weren't married didn't change the fact you were perfect together. I'm sixty-three, been widowed for a few years and got used to being alone. But you two—well, I think Katie's going to regret leaving you."

Over tea and biscuits, Dan felt concerned for Katie on learning she hadn't contacted her mother for a few weeks. "That's most unusual. Maybe she's just somewhere without internet."

Rosie shook her head. "No, I don't think so. She used to call on her cell phone in those circumstances. But nothing."

"Perhaps she's somewhere in the back of beyond where there isn't any way of communicating. Do you know where she is?"

Tears welled in Rosie's eyes. "No idea. Last I heard she was in the Philippines. Silly old me." She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm just an old worrier. Anyhow, how are you these days?"

"Oh, you know—up and down. Life's very drab without Katie around."

"I bet you miss those special meals she cooked at weekends. She told me she'd never seen you so content. She really did love you, Dan. It's all so weird."

Dan lowered his gaze and said softly, "You've no idea how much I still love her, Rosie."

They chatted for more than an hour and then Dan made ready to leave.

In the doorway Rosie said, "I'll keep in touch and let you know as soon as Katie contacts me."

"Please do that. I'll worry until I know she's okay."

* * *

A week later, Ganesh and the map arrived back at The Mackerel Inn, and Mark Cunningham set about reading an accompanying report. Phew! Incredible. Almost unbelievable. Dan's going to really freak out about this, he thought.

He picked up his phone and called Dan who was fishing just offshore. "Hey Dan! Your stuff's back and I think you should get over here right away—too much to explain on the phone." He listened then nodded. "Right, see you then."

There weren't any customers in the pub when Dan arrived. Mark, standing behind the bar, triumphantly waved statuette and map, shouting excitedly, "Better sit down. Prepare yourself for a shock."

Dan hitched onto a barstool, wide-eyed. "Go on then, what's the news?"

"In a nutshell, you might be onto something truly rewarding. The map isn't as old as it looks. Seems it was made to look like sixteenth century but isn't more than seventy years old."

Dan let out a low whistle. "Would you believe it? Why would anyone do that?"

"It may well have been part of a plot to cover up an operation to smuggle a treasure of gold coins, silver, precious stones and ornaments. Apparently there's some coding connected to the location of a hidden fortune in Goa. The theory is your Ganesh left Mormugao port in Goa on a ship bound for Lisbon during the Second World War."

"Then that puts an end to the idea of it being washed up around here."

"Not at all. Possibly the piece of bronze was transferred to a ship sailing to Britain but was lost when the vessel sank. If so, I'd guess British based accomplices never had a chance to discover the whereabouts of the prize."

Dan took a few moments to absorb the story before venturing, "Why wasn't the map posted by air or surface mail?"

Mark shrugged. "Maybe they thought in wartime there would have been too many agents, spies and government officials keen to intercept mail."

"About the code. I take it nobody has a clue how to crack it? And it sounds like the bronze statuette isn't worth much."

"Correct on both counts unfortunately," Mark confirmed. "But it's early days and maybe we need to sniff around for clues to decipher that code. So thinking caps on and let's take a closer look. For starters, the fact that Portugal and Goa were neutral during the war doesn't mean the would-be smugglers were Portuguese."

Dan offered, "They could have been from anywhere, taking an opportunity to shift valuables from one neutral place to another."

"I've a hunch there's a clue about nationality somewhere in that code. The Portuguese to English translation suggests a slight resemblance to British code formula used during wartime. We need help to dig deeper into that," Mark said.
Chapter 2

After making extensive enquiries for two days, Dan and Mark tracked down a former wartime cryptanalyst living in Penzance. He invited them to take the map to his home for scrutiny.

Ninety year-old Harry Renshaw was remarkably alert but his failing eyesight caused problems. He repositioned a bright reading lamp on his desk in the study of a rambling former vicarage. Dan and Mark watched anxiously from behind the expert as he hunched low over the map, using a powerful magnifying glass to examine the coded message.

"Mmm, quite interesting—indeed very interesting," Harry Renshaw said softly. "You see, there was a similarity between German Enigma coding apparatus and our British Typex cipher machine. However, our Typex proved superior. Thanks to extra wheels and notches the code was declared unbreakable by the Germans."

Mark asked, "So can you tell what sort of code we have here?"

Harry raised a hand. "Patience, gentlemen, give me time." He continued studying the code, jotting down rows of numbers and letters on a sheet of paper.

Dan could hardly conceal his excitement and began tapping a foot on the floor impatiently. He thought Please let it be good news. Come on!

Eventually the cryptanalyst declared, "It's very close to the British layout—give or take a few irregularities. It's certainly not German."

Fifteen minutes later Harry announced, "Well, well! I do believe we have an answer. You see, whoever wrote this code couldn't have been completely familiar with how to do it properly. In fact, almost half the letters in every word seem not coded at all. I just need to decode the rest and all will be revealed."

"We'll pop outside for a while and leave you to get on with it," said Mark.

"You're welcome to sit in the garden and Mrs Peabody, my housekeeper, will bring you some cold drinks," offered Harry.

Dan and Mark walked through a patio doorway and sat at a rustic table under a leafy tree in a lawn surrounded by well-tended flower borders. Birdsong filled the stonewalled garden.

Mrs Peabody placed chilled lemonade, nibbles and some newspapers on the table. "There you go, gentlemen. Don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything else." She beamed broadly, turned and walked back to the house.

Suddenly Dan started thinking about Katie Barnes. He was becoming increasingly concerned about the lack of any news. Doesn't make sense. She'd never deliberately fail to keep in touch with her mother, he thought, his face taking on a glum expression.

Almost an hour later Harry Renshaw appeared and called out triumphantly, "I'm delighted to tell you I've successfully completed the task. Come along, gentlemen, come and see."

Harry's two visitors followed him back to the study, sat and leaned forward expectantly as the old man read out information contained on the map.

Harry cleared his throat. "Apparently this pinpoints the location of hidden treasure somewhere in Goa, India. Some words are still in Portuguese but that's not surprising given the place used to be run by that country. A ruined fort named Cabo De Soldado—Cape Of The Soldier, in English—holds clues to the exact location of the hoard."

Dan gasped. "Does it say how to get to this fort?"

Harry nodded. "Indeed. It's close to a village called Repousante, meaning Restful, in southern Goa. The district—taluka—is known as Salcete."

Dan shot out of his chair and punched the air exuberantly. "Yes! Oh boy, I can hardly believe it!"

Mark cut in with, "Steady, Dan. You don't exactly have your hands on a fortune yet. Even if you did find the bounty, you'd not be allowed to take it out of India. When I was working in the Arabian Sea years ago, I heard a story about priceless treasure going missing from one of the oldest Hindu temples in Goa. Rumours spread that the Supreme Court of India had approved an enormous reward for the safe return of the sacred hoard. I'll research that when we get home and see if it's true. So, be patient. Anyway, there's the small matter of getting out there and being able to stay indefinitely. We'll need a lot of money."

Harry offered, "Perhaps you'd like me to write the full translation in English to store with the map."

Dan nodded. "Oh yes please, that's very important."

As soon as the additional document was ready, Dan and Mark thanked Harry profusely and left.

On arriving at The Mackerel Inn, Dan enjoyed a pint at the bar while Mark searched online for information about the alleged reward on offer in India.

After a few minutes Mark exclaimed, "Here it is! Yes, the reward is still up for grabs. Good grief! It can't be that much. One hundred and seventy-five million Indian rupees. Let's do a quick conversion." He opened a currency conversion website and typed in the figures. "That's about two million pounds!"

"Whew! Why so much?" Dan wanted to know.

"Just getting the sacred property back is of paramount importance. Enormous wealth accumulated over centuries from the contributions of 'devotees'. Keep in mind this temple, called Napahadram, is one of only two that escaped destruction during the Portuguese era. New temples sprang up later."

Dan raised his tankard and declared, "I'm off! The obvious thing to do first is sell my boat. It should fetch around twenty thousand pounds so I'll advertise it right away."

"Maybe . . ." Mark hesitated. "Maybe we could sell the story to the local media. They're always on the lookout for unusual material. Mind you, we say nothing about the map, hidden treasure or rewards—that'd be rather foolish."

* * *

A television news team arrived at Polminan harbour the next morning. Curious onlookers gathered to watch a camera and microphones being set up on the deck of Lucky Lucy.

Before filming began, an attractive female reporter explained, "Okay, Mr Mapleton. I'll just ask a few questions and you may answer any way you wish, okay?"

"Sure, go ahead. But keep it simple."

During the interview, Dan explained the theory about how the Ganesh eventually washed up in British waters, but revealed nothing about the contents of the object as he held it up for viewers to admire.

The story featured on both national and local news programmes that evening.

* * *

Indian born Vinay Subram stopped eating spicy lentil dhal from a bowl on the dining table in his East London terraced house. The early evening news on the TV caught the retired railway worker's attention when the newsreader mentioned a minor story from Cornwall about a local fisherman recovering a bronze Ganesh statuette from coastal waters.

"Hey, listen to this, Geena. It sounds just like that thing your father kept on about for years." Vinay increased the TV volume on the remote control. "You remember? When he worked at Mormugao Harbour in Goa during the war."

His wife, Geena, shrugged. "Don't be silly. We all know old Naveen Mahajan loved telling tales to anyone who'd listen. Now eat your dinner. Anyway, even my mother got bored with the same old story."

Vinay objected with, "That's because your mother was British. She didn't understand our family properly. I'm telling you there may well be a connection to Naveen's account of what he witnessed."

With a sigh, Geena gave in. "Okay, go on; remind me again if you must."

Her husband leaned forward enthusiastically. "Naveen discovered how a criminal gang stole treasure from a Hindu temple in Goa and hid it somewhere in the province. He also found out the gang had a map made and hidden inside a Ganesh statuette. They placed the bronze in a crate of merchandise on a Portugal-bound ship in Mormugao Harbour. In Lisbon it was transferred to a ship going to England but sank en route so accomplices in England never laid hands on the clue to the whereabouts of the treasure."

Geena remained silent for a few moments, a pained look on her face. Quietly she said, "Why oh why do we have all this cloak and dagger stuff going on in our family? Father wasn't a criminal—just tempted to help himself to a fortune if the opportunity cropped up." She brushed tears from her cheeks. "Not like our son—our own son—in prison right now for thieving and goodness knows what else."

Vinay nodded. "Yes, it is so sad. But we did our best. His mental health problems make things very difficult. When he gets out, we'll help him start a new life. It's time he found a wife and settled down. We'll go and visit John again tomorrow."

"At least we can tell him all about this fuss in Cornwall over a little bit of metal. That should cheer him up," Geena added.

* * *

John Subram impatiently paced his cell, waiting for prison officers to unlock the door and lead him to freedom. Now thirty-six, the medium built, moustached man of Indian descent with black hair and dark eyes had completed a five-year sentence for armed robbery and causing grievous bodily harm to a security guard at a suburban London bank.

Since his parents told him about the Ganesh statuette being washed up in Cornwall his brain had been working overtime. He was hell-bent on beating that fisherman to the prize and already had the first steps planned.

* * *

Sleeping was difficult. Dan tossed and turned in bed while his brain churned through much of what was happening: would there be a better offer for his boat than a bid of sixteen thousand pounds? The meagre two hundred pounds from the TV company wouldn't go very far.

His phone rang. Who on Earth is phoning at this time of night? he thought drowsily, fumbling in darkness for his mobile, which he habitually kept in a transparent waterproof pouch due to spending so much time at sea. Blearily squinting he discovered it was Rosie Barnes calling at three o'clock in the morning. "Something's happened to Katie!" he gasped while connecting. "Rosie! What's wrong?"

"Oh Dan, I'm so sorry to wake you at this hour but it's Katie. The girl who was travelling with her in the Philippines just called to say she hasn't heard from Katie for ages. It seems Katie decided to go on alone weeks ago. I'm beside myself with worry. I must tell the police. Can you come over, Dan? Please!"

"Of course, I'll come straight away. Try not to get too upset, Rosie. I'm sure it'll be alright." He quickly dressed, grabbed the van keys and a torch, hurried outside and locked the cottage door.

Firmly gripping the steering wheel, Dan navigated along torturous roads at high speed, headlights picking out large boulders partly concealed by undergrowth as he approached sharp bends. Tyres screeched when he needed to brake abruptly.

Rosie tearfully greeted her visitor and ushered him indoors, wailing, "I haven't phoned the police yet because I don't know if it's better to wait until morning then go to the police station."

"We'll visit the police station at first light and file a missing person report," Dan assured her.

* * *

August arrived and John Subram was infuriated to learn that his fake passport wouldn't be ready until early September, then he would need to obtain a three-month visa for India. Using a computer in the back bedroom at his parent's London home in the early hours, he opened Google search, typed Polminan and jotted down the village location in a notebook. Next he typed Cornish fisherman finds Ganesh statuette in lobster pot. Several references appeared and he studied one that carried the most detail concerning a television news report.

"Brilliant! Just what I was looking for," he said softly. "Dan Mapleton. Lives alone in a Polminan cottage. Boat name Lucky Lucy. That'll do nicely for starters." He wrote the information in the book. "Right, Mr clever dick Mapleton, little do you know what's about to happen." Subram chuckled and closed down the computer.

Next morning he travelled by train from Paddington to Penzance, took a bus to Polminan and checked in at Sunrise Lodge Hotel.
Chapter 3

Dejected holidaymakers who'd paid peak season rates bemoaned the English summer weather. They waited impatiently inside The Mackerel Inn just after closing time during a violent late night thunderstorm in early August. Brilliant flashes of lightning stabbed through windows, followed by deafening thunderclaps. Hailstones rattled against windowpanes. Lights in the bar flickered and went out, triggering dim emergency lighting. Mark Cunningham's wife, Sally, busied herself collecting glasses and placing flickering oil lamps on tables.

Mark Cunningham discussed the Goa plan with Dan Mapleton in a cosy corner.

"I've accepted that offer of sixteen thousand for the boat," Dan said. "The bloke has paid two thousand deposit in cash but wants to pay the balance at the end of the month. "I might as well apply for my India visa to start in September."

Mark nodded. "Good. I've made photocopies of the map and English translation—just in case. They're locked in my safe with the bronze Ganesh. You never know who's snooping around these days."

Dan was looking on curiously when the outside door opened and a female police officer stumbled in, propelled by a strong gust of wind. Rainwater flowed from her uniform waterproofs as she struggled to slam the door shut. She made a beeline for Sally Cunningham, seemed to ask a question, and the landlady pointed at Dan.

"Hello, what's all this about?" Dan said apprehensively.

The constable crossed to Dan. "Mr Mapleton?"

Dan nodded. "Can I help you?"

"There's been a report that your fishing boat has slipped her moorings down in the harbour and looks like being battered to smithereens. You'd better get over there, sir."

"Oh no! Right, I'm on my way." Dan shot off the chair and rushed out.

"I'm coming with you!" Mark called out.

* * *

John Subram, in camouflage patterned rainwear, crouched behind a stack of lobsterpots on the quay after casting off Lucky Lucy as the storm raged relentlessly. Come on! Go, go! Subram silently willed the vessel to drift out far enough so that the howling gale and crashing, murderous waves could send it to an untimely grave. Once satisfied the boat was heading towards destruction, he stealthily crept away into the blackness.

* * *

Massive banks of foaming water burst over the harbour walls, flooding both quay and roadside as Dan ran to the steps next to his mooring. He heard Mark shouting from behind, warning it was too dangerous to jump in, but ignored the advice. Intermittent sheet lightning silhouetted the potting boat, pitching and rolling crazily, being swept towards a stone wall and other moored vessels on the far side of the harbour. Without hesitating, Dan, in shirt and trousers, dived into the swirling cauldron, immediately disappearing into the depths as a breaker crashed over him. In his panic, he'd held his breath and desperately needed air as he started battling to the surface in pitch darkness. It seemed an eternity before he broke surface, gulping and frantically filling his lungs. He struck out in a powerful crawl towards his doomed possession, but time after time, the ferocious sea forced him under.

Exhausted, Dan eventually reached Lucky Lucy and managed to hang on to a mooring line trailing from the stern. When some strength returned, he hauled himself along the line and waited until the stern sank low in a trough before scrambling onboard. Luckily, the boat keys were zipped in his trousers hip pocket. A swift look ahead confirmed there was precious little time before the boat rammed the harbour wall. Hastily unlocking the wheelhouse, Dan shoved the ignition key in and turned it, gasping, "Come on! Don't let me down." The engine started effortlessly. Slamming it into reverse at full power, Dan spun the wheel. Agonisingly slowly, the bow began to turn, almost scraping the stonework.

"Turn! You can do it, just a bit more!" Dan screamed, wrestling the wheel. Miraculously, Lucky Lucy avoided a collision. Dan slowed the engine, changed gear and steered towards open sea, reckoning it'd be safer to ride out the raging storm than trying to return to harbour moorings.

* * *

Mark ran back to where the police officer prevented a group of would-be onlookers from going on the quay, warning them of danger to life, while calling for assistance. Moments later the storm's intensity began subsiding; the wind dropped, only a little rain fell, and the lightning and thunder moved away.

"He'll be alright now," Mark explained to the policewoman. "He's been waiting out there until the weather improved. Now he'll bring the boat back in safely."

* * *

John Subram followed directions given by a receptionist at Sunrise Lodge Hotel and after locating Nook Cottage, he slipped round to the back and pulled on thin plastic gloves outside the bedroom window. He'd learned years ago never to leave fingerprints. The storm's intensity decreased rapidly as he flashed a torch around the window, discovering just a single interior latch securing it. Picking up a large pebble, he smashed a glass pane above the latch, reached in, opened the window and wriggled inside.

Shining the torch around, he crossed to a dressing table, opened drawers and rummaged through clothing, scattering garments all over the floor. Finding nothing of interest, he turned his attention to a wardrobe and searched inside, again drawing a blank. Even pulling the mattress from its base revealed nothing. Subram moved to the dining room and set about pulling out sideboard drawers, emptying their contents over the carpet. On opening a cupboard in the piece of furniture, he discovered a carved trinket box.

Subram placed the box on the dining table and lifted the lid. He removed a few photographs and documents before picking up a wad of British banknotes. A slip of paper on top of the money had 2000 scribbled on it in black ink. After stuffing the currency inside a jacket pocket, he shook out the remaining items. A gents Rolex watch quickly joined the cash on his person. Then he found the parchment map he'd been searching for. Clipped to the folded map was a sheet of paper detailing in English exactly where to find the treasure in Goa. Pulling a compact digital camera from an inside pocket, he spread both map and information sheet on the table and took several photographs of each. Then with great care, he reattached the clip, folded the documents, returned them to the box, closed the lid and put it back in the cupboard.

Convinced that detectives would treat his crime as a standard house burglary by an amateur desperate for quick cash, Subram pocketed the camera and made his getaway through the bedroom window. At that moment he heard the front door opening.

On reaching the road, Subram had to retreat and wait in darkness against the cottage wall to avoid a couple walking slowly along Bramble Lane.

* * *

Still dripping water, Dan stared in disbelief around his ransacked home. On noticing sideboard drawers and contents strewn over the floor, he instinctively rushed to the cupboard containing his trinket box, took it out, opened the lid and checked the contents. Oh no! They've got my two-thousand pounds boat deposit. And the Rolex, Katie's special gift. At least the map is still here. What else is missing? Many thoughts rushed through his numbed mind as he checked around the house.

On reaching the bedroom, he stared at the mattress on the floor, the emptied drawers and scattered clothing. Then he saw the open window and broken glass. Hastily he scrambled out and raced round to the lane where street lighting dimly picked out a figure in dark clothing running away.

"Hey! Stop!" Dan shouted, giving chase. He tripped on a raised manhole cover and sprawled headlong on the road surface. By the time he'd recovered, the suspected burglar had disappeared.

* * *

"I would've caught him—or her—if that manhole hadn't been in the way," lamented Dan, inspecting his grazed hands as he made a statement to Detective Sergeant Peter Ballinger in the kitchen of his cottage next morning. The ageing detective, wearing a creased, well-worn tweed jacket, white shirt with a crumpled collar, a hastily knotted patterned tie and grey trousers devoid of creases, seemed to be grudgingly going about his duties.

"Well, it looks like the thief wore gloves because there aren't any fingerprints in any of the obvious places," the detective said. "You say it was impossible to see more than an outline of the person. Can you indicate anything like height and build?"

"About five-foot-six, medium build. Could have been male or female. I'd guess the dark colour of clothing was a waterproof outfit with hood."

"And you reckon only the cash and Rolex was taken. Hmm—sounds like a local needing a bit of money. We'll make enquiries in the neighbourhood. In the meantime, let us know if you find more things are missing, or see anything suspicious. That was quite a night for you, Mr Mapleton, what with your boat breaking loose as well."

Dan took a deep breath. "Actually, I'm not convinced it did break loose. It's highly unlikely two mooring lines tied correctly could just untie themselves."

Detective Sergeant Ballinger stared at Dan. "You think someone deliberately tried to wreck it?"

"Yes, I do."

"I see. That could through a completely new light on the matter. Do you know anyone with a grudge against you?"

"Nobody. In all my years in Polminan I've never made an enemy or met anyone who'd say different."

After mulling over Dan's words, Ballinger suggested, "In that case perhaps we should consider a link between the boat incident and house theft. That also means there's a likelihood it was someone from outside the community."

"Now I think you're on the right track."

"The fact you went on television and showed off that bronze statuette might have attracted the attention of somebody with a vested interest. I think it's worth visiting tourist accommodation in the area to see if anybody had recent guests who seemed slightly unusual. I'll get some officers on it right away."

* * *

A young uniformed police constable and a man of about forty in a well-tailored beige suit approached the reception desk at Sunrise Lodge Hotel.

Feeling slightly concerned, the receptionist asked, "How may I help you? My name is Niki."

The suited man held up an identity card. "I'm Detective Constable Gavin Anderson. We're just making routine enquiries as to whether anyone has stayed here in the last couple of days who might have attracted attention due to appearance or behaviour. Maybe you can check with your colleagues?"

"Anything that stood out as being a bit unusual would help. Oh, I'm Constable Ken Jackson, by the way," the uniformed officer added.

Niki said guardedly, "We need to get the hotel manager. Just a moment please." She made a phone call. "Oh, Mr Collins, could you come to reception and meet two police officers? Thanks."

Moments later, Mr Collins arrived. "Good afternoon, how may I be of assistance?" After listening to the nature of the police enquiry he said, "As a matter of fact, Niki is the person to speak to. She's already discussed a small matter with me concerning a particular guest. Carry on, Niki."

Niki hesitated for a moment and then said, "Actually, I was on duty two days ago when one of our guests checked in for three nights and paid in advance. We thought it a bit odd when he just sat around in the lounge most of the day and only went out late evening. He seemed a bit of a loner. For some reason he asked me if I knew where Dan Mapleton lived. I'm afraid I told him—then realised I shouldn't have done that."

Detective Constable Anderson said, "Really? Now that's most helpful. Would you mind telling us the name of this person?"

Niki reviewed reservations on a computer. "He checked in as Bill Smith. I thought it seemed a strange name for a man who looked somewhat Indian."

Constable Ken Jackson asked, "I take it he gave a home address?"

"Yes."

"We'd like to have that please."

Mr Collins intervened with, "I took the precaution of checking the given address in London. It doesn't exist."

Niki confirmed, "He left without checking out. This morning the room cleaner discovered all his belongings had gone."

After noting the description given of the elusive man as having an Indian appearance, mid-thirties, black hair, dark eyes, moustache, medium build, about five-feet-six, the policemen left.

* * *

Around midnight, Mark and Sally Cunningham finished tidying the bar at The Mackerel Inn after a busy evening. Dan, in his favourite corner chair, scribbled reminders of things to do in connection with the forthcoming Indian adventure on a piece of paper.

As soon as Mark joined him at the table, Dan told him, "I've managed to find accommodation in Repousante close to the fort and it's not expensive either."

"Good, things are shaping up well."

Sally turned on the television behind the bar and sat to watch a late night news programme.

Dan said, "I was wondering if . . ." He stopped talking and looked at the television. "Hang on, what's this all about?"

The presenter announced, "Disturbing images, captured on a mobile phone, arrived here at our studios a short time ago. They are from a backpacker in Thailand, who had earlier sent a text to say she'd witnessed the abduction of a young English woman on the streets of Bangkok. The informant, wishing to remain anonymous, declined an interview. However, she told us she'd only met the alleged victim briefly, discovered she was from England, but didn't know her name. The images have been forwarded to the police and will only be broadcast if the authorities decide it would help their enquiries or be in the public interest."

Mark said, "I know exactly what you're thinking, Dan. Forget it. There're so many hoaxes around these days. If it was Katie, the police would have been in touch by now."

"I suppose so—but I can't help worrying."

"Come on—let's get on with organising your treasure hunt."

Dan found it hard to concentrate. He couldn't get Katie Barnes out of his head.
Chapter 4

Extreme heat and high humidity greeted Dan as he emerged from arrivals at Dabolim Airport in Goa at three o'clock in the afternoon during mid September. Thankful he'd decided to travel in shorts and short-sleeved shirt, he trundled his baggage to a taxi rank as perspiration ran down his face.

A beaming taxi driver asked, "Where you going?"

"Repousante. How long will it take?"

"About one hour." The taxi man loaded the bags while Dan got into the cool air-conditioned white saloon car.

The cab moved away from the airport to a main road and joined a constant stream of cars, trucks, buses, scooters and tuk-tuks, all honking horns frequently for no apparent reason. Dan leaned forward in his seat, marvelling at the sight of bullock carts and cows mingling with traffic. Stray dogs prowled, yapping at anything that moved. Women in colourful saris balanced heavy loads on their heads as they walked along the roadsides. After leaving the main road, the route took them south along narrow twisting lanes just off the coast towards the province of Salcete. Recent monsoon rains had restored the countryside to a lush green paradise. They passed numerous Portuguese colonial style properties; many of them single-storey mansions with wrought-iron balconies, shady porches, oyster-shell windows and central inner courtyards.

"Nice houses," Dan remarked.

The driver told him, "Most were built in the early eighteenth century, as rewards to wealthy Goan merchants and officials for their services to the Portuguese."

"I need to get some rupees," Dan said. "Can we stop at a money exchange office?"

"No problem, sir."

Lofty coconut palms grew in profusion all around and many homes had large piles of nuts and husks outside their doors. Villages, built on both sides of the road, all seemed to have schools, banks, fish markets, shops, barbers, bars, temples and churches. In contrast to the Portuguese mansions, properties were plain concrete structures or simple wooden huts with palm frond roofs. Cows, bulls, pigs, chickens, ducks, cats and dogs made up a goodly percentage of the population.

In a larger village, geared for tourism, the taxi pulled up outside a money exchange office and Dan bought some rupees.

After moving off again, the driver said, "Only about five more minutes to Repousante now. In a moment we'll see Cabo De Soldado above the village."

Dan's heart started racing at the prospect of seeing the place, but he casually remarked, "Oh really? Okay." When the fort came into view on a cliff top, he simply said, "So that's the place." He watched sea eagles soaring above the ruins and monkeys scampering between clumps of vegetation on the western side of the fortress.

At crossroads, the taxi turned right into the village, moving slowly along a street lined with bars, restaurants and a variety of shops, many of which were open-fronted and draped with colourful textiles and clothing. Only a trickle of tourists ambled around because the monsoon season extended into September. The English translation, Restful, didn't seem to quite fit. Reaching the village outskirts, the taxi continued towards Repousante beach for a hundred metres or so then turned left into a private driveway where it stopped at elaborately designed iron gates. Villa Maranda was a two-storey building resplendent in a variety of pastel shades. A shiny people carrier occupied a detached garage.

Dan paid the fare, retrieved his luggage, climbed a few steps to a spacious porch and rang the bell to the side of heavy panelled double doors.

Both doors opened and a smiling Indian woman with black wavy hair stepped out. She appeared to be in her forties, was quite slim and dressed in western-style sleeveless summer dress and flat shoes. Gold earrings, necklace, bracelet and several rings on her fingers glistened. "Ah! You must be Mr Mapleton; I'll show you to your room, this way." Her English was perfect. "I'm Maranda Rodrigues." She led the way down the porch steps and across a paved courtyard to an annexe. "I've given you room number three on the ground floor because it's the largest with both porch and side balcony." She unlocked the door and Dan went in.

"Oh, this is fine." He looked around the brightly decorated double-bedded room with ample furniture and storage cupboards. He inspected the shower room and toilet, nodding approvingly.

Maranda opened a door to the balcony. "Take a look, Mr Mapleton. It is very peaceful with a nice view."

"Oh please call me Dan." He stepped outside to a shady balcony with branches of a papaya tree overhanging. The view extended beyond rice paddies to the beach. "Yes, very nice indeed." He pointed up to a cliff. "Cabo De Soldado looks fascinating. I must go and explore tomorrow."

"Oh, didn't you know it's been closed due to landslips? I'm afraid the public aren't allowed anymore." Maranda took a deep breath. "I might as well tell you. Sadly, my husband was killed up there last year. He was a keen amateur archaeologist and fell down the cliff face when the ground disappeared under his feet."

"Oh I'm so sorry to hear that. That's terrible." Immediately after expressing condolences, Dan's mind raced with the implications. Now what? I can't give up. I must get into the place somehow.

Maranda said, "Anyway, I'll leave you to settle in. Don't hesitate to come up to the villa if there's anything I can help you with. No doubt you'll need the password for Wi-Fi.

Dan replied, "That's very kind. I'll do that."

After unpacking and showering, Dan walked over to the villa, where Maranda greeted him on the porch. "Hello again, can I tempt you to a cup of tea? I've just made a fresh brew."

"Mmm, yes please—proper Indian tea at last." He sat at the table and Maranda served tea.

The polite conversation included Maranda speaking sadly about her late husband. "We had plans to spend time travelling abroad, but it wasn't to be. He loved exploring historic places. I remember his last words to me so clearly—something he said as he left here to go up to the fort. 'I'm hoping to find out for sure today whether there really is a shaft beneath that cannon.' Those were his exact words."

Dan stiffened, hardly believing what he'd just heard. "Er, sorry? Shaft? Cannon?"

"Yes, he'd mentioned the possibility after an earlier visit. Something about the ground under some flagstones around the cannon seeming somewhat unusual."

Once alone back in his room, Dan telephoned Mark Cunningham in Cornwall. "Hi Mark! I've checked in and already have an amazing lead on where to start looking. I'll email more details later. Remember not to say a word to anybody about where I am or what's going on. Catch you later."

* * *

The next afternoon, sweat glistened on John Subram's brow through fear of capture as he waited for what seemed an eternity at Goa airport immigration. He hitched up baggy khaki shorts and nervously smoothed creases in his faded T-shirt.

A uniformed official studied his fake passport closely. "I see this was issued less than two weeks before getting the visa for India." He stared inquisitively at the new arrival, flicking through the passport's pages. "That's quite unusual."

Subram swallowed hard. "Sure. I went in person to the consular office in London."

"And you say you're staying with a friend called Lorso Valdares who's a Goan resident?"

"That's correct."

"You have a tourist visa. Are you here for leisure or business purposes?"

"Oh, purely leisure; just spending time with Lorso, who I haven't seen for years."

"So you've been here before."

"N-no, no. He came to the UK a while back—to visit family over there." Immediately, Subram regretted telling another lie. I shouldn't have said that. Now they'll check, he thought as his heart pumped.

Unexpectedly, with passport safely returned, the official waved him through.

* * *

Just before sunset, Dan settled in a chair on his balcony at Villa Maranda and spread the treasure map of Cabo De Soldado on a coffee table. He scrolled through pages of an eBook guide to Goa on his tablet, stopping at an article about the fort. Occasionally he glanced up to the actual remains, clearly visible from where he sat, familiarising himself with the layout.

He read some history and viewed photos, discovering it was first occupied by Hindu rulers who spread their empire all over India. The fort had exchanged hands between Hindu, Muslim and Portuguese rulers and had seen some of the most gruesome battles of all time. There was little to see of the old structure except the blackened stone ruined front rampart with its dry moat and main gate. A crumbling turret once housed a Portuguese cannon, but the gun now lay neglected on the ground. Ah! That's it! Exactly as Maranda described it.

According to markings on the map, the treasure could be in any of several locations spread among the ruins, including under the cannon. Why so many markings? Perhaps they're just to mislead if the map happened to fall into the wrong hands. So there must be a subtle difference in this one mark on the cannon. Dan studied the map closely, turning it to catch light in different ways. Yes! There it is—you'd never think of looking for that under normal circumstances. All the marks were uniform size crosses in the shape of the Latin X. However, the one marking the cannon had a minuscule circle in the centre.

When a feeling of euphoria had subsided, there remained an enormous challenge now that the place was out of bounds and highly dangerous. Dan decided to start as soon as possible. First, he needed to find a route up to the fort, one where he had the best chance of going unnoticed. According to photos in the guidebook, a narrow footpath from the beach wound up the cliff to a corner of the perimeter walls. It seemed well screened by trees for much of the way, unlike the ruins, visible for miles from all directions. He opted to go by night, relying on a torch to guide him. Once there, he'd decide what sort of tools were needed to carry out the hunt and hoped to be able to get them locally without arousing suspicion.

The sun turned into a large crimson fireball as it sank quickly to the horizon in the Arabian Sea. Dan watched in awe as a small Goan fishing boat, a wooden single outrigger, slowly moved across the sun, perfectly silhouetted. The sky took on varying shades of red, orange and blue as twilight fell. Completely mesmerised, feeling as if in a trance, his thoughts drifted to Katie Barnes and tears welled in his eyes. Where are you, Katie? If only you knew... he sighed deeply.

The decision to tackle the fort at night turned out to be a bad idea because when daylight faded, floodlights blazed over the historic remains, turning the area into a vivid orange spectacle.

Dan moaned in frustration. Now what? There has to be a way, he thought grimly.

* * *

Lorso Valdares drove a battered old wartime jeep with a canopy along a steep bumpy track behind Cabo De Soldado. The beam from headlights picked out numerous large potholes, and Valdares spun the wheel in fruitless efforts to avoid hitting them. Born in Goa, the dark-skinned, thickset middle-aged dockyard worker cursed fervently on every impact.

Sitting in the passenger seat, John Subram braced himself against the dashboard each time a sickening thud erupted through the floor. He said sarcastically, "Are you sure this wreck actually has any suspension left?"

"Listen, you should be grateful I'm so well connected at Mormugao. This jeep belongs to a crane operator who'll be hoisting that treasure chest aboard a ship going to Lisbon."

"Ha! You make it sound easy. Who's going to be in Portugal to take it off?"

Valdares replied, "Me, of course. I'm very fortunate to have a Portuguese passport."

Subram remained quiet, mulling over the implications. By the time everyone's had their share, there won't be much left to enjoy. I might have to be a bit greedy later. Shouldn't be a big problem to cut this fellow out—one way or the other—once he's done the hard bit, he thought darkly. Eventually he asked, "Did you get that shooter?"

Valdares nodded. "Under my seat."

Subram rummaged for the gun, found it wrapped in a cloth, took it out and inspected it. "Oh, an Indian special, eh? Made by the Indian Ordnance Factory," he said, pointing at an IOF logo on the grip of a .32 calibre, 6 shot revolver. "Spare ammo?"

"Of course—under your seat," Valdares confirmed.

The spare ammunition came in a leather cartridge belt holding 25 bullets. "Let's hope we don't need all of them," snarled Subram.

On nearing the top of the track, both men stared in disbelief at the brightly floodlit fort. "What the..." Valdares braked hard.

"Looks like you didn't do your homework too well, my friend. Now what?" Subram seethed.

Rubbing his stubbly chin, Valdares thought for a moment before suggesting, "We'll have to knock those lights out somehow."

"Oh sure—just like that. You're talking as though we're gonna strike gold on our first visit. Do you think the people around here are going to sit around every night without bothering to find out why the lights keep going out?" Subram's voice carried a menacing tone. "I'm beginning to think it was a mistake to link up with you. Right, turn round and let's get out of here. We'll think of something else."

Sulking, Valdares manoeuvred the jeep round and remained silent during the short journey to a small, rundown, palm frond roofed house. The property stood completely isolated on farmland about half a kilometre off the road. Another of Valdares' workmates at the docks made the place available after it became vacant following his father's demise.
Chapter 5

Late the following afternoon, monsoon storm clouds began to roll in from the Western Ghats, dark, ominous and threatening. Thunder increased in intensity as daylight prematurely faded. Dan bemoaned his luck. He'd picked an ideal spot at a table in a popular shack just off Repousante Beach to view the sunset over a glass of ice-cold lager. Having spent hours mulling over ways of getting on with the task of discovering treasure, he needed to wind down for a while. Now the weather had thwarted that intention. Deciding to head back to Villa Maranda before the storm took hold, he drained his glass, returned it to the bar, paid the bill and left.

As he walked hurriedly, light rainfall turned into a powerful tropical downpour. Within minutes, the road became a muddy river. Sheet lightning flashed rapidly and then forked lightning zigzagged downwards accompanied by ear-splitting crashes. The electricity supply failed, plunging the village into darkness. Without a working fan, Dan's room became unbearably hot, so he sat on the front porch, shining a torch over rainwater spewing from guttering, which was unable to cope with the deluge.

When the storm abated, Maranda arrived with a supply of candles. "You might need these, Dan. I've heard we might not have electricity for a few days. Several important substations have been badly damaged by lightning and it'll take engineers ages to fix things. I do have an emergency generator, but it's only powerful enough to run a few lights around the place and one communal fridge in the passageway which guests can share during long power cuts." She placed a box of candles on the porch table.

Dan asked, "Is it normal to get really long power failures?"

"Unfortunately, yes. The people in charge always deal with heavily populated areas first, meaning Repousante ends up with a long wait."

"I see. Well, we'll just have to grin and bear it." Even as he spoke, Dan's brain was racing. This must be the answer. No floodlights up at the fort. Right, time for action, he thought.

After Maranda had left, Dan took bottles of drinking water from his de-icing fridge, went out to the passageway and placed them on a shelf in the communal fridge. He wondered if a nearby tall metal cabinet was also for guests use, and opened the door to find out. It contained brushes and brooms, and behind them various tools, presumably property of the deceased Mr Rodrigues. The pickaxe, crowbar and spade caught Dan's attention immediately. Then he spotted a battery-operated headlight and a coil of rope.

* * *

A smoking old oil lamp provided the only lighting in the house occupied by Subram and Valdares. They sat late into the night at a rough wood table, poring over an enlarged photo of the treasure map.

Subram said irritably, "How am I supposed to know which X marks the spot? Could be any of them—unless the treasure is all over the place."

"Well, we need to make up our minds where we're going to start looking. This power cut won't go on forever." Valdares placed a finger on the X over the cannon. "I reckon it's here—inside this gun or maybe underneath it. This is where we should look."

"No, that's too obvious. It's sure to be one of the harder to spot places. We need to work methodically, starting at the most isolated spot."

Valdares shrugged. "Okay, if you say so. The tools are in the back of the truck. Let's go."

* * *

After locking his door, Dan hid the key under a flowerpot on the porch—just in case things went wrong. Light from an almost full moon picked out the way up a steep and narrow cliff footpath. Dan could still hardly believe his luck on finding equipment suitable for the search. He regretted not packing suitable clothing for climbing in treacherously wet and muddy conditions; denim jeans, short-sleeved shirt and trainers made the task extremely hazardous. He switched off the borrowed headlamp, unnecessary in the moonlight, and prayed he'd go unspotted by anyone out and about below at that early hour. After a few minutes climbing, he reached the stretch where trees provided cover and heaved a sigh of relief. He paused to rebalance the pickaxe, crowbar and spade on one shoulder, then adjusted the coil of rope over the other. He checked to ensure the torch clipped to his trouser belt was secure.

His next step dislodged a boulder. It gave way and rolled down the cliff wall, leaving Dan precariously balancing on one foot, sliding backwards. He reached out and grabbed a branch of a bush, managing to steady himself and prevent the tools from being lost.

On eventually reaching the cliff top, he hurried to a gap in the fortress stonework and dropped to his knees behind it, breathing heavily for a few moments before covering the short distance to the old cannon, abandoned on the ground and surrounded by flagstones. Dan switched on the headlamp and searched for any sign of disturbance to the large stones, hoping to find telltale signs like new weed growth or soil removal between them.

Less than halfway round the cannon, he found such evidence at a flagstone. With thumping heart, he dropped the tools and rope, grabbed the pickaxe and eased up the stone enough to be able to grip it. Discarding the axe, he used both hands to slide the heavy slab away, revealing a square iron manhole cover. Yes! Touché! Incredible! His mind raced feverishly. He picked up the spade, slid the blade between the cover and frame, levered up the cover, grasped it with his free hand and toppled it over. Dan knelt and peered down a shaft. Needing more light, he took the torch from his belt and shone it around the hole. Water glistened far below. He spotted a narrow ledge, roughly seven metres down, hewn from the rock wall. An opening in the wall was accessible from the ledge and large enough for a man to enter.

As Dan uncoiled the rope, he heard a vehicle approaching, so hastily abandoned his attempt to climb down the shaft. The glow from headlights appeared beyond the rear perimeter wall and gears crashed noisily as the driver negotiated the steep approach. Swiftly, Dan coiled the rope, refitted the manhole cover and manoeuvred the flagstone into position. Desperately, he kicked soil, grass and weeds over the stone and pressed the mixture down around the edges. After gathering up the tools, he dashed towards crumbling remains of a small building in a central area, hoping to hide in the shadows.

Before he reached cover, a man's voice rang out. "Hey you! Stop or I'll shoot!"

Dan froze, dropped the tools and raised both arms in surrender. He heard squelching footsteps behind, then what felt like the barrel of a gun rammed against his neck.

"So we meet at last, Dan Mapleton." The gravelly voice sounded menacing.

A different male voice asked, "What do we do with him?"

"Take him to our place. He can't get up to mischief there," The first voice replied. "You go in front and I'll make sure our friend follows. Oh, you'd better collect his tool kit first."

Dan reckoned the man leading the way was Indian; he probably had black hair and dark skin, but it was hard to discern in moonlight. In addition, both men had an Indian accent. They reached the wall at the back of the fort, walked through a gap and headed towards an old jeep parked at the end of a rough track.

The gunman ordered his accomplice to put the tools in the back of the wartime relic, and then forced Dan to climb in the back before jumping up himself. "Okay, let's go," he barked. The second man started the engine, turned the vehicle round and headed down the track to a surfaced road.

Dan tried to concentrate on remembering anything he saw around him as they travelled, just in case it came in handy later. He noted it only took a few minutes before they turned left off the road and bumped over rough ground for about half a kilometre. He even managed to memorise a landmark at the spot where they turned; a colourfully painted Hindu roadside shrine with a yellow domed top.

The jeep stopped outside a small, dilapidated house with a palm frond roof. Peering around, Dan realised they had arrived at an extremely isolated dwelling.

* * *

Inger Hagen, a pretty Norwegian in her twenties, dressed in skimpy shorts and top, put an arm round her new friend's shoulder as they wandered amongst pine, spruce and maple trees in the grounds of an abandoned ashram. They made several stops at vantage points affording breathtaking views of soaring Himalayan peaks, steamy lowland jungles, revered temples and peaceful hill stations reached by twisting roads.

Inger flicked her auburn ponytail out of the way and said, "Uttarakhand is stunningly beautiful. India is so diverse, isn't it?" She glanced at her friend and thought, please let her get better soon. If only she could remember her name.

Her friend nodded. "How long have I been here?"

"Oh, goodness knows. Weeks, but not as long as Lars and me. We were so lucky to stumble on this place. It used to be popular in the 60's when meditation and gurus attracted people in their thousands from around the globe. We decided to stay and live rough for a while instead of spending our travel money on accommodation," Inger explained.

The young woman sighed. "I still can't remember much at all—not even my name or where I come from."

"Tell me the bits you can remember again. It may help to keep repeating them," encouraged Inger.

"Someone hit me on the back of the head with something heavy. I was waiting on a quiet road for a bus to continue my journey from Kathmandu to Rishikesh."

"Good, I think . . ." Inger pointed and whispered, "Look!" Groups of rhesus monkeys peered out from foliage and swung between trees.

Her friend spotted something else. "And there! That bird. What is it?"

"A Ghughuti bird, known as the famous bird of Uttarakhand. It's quite like a pigeon. Now then, what else do you remember?"

"I recall a man running off with my backpack containing clothes, money, passport, phone—and everything else. But I only saw his back and can't describe him. Then I must've slumped down on the roadside and lost consciousness."

"And that's where me and Lars found you."

Just after moving on, they halted abruptly, watching anxiously as a huge python slithered across the track in front of them.

Inger said, "That's supposed to be good luck. Come on, that's enough for now."

* * *

Towards sunset it turned stiflingly hot. The young woman got up from a bedroll spread on the concrete floor in one of several derelict buildings of the ashram. The room had flaking plaster walls, marble pillars and several rotting wooden window frames with shattered glass. Wooden rafters—some broken—stretched beneath what remained of corrugated roofing sheets.

Looking in a small cracked mirror propped on a window ledge, she ran her hands through her tousled blonde hair. Even without makeup, her tanned face remained unblemished and radiant. She noticed the mustard coloured Kaftan dress and it gradually dawned on her that she had been wearing Inger's clothes since arriving at the ashram. She walked towards a wooden door with missing panels, pulled it open and went out to a shady porch with steps leading down to a neglected stonewalled courtyard where birds chirped merrily. A red-billed blue magpie with an extraordinarily long tail mesmerised her with its call; a grating rattle followed by a high-pitched whistle like a flute.

* * *

Squatting over a wood fire in the centre of the courtyard, Lars Pettersen, a slim, bare-chested Norwegian, about thirty with long blond hair, hitched up blue denim jeans and carried on cooking fish in a buckled and bent pan. A mouth-watering aroma of fish and wood smoke wafted around as the food loudly sizzled and spat oil. Sitting crossed legged on the flagstones next to him, his girlfriend Inger busily prepared salad on a flat piece of wood.

Lars looked up, grinning broadly, as their new friend joined them round the fire. "Well! Look who's here! Have we got news for you, Miss Katie Barnes."

Katie gasped, clamping a hand to her mouth. "What? Er—I mean . . ." She slowly sat down beside Inger.

Inger explained. "We had a bit of luck this afternoon. Lars decided it was worth taking a look around the area where we found you. He reckoned it was probably a local villager who stole your backpack, only wanting cash and maybe your phone. If so, the pack may well have been thrown away. And guess what? We found it—under a road bridge. Obviously, there's no money in it, or your phone. But unbelievably the little bag holding your passport and stuff was still inside—including your bank cards." Inger reached inside a canvas bag beside her, pulled out the passport, opened it to the photo page and passed it to Katie.

Katie stared at her own photo and name blankly, shaking her head in amazement. Eventually she said, "Yes. Yes, that's me. Now I remember." She threw her arms round Inger. "Oh thank you, thank you so much." Tears trickled down her cheeks and Inger wiped them away.

Lars said, "Look at the last page. It has a name and telephone number to contact in an emergency."

Katie turned to the page. "It's my mother!" After a pause, she said, "I have to contact her. She must be in a terrible state, not knowing why I haven't been in touch for so long."

Inger offered, "You can use my phone, but there isn't much credit left I'm afraid. The signal is lousy around here. I'll check." She looked at the indicator and shook her head. "Nothing. But sometimes you can get a signal by climbing that hill." Inger pointed to a steep path leading up to a viewpoint. "Go on, give it a go." She passed the phone to Katie.

"Thank you." Katie placed the phone and passport in the canvas bag and headed for the path.

"Good luck. I hope you get through to your mother," Inger called after her.

Lars and Inger concentrated on getting the meal ready. A few minutes later Katie returned, with a beaming smile.

Inger said, "You look happy, so I guess you've spoken to Mum."

"Yes, only briefly but long enough to put her mind at rest."

Lars said, "We also found a few pieces of paper in your pack. It looks like you were in the Philippines before coming here."

Katie frowned. "Philippines? Philippines! Yes! I'm beginning to remember lots of things now."

"Good. Anyway, food's up. Help yourselves." Lars placed the pan of fish next to the salad before pulling some plates, spoons and forks from a plastic bag. As the three set about devouring the spread, a woodpecker started drumming on a nearby tree.

Inger said, "We went to that little police station again after finding your pack, and told them we'd sorted things out ourselves. They just said they'd pass on the information."

Lars added, "Problem is, the police in these parts don't normally have these situations to deal with. I should have contacted a main police station—and the British Embassy. I guess we just thought you'd soon be okay. Sorry I messed up."

Katie replied, "It's okay, I'm much better now. Maybe just being in this special place was the best thing that could have happened."

After the meal, Lars told the girls, "Well, that was the last meal in this place. We need to be up very early in the morning to reach Delhi by nightfall. In a couple of days from now we'll be in Goa." He glanced at Katie. "Unless, of course, Katie has other plans."

Katie replied, "No, no other plans."

"What about letting friends know you're okay?" enquired Inger.

"All contacts were in my phone," Katie explained. "I must buy a new one and then Mum can give me important contact details from a list I kept at home."

Inger said, "I'm really glad you're coming to Goa with us. The dry season will be starting there now."
Chapter 6

Dan wasn't sure how long he'd been kept prisoner in the dingy room but reckoned it was now the second day. He'd left his wristwatch back at the villa, and his phone had been confiscated by his incarcerators. After sleeping for several hours on a stone floor, he stirred at dawn when light entered through a window with decorative but heavy iron security bars. The sliding windows were open, allowing a slight breeze to blow in. As he tried to stand up, excruciating pain shot through his body, making him wince and take things slowly.

He hobbled towards a door leading to a smelly squat toilet. After using the primitive convenience, he rinsed his hands and splashed his face with water stored in a plastic barrel. Desperate to find a way of escape, he looked around but noticed only a small ventilation block high on a wall.

As he returned to the room, he heard a key turning in a lock and the connecting door opened. One of his captors walked in with a tray containing a bowl of boiled rice and a bottle of drinking water.

The man put the tray on the floor and said gruffly, "You'd better make use of it. It'll be all you get for a while." He turned and walked out, locking the door behind him.

Dan shouted after him, "It won't work, you know. You're wasting your time." He had no idea why he said that, but thought it showed defiance. It had been a long time since he last ate or drank anything, and hunger pangs and a craving thirst forced him to try a morsel. He sat cross-legged on the floor and scooped up some cold, stodgy rice with his fingers, washing it down with warm water from the bottle. If this is tap water, it might be bye-bye, he thought.

After managing to consume most of the rice, he stood up and paced the room, stopping at the window. He pulled on the iron bars, finding them to be immovable. With his face against the grill, Dan looked out to a covered porch where some tall neglected plants drooped from canes in pots. The tools he'd borrowed from Villa Maranda were against a pillar on the porch front.

Near the wall to the left of the window was an old table. "That's my phone!" Dan whispered to himself. The waterproof pouch holding his phone was on the end of the table closest to the window. He thrust an arm between the iron bars, wondering if the phone was within reach. It wasn't possible. I need something to hook it with. There must be something, he thought. A thin cane in one of the flowerpots was reachable. He was about to grab it when one of his captors walked onto the porch. Dan quickly stepped back. The man settled himself in a chair, placed a handgun on a table and carefully cleaned it with a cloth.

Dan waited impatiently for the gunman to go away. It was a long wait. He sat

on the floor beneath the window, listening for any sign of movement outside. After a while an engine started, causing Dan to jump up and look out. The jeep he'd been in appeared in front of the porch. The man in the chair shoved the gun inside his shirt, stood up, walked to the vehicle, climbed into the passenger seat, and the truck moved off.

Confident he was alone in the property, Dan reached through the window bars, grabbed the cane in the pot, freed it and pulled it into the room. He stamped on the thinnest end, managing to split it, and then bent one piece to form a hook. Carefully, he pushed it outside, angled it over his phone on the table, managed to hook the belt loop and lifted the pouch. "Please don't fall off," he pleaded as he gingerly lifted the phone pouch clear and slowly pulled it towards the window. It dangled precariously on its makeshift hook, threatening to slide off. When it came within arm's reach, Dan stretched out his other arm, grabbed the phone firmly and safely retrieved it.

* * *

Katie Barnes and her Norwegian friends, Inger Hagen and Lars Pettersen, arrived at Margao railway station in Goa midmorning in late September.

"Phew! At last. I've never spent as many hours on a train before," Katie said.

"It was worth it though," Lars said. "Delhi was so interesting, at least the little bit we saw. Let's take a tuk-tuk. It's only a few kilometres to Benaulim."

"I really need to buy a new mobile first," Katie told him. "There must be some phone shops here."

An hour later, a satisfied Katie owned a new phone and they hopped into a tuk-tuk.

After checking in at a budget hotel near Benaulim beach, the three unpacked in their rooms and then met for drinks in the garden bar, overlooking an enormous expanse of soft white sand fringed with coconut palms. White capped waves rolled in from blue waters of The Arabian Sea and fishermen repaired nets spread along the foreshore.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, Katie completed entering contacts into her new phone. "For some strange reason I feel like getting in touch with my ex-boyfriend. It's been ages and I know he'd appreciate a chat. Mum told me he recently sold his fishing boat, packed his bags and just took off without telling anyone where he was going. That's not like him at all. I'll call him."

Lars nodded approvingly. "Now that's a really cool thing to do."

Inger added, "Sounds like he's really missing you."

Katie called Dan's number and waited. "Hmm. No answer. I'll text him." She sent a message explaining she was in Goa and confirmed her new number.

* * *

Dan eagerly pulled his phone from the pouch and discovered the battery was flat. "Oh no! I don't believe it," he moaned. "Now what?" Feelings of frustration and despair took control; numbness gripped both mind and body. Slowly he sank to the floor, dropping the phone onto the concrete.

He sat against the wall beneath the window and slowly rubbed the coarse stubble on his chin, wondering how long it had been since he last shaved. His hair was matted, his clothing filthy.

Dan had no idea how long he'd been sitting, but acute aching in his limbs suggested a long time. He struggled to his feet, crossed to the locked door and tugged, pushed and tried turning the handle. He beat his fists on the solid wood, and screamed, "Come on, you pathetic creatures! You won't beat me. I'll get you." He knew he could shout with all his might and nobody would hear. Dan considered kicking and shoulder charging the door but abandoned the idea because it opened inwards and was far too sturdy to succumb.

* * *

Shortly before dusk, Maranda Rodrigues opened the metal cabinet in the passageway at the villa, took out a garden broom, and then noticed her late husband's tools were missing. How strange. Surely, Mr Mapleton wouldn't have . . . She knocked on the door of Dan's room. A puzzled looked spread on her face. Strange. Three days now and not a sign of him. After waiting a few moments, she unlocked the door and looked inside. The bed was unmade and items of clothing were scattered over it. She went in, glancing around. His luggage bag was on top of the wardrobe and other garments hung inside. His toiletries were on a shelf in the bathroom.

On a low table beside the bed, Maranda spotted his tablet, two mains chargers and what looked like a business card. She went over, picked up the card and read it aloud. "The Mackerel Inn, Polminan, Cornwall. Mark and Sally Cunningham cordially invite you to a truly unique English inn." Maranda noticed the telephone number and email address. Maybe I should telephone them. They might know Dan Mapleton, she thought.

* * *

Mark Cunningham, enjoying a mid-afternoon cup of tea, answered a call on the landline. "Mackerel Inn, Mark speaking."

A woman with a foreign accent said, "Oh, Mr Cunningham. I'm sorry to bother you. I found your number on one of your business cards. My name is Maranda Rodrigues. I have a Dan Mapleton staying at my villa in Goa and wonder if you happen to know him?"

Mark stiffened. "Yes, I do know a Dan Mapleton. Is there a problem?"

"It's just that he hasn't been back to his room for three days, but his belongings are still here. It seems a little odd."

Mark's brain raced. He wasn't sure what to say because he hadn't heard from Dan for three days either. He had to be careful not to give anything away.

"Hello? Are you still there?" Maranda Rodrigues asked.

"Yes, yes—just wondering, that's all. Dan tends to do his own thing and hasn't been in touch for quite some time, but I'm sure he's okay."

"I do hope so. It's just that . . . No, it doesn't matter."

Mark gripped the phone hard. "It's just what, Mrs Rodrigues?"

"Well, he expressed interest in the old fort here—Cabo De Soldado, and seemed disappointed when he found out it has been closed to the public following serious landfalls. And . . . I'm probably being silly in saying this, but tools used by my late husband in excavating at the fort have disappeared from the store cupboard here."

Mark asked, "So what are you thinking?"

"I just hope he didn't borrow them to go up to the fort. There has been enormous rainfall, making the whole area extremely dangerous. I'm wondering if I should get in touch with the police."

Mark gasped and then managed to say calmly, "Oh, I don't think that's necessary—at least not now. I'm sure Dan is just exploring. It's his first time out there. But I think we should keep in touch until he turns up."

"Yes, we will. Thank you," Maranda said.

"Right. Well, I hope there's good news very soon." Mark slowly put the phone down. Something has gone wrong. I'm sure of it, he thought.

Sally Cunningham crossed to her husband's side. "You look as though you've had bad news. Tell me about it before that Kensdown Women's Institute party arrives."

Before Mark could reply, the bar door opened and a group of women, including Rosie Barnes, trooped in.

Rosie made for Mark and Sally at the bar, announcing, "Guess what? My Katie is okay. She's in India—Goa actually. Isn't that good news? I'm so relieved."

Mark stared incredulously at Rosie. "What?"

* * *

Dan hauled himself to his feet and looked out the window into the blackness of night. He heard a vehicle approaching. Headlights dazzled him as a jeep pulled up near the porch. The driver got out, shone a torch over the porch and walked onto it. He flicked a switch on the wall and an electric light blazed from the ceiling.

"At last, we have electricity," he called out.

"About time," the other man said as he climbed from the passenger seat. Both men made their way to the house entrance.

Dan could see scattered lights twinkling in the distance. An orange glow in the sky almost certainly came from Cabo De Soldado. He wondered if the treasure was still there. He wondered how long it would be before he'd be peering down the barrel of that handgun.

Dan pressed a light switch but nothing happened. He looked up to the ceiling and discovered the light bulb was missing. Fortunately, adequate illumination came through the window. Moving to the locked door, he heard his captors in conversation on the other side.

One man said, "I'm going to Repousante to meet someone who knows that fort layout inside out. I reckon he can tell us where we should be looking."

"Right, I'm ready."

"No, you're staying here. I don't want it to look obvious we're after information. I'll have something to eat in the village. You can knock something up here for yourself. And don't forget to feed and water Mr Mapleton."

After a few minutes, one man drove off in the jeep. Dan started hatching an escape plan. With his phone safely in a pocket, he waited for the room door to be unlocked.

* * *

Lorso Valdares grumbled to himself as he turned on the valve of a gas bottle and cooked a late supper of spicy chicken on a double burner gas stove. "It's okay for some—dining out indeed. You think you're being smart, John Subram, but you've got a nasty surprise waiting. Just you wait." He crossed to the locked door and shouted, "Hey! Clever dick, it's all over for you. You're in too deep. It's only a matter of time before he uses that shooter."

Dan Mapleton's voice sounded defiant. "If you say so. We'll see."

"I do say so." Valdares returned to his cooking.

When he'd finished eating, Valdares scraped some chicken bones and leftover rice into a bowl. He picked up the key to the room holding the prisoner, carried the food to the door, unlocked it and walked in.

* * *

Dan pretended to be ill, stooping low, holding his stomach and moaning softly.

"Oh, not feeling well? What a shame." The man took a few steps towards Dan, holding the tray out. "Here, this'll make you feel better."

"Just put it down," Dan said.

"Sure, do you fancy a nice sickly sweet as well? Ha, ha!" The tormenter bent to place the bowl on the floor in front of Dan.

With perfect timing, Dan straightened, lunged forwards, dealt a powerful chop with his fist on the back of the man's neck and rammed a knee into his groin. The victim collapsed face down with chicken bones and rice scattered over the floor.

"Enjoy your meal," Dan purred as he rushed through the doorway, hastily locking the door behind him. He hesitated, wondering whether to take the key or leave it in the lock. Deciding it made little difference, he left it.

Quickly glancing round, he spotted what looked like a gents Rolex watch on a shelf and went to investigate. This looks like mine, he thought. He picked it up, turned it over and saw the engraving, With love from Katie, on the back. He stared at it for a moment and then realised one of the men happened to be the thief who broke into his cottage. He secured the watch on his wrist, went back to the locked door and shouted, "Thanks for the Rolex, chum. Is it yours or John Subram's?"

"How do you know his name?" the new prisoner asked.

"You cursed him loud enough while cooking your food earlier," Dan sniggered.

"Keep his watch—serves him right. I'm not interested."

Dan walked from the house and set off along the track leading to the main road.
Chapter 7

At two o'clock in the morning, John Subram sat in a Repousante restaurant with a scruffily dressed, dark-skinned bearded man known locally as Handy Andy, who scraped a living in the area doing odd jobs. He was also a gossip, happy to pass on information for money.

When a waiter politely pointed out he needed to lock up, Subram irritably waved him away, snarling, "I don't care what time it is. We're spending good money. Just bring us two more brandies." Turning to his informer, he said, "So this Rodrigues chap obviously knew what he was talking about—being an archaeologist."

"Oh, absolutely. It's such a pity he was killed before he had time to uncover the shaft."

Subram leaned forward. "What sort of shaft was it? I mean was it manmade or natural?"

"That's what Rodrigues was hoping to find out. The fact that it's right next to the old cannon suggests it was dug for a reason—probably to store armaments of some sort."

"Right next to the cannon. Well, well." Subram felt elated.

"Nobody has looked for it since that time because it's too dangerous and closed to the public. Mind you, Maranda—Rodrigues' widow—told me an Englishman expressed a lot of interest in exploring the fort. He's staying at her villa."

Subram tried not to show surprise and said dismissively, "There's always someone keen to poke around these sorts of places." He pressed a few rupee banknotes into the man's palm. "Thanks for the information." He reassuringly patted the revolver concealed in his trousers, thinking, Mr Mapleton won't be poking around anymore. Mrs Rodrigues will have to find a new paying guest.

* * *

When Dan reached the village, he decided to make a detour to Villa Maranda, not wanting to risk encountering John Subram, who he thought might still be in the vicinity. As he was about to turn into a dark alleyway two men emerged from a restaurant a few metres away.

One man started walking along the pavement, away from Dan, and called out, "Goodnight John, drive carefully. You've had a lot to drink."

It's him! Subram. Dan leaped into shadows at the entrance to the alley just as Subram got into the familiar jeep parked at the kerbside. The engine rattled to life, gears grated, headlights blazed and the jeep passed Dan's hiding place.

With only occasional dim streetlights at junctions and corners, Dan picked his way carefully over treacherously broken and uneven paving slabs. Eventually he arrived on the driveway leading to Villa Maranda, which was dark and silent. The wrought iron gate squeaked loudly as he pushed it open and immediately a dog started howling, followed by many others from all around. Dan ran to his room, fumbled to retrieve the key from under the flowerpot on the porch, unlocked the door, ducked inside and pushed the door shut.

Moments later light streamed through the window. Dan peered out cautiously to see electric lamps blazing in the courtyard and Maranda striding towards his room. Without hesitating, he opened the door and stepped outside.

"Dan! Good heavens! Where on Earth have you been?" Maranda stared in amazement, clamping a hand to her mouth, shocked by his appearance. "Look at the state of you!"

"Hello Maranda. Sorry about all this. Er, it's a bit of a story really."

"I've been really concerned—wondering what had happened. In fact I telephoned your friend, Mr Cunningham."

You've spoken to Mark? What did he say?"

"Just that he was sure you'd be okay, but to keep in touch until you turned up."

"I must speak with him right away." Dan pulled out his phone, remembered it was flat and said, "Excuse me, but I need to get this charged."

"I'll leave you to it. Don't hesitate to come over to the villa if you need anything." Maranda turned and walked away.

As soon as he was alone, Dan plugged his phone into the charger and switched it on. Notifications of unread emails and text messages appeared. He stared in disbelief at a message from Katie Barnes. No! It can't be! Katie! He read the text aloud. "Hi Dan. Just to let you know everything is okay. I'm in Goa right now. Here's my new number. Please call me. Love, Katie." Dan blinked, shook his head and mumbled, "I must be cracking up." He read the text again and then called the number. His hand shook uncontrollably as he waited for an answer.

Katie's voice sounded sleepy. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Katie! It's me—Dan."

"Dan? Dan! You've sure picked a good time to call." She yawned. "It's the middle of the night. Where are you?"

"Goa."

"Oh do stop trying to be funny, Dan. It doesn't work at this hour."

"No, I really am in Goa!"

After a pause, Katie said, "What?"

"It's a long story, Katie, but I need some help. Could we . . ."

Katie interrupted. "Hang on, Dan. I need to wake up a bit. Give me a few moments and I'll call back."

* * *

John Subram chuckled as he walked through the doorway of the darkened, isolated house. "Right, Lorso, the time has come to extinguish Dan Mapleton. Would you like the pleasure of pulling the trigger?" He waited. "Valdares?" Slowly he pulled out the gun, pressed the light switch and glanced around. "Where are you, Valdares?"

A shuffling sound came from the prisoner's room. Then a voice called out, "I'm in here."

"Shut up, Mapleton. I'll deal with you in a minute," Subram snarled. Then he shouted, "Valdares! Valdares? Get back in here!"

From inside the locked room, a man's voice shouted back, "I'm in here. Mapleton has escaped."

Subram stiffened. "Valdares? What the . . ." He unlocked the door and kicked it open, gun at the ready. He stared at Lorso Valdares, who was squatting against a wall. "You let Mapleton go? Did you let him go?" He towered over Valdares and pressed the barrel of the revolver against his skull.

"No, no! He tricked me. I'm sorry, John." Valdares whimpered.

Subram spat venomously. "Sorry? Sorry? Well now you're gonna be really sorry when your brains splatter over the wall!"

"You can't shoot me. Who's going to load all that stuff on the ship? My pals wouldn't do it if I wasn't there."

"I think they would when they realise their share of the profit is larger without you around. And especially when I tell them Dan Mapleton was your killer." Subram's finger tightened on the trigger.

* * *

Katie explained Dan's predicament to Lars and Inger over breakfast in the garden of their hotel, adding, "I must help him. I'm going to Repousante this morning."

Lars asked, "Why doesn't Dan want the police involved?"

"He wants to find that treasure first. Then he can go to the police."

"Well, you can't go alone. I'm coming with you." Lars said.

"And me," Inger confirmed.

"But it's very risky. That Subram man is armed and dangerous," Katie reminded them.

"Then you need help. How far is this place?" Lars stood up.

Katie said, "Not far—about twenty kilometres south."

"It's best to hire a car—a four-wheel drive type. It sounds like we may need something versatile. I'll go and organise it," Lars said.

"I can't get my head around the fact that you've ended up in the same place as Dan. It's spooky." Inger shivered involuntary.

An hour later, Lars pulled up outside the hotel in a newish-looking four-door pickup. The girls scrambled onto the rear seat and they set off for Villa Maranda in Repousante.

* * *

"Take the next left," Dan told Katie on his mobile. "I'm outside iron gates to the villa. I can't wait to see you."

Moments later a pickup truck stopped and Katie waved from a window. "Dan!"

Tears welled in Dan's eyes. He swallowed hard. "Hello Katie."

Katie jumped out and rushed to embrace Dan. "It's so good to see you." Tears flowed down her cheeks. Her body shook with emotion.

Dan wiped away the tears and pulled her close. They kissed passionately.

"You've no idea how much I've missed you," Dan whispered.

"Oh yes I have. I didn't think I'd miss you as much, but I was wrong."

Dan glanced at two people waiting patiently in the pickup. "You'd better introduce your friends."

Later in the afternoon, the four sat on the side balcony of Dan's room, sipping cold drinks.

Lars stood up, leaned over the balustrade and looked up to the fort. "So that's Cabo De Soldado. You reckon this treasure is down a shaft near the old cannon, eh?"

Dan said, "Yep, I'm convinced of it—unless our friend John Subram has beaten me to it."

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Lars said. "We have to get up there."

Inger chipped in. "Slow down, Lars. These two need a bit of time together first." She smiled at Dan and Katie, sitting together holding hands. "Come on, I want to explore the village."

"Oh yeah, of course. Right, see you later." Lars grinned and followed Inger off the balcony.

As soon as they were alone Katie stood up, grabbed Dan's arms and pulled him out of the chair. "So, Mr Mapleton, it's been a long time. Hmm?"

"Too long." Dan grabbed Katie and carried her to the doorway.

Katie screamed hysterically and wriggled free. "Look out!" She urgently shoved Dan inside the room and fell in after him just as a gunshot rang out.

"Oh my God! Dan, are you all right? I saw a face peering through the branches of the papaya tree and the barrel of a gun sticking out," Katie panted. She knelt beside Dan.

"I'm okay." Dan scrambled to his feet. "Keep out of the way." He cautiously moved towards the balcony and heard footsteps hurrying away over gravelly ground. He peeked out and caught a glimpse of a man running along the edge of the rice paddy, a handgun swinging at his side. Then he disappeared into a wooded area. "It's Subram! How did he know I'd be here?"

Katie's face was ashen. "You could be dead. This is scary, Dan. Surely you must tell the police?"

"You could be dead—we both could. You saved my life." Dan hugged Katie. "If I go to the police now, it'll ruin the chances of finding that hoard. There'd be too many questions. I have to find another way of dealing with John Subram. Maybe my friend Mark Cunningham in England can suggest something."

Katie walked to the balcony doorway, looking around cautiously. "Hey! Look at this. That bullet is embedded in the wall."

Dan inspected the small hole made by the bullet. "We could dislodge it and keep it as evidence. But it might be better to leave it in case there's a police investigation."

"I'd say leave it," said Katie.

"Agreed. I wonder how long it'll be before Maranda finds out about all this? Lucky she's not around at the moment."

"What about if Subram was hiding outside, waiting for an opportunity to fire that gun? I mean, he might have heard us discussing everything with Inger and Lars." Katie said.

"Good point. He might well have been in earshot. If so, that complicates things. Right, I'm going to ring Mark now and bring him up to date. I'm sure he'll come up with some ideas. Let's go inside. It's not safe to stay out here." Dan scanned the area visible from the balcony before following Katie into the room.

"Maybe . . ." Dan hesitated. "Just maybe Subram thinks he did kill me. I mean, with your screaming and both of us falling through the doorway. He certainly didn't hang around to try a second shot."

* * *

Mark Cunningham sat at a table outside The Mackerel Inn on a fine September morning with Detective Sergeant Peter Ballinger.

"I have to say you've painted a very vivid picture," the detective said. "Let me run over a couple of points again. Dan Mapleton sold his boat to raise enough money to spend some time in India. Surely that's out of character and seems an odd thing to do?"

Mark said, "We all thought so and then wondered if he was finding it hard to carry on here alone. He missed Katie Barnes enormously and blamed himself for the breakup due to his lack of money. So maybe a new start after getting away from it all for a while was his intention." Mark tried to choose his words carefully, not wanting to broach the subject of the treasure hunt.

"That may be so, but there now seems to be a link between his house being burgled and the boat being cast adrift. I'm thinking maybe this Subram fellow wanted to prevent Mr Mapleton from raising cash for some reason—perhaps to stop him travelling to India. But why? Your friend's story about being held prisoner, threatened at gunpoint, finding his stolen Rolex, discovering the name of the suspected thief and—well, it's all pretty incredible." Ballinger sighed and picked up his cup of coffee. "Do you know what's missing in all this, Mr Cunningham?"

"Missing? Er—there's something missing?"

"Motive. What is the motive? Why was Dan Mapleton subjected to such awful treatment? There has to be a motive, but it seems we don't have one. Even more incredible is the missing girlfriend suddenly appears on the doorstep! Amazing—truly amazing."

Mark's heart started pumping. He could disclose the motive, but in so doing would destroy Dan's chance of getting that reward money. The Indian authorities would take over and uncover the missing fortune. "There's no denying it's all hard to swallow," agreed Mark. "What happens now?"

"For starters I'm going to find out if a John Subram with a criminal record exists. If so, that'll tell us a great deal. Once we have something to go on, there are a number of possibilities, including fingerprinting the room he stayed in at Sunrise Lodge Hotel. I wouldn't rule out bringing in Interpol either."

Mark felt uncomfortable at the mention of Interpol, but reckoned it might lead to Subram's downfall. "Right, anything else for now. More coffee?"

Detective Sergeant Ballinger shook his head and stood up. "I'll be back if anything develops. Thanks for bringing this to my attention—and thanks for coffee."
Chapter 8

When Lars and Inger returned to the villa, they found Dan and Katie sitting in the room looking miserable.

"What's wrong?" Inger asked, hurrying to give Katie a hug.

"It's awful—we nearly got shot," Katie said.

Lars gasped. "What?"

Dan stood up. "Just after you left, John Subram crept up to the balcony and tried to kill me. Luckily, Katie spotted him just before he fired, and shoved me to safety."

Lars said, "That's terrible. I take it he got away. Was there anyone else around?"

Dan shook his head. "No, he ran off through the rice paddy and disappeared in the trees."

Inger said, "What do we do? I mean surely you can't stay here? Are you going to tell the police?"

"I've told my friend Mark, in England, all about it. He's already been in touch with his local police. If I go to the police here, there'd be awkward questions that would ruin my chances of claiming the reward for finding that treasure. The Indian authorities would get to it first," Dan explained. "Hopefully the English police will come up with enough information to prompt action here to get Subram."

Lars said, "But until that happens, you need to get out of here. I suggest we find somewhere away from Repousante, but in easy reach of the fort."

"I agree. Explaining that to Maranda without giving anything away will be difficult." Dan pointed to the hole made by the bullet. "As soon as she sees that, she'll know something is going on."

* * *

Lars drove the pickup slowly along a quiet lane leading to a secluded beach. Katie and Inger, on the back seat, looked out, hoping to spot suitable accommodation in the fading daylight.

Sitting in the front passenger seat, Dan pointed ahead. "Let's try that one."

Lars pulled up outside a modest private house with a signboard advertising rooms for rent. "Looks okay." He turned to the girls. "You two can go and check it out."

As soon as they were alone, Dan told Lars, "I'm not sure it's a good idea for you and Inger to hang around—I mean, as much as I appreciate it, you shouldn't put yourselves in danger, so . . ."

"We wouldn't dream of leaving you alone in this situation, and that's that," Lars said. "It's just as well we threw our packs in the truck, so we're okay for fresh clothes and stuff."

Katie and Inger waved and beckoned from the house doorway.

"Looks like we've got beds for the night," Lars said.

* * *

John Subram snarled, "Count yourself lucky I changed my mind about killing you. Now that Mapleton is dead you're going to help me get into that shaft." He ushered Lorso Valdares into the jeep and headed towards Repousante.

"How do you know for sure you killed Mapleton? He might just be injured," Valdares ventured.

Subram laughed. "Oh no, he's dead all right. You should have seen him hit the ground with some woman screaming her head off and grabbing hold of him."

When they arrived in the village, Subram warned Valdares, "Just keep your mouth shut and leave all the talking to me. My informer, Handy Andy, has some more important news to pass on."

Handy Andy looked uneasy when Subram and Valdares arrived in a seafront bar.

"Ah, Andy! So you have some more good news for me, eh?" Subram said enthusiastically.

"Better sit down." Handy Andy slumped onto a chair at a corner table and waited for his visitors to join him.

"Go on then," Subram urged.

The informer glanced around, obviously checking they were alone. "Bad news, I'm afraid. I went up to Villa Maranda early this morning to see if Maranda had any odd jobs for me. She'd been away somewhere and when she got home last night there was a note from Dan Mapleton. It said something unexpected had cropped up and he had to leave at once."

Subram felt sick and gulped, "What? Did she check his room?"

Handy Andy nodded. "Yep, and all his stuff has gone too." After a silence, he added, "But that's not all. The police visited Maranda, asking questions—wanting to know if she knew anything about a John Subram. They're hunting for you, John. Sorry it's not good news." He wriggled uncomfortably on his chair.

Both Subram and Valdares stared at the informer in shocked amazement.

Subram stood up slowly. "Well, it seems I have a little problem. Did you tell this Maranda woman you knew me?"

Handy Andy shook his head. "No, of course not. It's nothing to do with me. Let's call it a way of making a little extra money." He held out a hand, rubbed finger and thumb together and waited expectantly.

Subram reached inside a pocket, narrowed eyes fixed on Handy Andy.

Valdares gasped, "You can't shoo . . ."

"Shut up! I told you to say nothing." Subram slowly pulled out a roll of banknotes, peeled off a few and tossed them on the table in front of the informer. "That'll be all for now."

* * *

Detective Sergeant Peter Ballinger paced to and fro in his office, frowning and shaking his head. "Something doesn't add up, Gavin."

Detective Constable Gavin Anderson picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and waved it. "I agree. John Subram is of Indian descent; Dan Mapleton finds a Hindu god statuette—Ganesh or whatever you call it—and for some reason sells his boat to fly off to India."

"Subram's fingerprints were all over his room at Sunrise Lodge. Why was he so keen to come to Cornwall after just completing five years for armed robbery and grievous bodily harm?" Ballinger drummed his fingers on a filing cabinet. "At least the Indian police are aware he's travelling with a fake passport. They're on his tail already, but I reckon we need to talk to Mark Cunningham again. Maybe that Ganesh needs looking at more closely. Get Constable Jackson to bring the car round straight away." The Detective Sergeant took his jacket from a hook.

* * *

The Mackerel Inn was doing brisk business on a warm morning in late September. A waitress served customers basking in sunshine at tables outside. Mark Cunningham served from behind the bar, smiling at his wife Sally and Rosie Barnes chatting at a nearby table.

Sally said, "You look so much better now, Rosie. It's amazing your Katie and Dan are together in Goa."

Rosie sighed happily. "It's still sinking in—almost too good to be true."

Sally looked out of the window when three officers got out of a police patrol car and strode briskly to the entrance.

"Mark," Sally called out. "You've got visitors—three policemen."

Mark looked concerned. "What do they want now?"

Detective Sergeant Ballinger headed to the bar, followed by another plain-clothes officer and a young uniformed constable.

Sally nudged Rosie and whispered, "We'll keep our ears open. It might be interesting."

Ballinger said, "Good morning, sir. Is it convenient to have another little chat?"

Mark nodded. "I expect so. I have extra help shortly during the busy lunch period."

Ballinger continued, "Let me introduce Detective Constable Anderson. He's working with me on this case."

The plain-clothes detective smiled and nodded.

"And this is Constable Ken Jackson. He's been conducting enquiries for us."

With uniform cap under his arm, the young constable mumbled a greeting and sat out of the way at the end of the bar.

Mark said, "Please sit down, gents. Can we offer you coffee?"

"Thanks. Coffee, you two?" Ballinger asked his men.

Sally called out, "It's on the brew, so the waitress will bring it over shortly."

The two detectives pulled up bar stools.

"So, what can I help you with?" Mark asked, leaning over the counter.

Ballinger said, "That bronze thing—Ganesh statuette. I'm just curious because although it's not valuable, it seems to have attracted the attention of this John Subram as well as Dan Mapleton. It's like some sort of mystical pull, if you get my meaning. Do you still have it on the premises?"

Mark said, "Yes, why?"

"Oh, I'd just like to take a look at it, that's all—if it's not too much bother."

"No bother, I'll go get it." Mark walked from the bar.

The two detectives turned and smiled at Sally and Rosie.

Rosie smiled back. "Pity that bit of bronze wasn't solid gold or something. That would've sorted things out for my Katie and Dan."

Ballinger snapped his fingers. "Right! Now I have it. You must be Mrs Barnes. Tell me, what do you make of all this—all these miraculous coincidences?"

Rosie replied, "I call it fate or destiny."

Mark returned with the Ganesh and placed it on the counter. "There you go, take a look."

"Go on then, Gavin. See what you make of it." Ballinger sat back.

Detective Constable Anderson picked up the statuette, turned it slowly and then shook it close to his ear. "Empty."

Ballinger said, "Empty. You mean it might have had something in it?"

"Well, there's a plug in the base, so I suppose it might have had something inside." Anderson started picking at the plug.

Mark hastily said, "Don't do that. It's very delicate and needs a special tool. I've already checked inside. There's nothing in there."

"Nothing in there now, you mean. I wonder what might have been in there." Ballinger took the bronze from Anderson and gazed at it. "Funny, isn't it? I can't help thinking of silly things like love letters—even funnier, treasure maps. Wouldn't it be strange if there ever was a clue to hidden treasure inside this little thing?" He handed it back to Mark. "No doubt you and Mr Mapleton didn't miss anything obvious like that, though."

Mark laughed. "It's good to know you haven't lost your sense of humour, Detective Sergeant."

Constable Ken Jackson stifled a snigger, and Ballinger shot him a disapproving look.

Mark continued, "It's unlikely something like that would have gone unnoticed."

Ballinger rubbed his chin thoughtfully, waiting until the waitress had finished serving coffee before announcing, "I'd love to have a little chat with Dan Mapleton. Does he keep in touch very often, Mr Cunningham?"

"On and off," Mark confirmed.

"By phone or email?"

"Either. It depends on internet availability. If he has a good connection, he Skypes sometimes."

"Skype. Yes, that's a good idea," Ballinger said. "Do you think we could try to Skype him while I'm here? I really would like to chat to him."

Mark said, "If you like. I'll get my laptop and then we can all gather around and wave at him. But I've no idea if he has a connection at the moment."

Rosie exclaimed, "Oh yes! Please try. I'd love to see my Katie."

* * *

Dan and Lars discussed the next move as they strolled around a secluded overgrown garden at the back of the guesthouse. Katie and Inger, sitting on chairs in shade close to the property wall, studied a map spread on a low table, and occasionally used Dan's tablet to source internet information.

Dan said, "Time is running out, Lars. I must get to that shaft at the fort very soon. The problem is, how? Subram is bound to be around."

"Somehow we've got to divert Subram's attention," Lars suggested. "That needs working out. If we can do that, the obvious way is to drive up the track behind the walls. But how do we avoid not being spotted? Those floodlights are the problem."

Dan said, "Don't forget we need tools. The ones I borrowed are—or were—at the place used by Subram."

Katie called out, "Dan! Somebody is trying to Skype you. If you want to answer, you'd better hurry up."

"Coming!" Dan ran to accept the call on his tablet. It was Mark Cunningham. "Mark! I wasn't expecting to hear from you today." Dan looked at the screen closely. "Hey! You've got Rosie there too."

Katie jumped up and peered over Dan's shoulder to see her mother waving and smiling.

"Hello Katie! Oh my goodness, it's so good to see you. How are you, precious?" Rosie's face filled the screen.

"I'm fine, Mum. This is great! Fancy you being in The Mackerel Inn at this time of day. It's only midmorning in England."

Rosie said, "I pop over quite often these days and spend time with Sally. Hang on; Mark needs to speak to Dan."

Mark appeared again. "Dan, the reason I called is because I have the police with me. They would like to talk to you. I'll put on Detective Sergeant Ballinger. He's the one you dealt with after your house was burgled."

Dan felt sick. His heart raced when Ballinger stared at him. "Well this is a surprise. What can I do for you?"

Ballinger said, "Hello, Mr Mapleton. To come straight to the point, I'm curious to know why John Subram was hot on your heels to India. We know he was travelling on a counterfeit passport. His arrival date has been confirmed."

Dan swallowed hard. "Really?"

"I find it hard to believe he'd do that unless you both know something I don't. It looks very much like a Tom and Jerry."

"Tom and Jerry? I'm not with you."

"Tom and Jerry—cat and mouse chase." Ballinger paused. "Well? Come on. He tried to murder you. Why?"

Dan said, "Who knows? He seems like a very dangerous character."

"Stop avoiding the issue and explain why you haven't reported your attempted murder to the Indian police."

"I guess I was confused and shaken up. I assumed your people would do that automatically."

Another face arrived on the tablet screen. "Mr Mapleton, I'm Detective Constable Anderson. I'm assisting in this matter. I examined that bronze statuette. Your friend Mark confirmed you both checked to see if anything was inside. Was there?"

Dan thought quickly. "It's possible there might have been at sometime, but not when I looked before asking Mark to keep it for me."

Ballinger took over again. "You'll laugh at this, but I tried to imagine something like a map—one that leads to hidden treasure or something. Silly, isn't it?"

Dan forced a laugh. "Now that would have been a nice surprise."

Ballinger said, "So what's keeping you over there when there's a bloke intent on killing you?"

"It just so happens I'm getting out of here as quickly as possible. My girlfriend and her friends are with me. We're just keeping our head downs while we sort out travel arrangements."

"In that case, do drop in and explain it all in more detail when you get back," said Ballinger.

"It'll be a pleasure," Dan said with a hint of sarcasm.

The video link terminated. Katie moaned, "Oh no! I wanted to speak with Mum again."

Dan said, "We have to move swiftly. Lars, how about driving towards that place Subram is using? You can see it from the main road. If that old jeep isn't there, we could try and collect those tools. If we're lucky, tonight we can have a go at getting down the shaft."

"Lars asked, "What about the floodlights?"

"If we keep our heads down we should be able to reach it without being seen." Dan looked at the girls. "Are you two up to coming with us? I reckon it'd be quicker to get down to that ledge if you helped with the rope and kept a lookout." Katie and Inger immediately nodded agreement.

Inger said, "Maybe it's a good to time to tell you Lars is a trained soldier. He served in the Norwegian Army and knows how to handle difficult situations."
Chapter 9

Lorso Valdares gripped the steering wheel tightly each time the old jeep juddered violently as it careered along a highway leading to Mormugao docks.

John Subram said bitterly, "Has the bloke who owns this heap of scrap ever heard about wheel balancing? We're going to disintegrate any minute now."

"We haven't got much time. My contacts have arranged to smuggle us onboard a ship sailing for Argentina in less than an hour," Valdares said.

"And exactly who's paying for the favour?"

"Don't worry about that, it's being sorted by . . ." Valdares gasped and braked violently. "Oh no! It's a police roadblock. What do we do?"

Several police vehicles, traffic cones and a pole barrier blocked the road just ahead.

"Stay calm and drive on. It's probably just a routine check," Subram said unconvincingly. "Yeah, see? They're letting those cars ahead of us through okay."

When the jeep reached the checkpoint, an armed police officer signalled for Valdares to pull over.

"We've had it!" Valdares whimpered.

"Shut up!"

A senior constable leaned in. "Turn off the engine please. Both of you step outside."

Subram and Valdares climbed out and two constables swiftly searched them, finding the revolver in one of Subram's pockets.

The senior constable studied Subram's face and then compared it to a photograph he held up. "John Subram, you are being arrested for possession of a counterfeit passport and an illegal firearm, and attempted murder." He turned to Valdares. "Lorso Valdares, you are being arrested for the theft of this motor vehicle and being an accomplice to other crimes."

After other formalities, Subram and Valdares shuffled under escort to a police car.

* * *

During the brief twilight, Dan peered through the windscreen of the pickup. "Slow down, Lars. See that Hindu shrine with the yellow dome? The track is opposite. We should be able to see if the jeep is outside the house from the main road."

Lars pulled up by the shrine. "There's a pair of binoculars in the glove box."

Katie and Inger leaned forward expectantly in the rear seat. All four were wearing the darkest clothing they could find, including jeans or trousers and stout shoes.

Dan scanned the area around the distant building. "The place looks deserted. No Jeep there," he confirmed.

Lars said, "Right. Shall we go in and see if the tools are there?"

"Sure, let's do it," Dan said.

The truck bumped along the track. Both girls turned to look out of the rear window as if expecting somebody to be following them.

When they reached the house, Dan told Lars, "Drive round the back. The tools were left on the porch."

"Yes, they're still there!" Lars pulled up, jumped out and ran to open the tailgate. Dan grabbed some of the tools and shoved them onboard while Lars collected the other items.

"Let's go!" Lars scrambled back into the driver's seat, Dan hopped in the other side and a cloud of dust billowed as the truck roared off at speed, lurching and bouncing along the rutted track.

A short distance from Cabo De Soldado, Lars pulled off the main road and parked between some trees. He switched on the interior light and turned in the driving seat to speak with the girls. "Okay, here's the plan. It's a good idea to camouflage our exposed skin—face, arms and hands. We all have light colour hair, so I'm afraid we need to do that too. Luckily, we all have fairly dark clothes."

"Using what?" Katie asked.

"Mud. It's an army emergency standby."

Inger exclaimed, "Oh no! Well, okay, if you say so."

Lars grabbed a powerful torch from under his seat. "Hop out and I'll mix some up. Somebody bring a bottle of water."

Dan and the girls went to the back of the pickup and watched Lars place the torch on a tree stump before scooping soil into a pile. Inger handed him her drinking water, which he sprinkled over the pile and then mixed it with his hands.

"It'll be easier if you do each other's faces. Just paint lots of stripes and blotches." Lars demonstrated by treating his face to a dirty makeover.

With well-treated faces, they all rubbed the camouflage over their arms and hands.

"Don't forget your head," Lars said, massaging lots of mud into his long blond hair.

Dan vigorously rubbed the mixture on his scalp. Both girls groaned and squirmed as mud squelched over their heads.

"We're gonna make the inside of this truck horribly dirty," Katie said as they all piled back in.

When they reached the track leading to the fort, Lars explained, "I'll turn round and park at the top just outside the wall—so we can get out of here quickly if necessary. Make sure your phones are on vibrate only. If you get any calls, only answer if it's one of us—and don't speak loudly. Only make a call if it's absolutely essential, especially if you see or hear anything suspicious, or need help."

"Oh my goodness, look how bright those floodlights are," Inger said.

"We'll need to keep low—even crawl some of the way," Dan told them.

As soon as the vehicle stopped, Lars gave his torch to Katie as she jumped out with Inger. Dan unloaded the tools while the girls looked around anxiously.

"Here you go, girls. Grab hold of these." Dan handed over a coil of rope and a battery operated headlight, and then shouldered a spade.

Lars picked up a pickaxe and crowbar. "The torches are only to be used in the shaft. Ready? Let's go."

* * *

John Subram glared at the senior constable across a desk in an interrogation room at the police station. "So explain this charge of attempted murder. Who am I supposed to have tried to kill?"

The officer referred to notes beside him and said, "An Englishman named Dan Mapleton. It seems your bullet narrowly missed."

It can't be! I'm sure I got him good and proper, Subram thought. He shook his head and said, "There's some mistake. Okay, I know this man but what you don't know is that he's here to steal priceless temple treasure."

"What? Explain yourself," the policeman demanded.

"Mapleton has a map indicating where valuables from Napahadram temple are hidden."

"Napahadram? All the valuables were stolen from there many years ago—a massive shock to our country. Many searches have been made without success." The officer leaned over the table, fixing his gaze on Subram. "What is this nonsense about some map?"

"Like I said, Mapleton found a map. It was inside a Ganesh statuette. The hoard is supposed to be hidden down a shaft next to a cannon at Cabo De Soldado, an old fort in Repousante." Subram thumped the table with a fist. "While you're wasting time here, Dan Mapleton is probably already digging for gold!"

The senior constable stood up. "We can easily investigate your preposterous story. I'll advise my superiors to mount a helicopter surveillance operation immediately."

* * *

Dan led the way through a gap in the crumbling wall, stooping low in the glare of floodlights. The others followed in single file. The first stretch was uphill, providing some cover if anyone happened to be looking from the direction of the village. When the terrain levelled out, Dan and Lars lay flat on the uneven ground and began crawling on all fours, dragging the tools. The girls followed suit, managing to manoeuvre their equipment awkwardly.

They reached the cannon and Dan swiftly located the flagstone concealing the entrance to the shaft. He straightened, took the pickaxe from Lars and eased up the stone far enough to be able to grip it. Discarding the axe, he used both hands to slide the heavy slab away, revealing the iron manhole cover. He slid the spade blade between the cover and frame, levered up the cover, grasped it with his free hand and toppled it over.

Lars kneeled to peer down the shaft. "Pass the big torch, girls," he said softly.

Shining the torch around, Dan whispered, "There's water about fifteen metres down. That ledge hacked from the wall isn't more than seven metres away. From there we can get into that opening. It looks as if it could go back a long way."

"It shouldn't be difficult to climb down to the ledge," Lars said, "Okay, let's find somewhere to fix the rope."

"It's long enough to tie round the cannon," Dan confirmed.

After securing the rope, Dan pointed to crumbling remains of a small building in the central area. "See that place, girls? Just in case you hear anybody coming, you can hide in there."

Lars adjusted the headlight over his long, muddied hair, slid effortlessly down the rope and landed on the ledge. "Okay, over to you, Dan."

Dan clumsily lowered himself into the shaft and climbed down the rope using hands and legs. He struggled to get a foothold on the ledge, but Lars quickly hauled him to relative safety.

"Girls? Can you hear me, girls?" Lars called as loudly as he dare. "Pull the rope up, tie that big torch on and lower it to us." The rope swiftly disappeared and returned with the torch attached.

Dan directed the powerful beam of light into the opening, his heart beating rapidly in anticipation. He gasped at the sight of metal crates stacked in rows at the back of a small cave. "They look like wartime ammunition crates—hardly jewel boxes. There doesn't seem to be anything else in here."

"Let's find out," Lars said, ducking as he stepped into the low-roofed cavern to inspect old crates with flaking green paint. They were all the same size, about sixty centimetres long, with a height and depth of around thirty centimetres. "Yep, second world war ammo crates—about twenty of them."

Dan ran a hand over a crate at the top of a pile. "There's a carrying handle at each end. Let's see how heavy this is." He gripped the handles and lifted. "Hmm, definitely something in there. Ah! Look, the lids are only fastened with clamps—no locks."

Lars tried to open the clamps. "Firmly stuck, but luckily that crowbar should do the job." He went back out to the ledge and called up to the girls. "Hello? We've found something, but need the crowbar to find out what. Take care how you fix it to the rope, then lower it, Okay?"

Inger's voice came back, "Right, give us a minute."

Slowly, the crowbar descended towards the ledge, swinging precariously on the rope. Lars grabbed and untied it.

"This is it," breathed Dan as Lars forced the clamps on a crate open. The lid creaked open to reveal an amazing display of sparkling jewels, precious stones and gold coins. Both men stared at the loot, speechless.

"Let's open another one. It might have different stuff in it," Lars said.

The second crate contained ornaments encrusted with jewels, and solid gold trinkets.

Katie's voice echoed down the shaft. "Look out! There's something coming—sounds like a helicopter! Me and Inger are off to that building."

* * *

A police helicopter circled at low altitude above Cabo De Soldado. Sitting beside the pilot, the observer adjusted night vision video equipment. In the rear, a police constable liaised by radio with officers on the ground.

The observer confirmed, "There are two persons running towards that ruined building. They appear to be female—either dark-skinned or camouflaged. Both are carrying some sort of long handled tool."

Switching on an external loudspeaker, the officer in the rear ordered, "Stay where you are! Drop those tools and raise your arms!"

The runaways continued heading towards cover, but gave up when the observer trained a spotlight on them.

Changing course, the pilot said, "Seems they were near that big old gun barrel before we disturbed them." The aircraft hovered over the cannon.

"There's some sort of hole in the stonework around the gun." The observer directed the searchlight over the area. "Looks like a manhole—the cover is lying next to the opening."

A pair of hands appeared, gripping a rope attached to the cannon. A head with matted, dirty hair came into view. A man heaved himself out of the hole, stood and held both arms up in surrender—just as a police van arrived at the scene, blocking in a pickup truck on a track to the rear of the fort.

The radio operator announced, "Control has confirmed we can pull out now. Units on the ground are in control."

Increasing engine power, the pilot gained altitude and headed the helicopter seawards.

"Power cables! You're too close!" shouted the observer.

In a desperate attempt to avoid disaster, the pilot wrestled with controls, trying to climb steeply.

* * *

Lars stared in horror when the helicopter rotor blades clipped high voltage power cables, which looped between huge pylons on both sides of the fort. The aircraft spun out of control, crashing close to the main gate in the rampart wall. A plume of smoke began drifting upwards.

Dan scrambled from the shaft. "What's going on?"

"The chopper's crashed! Quick, we have to help—it's gonna go up in flames!" Lars ran to collect the pickaxe and spade from where the girls stood in shocked silence. "Come on!"

All four raced to the stricken helicopter, closely followed by three uniformed officers. The chopper lay on its side, partly in the dry moat.

Dan scrambled onto the fuselage and tried to open the damaged door. "It's jammed! Hand me the pickaxe!"

Lars climbed up; Dan grabbed the axe and attacked the area around the door handle. Lars used the spade in an effort to lever the door open. A policeman tried to extinguish the engine fire with a small extinguisher, but flames took hold and rapidly spread along the fuselage.

"It's giving—keep levering!" Dan shouted, hacking frantically. The door partly opened. Dan and Lars managed to pull it wide open as heat from approaching flames became almost unbearable. A man reached out from the seat next to the pilot. Dan grabbed his hands and managed to pull him out. The pilot, motionless and slumped forward in his seat, was still wearing a safety harness. Blood trickled down his face. Lars climbed in and found a third crewmember in the back, trying to reach the release buckle on the pilot's harness. Lars swiftly removed the straps and, with help from the other occupant, managed to lift the pilot to the doorway. Smoke quickly filled the interior as Dan and a police officer reached in and pulled the injured man outside.

Lars and the third crewmember clambered out just as flames engulfed the inside of the cabin.

"Everybody back! Get back—it's going to explode!" shouted the officer carrying the fire extinguisher.

Katie and Inger carefully helped to move the unconscious pilot to a safe distance. Everyone reached safety seconds before an explosion ripped the helicopter apart, sending a fireball rocketing skyward.
Chapter 10

Sunlight filtered through a blind at a barred window in a police station interview room. A ceiling fan did little more than circulate hot air. Dan and Lars waited impatiently, seated on one side of a long table. A head constable and a senior constable, who'd spent two hours asking questions, left them alone when they went off to consult an inspector more than half an hour earlier.

"They have to release us within twenty-four hours if no charges are made." Lars looked at the wall clock. "Three o'clock. We were in the cells at midnight, so they have another nine hours. I wonder how the girls are getting on. I expect they were locked up again after questioning."

"It seems as if the police have no idea what to do. Maybe their boss will sort it out," Dan said. "I suppose it's unusual to arrest people who were actually doing the country a big favour, not committing a crime."

Lars said, "Let's hope everything is okay with that reward offer. They seem baffled by it."

The door opened and a senior police announced, "I'm Inspector Badal Kapoor. You are free to go, gentlemen. Please follow me." He led the way along a corridor and into a spacious office with comfortable furniture.

Katie and Inger, sitting on a sofa, sprang up excitedly when Dan and Lars appeared.

"Thank goodness it's over. We can go now." Katie brushed a tear from her cheek.

"Before you leave, there are a few things to explain to you. Please be seated," said Inspector Kapoor, sitting behind his desk.

Dan and Lars sat in padded chairs and the girls sank back on the sofa.

The inspector shuffled papers on his desk. "Firstly, I'd like to thank you for your extremely brave and selfless behaviour yesterday. Without your help, three persons would have certainly died in that helicopter. Each of them has asked me to pass on their sincere thanks and gratitude."

"It's appreciated. We just did the obvious thing in that situation," Dan replied.

"It was necessary to detain all of you while investigating your claim to reward money for finding missing treasure. I now have information about that reward." Badal Kapoor put on spectacles and referred to a document.

Katie clamped a hand over her mouth. Inger gripped the sofa edge. Dan and Lars leaned forward expectantly.

The inspector said, "As you know, this matter goes back many years and with the passage of time, certain legal aspects may have changed or need clarification. In order to establish absolute proof of validity, government departments and legal advisors in New Delhi need to complete a study confirming the reward is still current. Don't worry—it shouldn't take too long."

Dan stood up slowly, shaking his head. "I don't believe I'm hearing this. You've seen the reward announcement on the internet. There's even a photo of the original poster. It's still there."

"I repeat, it's just a matter of confirming its current status," the inspector said. "In the meantime, you'll be interested to know the treasure will be recovered from Cabo De Soldado in the morning. It'll be quite an event, carried out by the army and police with strict security measures in force. I invite you all to be there—as my special guests."

* * *

Mark and Sally Cunningham listened to Harry Renshaw relating some of his Second World War experiences. Mrs Peabody served afternoon tea in the garden at Harry's Penzance home on a pleasant, sunny autumn day.

When Harry finished a story, he said, "It's very kind of you both to visit me. What a lovely gesture. But who's looking after the pub?"

Mark replied, "Oh, we've got a relief manager in for the day. I just had to come and say thank you for helping Dan—my wife didn't want to miss the chance of meeting you either. As I said earlier, Dan and his friends found the treasure yesterday—exactly at the place you pinpointed on the map."

"I'm delighted for him. Now he and young Katie Barnes can really plan a brighter future," Harry said.

"The treasure is being recovered by the Indian Army and police tomorrow. Dan and the others have been invited . . ." Marks mobile rang. "Excuse me." He answered the phone. "Dan! What a brilliant time to call. Me and Sally are with Harry Renshaw in Penzance." He stood up and walked around the garden, out of earshot of the others when he heard that everything wasn't quite so clear cut as he thought. "How can they say the reward offer needs to be verified? We've got all the details, what more do they want?" He listened to Dan, a worried look on his face. "I see. Well I'm sure it's only a formality. Let's hope they don't keep us hanging about too long."

Sally noticed the look on Marks face when he sat down again and asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah—just a slight hitch with getting the reward sorted out, that's all," Mark said as brightly as he could.

* * *

At ten o'clock in the morning, tight security at Cabo De Soldado included armed soldiers and police posted around crumbling rampart walls. Charred remains of the helicopter lay where it exploded. Army trucks and police vehicles lined the track behind the fort. At a checkpoint, a TV crew, reporters and photographers underwent full body searches before proceeding to an area marked out with police tape close to the treasure. Members of the public were banned from the site. Dan, Lars, Katie and Inger wore special passes authorised by Inspector Badal Kapoor.

"Come, let's take a closer look," the inspector said, leading his guests towards the shaft.

Dan wondered if he'd ever get the reward money as he looked on. Soldiers adjusted a gantry winch and pulley erected above the opening. Other military personnel unloaded several small flatbed carts from an armoured cash-in-transit vehicle parked close to the rear perimeter wall. They pulled the carts over rough ground to line them up by the cannon.

"This could be some good news," Dan whispered to Katie, nodding towards an important-looking police officer heading their way.

"Ah! Here comes The Superintendent." Badal Kapoor smartly saluted his senior officer, who was accompanied by a young Indian woman carrying a toddler. The superintendent pointed out Dan's group, and the woman walked towards them.

The young mother said, "I want to thank you all for saving my husband's life. He was the pilot in the helicopter. The other crewmembers have also asked me to convey their gratitude. Without your brave action, none of them would have survived." She lowered her young daughter, who stepped forward unsteadily and offered a small bunch of flowers. Dan and Lars stooped to receive the gift, and both patted the little girl's head. Katie took the posy and admired the blooms before handing them to Inger.

When the superintendent walked away with the mother and child, Dan said, "Well, at least we got a thank you and some flowers. That was very nice of them—but not exactly the same as a cheque worth two million quid."

"All in good time," Lars said reassuringly, patting Dan on the back. "They love doing plenty of paperwork in India."

Dan's stomach churned. Just waiting for good news made him feel sick. An air of excitement and anticipation went round the historic fort when the first crate appeared on the end of a winch cable. Soldiers expertly manhandled it onto a flatbed cart. When all twenty crates had been loaded, an armed escort flanked men pulling the carts to the cash-in-transit vehicle. TV and press cameras followed the action from behind the cordon ribbon.

Dan glanced up at a police surveillance helicopter circling overhead. "I hope he stays clear of those power cables," he said grimly.

With the priceless temple treasure safely locked in the armoured security vehicle, three police cars and four police motorcycles with screaming sirens and flashing lights led the way down the track. Three more police motorcyclists and two cars provided a rear escort.

"Well, that's about it for today," said the inspector. "An official from The Ministry of Home Affairs is flying from Delhi tomorrow to update you regarding the reward. I've made arrangements for all of you to stay at a comfortable hotel tonight."

* * *

"They certainly didn't spare any expense in booking this place." Dan admired the stunning surroundings from his sun lounger in a five star hotel set in beautiful grounds with a huge infinity pool overlooking the Arabian Sea. Katie and Inger, in bikinis, stretched out beside him, catching the late afternoon sun.

Lars climbed from the pool and towelled himself dry. "Well, Dan, with a bit of luck, this time tomorrow you'll be deciding how to spend two million pounds."

Dan sat up. "I daren't even think about it yet. Let's wait to hear what that government representative has to say in the morning."

"I'm sure it'll be good news." Lars flopped onto a lounger. "Come on, you must have some ideas about what you'd like to do in the future."

"Strangely enough, I've been sort of daydreaming of running a business on a tropical island—in the Caribbean. I even imagined you and Inger were there, as partners in the venture—whatever it turned out to be."

Lars laughed. "Oh wow! No harm in dreaming."

"Seriously though, if things turn out okay, I'll definitely be sharing the wealth with you and Inger. I couldn't possibly have got this far without you."

Lars held his hands up in protest. "No need for that, because . . ."

"No argument. I've made up my mind," Dan said firmly. "My friend Mark in Cornwall is on the gift list too."

Katie joined in with, "I've suggested the four of us could set up something along the lines of running trekking adventures in the rain forest and coastal sightseeing mini cruises."

A waiter in white jacket and black bow tie arrived with a tray containing champagne on ice and four glasses. "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Inspector Badal Kapoor sends this with his best wishes." He placed the tray on a low table. "Shall I open it for you?"

"What a nice surprise. Yes, go ahead and pop the cork," Dan told him.

Lars said, "Looks like the celebrations are about to begin."

* * *

Mark Cunningham stopped refilling shelves in The Mackerel Inn and turned to watch the TV when a lunchtime news presenter mentioned Goa. "Sally! Quick! There's something about Goa on the news." Sally arrived just in time to watch old ammunition crates being winched from a hole in the ground and loaded onto flatbed trucks by soldiers.

The presenter explained, "We've just received pictures from India about treasure being recovered from a shaft at a ruined fort in Goa. Stolen from an ancient temple at the end of the Second World War, the sacred collection includes vast amounts of gold, silver, precious stones and ornaments. India's armed forces and police mounted an elaborate security operation."

"It looks like the Indian authorities censored that report," Mark said. "No mention of a reward. You'd have thought some of those pictures would have shown Dan and the others."

Sally said, "Stop fretting. You know Dan will be in touch shortly. By the way, Rosie Barnes is coming over tomorrow to help us celebrate the occasion."

"Let's hope everything is okay before she arrives." Mark said solemnly.

* * *

Dan paced up and down in the residents lounge at the hotel, constantly glancing at his watch. "It's now nearly midday. We've been in here since ten. What's going on? Where is this important person?"

Katie, Inger and Lars sat in comfortable armchairs around a long coffee table. They thumbed through magazines and newspapers, apprehensively watching the doorway as Dan became more irritated.

A few minutes later, Lars said, "Here we go. Someone's coming."

Dan stopped pacing and sat with the others as Inspector Badal Kapoor walked in with an Indian woman, about sixty with greying hair. Her elegant sari appeared to be expensive.

The inspector said, "Let me introduce Madam Riya Dubashi—from The Ministry of Home Affairs." Dan and the others swiftly stood up.

Madam Dubashi smiled and greeted them politely. "Namaste." She pressed her palms together at chest height and nodded her head slightly.

The four responded in unison. "Namaste." Inspector Kapoor fussily pulled an armchair out from the end of the table for the important visitor to use.

Madam seated herself comfortably and said, "Please sit down." Everyone sat. Dan's hands started trembling and he coughed nervously while the official took papers from a folder and arranged them on the table. Eventually she asked, "Which one of you is Mr Dan Mapleton?"

Dan held an arm up. "I am, Madam."

"First of all, congratulations on a remarkable achievement, Mr Mapleton."

"Thank you."

"The people of India will be eternally grateful that you ingeniously located our priceless temple treasures. I have noted your home address and phone number because we may be asked to contact you. Now, regarding the reward." Madam Dubashi picked up a document. "As you know, the offer of one hundred and seventy-five million rupees was made many years ago. In fact, it proved a long and difficult task for us to establish the current situation. Successive governments often amend, change and withdraw things—especially things that have proved ineffective over many years. Unfortunately, I have to tell you this reward was withdrawn about twelve years ago—in two thousand and four, to be precise. I'm sorry."

A stunned silence ensued. Dan's mouth dropped open. His face drained of colour. He felt violently sick. Katie gasped and burst into tears, covering her face with shaking hands. Inger stared at the woman in disbelief, shaking her head.

Lars slowly stood up. "You must have made a mistake. I mean . . ."

Dan interrupted. "That notice on the internet. It clearly says the reward is still available. I don't understand."

Madam said, "That's where the confusion started. The notice was published several years before the offer was withdrawn. There is a more recent article online confirming the reward had been cancelled."

"What? Oh no!" Dan suddenly felt foolish—irresponsible. His thoughts flashed back to Mark and the day he checked the information online. It's not his fault. I should have dug deeper, he thought. "Well, that's that. No point in letting it get to you."
Chapter 11

Rosie Barnes breezed into The Mackerel Inn shortly after opening time. "Good morning! What a lovely autumnal day to celebrate Dan's wonderful achievement." She noticed the glum expressions on Mark and Sally's faces. "What's the matter? You should be dancing on the bar."

"You'd better sit down, Rosie. We've just had bad news," Sally lamented.

Rosie sat at the bar. "About what?"

Mark took a deep breath. "Dan isn't going to get the reward. Not a penny. I made an unfortunate mistake."

"What do you mean? Made a mistake?" Rosie looked flabbergasted.

Sally explained. "Mark didn't think about checking how long that reward notice had been online. Dan called a little while ago and told us there's a more recent announcement about the reward being withdrawn back in two thousand and four. He's gutted."

Mark said, "I should have had more sense. It never occurred to me to check for recent updates. But Dan is saying he's the one who should have thought of that."

"I don't understand this internet stuff, but surely those Indians have a moral obligation to pay up. I mean, well, Dan and the others have done them a big favour," Rosie said angrily. "My Katie will be devastated as much as Dan. Now I know why she hasn't phoned me about it yet. It was looking so good for them." Rosie pulled a handkerchief out and dabbed at her eyes.

Mark said, "To think he sold his boat in order to be able to go out to India. It's terrible. I feel really bad about it—very, very bad."

Rosie gasped. "I forgot. On the way here, I bumped into that detective sergeant—the one who's been involved with the goings on. Like a fool, I told him we'd be celebrating Dan's good fortune in here. He said he'd pop in and see what it's all about. Oh dear, what do we do?"

The door opened and Mark said, "Not a lot—he's just arrived."

Detective Sergeant Ballinger took a step or two in and stopped. "Have we come to the wrong place? I heard there was a bit of a celebration going on."

"There should have been. Come in and join the wake," Mark said sarcastically. Detective Constable Gavin Anderson followed Ballinger to stand at the bar. Rosie gazed at them through tear-filled eyes.

Sally folded her arms. "Well? What's it to be? Arsenic?"

Ballinger said, "My powers of detection tell me something hasn't gone quite to plan, Mrs Cunningham. I could murder one of your aromatic coffees."

"Really? Well, due to unforeseen circumstances, you'll have to pay for a change."

"Of course. Gavin, do the honours. The rest of you look in need of something stronger. What'll it be?"

When Ballinger had listened to the story of Dan's dilemma, he said, "You may recall I mentioned how I couldn't help wondering if a treasure map might have been involved. It's a pity you didn't come clean earlier about the motive behind Mr Mapleton's strange decision to pack up and go. We could have investigated the situation. But it's too late now."

"If we'd mentioned it, Dan wouldn't have stood any chance. At least he found the stuff for India," Mark said defensively.

"So what are his plans now?" Ballinger asked.

Mark shrugged. "Who knows? He invested all he had on that venture. But knowing Dan, he'll bounce back."

"At least the Indian authorities agreed to extradite that John Subram. He's due to arrive at Heathrow tomorrow. It seems he has a history of mental health problems that have only just surfaced," Ballinger announced.

* * *

John Subram fidgeted irritably in the back of a police car on the way to Goa airport. He knew the extradition agreement would lead to another lengthy prison sentence in England. It seemed strange not to be wearing handcuffs, but noticed the constable next to him watching his every move closely. Subram seethed with anger and hatred. If only I could have one more chance to get Dan Mapleton, he thought.

The car suddenly swerved violently and a large truck smashed into the nearside, crumpling both doors and panels. In the confusion, Subram kicked at the buckled door, which sprang open. He jumped out, ran off and headed towards a sprawling crowded market. Satisfied the police weren't in close pursuit, he paused at a stall selling menswear. When the vendor turned to serve a customer, Subram grabbed a hat and long scarf and continued running while pulling on the hat and wrapping the scarf in a way to cover most of his face. Money—I must get some cash. He pushed and elbowed a way through the throng of shoppers. On spotting an elderly woman putting some banknotes and coins in a shoulder bag, he grabbed it and dashed on breathlessly.

After entering a labyrinth of narrow streets behind the market, Subram stopped in the doorway of a disused building, stuffed the stolen cash in his pocket and threw the bag into a garbage bin. Desperate to avoid recapture, he looked around for somewhere to hide until nightfall. A nearby construction site seemed the only possibility, so he hurried over and crawled inside a huge concrete sewer pipe.

* * *

Dan put an arm round Katie's shoulder as they sat on Repousante beach to watch the sunset. Lars and Inger wandered along the shoreline, occasionally stooping to pick up shells.

"It was a lovely gesture from Mark to offer a free holiday at the pub for Lars and Inger," Katie said. "I'm so happy they're going to Cornwall with us."

"I'm glad we're all staying at Villa Maranda for our last night," Dan told Katie. "I wasn't sure how Maranda would react after all the goings on, but she's been very kind. I'm so pleased she offered Lars and Inger a room too."

Katie said, "She appreciated you returning those tools as well." She paused for a moment. "Dan, this may sound ridiculous, but I really don't care about not having much money. It's more important to have each other—believe me. My outlook on life changed after months of travelling the world. I love you, Dan Mapleton." She stroked Dan's cheek and lingeringly kissed his lips.

The crimson sun sank below the horizon, leaving breathtaking patterns in orange, red, gold and purple spreading across the sky and glimmering in the sea. Lars and Inger, holding hands, ran up the beach and sat beside Dan and Katie.

When the sky darkened, Lars said, "Well, I guess we should go and freshen up. I've got some cold beer in the fridge. How about picking up a pizza and dining on your balcony?"

Dan nodded. "Good idea—a nice way to spend our last night in Goa."

* * *

Under cover of darkness, Subram ventured out from his sewer pipe, hoping to find a telephone booth. He reckoned Dan Mapleton could be back at Villa Maranda, and Mrs Rodrigues might confirm his theory. He found a public phone conveniently situated off the main thoroughfare. Thankful he'd memorised the number given to him by Handy Andy, he made the call.

After a few rings, a woman's voice answered. "Hello, Maranda Rodrigues speaking."

Subram said, "Oh, sorry to trouble you, I'm a friend of Dan Mapleton. I believe he's staying with you at the moment. I'm here on holiday and thought I'd look him up."

Maranda replied, "I'm afraid he's not here just now but should be back a little later tonight. He's leaving in the morning. Can I give him a message?"

"No, it's okay. I'll catch him some other time. Thanks anyway." Subram hung up. Right, he thought. There must be a bus going that way tonight. But how do I do it without a gun? He rubbed his chin and then snapped his fingers. Of course! A coconut cleaver. He walked to where he'd earlier seen a man chopping and selling coconuts from a street barrow. On arriving at the spot, it seemed the owner had covered the barrow with plastic sheeting before going away. Subram glanced around furtively before lifting a corner of the plastic. A sturdy cleaver in a leather sheath hung from a hook. He snatched the sharp tool and hurried off.

Within an hour, Subram boarded a bus to Repousante and sat alone at the back. He kept the cleaver and sheath in a plastic bag on his lap.

* * *

Maranda Rodrigues joined her four guests on the porch outside Dan's room after they'd devoured pizzas and downed several beers. She placed a tray holding a bottle of red wine, five glasses and a corkscrew on the table. "This was my late husband's treasured Bordeaux—a Château Pétrus 2005," Maranda explained. "He promised to keep it for a special occasion. Unfortunately, he never decided what that should be. I thought it a nice idea to share it with you because you proved his theory correct about there being a shaft next to the old cannon. Who'll uncork it?"

Dan smiled and said, "Allow me. Thank you."

Maranda served, raised her glass and proposed a toast. "Here's to four remarkable people who've shown extraordinary courage in most difficult circumstances."

Dan stood and responded. "We'll toast the safe return of India's sacred temple treasure."

When Maranda was ready to go home, Dan told her, "We'll move to the side balcony now so you don't get disturbed if we talk too loud."

* * *

John Subram crept along the edge of the rice paddy towards Villa Maranda. A waning moon helped him pick a way to the papaya tree overhanging the ground floor balcony he'd been to before. He thought, Please let him be in the same room.

The sharp cleaver glistened when he pulled it from its sheath. He abruptly halted on noticing electric light glowing from the balcony and hearing male and female voices in conversation. Subram dropped to all fours and cautiously crawled along behind shrubs and plants lining the villa's boundary. Peeking through the foliage, he saw Dan Mapleton walk onto the balcony holding a can of beer. Another man was sitting on a chair to the side of the doorway, facing the balustrade. Two young women sat together at one end of the balcony. Mapleton leaned against the balustrade with his back to the papaya tree. He was within arm's reach. Subram took a deep breath and raised the cleaver.

* * *

Lars saw something glinting in the papaya tree foliage above Dan's head and instinctively sprang up, screaming, "Move, Dan!" He charged across the balcony, leapt onto the balustrade and hurled himself into tree branches. He fell on somebody and they both crashed on the ground below the balcony. Katie and Inger shrieked hysterically. The intruder, a man clutching a wicked-looking cleaver, struggled to free himself from Lars' powerful hold around his neck. Gasping for breath, he dropped the weapon and fell flat on his face. Dan jumped from the balcony and helped Lars to pin the man's wrists behind his back.

Lars shouted, "One of you girls call the police—quickly!"

Dan gasped. "It looks like Subram." He pulled the man's face sideways. "It is Subram! I don't believe it."

Lars called out, "You hear that, girls? Tell the police we've got John Subram here, then find something to tie this maniac up with—a couple of belts or something."

Moments later Katie dropped two leather belts over the balcony. Dan and Lars swiftly secured Subram's wrists and ankles.

Katie and Inger arrived on the scene, followed by Maranda.

"Are the police coming?" Dan asked.

"They said it'd be a little while because there isn't a patrol nearby," Inger said with a trembling voice.

Maranda added, "I phoned the local constable who lives just outside the village. He's off duty but is already on the way."

Subram lifted his head. "You can all go to hell." He spat vehemently.

Dan told him, "It'll be worse than hell for you this time around."

A motorbike skidded to a halt outside the gates and seconds later a police constable rushed over to take control.

* * *

Maranda parked her people carrier outside departures at Goa airport at about nine o'clock the next evening and got out to say goodbye to Dan, Katie, Inger and Lars. After retrieving their luggage from the back, all four shook Maranda's hand and thanked her.

"Have a safe journey. I hope one day you'll come back, but no doubt you've had enough of Goa to last a long time," Maranda said with a smile.

Dan said, "I don't think we'll ever forget our amazing experience here. Thanks again." He waited until Maranda drove off, waved and then caught up with the others.

* * *

On a cool morning in late September, Dan and Katie showed their Norwegian friends around Polminan.

"It's so pretty. I love it," declared Inger, admiring the harbour.

"So is this where you kept your boat?" Lars asked.

"Yep, come on, I'll show you exactly where Lucky Lucy used to be moored." Dan led the way along the jetty to a flight of concrete steps leading down to the water. He suddenly felt emotional as memories flooded his mind. "Right there." He pointed to a vacant mooring.

Katie squeezed Dan's hand. "She might be gone but I'm here."

Dan answered a call on his mobile. "Hello? Yes, speaking. Who is that?" He listened and an annoyed look spread on his face. "Is this some sort of joke?" He listened again, switching on the loudspeaker so the others could hear.

A man's voice with an Indian accent said. "I'm calling from the High Commission of India in London. We've been asked to contact you regarding a reward for the Napahadram temple treasure. The government have reconsidered and decided to go ahead with payment of the reward. So we need to . . ." The caller paused when whoops and cheers broke out from the four.

"What? Never! I mean . . ." Dan tried to compose himself. "Sorry—it's just a bit of a shock. Please go on."

The caller continued. "As I was saying, we need to send an official to meet you in order to confirm a few details and make the necessary arrangements. Providing everything is in order, the money will take about two weeks to clear in your bank. Our man can be in your village tomorrow afternoon if it's convenient."

"Yes, yes of course. Tomorrow afternoon is fine," Dan managed to say breathlessly.

* * *

The next evening Mark and Dan helped Harry Renshaw to settle into a comfortable chair in the bar at The Mackerel Inn.

The elderly Harry said, "Thank you both so much for coming all the way to Penzance to drive me here."

"It's a pleasure. If it wasn't for your help with decoding the map, there'd be nothing to celebrate," Dan told him.

"Now, what'll you have to drink?" Mark beamed at the special guest.

"Just half of lager and lime, please."

Rosie Barnes helped Sally arrange food on a buffet table, proudly glancing over her shoulder as Katie and Dan circulated among the crowd of well-wishers.

Just before closing time, Detective Sergeant Ballinger walked in, ordered a pint at the bar and walked over to Dan and Katie. "A little bird told me you've had a bit of luck for a change, Mr Mapleton." Ballinger raised his glass. "Cheers and congratulations, sir."

When Dan took a breather from circulating, he grabbed Katie's hand and made a beeline towards Lars and Inger.

Dan patted Lars on the shoulder and said, "Well, let me know when you're ready to start discussing that little business idea in the Caribbean. I've already decided my pleasure boat will be called Lucky Lucy."

###

About the author

Gerry Skoyles is a former globetrotter, still living life on the edge. Travelling days started with an overland journey to India in a beaten-up camper-van. One of the last passenger ships plying between Southampton and Australia took him to a new life down under. After returning to the UK, he spent periods around Europe and South East Asia. Although now based in England, adventures near and far still occupy a good deal of time.

Discover other titles by Gerry Skoyles

Dicing With Diamonds

The Great Lottery Pay-off

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