Gold Buddha Historical Novel Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

SAIPAN, NORTHERN MARIANAS

INTERNATIONAL INTRIGUE added to the excitement of the Gold Buddha adventure. Recovery of the gold Buddha can correct injustice to Pedro Lim and provide the funds for humanitarian projects throughout the world. After healing from his jungle tragedy, Doug had time to reflect many times on the goals of the mission. He had few distractions while living alone in Saipan—it was an opportune time to mentally picture successful results.

During his daily trip to town, Doug stopped at the telephone office for messages. Bill had faxed a letter from the States telling Doug of his plans to arrive in Saipan in two days. Checking his wristwatch, Doug calculated the time in the States to be 8:00 p.m..

“Perfect,” he told himself, then turned to the secretary and said, “I’d like to call a friend in the States.”

“Okay, please fill out this form, and I’ll place it for you.”

Doug wrote the necessary information and returned the form. “It will take only five minutes, okay?” the secretary informed him with a coy smile.

Doug replied with a macho, “Okay” and slowly moved to the waiting area, glancing back a few times. He had just begun to read a magazine, when he heard his name announced.

“Mr. Goodwin, I have your call to the States. You can take it over there,” the secretary said, pointing at a phone booth with a dramatic gesture.

Stepping into the booth and picking up the receiver, Doug greeted Bill with the familiar, “Yoooo!”

Bill returned the greeting and asked, “How’s it going over there?”

“It’s too peaceful; you’d better come to stir up some excitement.”

“I’m on my way tomorrow. Remember to meet me.” Bill said jokingly.

“Don’t you fall asleep in the airport and miss your flight like you did in San Francisco.” Doug said, referring to a time Bill fell asleep and awoke as his plane taxied on the tarmac.

“I don’t do that anymore,” Bill replied. “I’ll be on the six-thirty morning flight from Guam.”

“It’s the only flight from Guam; so I can’t miss it.”

“Don’t sleep in.”

“I gave up sleeping until this adventure’s completed.”

“Me too. See ya’ day after tomorrow.”

“Okay bro, hang loose, I’ll be waiting.”

Each replaced the receiver with a smile on his face. They have a unique brotherly relationship.

The next twenty-four hours passed, and sooner than imagined, Doug was headed for the airport to meet Bill.

Doug arrived at the airport by 6:00 a.m., and with several local Chamorros, waited for the plane from Guam. Small children played in the waiting room, giving the early morning a touch of happiness. Children throughout the world have similar games. Chamorro children are more energetic than most, however. They ran around with bare feet, leaping off anything they could climb: boulders, benches, stairs and ledges.

Looking into the sky, Doug heard a faint engine sound and strained to see a speck of a plane. He continued looking as it grew to a roaring jetliner. Watching jets as they landed was always a thrill for him.

The huge airplane rolled to a stop, and stairs were wheeled into place. The plane door opened, and people began descending the stairs.

“There he is!” Doug said as if announcing it to the world. A few of the locals turned to look at him, but he ignored their curious glances. Bill stood in the doorway a few seconds, and with searching eyes, quickly glanced over the new environment. Cautiously, he began his descent until he spotted his brother; then he walked at a fast pace across the cement concourse toward the terminal door.

“It’s great to be here,” Bill exclaimed in a booming voice as the brothers exchanged their combination handshake. “Hey, what’s with the beard and long hair?”

“Just a sign of my freedom,” Doug answered as he picked up two of Bill’s bags and led the way. “I’ve rented a hideaway; so we won’t be noticed. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

The two men felt good to be together again—a puzzle being complete. Since childhood, their lives had always been that way.

The luggage check at customs was minimal. After the check, they walked outside toward the parking lot.

“Wait until you see my new jeep,” Doug commented.

Bill looked toward the parking area and couldn’t miss the old rusty jeep. “New?” he questioned.

“Well, new to you.”

The dilapidated jeep added a feeling of independence. Riding in the open air, caused both to relax and smile at life. Many excited words were exchanged during the ride; life was fun again.

“Look at that foundation by the beach,” Doug spoke above the jeep noise, pointing toward a twenty-foot square block of concrete. He explained that it had served as a Japanese lookout during World War II.

To stimulate Bill’s curiosity, Doug said, “It used to be a bunker….bunkers are all over the island. Those bunkers are going to help us finance our worldwide causes.” He casually looked out of the corner of his eye to catch Bill’s reaction.

Bill glanced at the foundation but showed no reaction. He had learned to wait with patience whenever Doug introduced new information. He knew Doug would explain himself in his own due time.

Doug couldn’t resist continuing. “I’ve arranged to lease a bunker on the other side of the island to use as a vault. It’ll be the perfect temporary home for the Orphans.

“How did you explain that to the government?”

“It was easy, actually. Ken Abel arranged to reopen his bank charter in Saipan, and we leased it for a storage facility…you know, bank records and such. They don’t know we plan to set up a gold coin minting operation. When we get the Orphans, we’ll be going into the coin minting business, as soon as we can import the proper machinery.”

“You sly fox, you. We talked about doing that quite a while ago, but I doubted it would be possible.”

“The bunker is a perfect cover. With steel doors, those bunkers are as secure as a vault, and we’ll have a legitimate reason for a security guard. I’ve already applied for a guard permit.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bill said. “Wait ‘til you see the detailed plans I brought. That will fit right in.”

Doug drove up Capitol Hill and moved rapidly along the curving road. Turning left at the local Post Office, he proceeded up the paved road, then onto the coral covered road leading to his hut.

As a corrugated metal hut came into view, Doug exclaimed proudly, “There’s our new home.”

Sarcastically, Bill responded, “ I’m ready to get out of here already.”

“Don’t get ‘em in an uproar. You’ll learn to love it,” Doug assured him.

Three large geckos rushed up the wall and across the ceiling as they entered the hut. Bill watched them with disgust. “I see you haven’t been lonely…What are those things?”

“I call them Minigators.”

“Ya’ sure,” Bill said with a pause. “They do look like little alligators—you crazy guy.”

“Pull up a chair and sit on the floor,” Doug said jokingly. “Toss your bags over there in the corner. That cot is your bed.”

Bill placed his bags in the corner and checked the cot for spiders. He and spiders do not get along. “Why haven’t you cleaned this place?” he asked.

“Man, I did clean it—You should have seen it before I took over—I couldn’t get through the door,” Doug explained and turned toward a butane camp stove to prepare some food. “What do you want for brunch?”

“What’s on the menu? I just hope it’s not minigators!”

“Well, I have hamburger, gruel and a can of peaches.”

“What about fresh fruit?”

“No fruit, a banana costs a dollar here.”

“I thought they’d have bananas and all kinds of fruit on the island.”

“No, they import it all. The Japanese grew all kinds of fruit and were outstanding farmers. The island was like a garden when they were here, but since the war our government, with food stamps, has supported the local Chamorros. They’re too lazy to farm.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“It’s true. They have what I call a Budweiser/Beetle-nut culture here. They received a recognition plaque from Budweiser for consuming more beer per capita than anywhere in the world.”

Looking up in disgust, Bill said sarcastically, “That’s an honor to brag about?”

“They’re so proud, they grin from ear to ear. Did you check out their Beetle-nut smile?”

“The black teeth, and the red spit they shoot all over the roads and sidewalks? Yeah’—a thing of beauty and a joy forever!”

Bill spotted a small radio near Doug’s cot and asked, “Does that radio work?”

“Sure does, I only listen to news though.”

Doug commenced frying two enormous hamburger patties laced with chunks of onions and covered with plenty of pepper and catsup. The onions masked the off-flavored hamburger.

“Smells good, what is it?”

“Caribou.”

Before touching the meat, Bill leaned toward the plate and carefully smelled his meal.

“I’m kidding. It’s good ol’ hamburger shipped from Australia.”

“I’ll bet!” Bill commented as he cautiously tasted the meat. “Not bad, just like Wendy’s.”

“It’s better, brother,” Doug replied eating heartily.

After the meal and more friendly conversation, Bill asked, “Are you ready to see our new high-tech equipment and review the new plans I brought?”

Doug cleared the table, stacking the dishes and pans in a tin washtub. “I was born ready.”

Bill opened his packsack and pulled out a small unit resembling a notebook computer; then took the same type of unit from his carry-on camera bag. “Take a look at these jewels, he said, opening the cover of one unit.

Doug stared in disbelief, “Why two notebooks?”

“Not notebooks, my good friend!” Bill exclaimed. “These babies are World Wide Satellite Telephones…ten years ahead of their time.” Continuing, he described the marvels of the electronic devices before them. ‘Big O’ conducts tests for the government on many electronic advancements, and he has picked up a few for us. They’ll be lifesavers…we can call from anyplace in the world by orienting the unit toward the appropriate satellite; then dialing the number…easy as calling from home. We’ll refer to them as STs.”

Doug couldn’t resist grabbing one. “Let’s test it out….How does it work?”

“That’s yours.” Bill sat down next to Doug and took the ST. “Let’s call Ken Abel. He’s been busy doing his own thing, but I haven’t talked with him for a while. We need to step outside—there’s too much metal around us in this hut.

Together they went outside and sat at a picnic table. Bill turned on the ST, lifted the antenna and oriented it toward the northeast sky, a beep sounded. “We’re ready to call.” Next, he dialed Ken’s home number and waited. After a few clicking sounds the phone rang, and Ken’s deep mellow voice responded hello.

“Hello friend,” Bill said through a small microphone embedded in the case.

“Hey, Bill! Where in the world are you?”

“You’ve got that right—somewhere in the world. I’m here in Saipan with Doug…Say hi to Doug.”

“Hi buddy, how are you calling? This doesn’t sound like a telephone hookup.” Ken responded.

“We are testing a satellite telephone that ‘Big O’ sent with me.” Bill answered. “How am I sounding?”

“Clear as a bell. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Leave it to ‘Big O’. They won’t be out to the public for many years. You can pick one up from ‘Big O’ before you come back over here. He’ll give you the phone numbers for each member of the team—we all have units with consecutive numbers; so we can memorize them,” Bill explained. “Each of us has one. The instruction book is in the case.”

“Good, I’ll need that book. You know me and electronics.”

“No worries mate. Simple as can be. Now for the good part—I’ll send you a fax from this same phone. Hang up and I’ll test it. Call me back when you receive it at PABX232, use the Saipan area code with a zero in front of it.”

“Let’s give it a try.” Ken said while hanging up his phone.

Bill began typing a message that appeared on the screen telling Ken of their next plans. He and Doug would soon travel to Thailand to meet with Suwat and ‘Big O’ and discuss the recovery step of the Orphans. Hitting the Ctl and the Enter keys the ST indicated “Message Sent”.

A moment later Bill’s ST beeped three times with a message showing on the screen.

“Hello Ken,” Bill answered.

“How’d you know it was me?” Ken laughed.

“You’re the only one who ever calls me,” Bill joked. “I guess the fax worked.”

“Like a charm.”

“Well, we’re in business Ken. Check your E-mail often; because we also have another device to send encrypted E-mails from anywhere on the globe…we’ll be in touch later.”

They signed off and Doug spoke first. “That’s an amazing device. What did it cost us.”

“Only $5,000 each. A good buy at half the price.” Bill joked. “Here’s another winner…pulling from his pocket a small hand-held device the size of a small cell-phone. This is a GSC, global satellite communicator, like a high-powered global positioning unit. We’ll use this to stay in touch with each other no matter where we are.”

Doug picked up an instruction pamphlet and read its specifications: (1) Send e-mail messages; (2) Identify your position anyplace on the earth within ten meters; (3) Relay your position to anyone, anywhere—no matter how remote you may be; (4) Chart your course: (5) Follow your progress and record waypoints.. “This is amazing. How many of these did we buy.”

“‘Big O’ picked these up as prototypes for free.” Bill explained with a smile. “We have six…one for you, one for me, ‘Big O’, Suwat, the transport boat, and Hatchet Jack.”

Doug looked up, not recognizing the name “Hatchet Jack”.

Bill explained that he was ‘Big O’s’ man stationed in the Philippines to be used only in times of emergencies and had already received his GSC and ST by FedEx. Neither brother had seen Hatchet Jack, but their first impression of him would have been that he acquired his name by shaving his face with a hatchet. The stories of the scars and wounds he displayed could fill a book. In reality, he had chopped his way through numerous life-threatening situations with the short handled hatchet that he concealed under his baggy shirt. He cared little for fastidious health care and grooming; in fact, he had never heard the word.

Doug shook his head in wonderment as he mental pictured a man called Hatchet Jack.

Bill stood and closed the lid of the ST. “Let’s go over the operation plans that ‘Big O’ developed,” he suggested.

They walked inside the hut and Bill set a large packet labeled “Operations Packet” on the table and opened it for review. The designated code name for the operation was “Save the Orphans.” Even though it was also clearly marked SECRET AND CONFIDENTIAL there was nothing to indicate that the “Orphans” were actually the gold bars from the melted gold Buddha. It was obvious that ‘Big O’ was the one primarily responsible for assembling the “Plan of Operation,” which they decided they would refer to as the “OPLAN.” Big O’s qualifications were developed from years of on-the-job training in the military.

Bill and Doug studied the plan together in the solitude of their corrugated hut for over an hour. Though Bill felt the effects of jet lag, the exhilaration of the projected experience carried him through the day.

Looking up from reviewing the papers, Bill expressed his opinion; “The thing that really makes this project worthwhile is that the money can help many people in this world.”

“I feel the same way,” Doug commented, continuing his study.

Bill reflected on a story ‘Big O’ had shared with him about suffering along side dedicated Laos guerilla fighters. The small group of men fought against Communism. The loyal Laos fighters could have fled the country, like most of the non-communist soldiers, but they decided to remain and fight for freedom—a handful of men against a massive army.

“Let’s review the phases of our mission,” Doug said, interrupting Bill’s reverie.

The phases of operation were listed in five categories: Recon, Contact, Transition, Reposition, Disperse and Follow-up. Bill read the code names aloud to become familiar with the sounds of the words.

The Recon and Contact phases had already been accomplished with Ken Abel indicating his willingness to fund and coordinate their future financial needs. Batman (the Goodwin brothers) had traveled to the Orphanage (the Philippines) with Lazer to establish the FOB (Future Operating Base) and made contact with Pedro and Mr. T (Teofisto, the Filipino who will lead them to the Orphans). Batman would be responsible for negotiating financial terms with the natives for either the release of the Orphans or making the decision to retrieve them by force. Lazer had gone to the Orphanage to establish the Operation Cover Plan and implement OPSEC (Operation Security Plan), but this part of the plan had already changed. When it was thought that the Buddha still existed in one piece, Lazer had planned to purchase ammunition and arms from the Philippine government to ship to a foreign country with the Buddha neatly hidden at the front of the Air/Sea container, but now that it had been melted into bars, a new plan had developed. ‘Big O’ and Harry (Harry Gold) will travel to Thailand, meeting Batman, and organize the protection forces through a jungle fighter teammate, Suwat. Harry will then move to the Orphanage with Bill ahead of ‘Big O’. ‘Big O’ will return to the U.S. to direct a ship toward Hong Kong; then meet Suwat in Hong Kong. Together with Suwat and his mercenaries, ‘Big O’ will meet the ship and travel to the Orphanage to recover and reposition the Orphans to Saipan. Ken will meet the Orphans in Saipan to store them in a bunker that Doug has leased and lease a couple more bunkers. The bunkers will be converted into a refinery and coin stamping facility. Commemorative gold coins will be stamped by the thousands and distributed through Ken’s worldwide banking connections.

“The plan is well designed. It’ll be interesting to watch it come together,” Doug said after several minutes. “I hope nothing happens to change it.”

“You know it will change, but this’ll be something we can sit in our rockers and talk about for a long time,” Bill said as he leaned back to stretch his weary arms. “We’ll have to wait for ‘Big O’ to meet us in Thailand and give us more details of the Transition Phase.”

Doug and Bill continued reviewing the OPLAN and discussing the details throughout the day, eating tuna sandwiches and soft potato chips for energy. Both men knew from experience that the plan was only an outline with a ton of changes that would be made as time unfolded.

Walking to the window, Doug looked at the palm trees swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. “I could be happy here for a long time,” Doug said with a sound of contentment. “It’s like heaven on earth.”

Bill interrupted his euphoria by saying, “Don’t get too used to it brother; we have to move on soon.”

“I know, but it’s nice to enjoy for the moment.”

Bill stood and stretched while walking to the door. Looking toward the trees, he casually commented, “We’ll have to take a hike up those hills one of these first days.”

Doug shuddered at the comment. He hadn’t yet mentioned his life-threatening accident.

“Sit for a few minutes and I’ll tell you something I’ve held back since you came,” Doug said.

Bill sensed the seriousness in Doug’s voice and turned with a curious expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, everything turned out okay, but I had a harrowing experience that could have been fatal.”

“You’ve gotta’ be kidding. While you were here in Saipan?”

“Ya’’, just last week,” Doug replied.

Bill returned to the table, and Doug began telling his story. Forty-five minutes later, he completed the shocking details by explaining that his eye was now focusing normally.

Sitting spellbound, Bill’s first comment was, “Man, I leave you alone for a few days and you get lost in the jungle. We’d better stick together from now on.”

“We’d be safer,” Doug agreed, “but there’s too much to do.”

Bill shook his head in disbelief and expressed a feeling of relief that Doug had miraculously recovered. He had no idea that such a trying experience had occurred.

Evening darkness fell upon them; they had spent the entire day inside the hot humid hut.

As Bill stood and began moving around, fatigue began to overpower him, and he decided to retire early.

Doug continued, by the light of a lantern, to write notes in his journal. He has consistently kept accurate records of his life. Bill always said that their lives were so nearly alike he’d let Doug keep the record for both. That attitude caused no difficulty for Doug—he enjoyed writing and had always planned to compile his writings in a novel.

Darkness closed on their hut with Bill snoring, geckos clicking and Doug finally giving in to fatigue.

Time was insignificant to island life. “Sleep when sleepy and eat when hungry” was the islander’s motto.

Doug rested well that night and awoke refreshed. Fortunately, an ocean breeze wafted gently past their hut most of the time, keeping the temperature fairly moderate. Saipan is known for having one of the most consistently moderate temperatures in the world.

Doug slid out of bed and silently crept to the doorway and walked to his jeep. The rusty jeep started with an unusually loud roar, and he drove toward Topachow for his workout. The atmosphere was strangely calm, and the cloud cover indicated a storm brewing. Doug ignored the weather and proceeded as usual. He completed his workout and returned within an hour.

Looking at the unusually dull, cloudy sky, Doug shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to wake Bill.

“Let’s go to the Minicafe for an omelet,” Doug said to the blurry-eyed Bill.

Bill had never heard of the Minicafe, and thought I couldn’t care less. He stared forward as if in a trance, trying to ignore the energetic Doug.

Finally, after several minutes, Bill made a profound statement: “Say what?”

“Want some breakfast?” Doug asked. “There’s a small cafe in town that makes the best vegi-omelete you ever tasted.”

“That would be true—I’ve never had a vegi-omelete, and I doubt if I ever want one.”

“Sure you do! I’ll take the first shower, looks like a storm brewing.” Doug stripped and wrapped a towel around his waist, then walked across the yard to the shower-shed.

While Doug was showering, Bill dressed and splashed water on his face but was still yawning when Doug returned.

“I’ll get with it soon,” he commented, “after all I traveled seven thousand miles to get here.”

“Let’s get moving, daylight is burning,” Doug said, imitating the actor, John Wayne. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Ya’, I heard you—just trying to wake up.”

Later, when they climbed into the jeep, Bill noticed Doug’s seat mounted on several boards. “What’s with those boards under your seat?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“How come?” Bill asked with increased interest. “What happened?”

“Oh well, I jumped in the jeep the other day and the rusty floor collapsed and I fell through.”

“To the ground?” Bill laughed.

“Of course not, just to the drive shaft,” Doug sheepishly answered.

“I’m glad I’m not accident prone."

“Just because I’ve walked off a ladder twice, fell through walls, been lost in a jungle and sat through the floor of my jeep, you think I’m accident prone?” Doug jokingly said remembering a few mishaps of his life. “On second thought, I know what you mean,” he added.

The traffic was sparse and an unusual stillness existed. Looking toward the bay, Doug noticed the two large American supply ships were gone. “That’s strange,” he commented.

“What’s that?” Bill asked.

“Two ships are usually anchored out there in the bay.”

“What kind of Ships?”

“Five enormous U.S. ships, each carrying enough equipment and supplies to equip an entire battalion. They carry enough fuel to sail twice around the world. Two ships are usually anchored here and two near Guam with one in transit,” Doug explained. “I’ve never seen them gone before, must be a storm coming.”

Both Bill and Doug had an uneasy feeling come over them at the same time. Entering the normally busy section of the island, they saw few people and even fewer automobiles.

“I’m pulling in here to check this out,” Doug said turning the jeep toward a service station.

“Magandang umaga pó,” Doug greeted a Filipino attendant. “What’s going on? Nobody’s in town.”

“Don’t know, maybe a typhoon.”

“A typhoon? When?”

“Maybe today?” the attendant said casually, as a question.

“Today?” Bill exclaimed.

“Maybe.”

Doug said with a tone of urgency, “We’d better get to a radio,” and quickly turned the jeep around as he shouted to the attendant, “Salamat Pó!”

Driving farther into town, Doug spotted a man he had met earlier named Herman Arp. Pulling next to him Doug said, “Hi Arp, what’s with this weather?”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s a typhoon coming.”

“Why haven’t we been warned.”

“Listen to the radio, they announce it sometimes,” Hermann Arp jokingly answered. It’s been a late announcement again because they can’t upgrade it on the radio until they get the governor’s approval and they haven’t been able to find him.

“Is it serious?” Doug asked…both he and Bill were beginning to worry.

“It’s serious alright! I just heard that it’s already been declared a Stage Three alert, better board up your windows, I’ll help if you need me.”

With that advice, Doug thanked Herman and backed the jeep out of the parking area.

“Better buy some cement nails to board up your windows,” Herman shouted as they began to leave.

Doug thanked him again and drove across the street to a hardware store to purchase nails. “There are some plywood boards inside the hut we can use,” Doug explained.

Leaving the store, Bill asked, “Are these storms bad?”

“I don’t know, never been in one yet.” Doug answered, knowing that a stage three alert meant a storm would hit the island within twelve hours, and he knew the last typhoon, Typhoon Roy, had practically leveled the island.

Telling Bill about Typhoon Roy, Doug had to laugh explaining that all leaves were blown from all the trees. “Instantly, hundreds of shacks became visible. There’s a lot of people in them thar’ hills, we just can’t see ‘em.”

Bill listened to the humor but asked seriously, “Think we’ll be safe?”

“We can stay in the small Japanese bunker behind our hut. It was built for bombs, we’ll be safe from a storm.”

“I hope so, I brought some valuable electronic equipment.”

The local Chamorros take storms in stride; they were treating this storm as casually as they do most events of life. As the Goodwin brothers drove toward their hut, many natives were sitting on the beach drinking beer as if nothing was happening.

“How come we didn’t hear about this on the radio?” Bill asked.

“The local station probably forgot to say anything about it.”

“Forgot?”

Doug answered with a smirk, “That’s the reason the last big one killed a few people. As my friend Hermann Arp mentioned, only the Governor can announce a stage two or stage one alert; and when Typhoon Roy passed the stage three status, nobody could find the Governor. The alerts were never given. These folks live only for the moment with no regard for tomorrow. During the typhoon they’ll just go home and get drunk.”

Turning up Capitol Hill, Doug rushed at top speed. They needed time to prepare for the worst.

“We’d better board up the windows in the bunker as soon as we get back,” Doug commented, thinking aloud.

“I’ve never been in a typhoon on a tiny island, in the middle of the ocean before.” Bill said.

As he made the comment, he had a flashback thought: Before coming, he had reached for a map to search for the name “Saipan”. His eyes drew closer and closer to the map, and he finally spotted the island. He remembered saying “The island is the same size as the dot in the letter “i” of the word Saipan.”

Suddenly, Bill’s mind returned to reality, and he held tightly to the metal seat brace as the jeep screeched around the tight curves in the road.

“The wind is beginning to blow,” Doug shouted as he stomped alternately on the gas and brake pedals. Turning down the dirt road they sped in a cloud of white coral dust toward their home.

“Don’t they ever fill the ruts around here,” Bill mumbled under his breath.

Doug looked at Bill, and they both smiled. The seriousness of the moment was overshadowed by having a thrilling time. The palm trees along the road were beginning to sway in the wind, and storm clouds moved through the sky more rapidly.

“You begin securing the valuables, and I’ll check the bunker!” Doug exclaimed while sliding out of the jeep.

Doug leaped to the ground and sprinted across an open space toward the bunker while Bill ran to the hut.

The bunker was one of many the Japanese had placed on the island for defense. While approaching the bunker, Doug thought, “A bomb couldn’t destroy it; so a typhoon shouldn’t bother us.”

The doorway was a zigzag entry opening into a dark, dirty, foul smelling cavern. Doug squinted to adjust his eyesight and focused on large spider webs that glistened in the light rays beaming through the window slits.

Selecting a broken palm branch, he brushed the cobwebs aside and swept, looking for rats. None were found; but as the storm approached, it might become competitive—man against rats.

“Thank goodness there are no snakes on this island,” Bill commented upon approaching the bunker doorway. “You in there?” he shouted.

“Ya’’ watch out, I’m chasing four rats your way.”

Bill jumped as if he were shot. “Man, I hate rats.”

Doug exited the bunker laughing at the expression on Bill’s face.

“Gotcha’!” he exclaimed.

“You character,” Bill yelled, pushing Doug into the bunker.

They joked for a while, then Doug observed the gloomy outside atmosphere, “The wind is picking up, and it’s getting darker out here.”

Dark clouds had covered the late afternoon sun, and it looked as if evening were approaching.

“Let’s hustle,” Doug advised, and the Goodwin brothers ran toward their hut for their belongings. They began carrying valuable articles to the bunker, and within twenty minutes, they were secure.

“We sure have a lot of junk,” Doug commented.

“Ya’, good junk, it might save our lives someday, Bill replied. Looking around the bunker with a disgusted expression, he said, “Wow, the odor is bad in here.”

“You’ll have to learn to breathe without smelling,” Doug said. “It’s possible you know, just breathe short breaths and mentally block out the odor. I learned to do it in Thailand.”

“I’ve heard that story before, but it doesn’t work for me.”

“You don’t try hard enough.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s forget it and get on with our work,” Bill said to avoid an argument.

“Man, it’s dark outside!” Doug commented changing the subject. “We have to board up these openings.”

They collected boards from around the hut and enclosed the bunker’s small windows and doorway.

Bill lit an oil lantern that cast flickering images around the room. Dark smoke rose, twirling toward an exhaust pipe in the ceiling. Doug looked around and commented, “History has been created within these walls. Imagine being a Japanese soldier watching the invading American ships positioned at sea.” His imagining gaze stared into empty space.

The Americans invaded Saipan forty-five years ago, and Doug had talked with several American men who participated in that invasion. A common memory among the participants was the terrible odor that surrounded the island—the stink of decaying human bodies. An old navy veteran stationed on a hospital ship several miles at sea recalled the stench reaching his ship.

The hostile wind outside the bunker whipped viciously at the lanky palm trees, and heavy coconuts periodically struck the bunker with a dull thud sound, similar to cannon shells.

“Sounds like we have an invasion right now,” Bill exclaimed bringing Doug’s thoughts back to the typhoon.

“This invasion, I’m afraid is a full-fledged typhoon,” Doug spoke under his breath.

The whistling wind pushed through the cracks in the boarded windows creating a constant eerie melody, indicating increased storm activity outside.

“I’ve gotta’ look,” Doug said, moving the blockade from the doorway.

“Me too,” Bill said and helped move the boards.

“Holy mackerel, look at the wind whip those palm trees. It’s unbelievable they can hang on. I hope there are a few leaves left on the trees this time.

“That’s funny,” Bill laughed, and had a difficult time catching his breath. “Man, the winds must be fifty miles an hour all ready.”

“I’m worried about our hut,” Doug yelled through the wind. “We’d better board-up the windows or they might be broken by the gusty winds or falling coconuts.”

Doug ran into the high winds toward the hut, not questioning whether Bill would follow. He didn’t hear Bill’s familiar comment, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Leaning against the wind, with drops of rain hitting them, the Goodwin brothers finally reached the hut. Shouting loudly to hear one another, they entered the hut and selected a plywood sheet from several others leaning against the wall.

“Plenty of oxygen!” Doug yelled. “It’ll be hard to get this eight foot ply board through that wind! Grab the other end, brother.”

They clutched the board and shuffled toward the door.

“Be careful when you back out, hang on tight,” Doug instructed as they made their way through the doorway.

“This thing is heavy.”

“Don’t go to fast. Here, hold the door with your foot.”

Cautiously, they edged their way through the doorway; then total chaos, “Hang on, Hang on!” Doug shouted. “Don’t move so fast.”

“My hand is slipping.”

“Don’t move that way, stay by the building.”

“Watch it!”

“Hang on!”

“Can’t!” Bill yelled as a gust ripped the board from his grasping fingers. The board flew into the air, twisting like a sheet of paper as it disappeared into the night.

“Well, so much for that idea,” Bill said. “Do you have any more bright ideas?”

“Ya’ let’s cut those other boards in half. Maybe we can handle a smaller board.”

They had a small hand saw; so they worked a half-hour, cutting heavy ply boards. Both men were rain soaked and wind blown but still enjoyed the thrill of adventure.

As they completed cutting the third board, the tiny light bulb popped, and the electricity was out for the duration of the storm.

“Just in time!” Bill said feeling in the dark for a board. “Let’s give it a try.”

They held tightly to the smaller board and managed to position it over a window. Pounding the nails through the board and into the window frame inside the corrugated steel, they worked feverishly against overwhelming forces of nature. The wetness of the rain and whipping forces of the wind tore at them relentlessly. The five windows took over an hour to cover, but by persistence and will power they eventually completed the task.

Charging back to the bunker was like going home. They burst through the doorway with a jubilant explosion and fell to the floor.

“That’s what I call an experience to write home about,” Doug gasped.

“You can say that again.”

Not caring about the water and mud that covered them, they rested a few minutes before changing into dry clothes.

The musty smell finally reached Bill’s nostrils, and he thought of the historic setting in which he found himself. Thoughts of Japanese soldiers laying where he lay brought images to his mind that carried his thoughts past the discomfort. He enjoyed his imaginary scene until falling asleep.

Doug slept unsoundly, listening to the howling wind outside the bunker. The winds reached only ninety miles an hour instead of the expected one hundred fifty, but it sounded ferocious.

Suddenly, Doug awoke and sat up to the deafening silence of no wind. “Bill, are you awake?”

“I am now, what’s up?”

“Listen, no wind.”

“Let’s take a look,” Bill said sliding curiously from his sleeping bag.

Looking outside was a ghostly experience. There was no sound or movement in the nearby jungle. “Must be the eye of the typhoon,” Doug suggested. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“Neither have I,” Bill said with a shudder. “We’d better get inside.”

They returned to bed not knowing what to think. Within two hours, the storm resumed to its full rage. They slept lightly for short periods at a time. It was the kind of night where they were never completely asleep.

Arising around 6a.m., the curious pair of droopy eyed Americans made their way outside. The winds were still howling, but the fury of the storm had passed.

“Talk about your war zones.” Bill exclaimed as he viewed the devastated jungle. “Probably not as bad as some, but this was bad enough for me.”

Looking toward their hut, Doug commented, “At least our hut’s still standing.”

“A little wet, but none the worse for wear,” Bill added.

Their personal property was not damaged, but the hut had a flooded floor. Rain had come through the cracks, but the sun warmed wind would dry things within a few hours.

“Let’s check the island while the hut dries,” Doug suggested, after opening the windows.

“Let me check the electronic gear first,” Bill said and began sorting through the packs. “No harm done, dry as a bone.”

Later, while driving down the hill in their rain soaked jeep, they noticed three wrecked cars on the side of the road. Wrecked cars were common after a drunken weekend, but these must have occurred while driving drunk during the typhoon. Rocks, tall grass and tree limbs covered the main road. Many leaves remained on the trees; so this storm didn’t compare to Typhoon Roy.

“There’s the Mini Cafe,” Doug said pointing to a small white building on the right. “Shall we have our omelet now?”

“Boy, I hope they’re open.”

Parking the jeep in a nearby parking lot, Bill and Doug walked toward the cafe. To their delight, the door was open, and two Filipina waitresses were ready for business.

“Kumusta ka pó,” Doug said to a waitress who looked his way.

“Mabuti,” she replied. “How are you? Do you want your vegi-omelete?”

“I sure do,” Doug answered, “and one for my brother.”

“Your brother?” she questioned. “When did he come?”

“A few days ago, but we didn’t have time to come see you.”

The waitress giggled and walked behind the counter; then turning, asked what they wanted to drink.

“Just tubig,” Doug answered, meaning water. He enjoyed speaking a few words of Tagalog.

“Me too, I guess,” Bill replied.

As the food was being served, Doug asked Bill, “How about that omelet?”

“This is the first time I’ve had a scoop of steamed rice instead of hash browns.”

“You old potato farmer!” Doug joked. “It’s a good thing I got you off the farm when I did so you can see the world.”

Little did he know the extent of his comment, for Bill would shortly come to grips with the world—having life threatening experiences in the Philippines.

“It’s good I ran you off the farm,” Bill came back in friendly verbal confrontation. “You would have been a potato farmer in Idaho all your life instead of a world vagabond.”

It is true that both men have become world wanderers. They anxiously answered the call of one righteous cause after another. Anyone who had received their aid would not think of them as “potato farmers”. They are recognized as men who get the job done honorably and quickly. Their motto is “Lo Haremos Juntos” (We will do it together).

Above Doug’s desk in his studio at home was a quotation that both brothers lived by:

Because I have been given much, I too must give.

Because of thy great bounty Lord, each day I live,

I shall divide my gifts from thee

With every brother that I see,

Who has need of help from me.

“It’s a good feeling to be involved in a righteous cause,” Doug commented while eating. “How’s your omelet?”

“Okay, but I’d rather have ham than vegetables.”

“I can’t believe you still eat that poison.”

“You health nuts kill me,” Bill joked.

“No, that poison will,” Doug countered with a smile and ate another mouthful of stir-fried veggies wrapped in fried eggs.

“We’d better get back to work,” Bill changed the subject.

“You’re right,” Doug agreed and quickly finished his meal.

While returning they spent several minutes surveying the storm damage. There were tons of broken tree branches covering the roads and many huts destroyed.

“I guess we were lucky,” Bill said, “Look at that hut, completely blown down.”

“Ya’’, but I heard that man gets a twelve thousand dollar settlement from the United States’ government every time there’s a typhoon. He simply rebuilds the building each time so it will definitely fall down during the next storm.”

“Not as dumb as he looks,” Bill said without thinking; then he realized his folly. “It’s jokers like that, combined with loose government controls, that raise our taxes.”

“That’s another cause we’ll attack some day,” Doug said, “after we get the Orphans.”

Upon reaching their hut, they began transferring their possessions from the bunker back to their hut.

“It’s good that they don’t have much thievery on the island,” Doug commented in passing. “Occasionally there is a report of a car broken into at the beach, but travelers sometimes leave their cars parked at the airport for months with no trouble.”

The wind had nearly dried the rainwater from their hut by the time they returned. They stacked everything off the floor and placed their paperwork on the table.

Sitting to rest, Doug glanced at an old Japanese map setting on the top of the pile. “This is where the seventh Buddha was buried,” Doug said pointing to a diagram of Fort Santiago. “Right there in the dungeon.”

“That was quite a feat to get it out of there—how much did it weigh?”

“Over a ton.”

“They must have cut through the concrete roof of the Fort and dropped a cable from the crane.”

“Looks that way,” Doug agreed.

Bill’s inquisitive mind remembered the Buddha stolen by Imelda Marcos. “I wonder where Imelda’s Buddha statue disappeared.”

“Probably buried under her bedroom in her Leyte house.”

“I heard that the PCGG (Philippine Committee for Good Government) is excavating beneath her house now.”

“That’s what I heard too. We’ll have to check it out if we get to Manila if we have time.”

“I’ll be glad to get our hands on some of that gold,” Doug said as he continued sorting through the loose papers on the table. “That kind of money would finance many peace-keeping fighters.”

“It’s sad to think of those poor fighters in Laos suffering in the jungle with no food or supplies, and trying to save their country from Communism,” Bill commented.

Doug added, without looking up, “It seems like a losing battle, but they’re persistent. The only way they can get their hands on guns and ammunition is to steal it from the enemy. I’d like to be able to help them out. But then again, there are all the hungry kids in the world. Remember the “Feed the Hungry Kids” program we started a few years ago.”

“I sure do, but they are moving like molasses because of no money,” Bill added.

Sweltering heat settled after the storm and the humidity from evaporating water caused an extremely uncomfortable condition.

Three days passed with concentrated efforts on planning; but on the fourth day, Doug broke the routine by announcing it was time for Bill to begin his Scuba lessons.

“You have gear for me too?” Bill questioned.

“Sure do, had it shipped with mine.”

“Hot damn!” Bill shouted. “I’ve wanted to get started for years. Are you my teacher?”

“No, I decided to turn you over to the most popular instructor on the island, Ben Conceptione.”

“He’s good then?”

“He should be—he’s lived in the ocean most of his life. He’s Carolinian but lived on Saipan twenty years, been teaching forever.”

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” Bill said with joy. “We might need it in the Philippines.”

“You’ve got that right, or maybe in an escape from danger sometime.”

Doug walked across the room and removed several heavy duffel bags from a large cardboard box. The bags were water soaked, but they contained underwater equipment; so no damage was done.

Pulling a BC vest from a bag Doug said, handing it to Bill, “Here’s a vest for you to wear, it should fit okay.”

Continuing with a laugh in his voice, Doug said, “You should see the vest Conceptione wears. It must have been made during World War II. I remember laughing when I first saw it dangling from his back. ”

“How’s the water around here?” Bill asked.

“Couldn’t be better…warm and clear…you can see forever.”

“I can hardly wait!”

“Spoken like a true Goodwin. Let’s go today.”

“Fine with me, here, let me try on some of this stuff. Is there air in the tanks?”

“Some, but we’ll get ‘em filled at Ben’s.”

Doug began Bill’s first Scuba lesson in the hut: adjusting the BC vest, mask and weights.

“Let’s get out of here,” Doug finally announced. “The best way to learn is to get wet.”

Throwing the gear in the jeep was the first step in the diving adventure. Each new activity in the lives of the Goodwin brothers is approached as a new adventure.

Few other people in the world break the conventional bonds of a normal humdrum existence and live life to the fullest. Doug and Bill live enviable lives, experiencing life from a positive and wonderful viewpoint, certainly not in the conventional way.

Ben Conceptione, as usual, was in his boat docked at Smiley Harbor, a curving inlet of water surrounding a small patch of land. The locals named the harbor “Smiley” because it was shaped like a smile. The harbor was shallow and poorly kept with the rusting hull of an old ship occupying a large portion. The hull will never be removed. It will set there and decay over the next hundred years. It was probably left from World War II, forty-five years ago. Small fishing and motorboats rested lazily on the water, rocking back and forth. The storm had passed, and the ocean was nearly normal.

“Hi Ben!” Doug shouted as he approached.

“Hello Mr. Doug,” Ben replied.

Introducing Bill, Doug said, “I’d like you to meet my brother, Bill.”

Ben stood and walked toward them. Extending his hand he said, “Happy to know you, Mr. Bill.” Ben even called women by the title of Mr..

“Bill wants to learn to Scuba. Do you have an hour free today?”

“I start a new class this afternoon, he can join.”

“That’s perfect.” Bill happily said. “What time?”

“Twelve-thirty at my store,” Ben answered.

“That’s good,” Doug said. “We can snorkel before the class and get used to the water.”

Both Goodwin brothers were excellent swimmers; so they enjoyed the next two hours in the warm water.

Later that day, they met Ben at the end of a pier with a group of twelve individuals, seven men and five women. Doug asked to stay with the class, mainly for the exercise.

“I want to know how each of you react to ocean water,” Ben said as he started the class. “I have a series of tasks for you to perform, so I can observe you.”

He then asked everyone to get into the water and line up to swim the width of the pier under water without taking a breath. The swim strained everyone, even Bill who was in good physical condition; a few didn’t make it, and one man came to the surface half way.

“Don’t be discouraged if it is difficult,” Ben informed them. “I want it to be difficult; so I can watch how you handle stress in the water.”

Each person was then told to put on the mask and fins. Ben’s first instruction was to show them the technique of smearing their masks with seaweed to prevent the glass from fogging. While the students were performing the task, Ben leaped into the water and remained under water. Bill, being curious, lowered his face under the water and observed Ben’s activities. Ben went to the ocean floor, to a depth of fifteen feet, removed his mask, smeared the glass with seaweed, replaced the mask, tipped his head back clearing the mask of water and resurfaced. He had done that act as a matter of routine, not to show off. Bill thought as he watched, “That guy must have been born in the ocean.”

The truth was, Ben had spent eight to ten hours a day in the water most of his life. He felt at home there.

“I placed a rope from the pier to that buoy,” Ben said, pointing to a red buoy floating in the water seventy-five feet away. “As you feel comfortable in the water, I want you to pull yourself along the rope with your face under water all the way to the buoy and back, breathing through your snorkel.”

That will be easy, each student thought; then Ben added the clincher. “I want you to do it without your mask, only the snorkel.”

Even that sounded easy until Bill made the attempt. Ten feet into the task, he found himself wanting to breathe through his nose. His nose was open to the water; so it was a matter of will power. Bill had mastered his will power long ago; so he finished in good form. Doug greeted him with a high-five hand slap when he surfaced.

“That was harder than I thought,” Bill said.

“Not for a Goodwin,” Doug chided.

“Of course not, I meant to say, it was a piece of cake.”

When the last person had returned from the buoy and had fully recovered, Ben showed them the controls of the Scuba gear and demonstrated testing the gauges and pulling the vest and tank to his back.

To a novice the tank felt like a hundred pounds, but it would become easier to handle with experience. Struggling with his tank, Bill became serious with the task. He checked and rechecked everything and lowered himself into the water, still clinging to the pier.

“I don’t want anyone going under the water ‘til I give more instructions,” Ben advised the class.

Doug mounted his gear and slid into the water next to Bill showing him how to clear his mouthpiece and had him hold his face under water while breathing from the tanks. Bill was a natural athlete and was ready to move out before the instructor, but Doug held him back.

Ben spent nearly an hour adjusting everyone’s weights and instructing them in the safety precautions. He explained hand signals used under water and assigned each person to a buddy partner.

The first exercise was lowering oneself under the water to adjust to breathing through the mouthpiece and to accept the foreign environment. They spent twenty minutes in the shallow water, each with a buddy, swimming around checking the rocks and shells on the ocean floor. Bill learned early not to be funny under water, for when he smiled water came under his mask and covered his eyes, and he had not yet learned to clear his mask. He had to resurface, choking and blowing salt water out his nose. Doug surfaced to laugh and make fun of him.

“You’ll learn to make jokes down there,” Doug said. “It’s probably time for you to learn to clear your mask under water.”

“By the time I get this salt out of my eyes, I’ll be ready to quit for the day,” he replied.

The first lesson was about over anyway; so Ben brought the class to the pier, emphasized a few important points and set the next class for the following day. “This Friday evening, everyone must come to my store for a lecture. You have to take a written test before you can graduate—see you all later.”

The class dispersed and the Goodwin brothers returned to their hut. It had been a long and productive day. That evening they returned to Ben’s store, sleepily listened to his lecture and drove home.

Sleep came early, and the morning arrived soon for the Goodwin brothers. Before they could believe it, they were on their way to the second scuba lesson. Doug enjoyed the experience of watching Bill develop his skills.

After an hour of preliminary instruction, Ben announced to the class he had planned a first dive in the shallow water in the bay. He selected a spot that had historic interest near a sunken Japanese Zero fighter plane.

The wreckage had lain in fifteen feet of water for forty-five years. As the class cautiously descended into the warm water, each person became overwhelmed with the new environment. The clarity of the water made it possible to see for hundreds of feet. Ben demonstrated the principles that he had taught and gradually released air from his buoyancy vest.

Bill looked around for Doug, who was directly behind him, and began his descent. The sounds of air releasing into the water and bubbles passing his ears created an eerie feeling. It was as if the real world had suddenly disappeared and all that remained was the viscous environment through which he moved. Small fish scurried out of his path, turning to keep the intruder within view.

Upon reaching the white, sandy ocean floor, they swam toward the plane. It lay upside down with a bent propeller but intact fuselage. The markings were worn, but evidence of the painted zero remained. They worked their way over the coral crusted engine and underneath the body to look into the cockpit. Doug imagined the plane streaming through the air, toward the water, with flames spitting from the engine and crashing end over end, sinking slowly to the bottom. Doug wondered about the fate of the Japanese pilot.

Bill enjoyed the experience by searching the sand around the plane for bullets or other artifacts. Though the area had been searched thousands of times by hundreds of divers, it was the first time for Bill. He pretended to be searching for hidden treasure, as he and Doug had played many times when they were children. Enjoying new experiences and relating them to the past had always been one of Bill’s secret ways of having fun.

Ben signaled for the class to assemble and demonstrated the procedure of clearing water from his mask. He had discussed it in class, now was the time to experience it. Ben wrote on a slate board for one buddy to try first and then alternate his position with his scuba buddy.

Bill hesitated at first but proceeded to follow Ben’s request. Lifting the lower edge of the mask to allow the entry of water, then exhaling through the nose with the head tipped backward, completed the task. Bill opened his eyes inside the clear mask with joy and satisfaction. It was easier than he thought. Later he practiced it several times, until it became routine.

The class spent twenty minutes under the water before resurfacing. Each came to the surface anxious to express feelings of excitement. It had been an enjoyable experience.

Bill felt like a full-fledged Scuba diver after his first dive. Doug watched approvingly as Bill’s confidence developed.

The classes continued daily throughout the week, each dive becoming more involved with obstacles of the sea, but upon completion new Scuba divers were born.

The following day, the Goodwin brothers received a faxed message from ‘Big O’ stating he and Harry Gold were leaving for Bangkok. That meant Doug and Bill must meet them within two days.

“This calls for immediate action,” Doug said; so they began securing their equipment. “I’ve arranged to store everything in a metal shed by Hermann Arp’s house. He’ll watch it for us.”

“Can we trust him?”

“No question. He’s a great guy, a big Samoan fellow from Western Samoa. He’s here in Saipan serving as a professor at the local college. He’s also a bishop in the Church.”

“Sounds okay to me.”

The Goodwin brothers moved all extra equipment and supplies to the storage shed: shed and began their wait for instructions to leave for Bangkok, Thailand.

BETWEEN SAIPAN & BANGKOK, THAILAND

ONE WEEK LATER, the Goodwin brothers received word to meet ‘Big O’ and Harry Gold in Bangkok, Thailand. Reservations to leave Saipan were made; and the next morning, they were in flight to Bangkok by way of Japan. The flight from Saipan to Guam took less than one hour; and after a short wait, they were flying toward Japan. Upon landing in Japan, the announcement came that those with continuing tickets would be given complimentary rooms and one free meal. The Goodwin brothers gladly accepted this offer. There was usually a twelve-hour layover in Japan when traveling to Thailand. The room was clean and neat with air conditioning. The Goodwin brothers had nearly forgotten how to enjoy such luxury.

Bill turned the television on, and finding only Japanese spoken on all channels, said, “It’s been a long time since we’ve been in a country that doesn’t have an English channel.”

“Maybe we should sleep a couple hours,” Doug said.

“Maybe we should go eat some real food,” Bill said as he snapped off the television set.”

“Not a bad idea.”

Leaving their backpacks in the room, Doug strapped on his camera, and they walked toward the restaurant.

After studying the menu, Bill declared, “It’s all oriental!”

“What’d you expect, Idaho steak and potatoes?”

“I had the mistaken idea they would cater to Westerners. I think I’ll have the salad bar.”

“That’s it for me too,” Doug said.

While eating delicious salads and fruit, Bill said between bites, “This beats the devil out of your cooking.”

“I n