Year of the Tiger

By David Miller

During World War II, the Imperial Japanese Army under General Tomoyuki Yamashita looted untold amounts of gold and other valuables from across its occupied colonies in Southeast Asia to finance the empire’s ongoing military expansion. But when the tide of war turned against Japan in 1943, much of this treasure had to be buried in secret. Over the decades, the search for the legendary Yamashita’s Gold had been in vain, until now ... A group of foreign workers digging a tunnel under the Padang in present-day Singapore stumbles across a treasure vault and inadvertently triggers a biological booby trap. An unknown strain of anthrax is released, threatening a global holocaust. It is up to investigators in Singapore to decipher a cryptic clue and halt this deadly plague.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Miller
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9789814358903

David Miller

David A. Miller is the vice president of Slingshot Group Coaching where he serves as lead trainer utilizing the IMPROVleadership coaching strategy with ministry leaders around the country. He has served as a pastor, speaker, teacher, and coach in diverse contexts, from thriving, multi-site churches to parachurch ministries.

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FOREWORD

This book is a work of fiction built on a foundation of historical facts. While most of the main players exist only in the mind of the author, the background information outlined in the following pages, including the Golden Lily operation and the diabolical research executed by Unit 731 of the Japanese Army during World War II, are based on published historical accounts. Mystery still surrounds the origins of the century’s-old manuscript The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion which is also featured in this book. Its authors remain unknown, obscured by the fog of time and murky politics.

When the Allied noose began to tighten around Japan in the closing stages of World War II, a sizeable amount of the valuables seized by the ruthless looters working for the Japanese Imperial Government in the early 1940s had to be stashed in secret underground sites throughout Singapore, Malaya and the Philippines.

After the war, only small caches said to be worth several billion dollars today, were rumoured to have been discovered in the Philippines by treasure hunters, local government officials and the covert teams sent by the United States. However, none of these reports has been independently verified.

Several tunnels dating back to World War II can still be found in Singapore at Fort Canning Park, close to the Battle Box war museum (David Miller, WWII tunnels found in various parts of the island, The Straits Times, 12 Feb. 1992, p. 22).

Similar tunnels and underground rooms have also been discovered under Alexandra Hospital (Ginnie Teo, RECOGNITION: History of S’pore, history linked, The Straits Times, 16 Sep. 1998, p. 24). The bloody massacre of Allied troops and civilians by a group of Japanese soldiers at the hospital in 1942 has been retold here based on accounts by survivors.

Rumours abound of still more secret tunnels built by the British before the war. These include one linking the Singapore mainland to the resort island of Sentosa in the south and another in the north, which is said to connect the southern Malayan state of Johore to Singapore. The latter is believed by some to be located in or around the Sembawang Naval Base which was built and operated by the British in the 1930s. No traces of these tunnels were ever found, but the rumours of their existence persist to this day (David Miller, WWII tunnels found in various parts of the island, The Straits Times, 12 Feb. 1992, p. 22).

The Johore Battery mentioned in this book is also real. This underground labyrinth of tunnels, ammunition storage rooms and command bunkers is situated within what is now a drug rehabilitation centre on Cosford Road near Changi Airport. Construction workers stumbled across this well-preserved relic from the past in late 1991.

A public announcement of this historic find was made in February of the following year to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Singapore’s surrender to the Japanese Empire in 1942 (David Miller, WWII bunker found in prison, The Straits Times, 12 Feb. 1992, p. 1). The complex has been preserved and was gazetted as a national historic site in 2002 (Goh Chin Lian, Monster guns at Johore Battery, The Straits Times, 16 Feb. 2002, p. H3).

The scattered remains of the Syonan Jinja, a World War II Japanese Shinto shrine located deep in the jungle surrounding MacRitchie Reservoir, can still be found today. No one knows why this remote location was chosen for such an important shrine, but there are still whispered rumours of Japanese secrets buried in the surrounding jungle. The shrine was destroyed by the British after the war but the few weathered foundation stones that remain have been deemed to be of significant historic value by the Singapore Government (WWII Shinto shrine marked as historic site, The Straits Times, 17 Sep. 2002, p. H3) which has decreed that this area be preserved thus preventing any unauthorised searches of the immediate vicinity.

The Padang, a field located in the heart of this bustling city is of great national pride to Singapore and it has never been fully excavated by archaeologists. However, in late 2009 a small archaeological test pit was dug. There historians found, amongst other World War II artefacts, the remains of several military helmets and gas masks … (Yen Feng, Digging up secrets of the past, The Straits Times, 18 Jan. 2010, pB3).

AND SO IT BEGAN …

Extract from the memoir of Yasuji Naito, Commander Unit 731, Shōnan-tō, Imperial Army of Japan:

As the winter of 1941 drew to a close, the Imperial Japanese war machine seemed invincible. Pearl Harbour lay in ruins, as did the US Pacific Fleet. Imperial Forces had overrun much of South East Asia at will and with each successive victory came the inevitable spoils of war: gold, jewellery, artwork and other untold valuables taken from the subjugated by operatives of our secret organisation, Golden Lily.

Much of the loot was destined to be shipped back to the Homeland as gifts for our revered Emperor and he would bless us with still more victories to come. These sacred offerings certainly helped in financing the ongoing war but by the summer of 1943, the tide of battle had turned against us.

No longer could ships flying the proud flag of the Rising Sun sail the Pacific freely. Indeed, many lay at the bottom of the ocean, fallen comrades in the watery field of battle. Their mighty steel hulls would soon rust into oblivion while their cargo of gold destined for our glorious Emperor would be lost for all time.

For a while, our submarine lifelines had served us well, allowing us to transport home the vital materials of war but that too was threatened as American sonar ruthlessly hunted them down from their ships and planes.

No, the Emperor’s gifts needed to be hidden, at least until the fate of the Japanese militia turned the corner as General Yamashita – the Tiger of Malaya – had always predicted it would.

He and only he could ensure that the tributes to the Emperor, from Shōnan-tō and the colonies beyond, were kept safe.

I had no doubts that Yamashita’s time would surely come when he would be honoured yet again for his brilliance as the world trembles in fear yet again.

It will be the year of the tiger and he would roam free once more.

1

THE PADANG, SINGAPORE – JANUARY 30, 1405 HOURS

Sweat dripped off their faces but no one cared anymore. It was simply too hot to talk down here and so they worked in silence – silence, that is, if one could ignore the relentless din of the mini-excavator constantly clawing away at the damp, unforgiving earth.

The recent downpour helped to make their job easier, the soil a little softer, but it also made the air more humid sapping the men of their dwindling reserves of energy in Singapore’s eternal summer.

The 22 men who were working deep underground continued digging, pushing the tunnel face ever closer to its final destination. Six metres above their heads lay the perfectly-manicured lawn of the Padang, a Malay word meaning ‘open field’. Larger than two soccer pitches, this ancient ground resonated with the island’s history.

It was Sir Stamford Raffles who in June 1819 ordered that this piece of land in the heart of his growing colony be set aside as an open space for the recreational use of its inhabitants and grand displays of nationalism to the British Crown.

Later, after Singapore gained its independence, the Padang hosted numerous celebrations to mark this tiny country’s birth as a new sovereign nation. Nothing will ever be built on this sacred field and the site will be preserved as a small patch of green set amidst a growing sea of imposing buildings framing the modern Singapore skyline.

Directly facing the Padang is the City Hall building with its majestic Corinthian columns. Originally called the Municipal Building, it was completed in 1929 to plan and govern the city’s growing administrative needs.

During World War II, this grand building was used by senior members of the Imperial Japanese Army. In 2009, it was announced that the City Hall and the Supreme Court buildings would be transformed into the National Gallery Singapore – an art museum to encourage its citizens who have long been focused on pursuing economic wealth, to enjoy the finer things in life.

And it was this development that brought Muhammed Noor and his fellow workers to the site. Their job, as part of the redevelopment of this historic corridor, was to construct a 1000-metre underground linkway connecting the City Hall building to the Esplanade – a modern musical and performance hall at the opposite end of the field.

The Padang may have been hallowed ground for Singaporeans, but for Muhammed and his crew, none of this grand history mattered. They had been imported as cheap labour, not unlike the cattle that were put to work each day in the blazing sun of his hometown in Malaysia.

Foreign workers from poor countries across the region had come to this tiny island nation of Singapore to build and keep rebuilding her ever-changing city by the sweat of their backs. Singaporeans themselves, coming from such a wealthy nation, would never be labourers and slog in this relentless sun or worse still, like these men – toil like rats underground.

But no matter, the salary paid in the mighty Singapore dollar was good and each foreigner dreamed of returning home in a year or two with enough money to start life anew.

These hardened men had been digging for almost three weeks. Their progress had been slow as many obstructions ranging from large rocks to even larger boulders had to be removed one at a time. But by Muhammed’s crude reckoning, they should be reaching the midway point of their excavation any day now.

The lanky father of four came from a small town in Malaysia north of Singapore and held a decent job in Penang as a factory supervisor. However, when yet another global financial crisis hit home, he like many of his countrymen, found himself retrenched and facing a bleak future.

Unable to find steady work in Malaysia for almost a year, Muhammed too was drawn to the comparatively lucrative offerings dangled by construction firms in Singapore. And so, working as just another faceless labourer in a rich neighbouring country that he despised for its material wealth was now Muhammed’s lot in life and there was little he could do to change his fate.

It was much the same case for his fellow tunnel rats. They came from dirt-poor families all over Asia – from Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka, China, Vietnam and Thailand. Broken English was the common language of communication, a slow and tedious process but Muhammed, unlike the others, had been schooled in this language. Being better educated gave him an edge and he was soon accorded the esteemed title of ‘team supervisor’ for this motley band of misfits and received a paltry $80 extra a month.

While the little excavator did the hard work of advancing the tunnel face a little more each day, the men who scurried about in its smoky wake still had their work cut out for them. The crude channel left behind by the excavator needed to be prepared and cut into shape for the metal reinforcement bars which would form the tunnel’s internal frame. This network of steel would then be encased in concrete creating the walls, floor and ceiling of the linkway.

The tracks of the small but heavy excavator also left huge ruts in the soft mud. Muhammed’s job that day was to smoothen out the dirt floor for the laying of the rebar frame. With his shovel in hand, the job seemed endless. Don’t think – just dig was his mantra to cope with the mind-numbing rhythm of his task.

He could hear the sound of distant music coming from further down the tunnel. It’s the damn Thais again. Their bloody music sounds like plates being smashed against a wall, he grumbled under his breath.

Damn it, Muhammed, you just don’t belong here. You deserve much better, he thought to himself yet again.

But such random thoughts were soon forgotten. Swinging his digging tool, its iron blade struck something rock hard. This is just great! Another bloody stone I have to remove, he moaned again to no one in particular.

Digging around it, it soon became apparent that this was not some odd rock in his way. Clearing away the loose soil, Muhammed found that he had unearthed what appeared to be a neat red brick pathway. Weathered and chipped, the bricks looked as if they had been buried there for decades. As he continued to remove the loose earth, even more bricks were uncovered. But these were not of the usual size seen today in modern worksites. They were smaller, apparently hand-forged – the kind of bricks he had seen in old buildings from his grandfather’s time.

Who would build a brick path two stories underground? he muttered to himself. Turning around, he called a fellow tunnel rat over to look at his unexpected find. Intrigued, the men struck the bricks hard with hammers but still, they held firm.

More men gathered around. For them, any break – even if only for a few minutes – was a welcome reprieve from the repetitiveness of their jobs.

We need to get whatever this is out of the way. Any more delays with this tunnel and the boss will start screaming his head off again, Muhammed thought.

Hand me the drill, he told one of his men.

And with that, Muhammed was about to make his first fatal mistake.

A pneumatic drill is a powerful tool capable of dispatching even reinforced concrete in minutes. The old bricks proved to be no match for the hardened steel blade of the pounding drill and within seconds they were reduced to a pile of blood-red clay chips lying at the feet of the men who had gathered around to watch.

Muhammed had expected to see more soil beneath the bricks but instead, he found himself looking down a tiny hole. A minute more on the machine gun-like drill and soon he and his men were peering through the larger gap into a dark void below.

Quick someone hand me a torch, commanded Muhammed. No one argued as each man was intrigued over what they had just found. Most assumed that they had perhaps uncovered some forgotten sewerage system or more likely a water-storage tank.

The beam of light was weak but it left the men in no doubt over what they had just exposed.

While the men peering in still could not discern the size of the room below them – the light was far too dim for that – one thing was clear. This was not any kind of ancient public utility structure.

They were standing on the ceiling of a vault containing what the men would describe later to their families as crates of gold and other treasure like nothing they had ever seen before.

There were gleaming gold bars stacked chest high. Beyond that lay open wooden crates containing jewellery of every description – gold rings, jade bracelets and thick necklaces – more gold ornaments than they could even dream of. Leaning against the walls were paintings – so many paintings within gilded frames still gleaming in the faint light from above.

The voices of the men grew higher as the narrow beam of light moved on to reveal even more riches.

Okay, quiet, Muhammed commanded again, noting that even his voice had assumed a much higher pitch in all the excitement.

Then something caught his eye on the far wall.

Lying flat on the muddy ground, he stretched his hand as far into the hole as it could go and slowly guided his faint beam to the distant wall. The red bricks appeared clearer now as the darkness revealed more of its secrets.

And then he saw it and his heart, which had been racing, suddenly skipped a beat. He could feel the blood draining from his face as a chill rolled down his spine. He was just beginning to understand what they had found.

Hanging on the wall, looking tattered with age, the symbol still stood proud. It was an old Japanese flag – the Rising Sun with blood-red beams reaching out. It was a flag not used in over half a century for it was a flag from the Second World War.

Gayesh, get some men and bring in one of the half-inch metal sheets from outside. We need to close this hole and cover all this up quickly before the boss sees it, said Muhammed in a voice lost deep in thought.

Are you crazy? You want to cover that up? protested one bewildered voice from behind the assembled group.

Just for now. Hey guys … err … I think we need to talk, he said in a shaky voice to the men who stared back at him.

Looking at Muhammed’s ashen face, every man suddenly sensed that there was something much more to this mysterious room and no one dared to argue.

2

CITY HALL, SINGAPORE – MARCH 16 1943, 1412 HOURS

The General was not in a good mood. The head of all Japanese forces in Asia, Tomoyuki Yamashita was never in a good mood these days. The war which started so brilliantly with the surprise strike at Pearl Harbour had now turned against them.

Although to many of his countrymen the pre-emptive attack against Pearl had been a glorious success, General Yamashita knew better. Fate had transpired against the Imperial Navy from the very start for none of the main targets – the giant American aircraft carriers – were in port on that fateful day some 15 months earlier.

Having escaped what would certainly have been their untimely demise, the mighty carriers would soon hit back hard in a cunning trap of their own.

Despite all the glorious rhetoric in the Japanese press and in the history books to follow, Imperial Fleet Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto who planned the dawn raid on Pearl Harbour and Admiral Chūichi Nagumo, its strike commander, both failed the Empire miserably that day.

After his initial success in the surprise bombing of the battleships anchored there awaiting their slaughter, Admiral Nagumo stopped short of destroying the island’s ship repair facilities along with its huge fuel storage tanks when he had the chance. He also left the US submarine base virtually untouched.

These, thought General Yamashita, were unforgivable mistakes by a cowardly admiral who was more concerned with saving his ships and planes than in pressing home the advantage given to him by the sleeping Americans on that Sunday morning.

His utter stupidity in calling off the attack before Japan could inflict the maximum damage possible had allowed the Americans to repair many of their battered warships in record time and have them put out to sea alongside their aircraft carriers and submarines – all fully fuelled, armed and angry for bloody revenge at any cost.

Then Admiral Yamamoto was outwitted a second time when he was lured into a costly American trap at Midway because he relied too much on faulty intelligence and made too many optimistic assumptions that the enemy would once more be caught off-guard and play right into his greedy little hands.

The Battle of Midway had left four of Japan’s front-line carriers – Akagi, Hiryu, Kaga and Soryu – sunk. That was nine months ago and the horrific wounds inflicted on the Japanese Imperial Navy had cut deep, leaving what was once a formidable strike force, now a mere shadow of its former self.

Since then, the Allied navies had been increasing the pressure of their attacks and today, Major Yasuji Naito had just delivered to General Yamashita a coded communiqué containing what could only be more bad news.

Three more! the General thundered. Another three more freighters sunk. Do you have any idea how much treasure was on board those vessels? Do you? Japan needs to finance this war and our naval commanders and their damn ships are failing us.

I am truly sorry General. It’s the Americans again. We used to be able to sail by night under the cover of darkness but their scout planes, the PBYs, with their radar and their sonar … now even our submarines …

Yes, I know all about their sonar and their radar, Mister Naito. That’s what you scientists are supposed to be working on – countermeasures.

But General, my work is microbiology, not …

Enough, said the General with a wave of his hand. Until we find a way to outflank the Americans, Tokyo has ordered that all gifts to the Emperor collected by operatives of Golden Lily be stored here until it is safe to resume …

Stored? But stored where, General? Just the gold bullion itself will take up a few office rooms and then there are all the bits of jewellery the damn Chinese were hoarding along with their silly idols and the paintings and all the other precious little secrets they thought they could keep from us.

We will store them here in Shōnan-tō, said General Yamashita as he gazed out of his office at the City Hall building across the road to the Padang.

We will store it in secret as Tokyo has commanded … in a place that everyone can see but where no one would ever choose to look. And I want you to protect it.

Protect it – do you mean guard it? General, surely you know I have no men for that. Mine is a small experimental research facility, we deal with growing germs to be used as weapons and –

Exactly!

Yasuji barely caught the last word as General Yamashita stormed off. Seemingly as an afterthought, he stopped by the door and turned.

One more thing, Mister Naito, do not interrupt me when I speak. My sister may have chosen you against my advice to be her husband. That was a mistake that can be easily rectified – permanently. I do hope you will not be a total disappointment.

And with that, the hulking General was off again even before Yasuji could compose himself for a reply.

For all his legendary temper, the General hardly seemed like the same man anymore, reduced to fighting paper battles with the bureaucrats in Tokyo and arranging for gifts to be sent to His Majesty. This was no way for a tiger to live, caged and chained to a desk.

Just a year or so earlier, Yamashita was in his element, leading his 25th Army and hunting in the jungle where a tiger like him belonged. It was he who had conceived that audacious plan to take on the British in Malaya and to capture Shōnan-tō – the so-called impregnable fortress of Singapore – right from under London’s nose.

From the landing of the first troops at Kota Bahru on Malaya’s east coast, there was no stopping him in his crusade against the British forces standing in his way. I shall pit my bicycles against your tanks and I shall win, he declared with absolute certainty. To anyone else