The Gensui's Treasure

By B J Le Chêne

The plan was watertight. They were both sure of that. After all, the Gensui was long dead, the war was almost forgotten and the treasure was securely hidden in the jungles of Malaya. But was it ……?
The young Yoshiro had supposed that his journey to Malaysia was to honour his father’s last wishes which was to bury his ashes in the grave of his beloved though secret first wife. Meeting his father’s friend Mac for the first time opens a shameful history of murder and bloodshed, money and arrogance during the Japanese occupation of Malaya which the sheltered Yoshiro must first come to terms with and then connive in the cover up that must be made.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tablo Publishing
• Release date: Nov 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781925880243

Book preview

The Gensui’s Treasure

Raja Abdul Aziz and his wife, Tunku Rohina, had attended a wedding in Port Klang, Malaysia and though his wife and children had hurriedly changed, he’d had no time to, having been caught up in the going away procession of the bride and groom. They had very nearly missed their flight. He stood watching the turnstile as his family passed through it, not noticing that he was attracting the attention of other travellers. He was a man to command attention at any time, tall and lean, his aristocratic face and carriage would have elicited notice at any time. Now, dressed as he was in a traditional Malay costume of pale blue silk, his hips wrapped in a dark blue, gold thread embroidered short sarung(1), he was quite distinctly on show.

He had deliberately sent his wife, his son and daughter off to visit her sister in Italy for part of the long school break to avoid any danger from the business he had become involved in. He was waiting for his syce(2) to bring the car to drive him back to Kuala Lumpur from the KLIA Airport, when he saw the two men walking towards him. He recognized them immediately and his senses sharpened. The men were Japanese and were beautifully attired and obviously wealthy. They spoke quietly together in their own tongue - a language Aziz spoke well. He turned away slightly as they passed, not wanting them to see his face. He found his breath coming a little faster and, taking out his mobile phone, he called a number. When the soft Scottish voice answered he said, ‘Mac, the troops have arrived.’

‘How d’ye know?’

‘I am at the airport and they have just walked past me.’

‘Jesus God! Did they know you?’

‘No. They have never seen me. As far as I know, they don’t know I exist.’

‘Praise heaven, it stays like that.’

‘Mac, I will find out what they are about and let you know, but we must put the plan into action now, I think. If, you are still of the same mind?’

‘Aye, I am. Boise will be here. He’s finishing a difficult job and he’s tired. He knows nothing about all this. I want to keep him out of it, ye ken? When I go, I want him to have this place and live in peace. That’s if the bugger will let go of the job he’s got,’ he said with a chuckle, then asked, ‘Aziz, has the boy arrived yet?’

'Yoshiro Kawaguchi? No, I don’t think so. Why?’

‘I just wondered how much Akiro has told him and if he will be in any danger?’

‘Did Akiro say that he was going to tell him anything?’

‘No, not really, no.  I hope he did, but Akiro died so suddenly and I have only received a short note from Yoshiro saying that his father had insisted that he must come here to meet me. I was to summon him when I need him! Typical Japanese father, eh? The lad should be here any day.'

‘In that case, we will have to wait and see. I could wish it was not necessary for him to come. It could complicate matters.’

‘Aye, that it could.’ Aziz heard the sigh as Mac said, ‘Can you get someone to keep an eye out for him? We must keep him safe.'

'I’ll do that, Mac. You take care. I will see you in a day or so. Cheers.’ He put the phone back into his pocket and spotting his driver, he asked him to drive the car back to his home. The man nodded, and Aziz walked downstairs and boarded the train to Kuala Lumpur. He was anxious to see where the Japanese gentlemen went when they arrived in the city.

The relationship Raja Aziz had with Robert MacPherson had begun as a business arrangement and they had become close friends over some fifteen odd years. Aziz, newly back from university and starting his own security business, had received a call asking if he could go to Kuala Lipis in Pahang to give his advice on the security aspects of a house MacPherson owned on a plantation there.

Intrigued, Aziz set off by car for the small gold mining town over the Titiwangsa mountain range to the state of Pahang. He had driven with his new wife over the exhilarating but tortuous old road towards the east coast. It was said that when the British had taken Malaya, they had improved the old bullock cart track from Bentong town, along the side of the mountain in the footsteps of the bullock cart drivers who had, long before that, followed the elephant tracks along the side of the hills to get to Kuala Lumpur. Elephants, being sensible beasts, always walked the easiest way over obstacles. Aziz’s wife had decided that they would take the new highway through the valleys on their way back. Aziz smiled at the memory.

On their arrival in Kuala Lipis, they’d spent a night at the beautiful old rest house which had in its glory days been the official British Resident’s home. The next day they went to stay with the MacPhersons at their lovely plantation house. The two women clicked and a firm friendship formed between them. Aziz and Mac had as much or probably more fun than the women working out the safety measures to be taken with the new house. Aziz was intrigued by the ideas Mac had. He forbore to ask the reasons for such things as a large, and fully functional, office cum living area under the house (after all, it was peacetime) and of the complicated communication systems throughout the premises.

At that time, their burgeoning friendship was too new for Aziz to ask for reasons. He had no need to make notes. Aziz was a savant. His ability to memorise anything he saw or heard made notetaking superfluous. A fact that had Mac in a perpetual state of wonder and, curiously, excitement. Aziz found the whole experience fascinating. The lovely house was eventually equipped and the security in place, and for the next few years, peace reigned. However, Aziz often wondered why the house needed such security.

The friendship ripened mainly because of the women. They became loving friends. Holidays were spent together and when Aziz’s daughter and then his son were born, the bond between the families tightened. Elsie had no children and doted on the little family of Rohina and Aziz. Slowly, Aziz learned a little of Mac’s history, of the war years and the subsequent events that had led to the fortress-like house. He did not quite understand but thought that everyone had their peculiarities and let it slide into the back of his own peculiar mind. Then, eighteen months ago, he had an urgent call from Elsie. Would he come please? Mac was not well and she was worried.

Rohina was a doctor. She took leave from her clinic at once and joined Aziz on the long drive to Pahang, glad that the superb highway would allow them to reach their destination in a matter of hours. He drove straight to the house and found not just Mac unwell, but Elsie recovering from a stroke. She had refused to leave Mac and go to the hospital so Rohina took charge.

She found Elsie’s heart and her blood pressure in a critical condition and whipped her into hospital at once. Mac was unwell but managing. She checked him over and told Aziz with a worried frown that she believed there was something going on with him. She declared that she would see to him later.

Settled in a chair, Mac told Aziz a story that shocked him thoroughly. After a great deal of thought, he promised that he would find out what he could and see if there was anything he could do. Mac begged him to keep the police out of it. He said, ‘It’s an old and ugly thing and too many people would be hurt if it all became public.’

‘I know Mac. I am still coming to terms with what you have told me,’ Aziz had answered. ‘It is so convoluted and so unexpected now, in this year. It’s not 1945 anymore, for goodness sake.’ He stood up and walked the length of the room. ‘That war has been over for nearly three-quarters of a century. After all this time, it’s unbelievable to think that all its fear and terror should be here in this house now.’ Aziz drew a deep breath and continued striding up and down.

‘The thing is, Aziz, can you help me to think of a way to finish it for good?’ Mac peered at him. ‘There has to be a way to make them think it has all gone or, or - och, I can’t think. All my thoughts are on Elsie. She needs me. I must go to her. Tunku Rohina is worried, I can see it. But d’ye ken, we are both verra old now. I am not so long for this world. I have a cancer growing in my liver and well, if I can but see this done with, I will go content. We’ve talked, Elsie and me. We both know the danger we are in. She, her heart is verra bad - has been for the last four years - that’s why I need to be with her. Will you think on it? If anyone can come up with a plan to fox them, you are the man to do it.’

The train stopped at the station and Aziz pulled his mind back to the present. He waited for the carriage to empty before he alighted. He watched as the two gentlemen walked out and saw a man from the Japanese Embassy come forward to greet them most respectfully. He knew who the man was and was not surprised. After all, he and Mac had planned that these men were going to want to move now.

He felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach and had to smile inwardly. Perhaps it was only excitement. His first ever game of cloak and dagger! He was a little humiliated at himself for being excited, but there it was. He was a hunter now and he had to outwit his prey.

When he reached his office, he sent an email to his men, saying simply, ‘Come! It has begun.’

The old British Residence

Yoshiro Kawaguchi stopped the car at the rest house in Kuala Lipis and drew a deep breath. He looked at his mobile phone photo gallery. Yes! he thought, excitement tickling his mind. The building had originally been the British Resident’s house. After such an important beginning, and ignominious end, it was still here! Still red and white but looking very rundown.

No one cares about colonial buildings here anymore, Yoshiro thought. He shrugged his shoulders. His father had loved the place. He had said that he thought it was still in the same place, that is sitting upon its own hill proudly overlooking the old town. Much had changed since the second world war in this town deep in the south-west of the state of Pahang in what had been Malaya in 1941, but was now, with the addition of Sarawak and Sabah, known as Malaysia.

Yoshiro parked the land rover and walked up the steps to the entrance. A Malay man dressed in a Baju Melayu(3) came forward and asked if he could help. Yoshiro asked for tea and a bowl of mah mee. The man smiled sweetly and said, ‘No food! Well, not here now, sir, kitchen’s closed.’ He looked discomforted. Yoshiro looked into his eyes, assessing him. He had a handsome, rounded face with well-marked eyebrows and large dark eyes. Those eyes looking back at him now, were merry but slightly calculating. Yoshiro picked up his briefcase and turned to leave.

‘Wait!’ the man said, smiling broadly and showing a set of remarkably neat white teeth. ‘I’ll make something for you. I mean, I’m not Chinese, but I can make mah mee.’ Yoshiro looked at him. The man, from a deeply proud race, looked straight back at him keeping his eyes steady. Yoshiro nodded and walked into what must once have been a reception area. Its proportions were beautiful, but the paint had faded and was flaking off in some areas. The old marble tiled floor was clean. He sat in a cane easy chair which had small, broken bits of rattan sticking out here and there. He wondered vaguely about the cleanliness of the cushions as he placed his briefcase on a small table which wobbled slightly.

There was no view as such from where he sat so he pulled his briefcase forward and took out an envelope containing old photographs. He peered at one of them trying to make the faces of the men who had been so important in nineteen forty-two, come alive. The faces were of five men. Nothing odd about them. He narrowed his eyes. They appeared to be normal, pleasant-looking men in uniform. His father was standing to attention to one side, two were laughing heartily at some joke. Two other men sat, face still. Five fiends in all. Yoshiro’s Father had insisted he should come here when he received word to do so. He obeyed when the summons came but had only a a deep sense of unease as to the reason. He put the photos back in their envelope and sighed.

The noodles were ready and the Malay man called him to come to a table in a room dotted with tables and chairs, in what must have once been a formal dining room. He spoke English well and Yoshiro asked, ‘How long have you worked at the rest house?’

‘I’ve run this rest house for twenty years now,’ he answered.

‘You look young to have overseen such a grand building for so long.’ Yoshiro looked up at him.

The young Japanese was a handsome man, Rashid decided. His skin was fair and his sharply defined brows and black, slightly wavy hair above wide eyes, coupled with a strong, bony jaw and a straight firm nose, gave him a look of strength. A beautifully-shaped mouth made the difference though, softening a haughty proud face.

Rashid returned the smile. ‘Not so grand now, sir. Next to the Sultan’s palace or, as we call it, Istana, in Malay, it used to be the most important house in Kuala Lipis. But, you know, the British left and the capital moved to Kuantan on the coast so we became a sleepy old town. I took over the rest house when the last proprietor retired.’

‘Why would you do that? I mean is running a guest house interesting for a man like you?’

‘After the war it was for a Malay man. There were not many jobs for people like my father then you see? I worked for him for ten years prior to that so I knew the local tastes and how to run the place. Then they rediscovered gold and built bigger, more modern hotels. Tourists come here just to see the house now.’ He looked at Yoshiro. ‘To, to feel it, you know? Those who are interested in history. They don’t mind the look of it - if it’s clean.’

A little abashed, Yoshiro said truthfully, ‘It’s a wonderful building. Kuala Lipis must have grown and changed since my father was here seventy years ago. A town can change a lot.’

‘Indeed, it can. Have you been here before, sir?’

’Not I. My father and grandfather have though. I am trying to see the town through their eyes.’ Yoshiro blew the steam from the bowl of noodles and began to eat. ‘These are very tasty,’ he said. The man was pleased and showed it by offering to pour tea.

‘I am called Rashid,’ he said. ‘Will you be staying in Lipis tonight?’

‘I am not sure,’ Yoshiro lied a little. ‘I had thought to return to Raub, but maybe a night’s rest from driving would be nice.’

‘We do have rooms here, sir. Not as grand as the new hotels of course, but comfortable and clean. Perhaps you would care to see one?’

‘Thank you, Rashid. I would like to do that. Perhaps later, you can fill me in on some of the history of Kuala Lipis? I want to go for a drive first though, just to get the feel of the place. My father said the old British Residency was rather grand, he was right. The house he stayed in should be close by on Jalan[2] Bius. No,’ he put up a hand, ‘don’t tell me. I want to see if I can find it from his instructions.’

‘Your Malay pronunciation is very good, sir. Most tourists can’t get the names right. Do you know what the word bius means?’

‘No. Actually, I have not thought much about it.’

‘It means, anaesthetised. Or perhaps, unconscious! I have to wonder why a road, or indeed the hill itself, should be given such a name. What, I wonder, happened to make it remain in folk memory as such?’

Yoshiro laughed and was about to reply when an irritated voice interrupted. ‘Papa, really!’ The woman who appeared silently from an inner doorway caused Yoshiro to jump a little in surprise. She was very lovely with an almost voluptuous figure. Her large, soft brown eyes, and thick, waving black hair caught in a loose bun were exotic. Her skin, in the midday light, was a soft, golden-brown. Yoshiro watched fascinated as she walked towards them. She swayed slightly as she walked, making his skin prickle. She was dressed in an old-fashioned batik