Primrose U.S.M.C.: Gilt

By R. Michael Haigwood

Hidden in the hold of the scuttled ocean-going tug, the Semper Fi, are gold bars etched with mysterious hieroglyphics. Returning to the Mediterranean to raise the tug and sail her back to Hawaii for use in their Special Investigations PI business, Primrose and Knight pull their former U.S.M.C. team together to help, along with tall, blond Egypto

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raymond M. Haigwood
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737824107

R. Michael Haigwood

R. Michael Haigwood is a Marine Veteran, life member and past Commandant of the Black Mountain Detachment, Marine Corps League. He worked on many construction projects as a member of the Operating Engineers union, Local 12, from which he is retired. He is a longtime resident of Las Vegas, where he lives with his partner Jean.

Book preview

1

Hawaii

The waves were breaking just right for the contestants warming up on some of the best rollers of the summer season.  The latest competition on the sandy white beaches was about to get underway.

Along the beach the pros, amateurs, and wanna-bes gathered to rub shoulders with the best surfers in the world.  Each perfect wave would find four or more heads pop up to catch a ride.  Two, maybe three, would drop out and leave one board to enjoy the piggyback ride to the beach, the energy of the curl peaking, then becoming white foam as it deposited the freeloader onto the white sand.

From the window on the second floor of the Sand Pebble, I watched the surfers and the beach bunnies living the life every mainlander only dreamed about,   the islanders separated from the tourists by the different stages of their suntans.  When the color was just about right for the visitors, it was time to board an outbound plane and fly home.

The floor above the bar was home to Special Island Investigations, our two-man private investigation agency, still in its infancy.  The only contract our company had tackled to date was a missing persons case.  We were hired to locate the grandson of an eccentric senior citizen who was old money and island aristocracy.  Her retainer made our company healthy, while the fee for our service was chump change to her.

The grandson, Marine Sergeant Timothy John DeSoto, had been reported MIA.  The case took me, Zachary Taylor Primrose, my partner, Patrick Thomas Knight, and a few other former Marines from Iraq to Morocco, with many stops in between.

The sergeant’s whereabouts was hinted at by our old boss, General Easy, who gave us just enough information to get us hooked up with DeSoto and his recon team.  I immediately suspected that the general, ostensibly helping us through the goodness of his heart, had more in mind than being a good sport.

DeSoto’s mission was to cut down a rogue general in a valley near the border with Syria.  General Easy figured we’d find DeSoto and be in a position to help him with the mission.  He was right on target.  We met up with DeSoto about the time General Kahn came up the valley in full force, retreating in the face of advancing American forces.

When DeSoto’s recon team captured an observation bunker, they discovered a cave just above it.  Inside was a well-preserved 1940s six-by truck laden with gold bars and tins full of U.S. and Euro currency.  DeSoto figured it was the property of the rogue general they were supposed to send to never-never land.  Being blessed with common sense, he and his team decided to keep the treasure, not letting it fall into the hands of some government agency only to be lost in the black hole of bureaucracy.

DeSoto had two of his troops take the treasure-laden six-by across the desert to Lebanon.  They planned to conceal the gold and currency and once the war was over, return to recover the stash and enjoy the fruits of their newfound wealth.

The two Marines, arriving in Lebanon with the treasure, figured the best way to hide the goods was aboard a ship anchored in the bay.  They made contact with a shady French ship broker, who sold them two seagoing tugs.  The Marines stashed the gold and tins on one tug and scuttled her, keeping her sister for future use in retrieving the sunken treasure.  The two returned from Lebanon just in time to join in the battle to defeat the enemy column and send General Kahn to his maker.

Our team was lucky to show up at the right time to help DeSoto complete his mission.  After the battle, we had DeSoto use the cell phone his grandmother had provided to contact her.  This completed our obligation, at which time she put a large deposit in our bank.

With that business out of the way, DeSoto called General Easy to inform him of the demise of Kahn and his troops.  General Easy said,  Good job, and promptly handed out another mission, which included the five of us from Hawaii.  He recalled us all to active duty and gave me command of the mission: whack some terrorists who were meeting in Beirut.

While we were on the mission in Beirut, the story of the sunken tug came to light.  We fell in with DeSoto’s team, and the treasure became a nine-way split.

The assignment to dust the terrorists completed, we sailed the anchored tug up the coast to Tripoli, located the sunken sister ship at the bottom of the Mediterranean, recovered the treasure, and began our journey back to Hawaii.

DeSoto and his men headed back to Iraq, and the Special Island Investigations team headed the treasure-laden tug for the Atlantic and the Panama Canal.  En route we received a message from General Easy to come about and set a new course for Diego Garcia, where the general confiscated the tug with its cargo.  But all was not lost:  there was a reward, like the prize money of the old canvas sailing days.

The bean counters figured the gold and currency would total out to about forty million, so they dished out nine million to the two teams.  The powers on high decided to overlook the obvious attempt the troops had made to keep the whole enchilada.

That brings us to today and our secret.  While we were recovering the lode from the sunken tug, Knight noticed that some of the gold was banded into bundles, and the bars had inscriptions etched on them.  These bars were different from the rest, so he hid them in the hold of the sunken tug, along with one tin of funny-looking currency.  We wanted to be out of sight and out of mind of the shady French ship broker as soon as possible.  We’d let the dust settle and go back later to investigate. 

A couple of months have passed, and Knight has suggested that it’s time to return to the sunken tug with a diving expedition to retrieve the gold and raise the tug to use in our business.

My comrade in arms from our days in the Corps, Knight is a small guy with lots of brains, patience, and guts.  Unlike myself, with my get-out-of-my-way attitude, he’s the level head in the agency, although he does have a little larceny on his dark side.  Knight made a good call leaving the gold and currency on the bottom of the Mediterranean.

Gazing out the window, I can see that the surf is just right for the competition.  The flags are up for the contest to begin, and the beach is full of spectators from all parts of the world, each bikini-clad morsel trying to outdo the next for attention.  As my mind rests on gold bars and sunken tugboats, the door opens with a bang and in walks P. T. Knight.

His dark hair is a mess, his eyes more red than blue, and his bodybuilder look has disappeared.  He’s  slumped over from the shoulders.  He looks like shit!

This sorry excuse for a human being is a magnet for the fairer sex, only God knows why.  Whatever the source of his magnetism, it is not obvious to the other males of his species.

About time, Knight!  You have a late date?  We have a business to run here, you know.  A little cash gets into your bank account, and off you go to never-never land!

Knight, not feeling like a spring chicken, says, Jesus, Zach, lighten up.  I have one hell of a headache.  And yes, I had a wonderful date with a very attractive archaeologist who could put most serious sailors under the table without so much as a how-do-you-do.  She appears to be a bookworm, a typical anal scientist, with her head firmly in her ass.  But no—she has an abundance of common sense and great timing for humor, and one other thing:  you wouldn’t believe her gusto in the art of physical pleasure.  What’s so important about today versus yesterday?

Wondering how Knight can even stand up, I retort, I was thinking about your suggestion to raise the tug and check out the encrypted gold and currency.  It’s time we put together a plan of action.

A couple of years back Knight came up with an idea for a private investigation business in Hawaii and invited me to join him.  I had been cooling my heels in Las Vegas, dealing blackjack and roughnecking on drilling rigs.  When Knight called, it took me about a minute to decide.  I requested my drag-up check and was on a plane the next day.  Special Island Investigations was born.

The adventure hadn’t stopped since day one with the missing person case, and it looked like another was on the horizon.

The first thing we had to do was put a recovery team together to raise the tug and refit her to be seaworthy.  Then we could sail her back to the islands.  Piece of cake?  Maybe, maybe not.

Knight suggested, Primrose, I suppose we should get in touch with our bush buddies and see who’s game to return for the tug.

I didn’t think that would be a problem.  I think everyone who was on the mission in the first place will be willing to return and find out if the etchings mean anything or not.  With the exception of Sweets, Profort, Latts, and DeSoto of course:  they’re still fighting in Iraq.

Knight continued, Maybe we could convince McPotts, Toms, and Slipps to join us in a return trip!

The excitement in Knight’s eyes reminded me of the high of combat and the feeling you get that never goes away.  The fear, the anticipation, the taste of the unknown.  It wouldn’t be hard to get the others to head back to Lebanon.  They were adventurers and would jump at the chance for another brush with the grim reaper.

Knight was staring out the window, and I had to slam my fist down on the old desk to get his attention.

What’s on your mind, Knight?

Knight, coming out of his trance, said, If we can get those guys to buy in, we need to add one more body to the team.

I responded doubtfully, And who might that be?

Flossi Mozell Lighthouse, said Knight.  She’ll be able to interpret the symbols or etchings, whatever the hell they are.  She’s the beautiful archeologist who drank me under the table last night and then proceeded to wear my ass out.  Damn!  She’s very tall, blond, has a body in the tens, and she is one smart cookie.  She’s also an Egyptologist and into etymology.  Her presence would be invaluable.

I was not convinced that a woman would be an asset on the diving expedition.  I suppose someone with her credentials wouldn’t be shy about the crude conditions we’d be working under?  Okay, you talk to her, and I’ll make some calls and see who else is interested.

With a big smile, Knight said, Sounds good to me.  You make the calls and I’ll work on Flossi.

No shit, Knight, how did I know that?  Let me know what she says.

Even as I spoke, I could see that Knight had passed into never-never land again, as quick as the blink of an eye.  Flossi must have made some impression on him.

Just as we were about to leave the office, the old 1940s vintage black phone clanged, an irritating noise that would wake the dead.  As I picked up the dated receiver, the hair began to prickle on my neck.  When that happened, it meant there was something up in River City—usually something bad.

I spoke into the business end of the phone.  Special Island Investigations, Primrose speaking.

On the other end of the line I heard a familiar voice, our old boss General Easy.  I could see him just getting warmed up to chew some big-time ass—he was very good at that.

Primrose, I think you and your clan of misfits are holding out on me!

I motioned Knight to pick up the extension as I responded to the general’s accusation with the innocence of a newborn.  Sir, I don’t have a clue what you’re referring to.

Trying to keep his voice on a level befitting his rank, General Easy said, The general they call Khan Khan is looking for the treasure you boys lifted off him a few months ago in Beirut.  Your shots were true, but there was an imposter wearing the general’s red beret.  The general is a chicken-shit SOB, and more than one poor soldier has died for his cowardice.  The word is out that he not only wants his gold and currency back, but he’s especially concerned about a particular portion of the stash.  Something to do with a bunch of gold bars banded together and a tin of currency that was remarkably different from the rest.  I don’t suppose you know anything about that, since it wasn’t in the inventory we took off the tug in Diego Garcia?

No sir, we didn’t see anything like that.  Whatever was on the tug in Diego Garcia was what we brought up from the depths.  When we finished the last dive the hold was clean.

Not sounding very convinced, General Easy said, "Primrose, Knight, I know you well, and I don’t believe you would pass up an opportunity for a little adventure.  I think you should know the rogue general is deadly serious in his quest for the special bars and currency.  You best be on your toes!

If General Khan hooked up with the French guy you purchased the tugs from, he’ll have a good starting point.  So in the event you are holding out on me and heading back to the Mediterranean, I suggest vigilance.

The line went dead.

What the hell was that all about? yelled Knight.  He’s up to something.  He knows a whole lot more than he’s telling us!  The general has something up his sleeve, and I’m willing to bet we won’t like it.  He had that sound in his voice that would send chills down the spine of the most seasoned veteran!

The antiquated black phone clanged irritatingly once more.  Knight suggested that with the good fortune of our missing persons case, we should invest in a phone system produced after 1940.  I thought the system had a nostalgic charm, and it was an adventure to see if it would actually work for more than five minutes.

Special Island Investigations, Primrose speaking. How may we help you?

The familiar voice came over the line once again.   We were cut off before I finished.

I answered, General Easy, nice to hear your voice again so soon!

"Cut the shit, Primrose, and listen up.  You people know something, and if you’re not going to come forth, here is another warning.  The word around the Middle East has it that the rogue general is looking for some antiquities stolen from a museum.  It sounds like something that was with his stash before you liberated it.  If you are found with any antiquities, you’ll be arrested and the goods confiscated.

If you come clean with me now, I can help you!

Knowing the general was giving them a serious warning, Primrose pondered the new information and asked, Sir, could I call you back in a few?

No, but I’ll call you tomorrow, same time.

Click went the line.  We two private detectives replaced the old black phones in their respective cradles and looked at each other for an answer.  No light bulbs exploded.

So what do we do, Knight?  You’re the thinker here.

Knight was standing at the window looking over the beach with the telescope, trying to find that one bikini that was head and shoulders above the rest.  The telescope came with the office furniture.  Handy little thing to keep the mind off serious stuff.

Primrose, let’s stall the general for a couple of weeks.  Head back to Lebanon and raise the tug.  Have Flossi decipher the etchings, and if they don’t amount to anything, no harm done.  If they do, we might need his assistance.  We’ll let him know either way.

I was concerned.  Sounds good, but letting him hang for so long may not be in our best interest.  With his connections, the general could make our lives very uncomfortable.

Knight responded with enthusiasm, If he’ll give us a couple of weeks, we can be over there in no time, dive down, and bring up the goods for Flossi to read.  If the inscriptions lead us to make a further investigation, we’ll jump right on it.  If not, we’ll hang out, raise the tug, and sail her home.

Okay, Knight, let’s get started on putting a team together.  You begin with Flossi, and I’ll get in touch with Toms and Slipps.

2

The Mediterranean

Frenchy was thinking about General Khan’s  offer:  one million American, a considerable fee for finding some old junk from a museum.  The general had called them antiquities.  They must be very valuable to someone for that kind of money.  With ten percent up front, it was a nice incentive to start snooping around the entire Middle East, using all the resources and favors he had banked over the years.

There was one thing that kept jerking him:  the last dealings he’d had with the American Marines.  They were a strange lot, and every time they showed up there was trouble.  Buildings were blown up, and wholesale numbers of terrorists were sent to the great beyond.

The Marines had been flush with Yankee dollars and not afraid to spend them.  They paid way too much for a couple of old oceangoing tugs.  The sister ships, although in good condition, had been put out to pasture.  But the Marines had bought them without blinking an eye.  The two tugs had disappeared, along with the Marines, after a huge battle in Tripoli.  No one had ever figured out who killed all the terrorists meeting there, but the Marines were a good bet.  They had also let slip that they’d been in Iraq about the time General Khan had lost his treasure truck and most of his troops.

It didn’t take long to do the math—the Marines were responsible for both events.  It was now time to spread out his feelers and find the missing tugs, either of which was capable of carrying a load the size of a six-by military vehicle.  If General Khan had lost his lode to the Yankees, then one of the tugs had been used to haul the treasure to wherever.  But then where was the sister ship?  Frenchy, cell phone in hand, began calling in some IOUs.

3

The Sand Pebble Bar

Sean McPotts, the owner of the Sand Pebble, was tall, well over six and a half feet.  Dark hair, pretty-boy face, and hard as nails.  He was known all over the Far East as the best bar room brawler in the Navy or the Marines.

McPotts had purchased the bar with money he had made working with a rich oriental woman who took a liking to him when he was a brown-water sailor on the Mekong River and Delta areas of South Vietnam.  The old woman was now on the islands, making great strides towards becoming the richest woman on the Pacific rim.

McPotts had many talents, not the least of which was navigation, no matter the terrain: open water,  river, or canyon.  He was also a ladies’ man, giving true meaning to the old saying about a girl in every port.

Sean was behind the bar when I walked in, his head almost touching the ceiling.  He reached over the bar to adjust the bar stools as I ordered a tomato juice on ice.  Smiling, he began to demonstrate another of his endless talents: mixologist of the first order.

You wanna go raise the tug in Lebanon? I asked.

He looked up from his cocktail shaker.  Not today, Primrose.  I have a very important assignment this evening.  I have to teach an attractive young lady about the planetary system.  Maybe tomorrow.

Knight and I think it’s time to bring the goods up from the tug and then raise her as well.  We can use her here for charters and such.  Are you interested?

I might be.  What haven’t you told me, Primrose?

"Well, there might be a little—just a little—prospect of danger, according to General Easy.  He said the rogue General Khan, the guy we supposedly killed, is not dead.  He’s out there searching for the gold and currency we liberated from him.  Our little diving expedition could be deadly if the rumors are true.  If Khan has hooked up with Frenchy, the boat guy, he may have put two and two together.  We need to move quickly."

You know, Primrose, things here are not boring, and it hasn’t been that long since we were in the shit in Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon.  But all that aside, I always feel more alive when we’re up against the wall.  Sure, count me in.  Who else did you have in mind?

Toms and Slipps, so far.  Maybe Champion, if we need some high-dollar demolition.

McPotts went back to his bartending, which was actually woman tending.  He was as bad as Knight Neither one had any sense of responsibility when it came to women.

My next move was to call the last-known phone numbers for Tom Toms and Joseph Winchester Slipps.

Toms was the best jungle fighter the Marine Corps had ever produced.  He may also have been the most controversial, with his habit of taking an ear or finger from his kills and putting the body parts in a leather pouch that he wore around his neck.  He used to say it was payback for the torture and killing of his twin brothers, but late in his first tour he had participated in a rescue mission that liberated his brothers and three civilians from a POW camp.  Even though his brothers were sent home in one piece, he kept collecting, now saying it was for the torture and confinement they had suffered for so many years.

Toms is a member of an Indian tribe from northwest Washington State.  He’s big—six-four—with shortcropped coal black hair and fine features.  And he’s  recently retired from the bench.

The old phone system seemed to be working fine, but that was iffy—sometimes it worked no more than a few minutes, sometimes for hours.  It was a crap shoot either way.

On the third ring a soft voice answered, Tribal Economic Council.  Two Feathers speaking.

Zach Primrose here; may I speak to Tom Toms?

The young lady had sounded sweet when she answered the phone, but she had one attention-getting voice when she yelled for Toms.  Hey, Judge Toms, some dude named Primrose wants to speak with you.  Are you in?

When Toms picked up the phone, sweet little Two Feathers clicked off.  Her name should have been Screaming Feathers.

Toms answered in his usual calm, slow manner.  So, white-eyes, what can I do for you?  You didn’t call to shoot the shit.  Not your style.

I could see Toms walking through the company area in Vietnam with his dark glasses, trying to keep his night vision.  He only worked at night.  Everyone thought he was a psycho, so no one bothered him.  The CO didn’t care what he did as long as he was killing the bad guys, and he was very good at that.  He was the man in the jungle.

"Toms, we need to go back to Lebanon.  The gold bars we left on the sunken tug have become the target of the rogue general, who, it turns out, we did not kill.

General Easy thinks we held out on him when he confiscated the tug and the hold full of treasure.  He’s warning us that the not-so-dead general is looking for his lost treasure and a little something extra that slipped past the inventory of the tug.  General Easy is not happy and is considering having us all recalled to active duty so he can put us in chains until we confess!  I think he’s really pissed and very serious.  Do you want in?

Hell yes, I want in.  Jesus, Primrose.  I can’t let you white-eyes go anywhere without me being there to keep you out of serious trouble.  I’m retired now and don’t have a lot on my plate.

Okay, Toms, catch a flight and come to the Sand Pebble, same as before.

One down, one, maybe two, to go.

My next call was to locate Slipps.  He was living in the Colorado mountains last time we hooked up for a little adventure.  He’s a big dude, blond hair, blue eyes, muscular, and can be as mean or as soft as the situation requires.  He has weapons skills second to none, with the expertise to load, shoot, or fix any weapon modern or ancient.  A man with his abilities is priceless on any mission.

His last known number was for a cell phone.  It rang five times and then a voice came on.

Leave a message.

I said, Slipps, call Primrose ASAP.  Have exciting mission coming up.  A return to the Med is in the picture.  Need your assistance and expertise.  We didn’t get the rogue general as we thought.

Finding Flossi Mozell Lighthouse was not a problem.  Everyone on the campus of the University of