"I never heard of this guy before, what side of the family is he from?"

Gretta set the iron on the end of the board and turned her blouse around, smoothing it with her hand. "My mother's. I used to see him a lot when we were kids but I haven't seen him for years. I'm surprised he even remembered me let alone what I do."

"So what was it about?"

"Some woman friend of his received a letter with information about some second world war treasures. Something to do with her husband and a guy he served with. I just passed it on to Cheesy, if there's anything to it he'll let me know, and I can put him on to Danny." She moved the blouse around, ironed some more and then asked for a coat hanger.

"Is he ever going to quit? What is he now, ninety?" He stretched across the back of the couch with the hanger.

"Don't be silly, he's only seventy-eight."

"Christ, he was that old when I first met him." Arny flipped through the pages of a sports magazine and tossed it aside.

"He should retire," Gretta said. "That episode in Peru took a lot out of him."

"Smoking that log he's always chewing on can't help."

She walked to the cupboard and hung her blouse on the rail. "That's it for me, you want the iron for anything?"

"I have to do my own, eh?"

"That's right, love. And I don't do windows either."

"Yeah, they can be a 'pane'."

"Droll, Arny. Very droll." The telephone rang, and she went to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. "You wanna get that?"

"Yes, your highness." Arny dragged up from the couch and grabbed the phone from the side table. "Hello?"

"Arnold, Professor Stilton here."

"Aaah... professor. How's tricks?"

"Tricky. Is Gretta there, please?"

"Sure." He placed the receiver on the table and called to her. "Your favourite boss."

Gretta came back and picked up the phone, listening without speaking. Arny watched her carefully as she let her eyes drift up to his and then quickly away. He sagged and flopped down on the couch, arms crossed in the classic posture of a pout. When she hung up, she came and leaned over the back of the couch, wrapping her arms about his neck.

"Don't bother sucking up. He wants you for another one of his missions."

"He just wants me to come in and discuss the letter I sent. Don't get all worked up. Come and help me with dinner." She delivered a kiss to his neck and bounced away to the kitchen.

Arny stared at the blank TV, knowing full well that if Cheesy wanted her in it meant a lot more than just a discussion. It was four years since he first experienced the world of Gretta Lawrence and the Congress of International Antiquities. An experience that was both horrifying and exhilarating. Since then, those emotions had been repeated a number of times, each one providing a more confusing base of information about the woman he tied his life to. Beautiful. Dangerous. Funny. Incredibly sexy and frighteningly deadly when focused on her work. 

He couldn't figure out his inability to step away when she was in that mode; something primitive was evoked within him, even as he was appalled at his fascination. She called from the kitchen in a musical voice and it reminded him of a scene from Leave it to Beaver—the domestic side of her chameleon nature.

                                                            ><><><><

Arny plodded along behind her, his face a foot long. "I know why you brought me along, Gretta. I wasn't born yesterday—"

"You weren't!" She stopped short and faced him, taking him by the shoulders. "I thought I was getting new goods." The mock frown changed to a big grin and she pecked him on the cheek, continuing down the corridor to the Congress offices.

He followed dutifully. "Har-de-har. It's just so you and Cheesy can gang up on me when he says he wants you to do something for CONGA." He trailed her through the door, past the receptionist and into Cheesy's lair.

"Gretta! My dear, don't you look lovelier than ever." The professor came around his desk and the two embraced affectionately. They broke apart and he guided her to a chair. "Hello, Arnold."

"Professor." Arny looked around and found a small chair by the wall. He pulled it over next to Gretta, happy to note the professor's disapproval.

Gretta smiled to herself and looked at both the men in her life she loved the most. "Let's skip the social fencing, Cheesy, what did you want to see me about?"

He pulled out his pipe and knocked a large dollop of burned tobacco out of the bowl, to the amazement of his guests. He held up a hand and set the pipe down. "It was one weak moment." The confession was terse and brooked no further comment. He dumped the mess into a wastebasket and folded his fingers together on the desk.

"Have you ever heard of General Yamashita Tomoyuki, or Yamashita's Gold?" They both shook their heads and Cheesy slid Arnold a patronizing glance. "He was the commander of the Japanese forces in the Philippines in 1944. Two weeks after the initial attack on the Philippines in December '41, the Japanese occupied the islands and caused tremendous widespread destruction. They controlled all of Southeast Asia at that time. They looted temples and homes, government offices... everything. There was a huge hoard of temple treasures and personal holdings of precious metals and artifacts that they confiscated and started shipping back to Japan." He paused and took a breath, his colour rising along with his excitement at what he was revealing.

"Take it easy, Professor." Gretta admonished.

"I'm fine." He waved a hand. "When the allies gained control of the shipping lanes the transporting had to stop and to protect their spoils the Japanese hid everything in the Philippines. It became known as, Yamashita's Gold, even though a lot of it had been collected before he arrived in '42. Prisoners of war were forced to bury it, and then were entombed with it—like the Egyptians used to do with their slaves. They also booby-trapped the sites... so the legend goes. 

"This treasure has been sought ever since the war ended. Fortune hunters, ex Japanese soldiers, even the president of the Philippines, Ferdinand Marcos, is supposed to have discovered some of it and made it part of his personal fortune. In '95, government agents recovered what they believe was part of the hoard—two metric tons of platinum valued at 480 million dollars!"

"Jesus, how big was this fortune?"

"Very big. And a lot of it is still missing."

"And you called me in, why?" Gretta asked.

"This letter from your cousin has been examined by our people; the descriptions in it are accurate and verifiable, which means he wrote the truth. The area of interest is also accurate. He was apparently on the west coast of Mindanao, near Labason on the Sulu Sea. That was also confirmed by our connections in the lumber cartel that hired the military in the first place."

"Private industry hired the military?" Arny was stunned.

"Certain aspects of capitalism require some... informal means, to achieve mutually beneficial ends."

"Wow! You missed your calling, professor. You should have been a spin doctor."

"Who do we know in that group?" Gretta asked, settling Arny down with a hand on his arm.

"There a couple of people who are friends of friends." He waved a dismissive hand.

"What was the military fighting about anyway?" Arny asked, puzzled.

"It wasn't exactly, the military. It was an uhm, informal group hired, believe it or not, to put down a resurgence of the Huks, communist resistance fighters against the Japanese that held quite a bit of power up into the late '50s. They were disarmed and reintegrated into the military in the middle 60s. The government instituted an export ban on hardwood logs in the 1980s, although the ban has been difficult to enforce."

"Okay, but why this informal... whatever? Why not the government forces?"

"Because it was the lumber industry that wanted to keep up the demand for their product. The Huks were eating into that potential profit big time. If the government had been involved both sides would have lost out. Now the region is plagued by the NPA the New People's Army."

"So they just stand by and let these guys have it out?"

"I believe I mentioned certain aspects of capitalism, Arnold. There were parties in the government involved in seeing that lumber interests were maintained."

"Pardon me fellas, but my initial question still hasn't been answered. Why am I here?" Gretta asked with impatience.

The Congress wants this investigated. The recovery of something this important is- well just too important to ignore."

Arny groaned and flopped back on his chair. "Another, Gretta across the globe, mission for the famous CONGA."

"Arny." The warning in her voice put a clamp on his mouth. Been here, done this, he thought. He looked at the woman who had been both his biggest heartache and headache for four years. The hair was still the same long, wheat colour. The skin, smooth and healthy. The large, grayish-yellow eyes that lured him, siren-like. And the body... well the body just didn't stop. He sat up with a jerk when he realized they were both staring at him.

"What?"

"I was asking your opinion." Gretta frowned at him.

"On what? I uh- I wasn't listening."

"On whether you wanted to come along this time."

"Come along. You mean you're going to the Philippines, treasure hunting. Why am I not surprised."

"Arnold, every time something like this comes up you—"

"Professor, save it. I know what I do and it makes no damn difference to the outcome. Just let me have my rant and then tell me what the hell to pack."

"That's my able-bodied sidekick." She leaned across and kissed his cheek.

"Yeah. Right. Able-bodied." Arny sighed and jammed his hands into his pockets. "So will we still be dealing with these Huk guys?"

Cheesy gave a small shrug. "Possibly but unlikely. And the correct name is Hukbong Laban sa mga Hapon."

"I bet it is. I wouldn't want to be shot or something and not know how to properly address my killers."

"Arny." The warning voice again. He shut up.