A murder for a treasure

Reads: 236  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
You get no privacy when treasure is involved.

Submitted: May 09, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 09, 2012




A Murder for a treasure

My name is Jonathan Green.
It was a dark and stormy night but I felt that the tragedy after the storm is even more perilous than the storm itself. I was just walking to my dark cupboard with a candle as the lightning switched off the electricity, until I saw it- a limp body laying on my balcony. Suddenly my whole body experienced a sudden inner jerk that sent my stomach somewhere into my adams apple. Taking a few deep breaths I crouch over to the body and feel by whole body vibrate, I recognize the face alright, I did not see him for years, but the popping red eyes and the dark shadows in his face will always make me remember my grandfather.
Despite my fear of him I cannot help feeling sorry for him. I lower myself and sit there a good minute noticing his clothes and the state of his hair, at times I even dare glancing at the blood stained wound. I suddenly noticed a rip in one the waist pocket of the jeans, and something protruding from it- a diary. I take the diary out and examining it I notice that the first half is full of miniature writing and diagrams at times even newspaper cuttings from dates relating to the second world war. I absent mindedly open a page and by chance I got a glimpse of the last entry in his journal. I notice the date June 1 2012 that was yesterday I realise. “I am sorry Grandpa for butting into your private business but...”I mutter and read in.

Day by day I feel a new sense of being killed, I wake up with a new horrific death in mind. I dream of agents following me right to the location of the treasure, there killing me. The private war sweeps my mind and I don’t know what to do.

For a moment I reflect on the diary until I reread the sentence about war, what does he mean, there is no war anywhere. And yet... maybe grandpa wrote about the war, maybe he was an imminent subject of this war. I hang over the diary a second longer and then I turn to the second to last entry and find myself startled at the day dating five months ago.

February 1 2012,
I have it, I have the location!!! The Lost treasure of the Nazi’s,  it’s located on a hill near a Czech village. (precise location on page 50, do not bother to find this location
But as the day went on I realised that my lifelong work was nothing but  a perilous experience. After i had dinner in a restaurant and as I left by I chance walked down a deserted alley and there i was attacked by a well dressed chap with a knife, he kept on shaking me and hissing to give me the notes on the treasure. I would have been dead if a bullet had not have whizzed through the air and hit the man in the back. Without waiting a second longer I ran for my life and not until I reached home had i dared even think what it all meant... until I did. i have no other way of putting it but as war, a few countries put a delegate or two to find out where is the treasure. The only reason I am alive is that they have no clue where it is. A man tonight was killed because its rival shot him so he could get at me, yes that’s it, I should not go anywhere because if i do I will get killed the moment a dig up the treasure- though of course the agents will make me rot in the house if that’s how i am going to ‘cooperate’ with them.

I jerk to my senses and realise that grandpa was murdered because of the diary, the agent or whoever it was did not feel like waiting until grandfather bothered to dig the treasure up, the agent knew that the diary had everything to the last detail  so he killed the owner and before he managed to take the diary I opened the balcony door, the murderer is nearby. As if i knew all along I looked upwards and see a wolflike man balancing himself on the roof the man did not attack me at once instead he shouted at me in an Irish accent “I ain't wanna kill ya lad, i just want that diary... Jonathan Green!” Without questioning the fact how he knows my name I rip the page in which the conclusion of the whereabouts is and a newspaper cutting that seems very interesting I throw the rest of the diary over to the neighbors fence. The agent jumped down and tended to fasten his arms against my neck though at that moment I planned to flee.Like an eagle I nearly  fly to my cupboard where i have a pistol, I turn and for the first time in my life pull the trigger. The agent yelled with pain and agony but before the yell could get loud enough to wake the neighbors he slumped to the ground and lay there evidently dead. I stood there rooted to the spot with the deadly thought in my mind but deeper down i was forming a mental plan for covering my tracks. Firstly I wiped my pistol clean and then placed  the gun into my grandfathers hand. I wanted to make it look like grandpa and the agent had a gunfight. Afterwards I ordered  tickets for an airplane into the Czech Republic.
I settled in the airplane forty eight hours later with the comforting thought of freedom in which no one expects to find the owner of a piece of paper that leads you to outstanding riches. It was when a young man with a suspiciously loose beard sat next to me that I realised I did a mistake; once that the fact that a certain man was killed in a fight agents who hear these news will immediately try to find out the scene of the killings and the man's identity. They will do so eventually and once they hear that the man’s grandson mysteriously disappeared a precocious man would figure that the grandson has the notes. And such a man maybe on this very flight, maybe to my right hand side. I repress a feeling to jump up and act like a have a fear of strangers or direct contact. But such xenophobic behaviour does not seem appropriate in a public place. For the whole ten hour flight I feel the agent’s hand itching to get on my throat t.v doesn’t seem to decrease my dread until i remember the last words put into the diary: i don’t know what to do... but I do. With an idea firm in my mind i stand up and go to the washroom in which i spend a minute remembering the exact location of the treasure and then I rip the page into minuscule pieces, and the i flush them into the toilet. I feel an exuberant feeling in my mind. The location is just in my mind nowhere else, no one can kill me because they will never know anything thereforth, i have enough money to spend a month in this country, then I may return to America with peace at mind... and maybe i could take a nibble at the treasure until I am hundred percent sure of safety and privacy.


© Copyright 2019 Fransizka Kufka. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:




More Thrillers Short Stories