‘Summer’s been fun,’ Robin agreed as he smiled at Marion. ‘And now, the thrilling finale!’
34. AWARD-WINNING TOILETS
‘Bullcalf has been sniffing around,’ Emma reminded Robin, as the pickup neared Boston. ‘Don’t go wandering off.’
The peaceful seafront village was in a state of shock. Thirty Harley Davidson motorbikes were parked in front of the shops. A line of hairy men wearing the colours of Brigands Motorcycle Club stood eating outside the chip shop, their filthy black boots crunching around in smashed beer bottles.
The tide was way out and three bikers were blasting across open sand in a race, while another group peed against the sea wall.
‘Dad!’ Marion yelled, as she jumped out of the pickup.
Jake Maid, usually known as Cut-Throat, was the leader of the Brigands Motorcycle Club’s Sherwood Forest chapter, and even by the standards of big, scary-looking bikers, he was big and scary-looking.
‘How’s my best daughter,’ Cut-Throat roared, gripping Marion with huge tattooed arms and sweeping her off the ground into a hug. ‘Has my old pal Diogo been looking after you?’
Diogo was in the biker crowd, growling, bear-hugging and acting nothing like the gentle giant who pottered around The Station with Napua.
‘One up!’ one of the younger Brigands shouted.
Robin had just stepped out of the pickup, and got a rapid introduction to One Up, a drinking game that involves throwing your empty beer bottle in the air and shouting One Up. If you’re too slow or drunk to get out of the way, you get whacked on the head.
Cut-Throat erupted as the bottle crashed onto the pavement in front of him. ‘Luke, if you throw another bottle near my daughter, you’ll find out where my nickname comes from! Get over here!’
Luke was in his late teens and had the word ‘Prospect’ beneath the Brigands logo on the back of his denim jacket. Before becoming a full Brigands member, prospects have to spend two years getting ordered around and doing nasty jobs like cleaning toilets and polishing bikes.
‘I’m sorry, Cut-Throat,’ Luke said nervously.
‘You’re buying fish and chips and colas for Robin and Marion.’
‘Of course, boss,’ Luke said, then smiled when he noticed. ‘That’s Robin Hood!’
Cut-Throat glowered. ‘Don’t gawp, move!’
‘I’d prefer Fanta,’ Robin said, as Luke backed up and went straight to the front of the queue because he was following Cut-Throat’s orders.
‘So, Robin Hood!’ Cut-Throat said menacingly, as he swooped down in front of the teen. ‘What’s going on between you and my daughter?’
Robin didn’t look worried and Marion tutted.
‘Dad, you make the same joke every time you see him.’
‘Do I?’ Cut-Throat said, then broke into a monstrous laugh as he hugged Emma. ‘Long time no see, girl!’
‘Thanks for helping out at such short notice,’ Emma said. ‘I can’t trust the cops, and Delta Rescue doesn’t have the muscle to pull those women out.’
‘Helping refugees ain’t exactly our thing,’ Cut-Throat said, rubbing his hands. ‘But the club is flat broke, and we’ll make a bundle selling those knock-off shoes.’
‘They’re not refugees, Dad,’ Marion said. ‘Refugees come to a country willingly, trying to find a better life. These women were kidnapped. They’ll want to go back to their families in Indonesia or wherever.’
‘Believe that when I see it,’ Cut-Throat grunted, as Luke came back outside with Robin and Marion’s food.
‘Can I get a selfie with Robin?’ Luke asked.
‘You’ll get my boot up your arse in a minute, prospect,’ Cut-Throat growled. ‘Buzz off!’
‘We have award-winning toilets, you know!’ an elderly woman shouted from the pavement as Robin tucked into his chips. ‘You should be ashamed. Grown men smashing glass and urinating on the seafront.’
‘Don’t worry, ma’am,’ Cut-Throat told her, as he stole one of Marion’s chips. ‘I’ll get young Luke to make sure everything is left spotless.’
Robin felt pity as the older Brigands jeered, slapped Luke on the back and mashed chips into the pavement, knowing he’d have to clean them up.
‘So barbaric,’ Marion said, shaking her head.
‘We all did our time as prospects,’ Cut-Throat said. ‘If you want to be a Brigand, you have to suffer for a couple of years. You’re just sour because girls can’t join in.’
Marion filled her mouth so she didn’t have to answer. She hated that her dad’s gang were a bunch of violent, boozed-up, sexist lunatics, but loved the motorbikes and the way Brigands took no nonsense from anyone.
‘You want to race?’ Diogo shouted to one of the Brigands. ‘I’ll race you on the beach, right here, right now!’
‘He’s acting like a big kid,’ Robin said, looking at Marion and laughing as Diogo sprinted to his bike.
Marion nodded. ‘He’d never act like that in front of Napua.’
‘One up!’ someone shouted, as another bottle got lobbed into the air.
35. DEATH STAR STUFF
As Luke and another prospect borrowed brooms from the chippy and swept up broken glass, Emma led the rest of the Brigands on a rowdy march to the church hall.
Lynn Hoapili and her two camera operators were waiting inside, plus some members of the New Survivors, who’d agreed to provide buses to transport the women to Delta Rescue’s welcome centre on the edge of Sherwood Forest.
Stacking chairs had been put out in rows, and Neo had set up a little video projector. This could show either a live feed from the shoe-factory cameras, or a detailed floor plan that Neo had drawn up based on the footage.
The Brigands stayed loud and tried to bait the New Survivors, first by taking the mickey out of their short hair and green polo shirts, then by suggesting that they secretly planned to kidnap and brainwash any women they rescued.
The New Survivors remained calm. They offered the Brigands leaflets and asked if they’d considered their relationship with God and would like to hear the good news about eternal life.
‘I don’t want to go to heaven,’ one Brigand shouted. ‘That’s where all the boring people end up!’
The Brigands quietened down when Cut-Throat told them that anyone who didn’t shut up would lose their cut of the money from selling the shoes.
‘Thank you all for being here,’ Emma began. ‘This plan has come together in less than three days and I want to thank everyone for the work you’ve put in.
‘After studying the video feed, we estimate there are one hundred and ninety-five women being held captive in a former chemical-storage bunker.
‘At any one time there are fifteen guards in the building. Most seem to live onsite, but in better conditions than their prisoners. Guards only seem to carry batons, though there is a gun locker in the guards’ break room. Therefore, our first job upon entering the building will be to secure this room before the guards can tool up.
‘Of course, we have to get inside the building first. This is tricky because it was originally constructed as a storage facility for volatile chemicals. It has thick walls, few windows and airtight metal doors, along with a reinforced roof and sloping grass embankments designed to deflect any blast up and away.’
‘I’m in Star Wars,’ one of the Brigands joked. ‘You know, briefing the rebel pilots before they fly off to nuke the Death Star?’
A few people laughed. ‘You’re sure not Luke Skywalker,’ another Brigand said.
‘No, he’s the alien with the head shaped like a turd.’
‘Let Emma speak, you cretins,’ Cut-Throat roared, close to losing his temper. ‘Do I need to remind you how much we need this money?’
Another Brigand shot up from his chair and lost his cool with Cut-Throat. ‘Yeah, because your idiot son Flash ripped us off.’
Cut-Throat’s chair flew backwards as he stood up and ripped out the machete hooked to his belt. ‘I told you never to mention that boy’s name!’
Emma wondered if partnering up with a bike gang had been a good idea, as Diogo wedged himself between Cut-Throat and the Brigand who’d dared to mention Flash.
‘There’ll be plenty of time to stab each other tomorrow,’ Diogo urged. ‘Right now we need to sit still and listen.’
Everyone settled back down, but Marion looked close to tears and Emma sounded shaken as she resumed speaking.
‘Breaking into the building will be hard, so our aim is to lure as many guards as we can into the open . . .’
As Emma got back into her stride, Diogo’s phone pinged. He leaned across to Robin and whispered, ‘Our toys have arrived.’
Diogo and Robin stepped out into the sun, followed by Marion.
‘Did we invite you?’ Robin asked.
‘I read the briefing already,’ Marion said. ‘And my dad makes me so mad sometimes.’
Brigands prospect Luke jogged up to the side of the church hall, holding a padded envelope with orange hazard tape wrapped around it.
‘Guy in the chip shop said you’d want it straight away,’ he said breathlessly.
‘Good lad,’ Diogo answered, then gave the prospect a slap on the back.
Diogo ripped the package open and let Robin peek inside at four M112 demolition blocks. They looked like sticks of black Play-Doh, but were actually a mouldable explosive, typically used in mining and demolition. There was also a clear bag filled with peanut-sized impact fuse detonators.
‘How did you get this stuff?’ Marion asked.
‘I’ve been smuggling in this delta for years,’ Diogo explained. ‘I know folks who’ll get you anything, from a bazooka to a baby baboon.’
‘I’ll need to test it,’ Robin said. ‘When you add weight to an arrow you have to change your aim.’
‘The beach?’ Marion suggested.
Diogo shook his head. ‘Way too public. We’ll head up to the shops at the end of Sunshine Road.’
‘Good idea,’ Robin said. ‘We used to park our dirt bikes there when we came into the village.’
‘Before you so cruelly confiscated them,’ Marion added.
It took ten minutes to get Robin’s bow and arrows from Emma’s truck and walk a kilometre uphill to the gravel parking lot behind the boarded-up supermarket and souvenir store. Diogo squinted as he propped his bum on a ledge, reading a sheet of instructions with tiny print.
‘The impact fuse must be inserted into the explosive at the point of impact and will trigger upon a decelerative force greater than 5G,’ Diogo said. ‘Explosive power is 1.352 kWh per gram.’
‘What does that mean?’ Marion asked.
‘No idea,’ Diogo admitted.
‘We’re not that far from the village,’ Marion said warily. ‘What if someone hears?’
‘I’ll start with a bit the size of a pea,’ Robin said. ‘If it’s not enough we’ll do a bigger one.’
‘Sounds good,’ Diogo agreed, then tried to soothe Marion’s worries. ‘With the Brigands in town, nobody in Boston will worry about a little bang up here.’
It took Robin a minute to cut a slice off one M112 and mould the plastic explosive around the tip of a carbon-fibre arrow. He wasn’t sure the tiny detonator would stay in place if he just pushed it into the soft explosive, so used some of the tape he carried for sticking up targets to hold it in place.
‘Will that blow up if you drop it?’ Marion asked.
Robin hadn’t considered this and eyed his explosive arrow warily.
‘It should only detonate if it slams something hard,’ Diogo said. ‘But probably best not to find out.’
‘Aren’t explosives the kind of thing you should only mess with when you know exactly what you’re doing?’ Marion said.
‘I have to check my aim,’ Robin answered irritably. ‘We’re driving up to Porthowell as soon as Emma’s briefing ends.’
‘You could practise shots with the explosive but without the detonator,’ Marion suggested.
‘I just used a tiny blob,’ Robin said as he notched his arrow. ‘I’m gonna aim for that big tree to the right of the supermarket.’
Robin lined up the arrow as if he was shooting normally, then nosed up a few degrees because the added weight would make the arrow pitch downwards.
‘Might be a bit loud,’ Robin said, then let the arrow go.
Robin aimed to hit the tree at head height, but the arrow dipped faster than expected. The blast knocked the three of them backwards in a hail of gravel as a huge orange fireball shot up through the tree, charring leaves.
They shielded their faces from heat, dust and clumps of earth as birds launched and squawked.
‘That wasn’t bad,’ Robin said, coughing a couple of times as he walked up to inspect the damaged trunk. ‘That’s enough explosive. I’ll shoot a couple more without the detonator to get my aim right.’
Robin got a strong smell of burning as he closed on a trunk that had been blasted to less than half of its original width. Then he heard branches rustling overhead and realised the top of the tree was listing sideways.
‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted, as he spun around. ‘It’s coming down!’
After creaking while its upper branches got tangled in a neighbouring tree, the trunk picked up momentum as Robin bolted.
He slowed down when he realised the enormous trunk wasn’t going to hit him. But his relief was tempered seconds later, when the top of the tree smashed down on the supermarket building’s flat roof, demolishing a side wall, shattering the boarded-up windows and showering him with glass, screws and chunks of chipboard.
He dived into the parking-lot gravel and covered his head with his arms, then rolled onto his back and found himself in the dappled light beneath swaying branches. An intruder alarm made woo-woo noises from what was left of the building as Diogo yanked Robin up.
‘You OK?’
‘Just about,’ Robin said.
‘We’d better get out of here,’ Diogo said warily.
Marion looked furious. ‘I love you guys,’ she shouted, as they grabbed their gear and started to run. ‘But at times you two are so dumb I don’t know how you manage to walk upright.’
36. LITTLE OL’ CONVOY
The Brigands blasted their bikes along the sunny delta coastline, Marion on the back of her dad’s Harley, Robin declining Diogo’s offer of a ride along and spending the eighty-minute drive playing with his phone in the comfort of Emma’s pickup.
At the rear of the convoy were a Channel Fourteen news van and three green double-decker buses with GOOD NEWS FROM THE NEW SURVIVORS painted along their sides. When everyone stopped for petrol and snacks, the sun was getting low and six more Brigands joined, driving a fleet of hired trucks.
While they all stood around scoffing petrol-station junk food, a couple of the Brigands got selfies with Robin. Then Robin put his Robin Hood Lives T-shirt back on and got some of the guys to take pictures of him sitting astride one of the big Harleys.
‘Robin, can I ask some questions for my report?’ Lynn Hoapili asked.
Her two camera operators loved the shot of Robin astride the bike, but the Brigands jeered and took the mickey when Lynn dabbed foundation on his forehead.
‘It’s to cut the reflections with the low sun,’ Lynn explained, before telling the camera operator to start rolling and asking her first proper question.
‘Robin Hood, six months ago you were an ordinary pupil at Locksley High School. Now you’re an internationally famous outlaw. Some people say you’re a hero, some think you’re a menace. What is your message to them?’
‘I’m just me,’ Robin said, struggling to keep a straight face and ignore Marion and several Brigands standing behind the camera doing chicken walks and dickhead gestures. ‘I didn’t ask for all this.’
‘But do you have a message?’ Lynn asked again.
‘I guess my message is that the world woul
d be better if everyone stuck up for what they believe in,’ Robin said, then smirked. ‘Also, I want royalties on all this Robin Hood merch people are selling.’
Lynn laughed politely.
‘Now, you’ve drawn together several disparate groups for a bold rescue operation. But you’re already wanted for a number of serious crimes. Does the thought of being captured and spending years, even decades, in jail worry you?’
Robin shrugged. ‘First off, people way more organised than me pulled this together. Second, I don’t plan on getting caught any time soon. Third, I’ve got so much stuff on my rap sheet now, it doesn’t matter what else I do. I mean, the bad guys can only kill me once, right?’
When Robin said this, all of the Brigands cheered loudly in the background.
‘So you feel invincible?’ Lynn asked.
‘No . . .’ Robin said warily. ‘I . . .’
He was partly thrown off by the question, but mostly because the Indonesian teenager Srihari had moved up beside the camera operator and reached out, holding . . .
‘And who is this little guy?’ Lynn cooed, as Robin got handed a baby wearing a striped romper suit and a little Brigands M.C. baseball cap.
‘Who set me up?’ Robin gasped, as Bejo settled astride his leg.
The baby didn’t make a fuss and seemed fascinated by reflections in the bike’s chrome handlebars. Marion laughed and even thuggish Brigands made ahh noises.
‘I’m not exactly used to holding babies,’ Robin said nervously.
‘But he’s part of the reason you’re here,’ Lynn said. ‘Tell us how you met him.’
Robin was surprised by how warm the baby felt on his leg.
‘So, this is Bejo,’ Robin said. ‘Me and my bestie helped rescue him from thugs and corrupt CIS agents a couple of weeks ago. His mother was brought here from Indonesia against her will. She’s being held near here, forced to work in slave conditions making trainers. And we’re about to try and get her out.’
Another huge cheer erupted, startling the baby.
Lynn nodded, then sounded extra solemn for the camera. ‘But shouldn’t you have called the police and left this very serious matter to them?’
Jet Skis, Swamps & Smugglers Page 12