by Pete Adams
‘Err, no, what’s that bobbing?’ he pointed.
‘Loose mooring buoy?’
Fatso handed Jack binoculars, ‘Fuck me, it’s a body.’
Fatso shouted through the wheelhouse window for little Jack to get the gaff, as big Jack dashed past Mandy, ‘Close your mouth, we are not a codfish,’ he managed to say just before he dived overboard and fecked as he surfaced, it was freezing, but a couple of strokes got him to the body of a young boy floating on his back. Jack detected movement of the blue lips, grabbed the shoulders, kicked his legs as the boat edged beside them. Little Jack bounced Jack on his head with the gaff, ‘Oi, watch it.’ Del-Boy looked over, ‘He’s alive, just,’ spluttering and swallowing more water than he felt he should; thought about his salt intake as he guided the gaff to the boy’s T-shirt, and he was hauled out of the water.
Jack made his way to a ladder hanging over the side. The cold water had chilled his bones, he grabbed at the ladder, his grip slipped, grabbed again feeling every minute of his sixty years, his eye misted, his energy ebbed, and his mind conjured a picture of Hastings where as a young lad he had fought for his life in the sea, scrabbling and panicking, pushing off submerged rocks. Jack knew he was giving up; he never deserved to survive Hastings. If he’d given up then, he would not have had all the responsibility he felt as a kid and since; so tiring. He opened his fingers, slipped the ladder rungs, and felt a sense of rapture; no more responsibility.
Sixty-Four
He woke, and this surprised him, ‘Oi, Maisie, what’re you doing?’
Maisie was stripping his clothes away and rubbing him vigorously with a towel. ‘Shut-it, you’re so much trouble,’ he felt admonished but couldn’t understand why. Maisie had him down to his pants. This could be embarrassing he thought, but marvelled at the strength of Mrs Hitler as his body warmed.
‘How’s the boy?’ Jack’s teeth chattering.
‘Hypothermia most likes,’ Maisie said, ‘air sea rescue’s coming, but because of cutbacks, it’s from quite a distance and where’s an air ambulance going to land, only the coastguard could pick the lad up off the deck.’
‘Let me see him.’
The boy was with a wet Mandy. Jack crouched, quickly kissed Mandy on the way, he still had not connected Mandy had dripping hair. ‘Hi, fella, can you open your eyes for me? I’m Jack and this is Mandy. We know a little girl called Meesh. She survived just like you will. Hang in for me son.’ The boy’s eyes flickered. ‘Good lad, come on, tell me your name, give me the eyes again.’
Del was back, ‘We’ve ship to shored, air sea need at least twenty minutes, air ambulance is going to land on the fort in five. We’ve called for clearance.’
As Little Jack secured the boat at the fort’s jetty, a man appeared at a door, high in the fort’s side. Del had the lad in his arms and Fatso helped him onto the jetty.
Maisie thrust a new Jumper and what looked like Ted’s old trousers for Jack. ‘Where’s Mandy?’
‘She’s followed them to look after the boy.’
Getting into his new clobber, ‘Christ, Maisie, call this in, we may need back-up.’
‘It’s done, and you need to rest.’
‘Do I bollocks,’ Jack, brooking no argument, appeared to stop and think; the connection, Mandy saving him was made. He felt light headed as he looked up and could hear the helicopter. He had sodden trainers, short, greasy, baggy trousers, a sort of three quarter length that he instinctively knew would make him look fashionable if it were not for the thick baggy, knitted jumper. This all hampered him as he clambered over the rail to get to the steps of the landing stage, thinking all the time, blimey I’m cold. The noise of the sea crashing on the fort base was deafening. He made his way up the steps from the landing stage to the door, they were steep and slippery.
Maisie was calling, ‘You need to rest.’
He did need to rest, felt it, but carried on up, talking to himself, ‘Blimey this is fucking steep, and why am I swearing, cause its bollocking cold that’s why.’ He did eventually reach the door, it was shut, why lock the door? He looked up to the sky and waved and pointed to the door. In the CP room they had followed everything, had already alerted a back-up squad in a third helicopter, which was on the way.
Jack felt Maisie pulling him to one side, ‘Move over,’ and he worried she would open the door and he would look silly. He looked silly anyway, fashionable, but silly, but he was only temporarily relieved.
‘What you got there?’
‘We carry small amounts of explosives, just in cases.’
‘Love Actually, Maisie?’
‘Yeah, Fatso likes it, but I can take or leave Hugh Grant, know what I mean.’
Jack relaxed against the rough-hewn stone wall, it felt comfortable. ‘I do, I like him in some things, but others, I’m not sure.’ He recovered his senses just before he was going to talk about Bridget Jones, Maisie was ignoring him, busy, something pushed into the lock?
‘Stand away.’ He had hardly moved when there was a bang and the door swung open. ‘I’m going back to the boat, d’you know how to use this?’ She thrust an old fashioned pistol at him. He’d had a little small arms training a long time ago, he was a big leg man really. ‘You take the safety off here, and that bit,’ she pointed to the muzzle, ‘is the dangerous end.’
He gave a despairing look at Maisie and took the pistol, ‘I will not ask where the gun, or the bomb, came from.’
‘It was just a little plastic. Now, get up there, just in cases.’ She went back down the steps, sprightly leapt onto the boat, and released the mooring ropes. Little Jack had the helm and he let the boat slip into open water.
‘Brilliant,’ he shouted ‘you leaving me here?’
‘Get inside, you Wally.’
‘Righto, Maisie,’ and Jack put the gun in the huge pocket of the trousers, poked around the voluminous void that had swallowed the weapon, and had to go to his shin to get it; ‘feck if I need to get this in a hurry’ and slowly he climbed the steep stone steps inside the doorway. He was knackered, if he was honest he was a tad out of condition; no cycling you see. The noise of the sea was so much louder in the narrow stairway, echoing, cave like. This may account for why nobody came when Maisie banged on the door, so to speak, could have a problem later, “Explain blowing up the door, Austin,” he could hear it now. He girded his loins; ‘Never before has a man’s loins been so girded,’ he said out loud, making himself laugh as he walked out into a voluminous space. Jack remembered the pictures and plans this morning, a central court with a vast glass roof. It was bright, his eye smarted and was blurred, a combination of sea salt and the brilliance of the sun, ‘Can’t see a bloody thing. Mandy, you there?’
‘Jack, there are men with guns pointing at you and us,’ Mandy answered.
He put his hand to his ear, ‘What? Think I’ve got sea in my ears.’
‘Deaf aids?’ Mandy shouted.
Jack banged the side of his head, ‘Nope, can’t hear,’ then rubbed his eye, ‘my eye’s stinging, is that air ambulance here, they might have some ointment,’ heard her groan. Jack crouched and felt the smooth polished timber floor, simultaneously taking a surreptitious look around. He saw two men with hand guns, probably fifteen metres away, he had heard another helicopter landing and hoped it was the back-up. ‘This is nice, big space, lovely floor,’ he looked again, he could see no other armed men, just Mandy, Del, Fatso, and the boy looking lifeless on the floor about five metres from the gunmen. He hoped the gunmen would be amateurs, here to fiddle kids, the thought riled, and he crossed his fingers and put his hands in the air, feckin’ eejit, as if that would help.
‘You know what, Mands, this reminds me of when I did ballet as a kid, we had a big studio like this,’ and Jack rose, springing as he did, arms outstretched, called out ‘Jetty’ and was off the floor. ‘An elegance in the lines of the body you see, babes,’ he shouted. ‘Now, Demi-Point,’ and with his left foot planted firmly on the floor, he brought his right leg up, bent i
t, then pointed his toes, in and out repeatedly. ‘See the alignment, luv, Feckin’ eye hurts. Rond-de-Jambe-a-Terre,’ and he started walking like an effeminate donkey in a circle around the room, his legs pointing, toes outstretched with each step, ‘Eat your heart out Darcy Bussell,’ he knew Mandy would appreciate the PP reference. He came close to the gunmen, whom he hoped were confused, as he dare not look. ‘Battement-Fondu,’ he called collapsing, ‘dying Swan, babes,’ waving his arms above him whistling what he thought was Swan Lake but was actually Bob the Builder.
He thought he heard Mandy say “feckin’ eejit”. ‘Philistine!’ he shouted. He was in the pose for a short time while he farted, important when doing Battement-Fondu. ‘Et finale, Battement-Frape, STRIKE,’ and Jack all of a sudden transformed his dying builder, leapt and smashed into the first gunman, then the second, a gun fired, Del-Boy moved in, the armed back-up from the second helicopter, arrived and cable tied them. Jack was writhing on the floor.
‘Oh Christ,’ Mandy said, kneeling beside Jack as he screamed. ‘Get the boy off to hospital, Del, this dozy bastard has shot himself in the foot, and not for the first time.’ One of the tactical support guys had the boy, taking him up the stairs to the air ambulance. Del was directing others to secure the fort. The power of Jack’s screaming was winding down to a more accustomed moan, ‘Shut-up, Jack, you’re embarrassing me.’
‘I’m embarrassing you?’
‘Yes, you’re on camera, the armed units carry cameras.’ She looked up to where a support officer stood, his helmet and vest cameras pointed at them. Mandy spoke to the cameras, ‘I’ve looked at his foot...’ serious face, ‘...I’m sorry to say, Jane Fountain will never dance again.’
Back at the CP room there were roars of laughter, the Commander saying to Frankie, ‘I hope you got all of that recorded, this is going to run and run.’ The hilarity stilled to stunned silence as a naked boy was brought up from the bowels of the fort. Mandy left Jack propped against the wall and went to the boy, he was barely alive; ‘Air ambulances, paramedics, Jo.’
The tactical helmet looked up, ‘She said they’re already despatched and will begin lifting off in convoy as needed. Our helicopter is going back to the common to free up a pad.’ She heard it take off as he spoke and another taking off after, presumably the first air ambulance, ‘Ma’am, they’re asking if Jack should go next?’
He did look pale, ‘Kid’s first,’ Jack said.
There were now three children lying on the floor, she decided to stay with them, was able to offer some comfort. Paramedics and a doctor were triaging, talking into radios; “Malnourished, beaten, drugged but vitals okay,” then onto the next one, same report, one unconscious, “take him first”.
Mandy’s tears stung, there were now five children, a sixth being brought up the stairs. Del appeared with a very small girl and he laid her over to one side, called the doctor over but he knew and shook his head; seen by the team in the CP room. Dolly was there, they let her stay; it was Dolly after all. The Commander called her to him and he put his arm around her, ‘Bad business, Dolly.’
‘Yes, but you’ve got to them. God love ‘em.’
Jack was feeling woozy, his foot funnily enough was not so painful; must be shock? He felt his vision going. He pulled the gun from his pocket, the safety was bloody broken. A man appeared from a side door and shot at the support officer who fell backwards, another bang, Jack had levelled the gun, fired, and the man dropped; a hit in the arm. Mandy dived for the gun as it skittered across the polished floor. The tactical was okay, a hit in the vest. Mandy had the gunman with his own gun trained on him, ‘Good shot, Jack,’ she could not disguise her amazement.
Del Boy had Mandy mic’d with her own camera and earpiece, she was speaking with Jo-Jums, ‘Two more kids to go, that will make, twelve in all? Then Jack...’ but Del signalled, they’d found five more children. ‘You heard that Jo? And tactical have captured three gunmen, one with a wound to the arm, courtesy of dead eye dick, if you pardon the pun.’ Mandy was feeling light headed, but recovered her poise; she was the officer on the ground. ‘We’ll need police cover at the hospital, Jo, for the shooter, they appear to be rank amateurs, but you never know.’
Jo was speaking again, ‘One of Paolo’s men is on his way to interview the guy Jack shot, see if he can get anything before they put him under. We have meat-wagons on the common to pick up other suspects as the helicopters bring them in. How many men were found down in the rooms with the kids?’
Mandy responded professionally. ‘We now think four men and two women, we’re still searching, it’s huge.’ Mandy felt sick, always did when women were involved in things like this, she felt the nurturing instincts of women would always out, but sometimes, it just didn’t.
Jo interrupted Mandy’s train of thought, ‘Mandy, Frankie has rerun the shooting in slow-mo and is convinced there were two shots. Jack doesn’t look so good, can you check him over?’
Mandy looked, Jack was pale, she turned back to camera, ‘I think stage fright has just hit him, this was his first performance of Bob the Builder.’ She called to the Field Doctor, ‘Can you look the DCI over please?’
‘Will do, gunshot to the foot?’
‘Yes.’
The doc looked, ‘Lot of blood for that.’ Mandy heard this and panic hit the pit of her stomach. She heard the Doc call “next ambulance” as he laid Jack down, then to his radio, ‘Gunshot to the abdomen, tertiary to foot, we’ll need a theatre straight away.’
Mandy sunk to the floor beside Jack, ‘Fuck you, Jack, what have you done?’ His eye had gone to the top of his eyelid. The paramedics ushered Mandy to the side as they set up a drip, applied field dressings and heaped him onto a stretcher and up the stairs, amazingly fast. ‘He’s scared of flying,’ mute words, only heard in the CP room.
‘Mandy, listen to me,’ it was Jo, ‘we need you to secure the scene. More people are on their way, scenes of crime, forensics, you must keep the cavalry from the evidence, okay?’
Mandy was still in her nightmare, but Jo was speaking sense, ‘Yes,’ and looked around her, as if leaping into action, but in truth she was stunned.
Jo looked to break the spell, ‘Alice is on her way to the hospital and will meet Jack. She will stay with him until you can get there, do you understand me? You need to be there for the time being.’
‘Yes, Alice?’
‘She insisted,’ Jo answered. Mandy was dry crying, holding her breath. Jo continued, ‘There will be more helicopters coming and going, you can hop one of those when you’re able to. We will clear it to take you to the hospital.’
‘Okay,’ Mandy replied, holding the sobs back.
Fatso was beside her, ‘He’s a tough bugger, Mandy, do your job,’ and she dabbed her eyes with his filthy hanky.
Sixty-Five
The fort was systematically checked, two more men found, ‘The feckin’ weasels,’ Mandy said, now deep inside the bowels of the fort confronting the horrifying sight. Perimeter cellular rooms set up as bedrooms with cameras; bare, seedy and dirty, a central control room; bile etched her stomach lining. Focused and in denial about Jack, she called for the tactical lads to stop and went up to one of the men, held by the arms. She looked straight at him, a wimp, a weasel, a slimy fucking bastard, and she spat in his eye. She moved onto the next man, made of sterner stuff, ‘You, I will see in an unprotected cell. You will feel how those kids felt, and you will feel it over and over and over again, as the kids felt it over and over,’ and Mandy spat in his face as well. She turned to the tactical guys, ‘Don’t you dare wipe that spit off their faces, I want it to sting like acid, I want it to burn through to their skulls, do you hear me?’ She looked at them, Mandy shouted, near screaming, ‘Do you hear me?’ The prisoners flinched.
‘Yes, Ma'am,’ the officers shouted.
Mandy did not hear the shout of approval from the CP room.
‘Erase that, Frankie.’
‘Yes, Commander.’
Satisfied the roo
ms had been secured, Mandy went back to the upper areas. As she got to the glazed courtyard Jo called, ‘Mandy, Jack is in theatre, prognosis, fifty-fifty.’
Mandy felt a lump in her throat, ‘Thank you for being honest, Jo,’ and she leaned against the wall, picturing Jack dancing around like a fool, heard the shot, just the one, but there had clearly been two. ‘Jo, will you let Michael know, Alana, Dolly, Jackie and Meesh please.’
‘Already done, Dolly is here, we’re getting her a bluebottle cab to the hospital, we’ve got a message through to her son Andrew.’
‘Thank you,’ she felt an arm around her, it was Del-Boy.
‘Mandy, we need the helicopters. Jack has a ten hour procedure, can you go back with Fatso and Maisie.’
She opened her eyes and saw Fatso and Maisie, their open, honest faces, pleading for her to come back with them.
Jo again, ‘Mandy, all helicopters have been commandeered. Go back on the boat, Jack is in good hands and there is nothing you can do, we will keep you informed, and I promise, if he deteriorates, I will fly a fucking helicopter myself and pick you off that boat, okay?’
‘How was Michael?’
‘He’s worried, of course, sends his love, and said to say they’re always prepared, and you would understand.’
She nodded, ‘Jo, phone Liz at my flat, tell her I need her please.’
‘Who’s driving?’
Maisie decided not to make a joke, ‘Little Jack.’
‘Is he okay to drive?’
Maisie had her fat arm embracing Mandy’s shoulders, ‘Fatso will take over in a short while, Little Jack knows what he’s doing.’
‘Thank you for taking me home.’
Maisie was mothering and smothering. ‘Darlin' we are proud to have Jack’s girl with us.’ Mandy nursed her sweet tea. Little Jack came on the intercom, she was aware of his high pitch voice and the sudden deep croaks, ‘Just heard they’ve changed Jack’s thing to eight hours not ten, so that must be good, eh?’ Fatso acknowledged the message, she was reminded of Jack’s frontier gibberish.