Red Dragons

by K W Frost

  ‘Dispose of him,’ said Kioki as walked out of the apartment.

  Phelps mobile phone sounded. He answered the call, listened for just a few seconds and replaced it into his pocket.

  The leak had been plugged.

  In the Hong Kong mail sorting room, a small, plain package was tossed into an overseas airmail bin, headed for America.

  Chapter One

  Simon Child awoke to the sound of his cellphone beeping. His mind jumped from deep sleep to wide-awake almost instantly. He reached over and picked up the phone from the Rimu bedside table before it had rung for a third time. He registered the rain peppering the roof and the wind whistling through the seven-strand wire fence outside his bedroom.

  Looking at his caller recognition, he answered the call.

  ‘Hello, Bill…’

  ‘Simon, we have an emergency, can you get down to the marine lab as soon as possible.’

  Police Sergeant William Bender, or Bill to those who knew him, wasn’t the type to wake someone before dawn just for the hell of it.

  Tucking the phone between his head and shoulder, Child started to climb out of bed.

  ‘What’s the problem, Bill?’

  ‘We have two men caught on the back of Goat Island. Their boat has been wrecked and we hope that they’re safely somewhere on the rocks.’

  ‘Who was dumb enough to go out in weather like this?’ muttered Child as he grabbed clothes from his closet. Outside the wind howled, rattling the windows. Child was a member of the local civil defence emergency team. He had helped in rescues before.

  ‘Old Hans Post and his uncle Yens, from Holland,’ replied Sergeant Bender. ‘They went out for a night of fishing. The stubborn fool didn’t heed the weather warning and didn’t get back in time. Lore contacted us about 2am and we’ve been trying to find them since then. Twenty minutes ago, a call came through from Hans saying they were having trouble and taking on water. They’d been trying to make it back to Leigh but had been battling high seas and rough weather most of the night. Thought they could make it back and then their motor died on them. Communication ceased but a locater beacon puts them at the back of Goat Island. Red Mac is trying to get a visual at first light. If they’re still alive and we need to go into the water to get them, I want you there.’

  Child considered what he had learned: two old men at sea in a leaky boat. With the cold and wild weather, they wouldn’t last long in or out of the water.

  Sergeant Bender’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  ‘We’re assembling at the lab’s conference room — meet us there in fifteen minutes. Bring your dive gear, we think you may need it.’

  The tenseness in Bender’s voice sent a chilly tingle down Child’s spine as the implications sunk in. Tonight was not a good night to be out on the water.

  Child quickly got dressed into polypropylene long johns, which he often wore under his wetsuit when it was cold and he needed to be on the job for a long time. Brushed cotton tracksuit trousers, wool bush shirt and a Kathmandu polyfleece jumper all quickly followed. Wool socks, sneakers and finally a wool beanie over his head to finish.

  Child went downstairs to his basement garage. In it was parked his four-wheel drive hardtop Toyota utility. Grabbing a Parka and over-trousers he quickly donned them, then he opened the back and put his dive gear in. He had the latest Nimrod conversion kit. This was lighter in weight and less bulky than his old aqualung set. It had pure oxygen and nitrogen tanks, and a CO2 scrubber for the exhaled air. Thus, very few bubbles escaped. He could work at greater depths for longer periods of time than ever before using this kit.

  Child added a five-millimetre full-face wetsuit, goggles and fins. Then the lead weights, breathalyser mouthpiece, computerised depth gauge with timer, snorkel and finally, the eight-inch diving knife he always carried strapped to his right leg. Child had a final check to see if he had missed anything. His eyes fell on his tramping pack, with its sleeping bag and climbing gear inside, and a myriad of little useful things stored in the pockets. He decided it was better to have too much than not enough gear and he tossed the tramping pack in as well.

  The drive from the top of the hill proved perilous, due to the angry weather. The wind buffeted the vehicle, threatening to pick it up and toss it off the road. The trees swayed wildly, whipping their branches. Twigs and leaves lay scattered across the road. In parts, the overflowing drains flooded the gutters. Coming out of the lee of the hill, the wind the hit the utility with full force, rocking it violently. Above, the power lines howled as the wind tore at them at a hundred kilometres an hour force. Dawn’s arrival brought slight lightening of the Eastern sky. Bulky clouds rushed overhead causing downpours, the drops sounding like buckshot bouncing off the roof.

  The window wipers struggled to keep up with the amount of rain and Child shivered, thinking that he didn’t really want to be doing this. The temptation to stop and turn around flashed through his mind. Then he thought of Hans, who at fifty-seven years old, had already been out in this for hours, now possibly clinging onto rocks, wet and cold, waiting. Hoping someone would come.

  The laboratory was the property of the University of Auckland. Its marine department was based at Goat Island, where the water quality and clarity was as good as anywhere in the world. It was also the site of New Zealand’s first marine reserve where no fishing of any sort had been allowed, so marine life flourished. The building was forty years old, and housed twelve undergraduates and two resident professors. Other students and lecturers made their homes locally.

  When Child walked into the lounge, he found a hive of activity. People were crowded around a large Kauri table in the middle of the room. The local policeman Sergeant Bender stood at one end. At six foot two inches, 110 kilograms and with wavy dark hair that was neatly trimmed, he looked like a poster boy for the police force. As Child walked over, he noted the other people around the table. A frail, grey-haired man on Bender’s right was Dr Jonathan Howell, the laboratories leader and an expert on crustaceans. Opposite him was Dr Frances Withers. Tall and lean, Withers was an expert on kelp and a keen surfer. Next to him was Steve Ritson, an undergraduate studying the mating behaviour of eagle rays. Child and Ritson had dived together several times and were friends. Ritson’s blonde wavy hair hung down to his shoulders in its usual scraggly mess. Ritson had the power and build of a front row rugby prop. At five foot ten inches and 105 kilograms, he was two inches taller and twenty kilos heavier than Child.

  Ritson had looked up as a gust of cold wind followed Child into the lounge. Child closed the door behind him.

  ‘Sorry to have spoilt your beauty sleep,’ said Ritson, ‘but Bill and I need someone we know on this one. Did Bill give you a run down on what has happened?’

  ‘I got a nuts and bolts version,’ replied Child as he joined them at the table.

  On the table was an oceanographic map of Goat Island, providing detailed information of the varying depths and all rock structures. Kelp beds and other seaweed structures had been hand-drawn too. It also showed several letter and number combinations denoting the sites of filed experiments, and the locations of specific plant species. The map was held down by a set of clear plastic salt and peppershakers.

  ‘Hi Simon,’ said Dr Howell, stepping sideways to give Child a better view of table. ‘This looks like it’s going to be a tricky operation, but we don’t have much choice.’

  Dr Howell’s voice was concerned and the worried expression made his lined face appear even older. His bony finger jabbed down as he continued to explain the situation.

  ‘The real problem is that we’re not sure exactly where the two men are now, nor what condition they might be in. We think, we hope, that they are on the north-west side of the island and have somehow scrambled up onto the rocks.’

  As Child looked down at the map he didn’t need to be told what the worst-case scenario was. At the back of Goat Island were two deep seaward-facing caves, cut into the rock of the island. These caves penetrated abou
t a third of the way into the island. In conditions like today, the waves would be crashing into these openings, making the interior a maelstrom of turbulent water, with deadly undertows carrying the water back out again. If the boat had been swept into one of these then there was no hope for the men. It would be almost as bad if they got onto the rocks between the two caves. Child knew there was a narrow ledge about a metre and a half above full tide, which ran for six feet between the caves. Above the ledge, the rock face curved back towards the sea and the cliff was worn away by the ceaseless pounding of waves.

  If they were stranded on that ledge, then there was no way up and no way out.

  ‘Coffee!’ called a voice coming from the kitchen area. Out walked a tall, slim woman, with medium length red-brunette hair. She was wearing jeans and an oversized fleecy sweatshirt. She approached the table carrying four mugs of coffee. Child noticed she had the grace and ease of movement of an athlete. Placing the mugs on the end of the table away from the map, she turned towards Child.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise we needed one more. Would you like a cup?’ she said. Her eyes smiled as they met Child’s.

  ‘Thanks, milk and one sugar please,’ Child replied. He enjoyed the picture of her young open face, green eyes and clear skin.

  ‘Ah! Samantha meet Simon; Simon meet Samantha,’ said Dr Howell by way of belated introductions. ‘Sam here is from the University of Southern California doing research on sound and electromagnetism effects on fish — it’s fascinating stuff,’ he added, mostly for Child’s benefit.

  ‘You couldn’t make that two sugars, could you?’ Child asked Samantha. ‘I have a hunch I may need them.’ Their eyes met again before Child turned back to look at the map on the table.

  ‘On that note, you couldn’t rustle up some sandwiches as well, could you Sam?’ added Dr Withers.

  ‘On the way,’ she called back, already on her way to the kitchen.

  Back in the kitchen, Samantha wondered what had caused the sudden quickening of her heart. Usually, she preferred men who were taller than her, yet something had triggered that physical response. Child didn’t look particularly special; lean, slightly short, with an average looking face. He had a morning stubble and light brown hair. As she considered his features, she realised the cause of her response to Child: the eyes. He had clear blue eyes that seemed to penetrate into her, analysing her worth.

  Bender picked up a set of steel-tipped dividers for his briefing. His bulky frame was taut and his face appeared strained. He knew the risks involved in a rescue mission like this one, and he knew lives were at risk. His radiotelephone beeped. After a brief exchange he signed off. He scanned the waiting faces in front of him.

  ‘That was Red Mac, he can see the two men. Two figures can be seen standing on the rocks between the two caves. Mac is out in the Lady Rose but cannot get close enough to do anything. The conditions are marginal at best. He said he would stand by to help if he can, but there’s not much he can do and he cannot get too close.’

  Red Mac was a born and bred Scot who got his name from his flaming red hair. He learnt his trade fishing in the North Sea. He had fished off this coast for the last twenty years. His boat the Lady Rose was a fishing trawler, and at forty-five feet it was designed to sail in any weather. For Red Mac to say things were marginal meant it was a no go for anyone else.

  Bender took a deep breath and continued with the briefing.

  ‘The situation is this. We have two men, both over fifty years old. We now know they’re trapped on the ledge between the two caves at the back of Goat Island. Conditions are not good: gusts of winds travelling over a hundred kilometres an hour and occasional showers.’

  Raindrops splattered against the windows, causing everyone to stare out into the dim light and lashing rain.

  ‘The men have been out in this weather all night, fully exposed for at least ninety minutes,’ said Bender, glancing at his watch. ‘Hypothermia is a major concern now. I think if we’re unable to reach them in the next hour, then they could be dead.’

  Another strong gust rattled the windows. You could feel the tension around the table.

  Samantha returned, placing a steaming cup of coffee next to Child with her left hand, and a plate of sandwiches on the table with her right. Picking it up, Child smiled his thanks and continued to concentrate on Bender’s briefing.

  ‘The area’s police dive team is currently retrieving the bodies from a minivan crash near Taupiri this morning. They cannot spare anyone. They can’t get someone here before midday, at the earliest. The Navy dive team has also been alerted and are on their way, but they could be an hour or more, and we’ve established that could be too late. If something is to be done, then we must do it now. The boat rescue is out but no boat can get close enough, and the men certainly cannot swim out to a boat. Finding a swimmer and getting them on board would be virtually impossible. Conditions are so marginal that I’ll have to order Mac back to Leigh before we have a second situation on our hands.’

  Bender paused and looked around at the faces watching him. The mood was sombre.

  ‘Now before we look at the last resort, is there any thing I’ve missed?’

  ‘There’s also another consideration,’ said Child, quietly.

  ‘What?’ demanded Bender.

  ‘The tide,’ answered Child. ‘Coming down here I reckoned it to be quite low — if I remember rightly, low tide was about two hours ago. The tide is on its way in again. That ledge they’re on is going to be increasingly exposed to the waves. By full tide that ledge will be uninhabitable, nothing could survive on it for long.’

  ‘How much time do you think we have?’ asked Dr Withers.

  ‘Simon is right,’ Ritson interjected, ‘that ledge offers only a temporary respite. I would say we have another two hours, three at the most.’

  The sound of the wind rattled the roof in the silence that followed. Child had already worked out that there was only one way to save these men. His thoughts were on the task ahead as he sipped on the hot coffee and ate a sandwich.

  ‘Helicopters!’ blurted out Samantha, who had rejoined the table. ‘Some can even fly through hurricanes — can we get one of them here?’

  Bender gave a kindly smile before answering.

  ‘Sam, we don’t have powerful helicopters like that available here. The overhang also prevents access from above.’

  The fluorescent tubes hummed slightly overhead, shining a harsh, unforgiving light down onto the table. Bender looked at Child and Ritson, who were solemn.

  ‘There is only one way left. You go and get them.’

  Fifteen minutes later, everyone was crowded at the bottom of the cliff directly below where the lab was situated. It wasn’t necessary for everyone to join the rescue mission but somehow no one wanted to be left out of the action. The walk down had been bad enough, with the wind tugging at bodies on the narrow path and slippery stones. Fortunately, everyone had made it down in one piece.

  Child was wearing his full wetsuit and Ritson was similarly attired, only he had an old-fashioned aqualung set. The plan was for Child and Ritson to jump off the rocks, swim around the island on the bottom of the sea floor, surface, locate the two men, give them some spare aqualung gear and return.

  It sounded simple.

  No one thought it would be.

  Child carried a spare set of gear in a mesh bag, along with the biggest wetsuit top they could find. It was attached to Child’s weight belt by a carabiner clip and six feet of strong prussic cord from Child’s climbing pack. Child clipped another carabiner attached to a length of cord onto Ritson’s gear. The cord ran from an old fishing reel also attached to Child’s weight belt with a doubled rubber loop. Once in the water this might be the only way they could find each other.

  The sea was terrifying. High waves surged and crashed against the jagged rocks on the foreshore. The waves would come around both ends of Goat Island as if they were racing to see who could crash into the rocks first and the harde
st. Creamy white sea foam covered areas of the sea like a blanket. It was being picked up and carried by the crests of waves onto the shore, like the remains of a giant bubble bath. Where the team gathered themselves, the rocks ran out level with the high-water mark for about twenty metres. Even though the tide was half out, the waves were crashing onto the end of this flat platform, surging across the top and finally dying as they pushed up against the vertical cliff. Then the water fell away only to be picked up by the next wave and thrust against the cliff once more.

  The flotsam lapped at Child and Ritson’s feet as they put on their flippers.

  ‘Hans and Yens are going to be cold, wet and tired by the time we get back — you better have the medical people standing by,’ Child called out to Dr Withers.

  ‘Already on the way,’ replied Dr Withers, straining his voice over the howling wind.

  Dr Withers, Samantha, Doug, Terry and two lab technicians had carried the spare sets of aqualung gear down. Everyone was getting soaked through despite being in full wet weather gear.

  Child didn’t say anything to anyone else around him. In times of emergency some people needed to be close as possible to the action, even if there was little they could do but wait.