A couple of times, sweating and panting, I made my way up the mountain. It wasn’t Kilimanjaro; it only took a few hours, but it was a heavy-duty workout for a man in my condition. From the top I could see distant, nebulous shapes that were probably other islands and, to the east, a bigger landmass that I assumed was the western coastline of Sumatra.
Despite not doing a lot, the bits and bobs of exercise – paddling, swimming, trekking – were having a positive effect. That and the healthy diet of seafood and fruit were already making my long-abused body leaner and fitter. I felt good. Healthy in body and mind. I was sleeping better than I had in a long time. And there is something particularly rewarding about catching your own food. I’d never been a great fisherman but now I enjoyed the daily challenge of finding seafood to supplement the tins and packets of food I had in the pantry. I alternated between concocting tasty stews with coconut, rice or pasta and throwing a few prawns on the barbie. I could even enjoy a chocolate dessert courtesy of the beans of a cocoa pod.
Nightfall was often accompanied by more torrential rain and I was glad to be cosy in The Scoop, reading by candlelight with Wagga snug on my lap. My mind was becoming clearer as Charlie’s grip loosened and, to my delight, I found myself starting to think more and more about my next book. After months of frustrating blockage, the dam had started to crack and ideas were beginning to flow.
Since arriving, I hadn’t seen any humans on the island or, indeed, out to sea. Not even a distant boat on the horizon. But I was fine with that. I might be alone but I didn’t feel lonely. Besides, I had Wagga for company. And Percy. Most days I conversed with my old mentor. There was plenty to discuss: the island’s incredible flora and fauna, the 360-degree views from the top of the cute little volcanic crag, even the relentless monsoon downpours most afternoons. Then there were the snakes, scorpions and stinging insects. Not to mention loathsome leeches. ‘I hate those suckers,’ I joked to Percy. I once spotted a big, pale green snake with black bands coiled around a tree branch. It smiled at me with grisly fangs but the really scary thing was the red tip on its tail. I just knew that meant danger. There were rats, of course, and creepy-crawlies everywhere, including ants three centimetres long.
Percy and I also discussed my withdrawal symptoms; he had helped get me through a couple of bleak moments early on when I wanted to do something stupid, like chuck myself off the mountain or tie myself to the anchor on the sea floor.
Me: ‘I want to kill myself.’
Percy: ‘Don’t be so fucking silly.’
Me: ‘No, I’ve let you down, you can’t have any respect for a junkie.’
Percy: ‘You forget, I’ve been there too, son. You haven’t done anything as fucking stupid as I did.’
Me: ‘Are you kidding? What if I’d got Cody arrested for drug smuggling?’
Percy: ‘The pious bastard deserved to be locked up.’
Maybe I was crazy. But imagining a gruff, ghostly Percy by my side helped me to heal. He never asked me ‘How does that make you feel?’ He never made soothing noises or talked about my childhood. He never sugar-coated things; he just gave it to me straight: ‘You’re a fucking twat but you’ll be okay.’
23
I WAS halfway up the little mountain when I saw it, a dim, dark shape looming large in the hazy distance. I didn’t have my binoculars in my backpack so I couldn’t make out exactly what it was – a fishing boat or a sizeable pleasure craft? – but there was a distinctly iffy look about it. I stared at the shape for a long time as it gradually increased in size and definition. My spirits sank as I realised that it was heading straight for Rehab Island. The thought of meeting anyone – having to actually talk to them – was unwelcome. It was too soon; the solitude had been a treat, the ideal salve for my dodgy state of mind. Besides, something told me that whoever was on board that sinister-looking vessel was not going to provide me with friendly social interaction. I’d just decided to hightail it back to The Scoop when the heavens opened and the vessel disappeared from view in the misty rain.
What had been a challenging hike up the mountain now became a dangerous scramble going down. Navigating the dense foliage, the thorny vegetation, hanging vines and sharp bamboo, I tried to keep sight of the water on my right to maintain my bearings. The teeming rain had reduced the visibility to a couple of metres. I slithered and slid my way down the mountainside, the image of the dark shape on the water speeding my descent. It had given me a bad feeling.
It was nearly 5 pm when I finally limped through the palm trees on to the shore of my lagoon. The Scoop moved gently on the darkening water. The sky was overcast and the mozzies were on the prowl. The little bastards always treat my body like a Happy Meal from Maccas. I was dehydrated, completely knackered and, boy, was I hurting: my body was covered in cuts, bruises and scratches. Insect bites itched horribly and my torso had apparently become a tasty new food source for several black leeches. Disgusted, I burned them off with salt, my blood oozing out of the loathsome creatures as they wriggled on the cockpit floor. My next job was to clean my wrecked feet and anoint them with antiseptic cream. While I worked, Wagga amused himself by pawing one or two of the leeches before rubbing himself against my ankles, indicating his desire for a more palatable dinner. I petted him for a few moments before diving overboard to cleanse my dirty, lacerated carcass in the clean embrace of the lagoon.
It was approaching dusk as I made my way along the sand towards the forty-metre cliff that formed a barrier between my lagoon and Big Bay. The grey light was fading. The climb up was reasonably easy, even with my torn feet and aching limbs. There were plenty of footholds and shallow shelves and less vegetation than the rainforest so I made rapid progress, wading through the scrub to the ridge at the top, startling a few nesting owls along the way.
Despite a continuing deep sense of unease, I was feeling a bit better after a bite to eat and lots of water. Sitting with my legs around a thin tree trunk, the sharp stink of bug spray twitching my nostrils, I trained my binoculars, adjusting the zoom until a vessel came clearly into focus against the twilight gloom beyond the reef. Looks like a large fishing trawler, I thought. No worries then, it’s probably just a bunch of local fishermen looking for safe anchorage overnight. They’ll be gone in the morning.
I could see some activity towards the stern; tightening the focus again I could see indistinct figures dropping down into two small boats. Then two large bundles were lowered down to outstretched hands. Moments later, the small boats zoomed towards the reef, leaving angry wakes behind that rocked the fishing boat. Gradually, my ears picked up the muted roar of their engines. I tensed. Were they coming to the lagoon or Big Bay? Probably the latter, I guessed. That could explain the signs of old fires I had seen on the sand there.
My sense of foreboding heightened. The light was disappearing fast by now but I could just make out the dark shapes of the fast boats as they neared Big Bay and the wide, white ripples they left in their wake. There were maybe three or four people in each boat but I couldn’t distinguish their features or clothing. About fifty metres from the shore, both boats slowed and then ran up on the beach.
There was some shouting and some of the men clambered out onto the beach. Then both bundles were lifted up and thrown roughly onto the sand. Something about this scene was making me more and more alarmed and I struggled to keep the binoculars steady, my grazed hands shaking. One of the men stooped down and pulled one of the bundles upright. He took off a covering. What I saw in the gathering gloom chilled me to the bone. It was a woman, her pale face contorted by fright or a silent scream.
24
THE BEACH towel was back over her head and shoulders as she was bundled off the bigger boat. It was still damp and smelt of stale urine. Annie’s other senses were on full alert. After about fifteen minutes, she heard the engine on the small, fast craft she had been dumped into slacken and then cut. The boat carried on forward silently under its own momentum; then there was a soft crunch. Sand? Her legs turned to jelly agai
n and her lips moved silently: ‘In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.’
Rough hands took hold of her again and pulled her to her feet. Two men took her ankles and arms and dumped her over the side of the boat, half her body in the water, half on warm sand. She gasped in shock and pain. Someone ripped the towel off her head and she could see. The light was fading but she looked around. Men with sun-darkened faces and burning eyes stared back. Shit. She glanced at Dani, naked and kneeling on the sand, face contorted, her eyes wild. The young woman was gibbering in white-faced terror, a stream of spit-flecked staccato that made no sense to Annie.
She could not find the will to make any sign of comfort to the young woman; she was too consumed by fear herself. You can get through this, she told herself, but without much conviction. The gold-toothed man came and stood in front of her. Before she could demand that he set them free, he grabbed her chin with one powerful hand and squeezed her jaws hard, making her eyes water.
‘Sexy lady, you and other womens now to make my men happy. They want fuck memek,’ he said, pointing to her groin. Then his hands dropped to below his waist, palms facing each other, and he thrust his hips back and forwards a couple of times in a crude parody of a sex act. His teeth bared in a terrible smile, his eyes disappearing into slits as he mimicked grunting. The other men guffawed and gestured lewdly. Annie began to feel faint as her worst horror was confirmed. She started to collapse and the pirate brute grabbed her elbow to steady her. He patted her bottom and signalled his men to take her.
They cut off her bikini bottom with a parang, the last shred of her dignity going with it. She was pulled back to the sea edge and thrown down into the shallow surf. She closed her eyes tightly as hands roamed her body, rubbing and kneading her skin and her most intimate parts in some bizarre attempt to cleanse her. She was violently ill, the vomit floating on the surface of the water as the gentle waves pushed it forward to the sand and then drew back. The brown, hard-looking men just laughed and made obscene gestures, their greedy eyes devouring her breasts and naked buttocks.
25
THE DREADFUL screams haunted me into the night. I sat on top of the ridge, completely paralysed, my hands around the tree trunk, knuckles white. Angry as hell but impotent. Thankfully I could not really see what was going on, though I could guess well enough. The men had set up a camp on the far end of the beach. I could make out shapes and shadows moving around haphazardly, thanks to the flames from a huge fire and the pale light from the ivory moon glinting on the water. There was some shouting and laughter. The smell of barbecued meat drifted towards me on the evening breeze. I suspected alcohol was fuelling the obscene ‘party’.
Even from a distance, it was a scene from hell, the flickering flames providing a grotesque strobe backdrop. At times I tried to cover my ears; the distant, anguished cries pierced me to my core. It sounded as if the women were being raped and tortured. I must do something, I kept thinking. But what? What could I possibly do on my own against that number of men? The only weapon I had was a spear gun but what good would that be against so many men? Who were these bastards? Fishermen? White slavers? Pirates? My mind raced with possible plots and plans to rescue the women. But I knew it was a waste of time; nothing could save them now. I just sat there feeling cowardly and frustrated.
At one point, deep in the night, I found myself muttering incoherently: ‘Bastards, bastards, bastards’ over and over, my fists hitting the tree. For the first time in days, I missed Charlie. At that moment, I would have taken it in a heartbeat. Anything to dull the unrelenting horror. But finally, apart from the sorrowful song of the surf, there was a merciful silence. The dying embers of the bonfire glowed dully in the darkness and, exhausted, I fell into a ghastly, fitful sleep, my head full of nightmarish visions.
26
COMING ASHORE at dusk with the two women, BangBang brought a large briefcase from the Crimson Tide. Locked securely and handcuffed to his wrist, it contained his spoils from recent attacks. The pirate did not have a bank account or a safety deposit box. He did not own stocks and shares or property of any kind. Hard cash was the only thing he trusted, or the nearest thing to it . . . like drugs or diamonds. And this uninhabited, unnamed island acted as his private bank.
BangBang decided it was too dark for him to locate his secret cache in the jungle. He would go at first light the next day. For now he was content to relax on the beach and eat the chunks of goat his men had roasted on a spit over the fire, the dripping fat causing the flames to spark and crackle. He didn’t normally allow the crew to drink alcohol but had decided to relax the rule this evening. The men needed compensation for the aborted heist and the maiming of their fellow crewman. Despite many of them being Muslims, they liked to drink alcohol. And, of course, they liked pussy. It was a masterstroke to kidnap the two bule bitches, he thought to himself with a smile. They would raise more than the men’s morale. He chuckled. With a bit of luck, his crew would be happy as pigs in shit tomorrow and they’d forget about the crewmate who had died from blood loss after he had chopped his arm off. Then we can all concentrate on the big job ahead, he thought; I’ll give them the good news in the morning.
He didn’t drink alcohol himself – not because of religious beliefs, he had none – he simply didn’t like losing control. He’d got drunk a few times when younger and he’d nearly killed somebody in a psychotic rage. So tonight, he watched some of the men play football in the dying light while others started on the women. Even naked and tied up, the women didn’t excite him sexually but the spectacle of their humiliation and degradation amused him greatly.
Sucking on a clove cigarette, his thoughts turned to the communication he’d received a short time ago from his Chinese masters – a big heist in five days time. The syndicate had, as usual, managed to place one of their men on the crew of an oil tanker in Oman. This spy was now relaying critical information back to his bosses about the ship, its route and the captain and crew. If he screwed this job up, his chances of survival would be even worse than those of these two western women. The cigarette suddenly tasted bad and he spat it out.
27
IT WAS not shame she felt. After all, she had no control over what was being done to her. It was their shame. Their depravity. She felt humiliation, yes; pain, yes; rage, definitely; hate, absolutely. But shame did not enter her head. In fact, somewhere in her delirious state, her spirit resolved that she would not let this affect her permanently; she would not let it define the rest of her life. If indeed she was to have one. The chances are that I’ll end up like Martin and Gary, she thought dully. Murdered and left to rot. Hot tears flowed as she realised: I’ll never have children. Never fall in love again. Never be the person I always wanted to be.
The pirates had thrown her roughly onto an old, stained square of crinkled tarpaulin smelling of petrol and dog piss. Her hands, already tied, were looped around a stake driven into the sand behind her head. Dani’s arms were also looped around the same stake but her body was spread-eagled in the opposite direction.
Soon after the initial shock and horror of the relentless violation of her body, Annie ceased feeling the pain and anguish, her mind mercifully shifting to a different plane; the stinking, sweating, grunting animals swarming over her did not reach the core of her spirit. They hit, bit and spit on her, scratched and ripped; pinched and punched. They abused her body but not her soul. Her faith continued to comfort her: Dear God in heaven, help me get through this ordeal with my life and my spirit intact.
Hot bitter tears squeezed out of her tightly closed eyes; she felt like a rag doll being torn apart by a pack of rabid dingoes, drooling, dribbling, snapping and snarling. She was dimly aware of Dani keening like a wounded animal; Annie knew that the younger woman was the main target for the brutes. Later she would feel immense guilt that, at the time, she had thanked God for that small mercy.
Occasionally, as she drifted in and out of consciousness, she wondered dully what the pirates would do with them once their lust had
gone. One part of her didn’t care. But another part cared very much indeed. She wanted a life. She wanted to give life. Children. A home. Love. God help me, I will survive.
The nightmare continued until she completely blacked out. Her tortured mind mercifully shrunk down to a tiny, dark recess that no one but her could reach.
28
BANGBANG ROSE stiffly from his beach mat. Brushing grains of sand off his clothes, he stretched, muscles creaking in the pale, growing light. He looked out of his crude tent. The sea was calm but he knew the tide would come in soon. All around, he saw bodies lying inert on the beach, exhausted from the night’s debauchery. The two white bitches had served their purpose, he thought with satisfaction. The fire, once red-hot and roaring, was now timid, little trails of smoke still rising from the grey–black stain on the white sand. He rubbed his eyes then lit a Gudang Garam – the first of a hundred he’d smoke that day. He coughed harshly and spat out a gob of phlegm. Clutching his battered briefcase, he began to make his way to the far corner of the beach where the volcanic rock rose up and the sand kissed the fringe of palm trees.
Despite the fact that he’d walked this way many times there was no clear trail. BangBang had been careful to minimise any physical signs that might lead someone else to his secret stash. He always took a different route and did his best not to damage any of the vegetation, although it was impossible to be a hundred per cent perfect. He comforted himself with the thought that if any crew member were stupid enough to try, he would meet a sudden and savage death.
The Scoop Page 9