The Scoop

by Terence J. Quinn

  ‘Annie, you should think about this: if we open them, there will be no going back; if those guys come back to the island they’ll know someone tampered with them and they’ll come after us.’

  Annie looked instantly fearful. I could have kicked myself. You stupid prick, I thought, why did you say that?

  ‘I’d rather die than have those animals touch me again.’

  ‘And I’d rather die than have them hurt you again,’ I murmured.

  ‘What did you say?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing,’ I lied, breaking my earlier promise before even a day had gone by.

  ‘Look Annie, maybe we should just pack up and get going right now.’

  To my surprise, Anne shook her head. ‘No! First thing tomorrow morning. If there is valuable stuff in those cases, I want to take it from him. Make him suffer. My God, I’d like to see his ugly face when he discovers it’s gone!’

  It would not be long before we both came to regret that decision.

  40

  ‘DO YOU realise tomorrow is Christmas Eve?’ Annie asked as I steered the tender towards Big Bay. She seemed to have improved both physically and mentally; the outward scars of her ordeal were fading and her inner spirit was beginning to re-emerge.

  ‘Well, let’s hope Santa has left us our presents in the cave,’ I said with a smile. It didn’t feel Christmassy. It was hot and humid and the sun was ablaze above us. I hadn’t really been keeping track of the days. It had been – what? Three weeks since I’d arrived at Rehab Island? Four weeks? The place had lived up to the nickname. I felt better than I had in years. I was sleeping like a burped baby: no bad dreams, no paranoid thoughts at 4 am, no sweaty sheets. Sure, the craving for Charlie was still there, in the basement of my brain, but a new craving had superseded it, one that was beginning to dominate my thoughts and dreams, one that provided a very different brand of euphoria. She was wearing another of my dress shirts, the sleeves cut off, a piece of cord around her middle. Shoes had been a problem. Mine were far too big for her but I’d found a pair of Cody’s old thongs and we’d cut around the rubber heels, contouring them to fit Annie’s small feet. To protect her from the hot sun, she wore a cap, sunscreen and a spare pair of my sunnies.

  We paused briefly to allow her to pay her respects again at Dani’s grave; she stood, eyes closed for a few minutes, her lips moving silently. One thin tear ran down her cheek as she turned to me,

  ‘Did I tell you that that poor girl took the brunt of it? The pirates, I mean. She was younger and prettier. Well, at least Martin thought so. Anyway, she suffered more than me. Those bastards started with her and by the time they got around to me they . . . well, anyway, she didn’t deserve any of it. Those bastards . . .’

  By now her sobs were coming thick and fast, punctuating her speech and making it difficult for me to make out what she was saying. Her face became wet and ugly with pain and sorrow and her body shuddered as she struggled to get the words out. I put my arm around her shoulder but she shrugged it off angrily and walked away. A few minutes later, when she had recovered her composure, we set off through the rainforest.

  I found the rock pool again easily and we quickly made our way to the lava cave entrance. There, Annie hesitated; she told me apologetically that she was a little scared of dark, enclosed places; her experience in the pirate ship’s hold hadn’t helped. But she took a deep breath and followed me in. I had forgotten to tell her about the bats though and the sudden flurry of activity and screeching startled her; she gasped and clung to my arm, her hand claw-like. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘they might poop on you but they won’t harm you.’

  She held the torches while I stood on tiptoe and reclaimed the cases, one at a time. We squatted down and looked at them on the ground, the torchlight giving them a sinister look. ‘Can you open them now?’ Annie asked.

  ‘No, look at those padlocks. I’ll need something strong to prise them open.’

  Transporting them back to The Scoop was easier said than done. Annie was able to carry the lightest case quite easily but one of the other two was very heavy and I struggled to lift it with one hand. That meant a second trip back to what Annie wryly nicknamed ‘the bat cave’ before we finally got all three cases on the tender and made our way back to the lagoon.

  As we broached the entrance to the narrow channel, I noticed that the sun had gone and the temperature had dropped. I felt a few drops of rain on my head. I looked up and grimaced – ominous charcoal-coloured clouds were banking in from the north-east. A big storm was heading straight for us. Ah shit, I thought, just what we need.

  41

  THE STORM had struck the lagoon just as Annie suffered another panic attack. Now she lay back on the bed and screwed her eyes closed. She felt ill. The boat was rocking in the heavy gusts. She put one hand on her damp forehead and pressed it hard; her brain felt like the maelstrom outside, as it raced to make sense of her thoughts and feelings. Earlier that day she had definitely been feeling better, on a scale of one to ten, maybe a six.

  She knew the physical signs of her ordeal had almost disappeared. But looking hard at herself in the mirror, she could see new, deep lines around the corners of her eyes and a tightness around her jaw. I’ve aged, she thought; I suppose violence will do that to you. The tears started again, coursing down her reddened cheeks.

  The crazy thing was that, a few hours earlier, she had thought she had turned a corner. Until they had opened that damned box. It had been like opening old wounds with a jagged knife. They had both been eager to find out what treasures it contained. What secrets and mysteries had the stocky man with the gold tooth been concealing?

  As the rain started to sheet against the windows, Jonno had wrenched off the first padlock with the aid of a steel bar. They were sitting in the saloon, their excitement as tangible as the sultry, swampy air. The first case was sitting on a towel draped over the table. She noticed how Jonno was covered in sweat, his singlet showing dark, wet patches as he strained to twist the lock off. They had looked at each other as it finally flew off and bounced twice on the wood floor before startling Wagga awake from a nap in the corner. Then Jonno put the steel bar down on the seat and lifted up the lid.

  Annie had stood up to get a better look and together they had peered down at the contents. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘That’s my stuff!’ She picked up a diamond ring, then a gold watch, and looked at them as if she could not believe what she was seeing.

  ‘This is my watch! And my engagement ring. Martin gave it to me when he proposed.’ Her words were interspersed with great gulps of air.

  ‘And this is my grandma’s necklace, the only valuable thing she possessed. She gave it to me just before she died.’ She sat back down heavily and bent over, holding the jewellery close to her chest, sobbing hysterically, her thin body racked with emotion. It simply had not occurred to her that her own valuables would be in among the pirate trove.

  Lying on the bed listening to the heavy rain batter the cabin skylights, Annie thought that her heart might burst. The full force of the feelings she had been bottling up since her ordeal flooded out like toxic waste: horror, terror, guilt, fear, remorse, revulsion. Martin. Dani. Gary. She had had a hint of it earlier in the day standing at the girl’s gravesite, that ‘corner of a foreign field’, as Rupert Brooke described it. What a terrible ending to a short, hopeful life. It could so easily have been me, she thought.

  Her feverish thoughts turned to Martin. It still seemed totally unreal that he was gone. She knew she had not properly grieved for him yet. Too wrapped up in your other problems, she lamented. How had it all turned so ugly so quickly? One minute they were relaxing on the Lady Vesper, the next moment their whole world was turned upside down. She would always remember the shock, the sheer paralysing terror she felt. Now, she was overwhelmed by guilt for surviving when the others hadn’t, guilt for not grieving more for her husband, and guilt for having felt no sorrow over Gary’s murder.

  She thought about the night she had agree
d to marry Martin. Typically, he had taken her to a posh restaurant and, after the dessert and before the coffees arrived, he had got down on one knee in front of all the other diners and, in his deep, loud voice, told her he loved her and wanted her to be his wife. Everyone clapped. She had been mortified.

  Martin was nothing like Pascal. Like comparing cheddar and camembert, she often thought. She had met him a couple of months after the tragedy, still feeling bereft. Lonely, heartbroken, unsure about how to continue with life without him; she was anchorless, adrift on a sea of pain. Martin later described his first impression of her as a ‘stray kitten’.

  He was older. A lot older. On the face of it, a can-do, take-charge person who swept into her life and assumed control of it. He cajoled her, bullied her, and wooed her in his rather charming, old-fashioned way. Only later, when the numbness eased and the fog of grief lifted slightly, did she see him for what he really was: selfish, weak and controlling. Okay, she thought sometimes, he’s not really an unkind man – he might have misplaced motives but he does care for me in his own way.

  Her brother Jamie had introduced them – he and Martin both worked at the same bank. Martin, a bachelor, had pursued her relentlessly, turning up on her doorstep regularly with flowers, chocolates and/or a takeaway and a bottle of wine. Her numbed resistance was gradually worn down and, eventually, after only three months, he proposed. Once. Twice. Three times. In the end, she had sighed and dully accepted. Easier in the end to say yes than no, she decided.

  I wasn’t really ready, she admitted to herself now. It was too soon after Pascal. But she had felt all this pressure, the nodding expectations of the other smiling diners, the subtle but constant prodding from her parents, who thought he was a good catch. Put on the spot, hugely flustered, she’d said a faltering ‘yes’. And that was that. Things seemed to move so fast thereafter and, before long, she was married to this man whom she didn’t really know. Then he had basically taken charge of her life. How silly she had been. He wasn’t so bad really, but she had known before long that she didn’t really love him. Maybe if they had had a baby together it would have turned out okay, she thought. Or maybe not. Drying her tears, she closed her eyes and said a little prayer for him.

  Opening the pirate’s case had like been like opening Pandora’s Box. It had brought the harsh reality of her situation back in spades: she was now a widow, her life in tatters and stranded on an unknown island with a stranger, albeit one who had saved her life, if not her sanity. Her thoughts turned to Jonno. She felt calmer.

  He had been incredible. He was kind and considerate, sensitive even. He obviously had his own demons, the drug thing, for example. But he seemed to have that under control. I owe him so much, she thought. And I like his easy way, his vulnerability. She sighed. What was she doing? She couldn’t contemplate being with a man right now. Any man. Perhaps I never will, she thought with a sinking heart.

  When I get out of this, if I get out of this, I’ll get help, professional help. I don’t think I can do this on my own. But right now I just want to go home.

  42

  BANGBANG AND his band of pirates attacked the Caspian Cossack just as the oil tanker’s crew was sitting down to a festive lunch in the ship’s canteen. The rainbow mix of twenty-four foreign nationals – including Russians, Scandinavians, Filipinos and Indians – were taken completely by surprise. Elsewhere on the ship, two officers manned the bridge, including the captain, a burly, bearded Swede called Kristoffer Fredriksson, while another officer was in the engine room.

  The Liberia-registered tanker, chartered by a Japanese company, was carrying a cargo of diesel from Oman to the Port of Nagoya on Japan’s east coast. BangBang had planned the raid precisely for 12.30 pm, when the eighty-metre ship was cruising at just over twelve knots through the Andaman Sea off the coast of Thailand. He had known the crew would all be concentrated in the canteen at that precise moment because the Chinese syndicate he worked for had a man on board relaying intelligence. He had given them details of the tanker’s route, its cargo manifest, crew strength and GPS coordinates. The mole had also revealed that there were no serious weapons on board. Once again, BangBang was grateful for the Triad’s efficient methods.

  Fortunately, this vessel had been easy to board because it was medium-sized and fully laden with 25,000 tonnes of diesel, meaning that it was low on the water. BangBang had directed some of his men, wielding pistols, machetes and assault rifles, to swarm down to the canteen and take the crew hostage. Others had been sent to disable the ship’s communications and navigation systems and take control of the engine room. The pirate leader took the bridge because he knew the captain would be there.

  BangBang had decided to lead the hijack operation personally; he didn’t want any more screw-ups after the last aborted attack. He had no illusions about what another fuck-up would mean: the Chinese sons of bitches would kill him. So now here he was on the bridge of the Caspian Cossack pointing his favourite assault weapon at the fair, curly head of Captain Fredriksson. Another pirate covered the first mate, who was also on the bridge.

  BangBang didn’t know where the diesel would end up and didn’t much care. That’s not your concern, he told himself. He was aware that the crime syndicate could get rid of it easily and quickly: either selling it on the regional black market to pre-arranged buyers or distributing it to illegitimate petrol stations selling cheap fuel across South East Asia.

  His role was simply to act as an enforcer; he and his men were to take control of the ship, secure the crew and take the vessel to a pre-arranged location where the syndicate would have another vessel ready to siphon off the fuel. BangBang was happy to receive a flat fee for his services plus whatever booty he could hoover up on board – like cash and other valuables from the crew and the ship’s safe, plus electronic equipment and anything else that was portable and could be sold down the line. In the past he had been extraordinarily lucky to find drugs, diamonds and even bearer bonds while scavenging vessels. It was a perk of the job.

  He looked up at the tall Scandinavian towering above him. Both of them knew that the captain’s standing instructions were to comply with the demands of any raiders, to forego resistance and do everything to ensure the safety of his crew. That meant no personal heroics. The first mate, however, was a belligerent Russian who wasn’t so pragmatic. He started pushing and shoving BangBang’s crewman, who had prodded him with an automatic weapon. Then he shouted something indecipherable in Russian, his face red, eyes bulging. BangBang calmly turned towards the merchant officer and shot him in the stomach.

  43

  STREWTH! ONE minute Annie and I had been hyped up, desperate to see what was inside the boxes, the next she had disappeared back to the cabin, sobbing her heart out. Another mood swing, I thought, a bit unkindly.

  Because, of course, she was entitled to be fragile. I remembered how crazy I was in the middle of going cold turkey. And that was a cakewalk compared to the trauma she had suffered. I decided I’d better leave her to work things out on her own. Besides, I was desperate to check out the rest of the pirate plunder.

  And so, after Annie had disappeared, I removed the other two padlocks before examining the contents of the remaining suitcases. What I found blew my mind. One by one, I took out each item and put them on the dining table in the saloon, my excitement growing by the minute. Wagga, although spooked by the thunderstorm, did his best to bugger me about by jumping in the cases as I took stuff out. He obviously thought it was a good game.

  When I had finished emptying the contents, I stood back and gazed at the items lined up on the table with a mixture of awe and fear. Mr Pirate Leader will be apoplectic, I thought. No, he’ll be apocalyptic. He’ll want to annihilate whoever has stolen his treasure. And that would be me. I shivered at the thought.

  There were uncut diamonds in little velvet bags, small gold bars, a shitload of cash in all sorts of currencies and denominations, bond certificates, jewellery of different types and values.

 
; Just then Annie appeared at the door. She looked better, her eyes a bit red and puffy, her hair tousled, but she managed a half smile. ‘Sorry about earlier. I just had a little moment but I’m okay now. Bit of a panic attack. I must look a total fright, I don’t suppose you’ve got some makeup stashed away somewhere?’

  Her attempt at a joke was a good sign she was feeling better but then her eyes and mouth both opened wide when she spotted what was on the table, her hand flying to her chest.

  ‘Fucking hell.’ It was the first time I had heard her swear properly. It sounded strange, like hearing the Queen fart. I hoped it did not signal another change of mood.

  Annie hurried over to the table and picked up various items one by one, touching the gold and running the precious stones through her fingers. She held up the certificates. ‘I know what these are,’ she said. ‘Bearer bonds. Do you know you can cash these easily? No questions asked, I mean. They’re almost like cash. Wow, two hundred grand. That is serious money.’

  I whistled appreciatively and picked up some sheets of paper. ‘And look at these documents. It’s hard to make out exactly what they are; some are in Indonesian, some in English, but if they are what I think they are, we might be in serious trouble.’

  ‘Do they tell us who the pirate boss is?’

  ‘No, there’s no sign of any ID.’ I waved a couple of sheets of paper. ‘These are cargo manifests, maps showing proposed shipping routes, destinations and other spreadsheets that I can’t make out. But I’d guess that they all relate to the gang’s next heist or two.’

  Annie’s brows furrowed. ‘But why does that cause us trouble? They’re just pieces of paper. Surely he’ll be more pissed off about the money and the gold?’