The Scoop

by Terence J. Quinn

  And then I saw the little rubber dinghy dead ahead, trapped in the area where the rocky crag jutted out and created the dreaded dogleg. It was about fifty metres short of the ocean entrance. Thank God, I murmured. But when I reached it and looked beyond to the open sea, my heart nearly stopped. A familiar dark, ominous shape was dead centre on the horizon, seemingly motionless although I knew it was probably moving towards us. Bloody hell!

  I clambered clumsily from the kayak to the tender, getting wet in the process. Fingers shaking, I tried the engine. Nothing. Tried again. Nothing. Shit, must be waterlogged or something. Nothing for it but to get back into the kayak and tow the dinghy back.

  When I arrived at The Scoop, Annie took one look at my grim face and burst into tears. ‘Oh my God, Jonno. It’s them, isn’t it? You’ve seen them?’ She squatted down on her haunches, putting both hands together as if in prayer, her fingertips brushing her mouth.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God.’ Her body began to shake uncontrollably.

  ‘I told you we should have left yesterday!’ she screamed, her face ugly. ‘Oh my God, Jonno, we’re dead!’

  I took her in my arms, her tears mixing with the salt water already dribbling down my bare chest.

  ‘Now hold on, I don’t know for sure that it’s them. It could be anyone,’ I said soothingly. ‘And whoever it is might not even be coming here. They could be going anywhere. Let’s not get too worked up until I go and check.’

  ‘It’s them, I know it,’ she said in a tremulous voice, white-faced, tears still cascading down her cheeks.

  Ten minutes later, I had scaled the rocky headland cliff between the lagoon and Big Bay and was sitting, legs astride my familiar tree – the one I had hugged all night during Annie’s ordeal on the beach. I stared out to sea with the binoculars. The water was shining like mercury, heavy and slow. I could see that the smudge on the horizon was closer and the clear shape of a large trawler was emerging. It was definitely headed towards us. I had asked Annie to finish getting the boat ready but moments later I felt her presence behind me, a little out of breath from the climb. ‘Is it them? Are they here?’ she asked in a small voice. I turned to look at her; her face was still white and her eyes were full of dread. ‘Is it them?’ she repeated hoarsely.

  I put my hands on hers. ‘Afraid so. It looks like the same ship. I’m so sorry, Annie.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. How could they have got here in the storm?’

  ‘Simple. It was headed our way. They just tucked in behind it and followed it here.’

  For several anxious minutes we sat side by side on the cliff-top watching in horror. I was conscious of her body shaking as the nesting birds soared and screeched above the tree line; suddenly she leaned over and put her head on my shoulder and her arms around my waist. ‘Oh Jonno, I’ve never been so scared. I can’t bear the thought of being taken by those animals again. We need to leave. Now! Can’t we just take off?’ Her eyes were frantic.

  I shared her fear. We both knew that when the stocky man discovered his stash had been looted, all hell would break loose. He would have his men scour the island for clues as to who took it and, sooner or later, they’d make their way round to the lagoon. If they found us, we would both suffer terrible deaths.

  ‘Annie, even if I can get the little outboard to work, they would see us when we got to the open sea. They wouldn’t know who we were but chances are they’d come after us anyway.’ I checked my watch. ‘Look, it’s nearly 4 pm. Only a couple of hours to sunset. By the time they get to the reef it will be getting dark. That makes it unlikely the pirate boss will go to the cave tonight. And that means they won’t be looking for us. So we have time to come up with a Plan B.’ I tried to sound more confident than I was.

  ‘Can’t we find a hiding place up the mountain?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure, but they would more than likely find us.’

  ‘Maybe we could just leave the treasure on the boat. They might be satisfied with that.’

  ‘Not a chance. These guys would enjoy the sport of hunting us down. The boss guy does not strike me as someone who would turn the other cheek.’

  Being selfish, I also did not want the bastards to get their filthy hands on my lovely boat. Right now it was the only thing I owned in the world. The fact was, we’d have to wait for the right moment to escape. As her silent tears wet my T-shirt, I sat there scheming, buttocks numb, bastard mozzies feasting on my flesh, yet I was also totally alive to her touch, her heartbeat. I could have stayed like that forever but finally I whispered, ‘Okay, I’ve got an idea. Here’s what we’ll do.’

  PART THREE

  Love is not running away or giving up, it is standing and fighting for every moment.

  M.F. Moonzajer

  47

  FROM INSIDE the dingy gloom of the Crimson Tide’s wheelhouse, BangBang scoured the small island’s coastline with his new toy: a pair of Canon binoculars with image stabiliser that he had ‘liberated’ from the bridge of the Caspian Cossack.

  He was exhausted but exhilarated from his labours. After the diesel had been syphoned off, he and his crew had headed straight for their island hideaway, tagging behind a south-easterly storm that was targeting the Mentawai Islands. His powerful glasses picked out the familiar wide bay in the looming dusk. They would be there soon. Too late to go to the cave today, he thought ruefully; pity, he had been looking forward to touching his treasures and depositing his latest spoils. He loved thinking of the individual value of each of his precious items and then adding all the figures up, running the numbers in his head, faster and faster, before arriving at a total sum; it was like a deeply satisfying climax.

  Buoyed by the success of the tanker heist, he was also keen to pore over the blueprints for the next jobs.

  ‘That’s funny,’ he suddenly said, his reverie cut short. He was looking at the far south side of the beach; there was no sign of the two western whores he had buried there. He looked again. The tide was halfway out but even with the high-powered glasses he couldn’t see anything on the sand. The wildlife must have got to them, he thought. They certainly didn’t dig themselves out! He grinned. As far as he knew there had been no outcry, no serious investigation into the disappearance of the four whites and their boat. Doesn’t matter anyway, he thought. There’s nothing to tie me to their deaths.

  He decided he would stay on board the Crimson Tide that night and allow the crew to celebrate ashore. They deserve it, he thought, they did a good job back there. I just hope they do the same in a few days time when we hit the next ship. Otherwise, I’ll have to make an example of another crew member.

  He started shouting orders to the men to prepare the vessel for mooring. They had almost reached the outer edge of the reef and safe anchorage for the night.

  48

  BRIEFLY BACK on board The Scoop to get something to eat and drink, I took the opportunity to double-check that we had enough provisions for the voyage ahead. I estimated it would take us four or five days, depending on the wind and assuming there were no other problems. Then I made sure the dinghy’s outboard was dried out and ready to fire before returning to my lookout post on the cliff-top.

  There, with a heavy heart, I continued to watch the pirate vessel loom larger in the water until the sun finally went down. By then, the sounds of life on board drifted towards me on the fresh evening breeze high on the headland. I heard the coughs of what I assumed to be the skiff engines kicking in. Before long, in the light from a crescent moon, I could just make out vague shapes moving around on the sand before a large fire erupted, illuminating the men’s shadowy figures. At least they don’t appear to have any more hostages, I thought with relief. That would have complicated things somewhat.

  I had asked Annie to stay on The Scoop. She had not wanted to leave my side but I’d insisted. I didn’t want her climbing back down the rock face in the dark on her own while I embarked on my dangerous mission. But sitting here now, I could still feel the exquisite warmth of her arms around m
e. God help her, I thought, who could possibly even guess at the fear she was experiencing now, given what these bastards had done to her? She had told me earlier that she would rather jump off the cliff than be taken prisoner again. And I believed her.

  Soon I could smell hints of roasted flesh in the night air – goat or lamb. It made my mouth water. Hopefully they’ll start drinking as well. I crossed my fingers; the sooner they bed down for the night the better. In the end, it was just before midnight when the last of the revellers went to sleep. Like before, the pirates didn’t bother posting a sentry, which suited me well. The prospect of what I had to do filled me with trepidation but my determination to save Annie from more brutality helped stiffen my spine.

  I stood up, my joints creaking noisily. I had to stretch my legs several times before life returned to them. I went to the lagoon side of the cliff and shone my torch towards the sloop, turning it on and off several times. This was the signal to Annie that I was ready to move and she should be ready to cast off The Scoop’s mooring ropes as soon as I returned. A couple of flashes back at me showed that the message had been received and understood.

  I had never considered myself to be an action man and what I was about to do smacked of James Bond or the SAS. But I could not think of any other way that would help us make our escape. Murmuring ‘Once more into the breach’, I went over the top of the headland and, as carefully as I could in the darkness, made my way down to the beach on the Big Bay side. Despite trying to be as quiet as possible, it felt like the noise I was making would have woken the recently departed, but fortunately there were no signs of stirring from the pirate camp about four hundred metres along the sand.

  The sea was warm and velvet black in the pale moonlight as I slipped into the water at the foot of the cliff and started swimming slowly towards the other end. I was breathing heavily, more from fear than exertion: if even one of the pirates got up to take a piss at the water’s edge, I’d be spotted and the game would be up. I’d be killed and Annie . . . well, that didn’t even bear thinking about. The glowing embers of the pirates’ dying fire acted as a guide and eventually I reached the first of my two targets: a pirate skiff.

  I trod water for a moment, listening and looking for any signs of life from the pirate camp. Not so much as a snore or a fart, I thought with relief. Then, holding onto the skiff’s stern cleat, I fished my small gutting knife out of my pocket and started sawing at the fuel line. It quickly split and there was the pungent smell of petrol. Then I reached over and cut the rope to the small sheet anchor and the little boat started to drift in the slight swell. I gave it an extra shove in the direction of the reef. It bobbed away in the quiet slip-slop of the surf. Again, I waited and watched for any movement from the beach. Feeling quite proud of myself, I swam to the second skiff and gave it the same treatment. I watched both boats drift off into the darkness towards the reef.

  The swim back to the dark, towering headland seemed to take twice as long and when I reached the bottom of the cliff where the white lacy tops of the surf caressed the beach, I was a quivering, shivering wreck. I crouched there for a few moments until I got my breath back. Then I managed to scramble back up the way I’d come earlier and before long I was flashing my torch down at The Scoop to signal Annie. When I finally made it back, she was so relieved to see me. ‘Oh, thank God you’re okay,’ she whispered as she hugged me. The joy on her face made my spirits soar.

  ‘No worries,’ I said. ‘It was a piece of cake.’ I was feeling just a teeny bit heroic. ‘Those murdering scumbags were all dead to the world. But now comes the tricky part.’

  49

  TRICKY? THAT’S putting it bloody mildly, I thought to myself. We have to get The Scoop out to the open water through a difficult, narrow passage – in the dark – without raising the alarm. More like bloody Mission Impossible. For a start, I was going to have to start up the dinghy’s outboard so we could tow the bigger boat through the narrow channel. The pirate camp was some way away and their main vessel even further out but the wind can play funny tricks and carry sound great distances, particularly when there’s water around. I quickly attached the tender to the Berenger’s bow with a rope and shimmied down into the dinghy. We had already pulled up The Scoop’s anchor and untied the rear rope, which had been tethered to a tree. Earlier, I had asked Annie to tie fenders to either side of the sloop to protect it from the rocky sides of the passage. I gave her two thumbs up and said: ‘Okay, let’s get going.’

  By now the moonlight was stronger. I could see outlines without using a torch. My nervous fingers fumbled and it took two turns before the tender cranked into life. Shit, the noise from the little outboard sounded like a Boeing 747 in the night air. I engaged the gear and, ever so gingerly, took up the slack on the rope tethered to the sloop. It had already started to drift to the starboard side. There was a heart-stopping moment when I thought the bigger boat was going to refuse to fall in behind the dinghy but, after a small bit of resistance, we started moving. Annie was at the saloon helm station, her hands tightly gripping the wheel, trying her best to keep The Scoop straight behind me as we crossed the flat surface of the lagoon. So far, so good. Then, just before the V-shaped bow of the tender nudged through the entrance to the passageway, I heard the gut-wrenching sound of distant gunfire. The pirates had woken up! They must have heard the outboard. God knows what they were shooting at in the darkness. Probably just up in the air, I figured. Maybe they thought they were under attack.

  I thought quickly: they can’t know for sure where the engine noise is coming from. They can only guess. Without their skiffs, it will take them some time to figure it out and then they’ll have to come overland to find us. Stomach clenched, I knew we needed to hurry up but I also knew I couldn’t risk it: the small tender’s tug-like abilities were already stretched pulling the sloop’s twenty tonnes. As it was, The Scoop took a bit of a bashing as we pinballed our way through the dogleg in the rocky cleft between the two headlands but, hey, I comforted myself, that was what boat insurance was for. I turned and waved confidently (although I didn’t feel it) to Annie, whose pale, frightened face I could just make out through the window, illuminated by a torch in the saloon. I had no idea whether she could see me or not. Then, after what seemed to be two lifetimes, we came around the rocky outcrop and the moon illuminated the dark open sea ahead. My heart leapt. Yahoo! I screamed in my head, we’re going to make it!

  Just then, something whizzed by my right ear and, a nanosecond later, the noise of a gunshot followed. Fuck me, they’ve already found us! As the tender broached the mouth of the channel, the incoming swell turned the bow up and sideways and it flipped over, the rope tether snapping. I was thrown backwards into the sea, my head narrowly escaping being minced by the thrashing outboard propeller as the upturned dinghy bobbed away. The much heavier Berenger, however, kept coming, its momentum carrying it inexorably through the bumpy water. I had to flatten myself against the cliff-face to avoid being squashed like a bug. As The Scoop came past I grabbed a stern fender and managed to swing my leg up onto the transom. I heard more gunshots but it was dark and the pirates were firing blind. I realised that they were atop the headland and firing downwards, the pale decking and white sails presenting a target in the moonlight. As I clambered aboard The Scoop I had a momentary frisson of fear that Annie might have been hit. I prayed she was all right; I also fleetingly worried that my precious boat would be riddled with holes like Swiss cheese, but then I crouched and ran into the saloon.

  Annie appeared unscathed but terror-stricken, her face tight and white but, God bless her, still gripping the wheel as if her life depended on it. As it did, of course. Shouting to her to take cover, I grabbed the wheel. By now the powerless sloop was running out of steam about forty metres out of the mouth of the channel and the swell was beginning to force our bow slowly but stubbornly back towards the northern headland. As the gunmen continued to strafe the deck, The Scoop was just moments from crashing onto the rocks at the base of the
craggy cliff. I looked at Annie and shook my head. I tried hard but wasn’t able to keep the look of despair off my face. That’s it, I said to myself. Without power, we are totally screwed.

  50

  AS THE swell nudged The Scoop closer and closer towards the rocks, Annie and I were both paralysed with fear, looking at each other with horror and resignation. I think she understood that without the motor we could not drive forward – or back – and thus escape being forced onto the rocks. Her face was a picture of childlike vulnerability and I was suddenly seized by a new determination: we were not going to fucking die like this! I shouted to her to take hold of the wheel and then I ran out of the saloon and picked my way carefully down the walkway to the foredeck as the boat pitched in the heaving swell.

  The bullets from above were still coming fast and furious. As I reached the mainsail, I felt a sudden burning sensation just below my neck, on the left shoulder. I must have been hit. But then more adrenaline kicked in and I forgot about it. Without hydraulics, I had to winch up the mainsail manually; within seconds it was jerking up slowly until the wind caught and the canvas braced with a crisp snapping sound; then I moved to the jib sail and did the same. I moved to the window and gesticulated for Annie to turn the wheel to starboard. She did so and The Scoop seemed to give a shrug and come to life; I gave a mental cheer as the boat started to ease away from the cliff. With a shout of triumph, I put two thumbs up to Annie but then saw her ducking in the gloom as a bullet smashed through the ceiling. I made my way quickly back to the saloon and took hold of the helm. ‘We might just bloody make it,’ I shouted happily.

  I spoke too soon. I heard Annie scream a warning and I felt rather than saw a shadow behind me. Turning, I saw a dark figure lunge towards me with a machete. A pirate must have jumped into the water from the cliff-top and managed to scramble on board.