by Jack Dey
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Chapter 16
Draper’s Chrysler drifted to a stop in the courtyard car park of Krueger’s sprawling mansion and as he gazed at the opulent building, a valet met him at his door and opened it with the intention of parking his vehicle in the space allocated to visitors and complying with the staunch rules of Krueger’s estate. Escorted to the luxurious main entrance, a bell sounded in the foyer alerting the butler to the presence of a visitor. Met by a toffy nosed attendant in suit and tails, Draper scornfully glanced up and down the man and then announced with as much pomp as his gaudy background could offer.
“Provincial Legislative Commander Robert Draper of the National Shipping Board to see Mr Krueger.”
“Yes, sir; this way, sir,” the butler led Draper into a cavernous foyer and then into an impressive library. “Please wait here, sir, and I will announce your arrival.”
Draper traced the library’s grandeur with a coveting eye and wondered what it would be like to have this kind of wealth, until moments later, Krueger strode into the library.
“Commander, what do I owe for this unannounced and hopefully welcome visit?”
The two men shook hands and Krueger motioned for Draper to sit in a very royal looking lounge chair. Opposite and facing Draper, Krueger lowered himself into another lavish armchair with Draper staring at Krueger, deliberately extending the silence and hoping to study the man’s demeanour, searching for signs of duplicity.
“I had a Captain Jonathan Lewis in my office yesterday.”
Krueger shifted in his seat, unimpressed and waited through another extended pause for Draper’s punch line, becoming annoyed at the obvious game. “I don’t follow your line of thought, Mr Draper. Is Captain Lewis supposed to mean something to me?”
Draper scrutinised Krueger carefully for his reaction and withheld his next piece of information just long enough to build an observable suspense. “Captain Lewis claimed that he had had a near collision with a cutter entering the Barrett Passage two days ago. Allegedly, the cutter almost rammed his vessel, forcing the man to take evasive action and avoid a collision.”
Krueger huffed, becoming tired of Draper’s game. “Surely this is your business, Commander. I don’t see how I am connected...”
“The vessel's name wasn’t completely visible, but Lewis is determined, and his crew back him, that the name of the cutter he had to avoid was none other than Rebellious.”
Krueger jumped to his feet, his mouth hanging open. “I don’t think this is amusing, sir! Rebellious has been missing for three months and if you have information on how I can recover my property, you had better be forthcoming!”
“I’ve given you all the information I have, sir. I was interested to ascertain whether you could furnish me with any further detail,” Draper’s accusing jowls slapped in a frenzied flutter.
“What are you implying, sir? Do you believe I am a felon complicit in the disappearance of my own vessel?!”
“Lewis’ report was convincing, Mr Krueger, backed up by official log entries and crew testimonies. Put yourself in my position, sir. The crash of '29 put a lot of businesses into jeopardy and Rebellious was insured for a goodly sum, was it not, and a disappearance blamed on Black Dean and tight schedules fits into a plausible perfect crime. What else can I deduce, Mr Krueger? Lewis’ story is the work of a ghost ship?!”
“I don’t know what you are to deduce, sir, but coming here and accusing me of a serious crime may cost you your job!”
“Steady on, Mr Krueger. I am supposed to ask these types of questions in an official investigation. My superiors will back me up when I explain the circumstances.”
“I have nothing else to add to your... investigation, Commander. Reeves will show you out,” Krueger started for the library door.
“You’d expect that if a ship was purportedly missing, the captain wouldn’t risk being identified by sailing into the very area he was supposed to have disappeared from,” Draper rebuked, lifting his flabby frame from the lounge chair.
With his back disrespectfully turned to Draper, Krueger paused at the library door, listening with disdain to Draper’s closing remark, then flicked his head in a final act of defiance and continued walking.
*~*~*~*
Unimpressed with the accommodation, Desapo had had an uncomfortable sleep in the flea infested hotel room and to top it off, the food was even worse. If these rich men want me to risk my life and my crew in an impossible construction job out over some barbaric hole in the ocean, then they haven’t put their best foot forward... the price just went up another couple of thousand! Desapo moaned.
Wandering the streets of Lightning Harbour in a search for decent accommodation, Desapo scoured the landscape, trying to determine the extent of available supplies offered locally. His not-so-longsuffering crew were even more particular when it came to living arrangements and food, especially if the job was going to take any length of time.
He’d considered long into the night what the group of local businessmen were asking him to do, but Desapo hadn’t built a lighthouse before and needed to do some research. Neddy, his brother, on the other hand, had built one out of stone in another part of the world based on the shape of an oak tree. Wide at the bottom and tall and skinny toward the peak, with a 360 degree light window right on top. Off the coast of France and constantly subjected to storm force winds and monster waves that threatened to swallow it, Desapo admiringly smiled... just like Neddy, it defiantly stood in the face of storms, year after year.
Wandering along the dusty sidewalk overlooking the harbour, Desapo happened upon a tidy building and when he peered up at the sign gracing its exterior, he read... Lightning Harbour Hotel. Welcome and come right on Inn. Desapo strolled up to the doors and glanced inside, surprised to see how clean and tidy it appeared. Stepping into the welcoming foyer, he sensed an immediate feeling of homeliness, something his men would be looking for.
“Good morning, sir, and welcome to the Lightning Harbour Inn. My name is Gustav.”
“Is that a name or a disease?” Desapo’s lip curled up in a mock smile.
Without missing a beat, Gustav replied, “I have pondered your question with all sincerity and have a physician’s testimonial to corroborate my musings.”
“Huh?” Desapo stared back, confused.
“I do believe it is a name, sir,” Gustav mimicked, his lip also curling up in a mock smile. “Do you seek accommodation, sir?”
“I may be bringing my crew here for a job that will take a year or two and I am looking for somewhere decent for them to live and eat. I’ve been staying at the Lightning Strike and it’s a flea bag.”
Gustav gasped in horror. “Who would do such a thing to a visitor to Lightning Harbour?!”
“I believe his name is Pike,” Desapo quipped, feeling another couple of thousand about to be added to the estimate.
“Wallis Pike...! N-o-o, you must be mistaken, sir!” Gustav reflected. “He’s quite the genial man and I’d be more inclined to attest his parsimonious behaviour to his unparagoned superior, Mr Krueger. Deary me, listen to my sesquipedalian tongue. If I should excogitate, I would certainly attribute Mr Krueger to be saxicolous.”
Desapo had no idea what Gustav was talking about and to distract his ravings, Desapo asked to see a room.
“This way, Mr...?”
“Desapo.”
“This way, Mr Desapo.”
Gustav waltzed proudly through the establishment, pointing out this and that, confident his prospective client would find everything to his approval and to Desapo’s surprise, Gustav’s inn was pleasantly clean and inviting.
“I’ll be coming back here, Gustav, tonight, so save me a room.”
Gustav’s face lit up with pride. “Of course you will, sir, and of course I will.”
“Where can I find a work boat to lease, Gustav?”
Desapo’s question broadsided the hotelier for a few moments, but when he came up with a blank, another convincing huddle of tang
led spelling tripped over his tonsils. “There are many enervating companies along the waterfront that would consider any work offered fortuitous.”
“Can’t you speak normally, Gustav?!” Desapo bellowed.
“I am sure you will find what you are looking for, Mr Desapo.”
Desapo peered up at the clock above Gustav’s head. It was close to midday and Pike had assured Desapo he would be outside the Lightning Strike at 1300 to take him to a boat which would deliver him to view the jobsite, but he had one more stop to make before he met with Pike.
Desapo ambled up and down the nearby waterfront, looking for a suitable work vessel to lease. Finding exactly what he was looking for tied up to a mooring, he asked around until he was directed to the owner. When Desapo told the owner he intended to build a lighthouse over Black Dean, the man and his companions gasped and then broke into serious belly laughter.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 17
Searching the dark horizon, Captain Lewis’ expression remained grim as he stood in the Riviera’s swaying bridge, pondering a less than satisfactory situation. Glancing to the clock mounted above the helm, it appeared the time-keeper could sense the trouble also, with its arms appearing to tremble back a warning... 1800. With a powerful searchlight probing the rolling darkness, Lewis conceded the distinct walls of the Barrett Passage should have been sighted by now.
“Barrett Passage dead ahead, sir,” his first mate cried out, interrupting his thoughts.
Lewis’ features relaxed at the announcement, following the mate’s pointing arm. Although the vessel’s searchlight followed a small amount of antagonised water churning over the passage walls and giving an indication of the hidden danger, Lewis considered if they had been another ten minutes later the passage would not have been visible at all. Agreed among maritime travellers, Barrett Passage was more dangerous traversing the channel from Lightning Harbour, rather than going into Lightning Harbour. A vessel could use the tip of Contention Island, aligned with the point of the bow to maintain the centre of the dangerous crossing and avoid the rocky walls. But nothing availed or aided a captain to line up with on the seaward side, except keeping a close look out.
“Slow to half,” Lewis commanded.
The Riviera slowed her pace as she entered the passage, with the bridge becoming a nervous hub. Many extra crew were called from other duties to maintain watch, hoping to pick their way through the unfolding drama. In a feverish round of searching, one tense moment followed another until a cry came from a lookout located on the bow deck. The lookout pointed furiously at a swirling mass and turned to face the windows of the bridge to make sure they had seen his warnings.
“Black Dean dead ahead, Captain,” the first mate tore open the tension slowly building to a crescendo in the vessel’s bridge, and as the searchlight focused on an impossibly violent maelstrom, Black Dean’s mood seemed aggressive and angry.
Black Dean’s turbulent water’s covered the full breadth of the channel, much larger and more intense than anyone could believe, with its terrifying pull already affecting the Riviera’s hull, gaining speed and racing toward the hungry mouth of the juggernaut.
“Hard to starboard!” Lewis bellowed, hoping to break the pull of Black Dean and skirt along the rocky passage wall.
Lewis watched the first mate swinging the wheel to the right in a feverish attempt at breaking the hold of the current pulling them straight into Black Dean’s death grip. The Riviera shuddered as it struggled against Black Dean, becoming a war of wills... man against beast.
“All ahead full,” Lewis bawled again, with obvious beads of sweat forming on his brow.
Riviera’s power increased noticeably and inch by inch, she was turning toward the passage wall and away from the turbulent mouth, but it was a fine balancing act. If Black Dean unexpectedly let go of the Riviera, the vessel, under full power and hard to starboard, would careen into the rocky wall, tearing open her steel hull and feeding Black Dean’s hungry mouth.
Lewis abruptly ordered hard to port and his mate glanced across at his captain as if he had lost his mind. Turning hard to port would put them directly back into the current again.
“I said, hard to port, Mr Cook. Now!” Lewis’ determined voice echoed across the bridge.
Just as the first mate began steering hard to port, the mouth of Black Dean viciously grabbed the stern of the Riviera, but Lewis had anticipated the tactic, foiling an attempt to drive the vessel under full power onto the rocky walls and smashing it to pieces. As the Riviera shuddered across the turbulent mouth, it appeared the battle with Black Dean had been won. With a huge relieved sigh, the captain once again ordered a decrease in power, steering out of danger and into the dark open ocean.
With the searchlight focused over the stern and glancing back at Black Dean, Lewis wasn’t keen to attempt the raging hazard ever again. He gave a final glance at the violent whirlpool and then extinguished the powerful beam, noticing the walls of Barrett Passage were completely invisible now. The turbulent vortex that had challenged the vessel and had almost taken them, settled back into the darkness and seemed like an innocent part of the endless ocean, waiting to pounce on another victim in another moment of time. Lewis saluted the enemy with three fingers to his hat, acknowledging the worthy opponent with respect. This time they had been lucky, but Lewis would never allow anyone—duke or not—to force him into attempting such a perilous and foolhardy action again.
Silent relief settled onto the bridge until...
“FIRE...! FIRE...! Radio room,” a frantic voice yelled into the bridge.
Plumes of thick black smoke quickly trailed over the fixtures mounted on the bridge ceiling, threatening to overcome the vessel’s control room. Intense red-orange flames licked across the radio room’s roof while crew members coughed and gagged on the toxic fumes, trying to escape the relentless inferno. The suddenness of the onslaught took the crew by surprise, closing passage doors in a bid to contain the fire, but the intensity had quickly burgeoned beyond containment and threatened to engulf the bridge.
Recognising the futility of fighting such a massive outbreak, Lewis ordered a distress call to be sent before they lost radio transmission capability, but it was already too late. The radio was in its death throes, with the smoke and flames now making it impossible to enter the radio room.
Clear of the smoke, a pistol-toting man entered the bridge from outside, standing in the doorway with obvious nefarious intent.
Lewis had never seen this man before. “Who are you?!” Lewis demanded, coughing and trying to see through stinging tears as the acrid smoke built up in the bridge and tore at the back of his throat. Looking into the severely pockmarked face, Lewis saw the man smile.
“My name is Fabian Van den Guys... Captain, Fabian Van den Guys," and then pointed to a ship approaching. “Ahh... right on time. You will please, Captain, shut down your engine. I wouldn’t want any of my crew to get hurt.”
A shot ricocheted off the ceiling as Lewis hesitated. “Next time, I will aim!”
“All stop,” Lewis commanded, realising the man meant business.
The fire began to distress Lewis, thinking of his passengers and crew, hoping he may be able to negotiate with the criminal. “I have to get my crew and passengers to lifeboats or else we will perish,” Lewis choked on smoke, making it difficult to complete his plea.
“I wouldn’t bother yourself, Captain; there’s no escape for you or your vessel. My men are already searching your passengers and will take anything of value, and soon you will be able to enjoy Black Dean once again... from the bottom!”
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Aided by a powerful light, Van den Guys watched from the bridge of his ship as the swirling waters of Black Dean swallowed up the remains of Riviera’s hissing hull and all trace of life. It had taken full power in reverse from his own engine to break the grip of Black Dean, after he had pushed the burning Riviera into its hungry mouth.
Moments later, a cold darkness
settled over Black Dean.
And another perfect crime.
“Until next time, old friend,” Van den Guys saluted his partner in crime and then turned back to his shipmates taking stock of their haul. One of his men had taken a bullet wound to the shoulder as some fancy ranting duke had ordered them off his boat and backed up his demand with a clattering retort from a fancy pistol. However, Van den Guys’ cutthroats had overcome him, bound him to a barrel, laughing heartily as they watched the impudent gentleman float back down the Barrett Passage and disappear into the dark mouth of Black Dean. Van den Guys evil eyes sparkled in the starlight. His informant had paid off well and as he had expected, the passengers were of high standing and the bootie was well worth the trouble of an injured man.
*~*~*~*
When the Riviera hadn’t made the next port and was officially listed as missing, Provincial Legislative Commander Robert Draper was called to investigate. The Barrett Passage and Black Dean were immediately suspected, and being part of Draper’s jurisdiction, the emphasis fell on his shoulders. As Draper checked the Riviera’s sailing plan and departure time he conceded Lewis had been cutting it extremely fine. The tide was an exceptionally unusual event and Black Dean would have been even more violent than usual. If Lewis had come afoul of Black Dean, there wouldn’t be anything to investigate, with time being the only tool Draper had, hoping someone would eventually identify wreckage in someone else’s jurisdiction and take the heat off him.
However, Draper’s flapping jowls had been at work and by day’s end the news of another Black Dean conquest was all over the working dock of Lightning Harbour.
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Chapter 18
Tess thumbed through a tight roll of currency notes that Justin, the duke’s valet, had given her for this month’s upkeep of Lady Katrina. It was a strange notion indeed that rich people didn’t like to be bothered with handling money for menial things. Instead, a trusted servant or in Lady Katrina’s case, her lady-in-waiting, handled all the vulgar details of paying bills on behalf of their plutocrat. Tess threw a worried glance across the hotel room at the sleeping Katrina. Their disguises had successfully hidden their escape from the Riviera, but the hotel clerk had eyed the two women dressed as men with suspicion until Tess had handed over another couple of notes and the misgiving had immediately evaporated. True to form, Lady Katrina had insisted on the best room and at this rate, their money would be gone in days, not weeks, but Tess didn’t share Katrina’s confident faith in her father’s good heartedness and willingness to hand out more money on his daughter's behalf. Replacing the roll of money back in her shoulder bag, Tess pondered what the immature Katrina’s plans may be now they had taken the plunge into Katrina’s adventures. Without money, any thought of fancy hotels along a trail of certain misadventure would soon be checked and reality would raise its ugly head.