The Boy and the Battleship

by Christopher Cummings

  All the way his mind conjured up sickening images of Cindy in the clutches of some sailor. “They will probably be in some hotel room,” he decided. Even with his limited experience he had heard that was how it was done. But which hotel? And how would he find out? That slowed him down. Suddenly the search looked hopeless.

  In spite of that he resumed pedalling as fast as he could. His plan was to search the area around the wharf to begin with, then the streets closest to it. On arrival at the main entrance to the wharf the first thing he saw was the crowd of demonstrators and the Pullfords’ car.

  Graham stopped to one side and scanned the crowd. There appeared to be about thirty people only, most sitting in groups. A few banners and some placards were propped against the fence. The only person he could recognize was Pondorski. To Graham’s relief there was no sign of Thelma or Janet.

  Graham had not really expected Cindy to be there. From across the street he watched Mr and Mrs Pullford questioning the demonstrators. They will soon find out she is not one of them, he decided. I’d better move. So he rode off along to the ornamental garden where he had seen Cindy with the French matelot. No sign of her. Scorching memories made him feel insanely jealous and annoyingly aroused when he viewed the seat where he had seen them. These emotions were then replaced by scarifying guilt and the urge to save her.

  Spurred by this, Graham rode quickly around the Yacht Club and along the waterfront walkway past the marina and hotels. They are probably in there, he thought. But it was obvious he wouldn’t even get in the door, dressed as he was, so he rode on. With every passing minute he became more and more upset and sick. His eyes roved everywhere, hoping desperately he would spot her. He did a lap of the main block. Several white sailor suits attracted his eyes instantly but they had no girl with them. Another flash of white showed down at the end of the block: a sailor with a girl; but it was a huge African American sailor with an Aboriginal girl.

  Feeling increasingly frustrated and desperate Graham rode on around the next two blocks. By then he was starting to sob and tears trickled unnoticed down his cheeks.

  He turned from Spence Street into Sheridan Street. Being a Sunday afternoon there was very little traffic and only a few pedestrians. There was no sign of Cindy anywhere. Then Graham got another shock. Just ahead on the right was the Police HQ. That made him pause.

  I’d better tell those security men what I think, he decided.

  It took some courage for him to pull up and walk in. He felt very small and was acutely conscious he looked like the original grubby urchin. A very large sergeant looked down at him over the front desk.

  “What do you want?” the sergeant asked.

  “Can I please see Mr Cartwright or Mr Baxter?” Graham asked. He licked his lips nervously.

  “Who are they and who are you?” the sergeant asked.

  “They are the two security men looking after the American warships,” Graham replied. “And my name is Graham Kirk.”

  The sergeant shot him a penetrating look, then turned and spoke into a telephone. “Wait there,” he ordered. Graham stood, feeling very dirty and insignificant. The urge to run was very strong.

  After a few minutes a plain clothes policeman Graham had never seen came out of a side door. “Who wants to see Mr Baxter?”

  Graham put his hand up. “Me sir.”

  The plain clothes man frowned and looked him up and down, a sneer barely concealed. “What for?”

  “It… it’s about the Stonefish,” Graham replied.

  “Stonefish? What on earth is that?” the plain clothes man replied.

  “If you don’t know I probably shouldn’t tell you,” Graham replied. “I should only tell Mr Cartwright or Mr Baxter.”

  “They are not here at the moment. You had better tell me and I will contact them if I think it is important enough. What did you say your name was?”

  Graham told him again. He was led through into a room and seated at a table. There he outlined his story to the policeman. As he described his theory about the Stonefish a look of obvious disbelief crossed the man’s face. When Graham finished he was told to wait and the man went out. A wall clock told Graham it was now almost 4pm.

  I shouldn’t have wasted my time, he thought. I should have kept on looking for Cindy. This bloke doesn’t believe me.

  A few minutes later the plain clothes man came back and told him Mr Cartwright was on his way. Graham sat and fidgeted under the scrutiny of the policeman for 20 minutes. As he waited he began to get upset and restless again. Once he asked if he could go and the man said he should wait. Graham suspected that it was within his rights to just walk out if he wished but did not have the courage to put it to the test; or even to ask.

  At last a very grumpy Mr Cartwright arrived. “This had better be good kid. You have dragged me out of my afternoon snooze,” he growled.

  Graham swallowed and proceeded to tell him his idea about the Stonefish. As he spoke Graham was interested to see that Cartwright’s reaction was very different. He tried to pretend he was bored but Graham got the impression that the security man was in fact intensely interested.

  When Graham finished Mr Cartwright asked: “And do you have any fresh evidence on which to base this wild theory?”

  Graham had to admit he did not. “It just came to me while I was reading the article in the magazine sir,” he replied. He again had to describe the magazine and how he had read it.

  Cartwright made a face indicating disbelief, but his eyes were alive. “If that is all then you can go. Now, remember what I told you this morning; don’t talk about this to anyone. We don’t want this sort of rumour circulating causing alarm. Just go home and keep out of things.”

  “Don’t you believe me?” Graham asked, annoyed at the man’s offhanded manner.

  Cartwright made another face and looked at the other policeman. “Well, it does sound pretty far-fetched; and you have fed us a line before. Just go home. We will look into it.”

  Graham was shown out. He seethed with anger at not being believed.

  Well bugger you! he thought. I had better get on with looking for Cindy.

  The thought crossed his mind that she was probably home by this time but as he mounted his bike he saw the Pullfords’ car pull up at the kerb and a glance showed no Cindy inside. They hadn’t seen him so he pedalled quickly off in the direction of the wharf. They haven’t found her. They must be going in to report her missing to the police, he decided.

  That lent new urgency to his search so he rode quickly along to Wharf Street and left along it past the main gate and the small crowd of demonstrators.

  Once again he pedalled through the park and past the Yacht Club. Next he rode along the walkway beside the marina, his attention half on Metcalf’s yacht. It appeared to be deserted. Ahead of him two people came down the steps from the hotel: an American sailor in white and a girl in a very short skirt: Cindy.

  Graham skidded to stop in front of them. Cindy glared at him and went very red. She opened her mouth to speak and the sailor looked mystified. Graham spoke first. “Cindy, your mum and dad are looking for you. They are at the police station now. Quick, go home!”

  Cindy shut her mouth with a snap. She paled and swallowed. The sailor looked at her quizzically. After a moment Cindy asked: “Do… do they know where I’ve been?”

  Graham shook his head. “They think you’re with the demonstrators.”

  The sailor became angry. “Those trouble-making shits!” he snarled. “Why don’t you piss off kid?”

  Graham shook his head. He was scared of the man but stood his ground. “Because I am here to look after Cindy. She is only fifteen Mister. You are in deep trouble if you aren’t careful.”

  “Fifteen! Holy shit! Why you lying little bitch! You told me you were seventeen!” the sailor cried. He stepped away from her, aghast.

  “What about my money?” Cindy shrieked. She looked frightened but very determined.

  The sailor shook his head. “Be stuffed!
I ain’t paying you money in front of witnesses,” he replied; confirming Graham’s worst fears about what Cindy had been doing.

  “Pay her or I’ll tell,” Graham said. “I’ve just come from the police station and her parents are there now.”

  The sailor blanched. He was a nice looking young man of about twenty. Graham studied the red and black badges on the sleeves of the sailor’s white jacket, wondering what they meant, while the sailor dug out his wallet and hastily peeled off notes to give to Cindy. As he did so, Graham was distracted by seeing people emerge onto the deck of Metcalf’s yacht: Metcalf and Mellish.

  Graham said, “Quick Cindy. Go over and join the demonstrators in front of the main gate to the wharf. Tell your parents you went for a hamburger or a milk shake or something. Say that you have been with them all the time,” Graham said.

  “You won’t tell?” Cindy asked anxiously.

  “No, but only if you promise to stop doing what you are doing,” Graham answered.

  Cindy blushed and tears sprang to her eyes. Sniffling she nodded. “I promise,” she replied.

  The sailor shook his head and strode quickly away. Cindy stayed with Graham for a moment, her head hung in shame. Graham was moved to hug her for comfort but was repelled by the thought of what she had been doing. Standing that close he could smell that she had just had a bath. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Mellish came striding along the pier from the yacht.

  He said he was collecting the Stonefish this morning. I wonder if he did? Graham thought. As the man got closer Graham said, “Cindy, stay with me for a minute please. Pretend we are lovers. I don’t want that man to see me.”

  Cindy looked around while Graham turned his back. Then Cindy moved beside him and put her arm around his shoulders, shielding his face. “Why?” she asked.

  “Tell you later,” Graham muttered. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Mellish went out onto the roadway. As soon as he was out of sight Graham released Cindy. “Get going and join the demonstrators at the wharf, quick! I will see you later,” he said.

  An idea had come to Graham and he acted on it. I will follow him. He might lead me to the Stonefish. Then I will have some real evidence for Cartwright. Then he will have to believe me, he thought.

  Without waiting to see if Cindy acted on his instructions Graham sprang onto his bike and pedalled along to the roadway, just in time to see Mellish getting into a battered old brown station wagon in the car park. That made his spirits drop.

  I won’t be able to follow a car, he thought glumly.

  But he tried. As Mellish drove off he followed. Mellish turned left onto Wharf Street and drove along past the main wharves. As Graham pedalled rapidly past the group of demonstrators, he looked to see if Thelma or Janet were there but saw no sign of them. Mellish’s car drew rapidly away and soon vanished from sight around the bend at the railway crossing. Graham kept on pedalling and was rewarded by seeing the car turn left at Draper Street.

  He’s heading for Portsmith. I wonder if his boat is there? Graham mused. The idea fired him to keep on pedalling, ignoring his pounding heart and gasping breath. Within a minute he was at the Draper Street intersection and went round to the left. He raced on as fast as he could ride, past the Naval Base and the Navy Cadet depot, then right into Cook Street and past the Bulk Sugar Terminal.

  There was almost no traffic on the road but no sign of the brown car. On arriving at the next intersection Graham had to think fast. He might have gone to the Trawler Base. I’ll just check, he decided.

  Turning left he pedalled the short distance to Smiths Creek. At the car park there he stopped and looked.

  Yes! There was the brown car. And there was Mellish, walking out along the first concrete pier between the moored trawlers. Graham dumped his bike against a garden bed and ran over to the seawall to watch.

  Mellish went to where a small, grubby trawler was moored alongside the end of the pier, Pelican Pride, proclaimed in faded painting on the soiled stern. Mellish jumped down and was met by another man who emerged from the wheelhouse forward of the clump of nets and booms which comprised the fishing gear. The two men spoke for a while then Mellish walked with him to the stern. To Graham’s intense interest Mellish hauled up a tangle of nets and then a canvas cover and bent to peer underneath.

  I wonder if the Stonefish is under that? Graham speculated.

  Mellish dropped the covers back into place and the two men stood talking. Graham sat down on the rocks of the retaining wall where he could see but was hidden by another trawler’s gear. After a few minutes both men climbed up onto the wharf and walked back along it. That put Graham into a quandary. Should he run, or hide? He chose to just sit and pretend he was fishing.

  Out of the corner of his eye he watched the two men. To his relief they did not walk towards the car park but turned the other way and vanished into the small cafe beyond.

  They’ve gone to the shop. This is my chance! Graham told himself. Heart pounding with excitement he sprang up and walked briskly towards the end of the pier. I don’t think Mellish knows me at all so I should be safe, he thought.

  As he hurried along the pier Graham looked around. Upstream the Wewak was moored alongside the next wharf. I will just say I am off the Wewak and waiting for someone, he thought.

  Within a minute he was standing on the end of the pier looking down at the untidy deck of the trawler. Close up the trawler looked even dirtier, the decks filthy with muck and grease and the sides streaked with rust. She was a typical small trawler: bow raked high, small deckhouse with wheelhouse at the front, masts and rigging, then the stern half taken up by the working deck for fishing. The hold was covered by a tangle of nets and a tarpaulin. It was this which interested Graham the most. He stared down at the shapeless heap.

  Will I risk a look? he thought. His heart was now pounding furiously and his throat went dry. What will I do if they come back? he worried. Then he shrugged. I will just run away or escape by diving overboard.

  One quick glance around confirmed the men were still in the shop. Before he had really considered what he was doing Graham had scrambled down onto the trawler’s deck.

  In five swift steps he reached the pile of nets and canvas. He reached down and lifted. It was very heavy and he could see nothing except some timber baulks. Must be on the other side, he thought. Quickly he strode around to the outboard side and grabbed the edge of the tarpaulin. He lifted it and let out a gasp.

  “Yes! The Stonefish!”

  The thing lay there in a wooden frame, a shiny cylinder about 4 metres long and 1 metre in diameter. To Graham’s surprise it was bright yellow, with a black nose cap. The one in the picture in the magazine had been orange. He shrugged and bent to examine it more closely.

  As he did a noise alerted him. He froze in fright as a door banged open at the side of the deckhouse and a man came out to hurl some scraps over the side. Graham stared in horror as the man swilled water around in the pail he was carrying.

  I must hide. He will see me! But where? There was only one place. The man was only 5 paces away and would see him at any moment if he turned. In a flash Graham had dropped flat and rolled in under the tarpaulin against the frame of the Stonefish. He heard the man walk towards him and his heart pounded so hard it sounded like drums in his ears. He tensed for discovery. The mine felt very cold and smooth against his skin.

  The man padded by on bare feet and did something at the stern of the boat. Graham could hear him scraping something but did not dare lift the canvas to risk a peek. Go away! he thought desperately. But the man didn’t. He scraped and banged at something metal, all the while muttering obscenities. Minutes dragged past and Graham became really worried. What if Mellish returns?

  Then his fears were realized as he heard voices and the thump of people jumping down onto the deck. Mellish had returned with the other man! Graham broke into a sweat and tensed ready to run. To his annoyance and consternation the men stood talking nearby. The topic was spare
parts for a pump, which didn’t interest Graham in the slightest.

  Then Mellish said, “Ah! Good! Here’s Steinwehr.”

  The men moved away and Graham heard more muffled voices. Steinwehr! The mad American! I’d better get out of here. He is sure to want to see the Stonefish, Graham thought. He moved to slide out from under the tarpaulin, thinking to slip over the side and then swim in under the wharf and along to the next trawler. But before he could move he heard footsteps and the tarpaulin was suddenly lifted.

  Graham found himself staring into the astonished faces of four men, one a thin man wearing sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt.

  Mellish gasped and cried: “What the bloody hell?”.

  Chapter 38

  MELLISH

  For a stunned instant Graham stared up at the four men. Then he tried to rise. Before he was even half way up Mellish slammed him back to the deck by thumping his boot onto his chest.

  “What the bloody hell! Who are you?” Mellish demanded, his boot still firmly on Graham’s chest. Graham lay, winded and bruised, so afraid and surprised that for a moment he was quite unable to speak, even if he had wanted to.

  Mellish lifted the boot and slammed it down again. “Hey! I’m talkin’ to you kid. Who are you and what are you doin’ here?” he demanded, his voice a harsh grate. Graham met the man’s eyes and shook his head. Anger began to replace the surprise and fear that had initially shown on Mellish’s face. Once again he lifted his boot and rammed it down hard, the heel grinding against Graham’s ribs painfully. “Answer me kid!”

  Graham again shook his head. At that Mellish looked quickly in all directions. “Get him below out of sight,” he snapped to the two men in dirty old clothes. They bent at once to seize Graham by the arms. At that Graham opened his mouth to scream.

  “Help! Help… ugh!”

  Mellish kicked him hard in the face, loosening several teeth and slamming his jaw shut with a painful snap. One of the men clamped a hand over his face.

  “Gag the little bugger,” Mellish ordered.