They finally turned into a quiet street and Karen turned the car into a large, almost empty courtyard surrounded by three-storey buildings. A couple of blue and white cars were parked close to the main building and a much larger vehicle stood against a wall in a corner. “This is really weird!” she exclaimed, stopping the car.
“What is?” Blaney could detect nothing out of the ordinary, given that he found nothing in this city ordinary.
Karen looked at him. “This is the main city police station, right? Where are the cars? The people? The city is in uproar because of you and your shipmates. This place should be buzzing.” She pointed to a corner of the yard. “See that door over there.” “That’s the charge room where we saw your friends enter on TV.”
“Good,” said Blaney. “Shall we go in?”
Karen looked hard at him, biting her lower lip. “OK, but remember your promise. I know you’re up to something. I don’t know what it is, but you worry me. As far as I’m concerned we’re going to ask if we can see your men. If they say no, we’re out of here.”
“Certainly,” said Blaney, not meaning it. He felt absolutely confident he could handle any eventuality in this place. Ice coursed through his veins, as it did when he went into battle. He felt indestructible.
Karen looked at him for a long time before she spoke. “Take this,” she said, reaching behind her for a small black bag with a strap. Blaney was surprised at how heavy it was. “Put it round your neck. I’ll say you are my photographer.”
They stepped out of the car, Blaney delaying his exit to look at Karen’s legs. Her scent was also strong in the car and he took a deep breath before he got out. Walking past the large, black vehicle in the corner, they approached the CHARGE ROOM door.
“I can’t get over how quiet it is,” said Karen. “Something must have happened.”
Good! thought Blaney. Perhaps something else was going to happen.
MARSHALL
“No, he’s definitely not here!” insisted Bob Jackson.
“Are you absolutely sure?” asked Bill Marshall. It was a waste of time, but the question had to be asked.
The old car park attendant sighed as he addressed the younger man. “Of course I’m bloody sure! The bloke that knocked me down must’ve been six foot three. I haven’t been able to sit down since.”
Nodding sympathetically, Marshall cursed inwardly. The old man only confirmed what Hargreaves had told him. The ringleader was still free.
The two men stood in the makeshift morgue in the foyer of a Cray Street office building. All the bodies were neatly laid out in rows. The RRS commander looked across the room. What a complete balls-up! Only three people survived the massacre and one of them, Philip Gardner, the gun club attendant, was not expected to last the day.
Marshall saw his career pass before his eyes. There was no chance of surviving this one. Heads would roll and his would be first. He’d been too casual, too trusting. Jesus! If only Howell hadn’t called in the helicopter ... He could only hope the policeman would find the missing villain and tie up the loose ends. Giant men with long, flaming red hair were not exactly common.
He noticed Jackson was still standing beside him. “Thanks. You can go now.”
The old man nodded. “You watch out for the giant. He’s a bad ’un.” Jackson walked out of the building.
The giant is not my problem any more, thought Marshall.
Sean Howell opened the door and held it for Jackson before entering the building. His face was white and Marshall knew he was shaken by the morning’s events. He did not like the man, but felt he understood him. Besides, he was too tied up in his own thoughts to provoke another argument.
“We’ve had some news on the wild man,” said Howell. “A barber in Oxford Street gave him a haircut just over an hour ago. He was there with two mates, all of them in suits. They tied the barber up and gave him a crack on the head, but he’ll be OK.”
Marshall shook his head incredulously. “You mean the bastard is out there wandering around with a flash haircut and a smart suit? Fucking marvellous.” He laughed without humour.
Howell was not impressed by the reaction. “It’s not your concern now. Your boys have been ordered home and they want you at Central immediately. The real police are taking over.” He had a smug look on his face.
Resisting the urge to ram the younger man’s teeth down his throat, Marshall forced a smile. “Well, I hope you can control your men this time. I can hardly wait for the ballistic reports. It’ll be really interesting to see how many police bullets killed the hostages.” He turned on his heel and strode to the door, pausing briefly to look back at Howell’s furious face. “See you at the inquest.” Marshall walked away, but he felt no satisfaction.
TRAVIS
The sea was grey and choppy outside the harbour, reflecting the massed banks of cloud gathering close to shore. The sun shone clear of the storm as though trying to outrun it and Midshipman Tommy Travis sat on the coarse grassy bank of North Head enjoying the warmth, his jacket and shirt steaming as they dried on a rock. He gazed out to sea, so tired that every now and again he dozed off and woke with a start.
The ferry trip to Manly had given him cause to think gratefully of the old couple who gave him money. It was his only stroke of good fortune so far. The walk to North Head would have taken a day, judging by the maze of intricate inlets along the harbour shores. As it turned out, once in Manly the walk had been easy to the pleasant spot he now occupied.
I hope Lieutenant Blaney was right about the Fortune, thought Travis. Sydney frightened him and he yearned for the creaking timbers of a ship. For a young boy, the city appeared fascinating, yet it was also hostile and overpowering. He was chased by three boys when he walked through Manly, eventually outrunning them down a side street. And two uniformed men had eyed him suspiciously before he reached the open fields.
Shading his eyes, Travis saw the billowing clouds had hardly moved all morning. They hung offshore in the southern sky like an ugly crimson curtain. He suspected Blaney would want to sail back into the storm aboard the Fortune – if she survived – a prospect filling him with trepidation. It could hardly be any worse than their stay in Sydney, however. He wondered what would have happened if he had not thrown the lantern during the battle on the Marlin. Perhaps they would all be dead. Or perhaps they are all dead, he thought. Blaney, Cross, Kite. And the men. Travis could be alone, the only survivor. The thought made him shiver.
Suddenly, something on the ocean caught his eye. A flash of reflected white sail miles out to sea, almost insignificant against the foot of the clouds. He hardly dared hope, yet his stomach lurched and he jumped to his feet. “Fortune?” he whispered.
KAREN
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, thought Karen as she stepped into the police building. Walking next to her, Blaney was like a coiled spring. His arm muscles were rigid and his eyes darted around, missing nothing. The fixed grin on his face could not mask his nervous excitement.
A sensible person would turn around and run like hell in this situation, Karen told herself. But she was fascinated. And she was a reporter. By bringing Blaney here she had stepped over the boundary of danger into stupidity. This was news creation. Blaney was a gentle man, she was convinced of that. Yet something lurked beneath his civilised surface, a primal energy easily controlled yet just as easily unleashed. He was releasing it now, had been for the last few minutes. She could see it in his movements, almost smell it in the air. Gone was the easy, almost goofy walk, replaced instead by lithe, deliberate steps. Like a lion about to pounce. She felt like she was in the presence of an inevitable force and she had an unbearable yearning to see him in action. When was the last time she felt like that about a man? Oh, yes. Never.
Karen’s mouth went dry and she experienced that heady feeling when she knew she had had one drink too many. In her work she often had to stretch the letter of the law, but never break it. Yet now she was on the verge of crossing that line. This acceptan
ce filled her with exhilaration. Is this what he feels? she wondered.
She looked at Blaney’s face again and saw confidence, purpose and… ruthlessness. God, he looks so handsome like that.
They entered the office – Karen seemed to be floating on air – a small room with a counter, three desks on the other side. A police sergeant sat at one of them. The others were unoccupied. He rose from his seat as they entered and Karen saw he was in his late forties, shaped, as many police his age, like a bowling skittle. “Can I help you?” he asked.
He smiled at Karen, but his eyes narrowed when he saw Blaney and became more guarded. She answered quickly. “I’m Karen Jamison of the Express.” She handed over her card, but did not introduce Blaney, leaving his camera to do the talking. The sergeant relaxed a little as he read the card.
“It’s very quiet,” said Karen. “I thought you guys would be run off your feet today.”
“Tell me about it!” said the policeman. “Everyone’s gone off to the shooting. We caught up with the armed men from that ship. Didn’t you hear?”
“No,” answered Karen, surprised. “What happened?”
“Ask your editor,” said the sergeant, amused by her ignorance.
Karen laughed. Smart arse! she thought. “Look, we’re here to get something on the other men you’re holding. The ones picked up in Cremorne.”
“No, sorry. There will be a statement issued later.”
Through all this Karen wished she could see Blaney behind her. She could sense his tension in the room. She did not have long to wait.
“If you go to the press office,” continued the sergeant, “they can give you the latest information. It’s round the corner to the...”
As the sergeant lifted his right arm to point, Blaney leapt the counter, grabbed the policeman by his outstretched elbow and pushed. The sergeant tripped over Blaney’s foot and fell to the floor, out of Karen’s line of sight. Blaney ducked out of view too and stood up almost immediately, the sergeant’s pistol in his right hand.
Karen was stunned by the speed of the movement. A shock wave travelled through her body and she had to steady herself against the counter. Oh my God, she thought, I’m well and truly in the shit now!
Blaney smiled at her briefly, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Get up and face the wall,” he said to the sergeant. His voice was controlled, pitched lower than normal and thoroughly confident. The policeman did not hesitate to obey. “You too,” Blaney said to Karen. “Behind the bench. Sit in that chair. If you move I will shoot you.”
Karen was speechless. Blaney turned to her, away from the policeman, smiled again and winked. Christ! He’s actually enjoying himself! She did as he said.
Blaney told the sergeant to turn around and put the gun to his face. The Lieutenant’s arm, Karen saw, was as rigid as a statue. “Where are they?” he asked.
“Downstairs.”
“Very well. Take me.”
Karen watched entranced. The shock was wearing off, but she prayed the sergeant would not try anything. She was certain Blaney would kill him.
Blaney beckoned her as he pushed the sergeant to an internal door near the corner. “You go ahead. Quickly!” She went ahead of the policeman into a short corridor leading to a flight of stairs. At the bottom was a metal door.
“Is there another guard inside?” asked Blaney.
“Yes,” answered the sergeant.
“Listen to me very carefully,” began Blaney, placing his gun to the back of the policeman’s neck, “if we do not get through that door I will kill you. If we do get through you, and your colleague, will be safe. You have my word.”
The tone of Blaney’s voice told Karen he meant it. Her heart was racing. She was both impressed and horrified at the same time.
The sergeant nodded and Karen was gratified to see he remained perfectly calm and sensible. He knocked on the door. Footsteps approached from inside and a small grille opened high on the door. Blaney saw it in time and stepped sideways, at the same time pushing the sergeant closer to the door.
“Oh, hello Sid,” said a voice from the opening. A bolt opened and the door swung inwards.
Blaney threw himself through the opening, using Sid as a battering ram. Karen followed them in and found Blaney standing over the two policemen. It was more a corridor than a room, with solid cell doors along each wall. Blaney took everything in at a glance. “Lie face down and put your hands over your heads.” Both men obeyed and Karen saw the second policeman was in shock.
“Mr Blaney?” The voice came from one of the cells.
Blaney grinned. “Henry!” A cry of delight rose from several of the cells.
Karen shrank back against the wall. What the hell have I let myself in for, she thought.
Blaney picked up a bunch of keys from a desk and threw them on the floor near the two men. “Open the cells holding my men,” he commanded. They got up and opened the doors, allowing men to stream out. Blaney shouted orders at them and the two policemen were dragged roughly into a cell. “Do not hurt them,” he ordered sharply.
Then Blaney approached Karen and took her arm. The grip was like a vice and she winced. His eyes were wide with excitement. “Your offer of help did not include this, Karen, so I have no right to ask you to continue. I can lock you up here if you wish.” He paused. “But I will ask anyway. We will not get far without you.” He looked deep into her eyes. “All I can promise is that whenever we are seen I will ensure you appear to be my prisoner and I will testify as such should we be captured. Will you help us?”
Karen thought hard. As a reporter she could not imagine a better story than this. As a woman she could not bear to see anything happen to Blaney. The thought startled her. Stick to your journalist’s instincts, Kaz, she told herself sharply. After that there was no contest. “I’ll help.”
Blaney’s grateful smile was worth it, though Karen had not finished. “Promise me, though, that you will not hurt anyone.”
The smile faded. “That is not a promise I can make. I must protect my men.”
Karen compromised. “Well, at least try not to, then.” Her words sounded so ridiculous she laughed.
“I agree,” said Blaney, becoming businesslike. “Can you drive the big carriage outside?”
“Yes.”
“Move it to the door and wait for us.”
Karen ran to the stairs. She had never felt so alive.
BLANEY
Christopher Blaney turned away from the stairs with considerable relief. Karen’s support gave them a chance. The crew of the Marlin gathered about him, their faces happy and eager. His eyes sought out Kite, who was pushing through the men. “Where’s the Captain, Henry?”
“Thank heavens you are safe!” cried Kite, gripping and pumping Blaney’s hand. “The Captain is not well, Mr Blaney. I believe he may have been beaten.”
Anger surged through Blaney’s body. How dare they treat a King’s officer in such a manner! He ordered Bosun Briggs to take a party of men upstairs to secure the door, but told them not to leave the building and then followed Kite back to his cell.
Cross lay on a bunk, one of many, in the large room, which reminded Blaney of the crew quarters on the Marlin. The Captain was on his back, deathly pale and barely conscious. His eyes were open, but they were blank and dull. “Is that you, Kit?” he asked weakly, stretching out a frail arm.
Though it seemed much longer, it was only a matter of hours since Blaney had seen his Captain. But in that time it seemed as though Cross had aged twenty years. His illness had accelerated alarmingly since landing in the wretched city. “Aye, sir, it is I, come to free you.”
A smile came to the Captain’s lips, a brief reminder of the man he had been. “I knew you would come!”
Blaney released Cross’s hand; there was no time to dwell in this place. “Mr Kite, arrange for the Captain to be taken upstairs. We must act quickly.”
In the hall, Blaney quickly explained the situation to the men and order
ed silence until they were safely away. Leading them up the stairs he felt sad. A few dozen men were all that remained of his crew, but he was determined that no more would die.
KAREN
Twisting in her seat, Karen looked out of the police van window to see Blaney appear in the building entrance. He looked ridiculously handsome in his new clothes. Is that why I’m doing this? she asked herself, because I want him? That could be part of it, she thought, but the other considerations were more relevant. Blaney was using her, which was fair enough. Karen was using him. The story was growing in significance minute by minute. All she hoped was that she did not have to file it from a prison cell.
Only five minutes had elapsed since Blaney sent her to the van, but it had seemed an eternity. All was quiet in the car park and only a few vehicles passed the entrance. Karen’s heart was in her mouth as each approached.
She watched Blaney wave the men out of the building. They looked healthy and well fed and even clean, she noted with surprise, as they jumped into the back of the van. Even the police must have found the smell offensive, she thought with a laugh. Danger was beginning to agree with her.
She heard the door slam and almost immediately Blaney climbed into the cab next to her, accompanied by another man. He was younger than Blaney, with a long, aristocratic face and wore clothes similar to the ones Blaney wore originally.
“Did you need a key, like your own vehicle?” asked Blaney, looking as though the thought had just struck him.
“Of course,” answered Karen, indicating the key she found already in the ignition. She started the engine and the van throbbed noisily beneath her. Blaney’s companion gripped the dash as they lurched forward. It was going to be a rough ride until she mastered the gears. “Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” she asked, feeling incredibly calm. It must be because I am back on familiar turf, she thought. In control.
Blaney looked at her confused, then enlightenment dawned. “I am most dreadfully sorry. Karen Jamison, this is Lieutenant Henry Kite, acting second officer of HMS Marlin.”
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