Counterpoint

by John Day

The Snake glided rapidly closer to Max, it was not satisfied with just the cap, it wanted the whole man.

  Max kicked something hard with his heel. It was a rusting gun, probably Stephen’s, or the pilot’s; he hoped it would still work. He reached down and grabbed it and aimed at the coiled body of the snake, then pulled the trigger. It hardly moved. Max examined the gun, the safety catch was off, so he tried to cock the hammer; it had rusted up already. Working the hammer frantically, to ease the mechanism, made the snake glide even closer. Max could almost hear the rasping sound of its scales, as its body moved over dead leaves and twigs.

  Dense undergrowth stopped further retreat; the gun had to work now. Click! The shell was Dud! He re cocked the mechanism, ejecting the shell, and a new one slid home. Bang! The gun fired, but the bullet passed harmlessly into the ground. Max fired again as the snake struck.

  The bloody neck struck Max’s leg, and the snake fell writhing in front of him.

  “Wow! Phew!”

  “I missed,” gasped Max, who had aimed at the coiled body, “but it must have actually bitten the bullet,” he laughed hysterically at his stupid joke. Badly shaken, he stepped round the still writhing body, and headed watchfully to the ladder.

  “I’m getting out of here bloody quick,” he told himself and climbed rapidly up into the friendly sunshine.

  Back on the deck again, he listened for the helicopter, though it would not be due for at least half an hour. Only the sounds of the jungle met his ears. He felt very lonely 100 feet up in the middle of this sea of dark green treetops. He lay down; it felt more secure that way, his whole body felt weak and it trembled.

  Having drifted off to sleep in the sun, he woke suddenly. The helicopter was back, but no, the sound was wrong. Then he saw it way off in the distance, a big two-rotor job heading for him. He moved quickly with the box, and hung from the ladder under the deck, hopefully out of sight.

  Max foolishly imagined, if they thought the statuette had already been taken, they would go away. Not so, they had already seen Max on the deck, so they made for it, and ropes were dropped. Looking up into the open doorway of the machine, he clearly saw Philippe looking down. There was no mistake, when someone fires a gun in your face, if you live, you do not forget who did it.

  Tying the box in place, Max aimed and fired at the pilot. He missed, and the pilot veered away, then came back, side on, with two men who opened fire on the deck. Max held his fire until the men started to slide down the ropes. Lucky shots got both of them; their falling bodies missed the deck and fell to the jungle floor. Other men opened fire again, while others slid down. The men in the helicopter stopped shooting, when the rope men were over the small deck, and Max fired into them as they slid down. One fell on the deck, dead; the other fell to the ground. The machine veered away again, and Max checked how many more shots remained; only three.

  The dead man on the deck had a machine gun, so Max made a grab for it.

  Taking it off the lifeless body was not as quick and easy as he thought. He rolled the body over, and the shooting restarted. Back under cover again Max fired a full clip into the open cabin, another body fell through the trees.

  As the helicopter veered off out of range, Max took more ammunition off the corpse. This time the remaining men planned to descend together shooting as they dropped.

  Max aimed at the pilot again, and hit something vital. The big machine went out of control and headed away. A minute or so later the engine stopped, and it dropped like a stone into the trees. Max prayed no one had survived to come and get him.

  The Sikorsky helicopter dropped through the jungle canopy smashing trees and branches on its way to the soft ground below. Apart from the men, shot before the engine cut out, everyone survived the crash. Philippe was like a man possessed by the Devil himself. Yet again, his bitch of a daughter and the old fool with her, had got lucky and walked away with his statuette. Well, that is how he saw it, and nobody on the helicopter was going to argue with him. They also wanted their own revenge.

  Minutes later, Max heard the sound of his own helicopter. He dragged the body off the deck and brought the box back up again. The pilot hovered as a harness was lowered. Max fitted the harness on, tied the box to it, and was winched to safety. Once on board, Max gleefully strapped himself into his seat and relaxed on a journey back to the Ocean Raider. Max looked a mess, blood from the decapitated snake stained one trouser leg, his clothes were torn and stained with sweat and grime, and he had more blood on his shirt from the dead gunman. The pilot and his assistant asked Max what had happened, did he get what he came for? Max just said, he actually got more than he bargained for, and he could not recommend the place for a relaxing holiday. The two men looked questioningly at each other and said no more.

  Back on board the Ocean Raider, no one questioned what was in the large canvas bag, and Max did not say, but had it placed in the vault until Carla came back on board from Malé, after her short stay with Amy and David.

  After dinner that evening, Max gave her a kiss on the back of her neck and said, “Have I got a big surprise for you in the bedroom.”

  “Oh come on, can’t you come up with a better line than that,” sneered Carla, still pissed off with him for not taking her with him.

  “Oh! I am so pleased to see you as well,” Max snapped back, and went down to wait for her in the cabin.

  She felt awful now, she really wanted to cuddle him, and now she had spoilt everything. She followed him down and apologised, putting on her best little girl act.

  “By the way, what is in the bag?” She said.

  “Oh! Just something for your table in the hall, I know you wanted it.”

  She looked oddly at him, and pulled off the bag. “Oh my goodness, whatever have you done? The Organisation will go mad when they find out.”

  “They won’t,” replied Max “I have checked it out with Sam. It’s none of their affair, they said, and they don’t want to know.”

  Carla smiled at the thought of the statuette on her table, back at the hideaway.

  “So that’s what you have been up to, how on earth did you find it?”

  Max circled round behind her and put his arms around her waist, drawing her close and cuddled her, as he told his story.

  ***

  After calling for help on the radio, a rescue party picked up Philippe and his men, ironically they used Max’s platform to lift off. Philippe’s men had no trouble in finding it after the crash; they were well trained and used to the jungle. They had hoped to catch up with Max before his transport arrived, but were just minutes too late.

  Philippe still wanted the statuette, all €6 million of it, so agreed to rehire the men to get it. They could do what they wanted with the old fool, but Carla was his. She would pay for all the trouble, embarrassment, and pain she had caused him.

  After extensive enquiries, Philippe decreed their first stop would be Malé in the Maldives, then find Ocean Raider, and board it. They would then do whatever was necessary to recover the statuette.

  ***

  Max awoke early the next morning and decided to go up on deck to watch the sunrise.

  The air was extremely warm, but fresh. A gentle sea breeze carried the birdsong from the nearby island, adding to the delight of being alive in this paradise. How his life had changed over the last four months, ever since Carla came into his life, that night, on the mountain road.

  He had tasted the danger of being chased by gunmen and escaped. Then there was the luxury home he lived in with her, a beautiful, young and remarkable girl whom he loved, and who also loved him.

  He thought about the dinner-party at the Duke’s home, the man’s charisma, charm and the warm welcome he gave Max, into his world. A world of understated power, intrigue, of immense wealth, and taste of danger.

  A chill went through Max, as the repressed memory of Philippe’s gun, exploding in his face, surfaced in his consciousness.

  The sadness he felt, at the Duke’s murder, and his inabili
ty to comfort Carla, also grieving at the loss of the Duke. Still, he had come through it and much stronger in character, as well. He was also healthier; regular workouts in Carla’s gym, and here on board ship, undoubtedly made a difference. Although forty-six years old, he was probably as fit as an active man of thirty-five and as trim and firm muscled.

  His thoughts turned to how his personal wealth had literally changed overnight, after recovering the diamonds from the wreck. All because of a chance meeting with a hit and run victim, in Malé.

  He remembered his excitement as he planned how to retrieve the wheel, the intensive training he did so he could dive on the wreck, at night. He had always wanted to dive at night, but the secret fear of the dark depths and hidden perils, had prevented him, until then.

  The events of the dive, ran through his mind. Luck was certainly with him that night, he could have died from many causes, resulting in a horrible death from drowning, but he got away with it. His conscience pricked him about the other two divers he murdered, yes murdered! Suppose they had nothing to do with Manuel, suppose they were just having a night dive? Max shifted position; guilt was sweeping over him, at the possibility of the men being innocent victims.

  He forced his thoughts on to his adventure, recovering the statuette, as a present for Carla. He had always considered himself resourceful, and the way he handled things, then, proved he was no dreamer. Getting lost in the jungle, and then the confrontation with the snake, certainly sharpened his instinct for survival. No wonder he had no problem shooting the men in the helicopter, especially Philippe, he deserved to die.

  Now here he was, back in the lap of luxury again, safe and in love. Perhaps he had better quit the adventure bit whilst he was ahead.

  The steward approached him, “Sir, ” he said, “Would you like breakfast on deck or in the dining room?”

  “On deck, I think I’ll have my usual large fruit juice, shredded wheat, and yoghurt. I will also have hazelnut coffee with a dash of cinnamon,” Max added.

  “Thank you, sir,” The steward gave a slight bow. “It will be ready in five minutes.”

  “Yes, this is the life for me, from now on,” mused Max, when the waiter had gone.

  The steward served breakfast, and gave Max a message from the radio room. It was from the laboratory that carried out the DNA test on Amy’s hair. Max smiled as he read the result and then went into deep thought. What should he do now?

  Chapter - Persons of interest.

  The young Cypriot detective looked with interest at the opened up corpse, on the autopsy table. The dead man had already been identified as one of the local thugs, but how did he come to drown, with no fatal physical injury, and fully working dive equipment?

  Preliminary inquiries had shown the man, Jose, and his brother Rafael, had been associated with a man known as Manuel. The brothers were seen, diving on the Zenobia, from Manuel’s hired cruiser. Manuel and Rafael had now suddenly disappeared.

  The pathologist found some bruising on the dead man’s head from a blow with a blunt object. Bruised wrists were consistent with having been held from the rear, and a slight tear at the side of his mouth, possibly the result of his regulator being ripped away.

  Diving accidents were more likely than murder, in Larnaca, but this death was suspicious, so a full investigation was getting under way. The first thing to do was track down the brother and Manuel.

  The airport security revealed they had boarded a flight to Malé. The detective immediately contacted Interpol and police at Malé to follow the trail.

  Chapter - The recovery man.

  In a large office building in Karala, India, a tall, distinguished European man sat at an ornately carved desk. The whole room was filled with art objects of exceptional value from all over the world. He had recently employed Stephen Jackson to deliver the Statuette to him.

  Picking up a ringing phone, he answered curtly. The caller confirmed he would track down the missing statuette, starting from the last known place it was seen, the Ocean Raider. The recovery fee would be $250,000 paid into his Cayman Island account, on exchange.

  The caller had a well-deserved reputation for achieving success with his commissions; his uncanny knack of picking up the correct leads helped him succeed, where others failed. Satisfied, the tall man replaced the phone and continued his work, planning his next acquisition.

  ***

  Max had finished breakfast when Carla appeared. He wanted to tell her that Amy was her twin sister, but thought he should see how she might react to the news, first.

  “You and Amy really get on well together, don’t you?” He enquired.

  “We sure do, I believe we are as close as sisters might be,” she replied.

  “What would you think if she turned out to be a sister or your twin?” Persisted Max

  “What a strange situation that would be,” she replied thoughtfully. ”It would be wonderful to know I had family, but I see her as a friend, a really good friend and in a way, that would end. Then I would have family obligations. I am a loner; I have always had to find my own way in life. With family, there are ties, emotional ties that would smother me. No, I like things are as they are, I can dip in and out of this friendship when I want.”

  Max dropped the subject; Carla was getting uptight about it. Perhaps she secretly hoped she was related, but could not stand the thought Amy might have been loved more than her. Well, whatever the reason, it was his secret, and one better kept, for the moment at least.

  Chapter - Manuel’s revenge.

  “By the way Carla” Max said, “we must get some money to Mrs Bryant and her family, I will try and get a flight to the Greek Island of Poros in the next day or so.”

  Having booked the flight for Saturday, he phoned Mrs Bryant to let her know he was planning to visit her, and had a gift and a message from her late husband. She was intrigued and wanted to know more, but Max said he could not discuss it over the phone, only that he was at her husband’s bedside when he died, and he was honouring her husband’s deathbed request.

  Manuel looked up from the digital phone, scanner, and grinned at Atsoo. He had been monitoring all Ocean Raiders calls from the hired yacht moored close by.

  ***

  Athens was particularly hot that day and the 10-kilometre journey by taxi to Piraeus, to catch the ferry to Poros, was tiring. Both Max and Carla were glad to feel the cooling breeze, off the sapphire blue Aegean Sea, as they waited on deck for the hydrofoil to cast off.

  Max recognised the brown faced, bearded man with his rather stressed Japanese girlfriend, and greasy looking male companion, as the party that sat near him on the flight from Malé. Max often speculated about the lives of fellow travellers, when he was bored with his journey. The three always looked nervous and furtive, and seldom engaged in conversation with each other. The Japanese girl was probably about 22 and tended to cling to the bearded man, who clearly dominated her. Perhaps he was a father figure in her eyes; he was, after all, twice her age. Max suddenly realised how hypocritical his thoughts were, wondering what the young girl was doing with an old man!

  Where did the greasy looking man fit in? The two men were apparently working together, judging by the way they reacted to each other; the bearded man was undoubtedly the boss. They dressed like tourists, but travelled light, no more than a small knapsack each. Another thing that attracted Max’s attention was that apart from the older man, the other two looked familiar, but could not place where he might have seen them before.

  Poros, is typical of many Greek islands, reliant on tourism, where the main town is developed around the harbour. Its restaurants and small shops face the sea and the small white houses, rise up the steep rocky hillside behind. Somewhere, there in the maze of narrow lanes and side streets, was the home of Mrs Bryant.

  Max had phoned ahead from Athens airport, and agreed to meet Mrs Bryant at 5:00pm sharp, outside the Sack of Jewels, a little jeweller’s shop, opposite the ferry landing. Mrs Bryant would then lead them back to
her white terraced house, on the hillside.

  The hydrofoil ferry docked in good time and having spotted the jewellers, the couple went into the restaurant nearby for a long cool drink, out of the blistering sun.

  Max whispered to Carla. “Seems the Three Musketeers that travelled all the way with us from Malé, want to drink at the same restaurant we do. There are a dozen places either side of us to choose from.”

  Carla replied, “Two other men have come here from Malé as well, I am sure they are the police; it’s the way they talk to each other, and watch what goes on. They are interested in the three you’re talking about, I reckon.”

  Checking the time, Max said. “Better drink up, we’ll go and meet Mrs Bryant.”

  Max paid for the drinks, and they ambled over to the jewellers, towing their cases behind them.

  Mrs Bryant was punctual and apprehensive; her tense facial muscles deepened the worry lines on her forehead and around her mouth. She was still an attractive woman, in her early Forties, normal build, smooth, light-brown skin, melty dark brown eyes, and long black hair. She spoke perfect English, with a slight Greek accent. After introductions, she suggested leaving the suitcases at the small hotel around the corner, where Max and Carla could stay overnight. After booking, they went with Mrs Bryant.

  The steep climb up the narrow cobbled streets and stone steps, in the heat, made Max puff a bit, the ladies however, showed no signs of tiring. Carla never seemed to tire, and Mrs Bryant must be used to it, he thought.

  Eventually, they reached her little house. It was deceptively large inside, narrow and deep; the ground floor was on three levels. It was comfortably cool inside and although dark, because of the small windows, they could see it was spotlessly clean. They sat in the living room, whilst Mrs Bryant stepped into the kitchen, to get them cold drinks.

  There was a faint sound of footsteps along the stone passage, coming towards them. Max and Carla looked up in amazement at the brown-faced man who walked in. He was holding his finger to his lips, warning them not to make a sound. The Japanese girl and the other man, pushed into the room as well, looking around them nervously.