by Malcolm Rose
“I wonder who that is,” Luke muttered.
“You believe you saw Bob Beckham on board and he is a systems engineer so he is likely to be the saboteur.”
“Thanks, Malc,” said Luke as the boat approached. “Just work out my best chance.”
“Move one metre and eighteen centimetres to the right.”
Still clinging to the rail, Luke shuffled along. “Okay?” His felt dizzy and sick.
“Your position should be adequate. I will prompt you to jump onto the top of the control room. That way, the distance you fall will be shortened. The cabin roof has a safety bar around it so, if you roll over, you will have something to grip. There is a small ladder attached to the back of the cabin. This will allow you to climb down to the deck. I cannot brief you further because I have no information on the suspect’s precise location.”
Luke could now make out the ripples at the prow of the boat. He took a deep breath. “Thanks. Won’t be long. Wish me luck.”
“I have no concept of luck,” Malc replied. “You will jump in twenty seconds. Do not try to leap out from the bridge. You must aim to drop vertically.”
Luke looked down, beyond his shoes that poked out over the ledge, and gulped. The water was a long way below him – further than the tub of liquid chocolate had been. The height of the auto-barge would lessen the distance he had to fall but he was going to hit a hard surface. He hoped that his nausea was simply the effect of the chocolate. His heart pounded and his head thumped as always. The tension didn’t help.
“Ten seconds,” Malc said coolly. Then he began a countdown. “Six, five, four, three, two, one, now.”
Luke let go of the handrail and jumped down. He tried to tell himself it was just like leaping feet-first into a swimming pool. But this time he knew that his landing wouldn’t be cushioned.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Luke felt a dreadful jolt to his ankles, knees and hips as he clattered onto the wooden surface. He couldn’t help crying out in pain. His already-injured left leg felt the impact most. He tumbled over and crashed onto one elbow but, remembering Malc’s advice, spread his arms. He didn’t topple from the turret because his right hand slammed against the railing and he held on tightly.
For a moment, he didn’t attempt to get up. He felt like a rag doll, battered and mistreated. But he didn’t experience the unrelenting pain of a broken bone. He could move his white-flecked shoes. Steadying himself by clinging to the handrail, he got back onto his feet and staggered towards the ladder.
He didn’t know where Beckham was but he could see Malc keeping watch, perched high on one of the crates towards the stern of the boat. If the Heather Man was inside the control room, he would have seen and heard Luke’s daring leap onto the roof. But Bob wasn’t waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder so Luke turned round and went down backwards on sore and shaking legs.
The barge was moving smoothly on the still surface of the canal. The gangway around the cargo was as steady as a running track. Only the passing buildings of Tollerton and a slight vibration told Luke that he was on board a moving boat.
Luke knew that his mobile had not pinpointed Beckham’s whereabouts because he was not coming forward with the information. Malc remained in the position that gave him the best view of the entire cargo boat.
It was tempting to dismiss the idea that Bob was in the control room because he had not come rushing out. But Luke did not turn his back on it straightaway. Beckham could be devious enough to stay hidden inside until he could take a retreating Luke by surprise.
Cautiously, Luke opened the door but did not enter. The small room was deserted. The boat’s computer had been tugged out of its fitting. Wires bared, it was lying on the console. Next to it, the brass plate was inscribed Auto-barge 0147. Almost certainly, the vandalized computer was Beckham’s work and he’d done it so that a mobile aid to law and crime could not take control of the barge. Perhaps he was devious. Perhaps he’d anticipated that Luke would catch up with him.
Luke hobbled slowly down one of the gangways, pausing wherever one stack of crates ended and another began. There wasn’t much space in between but Bob could well be thin enough to be lurking sideways in any of the gaps. Luke also stopped to examine the fastening on every storage unit because most of them were large enough for a person to stow away inside. A broken lock might mean that Beckham was hidden within. Occasionally, Luke glanced towards Malc to make sure that he was still in the mobile’s line of sight. He also noticed that the auto-barge had left the village of Tollerton and was heading through the quiet countryside towards Middlesbrough and Sunderland.
At the end of the first gangway – towards the stern – Luke looked up at Malc. “Nothing so far. I’m going back up the other side.”
“You should know that, beyond the control room, this vessel has a hatch leading to a secure hold below the main deck.”
Luke hesitated. “And what makes it secure?”
“The on-board computer does not allow entry until a code is entered by the legitimate owner at the end of the journey.”
“That’s the computer Beckham’s overridden.”
“Correct.”
Luke managed to smile. “You know, it doesn’t take a genius to work out where he’s hiding. You’d better come with me. I think we’re going below.”
Luke didn’t entirely trust his instinct. On the way back to the control room, he still stopped to check out each gap between crates. But, as he expected, there was nothing. Approaching the prow, he put his head around the corner of the control room. There was no sign of life and the large round hatch was closed.
Almost tiptoeing, Luke walked up to the metal plate with Malc at his side. He knelt down and examined it. A handle in the shape of a steering wheel sealed the door.
“Here goes,” Luke whispered.
He took hold of the circular catch with both hands and began to spin it round and round.
“Not much chance of surprising him if he’s down here.”
After a few seconds, the wheel came to a standstill. Luke adjusted his position and then pulled up the heavy door.
Positioned in the opening, Malc was ready to react to any resistance or assault, but there was nothing to be seen apart from a few steps leading down to a well-lit space. “I will go first,” the mobile said.
“Fair enough.”
Leaving the hatch open in case he had to make a quick retreat, Luke followed Malc down to the deck beneath.
A very large container had been lowered into the secure hold before the crates on the main deck had been stacked on top of the access. Now, the only way in and out of the hold was through the hatch. The large storage unit had been forced open and Bob Beckham stood in its fractured doorway.
Holding one arm up at chest height, Bob opened his fist to reveal a handheld electronic device of some sort. “Do you know what this is?”
Luke glanced at his mobile. “Malc?”
“It is the radio-controlled starter for a pyrotechnic display. Before you jumped onto this boat, I attempted to tell you that its cargo includes a large consignment of fireworks.”
Bob smiled. “Your robot’s right. Someone up north was going to get it. They’d just have to open the crate, arrange the rockets and fountains and all the rest, and press this button. Simple as that. They’d go up in sequence and there’d be a lot of oohs and aahs.” Using his free hand, he pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the opened container. “It’s a very large display. Someone was planning a very big celebration. That’s why it’s in the secure hold, I guess. But there won’t be any oohing and aahing if I hit the button now. The first firework will set the rest off. That’s a lot of explosive detonating at the same time in a confined space.”
“Is this right, Malc?”
“Confirmed. Given the number and type of fireworks in the inventory, I calculate that this vessel would be torn apart by the blast. Within ten metres, human life would be extinct.”
“If I can throw coffee in your face before your
mobile stops me,” Bob said, “I can press this button before it hits me with whatever weapon it’s got. And even if I’m wrong, you can’t risk me falling on it and setting everything off.”
Luke nodded. Turning towards Malc, he said, “Step down from defence mode.”
“Status changed.”
With a grin, Bob pointed at Luke’s head. “Looks like someone’s braided your hair with white ribbon.”
“Why did you do it, Bob?”
“Why did I push you into the vat of chocolate?”
“You know what I mean. The poisoned biscuits.”
He sighed. “Because there comes a stage when there’s nothing left but the capacity to feel pain. What’s the point of that sort of life?”
“The point is, there’s a chance of recovery.”
Bob shook his head. “Not with the ones I helped.”
“Why did you do it like that – with ricin?”
“Because I believe in nature. I like plants. Some cure people, some bring good luck. When medicine extends your life for no reason, castor beans let you go.”
Luke nodded again. “What made you start doing it in the last six months?”
“I didn’t,” Bob answered. “I’ve been doing it for years. Ever since my bone-marrow transplant. Keeping the numbers low. But I made a mistake, made it visible to the hospital’s statistics. You see, there was a rash of people needing me and I couldn’t refuse.” Bob paused, plainly thinking about something else. “I’m sorry about Peter Sachs – after what he did for me. He’s my blood brother, in a way. But I panicked. I tried to blame him. Will you look him up and tell him I’m sorry?”
“It’d be better if you spoke to him yourself. Why don’t you put that controller down and come with me? I could arrange a meeting.”
Bob shook his head.
“You’re not up for murder, you know. Verify that, Malc.”
“Confirmed.”
“It’d be a lesser charge. Assisting or maybe enforcing suicide.”
“What are you trying to say?”
Luke answered, “That you’re not a murderer. You did it with the best of intentions. That’ll be taken into account. It’s not the death penalty.”
“It’s years in prison. To me, that’s as unbearable as leukaemia.”
Ignoring a wave of dizziness and a hammering in his head, Luke took a step towards Bob. “I don’t think you’ll push that button. You didn’t take your life when you were at your worst. You came through it. And, because you’re not cruel, you won’t kill me.”
Bob shook his head. “You’re wrong. It’s my time. By rights, I should be dead already. I’m not letting you lot give me a terminal condition called a life sentence.”
“I’m only an FI,” Luke replied. “Sentencing’s got nothing to do with me. But maybe it isn’t as bad as you think. Maybe just a few years in prison. If you can get through leukaemia, you can get through that.”
“I knew the risks. Now, I’m paying the penalty.” The controller was lying on his palm and he folded his thumb over until it touched the key.
“No!” Luke cried.
“It’s all right,” Bob said to him. “I’ll give you ten seconds. Did you ever play hide-and-seek when you were a kid? I’ll count to ten and you’ve got that time to go and hide.”
Malc stated, “Ten seconds is not sufficient...”
Luke put up his hand to silence his mobile. “I’m not leaving you,” he said to Bob. “Come with me and we’ll talk to The Authorities. I’ll vouch for you. Maybe...”
Bob laughed. “No chance. They’ll ask if I resisted arrest. They’ll ask if I had a go at you. It’ll come out that I tried to blame someone else. They won’t show me any sympathy.”
“You just panicked. That’s all. It’s understandable.”
Luke swayed and his vision blurred entirely. He tried to take another step towards Bob but the cargo hold seemed to spin around him. He staggered and groaned. Unable to stop himself, he leaned over and vomited onto the floor.
****
As soon as FI Luke Harding’s life signs dipped outside of the normal range, Malc called silently for medical assistance. Technically, his forensic investigator was too ill to be capable of handling the case so Malc’s programming required him to surrender control to The Authorities.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bob eyed Luke suspiciously. “You’re ill.”
Luke’s heavy head thumped as if a small angry creature were pounding pitilessly on the inside of his skull. It was even affecting his hearing. The hum of the boat’s engine and Bob’s voice seemed muffled. He struggled to stand up straight. “Maybe I’m allergic to chocolate,” Luke muttered, trying for humour, trying to carry on.
“Big mistake. That’s what you said to me. Coming down here was your big mistake.” His thumb was still poised above the button on the controller.
“It’s not too late,” said Luke. “You can still walk away with me. You can do the right thing.”
“I know what’s right. I’m giving you ten seconds.”
“No.”
Malc intervened. “Forensic Investigator Harding accepts your proposal.”
Astounded, Luke turned towards his mobile. “What?”
“The Authorities require you to leave.”
“But...”
“This is not a request,” Malc said. “It is a demand. The life of a forensic investigator takes precedence.”
Luke’s head spun. The pathetic figure of Bob Beckham appeared to split into two as if he’d generated a twin. Both of the shadowy men seemed to be grasping a remote control for the firework display. Both seemed to be laughing at him. In Luke’s mind, they drifted apart and then came back together as a wavering shape like a grotesque clown.
“Ten seconds,” someone said.
Something more powerful than Malc or The Authorities told Luke that it was time to go. Intuition. His worsening condition wasn’t a hangover from his previous case. It wasn’t stress. It wasn’t something that would go away of its own accord. Intuition told him that he was dangerously ill. He had to get out.
Luke turned, tottered and made for the steps. Dragging himself up by the handrails on both sides, he made for fresh air.
“Six seconds.”
The auto-barge was still cruising peacefully along the centre of the canal. Luke could see little beyond it but a green smudge. There was no way to get onto dry land and run. The distance to the bank was too great. Even if he’d been on top form, it was too far to jump. There was no escape to safety.
Somewhere close, an unemotional voice was giving instructions but Luke didn’t catch the words.
There was only one thing to do. Using his long legs, Luke took off down the gangway that passed as a running track. At the end, instead of slowing to take the corner, he leapt up onto a crate and took off.
In his imagination, he flew. It must have been a split-second but it seemed that he hung in the air for a long time. Then he plunged down. He pitched into the canal as the boat exploded.
All around him, the water seemed to boil wildly. It was alive with surging air and fragments of wood. Buffeted, Luke rolled over and over, totally out of control. He grasped something big and solid but it was wrenched violently from his arms. He felt a stabbing in his side as if he’d been harpooned. There was air on his face and, the next moment, it had gone again. He was staring through rippling water at wreckage coming into and going out of focus.
And then there was silence. He was cast adrift like the rest of the flotsam.
****
A dented Malc hovered over the canal above the floating carnage of the explosion. He did not have the power to flip Luke’s inert body over so that he could breathe. Gently, the mobile pushed him, still face-down, towards the water’s edge.
Luke did not react to his feet touching land. Malc rotated his body until his hands made contact with the muddy bank. It was then that the forensic investigator stirred. Some instinctive desire for life kicked in. His fingers
clenched, his elbows bent and he hauled half of his body up onto the earth. He rolled over, gagged and then breathed.
Malc was about to make for the nearest freeway when he heard a faint voice.
“Tell Jade...”
Luke’s words faded away beyond human hearing. But, with his microphone adjusted to pick up the slightest sound, Malc recorded most of the message.
But that was all. Luke went limp and said no more.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The two doctors stood in front of the light-wall and gazed at the emergency scan of Luke Harding’s brain. The first examined the dark area above the left ear but Peter Sachs had seen enough. Unable to contain his emotions, he turned away from the image of a cancerous growth.
The specialist said, “Well, we’ve caught it early. It’s small, but...”
“It’s inoperable,” Dr Sachs mumbled.
“With conventional techniques, yes.”
Peter stared at him. “What do you mean? Is there another way?”
“Things have moved a bit in the last eleven years, Peter. I want to bring the Institute of Biomechanical Research in. Oscar Hislop’s got an ultrasonic probe that heats cancer cells and kills them in seconds, leaving normal ones alone.”
“I haven’t heard of it.”
“It’s not exactly routine.”
“You mean it’s experimental. It hasn’t been tried and tested.”
The specialist nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean. It’s never been used on a human subject. It works on brain slices.”
“Brain slices. That’s a lot different from living brain tissue inside a living boy. We’re talking about my son!”
The first doctor studied the scan again and then said, “For this, it’s all we’ve got.”
****
On learning the discouraging diagnosis, The Authorities put out an immediate recall for Luke Harding’s Mobile Aid to Law and Crime. “You will travel to your nearest forensic station for reprogramming and reassignment.”
Malc transmitted an abrupt response. “Negative.”