Coatsworth and Mercier were off on his port side, about a hundred yards away and slightly ahead of them. Mercier waved. Bell didn’t want to take his hands off the controls so he shouted over at Rainey to wave back. Coatsworth pushed the throttle forward and the rib began to pull away. Bell took a look over his shoulder to check that his passengers were OK. They were huddled together in the middle of the boat, hanging on to the guide ropes. ‘Hold on tight!’ he shouted. The Iraqi woman hugged her son and whispered something into his ear.
Bell turned back to look ahead of the rib. The boat was smashing into the crests of the waves as it powered through the water. He had to grip the wheel tightly and his hand was vibrating on the throttle.
Coatsworth had already got close to full speed and his rib was planing over the tops of the waves, cutting across them like a knife. The rib was designed to lift above the waves once it reached fifteen or sixteen knots. There was a tilt lever on the steering wheel that changed the angle of the propeller relative to the hull and Bell adjusted it before pushing on the throttle. The massive engine roared behind him and the boat leapt forward. The moment it passed sixteen knots the juddering stopped and the boat planed across the top of the waves. Bell continued to move the throttle forward – twenty knots, thirty knots, forty knots. The night vision glasses protected his eyes from the slipstream but the wind was bitterly cold against his exposed skin.
Coatsworth’s rib was several hundred yards ahead of him already and by the look of it had reached full speed. He wasn’t worried about losing sight of the other rib as the GPS display was guaranteed to keep him on course. All he had to do was follow the dotted line on the display and it would take him straight to their destination on the Suffolk coast.
Bell pushed the throttle as far as it would go and the vessel’s speed steadily increased. Fifty knots. Fifty-five. Sixty. Rainey shouted something but his words were lost in the slipstream. He shouted again and then pointed ahead. Bell saw what he was pointing at, a clump of something, rubbish or vegetation, about eighty yards ahead of them. The rib would probably cut through whatever it was but Bell didn’t want to risk damaging the hull or the propeller so he steered the boat hard to port and missed whatever it was by yards before straightening up again.
The throttle was in the full-on position and Bell placed both hands on the wheel. It kicked and bucked as if it had a life of its own.
After almost two hours skimming the tops of the waves, Bell finally saw the coastline ahead of them. Rainey was handling the steering. They had taken it in turns; the wheel bucked and kicked constantly and steering was so tiring they rarely managed fifteen minutes before having to hand over control.
‘Can you see the other boat?’ shouted Bell above the roar of the outboard engine.
Rainey shook his head.
Bell wiped his goggles with his sleeve and looked at the GPS screen. They were bang on the dotted line that led to their landing point. He looked up again and scanned the sea ahead of them but there was no sign of Coatsworth’s boat. He took a quick look over his shoulder. The passengers were all shivering. The Iraqi woman was clutching her son to her chest. Tears were streaming down her face but Bell couldn’t tell whether they were the result of the cold wind or whether she was crying.
‘I see him!’ shouted Rainey, pointing off to the starboard side. Spray splashed across Bell’s goggles and he pushed them up on to the top of his head and squinted into the wind. With no navigation lights, Coatsworth’s rib was just a black smudge in the water and it took Bell several seconds to see it.
‘He’s stopped,’ said Rainey.
‘Cut the engine,’ said Bell. He took out his mobile phone as Rainey brought the throttle back to neutral. The rib slowed and began to toss and turn in the waves. They were close enough to land to get a signal and he called Coatsworth. ‘Where are you, I can’t see you?’ growled Coatsworth as soon as he answered.
‘About four hundred yards on your port side, behind you,’ said Bell. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘I don’t see any lights on shore, I’m going to call my guy. You stay put.’
Coatsworth ended the call. Rainey looked across at Bell. ‘What’s happening?’
‘He’s waiting for the guy on shore.’
‘Can you take over the driving, I’m knackered,’ said Rainey.
‘No problem.’ Bell’s phone vibrated in his hand. He’d received a text message from Coatsworth. ‘TALLY HO!’
‘We’re on,’ said Bell, pushing the throttle forward. He took the rib up to ten knots. Coatsworth was already moving towards the shore.
A light flashed on the beach. Three short flashes. ‘That’s them!’ shouted Rainey.
‘Do you think?’ said Bell.
The shore was close now, a couple of hundred yards at most. The rib was perfect for smuggling operations, it could go into shallow water where most other boats would run aground. But where it really proved its worth was when it came to landing on beaches. The propeller could be lifted out of the water and the boat could run right up on to the beach. It didn’t need a harbour or a dock, any flat stretch of sand or pebbles would do. And once the boat had been unloaded it was a simple matter to push it back into the water and head off again.
Rainey moved to the stern, ready to lift the outboard. On Coatsworth’s rib, Mercier was doing the same. The light flashed again, about halfway up the beach.
The rib was rocking from side to side, making it hard to control, so Bell increased the power. Ahead of him Coatsworth gunned his engine and the rib leapt towards the shore. Mercier pulled the outboard towards him, lifting the propeller out of the water as the prow of the rib touched the sand. The rib’s momentum carried it on to the beach. Mercier leapt out, ran to the prow and tugged at a rope there. Coatsworth started urging his passengers to get on to the beach. A man in a Barbour jacket and green wellington boots hurried over, and once the passengers were all on the sand he helped Mercier drag the rib on to the beach.
Bell twisted around. ‘Here we go!’ he shouted at Rainey, and Rainey flashed him a thumbs-up. Bell pushed the throttle to the halfway position. The engine roared and the rib surged towards the beach. A wave broke under the hull just as the boat began to move and the prow pointed up at the stars and then just as quickly dipped down. Bell pulled the power for a second until the bow was back in the water and then he blipped it again. The propeller bit and the rib rode another wave. When the prow was ten feet from the water’s edge he pulled the power and put both hands on the wheel and concentrated on keeping the rib facing head-on.
The rib hit the sand and almost immediately Rainey was by Bell’s side. He jumped on to the beach and grabbed the rope at the prow. ‘Right, everybody off!’ shouted Bell.
His passengers undid their seat belts, took off their life jackets and clambered over the side. The Iraqi woman was struggling with her son so Bell held the boy while she jumped over the side. He handed the boy to her and then helped the woman’s daughter.
The man in the Barbour jacket jogged over to help Rainey pull the rib farther up the beach.
The passengers gathered together on the beach, splitting into nationalities. Bell climbed out and joined Mercier and the man in the Barbour jacket. The three of them gave the rib a final tug up the beach. ‘What happens now?’ Bell asked the man.
‘He’s new,’ Rainey said to the man in the Barbour jacket. He was in his sixties with long grey hair tied back in a ponytail. ‘This is Derek, he handles the transport to London,’ said Rainey.
Derek held out a gloved hand and Bell shook it. ‘Andy,’ said Bell. ‘He’s right, it’s my first run.’
‘First of many, hopefully,’ said Derek. He gestured up the beach. ‘I’ve parked the coach on the other side of the dunes there. Any problems, Frankie?’
‘Sweet as a nut,’ said Rainey. ‘I’ll get my bag.’
‘Good man,’ said Derek. He walked over to the passengers and held out his arms like a shepherd trying to control his flock. ‘Everyone, please mov
e up the beach, the coach is waiting for you.’
Mercier walked across the sand, repeating Derek’s instructions in French and Arabic.
Coatsworth jogged over to Bell and Rainey. ‘Frankie, give them a hand getting them on the coach,’ he said.
‘I was just going to get my bag,’ said Rainey.
‘Get them on the coach first, I don’t want to hang about.’
‘OK, OK.’ Rainey walked over to the Iraqi woman, who was struggling with her son and her suitcase. He grabbed the case from her and headed after Derek, muttering under his breath.
Coatsworth grinned at Bell. ‘How easy was that?’ he said.
Bell nodded. ‘Is it always plain sailing? No pun intended.’
Coatsworth slapped him on the back. ‘Always,’ he said. ‘It’s a milk run, every time. You see how easy it is, now? We can do two runs a night without breaking a sweat.’
A beam of light blinded Coatsworth and he threw up his hands to shield his eyes. ‘What the fuck?’ he shouted.
They heard shouts from the dunes and more beams of white light cut through the night sky. ‘Border Force!’ shouted a man. ‘Stay where you are!’
Bell heard a woman scream but his eyes were blinded by the lights and he couldn’t see who it was. He ducked down, blinking. More than a dozen figures in black overalls and yellow fluorescent jackets were running towards them.
Two of the Somalian lads started to run down the beach, their feet kicking up sprays of sand behind them. Five of the men in fluorescent jackets ran after them. Bell couldn’t help but smile as the pursuers were overweight and didn’t have a hope in hell of catching the Somalians.
A group of passengers had almost reached the dunes and they were surrounded by Border Force staff. More men in fluorescent jackets were heading their way. Off to Bell’s right, a woman screamed.
Coatsworth reached inside his jacket but Bell put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t even think about it, Ally,’ he said. ‘You fire that thing and they’ll throw away the key. Same as shooting a cop.’
Coatsworth glared at Bell, but then nodded. ‘Aye. You’re right. Worst I’ll get is a few years for trafficking, maybe not even that.’ He tossed the gun into the rib behind him and raised his hands.
The woman screamed again off to their right. Bell used his hands to shield his eyes. Rainey had picked up the Iraqi woman’s child and was holding his knife to the boy’s throat. Three big men in fluorescent jackets were advancing towards him but they stopped when he pressed the knife harder under the boy’s chin. ‘One more step and I’ll kill him!’ Rainey shouted.
‘Shit,’ hissed Bell. He looked around. While there were more than two dozen Border Force staff on the beach, he couldn’t see any police and more importantly he couldn’t see any police with guns.
Mercier turned and ran, heading for the dunes, but he was quickly brought down by two big men. One of them straddled him and used plastic ties to bind his wrists as Mercier cursed them in French.
Bell hurried over the sand towards Rainey. The three Border Force men were standing about ten feet away from him, clearly unsure what to do. Bell looked around but there was no one obviously in charge.
‘Frankie, don’t be stupid, mate!’ Bell shouted.
Rainey kept his eyes on the men in front of him. The boy’s mother charged towards him, her hands splayed like claws, screaming like a banshee. He kicked her in the stomach and she fell back on to the sand. One of the Border Force men knelt down next to her. A blond woman in a fluorescent jacket ran over and put up her hands in an attempt to placate Rainey. ‘Come on, there’s no need for this,’ she said. ‘Just put the boy down before you hurt him.’
‘Hurt him? You stupid cow, if you come one step closer to me I’ll slit his throat. Now keep your distance, all of you!’ He backed slowly towards Coatsworth’s rib. ‘Ally, come on, get in the rib, we’re getting the hell out of here.’
‘Don’t do it, Ally,’ said Bell. ‘It’s an immigration bust, it’s no big deal.’
‘Ally!’ shouted Rainey. ‘Get a move on.’
Bell reached out for Coatsworth’s arm but Coatsworth shook him off and hurried across the sand towards his rib.
There were more than a dozen Border Force staff gathered on the beach around Rainey but they were unwilling to move in. The boy had gone still, his eyes wide and staring, his face wet with tears. Three searchlight beams illuminated Rainey and the boy and threw elongated shadows across the sand and into the waves.
‘Get me my bag, Andy!’ shouted Rainey.
‘What?’ Bell shouted back.
‘Get my bag, it’s in the hold.’
Coatsworth pushed his rib back into the water.
‘What do you need your bag for?’ asked Bell.
Coatsworth climbed into the rib and made his way to the stern so that he could drop the propeller back into the water.
‘Just get it,’ shouted Rainey. He pressed the knife tighter against the boy’s throat. ‘I’ll cut him!’ he shouted at the Border Force team. ‘Stay back!’
‘This isn’t helping anyone,’ said the Border Force woman. She had the clipped tones of a headmistress addressing an unruly child and Bell could see that she was only inflaming the situation.
‘You, shut the fuck up!’ shouted Rainey.
The Iraqi woman struggled to sit up and began to scream at Rainey. One of the Border Force men knelt down and tried to quieten her but she turned her venom on him, spat in his face and continued to scream.
Bell climbed on to the rib and retrieved Rainey’s backpack from the storage hold in the bow. He straightened up and unzipped it. Inside were six plastic-wrapped packages, each the size of a house brick.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted Rainey. ‘I said bring it here, I didn’t say open it.’
‘What is it, Frankie? Cocaine or heroin?’
‘Get over here, Andy. Don’t fuck about.’
‘You brought drugs with you?’ shouted Coatsworth. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’
‘Fuck off, Ally,’ shouted Rainey. ‘The pittance you’ve been paying me, you can’t blame me. Andy, get over here, now.’
Coatsworth’s gun was by Bell’s foot. Bell bent down and picked it up.
‘Andy, come on! We’ve got to go, now!’
Bell climbed out of the rib and walked along the beach, carrying the bag in his left hand and the semi-automatic in his right.
‘Get a move on!’ shouted Rainey. The child began to scream and Rainey shook him. ‘Shut the fuck up!’ he shouted.
‘He’s scared,’ said Bell.
‘Throw the bag in the boat,’ said Rainey. He shook the boy again, then changed his grip so that his hand was over his mouth, muffling his cries.
Bell did as he was told.
‘Where did you get the gun from?’ Rainey asked.
‘It’s Ally’s.’
‘Well, point it at them,’ said Rainey, gesturing at the Border Force people.
‘I’m not pointing a loaded gun at anybody,’ said Bell.
There was a roaring sound from the dunes and then a blindingly bright light shone in their eyes. Bell heard the whoop-whoop-whoop of a helicopter’s rotor blades. He shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand but the light was still too bright for him to see the helicopter.
‘Andy, give me the bloody gun, come on!’ shouted Rainey, his voice barely audible over the roar of the helicopter’s turbine.
Bell walked over the sand towards Rainey. ‘You’ve got a knife and the kid, how are you gonna hold a gun?’
‘Just give it to me.’
Bell tossed the gun at Rainey and it fell at his feet. ‘What are you playing at?’ shouted Rainey.
‘If you want the bloody gun you can have it, but I’m having nothing to do with it.’
The boy was still struggling in Rainey’s grasp. ‘Be still, will you,’ hissed Rainey, pressing the knife even harder against the boy’s throat. He took a step towards the gun. ‘I’ll cut him if you even think of moving!’
he shouted at the line of fluorescent jackets.
The helicopter banked to the side and the huge beam lost Rainey for a few seconds and then swung back to capture him once more. Rainey bent down, dropped the knife and picked up the gun. He pointed it at the Border Force woman and grinned. ‘This changes things, doesn’t it,’ he shouted. ‘Now back up the beach, all of you!’
The woman held up her hands. ‘There’s no need for any of this,’ she said, then flinched as Rainey jerked the gun as if he was about to pull the trigger. ‘OK, OK!’ she shouted. ‘Everybody back!’
The fluorescent jackets started backing away.
‘That’s more like it!’ shouted Rainey.
‘Let the boy go, Frankie,’ shouted Bell. ‘You’ve got the only gun on the beach.’
‘There could be armed cops in the helicopter!’
‘It’s a Border Force chopper, they’re not armed,’ said Bell. ‘They’re too stupid to be trusted with guns.’ He nodded at the Border Force woman, who seemed to be running the show. ‘No offence.’
‘Just push the boat out,’ shouted Rainey, his words almost lost in the roar of the helicopter’s turbine. He took a quick look over his shoulder. ‘Ally, get the propeller in the water as soon as you can.’ He looked back at Bell. ‘Come on, come on, we’ve got to get out of here.’
One of the Border Force men took a step forward and Rainey screamed, ‘Stay where you are!’ and pointed the gun at him.
‘Frankie, mate, it’s over,’ shouted Bell.
‘Over? It’s not over until we’re back in France!’
‘The gun’s not loaded.’
Rainey looked at the gun in his hand. ‘Bollocks.’
‘It’s loaded,’ shouted Coatsworth from the stern of the rib. ‘I loaded it myself.’
Bell shook his head. ‘Give it up, Frankie. Let the boy go.’
Rainey pointed the gun at Bell, his finger tightening on the trigger. One of the Border Force men moved forward and Rainey swung the bag towards the rank of fluorescent jackets. ‘Get the hell back or I’ll shoot!’ he yelled.
‘Andy, push the boat out and get in!’ shouted Coatsworth. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here!’
Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies Page 3