by AA Bell
‘Aren’t you afraid you’ll sink somebody?’
‘Creamed by sardines?’ The captain grinned. ‘No, mate. The tanks travel slow and deep. It’s all safe and perfectly legal. Ain’t technology great? I hear the next models will have flow-through systems so the fish stay alive right up until the moment they reach the factory.’
Scooping up a handful of ice, the captain appeared satisfied, as did the mini-forklift driver who returned to his machine and drove it down a short ramp onto the dock, only to find that he couldn’t load it onto hooks at the rear of his matching delivery truck, because a woman with a Volkswagen had parked in his way. She was out with the front hood up, and making large expressive movements with her hands and arms, as if arguing with her engine.
Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, the sub commander checked his scope again. If he didn’t know any better, he’d guess that she was shouting in sign language, but as he tightened the focus to maximum magnification, he saw a bald head cowering under the hood, wearing headphones.
‘Colonel Kitching?’ he called as he turned from the periscope. ‘What do you make of this?’
Kitching stepped out from the darkened green glow of the map-reader, raising an eyebrow. ‘Police?’
‘Unsure, sir. If they’re undercover, they’re not very under cover about it.’
Control of the periscope changed hands and Kitching recognised his older brother immediately, although he hadn’t seen him in fifty years aside from photos in birthday cards posted by the administrators of the psychiatric hospital, now known as Serenity. And now here at the most critical moment of his career was the bull-dog matron and the crazy brother who had always complained of hearing a racket of whispers, even though he’d been born deaf.
The matron stopped speaking to him with her hands, and sat on her bumper, stroking his head.
‘I know you care, Freddie,’ she said and cuddled his prune head into her ample bosom. ‘I love that you’re such a caring person, I do. But you can’t go around sabotaging my car or stowing away every time you hear a future conversation, whether you’ve brought proof with you or not.’
Stunned, Kitching realised the magnitude of the mistake he’d made five decades beforehand. He remembered his childhood, raised in the shadow of his ‘special’ older brother; years of frustration in trying to understand him, all the lessons in learning to communicate with his hands, all the pranks he’d played trying to ditch the responsibility of caring for him every time his mother fell ill, and all the embarrassment that ensued whenever he brought home any friends. With their father killed overseas on a mission and their mother dying of cancer, having Freddie committed had been the only way he could be free to make his own way in the world — and now to realise how much easier it could have been, if he’d learned the true nature of his brother’s crazed ramblings!
‘Hey, lady!’ shouted the delivery driver. ‘You want to shift your bug out my way? I’d like to get home today.’
‘Oh! Yes, sorry, buddy. I’m just desperate to get to North Straddie. Can you point me to the captain first, please?’
‘Break silence with the trawler,’ Kitching ordered. ‘Tell the captain I want him to do that nice lady and her passenger a little favour.’
Lockman appeared on the beachside patio leading Moser by the collar.
‘A new record?’ Finnigan asked. ‘Did you get what you wanted?’
Lockman shook his head, walked past two men with operational mission recorders, and swung Moser down to sit on the timber patio at Finnigan’s feet. ‘I give up,’ he said. ‘I’m going back to fishing.’
‘Where’s the girl?’ asked Brette.
Behind him, Lockman had left the drapes open and the only people visible inside were Detective Grady and two unconscious thugs like macabre throw rugs.
Lockman shrugged. ‘She said something about throwing up in the laundry. You can take it from here.’
He returned inside, tossing Grady the keys to Moser’s cuffs with a wink of thanks as he went out the front way, taking Finnigan’s night-vision goggles and the keys to the old Jag in the driveway.
On the patio, Finnigan and Brette exchanged glances.
‘Did you see that?’ asked Finnigan. ‘He left only the headset.’
‘You’re mistaken, mate. You didn’t see anything.’
Brette glanced down at Moser, tsk’ing his tongue. ‘So, constable,’ he said, plucking Moser up by the collar. ‘How would you like to tell us everything you told him?’
‘He’ll kill me!’
‘Can’t have that,’ Finnigan chuckled.
‘Oh, and there’s still dirt on your nice uniform,’ Brette made a fist and spat on it as a threat to dust him off. ‘I’d say this just isn’t your day, mate.’
‘Echo Papa to Mamma Bear,’ Patterson said, reporting in from the deck of a fishing trawler, rusted and dilapidated on the outside but slick with all the latest military surveillance gear inside. ‘Have located three of the sister ships, all moored and locked down at their regular piers. No sign of the care package yet, but we may be lucky. We’ve got a bead on one of the potential recipients; heading south-west into an estuary in the fifth sister ship — the Navis Amoris — and spanking along like a dog with a bone. Suspect the yachts have been juggling captives all day. Thermal imaging is unclear at this range and with so much choppy water knocking us about. However, freeze-framing on replay has revealed that one aboard appears to be female — and none too happy about all the male attention she’s getting. Best we can do to intercept is forty minutes if we break out the jet skis, but we’ve also got line-of-sight on those two suits who signed the confidentiality agreement — in a launch down by Likiba Isle. Looks like they’re on a stakeout for the incoming shipment, but if they can be redirected they could intercept the captives in fifteen to twenty minutes. Instructions?’ In most cases, civilian police held jurisdiction anyway.
A long silence followed, broken eventually by a crackle of static.
‘Sat-obs confirms location of two suits, plus the missing yacht with two captives aboard, one female. Well done, Echo Papa. You just located the captives. However, the two suits are currently rated as “do-not-disturb”. Therefore, proceed to and observe new objective, but do not engage; repeat — do not engage. Be advised that the care package is now en route with Alpha Lima. Beta team will follow soon. If opportunity presents, your orders are to reacquire, deliver and complete the mission in accordance with stages one and two. Mamma Bear also advises: don’t drop the package again or you won’t enjoy your homecoming.’
Mira opened her eyes in the warm cabin, feeling queasy, not just from the motion of the Edukitty as it raced south, following the coastline out of the stormy bay into open ocean. With Gabby at the helm, the trip seemed as smooth as the car ferry despite their much higher speed and their destination ahead in more troubled waters. Her mind and stomach still reeled in the aftermath of the mad rage she’d felt as she’d slashed great wedges of flesh from Moser’s belly and lower regions — in memory now, if not in deed. She’d held the razor in her hand, and she’d lunged at him. She’d tasted the acid-hot fever of revenge for everything his people had done to Ben and Mel. She’d smelled blood in the bathroom and overheard enough to fuel her fears that something more terrible had happened to them, but when Moser spilled his guts in fear before she’d reached him, Lockman had been swift in preventing her from sinking to that level again. First Kitching, then Greggie and now Moser. Her hatred had boiled so hot each time, it made her feel like an animal.
Since then, Lockman had been avoiding her. He’d said nothing at all in Mel’s car on the long way round the roads to his truck, and nothing much since then that wasn’t also meant for Gabby. Mira couldn’t hear him out there in the rain at all now, but she knew he was there, silently watching the approaching coastline.
Gabby had provided them all with weatherproof jackets, so bracing herself against the side wall of the cabin, she moved as best as she could manage down the bucking
deck towards the rail to work her way round to find him.
‘Can you believe all the fishing trawlers coming in?’ Gabby asked from the helm. ‘It’s like every dinky-boated fisherman from here to Sydney is flocking in this year for the Straddie Classic.’
‘They’re not all here for the competition,’ Lockman replied solemnly. ‘One of them has my old team aboard, looking for Mira.’ An ominous quiet fell upon him again despite the applause of waves against the hull, but Mira sensed him become aware of her as she arrived to stand beside him at the rail. She felt the air bristle, causing her to pause and choose her words carefully.
‘That’s twice …’ she said quietly, and closing her eyes to make riding the heave of each wave a little easier. ‘Twice you’ve stopped me from killing. First Colonel Kitching in that cell and now …’ She shuddered at the memory of Greggie Greppia going limp in her arms. It was only in the clammy hours afterwards as the shakes and sweats took hold, she could see that.
‘I just wanted …’ She shivered, hoping she didn’t sound too pathetic. ‘I needed to thank you.’
He didn’t reply, and though she knew he was staring at her, she could only guess what he was thinking, and how disappointed he must be to learn how feral and undisciplined she could be after her reaction to Moser. She could barely stand it herself. Motivation to save Ben was all that kept her going now, but Lockman hardly knew him — had even voiced his regrets passionately at having to go in and save him.
‘You don’t have to come,’ she said, still hoping he would anyway. ‘I never wanted to force you.’
‘I’m security,’ he said stiffly. ‘Not for you. For the docs’ project.’
The stark reality finally hit her, just as he’d always explained it; it was his job to neutralise threats that began and ended with the two medical scientists. Although he’d proven himself to be an above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty kind of guy, she knew now that she could only rely on his help for as long as he pursued his objective — and after the trickery he’d employed so effectively during Moser’s interrogation, with lies sliding off his tongue as easily as they had for Detective Grady, she knew that he was proficient at deception.
Licking her lips, she remembered the taste of him — wondering why he’d bother attempting to deceive or manipulate her with a kiss when she clearly meant so little to him. Best for both of them if it stayed that way too. However, the thought of his upcoming departure only added to her torment. She’d not only miss his security, experience and preparedness, she’d miss his gentle hands, kind voice and vibrant music. He’d made her feel so alive around that campfire with Ben, and now she felt empty.
Turning away, she kept her eyes closed, loathing herself. Compared to him, her resilience seemed quite pathetic; his independence and ability to take care of any situation — not only surviving under fire and though real fire, but doing it so well and with such flawless self-control and confidence that he commanded the respect of battle-hardened men, like Finnigan and Brette. She couldn’t even command enough balance from her own feet. She felt pale and weak beside him, and so cold that even with the rain easing to misty drizzle, she could feel the warmth radiating from his body across the short distance between them. She felt like a thief, taking it. His silence and avoidance transformed that short distance into an abyss — the abyss she’d once wanted and needed between them, and now feared.
Trembling, she felt cold to the bone and alone. She longed for Ben, but feared he’d need more distance from her now too. Her inability to bridge the gap between who she was and who she needed to be now seemed wider than ever, and as the deck heaved again beneath her, she felt her grip on the future slipping.
Yesterday is history: the mantra that had once given her hope now seemed like a terrible joke. One step forward, one day back more like it, each step ending in pain or disaster, and not just for herself but for anyone who got too close to her — everyone except Gabby so far, and considering their current direction, a sad fate seemed inevitable for her too.
How could she stop her?
‘You look tired,’ Lockman said, his voice softening and warming her like molten chocolate. ‘It’s nearly midnight. You should go back in the cabin.’
He touched her shoulder, pushing her away gently, but shaking her head, she stiffened her shoulders and gripped the rail tighter.
‘Come here then,’ he said, roughly turning her backwards against him; wrapping his arms around her, he held her close inside the warm wings of his own jacket. ‘I think crazy must be catching if you want to freeze out here with us.’
Melting against him, she turned her face into the chilly breeze and heard the growing thunder of surf.
‘We’re nearly there,’ she said, noticing the particular curve of a well-lit building against the sparkling coast — easy enough to recognise, even though she’d first approached it in Ben’s car from the opposite direction. ‘Chloe’s unit is the beachside penthouse on the top two floors of the furthest corner.’
‘There,’ Gabby said as if she was pointing, then she manoeuvred the cat parallel to the beach where the four-storey resort began to curve around the sandy headland. Beyond that, Mira remembered seeing the resort and gardens curve as far as a natural lagoon and estuary.
‘Nice,’ Lockman replied, and Mira recalled saying something similar to Ben. History repeating itself yet again, or Fate spiralling her life in circles that kept bringing her back to the same echoes of former mistakes.
‘Her father was rich,’ she said numbly, but Lockman knew all that. Hector Greppia was still rich, but could have been wealthier — perhaps more generous to charities too — if not for the despicable elements of his family. If Moser’s information was correct, then the worst of them had moved in up there, using the home of Hector’s murdered daughter as a base for their new operations.
‘No sign of a yacht,’ Gabby said, keeping parallel to the surf along Currumbin Beach.
‘They may have stashed it at a local marina,’ Lockman replied. ‘Or a private jetty up the estuary.’ He shifted Mira under one arm with an apology that he needed one hand for binoculars. ‘That apartment’s definitely open for business. Drapes are drawn but inside there are enough heat signatures for a family reunion.’
‘You can count their body heat through walls, even at this distance?’ asked Gabby.
‘Not through bricks or plumbing, but that penthouse is mostly glass on this side and the internal walls are thin. I count three heat signatures on each floor of the apartment itself and one on the roof, with another three stationary guarding the hall and fire exit. Could be more, but it’s not less. So we’re in luck here I think. Shouldn’t take me any longer than twenty minutes to get on top of the problem. Once I’m in I’ll use the apartment phone to call the feds: Detectives Symes and Moser.’
‘Moser?’ Gabby asked, sounding worried. ‘Not that guy we just …?’
‘Brother,’ Mira said. ‘He’s the guy Douggie was trying to protect by keeping his mouth shut and working for the Greppias. But you can’t go alone,’ she added for Lockman. ‘Locksmith or not, you can’t face that many by yourself. You have to offer them another trade. Force them to let Ben go before I hand myself over.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Gabby shouted. ‘You can’t hand her to those killers! You saw what they … you know what they … you just can’t!’
‘No intention of it. If you drop anchor here,’ he said, indicating behind the breakers, ‘I’ll take care of it.’
‘How?’ Gabby asked, voicing Mira’s worries too. ‘You’re grossly outnumbered!’
‘Numbers won’t matter if they don’t see me coming. Anchor the boat, please.’
A long silence followed, but instead of slowing, Gabby revved the engines and slewed faster and further south. ‘No need to get your feet wet,’ she said, as she passed a northbound fishing trawler and swept around the small headland into the estuary. Then she hooked right again into the picturesque lagoon that shared gardens with the resort, a sprawling
picnic spot and carpark.
‘Oh, oui?’ Gabby exclaimed. ‘What do we see here? Our second yacht is no longer missing. The Navis Amoris — isn’t that Latin for love boat?’
‘Stop here, please.’ Lockman shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Mira’s shoulders, leaving her with the bulkiness of two. ‘You’ll have to pass too close to it to reach the shallows.’
Gabby huffed as if offended. ‘I could swing us through sideways and still have room to park an aircraft carrier.’
‘But can you do it quietly?’
Gabby cut the engine and lowered her voice. ‘Let’s see, shall we?’
‘Interesting lean on it,’ Lockman said a moment later. ‘Touching bottom. How long do you think it’s been here?’
‘It wasn’t here yesterday,’ Mira said, assuming he’d been talking to her.
‘Hard to say with it floating,’ Gabby added. ‘But if it’s the one they used to escape Straddie, and if they disembarked from its current anchorage I’d say they must have learned of Mira’s escape and evacuated their hostages about the same time I took her to hospital. Timing still had to be tight. I’d say Greggie’s boat called Gregan’s with the news and then if their paths crossed, it happened in the middle. Or else they used another sister ship to do part of the run, passing the batons, so to speak, under cover of mangroves somewhere along the way.’
‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
‘The height of the tide now. And check your watch. We’ve been faster than them.’
‘In this wind?’ he said sceptically.
‘This wind isn’t entirely friendly to them. They may have big, slick engines for manoeuvring in and out of marinas, but they’re primarily designed for sailing in luxury, while the Edukitty was built for any depth, any weather, with speed and efficiency to move up to fifty heavily equipped people with strict timetables around the islands. My guess is Gregan evacuated his hostages from Straddie the moment he heard of Mira’s escape from his son, the leech, and a trip that would have taken them about fifty minutes to an hour in this weather, just took us under thirty. So if it’s them up there, I’d guess they’ve been settled in for a little over an hour.’