by Ann Michaels
Chapter 20
Monday 21th November, 1988
Harry de Groot
All at Sea
All around me it was dark, when I became aware of myself again. But unfortunately, at the same time, I also became aware of a pounding pain in my head, as my eyes registered the hulking frame of red beard, pacing about the room. He was muttering to himself, ‘you shouldn’t have come here’, over and over again.
I was pondering what my next move should be, when I heard a telephone ringing, seemingly from this room. To my amazement, Red Beard took a Telecom Walkabout mobile phone out of his coat pocket and sounding quite sensible said, ‘hello’. He listened attentively and nodded his head and then put the phone away. He looked almost happy.
Bending over me Red Beard tried to pull me to my feet, but I pretended to still be unconscious. ‘I didn’t want to hurt you’, he said, with a touching note of anguish. ‘But sometimes, I get confused and my head feels like it’s about to explode……and those voices are telling me bad things…..I didn’t want to hurt you’.
I believed him. It came to me that this man was being psychologically tortured by the Ruslen’s. He had only wanted a job but he had suddenly found himself mired in murder and dirty business and then, he was left with his conscience, in isolation, for days on end. It was sending him mad.
I stopped the pretence and said ‘I’ll be going now mate’. He nodded at me sadly and stated ‘I’ve got to get everything ready. We might have to leave in a hurry….Orders from Mrs Ruslen.’
I was surprised to hear this, and I was also torn between wanting to get off that yacht as fast as I could, and wanting to pump Red Beard, for more information.
I picked up my tool box and began to walk toward the doorway, which was now clear.
‘They’ll be here soon to load up, so you better go’.
‘Load up what?’ I asked, one foot out the door.
‘The money. Mrs Ruslen seems to think that everything is coming down around her ears. That was the Captain on the phone, he tells me things’, he said proudly.
I ran out of that yacht and down those rickety stairs, which wasn’t a real easy business, when you’re feeling concussed. I made it back to my car, and whipped out the brick-like telephone to report to headquarters. When I blurted my news to The Sarg, he said, ‘we know and we’re on it’. And as I sat there with fluttering ivory moths floating about in front of the windscreen, in the yellow light of a streetlamp, I realised that whatever had happened at Dana’s end, had already informed our lot, what was going on. But what had happened there? And was Dana Ok?