Whispers in the Rigging

by steve higgs

  Whispers in the Rigging

  Blue Moon Investigations

  Book 6

  Steve Higgs

  Text Copyright © 2018 Steven J Higgs

  Publisher: Steve Higgs

  The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved.

  The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ‘Whispers in the Rigging’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To the men and women of the Armed Forces. Now, then, and always.

  Note from the Author:

  Hi there,

  Firstly, thank you for purchasing this book. I hope that you enjoy reading it anywhere near as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you do, then I have a growing library of other books to make you laugh and keep you turning pages when you really ought to be going to sleep.

  If you would like to keep up with what I am up to and get a FREE copy of Zombie Granny from the Blue Moon series, then you can sign up to my newsletter service where I will email you a couple of times a month. No spam, I promise, just bargains, discounts and fun.

  Here’s the link: http://eepurl.com/dnm8Dj

  Books by Steve Higgs

  Click the links to find the books in your local Amazon store.

  Blue Moon Investigations

  Paranormal Nonsense

  The Phantom of Barker Mill

  Zombie Granny – a Short Story

  The Klowns of Kent

  Dead Pirates of Cawsand

  The Witches of East Malling

  Whispers in the Rigging

  Bloodlust Blonde – a short story

  A Typo, a Werewolf, and Two Dopey Dachshunds – an Origin Story

  Paws of the Yeti

  The Harper Files

  Spooky Shopping Mall

  In the Doodoo With Voodoo with short story Guys and Dolls

  Crop Circles, Cows and Crazy Aliens

  Coming soon

  Lord Hale’s Monster – The Harper Files Book 4

  Table of Contents

  Trapped. Friday, November 25th 1222hrs

  My Office. Monday, November 21st 0847hrs

  Chatham Dockyard. Monday, November 21st 1018hrs

  Big Ben. Monday, November 21st 1115hrs

  The Office. Monday, November 21st 1157hrs

  Lunch. Monday, November 21st 1237hrs

  Medway Hospital. Monday, November 21st 1401hrs

  Bluffing an Entire Business. Monday, November 21st 1447hrs

  The Dockyard. Monday November 21st 1511hrs

  Cleaning Crew. Monday, November 21st 2000hrs

  Whispers in the Rigging Room. Monday, November 21st 2031hrs

  Ghosts. Monday, November 21st 2105hrs

  A Late Start. Tuesday, November 22nd 0912hrs

  Upnor. Tuesday, November 22nd 1103hrs

  Family. Tuesday, November 22nd 1222hrs

  Lunchtime Flirtations. Tuesday, November 22nd 1249hrs

  The Office. Tuesday 22nd November 1316hrs

  Chatham Royal Dockyard. Tuesday, November 22nd 1412hrs

  Chief Inspector Quinn. Tuesday, November 22nd 1530hrs

  Tea and a Book. Tuesday, November 22nd 1640hrs

  What about the Strippers? Tuesday, November 22nd 1830hrs

  Cleaning Duties. Tuesday, November 22nd 2030hrs

  The underground. Wednesday, November 23rd 0037hrs

  Murder. Wednesday, November 23rd 0715hrs

  Round Two with the Chief Inspector. Wednesday, November 23rd 0900hrs

  The Invitation. Wednesday, November 23rd 1042hrs

  Alex Jordan. Wednesday, November 23rd 1101hrs

  Baby. Wednesday, November 23rd 1143hrs

  Man stuff. Wednesday, November 23rd 1600hrs

  Stag Night. Wednesday, November 23rd 2051hrs

  Rude Awakening. Thursday, November 24th 0800hrs

  Alex Jordan’s Office. Thursday, November 24th 1128hrs

  Dirty Truth. November 24th 1142hrs

  Captive. Thursday, November 24th 1201hrs

  Not Trapped. Thursday, November 24th Roughly 1220hrs

  Tunnel Fire Fight. Thursday, November 24th No Idea What Time it is. Don’t Really Care.

  Henchman are Hard to Beat. Thursday, November 24th (still no idea what time it is)

  Mopping Up. Thursday, November 24th 1504hrs

  Going Home. Thursday, November 24th 1522hrs

  Coomer Castle. Friday, November 25th 1000hrs

  The Wedding of Jagjit Singh and Alice Windecote. Friday, November 25th 1630hrs

  Postscript: Christmas Shopping. Tuesday, 29th November 1809hrs

  Trapped. Friday, November 25th 1222hrs

  I rubbed my wrists as if I could rub away the pain in them. The bindings had been tight enough to cause some numbness in my fingers and the process of freeing myself from them had caused them to cut into my skin. Pins and needles now as the blood returned to my digits.

  How long before they came back to check on me? I had worried they were going to be diligent enough to leave a guard on me. It would not have been possible to free myself with someone watching and very difficult to subdue them with my hands behind my back.

  The room I was in had only one door, so there was only one route for my escape. I had no idea who or what might be outside. The bag over my head on the way in ensured I was disorientated and hadn’t seen what lay beyond the four walls I could see.

  I stepped carefully to the door. There was a keyhole, an old mortice lock but I hadn't heard them lock it as they left. I pressed my ear close to the small gap between the frame and the door, listening for any sign of a person outside. I stilled my breathing, making myself as quiet as possible. After a few seconds, I decided there was no sound to hear.

  Okay. Now what?

  I still didn't know what was outside the door, but I was going to have to go through it anyway. I was inside their base of operations, below ground and cut off from everyone. My only chance of escape, before they came back to kill me, was through that door. If I was lucky, I would find myself near to where I wanted to go, even though I would not know which direction was which until I found a point of orientation. Also in my list of most desired outcomes, was for there to be no one wandering the tunnels as I snuck about in them. To get to the next part of the plan I had to escape and possibly fight my way out. Just me against as many of them as I came up against.

  A weapon would be good.

  I looked around the room, a quick search that turned up a picture frame – no use, a plastic bucket – might be a distraction if I threw it at someone, a small table – too unwieldy to carry around. Largely drawing a blank on the weapon front, there was a rag in the corner which I had ignored, but having looked everywhere else I figured I might as well look under it (just in case someone had hidden a bazooka). No such luck, but the oily rag did have a pipe wrench beneath it.

  I permitted myself a lopsided grin as I hefted it. It wasn't much, it was all I was going to get though, so rather than acknowledge that I was sta
lling, I turned the door handle and slipped silently out of the room.

  Beyond was a tunnel. I could go left or right, but since I didn't know where I was, either direction held the same probability of success. I had a rough map of the underground tunnels and rooms in my head. I knew where I needed to get to in order to escape, I just needed to work out where I was.

  I picked left but only got three paces before I heard voices coming from that direction. I froze, it was instantly clear they were coming toward me from around the corner ahead. Behind me, the tunnel stretched on for a hundred feet before the next corner. The safest option was to slip back into the room I had been in. But what if that was where they were going?

  I ran. Strong, hard strides that quickly became a sprint. Finding out where I was in relation to where I wanted to be was suddenly a secondary concern. Avoiding capture was more important.

  I had planned for the worst as I always did but bringing weapons with me would have tipped them off and would have been confiscated anyway. The one thing I did have was my phone because I forgot to remove it. They had taken that soon enough. It was just me and my wits now.

  Was I making too much noise? Convinced the voices coming toward me must have been able to hear my shoes slapping against the stone floor, I denied myself the desire to look over my shoulder. Could I hear them running? Had they heard me already and given chase?

  The corner was coming up. If I could get there I would be out of sight and just maybe I would recognise something and be able to orientate myself. I wasn't having that kind of luck though. With a pace left before I swung around the corner, I heard their shouts.

  In the next breath, I made the turn and glanced back down the dingy corridor I had just fled. Three of them were after me, two of whom were guards I had seen previously. Their shouts were going to attract a lot of attention really quickly.

  Rounding the next corner with adrenalin sending my heart rate through the roof, I was rewarded with a sight that changed the game.

  I knew where I was.

  The underground system had three entry points. One I was yet to find, one was in a secret stairwell that connected to a door in the back of the Admiral's office (the one I had been led down) and one that sat right at the edge of the river, hidden from view but accessible by water. All three ran into a set of linked chambers. One could hide an army in here and no one above ground would know. On the map, two of the tunnels that led to the chambers were curved, the other was straight and had intersecting paths. The straight one was the one that led from, or in my case, to the water and it was right in front of me.

  I could see at least two hundred yards. Light was provided by overhead lamps, but like elsewhere they were too dim and too few to hold back the dark as the tunnel stretched into the distance. I stopped running and did the only thing I could in the circumstances.

  There were three men chasing me. I was injured and tired and badly outnumbered. So, I attacked them.

  I figured they would be sprinting after me, running full tilt with their pulses drumming in their ears like mine was and they wouldn’t think twice about throwing themselves around the corner after me.

  I had two or three seconds before they would reach me, so I relaxed, took a couple of deep breaths and as they hit the corner, I hit them.

  As planned, it caught them all by surprise. The tool in my right hand scythed upwards to connect under the chin of the second man, not the first, as I sidestepped and tripped him. I could hear him stumble and sprawl on the floor behind me. It bought me a few seconds.

  With one man down but unharmed and one man falling backward from the blow to his jaw, I was able to continue my forward motion into the third man. The half second of warning had been enough for his brain to get a message to his muscles so he was abating his own forward momentum to avoid running directly into me.

  It was all too late though. As they had rounded the corner, I had already thrown myself at them. Even if the slowest of them had been able to come to a complete halt in the space of a few feet, I would still have closed the distance before he could get his arms up to defend himself. As it was, all the third man had time to do was look surprised before I hammered my left hand into his throat with a stiff arm.

  He was still moving forward, the sudden blow to his neck caused his head to stop moving while his body pivoted about my arm.

  He wouldn't be badly hurt but he was out of the fight for now. Behind me, the man on the floor was scrambling to his feet. It was the one that had held me for the beating on Tuesday night.

  Time to even the score.

  He was up and setting himself into a fighting stance, but found time to reach behind his back to produce a knife. Thankful that it wasn't a gun, I too positioned myself. Arms loose, feet spread for even balance and knees flexed and ready to move.

  He grinned at me. Whether it was forced false confidence designed to make me feel uneasy or he genuinely believed he was the superior fighter was something I would find out very soon.

  Then I heard the footfall of a small crowd coming down the tunnel we had all just run along. The three that had spotted me had either raised the alarm or had made enough noise to be heard and now all their friends were coming for me.

  Bugger.

  He grinned at me once more as shouts started to echo along the tunnel. They had spotted me.

  ‘Feeling lucky?’ He asked.

  Time was not my ally and he was blocking my escape route. I either went through him or I was going to die. I had about five seconds.

  He didn’t bother to come at me. Why would he? All he had to do was keep me in place long enough for his friends to arrive.

  So, I went to him. I swung the wrench like I was going to throw it at his head, he flinched, and I threw it at his feet instead. It struck home on his left foot, causing him to howl in pain and denying him the focus he would need if he wanted to stick me with the knife.

  I punched his face as I ran by, landing a hard blow to his left temple that shocked my hand and might have broken a couple of knuckles. He was behind me now though and I was running for all I was worth.

  I had one chance of escape: I had to get to the river entrance.

  In my head, I counted as I ran. The horde was behind me and there was going to be guys in it that were faster runners than me. I had a small head start but no way to know if I could outrun them.

  I got to three Mississippi before the sound changed and I could tell they had just rounded the corner behind me. I was once again visible to them which would spur them on to close the distance. It took rigid discipline to not look back and focus only on getting to my destination.

  There was nothing in the brick-built tunnels I could use to slow them down, no convenient trolley of cleaning products one always found in a movie chase to throw in a pursuer’s way. I just had to keep going.

  I was sure they were gaining, and my breath was coming in ragged lumps now. I had already run more than two hundred yards as fast as I could when the floor of the tunnel started to slope downward. I pushed myself on, buoyed with hope as I was certain the river entrance was not far ahead of me now.

  In the dim light of the tunnel ahead, I thought for a moment that the lights had been turned off. However, worry that I might have to run virtually blind was replaced by elation as I realised it wasn't a lack of light ahead of me, but the door that would lead out to the river.

  Beyond it was going to be a dock. A dock that was underground and could only be accessed from the river. Behind the door was salvation.

  I risked a glance over my shoulder.

  My pursuers were falling behind. They were slowing down.

  And they were laughing.

  I reached the door and stopped.

  ‘It was a good try, Mr. Michaels.' A familiar voice echoed in the confined space. ‘Unfortunately, that door only opens from the other side.'

  I glanced at the door. He was right. There was no handle this side.

  My Office. Monday, November 21st 0847hrs


  Four days before the race through the tunnels and oblivious to the trouble I was about to get in, I was making coffee in the high-end machine I had decided to buy for the office. Amanda and I had both closed cases and billed clients with a confident regularity and both she and I and James/Jane had a real love for coffee. So, I splurged on a machine that would take fresh beans and make glorious, glorious, strong, dark brew.

  My father was in the hospital in a coma that was the result of a blow to his skull. It had rattled his brain, but the doctors assured me he was not in danger. His brain activity was normal, their expectation that he would come around naturally in a few days. Until then he would be cared for and monitored for any changes.

  There was nothing I could do other than visit and try to comfort my mother. Visiting hours were not until after lunch but thoughts of checking on his condition were entirely secondary to my plan to find whoever had injured him.

  Almost two weeks ago, he had been telling me that there was something odd happening at the Royal Dockyard, a local tourist attraction that used to be the Royal Navy's largest shipbuilding port. It was hundreds of years old but had closed in the eighties as either technology had moved on or spending on defence had cut back. I didn't know which it was, and it might have been a simple case that there were no more large warships to build. That, in itself, was something to celebrate.

  Dad had retired after a long career in the Navy but had found himself in need of something to keep him occupied occasionally and I think he also missed the camaraderie and banter, so when a part-time job as a tour guide on the retired vessels in the yard came up, he took it.

  Now he was in the hospital and I was going to find out why.

  The aroma of coffee brewing under my nose was making me salivate. In the final stage of its process, the machine made me wait while I watched dark liquid pour down the twin shoots and into the tiny espresso cup sitting beneath them.

  I took the cup out, reset it to make another and took the steaming brew across the room to my assistant Jane. I had hired Jane a couple of months ago when the number of enquiries was getting too much for me and when I took on another detective to assist me with the mounting workload. I had worried what the overhead would do to my profit and loss figures as the assistant would not be billing any hours and was, therefore, pure cost.