Wreck of the Raptor

by Nicholas Harvey

  Hazel’s voice was a whimper, “I swear I don’t know. I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  AJ couldn’t tell if she was already hurt or just terrified, but if what she’d told her and Reg was true, she didn’t know where Père Noël was.

  “You’re going to die out here, alone, just like my father did. The father I never knew. The husband my mother lost, the loss that killed her inside. The loss that tore my family apart.” His voice was cracking as he spat out the words with hateful venom. “Now it’s turned around. I’ve been tracking you since your mother died; finally I found the link. Isabella Alonso it said in her obituary. That was her name before she married. My family has been searching for that name to reappear since 1974. Losing your job? Losing your identity? All me. I knew I could flush out the truth if I applied enough pressure.”

  AJ heard Hazel groan. “She had nothing to do with this.”

  “Neither did my mother!” Junior yelled and AJ heard a dull thump and Hazel moaned.

  “I’ve got it!” AJ shouted from the bow, hanging on the line, still out of sight of them both. She heard scrambling on the boat and Junior’s face peered over the inflatable rubber front. He was sweating profusely and his hair a tousled mess. He pointed the gun at AJ’s face and she instinctively put a hand out in front.

  “Give it to me,” he demanded through clenched teeth.

  “Where’s Hazel, let me see her,” AJ said, as calmly as she could put together a string of words while a gun was pointed at her face.

  “I’m giving the orders you little bitch, I have the gun.” He waved the gun closer to her to emphasise his point.

  AJ was shaking from fear as further doses of cortisol and adrenaline surged through her system. She surprised herself with her firm tone. “Shoot me and the key goes with me. Shoot her and I throw the key in the water. Let me see Hazel.”

  Junior let out a stream of profanity in his native tongue but disappeared from AJ’s view. She heard him tell Hazel to get up and go to the front and then a shuffling sound before Hazel’s face appeared. She was a mess. Her nose looked broken and blood covered her face from the wound. Her left eye was swollen almost closed and a cut wept blood from her forehead. AJ whimpered at the sight of her friend but Hazel managed a slight smile in return. “It’s okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled through cut and swollen lips. “I told you to get away girl.” She frowned at AJ. “Go back under and swim away.”

  Junior reached over and pulled Hazel violently back into the boat. “That’s enough! I’m tired of this shit, give me the key now or I’ll start shooting holes in her every five seconds until you do!” He leaned over to see AJ but kept the gun pointed back at Hazel in the boat. Rage replaced fear and AJ glared up at him. “And how are you getting back to shore you chicken shit? You sure as hell don’t know how to pilot this boat and I have the key to the safety deposit box; and the key to the boat.”

  His face screwed up in anguish and he started to swing the gun back around to point it at AJ. She instinctively closed her eyes, waiting for the world to go black along with the loud crack her ears would never hear. But she did hear the crack. The gunshot was even louder than she’d imagined it could be and a huge splash right next to her threw a wall of water over her head. She opened her eyes and Junior was surfacing a few feet away, his arms flailing wildly, his hands empty and a look of sheer panic on his face. AJ frantically pulled herself around the rope alongside the boat and reached the ladder in the rear. Throwing her fins aboard, she scrambled wildly up and shed her BCD and tank as she stumbled to the bow where Hazel lay slumped on the deck, her right leg dangling over the bow. AJ fell to her side and looked at her friend in horror. Blood covered her chest and a horrific gurgling sound came from the wound with each breath she wheezed through her throat. Hazel’s eyes looked glazed, but AJ slid one arm around her shoulders and pressed her other hand firmly into the wound to try and stem the blood loss. Hazel tilted her head and tried to speak, but any words were too feeble and soft to be heard. AJ couldn’t understand and leaned in closer. “Hang in there girl, I’ll get you back to shore, I’ll get help.”

  Hazel reached up and grabbed AJ’s arm. She could feel her friend trembling and her grip was weak like a baby’s. Hazel tried again, “Corsica... Père Noël... Everything I said... True... Everything... Except, I know...”

  Tears rolled down AJ’s face. “It doesn’t matter Hazel, I don’t care, I just want to get you to the hospital.” She looked around for something to pack in the wound and spotted her tee shirt hung over a front deck seat to dry. She reached over and grabbed it; balling it up, she stuffed it firmly in the bloody wound and put Hazel’s hand over it.

  “Hold this tight, let me radio in for help.” AJ tried to get up, but Hazel let the shirt go and grabbed her again.

  “Trois... Rue Saint-Antoine...” she spluttered, “in Calvi... Okay?”

  “Okay Hazel,” she pleaded, putting her hand back over the wound, “I got it, please let me get you help.” AJ jumped up and this time Hazel let her go. AJ grabbed her VHF radio and started a distress call as she fired up the outboards with the key she’d left hidden under the console.

  “This is Mermaid Divers, I need an ambulance to meet me at West Bay dock, I have a medical emergency.”

  She was about to put the motors in drive when she remembered the anchor line; if she took off it would drag under the boat, straight into the props. The VHF blared back at her asking for details, but she ignored it; wiping tears from her face, she ran to the bow, carefully stepping around Hazel who’d curled up in the foetal position. AJ untied the rope, letting it drop over the side. She paused for one short moment, scanning the ocean for Junior, but couldn’t see any sign of him. She ran back to the helm, dropped the engines in drive and shoved the throttles forward. As she swung around towards shore, she saw Reg’s Newton charging towards her and she grabbed the VHF, knowing Reg would hear her as well as the Marine Police.

  “This is Mermaid Divers, we have a medical emergency, a gunshot wound, I repeat, a gunshot wound, I’m two minutes from West Bay dock but please advise closest ambulance.”

  She knew the hospital was in George Town so there was no point sitting at West Bay dock waiting for an ambulance to come from town if she could meet them somewhere along the way. She saw Reg turning his Newton around to run with her and she grabbed the radio again. She thought for a second. The feeling she had not seeing Junior in the water was one of satisfaction – that evil man deserved to die – but now her conscience cornered her and nagged at her unrelentingly. She opened the mic.

  “Pearl Divers this is Mermaid Divers, there’s one still in the water… there’s a man overboard,” AJ trailed off, her voice breaking, unsure what to say, or how to say it.

  “It’s the man who shot Hazel, Reg,” was all she could manage before releasing the mic button again. Saying the words made it feel more real and she didn’t want any of this to be real.

  There was a slight delay, but AJ saw Reg’s boat change direction again and head back towards the wreck.

  “Roger Mermaid Divers, initiating search,” Reg came back over the VHF, his concern clear in his voice. AJ wanted to tell him everything, tell him Hazel was bleeding on the floor of her boat, tell him not to look too hard for that scumbag Junior.

  “Mermaid Divers please be advised West Bay dock, repeat, West Bay dock, helicopter will be there in two minutes.”

  AJ hadn’t even thought of a helicopter. “Mermaid Divers acknowledges West Bay dock, on approach now.”

  “Hear that, Hazel? Ambulance will be there as soon as we get there, just got to hang on a few minutes and they’ll have you hooked up to lots of medical crap and you’ll be patched up in no time.”

  AJ kept shouting to her over the sound of the engines as she stayed wide open on the throttles. A hundred yards from the public dock, next door to Reg’s, she slammed the throttles closed and the RIB boat dropped out of plane and decelerated quickly as the hull dropped deeper in the water. AJ selec
ted reverse and spun the props backwards, stopping short of the pier, and let the wake swiftly surf the boat the rest of the way. Wailing sirens replaced the scream of the outboards and several people waiting on the dock helped lash the boat to the cleats.

  “We’re here, girl! Hear that racket? That’s your taxi, first class ride into town!” AJ shouted, wiping away more tears and trying to ignore Hazel’s blood, smeared all over her wetsuit. The thumping sound of a helicopter’s blades joined the chaotic convergence of noise on the usually quiet beach, as AJ ran forward to kneel by Hazel.

  “Hear that? It’s the helicopter, they’re here.”

  But Hazel didn’t hear a word.

  Chapter 67

  December 2019

  It was late afternoon by the time AJ walked up the steep hill to finally stand in front of the door to number 3, Rue Saint-Antoine, in the coastal town of Calvi. It had taken her four flights, over two days, to get from the island of Grand Cayman in the Caribbean to the island of Corsica in the Mediterranean. She’d left the warmth of the year-round summer to be met by the surprisingly wet and chilly December of the French region. The rain had stopped by the time she’d driven from the airport to the old town, but she kept her raincoat zipped tight against the cold air.

  She knocked on the door and nervously waited. After a while, she looked around and double-checked the already triple-checked address. This should be the place. The home was a narrow, terraced house, sandwiched in a row of similar ones, on a small street at the top of the hill, overlooking the harbour. The view of the lights below was spectacular. She reached to knock again but before she could the door opened a crack. She couldn’t see inside but heard an old man’s gravelly voice.

  “Qui est là?”

  AJ had wondered if her French would be tested and considered the problem they’d face if the man didn’t speak English at all.

  “Je m’appelle AJ, je suis une amie de Hazel Delacroix,” she replied. “I’m looking for Père Noël.”

  There was a brief hesitation before the door opened wider and revealed a very old man, stooped over and leaning on a sturdy cane. His thinned hair and bushy beard were white as a sheet and matched his pallid skin. His eyes looked tired and weary, but he forced a meagre smile.

  “You’re Arthur Bailey’s granddaughter aren’t you,” he said in perfect English as he stepped back to allow her into his home, after warily scanning the street outside. “You can call me Whitey. Please come inside.”

  AJ stood in the doorway and stared at the old man. “You knew my granddad?” she asked incredulously.

  He waved at her to come in and she finally managed to get her feet to move.

  “We served together, in Jamaica. Wonderful bloke your grandfather, straightened me right out he did. And I recognise you from news articles I read.” His voice trailed off. “You know, on Grand Cayman, articles about what happened.”

  AJ walked into a tiny living room with barely enough room for the two chairs, coffee table, sideboard and fireplace it housed. She recognised ABBA, the Swedish group from the seventies, playing quietly from a stereo somewhere in the room. Noticing three photographs on the sideboard she was immediately drawn to them. Whitey closed the door and slowly followed her. She turned and asked politely, “Mind if I look at these?”

  He waved a hand towards the pictures. “Please, be my guest, only three photographs I own. Was only two until a few years back.”

  AJ looked at the frames and the weathered memories the closest two contained. The first was a black and white of a group of young sailors leaning over the rail of a naval Motor Torpedo Boat, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders, and cigarettes hanging from most of their lips. She recognised the boat as the type her granddad had served aboard and instantly picked him out. She picked up the frame and held it for Whitey to see.

  “Which one is you?”

  He didn’t have to look at the photograph and answered straight away. “On your grandfather’s right, with my arm around him. He weren’t much older than me, but he was like my Navy dad, taught me everything.”

  Whitey’s eyes had drifted to the next picture and AJ turned. Putting the first one down, she picked up the second. It was a grainy and faded colour photograph of a young couple on a beach. They were standing in the water with fins and old-style, oval dive masks in their hands. The woman was gorgeous in a black bikini with long dark hair. The man, who she assumed was Whitey, was tall, tanned, and handsome, with broad shoulders and a broader smile. It looked like a promotional picture for a James Bond movie.

  “Who is she?” AJ asked quietly.

  Whitey swallowed and started to speak but had to stop and compose himself. AJ placed the picture back down on the sideboard, not wanting to upset the man, and as she did she looked at the third photograph for the first time. It was Hazel.

  Whitey’s voice was broken, and AJ could tell he was crying. “That’s my daughter, who you met, and the one you held up was her mother, Isabella.”

  Off the living room was a small kitchen, and an even smaller table with two chairs that passed as the dining area. Whitey needed a few minutes to compose himself and offered to put the kettle on for some tea. They now sat at the table, sipping their tea from old, weathered teacups and AJ let Whitey take his time starting the conversation again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not usually the crying type. But this business with Hazel has finished me off, I’m afraid.”

  “I had no idea she was your daughter, she didn’t share that,” AJ confessed, still stunned.

  “That’s my doing,” Whitey said apologetically. “I’ve been in hiding for forty-five years you understand, mainly to protect Isabella, so I told Hazel she had to make up a story. I didn’t want her going to Cayman, but she’d fallen on hard times since her mother died. I told her the whole story about her mum and me, and the mess I made of things with the Cavero family, so she knew about the money and the wreck. I take it you know all this from Hazel?”

  AJ shook her head. “Only parts. She started by telling me a story about meeting you five years ago, but she said she knew you as Père Noël and nothing more. She relayed the story about the key, and the wreck, and the safety deposit box. She told me about her mum dying, but never told me about her mum ever being on Cayman.”

  Whitey nodded. “Again, that’s really all my fault. Isabella had taken the name Delacroix when she married the Frenchman and left her Spanish family ties behind. It was all to hide from the Caveros.” His head hung heavier. “And it didn’t matter after all that anyway, Cavero’s son still found Hazel.”

  “He found her when Isabella died, her obituary carried her maiden name as well, “AJ hurriedly told him, hoping it would help his guilt. “Junior told us that, there was nothing you could have done.”

  Whitey looked up. “Oh my dear, there’s not much I could have done, but there’s a lot more I shouldn’t have done.”

  He sipped his tea and AJ wasn’t sure what to say next. Whitey helped her.

  “It was true, I met Hazel five years ago. She told you as many truths as I’d let her.” He smiled weakly. “I never knew she was my daughter, you see. After I survived that day in Cayman, I found Isabella and told her everything, all about the Caveros, the money, everything. Told her to pack up and leave right away, fly away and never come back. It was too dangerous to be with me. She needed to find another man. Live her life and be happy. Broke my heart into a million pieces.”

  He paused a moment and gathered himself again.

  “I gave her some money and told her to never look back, I could never see her again. That was that. I was sure the Caveros would find me, so I bounced around and used different names. Went back to Thailand for a while, where it’s easy to get lost. When I saw the old man had died, I finally thought I was in the clear and I came back to Europe. I spent ages trying to track down Isabella and I finally found her. Living in southern France with her husband, Delacroix, and they had a little girl. Ruined me all over again, but st
ill, I was relieved she’d found a happy, normal life. Her girl was a beautiful little thing. I never spoke to Isabella, didn’t seem fair to, I just left. Next time I saw her I was staring at her grave in the south of France, almost a year ago now.

  Anyway, after a while, I settled on Corsica, worked on fishing and dive boats as the seasons allowed. That’s where Père Noël started; my hair had turned grey, then white, and I had a big beard. I liked the similarity it had to Whitey Snow, my real name I’d had to leave behind so many years before. One day, about five years ago, this French woman finds me. I was done working by then, too old to be of any use on a boat. Says she’s the daughter of Isabella Delacroix. Alonso, as I would have known her. Told me she’d been searching for me for twenty years. Finally tracked me down from an article they wrote about an old man finally retiring from diving on Corsica, was a silly article in our local paper. Turns out that beautiful little girl I’d seen was my daughter, and she grew up to be this strong, independent woman. Hazel tells me her mum found out she was pregnant a while after she ran from Cayman and was settled in the south of France. She was working for this man Delacroix. He was besotted with her, and told her he’d happily raise the child as his own if she’d marry him. It was the best day I’d had in forty-five years when Hazel told me I was really her dad.” Whitey stared off and AJ could see tears forming in his eyes again.

  “How did you get away from the Caveros on Cayman?” she quickly asked.

  “From the wreck?” he asked.

  “The reports said three people were lost along with the boat that day, right? I assume you were one of the three?” she clarified, pleased to get him talking again.

  “I can tell you where the boat is,” he chuckled, “It’s over the edge in the deep, I watched it going down. Believe me, seeing your way home heading to the bottom while you’re going up is a bit unnerving.”