Missing Presumed Lost

by Fred Lockwood

  Neither Jack nor Sandro were afraid of sharks. They did an invaluable clean up job in the ocean. However, they both realised that the captain of the Blizbanci and his mate must have been blown to pieces and those pieces had attracted this shark and probably others. When a shark senses food it is better not to be thrashing around in the water!

  ‘Perhaps no more swimming today,’ suggested Jack as both he and Sandro sat down on the life raft. They were eager to see what Sandro had salvaged.

  Sandro clicked it open and was surprised that it was dry inside. He took out a fat brown leather portfolio that almost filled the briefcase and handed the case to Jack.

  ‘We have nothing else to do, let's see what we have found,’ suggested Sandro.

  After a few minutes scanning the contents Jack placed the briefcase between them and turned to Sandro.

  ‘There's something odd here,’ he said in a confused tone. ‘Mrs Kovačić told us that James Blake was one of her employees. That's why she was so keen for us to find him and the boat. But there's a wodge of business cards here that say he was a senior chemical engineer at AMC Pharmaceuticals in Slough, just outside London. In his wallet are UK credit cards, a UK driving licence and a load of loyalty cards. There's nothing to suggest he lived and worked in Split. There's also a return plane ticket from London to Split, a UK passport and a brown envelope with a lot of US dollars in it. I mean a lot! What have you got there?’ he asked.

  ‘Similar confusion,’ replied Sandro. ‘The business cards say that Lawrence Anderson was marketing director of a consultancy group called Taylor, Gibbs and Morgan based in the City of London. There's also a return ticket to London, a passport and another load of money. What's this all about?’ he asked.

  ‘Let's see what else we've got here,’ replied Jack as they returned to their study of the documents before them.

  It only took less than five minutes before Jack interrupted Sandro's exploration.

  ‘Assuming James Blake was a chemical engineer it looks like he was working at setting up a production line for a product called Livactomel. I've no idea what that is. There’s a pile of technical stuff and a summary Gantt chart that sets out a timetable for coordinating all the different jobs. If I have to guess I reckon Mr Blake was advising Pharmaco on producing some new product. What have you got?’ asked Jack.

  ‘If Lawrence was indeed a marketing man all the stuff I can see relates to marketing something called Pancrovita. There's a summary spread sheet and it looks like they are marketing whatever it is in Brazil, Russia, India and China. It's obviously some medical product ’cos they have a team of sales reps in each country and lists of hospitals and clinics. I'm not sure I'm reading this right but the summary table of sales and income is staggering. Whatever they are making and selling looks as though it is worth a fortune!’

  Jack and Sandro sat in silence for several minutes contemplating what they had discovered.

  ‘We are missing the obvious,’ said Jack. The tone indicated he wasn't happy.

  ‘How did this briefcase get to be in the middle of the Adriatic? There's no way it could have drifted this far from where the Pharmaco went down,’ he argued.

  ‘It wasn't on the Pharmaco. It was on the Blizbanci when she blew up,’ replied Sandro in an equally guarded tone.

  ‘So how did it get on board the salvage boat?’ asked Jack. ‘I didn't salvage it, did you?’ he asked Sandro directly.

  ‘No way,’ he replied. ‘I was with you all the time,’ he added.

  ‘Will must have found it and put it on the salvage boat. It's the only explanation,’ offered Jack. ‘And Will is dead!’

  Jack paused with his mind racing:

  ‘OK, let's give Mrs Kovačić the benefit of the doubt. Let's assume James and Lawrence were working for her on a product and that the details were commercially sensitive. The cash in their wallets could be payment for the job they were doing. It could be a case of them avoiding tax. Wanting to find the two guys, and the sensitive documentation, would be understandable. Saying they worked for her would be true and a way of encouraging us to look for them. It's all perfectly reasonable and makes sense,’ Jack concluded.

  ‘What if there is another explanation for what has been happening? asked Sandro. ‘The sums of money listed in the spread sheet are incredible. I'm no drugs expert but the numbers sound amazing. We think Will may have retrieved the briefcase and he ends up dead. We are on a boat, with the briefcase on board, and we nearly end up dead!’

  They both sat in silence for a few moments before Sandro continued.

  ‘What happened when you went for a meal with Mrs Kovačić? Did she ask you about the briefcase?’

  ‘No, I don't think so,’ Jack replied. ‘She asked me lots of questions about our company, about how we planned to salvage her sailboat. She asked if she could have a guided tour of the Sultano.’

  Jack hesitated over what he was going to say next:

  ‘She asked me to stay the night. It was pretty clear what she wanted!’ he confessed.

  ‘And you said no! Man, Mrs Kovačić is a very attractive woman,’ Sandro replied with disbelief.

  ‘There's something else,’ said Jack. ‘She employs two armed bodyguards. When the house keeper, Anna, was serving supper she dropped some cutlery on the floor. As she bent down to pick it up I saw a gun hidden under her top, in her waistband. Petra told me she carried the gun at all times. She also told me that her father and mother in law were robbed and murdered less than a year ago. Her husband was also killed. They think it was a carjacking gone wrong, somewhere near Sarajevo.’

  ‘Oh, this gets better and better,’ responded Sandro sarcastically. ‘What if the delightful Mrs Kovačić decides to get rid of Mummy, Daddy and Hubby? She then controls her own pharmaceutical company. What if she decides to produce and market some very expensive drugs? What if she would do anything, sorry Jack, including sleeping with you, to cover her tracks? That little scenario also makes sense,’ he concluded.

  ‘The first thing we need to do is find out what Pancrovita and Livactomel are,’ said Jack.

  ‘No, the first thing we need to do is find a way to get back to Split,’ replied Sandro.

  Chapter 21

  Never a more welcome sight

  As the sun rose and the temperature increased, they sat on the life raft with the tarpaulin draped over them like a makeshift tent. They had secured the plastic crate in the middle of the raft and run lines from it to the grab lines around the sides. By alternating the lines underneath and on top of the tarpaulin they had created a mini tent or sail. The effect was that the gentle breeze wafted them along faster than the debris around them. If the nineteen litre bottle of water had been full it might have been a pleasant experience. However, they hadn't drunk anything in over twelve hours and were rapidly becoming dehydrated. Both Jack and Sandro knew that it wouldn't be starvation that killed them, it would be lack of fluid.

  With an economy of effort, the stern of the Sultano gently eased away from the edge of the dock, steadied and then crept forwards. As the bow hawser began to slacken it was cast off and the bow thrusters pushed the ship away from the dockside. The ship edged towards the main channel. After years of sleeping in backwaters she was finally awake. Marco was at the helm and headed for the harbour entrance. Even creeping along at a snail pace the Sultano was creating a wash that had sailboats and leisure cruisers bouncing at their moorings. They glided sedately past the marina and into the open space at the mouth of the harbour entrance. A touch on the bow thrusters eased them around until they were heading between the two buoys that marked the exit channel.

  Kev estimated they were only a couple of hundred metres outside the harbour exit when Marco's fingers hit the touch screen and increased the engine revs. Kev could feel his body weight move as the Sultano picked up speed.

  ‘Just ten knots,’ explained Marco as he spoke into the phone linking the bridge to the engine room.

  One of the workers from the boatyard, who was hunch
ed over the chart table, said something to Marco in Croatian. Marco acknowledged and his fingers moved over the digital control screen and his other hand over the tiny joystick; the Sultano made a gentle turn to starboard as she continued to negotiate her exit from Split.

  Everyone on board seemed to be busy doing something, except Kev. He simply stood to the side of the bridge and watched. He knew there was nothing for him to do. The phone rang and Marco picked it up, spoke a few words and put it down again. As his fingers brushed over the control screen the Sultano increased speed; he exchanged a few words with the navigator and then spoke to Kev.

  ‘Mostak tells me everything is OK in the engine room, temperatures and pressures, fuel flow and so on. I'm taking her up to fifteen knots.’

  The wait seemed interminable but after about twenty minutes the same sequence was followed. The speed increased to twenty knots, then twenty-five knots and finally they were barrelling along at twenty-eight knots. It was exhilarating. Kev stepped out of the bridge onto the port side extension and was blasted by the wind rushing past him. The Sultano was flying. She was low at the stern and had twin trails of white water streaming out behind her. He could hear the noise of the engine but could hardly feel it as they seemed to skim over the water rather than butt their way through it. At this speed they would get to the search area in about six hours and still have several hours of daylight for the search.

  Kev retraced his steps through the bridge and aft to the engine room. It was only when he opened the hatch that he could really hear the engine and realised how quiet it was! He waved to Shaun and Patrick and could see they were in their element. However, Shaun immediately moved away only to return with a set of ear protectors. He handed them to Kev:

  ‘Health and Safety down here mate,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘How's it going?’ shouted Kev as he scanned the gleaming yellow Caterpillar engines, dials, pipes and digital display boards.

  ‘Like a dream,’ Shaun shouted back. ‘I reckon Patrick, Mostak and I have had to tighten a couple of connections. This is a great boat,’ he added with pride, like a father talking about his child.

  It was almost mid-afternoon when they approached the search area. The navigator was heading to where he estimated the largest pieces of debris would be. Marco had reduced their speed to ten knots and had two of his workers hanging off the sides of the communication tower. They were scanning with binoculars. They had approached the expected debris field from the south and were steaming into the prevailing current. It didn't take long to spot floating debris. There were shards of white plastic stuck to yellow insulation foam in the water. They lowered the rib and collected a bucketful. There were a couple of lengths of rope that still stank of diesel; they were added to the bucket. There was also a wooden pallet floating in the water that was dragged into the rib. As they returned to the Sultano Mostak spotted the broken shaft of a broom, with the broom head still attached, floating in the water. He recognised it from the scuffed green paint.

  They had set off with such optimism. The soft light of late afternoon still bathed the scene and it was still warm, but hope was starting to fade. Marco called for Shaun, Patrick and Kev to join him on the bridge.

  ‘From the debris we have recovered it's clear that it was the Blizbanci that exploded. I can't even guess why at the moment but the more items we salvage the more likely we will find out why. I've been looking for the largest piece of wreckage but so far I can't see it and the amount of debris is getting less. It's possible that the wreckage has sunk or we have missed it. Another possibility is that it has floated past the point we started the search. We have only got another hour or so of good light. I think we should retrace our track and look further south. If the wreckage is still afloat the wind and tide may have carried it further than the other debris. What do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘The only way Jack and Sandro could survive is if they are out of the water and on wreckage,’ replied Kev. ‘Something three metres by two metres could catch the wind and in a few hours be miles away from the rest of the debris. I say we race south,’ said Kev forcibly.

  ‘I agree,’ said Shaun. ‘That explosion must have been massive to change a solid boat into matchwood. I vote we turn round and run a track that the wreckage would follow if it stayed afloat. It's our best chance, it's their best chance,’ he said as though in resignation.

  ‘Let's go,’ said Patrick. ‘Maximum speed until we get to the plot.’

  Marco said something to his navigator and phoned through to the engine room. Shaun and Patrick were already there when the phone rang and moments later the twin Caterpillars roared into life.

  The tent that Jack and Sandro had erected had done the job. It saved them from severe sunburn but could not stop them dehydrating. At first both of them stood on the raft and scanned the horizon looking for the search party. Guarded optimism had gradually changed to disbelief. A dull headache had developed into a splitting headache and thirst dominated their thinking. The sun was going down and Jack was resigning himself to another uncomfortable night on the raft; maybe it would be his last night.

  At first he thought the noise was in his head. It was a dull, insistent bellow. Then he heard it again and realised Sandro had heard it too. Sandro looked up but couldn't see anything. He grabbed the edge of the tarpaulin and pulled himself to his feet.

  ‘Look,’ croaked Sandro as he pointed towards the horizon. ‘It's a ship.’

  Jack shaded his eyes and squinted into the distance. The sun was low but off to his right. Yes, he could see it clearly now and the silhouette looked naval – there was some form of armament on the for'ard deck. He could see them but could they see him? Movement, it's movement that attracts the attention. Jack tried to stand on one leg and take off his shorts but he fell over into a heap, flattening part of the makeshift tent. He struggled to get the other leg free and then stood, waving his boxers over his head. Sandro realised what he was doing and did the same.

  ‘You've got to see this,’ chuckled Kev as he turned to Marco and handed him the binoculars. ‘I wish I had a camera. It looks like Jack and Sandro are standing on some wreckage, totally naked, waving their shorts above their heads. Looks like they are happy to see us,’ he added as an understatement.

  Jack and Sandro could see the profile of the ship change as she headed towards them as repeated blasts of the ship’s klaxon sounded.

  ‘Sandro… the briefcase, we've got to hide the briefcase, in the bottom of the crate with the spare rope on top and lashed down,’ he croaked in his urgency.

  Jack had been looking into the sun. It was low in the sky. It wasn't until the ship was almost upon them that Jack realised it wasn't a Croatian gunboat that was rescuing them but the Sultano! The aggressive naval lines, agility of the ship and the armament had convinced him this was a government vessel. It was with surprise that he realised Shaun must have fitted the water cannon to the for'ard deck. Even at a hundred metres’ distance it looked like a weapon! As they came alongside the raft Jack shouted up to those on the rail.

  ‘Drop the hook from the hydraulic arm. We can hook it through these ropes and you can winch us and the raft on board,’ he directed.

  There was a flurry of back slapping, laughter, guzzling of water and questions. In an embrace with Kev, Jack spoke into his ear with a seriousness that was surprising.

  ‘There's an aluminium briefcase at the bottom of the plastic crate; it's lashed to the middle of the life raft. Don't let anyone see you move it. Hide it in your cabin. I'll explain later.’

  Jack then embraced Marco and even managed to say how magnificent the Sultano was looking. Both Jack and Sandro continued hugging their rescuers, slapping their backs, taking swigs of water and generally letting all the attention rest on them, as Kev did as he was asked.

  Chapter 22

  Disturbing news

  There was a message waiting for Kev in the boat yard office; it was from the police. It seemed Kev was invited to the police station to discuss
an aspect of Will's death. There was the name of a police officer and a direct phone number. Marco phoned the number on Kev's behalf and after a brief exchange on the phone agreed to drive Kev to the police station immediately.

  They were shown to a small waiting room with plain, painted walls, one dirty window and a row of tired-looking chairs. It was hot, airless and a smell of cheap disinfectant permeated the room. From down the corridor voices, shouting and the odd scuffle echoed. Before Kev could feel even more uncomfortable a young smartly dressed policeman entered the room and extended his hand.

  ‘Mr Kevin Donnelly, thank you for coming to station. So sorry for death of friend.’

  The officer looked down to the papers in his hand to confirm the name on the sheet.

  ‘Er... Mr William Mayor. Autopsy say your friend very drunk. Much slivovitz in stomach. He fall in water and drown... accident. Body and possessions can be claimed by family. British consul help. Have address and phone number of British consul here.’

  In a trance Kev accepted the sheets of paper. He was stunned and struggled to take in what he had just heard. The officer was saying something else to him and was starting to leave the room.

  ‘No, no this must be wrong,’ he said forcibly.

  The policeman had witnessed countless denials, friends and family who could not accept that their brother or sister, mother or father, friend or relative could be dead. He turned towards Kev and placed a compassionate hand on his shoulder. He started to say how sorry he was for his loss.

  ‘No, you don't understand. Will didn't drink, he was teetotal. He was also a professional diver and knew he could be diving the next day. Even if he wasn't teetotal he would never drink before diving. There must be a mistake.’

  It was clear by the expression on the policeman's face that he wasn't sure what Kev had said nor its significance. Marco repeated what Kev had said in Croatian. There was an exchange and then Marco translated the reply.