Death Beyond the Limit: Fiji Islands Mysteries 3

by B. M. Allsopp

  Fifteen minutes later a sailor came up to the bridge with a box of corned beef sandwiches and bananas. Horseman thought of the meals Dr Pillai provided for the Shiners. The charged atmosphere on Kula calmed while the sailors munched on the job.

  Lt Vodo said, ‘You can have a look around Kula now if you like—go down to the mess deck. The crew will be glad to meet you.’

  Sailors sprawled on the fixed benches on the mess deck, eating steadily, some watching a New Zealand rugby game on television, some playing cards. They jumped up, pumped Horseman’s hand and welcomed Wes too. A sailor poured them huge mugs of sweet tea. Rugby was the sole topic for the next hour until a voice from the bridge directed all hands to check their equipment.

  Horseman’s stomach protested at the patrol boat’s pitching so he was glad to get out on deck. The Kula’s lights illumined a tiny patch of inky sea. He’d be more comfortable if he could see the rolling waves as well as feel them. Clouds masked the stars. He was glad of the bright white naval ensign, the union jack in the top corner.

  Wes’s face was pale. ‘I can take the roughest water inside the reef. But this—there’s no chop, but I feel sick as a dog.’

  ‘Me too. You stay out here. I’m going up to the bridge, check how it’s all going.’

  Lt Vodo grinned a welcome. He was enjoying this mission. ‘We’ll close on them in another forty-five minutes. That means we have to prepare the boarding party, decide how we’re going to do it.’

  ‘Will this swell be a problem?’

  ‘Won’t be comfortable, but it’s safe if it doesn’t get higher. If the wind stays below fifteen knots, we’ll be okay. Do you know if they’re likely to stop on my command?’

  ‘No, but it could depend on Yee, the people smuggler. If he’s onboard, he may prevent Captain Shen obeying your orders. He’s ruthless.’

  ‘You’d better get tooled up, then. You’re the only one who can identify the lead actors. Unless your injury—’

  ‘What, you’ll leave me out of the action because my knee’s a bit sore? No way! Tool me up, Timo.’

  He snapped on the utility belt. A sailor demonstrated the mini-VHF radio, the extendable truncheon, the pistol. Horseman tightened the holster strap around his thigh.

  ‘Foreign fishing vessels usually comply when they see the game is up. But not always. If your people smuggler’s on board, that takes the risk to another level. You said he shot the fishing observer?’ Vodo asked.

  ‘We have only one witness, so it’s not certain.’

  ‘We’re still in Fiji’s territorial waters, so there’s no jurisdictional problem if you make an arrest. If they stop on my command we’ll launch our RHIBs—they’re inflatables—and board from them.’

  ‘And if they don’t stop?’

  ‘Then it’s Plan B.’

  Horseman watched on the radar as Kula steadily closed the gap on Joy-13. Lt Vodo passed his binoculars. ‘You can see their navigation lights now.’ White lights bounced up and down through the lenses. More lights flared on Kula as groups of sailors ran to their positions, some getting into a RHIB suspended over the side deck.

  ‘God help us,’ Vodo said softly.

  Horseman looked up in alarm, then realised the commander was praying before the action, not reacting to disaster.

  ‘Radio operator, tune to Channel 16 VHF and order to stop,’ Vodo shouted.

  ‘Fishing vessel Joy-13 on my port bow, this is Fijian Warship. You are required to stop. I will board you.’

  Silence. He could now see Joy-13’s lights with his naked eyes. When the swell lifted the vessel he could see lit windows. No radio response.

  The radio operator repeated the order every few minutes until Kula drew level.

  ‘The signals sailor will flash the same message with the Morse light,’ Lt Vodo explained.

  The radio order repeated at deafening amplification. Blinding spotlights blasted Joy-13. The longliner’s sole response was to veer away from Kula.

  ‘Idiots! Can’t they see we’re moving faster than them?’ Vodo was frustrated. Clearly, he did not want to escalate the action. After interminable seconds, he spoke into the VHF radio.

  ‘Gunnery officer, a rifle shot across the bows!’

  A sailor stepped up to Kula’s bows, bright in the floodlight, loaded and aimed his weapon.

  The rifleman was a standing duck. ‘Joy-13 can see him,’ Horseman said.

  ‘That’s the idea. I hope the sight of our boy with his self-loading rifle might make them stop.’

  On the shouted orders of the gunnery officer, the armed sailor loaded, aimed forward of Joy-13’s bow and fired into the water.

  The order to stop blared out once more.

  More shouts from the gunnery officer, followed by a burst of rapid fire into the water.

  ‘Time for the heavy 50 cal machine gun. This will make the boys happy.’ Vodo said gloomily. Ear-muffed sailors manipulated the gun, maintaining its aim ahead of Joy-13’s bow as she veered sharply to port.

  ‘Engage!’ The noise blasted Horseman’s eardrums.

  Vodo’s voice was quiet but insistent. ‘Now, radio operator.’

  The radio warning blasted through the loud hailer again.

  ‘Fishing vessel Joy-13 on my port bow, this is Fijian Warship—you are required to stop. I will board you.’

  Silence, save for the throb of the engines, the rhythmic slosh of the swell and the call of birds attracted to the lights.

  ‘No choice now but Plan B,’ Lt Vodo muttered.

  50

  Lt Vodo was determined. ‘We’re going to get this guy. What’s he playing at? We’re big, grey, flags flying, guns booming! A hundred metres away. Sea state’s up a notch, too risky boarding from the RHIBs in the dark. Nothing for it but a graunch.’

  Horseman knew he’d find out what a graunch was soon enough. Now was the wrong time to ask.

  ‘Joe, all eight boarders will go simultaneously, under my second in command, Peni. He’ll look after you.’

  A huge man stepped up and pumped Horseman’s hand. ‘A massed tank charge works, Joe. This is the plan. Four to the bridge, four to the engine room, take control. Seize the logbooks, chart plotter for Fisheries evidence, secure the engine room to prevent sabotage.’

  Lt Vodo turned to Wes. ‘Stay here for now. When we have control of Joy-13, a sailor will escort you across and protect you while you carry out your search-and-seize.’

  As the breeze stiffened, the swell increased. Kula’s crew worked with a new fervour. Orders cascaded from Lt Vodo down the line. A RHIB hit the sea, one boatman aboard. Crew tied it off at Kula’s stern. Sailors hefted bundles of ropes and steel. Others stood poised, muscles tensed.

  Kula veered further to port, closing the gap to fifty metres, twenty metres. A collision course! Joy-13 gunned her engines, tried to pull ahead, but the Kula matched her pace and direction. A grating crunch of steel on steel shook Kula. Horseman braced himself, hung on hard, both hands. Again and again, Kula forced Joy-13 to port. As the ships slowed to a halt, the drawn-out bashing settled to a grinding screech that set his teeth on edge.

  Grapples and ropes clanged on Joy-13’s deck. Peni grabbed Horseman’s arm.

  ‘Ready, Joe. Jump on three. One, two—’

  They jumped over the smashed guard rails. Seven others hurtled across with them. Immediately, the screeching stopped as Kula eased away, rolling on the swell. Peni, with Horseman in tow, led three roaring sailors up to the bridge. Four others disappeared below.

  Screaming, the five burst into the bridge. Two moved to bar the doorways.

  ‘That’s Captain Shen at the wheel,’ Horseman informed Peni.

  Peni boomed at the captain. ‘This is Fiji Warship. I am taking control of FV Joy-13! Surrender the wheel, Captain Shen!’

  The three crew on the bridge cowered behind the chart table, but the captain stood resolute, or perhaps petrified with fear. He looked at Horseman, who addressed him in a normal voice.

  ‘Captain, the chase
is over. Is Yee on board?’

  The captain looked at him, nodded slightly. ‘Hold,’ he gasped.

  Shen stepped away from the wheel. Peni took his place.

  ‘Thank you. Logbooks, please!’ Peni shouted.

  Shen’s mouth twisted slightly.

  ‘Peni, I’ve got to get down to the holds to arrest Yee,’ Horseman muttered.

  Peni looked doubtful. ‘Go, protect Inspector Horseman!’ he yelled at a sailor.

  ‘Io, sir!’

  They hurried down companionways and along corridors to the cavernous fish holds.

  A door was open, letting out a blast of freezing air. A crewman in a padded coat and gloves passed up a large white bundle through the hatch to the deck. The sailor roared. The crewman, another bundle in his arms, turned around. It was Filipo—alive. Horseman couldn’t stop himself smiling, so great was his relief. He ran through the doorway.

  ‘Filipo—stop there!’

  Filipo was shocked too. He stood still, puffs of vapour billowing from his open mouth. Horseman closed the distance and muttered softly. ‘Slip me your phone, man. Santo’s told us what you’ve got.’

  He grabbed the bundle in Filipo’s arms. ‘What’s this, man?’ he yelled.

  Filipo said nothing but slipped his free hand into his jacket. He passed his phone underneath the white bundle to Horseman, as if he was wrestling the bundle away from him.

  Horseman whispered. ‘Your passport’s at Suva police station.’

  Filipo nodded, then shouted, ‘You find out!’ He hoisted the bundle up towards the hatch where it was seized by reaching hands.

  Horseman raised his voice again. ‘You go up to the bridge now, man. At once!’ Filipo obeyed.

  He extracted his radio. ‘This is Inspector Horseman in Joy-13’s fish hold. Crewmen are passing unknown objects through hatch to deck. Please intercept. Repeat, please intercept. Alert Fisheries Officer Wes on Kula. Over.’

  ‘Joe, this is Command. Vinaka. I’ll get sailors to the holds right away. Please don’t take any risks. Anything else? Over.’

  ‘Command, I believe crew are dumping some illegal product. Please try to retrieve the white-wrapped bundles and alert Wes. Over.’

  ‘Will do, Joe. Over.’

  ‘Command, I believe Yee is on board Joy-13. We’re searching for him. Over.’

  ‘Joe, I repeat, take no risks. Good luck. Out.’

  Horseman dashed out in search of a companionway up to the fish deck. Around a corner he found one, almost a ladder. He grabbed the handrails and climbed as fast as he could. Half-way up, something crashed into him. A body, he realised as they both fell to the floor below. Bulkier and heavier than any of the fishermen. Rolling on top of the body, he pulled out his truncheon and held it ready to strike. The man must have fallen heavily because he lay still. Horseman eased off and turned him over. Yee. Could he be unconscious? The floor was steel, he might have broken his neck in the fall. Horseman felt chill. Glad too.

  Yee erupted like a volcano, raining blows. Horseman flicked the truncheon open, warding off many of the vicious kicks to his guts, his head, everywhere. Yee was not fit, he knew. If Horseman could hold out, the man would soon tire. Then Yee started pummelling his face like a punching bag. Waiting for him to tire was not an option. He swung the truncheon up hard. Yee’s yelp told him he’d connected. He had no idea where. The punches stopped.

  He hauled himself to his knees, managed to open one eye. Yee whimpered, curled up in a foetal position. Having been tricked once, Horseman straddled Yee, sat on him hard, got a cuff on one wrist, then wrenched the other arm from beneath him and dragged it behind his back. Snap. Done.

  ‘Yo Wu Yee, you are wanted by the Fiji Police Force for questioning about murder and people smuggling. I am arresting you onboard FV Joy-13 within Fiji’s territorial waters and taking you back to Suva for questioning.’

  He levered himself to a sitting position against a wall and pulled out his radio. The casing was cracked but the red light came on.

  ‘This is Horseman. Assistance required. I’ve arrested Yee. I’m at the bottom of a companionway on Joy-13 leading to the fish deck. Please assist when possible. Over.’

  Commotion on the deck above suggested the dumpers of evidence were being dealt with.

  ‘This is Command. Joe, are you in danger? Over.’

  ‘Bula, Timo. Not anymore. Over.’

  ‘Great job, Joe. Help is on the way. Out.’

  *

  He was aware of being lowered into a RHIB, then winched onto Kula.

  ‘I’m Joni, medical sailor. You’re going to be fine, Joe. What was the last game you played?’

  ‘Where’s Yee?’

  ‘Don’t worry. He’s under lock and key on Joy-13. We wanted you back here on Fiji soil, eh. What was the last game you played?’

  ‘For God’s sake, man. Twenty-one months ago. Hong Kong Sevens.’

  ‘Good, Joe. Now, this might hurt a bit…’ As Joni pressed and probed his battle-weary body, asked him to wiggle his toe, bend elbows and knees, a scything pain in his ankle made his head swim.

  ‘You’ll live,’ Joni pronounced. ‘That’s good, right? We’ll get you inside now, find you a bunk.’ He wanted to refuse but didn’t have the strength.

  As they carried him inside, the grey horizon expanded. Day was dawning.

  *

  The next thing he knew, he was on a bunk. A worried-looking Lt Vodo was standing beside him.

  ‘Where’s Wes?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘Wes had a good op too. He retrieved some of the boxes thrown overboard—shark fins, processed, packaged, all ready for market. Then he arrested Captain Shen under the Fisheries Act. Wes is staying on Joy-13. One or two of the boarding party can help him complete his inspection. Maybe even the fishermen will help.’

  Joni came in with ice packs for Horseman’s face, ankle and knee. His whole body was shrieking in protest now.

  ‘You could do with some pain relief, Joe.’

  Horseman was about to refuse when he heard himself say ‘Vinaka.’

  He stared through the doorway as the needle pricked his skin. The sky was now a grey wash. Seabirds circling astern flashed white in the first rays of sunshine.

  Lt Vodo said, ‘We’ll get the RHIBs back onboard quick smart, pick up speed and then it’s plain sailing back to Walu Bay. Should be in time for a late breakfast.’

  51

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon before all the players took their places. Extra chairs were brought into the interview room. Horseman was pleased that Sam, the young Suva Grammar School teacher, was the interpreter once more. He had no skin in this game whatsoever, no reason to bias his translation.

  The Chinese Embassy requested that a vice-consul accompany Captain Shen. The super reluctantly assented, on condition that she did not speak. Singh, although disappointed to miss the sea hunt, was eager to play her part in the kill now the big fish had been landed. A uniform stood guard by the door, another outside. They awaited Captain Shen’s legal representative.

  Horseman’s face felt as bloated as Jimmy’s decapitated head but at least he didn’t have to look at it. When he’d examined his face in a mirror his eyes were mere slits in misshapen puffy flesh. He sympathised with the others in the room who had to pretend they noticed nothing strange about him.

  After four long minutes, the uniform ushered the solicitor in. Mr Mishra was fortyish, slim and alert. He shook hands with Shen and nodded to the others. He looked shocked at Horseman’s battered and bruised face, quickly averting his gaze.

  Did Mr Mishra’s eyelid twitch or did he wink at Singh? Maybe he knew her. Horseman glanced at Singh while the solicitor sat, took a file from his briefcase and placed it on the table. Her face reddened, then the colour drained.

  He waited for her to turn on the recorder and make the routine announcements. ‘Can we begin, DS Singh?’

  After two seconds she rose and pushed her chair back. ‘Please excuse me. I’m unable to continue thi
s interview.’

  She looked at him. ‘Sorry, sir, please replace me.’ She walked out.

  ‘Excuse me a moment, please.’ He pushed himself up, grabbed his crutch, found his balance and squeezed behind chairs and out the door. Singh was leaning against the wall.

  ‘What’s the matter, Singh? Do you need help?’

  She looked like death warmed up, as his mother used to say. ‘No. I know the solicitor. I can’t continue. It’s a conflict of interest.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Sir, I can make that judgement for myself.’ She turned away, but not before he saw her eyes fill with tears.

  He sent the uniform to fetch either Musudroka or Kau, whoever was nearest, to replace Singh. He returned to the interview room and apologised. Ten seconds later a breathless Kau burst in, shrugging on an oversized borrowed jacket. Could it be the super’s? Kau was quick to recover, took over the recorder and made the announcements in a business-like voice.

  Through the interpreter, Captain Shen repeated his story that Jimmy Inia fell overboard by accident. His own failure to report this was due to the pressure to fill his holds on their final fishing days before entering port. The need for interpreting halved the pace of the interview, giving Horseman time to worry about Singh’s wellbeing and wonder about her relationship with the man sitting opposite him.

  Mishra now spoke up. ‘As you have heard, Captain Shen does not wish to change the statement he tendered at his previous interview on board Joy-13. As you know, a Chinese team of detectives arrived on Tuesday morning to take over the investigation, in line with China’s duty as Joy-13’s flag state. The detectives were grateful for the evidence you had already gathered. That investigation is now concluded, and as a courtesy, I wish to submit their report, together with an English translation, as evidence.’ He handed a very slender plastic envelope to Horseman. It felt empty.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Mishra. Superintendent Navala has already told me about the Chinese team’s conclusions. However, I will be most interested to read the full report in translation. Now I will continue my questions to Captain Shen.’