FEARLESS FINN'S MURDEROUS ADVENTURE

by Mike Coony

  Anna’s thrown together a three-course meal from unlabelled tins, two bags of rice, unfamiliar vegetables, and the fruit we picked. She cooked it all on a silly little stove, tearing along at a hundred kilometres per hour. There’s no denying that she comes from good Viking stock.

  Sui-Lin’s a trouper; she’s eating as she drives. After she drops us somewhere on the longest continuous coastline in China, she’ll turn around and head for Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport. She’ll ditch the vehicle, catch a flight to Shanghai, and then travel back to Hong Kong.

  The rest of us will steal a fishing boat under cover of dark, head fifteen nautical miles out to sea, and wait to be intercepted by FLEC Vessel Number 7. That’s the plan so. Of course, you know how plans do go wrong…very wrong. If we’re intercepted by any other FLEC vessel, Nakita Sylvina will be the same age as me before she leaves China, Anna will almost be an old woman the next time she sees Sweden, and I’ll probably never see my home again.

  ———

  Finn’s satellite phone sprang to life. He answered it and began laughing out loud, then he gave us the thumbs up. “Yes, yes….Yes, of course….Yeah, got it, yes,” he must’ve repeated a dozen times before he hung up.

  He grabbed a pen and paper, wrote down a series of numbers and asked Sui-Lin to pass him the map of Guangdong Province. With the map spread out on the floor, Finn laid his pocket compass over it and checked the figures he’d written down.

  “There, there it is, look! Yanshiwei fishing village. Perfect,” he declared, jabbing his finger on the map where the multicoloured area meets solid blue.

  He marked two ‘X’s on the map, returned it to Sui-Lin, and asked her if she needs a break. She’s been driving for eight hours and only stopped twice – for diesel, and when we picked fruit from the trees. I think she must need a break.

  Sui-Lin pulled over, stood up and stretched, and Finn took her place in the driver’s seat. She fell exhausted on to the sofa and was asleep before I could get to her with a plate of lychees peeled by Nakita Sylvina.

  Nakita Sylvina’s finally asked me when she’ll see her mummy. It’s the first time since we crossed the border into China that she’s asked. I told her the truth, of course, and the truth is that I have no idea…but I hope it will be soon.

  Finn heard us talking and called out for Nakita Sylvina to join him in the front passenger seat. I sat close by so I can hear what he’s saying and translate.

  How he’s arranged what’s going to happen is beyond me. A ship from China Fisheries Law Enforcement Command is going to meet us off the coast and take us to the South China Sea, near Macau. Then we’ll transfer to a yacht and be dropped somewhere called Sea Ranch on Lantau Island, where we’ll be met by Nataliya Yelena and Vincenzo.

  When I finished translating everything Finn said, Nakita Sylvina squealed with delight and hugged Finn so hard that he lost control of the motor home for a moment. Nakita Sylvina’s squeal was such a joy to hear…even though it caused the weary Sui-Lin to turn in her sleep.

  ———

  I didn’t intend to tell the girls exactly what’s planned, in case we’re stopped and questioned by the authorities. But Nakita Sylvina’s been so patient for so long, I think she deserved to know.

  Anna’s trying to convince her to sleep for a little while, promising her it will make the journey seem shorter. We could all do with some sleep…it’s going to be a long night.

  If we’re going to make our rendezvous in the South China Sea, there’s a lot that needs to happen before one a.m. I need to locate a fishing boat, board Anna and Nakita Sylvina, steal the boat, and slip unnoticed out of port.

  Fortunately, I know a bit about fishing boats – albeit learnt ten thousand kilometres away in the Atlantic Ocean. My uncle used to take me out from Galway Bay on his hooker, to collect lobster pots off the coast of Connemara. He wasn’t really my uncle of course, but he’d been good to Mam, and I liked him for that. It was my uncle John who taught me to ‘always carry a wee compass in your pants lad.’ Good advice, so it was.

  ———

  Anna brought me a tea and put on a fresh pot of coffee; I think the aroma of the coffee woke Sui-Lin. She said she’ll take over the driving again after she’s had a coffee and some lychees.

  The sleep did Sui-Lin good; she’s really flooring it. She put the pedal to the metal – as our American friends so graphically describe it.

  As soon as we smelled the sea, Sui-Lin turned off the main road. We followed a small secondary road for about twenty minutes and fetched up in Yanshiwei fishing village. The village is lit only by a watery moon, and the alleys between the single-storey cottages are bedecked with fishing nets.

  Sui-Lin cut the engine and freewheeled to the water’s edge. Apart from the sound of the sea lapping the harbour wall, the occasional yapping dog, and heavy human snoring, the village is silent.

  I climbed down a rickety bamboo scaffold to the deck of a thirty foot double-planked trawler. The cabin door is unlocked, and by the light of my torch I can see a key in the ignition. The fuel gauge shows quarter full; we’ve already used one of our drums of diesel, so I’ll either have to find diesel or steal a different boat.

  I hear soft steps behind me. It’s Anna and Sui-Lin, coming to see if they can help. “Yes, look for diesel,” I whispered.

  “Oh, this stuff you mean?” Anna whispered, drumming her fingers on top of a forty-gallon barrel reeking of diesel.

  We managed to up-end the barrel and pour most of the diesel into the fuel valve on deck. The girls had the foresight to remove their shoes and roll up their jeans, but my boots are soaked in diesel. Fortunately, I know – from experience with Mac – that diesel is hard to ignite. It’s useless for making a Molotov cocktail, but effective when set off by a potassium nitrate and sugar explosion.

  Anna wrapped a sleeping Nakita Sylvina in a horse blanket and took her to the wheelhouse while I collected our things. Sui-Lin’s going to start the engine of the motor home at precisely the same time as I hit the starter on the boat – to disguise the sound of two engines.

  After hasty goodbyes, Anna and I scrambled back on board and waved to Sui-Lin. On the third flash of my torch, Sui-Lin and I started our motors in perfect harmony. We’re on our way. Looking back towards the harbour, all I can see are the rear lights of the motor home as it disappears from sight.

  With Anna at the wheel, I went below deck to examine the engine. It’s a British Leyland diesel, the same engine that keeps London buses on the road for twenty years. The life rafts are British Navy issue, and certified good for another two years. Whatever you say about the Brits, they once led the engineering world. How these two examples of British craftsmanship ended up in a small fishing boat on a remote stretch of the Chinese coast is anyone’s guess, but I’m happy to find them. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do if a Chinese-manufactured engine broke down, nor would I be able to decipher the instructions on a Chinese life raft. Everything seems in order down below.

  Peeping up at Anna, I’m so in awe of this descendant of the pillaging Norse. She’s standing straight, holding the wheel correctly in the ten-two position. She’s concentrating so much on the sea ahead that she didn’t notice me creeping up behind her before I plunged my hands inside her T-shirt.

  “Läcker!”

  42

  SOUTH CHINA SEA and LANTAU ISLAND

  It’s hard to believe that Nakita Sylvina and I still haven’t really said a word to each other…not directly anyway. We’ve been through so much together since that first day, when she sat shivering beside me in the limousine in Moscow.

  The boat is drawing away from the calm waters outside the harbour, and the big rollers are striking us head on now. I’m trying to steady myself against the wheel and read the chart by the light of the torch stuck between my teeth.

  Nakita Sylvina crept up beside me, took the torch from my mouth and directed the light on the chart. Then she grinned and spoke her first words to me. “Finn, Finn.” I gave her
a smile and chucked her under the chin with my thumb. Then I swung her around and sat her so she can put her tiny fingers on the wheel.

  Those two words from this little Russian girl make everything worthwhile – never mind all the crap that’s happened in my life. If all the police kickings, the lonely nights, the lost friends, and the fear I’ve suffered mean being able to get this little girl to her mam, then it’s been worth every moment. That’s what politicians and media morons don’t understand about subversives, revolutionaries, and the likes of me. It’s about people…that’s all…people. It’s not about power, privilege, wealth or recognition…just people.

  We’re about five miles out to sea now. I’ve turned off my torch and switched on the navigation lights; this is no time to risk being mown down by a passing supertanker.

  At four knots against the rolling waves, and considering the mild head wind, I figure it’ll take at least two and a half hours to reach our rendezvous. With time on my hands, I’d better search for the distress flares we’ll need to signal our position after I hear from Flick.

  I tied the wheel up and carried a sleeping little girl back to the day room. It’s too warm and humid for the horse blanket, so I wrapped her in a sheet.

  ———

  Finn’s not in the wheelhouse. I found him up on deck; he’s at the bow with a box of flares at his feet and his precious satellite phone to his ear.

  He took a small compass from his pocket and handed it to me. “South-southeast, please,” he whispered. I turned myself around to face south-southeast and pointed ahead.

  “OK Flick, I reckon we’ll be in the area in about fifteen minutes. Give them a yell. Call me when I’ve to light the flares….Remember, two reds, one green, two reds,” he said, before he ended the call.

  “Anna, can you can hold the phone and I’ll bring the box of flares back inside?”

  ———

  As I handed the satellite phone to Anna we were struck broadside by a twenty foot wave. We’re no longer heading directly into the rolling waves, and I suspect that the rope tying the wheel has worked itself loose.

  Waves are breaking over the gunnels, and the backwash is strong enough to sweep an ABS overboard…never mind a lightweight, five foot seven inch Swedish girl – with a satellite phone clenched between her knees – clinging to the handrail for all she’s worth. It’s all Anna can manage just to stay on her feet and hang on to the phone without being swept away.

  I stuck five flares down my T-shirt and inched my way back along the deck to the wheelhouse. I re-lashed the rope securely around the wheel and threw the flares on the chart table. Then I quickly fastened a long rope to a rail.

  Feeding rope out behind me, I made my way back to where Anna is struggling to stay standing. I grabbed the phone from between her knees, flung the rope around her and pulled it into a bowline so I could tow her back to the comparative safety of the wheelhouse.

  Soaked to the skin, we clung to each other out of sheer relief. We collapsed on the skipper’s bench just as the satellite phone sprang to life.

  Flick said we’ve been picked up on radar, but we’re lost from sight due to the heavy seas. He told me to set off the flares and sound my horn if I have one.

  “Hand those out to me as soon as I’ve shot the green flare, ” I said, as I passed two red flares to Anna. I lit the flares and off they shot into the night sky – two reds, one green, two reds.

  I stumbled back into the wheelhouse and pressed my chest against the fog horn. The blast I heard was far too loud for our pathetic little electronic horn. When I looked up I realised that it was a blast from the massive battleship-grey cutter that’s already looming over us.

  A rope ladder was lowered to our deck and two men dressed in uniforms I’ve never seen before scrambled down the ladder. They have three orange life jackets – two for adults and one for a child – and a sausage-shaped plastic bag secured by wide Velcro straps.

  Anna was quicker than me to realise the significance of the sausage bag. She ran to the day room and stuffed all our things inside it – Nakita’s dolls and small suitcase, her own suitcase and furs, and my bag. I told her not to bother with the change of clothes I left in the wheelhouse. She handed the bulging sausage bag to the men in uniforms, and it’s being hauled up to the deck of the cutter on a black rope.

  With our life jackets on, Anna and I have been put into safety harnesses, and Nakita Sylvina’s secured to my chest with webbing. Anna was first to be pulled up forty feet against the grey painted steel of the modern cutter. As Nakita Sylvina and I go up, we’re swinging gently against the cold steel plates of the rescue vessel. She seems to be enjoying the lift – like it’s a ride at the funfair – and I noticed the number 7 emblazoned in black below some Chinese characters.

  When we were all safely on deck, two crew men fired flares into the fishing boat we just vacated. We watched as it burned before sinking without a trace…as if it was never there.

  Communication between me and the commander in charge of our rescue is routed through Anna. She said he served in the Chinese Navy Northern Fleet, and he speaks Russian, but not English.

  “Добро пожаловать на борт, мы должны торопиться, если мы хотим, чтобы наши встречи с MV Хозяйка моря,” he said.

  “‘Welcome on board, we must hurry if we are to make our rendezvous with the MV Sea Mistress,’” Anna translated.

  ———

  At least half the crew I’ve met are young women about the same age as me. They speak not a word of Swedish, Russian or English, and I speak no Mandarin, Fukien or Cantonese. But we manage to communicate well enough. Accommodation on FLEC Vessel Number 7 is comfortable, and I drifted off to sleep….

  I awoke shortly before dawn to the gentle ruffling of my hair and the smell of fresh coffee. The women are fascinated by the colour of my hair; a few of them walked into the shower to check that my pubic hair matches my head. Satisfied, they set about drying me, combing my hair, and dressing me in my freshly laundered and ironed clothes.

  They were puzzled when they couldn’t find a bra to put on me. I slipped on my T-shirt and, amidst giggles, they pointed out that my nipples can be seen through the thin fabric. I giggled back and gave them the thumbs up…to more giggling.

  ———

  I’m using Brother Leader Gaddafi’s gift to talk to a red-headed Yorkshire bar owner on Lamma Island. He’s talking on a long range radio to a guy – probably dressed in traditional Chinese clothes, with a film director’s eye-piece hanging around his neck, and a French cigarette dangling from his lips – on board a luxury triple-deck yacht somewhere off the coast of Macau. And the guy on the yacht is using a marine radio to talk to the commander of FLEC Vessel Number 7…who’s standing next to me.

  I’d not be happy having to explain this set-up to just anyone, seeing as they might see fit to send for the men in white coats who carry strait-jackets hidden behind their backs. But if anyone asked Mac about all this, he’d say: Sure, that’s not complicated communication wee man…that’s Finn Flynn at his work…nothing complicated about that! Anyway, our roundabout communication is definitely working.

  The commander asked Anna to pack the sausage bag, and a semi-rigid pilot boat is being lowered level with the deck. Anna told me she took Nakita Sylvina’s two photographs from her tiny hands and slipped them back in her pocket before waking the sleeping child.

  With thanks given, and handshakes and bows completed, we were helped into the semi-rigid and lowered into the South China Sea. The coxswain fired up the massive outboard engine and we sped off into four-foot rolling waves.

  After three or four minutes of ducking between the waves, static and a voice shot from the boat’s radio. The coxswain answered and – according to the compass in my hand – swung the boat due east.

  My satellite phone buzzed. A familiar Chinese voice is on the other end – a voice I first heard when he offered me the penthouse in Citizen Towe
r, and told me what a creep his brother is.

  “Get your ass in gear, and be ready to travel in some real luxury…two minutes…be ready,” he told me.

  With the outboard on low throttle, we were just about drifting when an enormous Bertram cruiser appeared out of nowhere. Three smartly dressed crew men in matching shirts and freshly pressed shorts are hanging over the transom; they pulled the sausage bag and the three of us on board. Without a backward glance, the coxswain of the pilot boat took off towards the cutter at high speed.

  Simon Li looks just as I imagined he would. He’s wearing a black coolie costume, with black plimsolls on his feet and a funny little black hat on his head. And of course, there’s a director’s eye-glass hanging around his neck and a Gauloises cigarette dangling from his lips.

  “Good morning everybody…god morgon…доброе утро…dea-maidin…good morning. Welcome aboard our humble vessel. Please allow me to introduce myself. Simon Li, at your service. Please follow me, breakfast is served in the stateroom….They will stow your belongings. We should be docking at Sea Ranch in approximately forty-five minutes.”

  Just as Simon predicted, we pulled alongside the Sea Ranch jetty forty-five minutes later. Nakita Sylvina is dancing up and down the deck squealing with joy. Anna is digging her nails in my arm, trying to get me to explain why we’re at Sea Ranch in Lantau, and not in Hong Kong.

  “And who is the cool Simon Li?” she asked.

  “Sorry love, he’s a homosexual,” I said…as I always do when confronted by really good-looking competition.

  “You mean he’s bög…gay?! I would never have thought so, ah well.”

  Simon told us to take Nakita Sylvina to the house; his crew will bring along the plastic sausage bag.

  ———

  I told Nakita Sylvina to ring the doorbell while Finn and I hide behind a banana tree. Clutching her favourite doll in one hand, and her precious photographs in the other, Nakita Sylvina waited patiently for the door to be answered.