by Nick Hawkes
“What is it?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I found it in the silt while I was diving off Warrnambool. There’s a chance that it may be Portuguese. If it were cleaned up a bit more, we might be able to tell. It would certainly strengthen the theory that the Portuguese discovered Victoria in the early sixteenth century.” Felicity reached up and ran a finger over the engraving. “Get me a shallow basin and some hydrogen peroxide, and I’ll finish cleaning it for you if you like.”
Carter was silent for a while before eventually nodding. “Yes. Please do that.” He placed the stone on the makeshift workbench and turned to leave the cabin. Without looking around, he said, “Your co-operation is appreciated and will be rewarded with…at least a degree of…comfort. Enjoy your meal.”
Once he’d locked the door, Felicity reached over and picked up the Atlantis stone. She clutched it to her chest, rolled into a fetal position…and began to cry.
Chapter 23
Benjamin nosed his fiberglass kayak between the strange aerial roots of the mangroves. He stared through the clear water to the millions of mysterious holes that pockmarked the mud below him. A tiny crab with large pink claws scurried out from one of them. It was all so unfamiliar. The untidy tangle of roots at the base of the mangroves gave the impression that the trees were huddled together, preparing to set out like spiders to wander across the beaches.
Archie continued to instruct him how to propel himself properly. “Pull the paddle through the water…and as you lift it free, twist your wrist so that the other blade drops in vertically.”
After fifteen minutes of instruction, Archie pronounced himself satisfied that Benjamin was competent enough to venture along the coast. They were both wearing large floppy hats and had daubed their nose and cheeks with white zinc cream, ostensibly to ward off sunburn. When sunglasses were added, they were unrecognizable.
They had parked the ute with the Shark Cat in the Gibson Marina car park and then hired two canoes from Paddlecraft Canoe Hire.
“We only need to paddle five klicks…and we’ve got nearly three hours to do it, so take it easy,” said Archie.
Benjamin nodded and followed Archie as he paddled with economical strokes out into Maybanke Cove. They headed north to clear the end of a long private jetty that reached out into deep water from a luxury house. Benjamin found the display of wealth around him disturbing. The beautiful houses on the foreshore all had private jetties. Hundreds of boats were moored just beyond them, all of them waiting for exercise. In the mean time, they advertised their owner’s wealth. Benjamin shook his head and couldn’t escape the gnawing suspicion that he was diagonally parked in a parallel universe. He just didn’t fit here. The thought worried him. Am I an inverse snob?
“Bloody keep up, Benjamin.”
Benjamin applied himself to the task.
Scotland Island, with its fringe of jetties, sat on the other side of the channel. It looked gentler than the harsh display of wealth on the mainland. Perhaps it was the trees. They paddled past the Bayview Yacht Club and headed across to The Quays Marina. Benjamin’s mind was now fully on the job. He inspected the marina ahead of him. The smaller boats were housed in the berths nearer to the shore. They stuck out at ninety degrees from the pontoon with their sterns tethered to the walkway and their bows moored to posts in the water. The bigger boats were moored on the outside pontoons—and the biggest of them all was the luxury cruiser belonging to Doran Khayef. It was conspicuously moored between two pontoons in a prime position.
They took their time and chatted as they paddled up and down the rows of boats. Benjamin saw that the large pontoons had a cement-board walkway that was kept afloat by a series of floating tanks. He could see spaces between the tanks under the walkway.
Archie said, conversationally, “Stay here and poke about while I explore around the other side. I’ll be about ten minutes.”
Benjamin would have normally enjoyed pottering around the boats if he wasn’t so anxious. As it was, he found waiting difficult.
When Archie returned, Benjamin noticed that his tee-shirt was wet. “What happened?” he asked.
“Fell in.”
Benjamin didn’t believe it for a moment.
Archie nodded up ahead. “Let’s have a closer look at Khayef’s boat.”
Trying not to look both guilty and conspicuous, Benjamin followed Archie around the line of yachts toward Khayef’s boat. It was almost the last boat in the line. Two people were standing on the rear deck. Archie stopped paddling and murmured, “The fat bloke is Khayef.” Then he began paddling again.
Benjamin trailed behind in his canoe. He watched, appalled as Archie’s canoe glided toward Khayef’s pontoon. Archie yelled out in an exaggerated Australian accent, “Hey, mate. Didja know two of ya bloody fenders ’ave gone flat? Ya might wanna do somethin’ about it if ya wanna keep ya bleedin’ paintwork good.” Archie didn’t wait for a response. He sketched a wave, turned his canoe around, and paddled back to Benjamin. Archie grinned at him. “Time to get back, Benji. But don’t rush. Smell the roses.”
As they paddled back along the coast, Benjamin asked, “I suppose you might know something about those two fenders going flat?”
Archie stopped paddling and leaned back in his cockpit. “As it happens, I do. The vinyl seating around one of the valves is busted, and the other fender has a small split.” He shook his head. “It’s the Australian sun. Bad for plastics.”
“And can I ask why the Australian sun has been particularly harsh today?”
“Well, hopefully, the marina’s CCTV will soon have excellent film of them changing the fenders.”
Benjamin would have smiled had he not been so concerned about what he would shortly be undertaking.
It was Sunday, and there was plenty of activity on the water. A fleet of sailing boats was beating its way south into a freshening breeze off Scotland Island, and motorboats were skimming across the water. They even passed a pod of canoeists creeping their way around the coast. Benjamin gave them a friendly wave.
An hour later, the kayaks had been returned to the hire people, and they were eating meat pies in the front seat of the ute. “Now what?” asked Benjamin between mouthfuls.
“We go shopping.”
“What do we need?”
Archie grinned. “Funnily enough, we need two large fenders.” He looked at the piece of paper sitting on the dashboard in front of him. “Two air-filled F4 Polyform fenders with a thirty-liter capacity, to be exact. We also need an Aztek Compact 4:1 pulley system from a rock-climbing shop…and some lever-action suction handles for carrying glass.” Archie burped and patted his chest with his fist. “And then, Benji boy, you’re going to spend all of tomorrow practicing…while I try to catch some fish.”
That night, they again slept in their swags on the floorboards of the Shark Cat—only partly sheltered from the elements by its canopy. It didn’t take long for the mosquitoes to find them. Benjamin spent a troubled night hiding from their torment.
Dawn came reluctantly, heralding an overcast, humid day. The cloud leached the color from what had yesterday been a beautiful scene. Today, it was depressing—like a fairground on a rainy day.
They launched the Shark Cat and motored north to Towlers Bay, where they could anchor and prepare for the evening without attracting too much interest.
Archie divided his attention between dealing with the two new fenders and fishing. Rather surprisingly, he caught three mullet.
Benjamin spent much of his time in the water getting used to the various pieces of apparatus they had bought the previous day. Archie set him a punishing series of exercises. “Never mind, Benji Boy,” he promised when Benjamin protested. “You’ll be able to rest all day tomorrow.”
As evening approached, Benjamin took the wheel of the Shark Cat and motored sedately past the western side of Scotland Island to The Quays Marina. He was acutely aware that beneath the boat, in the narrow gap above the water between the two hulls, two fenders tethe
red to suction handles were being towed along, invisible to the outside world. The handles could supposedly hold one hundred kilograms, but Benjamin didn’t want to test them unduly—particularly as the fenders now weighed considerably more than when they had bought them.
Benjamin threaded his way through the moored boats, throttled back and edged toward the pontoon that led to the marina buildings onshore. Khayef’s boat was ten meters away on the other side of the pontoon. As the boat nudged the pontoon’s fender, Benjamin leaped forward to secure the boat to a cleat. As he made it fast, he saw Archie slip himself over the side into the water and begin to clean the accumulated salt off the sides of the boat with a sponge.
Everything had to appear normal. The marina was well-monitored by security cameras; Archie had plotted the position of each one during their expedition in the canoes. Benjamin walked down the pontoon to the marina offices in his hat and sunglasses. A heavily sun-tanned young man was behind the desk. He was dressed quite smartly but had bare feet. Benjamin smiled; he seemed to perfectly embody the Pittwater culture.
Benjamin asked if he could have a temporary birth for two nights. The young man asked whether the boat was registered and had insurance cover. Benjamin said that the boat belonged to a friend, and he wasn’t sure about the insurance. The man was apologetic but did invite Benjamin to use the Marina Café. “It’s open for breakfast and lunch.”
“Thanks.”
When Benjamin returned to the boat, Archie was throwing a bucket of water over the foredeck and wiping it down with a sponge. Benjamin climbed aboard, turned the starter key, and backed the boat away from the pontoon. Archie joined him at the wheel and put a hand on his shoulder. “Now it’s time to find our other little rabbit.”
Once Benjamin had cleared the moored boats and was in the main channel, he opened the throttle. The Shark Cat skimmed its way past Church Point out into the wide headwaters of McCarrs Creek. The creek was dotted with moored boats. Up ahead, Benjamin could see some houses built on the heavily wooded western side of the creek. Many of them seemed to be standing on tiptoe, high off the ground on piles, as if trying to peer through the treetops to the waters below. These houses could only be accessed by water and were a great deal more humble than their Pittwater neighbors.
Just offshore, old wooden boats with rotting gray wood and peeling paint held on to their mooring lines. They lifted their gull-like sterns out of the water like Victorian women trying to keep their dresses out of the wet. The boats rocked gently, nodding at memories of bygone days. They reminded Benjamin of the weathered faces of old men seen late at night in the firelight. Their faces had a dignity and a knowing that was a little sad. It was as if they wanted to whisper a warning but knew that no one was listening.
The wind was rising steadily, and the Shark Cat began to pound. Spray sizzled past the sides of the cabin. Normally, Benjamin would have found it exhilarating but not today; his eyes were searching hungrily among the crowded boats for one particular vessel. The thought that Felicity might only be a few hundred meters away was causing waves of anguish to wash over him. He was desperate for hope, for action…desperate to hold and feel her love.
“There it is, matey,” said Archie.
“Where?”
“I won’t point to it. Someone may be watching. Fine on the port bow, on the far side of the creek. The big bugger.”
Benjamin saw her. She was almost the last vessel in the creek before the open water—a beautiful white-hulled ketch with a green awning stretched above her decks. A rigid inflatable was tethered alongside.
“Stay in the main channel,” ordered Archie, “and head to the far side of the creek. When you get there, throttle back, and creep past the jetties. I’ll tell you which one to moor up to.”
Benjamin did as he was told.
The wind was now growing in strength. Dark, roiling clouds were bringing the daylight to an early close.
“That one. The first one,” said Archie pointing.
Benjamin throttled back and nosed the boat into the tiny jetty. “Why here?” he asked.
“No one at home. See the house up through the trees? Its blinds are drawn. So, let’s behave as if we own the place.”
Drops of rain started to freckle the wooden floorboards of the jetty as they tied up. Benjamin made his way along the jetty and climbed the steep, winding path through the gray gums and Sydney red gums with their striking roots that flowed around their bases like larva. He mounted the steps to the house’s veranda, pulled out a notebook, and scribbled a note.
G’day,
We tied up on your jetty to dodge a storm. Sorry, couldn’t ask—no one at home. Hope you don’t mind. Have a beer on us.
Benjamin placed two bottles of beer by the front door and tucked the note underneath.
Rain was now falling heavily. Gusts of wind shuddered the veranda and dashed rain against the windows. The trees thrashed and swayed around him, nervous at the thunder rumbling in the distance. It matched his mood exactly. He turned and looked through the trees at the view across the water. The white ketch was almost the closest boat moored to them. It was rocking and pitching at its mooring like a live thing, trying to break free. Felicity might be there. The thought was tantalizing. He clenched his fists and hooked an arm around a veranda post to steady himself.
When he had regained his composure, he headed back out into the rain.
Doing nothing for a whole morning was sheer hell. Archie seemed to be content fishing from the small jetty to which the boat was tied. He had his hat and sunglasses on, and was sitting on a portable icebox. From time to time, he delved inside it to produce a beer bottle. No one watching would guess that they only contained water. “We need to look harmless…and anyone watching needs to get used to us being here,” he explained.
Benjamin grumbled and fidgeted as he fished with his hand-line. Eventually, Archie told him to head up to the veranda of the house with his swag and get some sleep. “I don’t want to see you for four hours. Then we’ll eat mixed beans for tea—lots of low-GI carbohydrates. You’ll need them. But for now, rest.” He pointed up to the house. “Go.”
Benjamin did as he was told. He climbed up to the house, rolled out his swag, and lay down. For a long while, he listened to the rich, echoing call of the currawongs. Once or twice he also heard the distinctive call of the aptly named whip bird. He couldn’t remember where he’d learned their sounds.
An oppressive humidity was the only legacy of the electrical storm that had raged most of the night. The sky was now blue, and the sea was at its sparkling best.
Dappled light filtered and flickered through the tree canopy, and a cooling breeze blew across the veranda.
Benjamin slipped gently into unconsciousness.
Chapter 24
Doran Khayef’s favorite place on his boat was the flybridge. He sat down on the padded bench behind the driving console and drew heavily on his cigar. He liked seeing things from a height: his boat was the highest in the marina. It was certainly the biggest, and that’s how he liked it. But there was always the gnawing ache for more. The marina, good as it was, wasn’t anything like the luxury marinas of Europe and America. It was small beer—and he wanted bigger things.
He’d had to sell his harbor-side home but this was only a temporary setback. Once the massive redevelopment on Sydney’s foreshore was finished, he would have his own penthouse suite and a private berth for a boat very much bigger than this. His current boat only had a crew of two, one of whom was the cook. The other helped with odd jobs like changing the fenders, as he’d done yesterday. He hired a third whenever he put to sea because he was not an experienced sailor. Money could buy anything.
Cigar smoke curled into the air. He’d learned to like cigars. Initially, he’d hated them, but they were a necessary prop. He smiled and inspected the end of his cigar for evenness of burn. It was Cuban, of course. He had cigars for different occasions. Big cigars were used in company—they looked good, but he rarely enjoyed them.
They were exhausting and took too long to smoke, particularly when you were conversing with other people. If unattended too long, they went out, and required relighting. No, his favorite cigars were smaller…but not too small. He had standards. And the very best were smoked alone, like now.
Khayef reflected on the last twenty-four hours and scowled. The two policemen who had visited him at teatime had now departed. They had been polite and confessed that they didn’t have a search warrant—but could easily get one if required. Would he mind if they had a quick search of the boat for a woman who had been reported missing? She’d being linked with the Khayef Group because of a research project. “Someone has suggested that you might know where she is.”
Khayef had managed an appropriate level of outrage—but he’d been careful not to overdo it. “What’s the name of this woman?”
“Felicity Anderson.”
“Sounds familiar, but I can’t place her.”
“She was being sounded out by your company to do some historical research on the mahogany ship near Warrnambool.”
“We fund a lot of philanthropic works. I’m afraid I don’t know the details of each one. I can find out if you like.” He knew he was stretching the truth. The fact was, his company funded almost no philanthropic works. Money was tight—at least for the moment.
But he’d acquiesced easily enough and shown the boat off like a salesman. The police had been impressed. As they bloody well should be.
The one thing he really needed was a massive financial injection into his projects—something that his newly acquired gold mines should supply. If his lawyers could make his tax-free claim stick, he would reap billions more. And that would set him up for his next project: politics, where the real power lay. The business perks of having insider information would be huge.
Meanwhile, he had to get the treaty unwound and authenticated. He sniffed. Carter had reported that the restoration process was going well. It damn well better be. Khayef was glad that Eddie was permanently on hand to ensure that it was. But what about Bidjara? Every day Eddie spent with the Anderson woman was one day longer Benjamin Bidjara stayed alive.
