The Deep Secret

by David Robinson

  “And how do I know you have it?”

  “I’m a Loxley man, and Loxley men don’t lie,” Croft bragged. “I sent Burke to prison two years ago. Beat him in a straight fight. But I never lied to him, and he must have told you that. And you should know me. I won’t risk this girl’s life, nor Millie Matthews’s on a lie, anymore than I would have risked Trish’s if you’d given me the option. I have the secret. Let this young woman go, or you don’t get it.”

  Prather vacillated. Croft ignored him and continued untying the woman’s wrists. When he had done, he handed her the lifejacket. “Put that on. The water’s cold, but you won’t be in it for long. They have blankets and hot drinks on the lifeboat.”

  He took her hand and helped her from the cabin.

  “Try to go with her,” Prather warned, “and I’ll shoot the pair of you while you’re in the water.”

  When he helped Emma over the side, Croft was tempted. With him and Emma swimming for the lifeboat, Prather had no bargaining chips, and he would have to leave the cabin to shoot at them. Millie would be able to pick him off.

  Or maybe the men up on the cliff? He risked a glance up and over his shoulder, but if there were armed police up there, he couldn’t see them.

  He changed his mind. For all he knew, the cabin window would perhaps open, giving Prather the option to shoot from cover. In addition, while he, Croft, would be happy to swim under the water to avoid the bullets, Emma appeared too afraid. He could not be certain that Prather would not kill her.

  When she was finally in the water and threshing her way to the lifeboat, Croft retraced his wary steps across the slippery deckwell to the cabin.

  With a savage grin, Prather gestured at the floor, and for the first time, Croft noticed four large fireworks, one in each corner, from which ran long strands of wire to a console on the windowsill, where an array of switches were all pointed the same way… up. Croft assumed that to mean they were armed.

  Prather held up the white remote control.

  “Big bangs, Croft. Electronically ignited. Try anything, I hit the button. Four seconds later, the cabin is filled with blazing fireworks, the diesel on the floor ignites, and we both fry.” With a glance across at the lifeboat where the crew were helping Emma aboard, he picked up the microphone and switched it on. “Croft and I are sailing off into the sunrise now.” His voice, booming through the morning air, also resounded around the tiny cabin. “You stay right where you are. Try to follow us and I’ll shoot him. Try to sneak up and board us, and I’ll trigger the explosives. I’ll have my eye on you. You don’t move one way or the other until we’re out of sight.” He offered the microphone to Croft. “Tell them.”

  “Do as he says,” Croft ordered. “I’ll be all right.”

  Hanging up the microphone, Prather laughed. “All right? You’ll be dead soon, along with Gerry, and I’ll have The Deep Secret.” He waved the gun at his prisoner. “Take the wheel, and drive us that way.” He pointed forward.

  Croft obeyed, started the cruiser’s engines, and eased the throttles forward until they were cutting through the calm sea at about ten knots.

  Prather grinned. “And now it’s just you and me.”

  Croft scowled. “As you always intended it to be.”

  42

  “The Deep Secret,” Prather demanded.

  With no real plan in mind, Croft kept his eye on the sea ahead. There was no sign of any other craft for as far as he could see, but about half a mile ahead was a thin line of white froth on the surface.

  “Trust me, Prather. You really don’t want to know The Deep Secret.”

  “The Deep Secret, now, or I shoot.”

  “That won’t get you The Deep Secret,” Croft argued, “and I’ve already told you, no one else can get it. I only just cracked it last night. Besides, if you shoot me, the lifeboat will come after you, and Millie will gun you down.”

  “You really do take me for a mug, don’t you?” The other laughed. “You think that nigger can outwit me?” Stepping back, away from his firework console, he leaned casually on the chart locker at the rear of the cabin. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Croft. A couple of miles along here, by which time, believe me, you will have given me The Deep Secret, this boat will go up in a blaze of glory. But I won’t be on it. You will, and if you’re lucky, you may even be dead. There’s a four-second delay between pressing the trigger,” he held up the remote again, “and the sparklers going off.” Putting the remote on the chart locker, he said, “That’s long enough for me to get over the side and swim for it. Your black bitch will see the explosion, but she’ll take five minutes to catch up. And that raft isn’t a fire boat, so Marion 34 will burn happily for a while. I’ll be snuggled up by the rocks on the shore where they can’t see me. When they realise there’s nothing they can do, they’ll call for salvage teams, and then they’ll go away to get that little shag you just sent them, to hospital. While they’re gone, I’ll slip away. By the time the salvage boat gets here, I’ll be long gone. They’ll find the wreck, and whatever’s left of you, and they’ll assume that I was blown over the side, my body washed out to sea on the ebb tide. You’ll be dead, I’ll pick up another identity, and I’ll have The Deep Secret.”

  Croft’s mind worked overtime. He’ll have everything arranged so that you can’t take him. Hadn’t he said that to Millie? He reined in his loose thoughts, seeking ways round the situation. Nothing readily presented itself. Got to keep him busy, keep him talking.

  “She may not see you, but the police up the cliffs will, and they’re armed to the teeth.”

  Prather laughed again. “Gerry told me you were a clever bastard. Well, smartarse, let me tell you something. I know this area. We used to holiday here every year with the Burkes, and by the time the cops get close enough to see this boat, they won’t be able to shoot. They’ll be clinging on for dear life. The cliffs are sheer and the hill is a hog’s back. It’s rounded where it falls to meet the cliff.”

  Croft shook off his disappointment. “They’ll be covering the roads away from here. You won’t get far.” Before Prather could pick him up on the point, he pressed on, “Ever wonder why Zepelli didn’t give it to young Burke?”

  “I’ve read the manuscript. Read it before I sent it to you. He didn’t think Gerry was ready for it. Old bastard. What did he know?”

  “He knew Gerry was a psychopath, but he thought he’d grow out of it.” Croft risked a sideways glance. The pistol was still aimed at him. “He thought that the search for The Deep Secret would help him grow out of it.”

  “Well, he was wrong,” Prather snapped. “Gerry figured he had nothing to grow out of. He liked himself the way he was.”

  “Zepelli wasn’t to know that.”

  “What’s this about Zepelli?” Prather showed the first sign of irritation “He should never have had The Deep Secret in the first place. Julius, my dad, should have given it to me. I’m his son. It’s mine by right.”

  “And what use would it be to you?” Croft demanded. His thoughts were on the slender froth of water ahead. The lifeboat helmsman had spoken about subsurface rocks. Was it possible? “You’re not a hypnotist. You never were.”

  Prather laughed. “Yeah. Gerry told me you’d want to know all the ins and outs. Course, he didn’t know I’d planned to go this alone, did he?”

  Silently, Croft congratulated himself on something he had suggested earlier in the week. “You have a buyer.”

  “Yep.” Smug was written all over Prather’s unshaven face. “Paid me ten grand up front and he’s willing to pay one hundred thousand smackers as long as it’s gen. But I know it is cos Zepelli said so, Julius said so, and you’ve turned up.”

  Croft tutted. “Your buyer’s another sociopath, and I suppose I’ll have to deal with him, too.”

  Prather laughed again. “You won’t be dealing with anyone except God. The guy has also promised me a share of the spoils. The frauds and the fucks.”

  “The fraud and fucks?”
Croft repeated. “That just about sums you up, doesn’t it? All those years in British prisons, in French prisons, they never taught you anything, did they?”

  “They taught me how to look after myself, Croft. They toughened me up.”

  Loxley did the same for me.

  The thought rang through Croft’s head. He weighed the odds. Too early. Another few minutes. When they reached that white water.

  “What Gerry didn’t know, and neither did you, was that Zepelli hid two secrets in that manuscript, and I have them both. Surprisingly enough, the easiest one to find was Walter’s method of inducing spontaneous somnambulism. The other was a tough bastard. I only worked it out late last night.”

  “Just cut the verbal, Croft, and—”

  “You don’t want to know the second secret?”

  Croft checked behind them again. The lifeboat, as instructed, had not moved, and was now half a mile aft. Two hundred yards ahead and a degree or two to the right, the froth of water was more pronounced, like water breaking gently over some underwater obstruction. Subsurface rocks, he hoped.

  Prather appeared more agitated. “The Deep Secret. Tell me now.”

  Croft half turned to face him, and as he did so, he tickled the helm a fraction to the right.

  “The problem is, Prather, you won’t know which is the Deep Secret without hearing me out.”

  Prather’s frustration began to build. “Just tell me, or I shoot.”

  Croft shrugged and faced front again. Easing the helm back to its azimuth position, he was satisfied that they were headed straight for the trace of foam. “The police are digging up Burke’s old home in Bristol. They’re going to be poking around for a day or two. What do you think they’ll find?”

  “Who fucking cares?”

  He turned his head again to check, and Prather’s face had changed. There was a flicker of surprise in the eyes. It changed rapidly back to fury.

  “You see,” Croft said, facing forward again, “that’s what really decided Zepelli on The Deep Secret. Gerry murdered your father, Julius Reiniger, and Zepelli confessed to it to prevent his son going to prison. That’s the real deep secret I learned from his manuscript; that’s what’s hidden in the manuscript.”

  “So who cares?” Prather repeated. “Gerry topped my old man. I knew about it, so I topped him. Now give me the real Deep Secret or I shoot.”

  Less than one hundred yards. Croft made rapid calculations in his head. About fifteen seconds. Was the time right? Would Trish have stopped to even consider the risks? Or Millie Matthews?

  “Why kill Burke? You blew his face off. You two were boyhood friends. So why?”

  “Julius,” Prather hissed. “He always treated me like a son. He took an interest in me that Zepelli and his wife never showed in Gerry. I loved Julius like a father. A few months before she died, my old mum told me he was my father, and that Gerry had battered him to death, but Zepelli covered it up. I swore then that Gerry Burke would die.” The muscles of his face worked frantically, the hatred building in him. “And now that you know everything, Croft, give me The Deep Secret or I’ll shoot you, too.” Praying that the froth indicated rocks and not some natural eddy, Croft released the helm and faced Prather.

  “Then you’d better get on and shoot.”

  “You think I’m daft enough to kill you with the first bullet? I’ll hurt you first. Your knee, your elbow, the other knee, your foot. I’ll hurt you until you scream at me to kill you, beg me to listen to The Deep Secret.”

  Croft effected a disinterested shrug. “I’m a Loxley man. Pain is a sign of weakness and Loxley men are not weak. Loxley men never show their pain.”

  Prather aimed the pistol. “One last chance.”

  “It doesn’t matter how long it takes, I’d rather die than let an evil bastard like you sell on such a powerful weapon.”

  “Have it your way.”

  The boat rolled over the eddy and continued moving. Silently, Croft cursed. “Wait,” he said to Prather.

  The gunman laughed. “Ah. Not enough bottle after all, eh?”

  Croft’s mind worked rapidly. He had banked upon the white being a subsurface rock. It probably was, but at this stage of the tide, it was still too deep and the boat had sailed happily over it. Now he desperately needed another angle.

  “Well, come on, Croft. I don’t have all day.”

  Croft took half a pace forward, intent on pleading. Billy raised the pistol again.

  “Not so close. And watch that helm. Get her back on course away from the cliffs.”

  Croft turned back to the helm and as he did so, his left foot slithered on the coating of diesel oil. Could he? He moved the helm a degree to the left, then straightened it.

  Turning to face Billy, he gauged the odds. Years back, he had trained with a karate club in Scarbeck. He had not been interested in the sporting or self-defence possibilities. He needed the physical discipline. He had let the skills drift. Could he still kick as quickly and as accurately as he had back then?

  “The Deep Secret, Croft. Now.”

  Again he shifted his feet. “Listen, Prather…” Croft deliberately let his feet slide from under him, and went convincingly down to the cockpit floor. He let out a cry and curse, to convince Billy further.

  And Billy laughed. “Typical public school twat. Can’t even stay on your feet.”

  Croft gauged the distance between him and Billy. Slightly too far. Pressing his hands to the wall above his head, he pushed and at the same time kicked up and out.

  His foot connected with Billy’s wrist, cocking it up. The pistol cracked, a bullet whistled harmlessly through the cockpit window. From the floor, Croft kicked again connected with Billy’s wrist and Billy dropped the pistol.

  Billy snatched up his remote. Croft kicked a third time, catching him square in the back. Billy dropped to the floor, the remote skittering from his hand to rest beneath the helm.

  Billy clawed for it, Croft raised his foot and brought it down on the outstretched hand. Billy screamed and cursed.

  Grabbing a handhold on the chart locker, Croft dragged himself to his feet as Billy scrabbled for the pistol. Croft reached over, rammed the throttles forward, and yanked the helm hard left, carrying them at speed out to sea.

  “Now swim for safety, Prather.”

  ***

  Watching through field glasses, Millie cried, “They’ve turned. Something’s gone wrong, but I can see them both. Looks like they’re fighting. Get after them.”

  “I’m, er not sure…”

  “Get this fucking tub moving,” Millie screamed at the doubtful helmsman.

  He started the engine, lowered it into the water and they tore off after the Marion 34.

  ***

  With Marion 34 running away from the shoreline cliffs he needed so desperately, Billy tried to scramble upright. Croft kicked again, striking his opponent in the gut. With a scream, Billy doubled up. Croft grabbed him by the shoulders, yanked him away from the helm, the pistol, and the remote, and threw him out of the cockpit into the deckwell.

  Rushing out after him, Croft spotted the lifeboat hurtling towards them. He smiled to himself. All he had to do was keep Billy…

  The flash of metal in the daylight cut off his thoughts and he raised a protective arm. A split second later, a length of the anchor chain, snapped by bolt cutters during the night, arced over and struck his raised forearm. He felt the bone crack and fury enveloped him. As Billy struggled to his feet and twirled the chain again, Croft dived, rolled, and kicked at Billy’s shin.

  Billy fell again. Croft lashed out with his foot and dashed the chain from his hand. Not content with simply disarming his man, he kicked again and caught Billy in the chest. As Croft got to his feet, so did Billy, charging head down. Croft half turned, caught Billy in a headlock, and brought up his knee. Billy responded with a fist to the groin. Croft felt the wind taken from him, and released his grip on Billy, who skittered across the oily deck, into the cockpit and snatched up his revo
lver.

  Right behind him, Croft grabbed the edge of the cockpit roof, his fractured arm screaming at him, and swung his feet in, catching Billy under the chin. The pistol cracked again before it fell from Billy’s grasp, the bullet passing harmlessly through the roof. He reached across to pick it up again. Croft dropped from the roof, slipped, fell on his back, and recovered to dive across the floor and wrestle the gun free.

  Getting to his feet, Croft threw the pistol out, over the back of the boat and into the sea.

  “Now it really is just you and me,” Croft growled.

  Prather smiled. “Not quite.” He slid across the floor and snatched up the remote. “See you in heaven… or hell.” He slammed his finger down on the trigger. The fuses began to burn.

  Prather made for the exit, Croft kicked him down, turned and ran. Prather hobbled after him.

  “No you don’t, bastard.” He dived and caught Croft’s foot. “You’re going with me.”

  Croft did not hesitate. Kicking himself free of Prather’s grasping fingers, he threw himself over the side, into the sea, his fists ready to cleave a gap for his head in the rapidly approaching water.

  The fireworks exploded in a multicoloured display of pyrotechnics. An instant later, the whole of Marion 34 was ablaze, the wall of flame sending out a shockwave of raw heat, knocking Croft off balance while he was still in the air.

  The diesel soaked into his clothing caught light and his skin began to burn. Dragging in his breath, he hit the water and sank under it, the flames doused instantly.

  Dazed, struggling to contain the vital oxygen in his tortured lungs, ignoring the sting of salt water on the burns to his arms and body, he forced his eyes to open and looked around, seeking the light. He rolled over. There it was. A blaze of orange, swimming through the water. The lifeboat. He swam for it and almost surfaced before he realised it was a ring of burning diesel fuel floating on the water.