by Ray Smithies
‘Sure, Tom. That’s the captain’s bridge, isn’t it?’
‘One and the same, so to speak.’
En route to this navigating bridge we climbed a further set of companion ladders and then passed some firefighting equipment containing both valves and tank vents painted in a highly visible red. Near the entry door to the wheelhouse I noticed the binnacle housing the boat’s compass, which is something that had fascinated me since childhood. I paused to take a look at this marvel of inventions. Made of non-magnetic material and wood, the compass was mounted in a set of gimbal frames. At the top and on either side were angle frames carrying the correction spheres on slotted arms. If viewed in the dark, a form of illumination would be built in to light up the compass card. Fascinating stuff, I thought.
A friendly face greeted us upon reaching the platform from which the boat was directed. As we made our way into this hallowed piece of the boat’s podium, the seaman told us without explanation that our visit would need to be short. Not as big as I had anticipated, the wheel-house was about the size of a bedroom crammed with main engine and winch controls running along one side. On the other side a wheel and gyrocompass with just enough space to include the helmsman’s seat completed the bridge. It was all very compact, with an incredible three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of the entire boat. We thanked our host for the privilege and commenced our descent down the companion ladder to portside.
‘Tom, I don’t want to sound like an alarmist, but look where all the cars are parked. Don’t you think that 4WD at the end looks familiar?’ said Brigit.
‘Let’s take a closer look.’
Down one further flight of steps, and like a couple of mice hugging the edge of a room, we walked cautiously toward the vehicle. Traditionally cargo boats or ships are very open in design and the Molly Bloom was no exception.
On reaching the far end of stern side where this mysterious vehicle was secured, I put my hand on the tinted window to shield the sunlight and looked inside. The interior was too dark to see and it was made more difficult by the inclusion of blinds secured to the back and two rear side panels.
‘It seems mighty similar to the Toyota Land Cruiser that had chased us around Pedley some nights back,’ I said. I looked around, half-expecting to see Charlie and Mick running toward us, but fortunately we were still alone.
‘Should’ve taken their number plate when we had the chance,’ said Brigit.
‘Easier said than done, and besides, it was dark when they chased us,’ I said, thinking that a bloody number plate had been the last thing on my mind that night.
‘My gut feeling tells me it’s Charlie and Mick,’ stated Brigit.
‘If your gut feeling’s correct we must hurry back to where the passengers are congregated. Safety in numbers is the best policy.’
With no intention of deliberating on the issue, we immediately set out for starboard at a faster pace. We approached the companion ladder cautiously, knowing we had only to ascend one level to join our fellow passengers. Upon reaching the upper deck landing, I cast an eye down portside and to my relief there was still no sign of trouble. Only the central cabins and engine room separated us from starboard.
With no time to waste, we hurried across the open deck and around the corner to the other passengers and the waiting officers, who appeared astonished by our sudden arrival.
‘Steady on, you two. Scared the daylights out of me!’ said Burke.
‘We may have a problem, Darren. There’s a 4WD on board that looks similar to the one that chased us around Pedley the other night.’
‘Bloody hell, I’d hoped we’d have a break from those bastards for a while.’
‘How sure are you?’ Martino asked.
‘Unfortunately I’d put money on it.’
‘What makes this difficult is that we’ve never succeeded in getting a proper ID on Charlie or Mick,’ I said.
‘Except to say we know both men are around six feet and are of average to large build,’ said Burke.
‘We certainly couldn’t identify them from last night’s ordeal, not with those balaclavas on and all that darkness,’ added Martino.
‘Tom, do you see anyone remotely familiar amongst these passengers?’ Burke asked.
I leaned against the engine room wall and studied the collection of people that sat or frolicked before me. The children, with their respective parents, were all in a joyful mood and playing a game of keepings-off with what appeared to be a miniature version of a medicine ball.
‘I suggest we do it by elimination. Just looking around, I can exclude about three-quarters of these people. Forget the two families and four couples seated to our right on those deck chairs. So who do we have left?’ I said, pondering over these remaining male passengers.
Two men in their forties had challenged each other to a game of chess in the far corner. A Jack Russell terrier sat quietly between the competing board players. Their stature didn’t appear to match that of our aggressors, for one was extremely obese and the other had a left-arm deformity. A man of around thirty sat alone talking at some length on his mobile phone. He appeared to be of foreign descent and became quite orchestral with his hand gestures as he spoke. Another man in his thirties, impeccably dressed and wearing a seagoing hat and dark sunglasses, was sitting in a deck chair enjoying what appeared to be a cappuccino. Although seated, he appeared to be only around five-seven and of slim build. A further candidate to cross off our list. A short stocky man, complete with muttonchops and plaited ponytail, sat reading a book to our left. He could also be discarded. There was virtually no one on starboard that looked remotely similar.
‘No one on this deck appears to be a candidate,’ I declared.
‘Tom, do you think we might be overreacting?’ suggested Brigit.
‘Not necessarily. It’s possible some passengers are on portside. We still have to be on our guard.’
‘Worth checking out,’ said Darren. ‘By the way, I’ve alerted the Pedley Station regarding our whereabouts. The captain was very obliging.’
‘Still an hour before we dock,’ volunteered Brigit, looking at her watch.
‘Brigit, wait here with Darren and Chris while I check out the other side. Don’t leave this spot, understand?’ I was afraid she might wander to the kiosk or start up a conversation with one of these strangers.
‘I won’t, you have my word.’
Cautiously I proceeded to the other side and immediately could see that my passenger count had increased. Two men preoccupied in discussion walked past my portside entry. They seemed likely candidates. They continued to amble in the direction of the bow, both dressed in full-length overcoats and wraparound sunglasses that disguised their facial features.
From the other direction a man of around forty suddenly arrived on deck, having climbed the companion ladder from stern side. He wore a brightly coloured bandanna over a shaven head and had a noticeable scar running down his right cheek. Seemingly unperturbed by my presence, he walked past without acknowledgement or gesture. I thought I’d better get back to Brigit and the two officers to warn them of my observation.
Still glued to the spot where I had left her, Brigit seemed reassured to have my presence by her side again. I explained the situation on portside where two men wearing full-length overcoats did fit Charlie and Micks description. Brigit let out a small cry, fearing that capture was now inevitable.
‘It’s only a matter of time now,’ she said.
‘Nonsense, Brigit. We’re now less than an hour from Pedley. Providing we stay close to each other and with the other passengers no harm will come to you,’ encouraged Darren, trying to brighten up her spirits.
‘I hope you’re right.’ She sounded unconvinced.
I fumed at the thought of some bastard double-crossing us. ‘What really pisses me off is that they seem to know our every move. First it was the caravan park, then the farm and now the Molly Bloom, for God’s sake. There has to be an informer behind all this. Other than the Pedl
ey Police Station, the only other person who knows about our boat trip is Hamish and I can’t believe for one minute he’s behind this!’
~ * ~
‘What’s the situation?’ asked Morgan.
‘All under control,’ Charlie responded. ‘I’ll be down to join ya in a moment.’
In one swift move the crew on the bridge had just been silenced. Bashed and bound, only one member remained conscious for the sole purpose of directing the vessel into wharf. All outside communication had been destroyed and mobile phones had been thrown overboard. It was decided Mick would remain on bridge, primarily to control the remaining crewmember but also to keep a watchful eye on the decks below.
Following a check on stern and portside to ensure all passengers were congregated together, Charlie then returned to starboard to assist Brad Morgan in securing the engine room door. With these remaining crewmembers in mind, it was considered a necessary precaution before any attempt could be made to seize Brigit O’Neill. Now within striking distance, they could hear the chatter and general noise from beyond the engine wall, the high-spirited passengers oblivious to what was about to unfold.
Charlie and Morgan pulled down their balaclavas and rechecked the array of arms they carried at waist level. They were now ready for the assault. In one swift move they turned the corner and came upon the unsuspecting passengers.
With gun poised, Morgan bellowed, ‘Sit down here with hands on your heads!’ He pointed toward the starboard deck.
Everyone appeared stunned for a brief moment and then pandemonium broke out as parents grabbed their screaming children. Some people literally froze, not realising there was a command, while others became hysterical at seeing two guns pointed toward them.
‘Sit here!’ roared Charlie as the passengers gathered into a semicircle.
Brigit and Tom were now seated on deck. Burke and Martino remained defiantly in their chairs. An elderly woman had collapsed through sheer terror and was being assisted by the chess player with the deformity.
‘Leave her!’ shouted Charlie, prompting the Jack Russell to growl in response.
Hysterical behaviour still prevailed. Some of the women screamed following each blunt command. Children now sobbed and the elderly continued to shake in panic. Two men in the space of a minute had created a frightening scene.
Losing his balance in the attempt to sit on deck, a man had fallen out of his chair and hit his head against a flagpole. Blood poured from the side of his face as he reached for a handkerchief to stop the flow. Someone passed a towel but was howled down by Morgan.
‘Stop this! No more good Samaritan acts,’ he yelled, looking around to make sure everybody obeyed his command. He spotted the two defiant, uniformed policemen who had not attempted to sit on deck. Charlie briefly informed Morgan of the situation at Peterswood. Instructing Charlie to keep watch over the passengers, Morgan walked toward the sergeant and his deputy.
‘My, my, if it’s not our friends in blue,’ he sneered at the officers.
With no response from either officer, Morgan continued with his mockery. He thrived on controlling the moment, particularly when he had a captive audience at his command. His objective now would be to ridicule and humiliate the men in blue for all to see.
‘These deck chairs look too comfortable for the constabulary. Are we resting ourselves following a busy morning at the office?’
‘Leave these people alone, they mean you no harm,’ said Burke.
‘Oh, and how do you propose to exert your influence?’ he taunted. ‘Throw your weapons to one side now!’
‘We’re unarmed. You bastards took our guns at the Peterswood farm!’
Ordering the two officers to stand for a body search, Morgan could not locate any hidden surprises to dispose of. He instructed them to resume their seats.
‘What’s the purpose to all this? If you want something, then for Christ’s sake just spit it out!’ Burke said.
‘Touchy, aren’t we? I trust you won’t spoil our onboard entertainment today. You do realise that failure to comply with my orders will result in some form of retribution,’ Morgan said.
‘You’re a brave man with a gun in your hand,’ said Martino aggressively.
Morgan continued with his tormenting, sarcastic manner. ‘So it would appear we have a couple of party poopers. You two are certainly gluttons for punishment. Are you deviates in search of pain and cruelty, by some chance? I can arrange to have some bodily part temporarily or permanently damaged if you wish.’
‘Go to hell!’ responded Martino.
‘If suffering is to your liking, you’ve come to the right place. The show commences in five minutes.’ Morgan ignored the constable’s comment.
‘You are one sick prick,’ said Burke.
Without warning Morgan let fly with the butt of his gun, collecting both Burke and Martino with two swift downward lunges to the sides of their heads. Both officers slumped unconscious in the deck chairs amidst screams coming from the passengers. Morgan then produced some thin rope and immediately tied the men to their respective chairs. Behind him, the passengers had formed a seated semi-circle amongst the mayhem of upturned deck chairs and scattered personal belongings. They sat wondering what was to follow this sudden outburst against the police.
In his smooth, educated, English voice, Morgan turned to the passengers and commenced his instructions. ‘Now listen to me very carefully. If you do as you’re told no harm will come to you. Disobey my orders and I won’t hesitate to use this gun.’
Further screams followed his blunt message.
‘If you happen to own a mobile phone, would you please locate it with your left hand and throw it toward my feet.’
The sound of fumbling hands immediately followed and one by one a pile began to mount in front of Brad Morgan. He waited patiently as they carried out his instruction. Three people said their phones had been knocked away during his order to be seated.
Seeing Morgan distracted by this sudden flood of mobiles, the foreign man with the orchestral hands decided to place a call. He dialed the number and cautiously raised the phone to his ear, desperate for the return voice to respond. He looked up to see Morgan and Charlie had not seen his deception. In what seem to take eternity he finally heard the sound of his recipient. In a whisper he started to convey his message, but he had no sooner opened his mouth when a bullet penetrated the skull between his eyes. He was killed instantly for his foolish act. The man collapsed to deck amidst screams from the terrified group.
‘Does anyone else have similar ideas?’ asked Morgan.
~ * ~
Endeavouring to put this horrific display of cold-blooded murder to one side, I tried in vain to identify these bastards hiding behind their balaclavas and navy-blue overalls. These weren’t the two men I had seen earlier, for one was considerably shorter. I looked around at my fellow passengers, trying desperately to recall who could be missing from this lot. Perhaps the taller of the two was Charlie or Mick, and if this were true, then we had a third perpetrator in our midst. But who was this third person, and for that matter, where the hell was the other tall desperado?
And then it hit me. The guy with the impeccable clothes and seagoing hat being called Morgan by his accomplice ... yes, it must be him for he wasn’t seated in this semi-circle amongst his fellow captives.
Nerves were now on razor edge as we waited for our next directive. I looked across at Brigit, who appeared to be in a state of shock following the execution. The sound of whimpering and crying from both the women and children had surpassed the initial shock and disbelief. What was to be gained by involving all these innocent people?
Foolishly the short stocky man with the muttonchops and plaited ponytail stood up and remonstrated at the treatment being handed out. He was ordered by Morgan to step forward. The unemotional, heartless and smooth-talking Englishman asked his captive to explain the sudden outburst, ridiculing the man in front of his fellow passengers.
‘Do you know what w
e do with silly people like yourself?’
The passenger went silent now, realising he had overstepped the boundary.
‘Cat got your tongue?’
Still the man chose to be quiet.
Morgan then gestured to the one named Charlie. ‘Take this imbecile to the starboard side and maintain your hold on him.’
The captive now shook in terror.
In his composed and yet provocative style, Morgan turned to the group of seated passengers and continued. ‘Please consider yourselves privileged in witnessing our little demonstration today. Apologies for the absence of a plank and no last meal request, but we simply do not have the time to pamper this individual.’
With no further ado Morgan leaned forward and pushed the man overboard and then had the audacity to wipe his hands clean upon his overalls. ‘I hope this little message has served its purpose.’
