by Raven, James
They listened carefully to Greg Barrie's account of how he had been forced to drive the Land Rover and fit the engine to the boat.
When he was finished, Angus looked around at the others. He, like them, failed to make any sense of it. The boat was gone, which meant someone had taken it. But who had taken the Land Rover which had been spotted driving at speed through the village?
Angus wondered if there had been a dispute between the two villains which had resulted in them splitting up. But he also wondered if one of them had taken the boat while the other had gone for the treasure which they'd hidden somewhere. Were they planning to meet up along the coast?
“There’s only one way to know what’s going on,” he said. “We have to find the Land Rover and go after the boat.”
He pointed to three men at random. “You go and try to get another craft launched. There’s an outboard at Bill Cullen’s house in the village. The rest of you follow me.”
THIRTY
As Maclean steered the little boat into the cove, he was careful to avoid the submerged rocks. It was a manoeuvre he would not have attempted if the sea had been in a different mood. He'd seen what had happened to the cruiser and therefore had a pretty good idea what would become of the craft were it to be lobbed on to those razor sharp rocks. But his luck so far had been running in the right direction and he was feeling optimistic.
First, that blind fool Parker had failed to see him squatting on the floor behind the lobster pots—and that was despite shining the torch directly at him at one point. And then, to top it all, Parker had inadvertently prepared the way for his own hasty departure. Fortune shining down on me, he thought. About bloody time.
He could not have wished for a better night. A great calmness prevailed. The moon poured its liquid glow over the gently rolling sea and the sky was peppered with clusters of bright, twinkling stars. It wouldn't be an easy crossing to Mull. He knew that. Out there the sea might be a good deal more active and it'd be a struggle to make progress because the boat was riding low in the water under the weight of the five suitcases filled with treasure. The rest he’d had to leave behind because there was no way he could have taken them with him.
He adjusted the grip on the control and the prow went to the right. On his left there were more rocks jutting up through the water. There were bits and pieces of debris clinging to these rocks; a splinter of wood, a shredded piece of cloth — remains of the cruiser which the sea had as yet not claimed.
The engine chugged along healthily, kicking up a spray and giving him a wonderful feeling of freedom and exhilaration.
He came up against the jetty and killed the engine. The heavy silence enveloped him. He tied the rope to one of the soggy timbers, then stood in the prow, face level with the jetty boards.
“Bella,” he called.
There was no sound and no sign of her. He cursed her for not being punctual.
“Bella.”
Still nothing. His eyes searched the darkness.
He raised his voice slightly. “Bella. Are you there?”
He reached for the rusty ladder and pulled himself up on to the jetty, not thinking to take the rifle with him.
“Bella.”
Nothing.
“Bella.”
Something caught his eye up on the road. Set against the moon-flushed sky it looked for all the world like the distinctive outline of a vehicle. But Bella didn’t have a car!
Suddenly, he felt naked without a weapon and he turned to go back for the rifle. But a noise to his left brought him to a halt. He spun round as two figures stepped out of the darkness.
Parker was standing behind Bella, holding her left arm with one hand whilst using the other to point the shotgun at Maclean's stomach.
“Going on a trip, Andy?” Parker said.
Parker released his grip on Bella and she strode across the distance between them and threw herself at her lover.
“Andy!” she cried. “Oh, Andy! He made me bring him to you. He said he'd keep me here if I didn't.”
“Don't worry, love. It's all right.”
Maclean put his arms around her and pulled her close.
“He's promised he'll not harm you, Andy. He says he just wants to leave here with us.”
“Does he now.” Maclean looked at Parker for a long moment, his gaze intense. “You were wrong you know,” he said.
“So I've heard,” Parker said.
“You should have let me explain.”
Parker grinned. “You mean we should have given you time to alert your friends?”
Maclean shook his head. “That's not how it was.”
“I know what I saw. It looked pretty obvious to me why you were there.”
“Did it? Well, for your information I was there to try to help you.”
“Really?”
Maclean ignored the sarcasm. “I was hoping I'd see you before they did. I probably could have helped you get away from there if you both hadn't jumped to a stupid conclusion.”
“As I recall it you were quick enough to use your own gun,” Parker said.
“Well, I didn't think it sensible to just stand there and let that idiot Hodge blow my brains out.”
“I wasn't aiming a gun at you when you clobbered me in the shed just now.”
“Don't make me laugh, Phil. You'd have done the same in my shoes. If I'd shown myself you'd have taken a shot without thinking.”
Parker laughed. “So you're telling me that it wasn't on your mind that with me out of the way the treasure would be yours?”
Maclean's eyes flared in anger. He pushed Bella to one side and thrust out an accusing finger.
“Think back,” he said. “Remember how it was. You didn't give me a chance. Before I'd even opened my mouth that crazy fool was taking aim. If only you'd listened. I had the rifle. You could have taken it and got clear of there.”
“Why were you there, anyway?” Parker said. “You were meant to be looking for a way off the island.”
“They wanted me there. I tried to steer them away from the hill but they wouldn't listen. What more could I have done?”
“You could have revealed yourself to me down at the harbour,” Parker said. “But you didn’t.”
Maclean shrugged. “In my position you would have done the same. I couldn’t risk you going for me.”
Parker thought for a moment and said, “I take it the treasure's in the boat?”
Maclean nodded. “Some of it. There’s enough for us to split it between us. So why don’t we just climb aboard and go?”
Parker started to say something, but Maclean held up his hands and said, “Look, we haven't got all night. This clear weather may not last much longer. There's nearly ten miles of sea between here and Mull, so it's best we get going now.”
“And there's fog coming,” Bella cut in.
Maclean turned, a worried look on his face. “How'd you know?”
“I heard it on the radio before I left home. They said it's moving in now from the north.”
“That's all we need,” Maclean said. He turned to Parker. “Well, what's it to be, Phil? Do we go together and split the treasure down the middle, or do you kill us and go alone?”
Parker eased his forefinger off the trigger and lowered the shotgun.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.
Maclean smiled “I'm glad you've seen sense.”
But just then a shot rang out and Maclean watched, horrified, as blood came gushing out of Bella’s shoulder.
*
She didn't scream. She just dropped down onto her side. The bullet had entered the back of her shoulder and come out just above her chest. Maclean fell to his knees beside her as more shots rang out.
“They're up on the road,” Parker shouted. “A whole bleeding bunch of 'em from the sound of it.”
Whump! Whump!
One bullet hit the rock near Parker's head and the other smacked into the ground inches from Bella. Obviously they don't know Bella's here, Parker
thought. They're just shooting at shadows.
Ca-rack! Ca-rack!
Someone using a rifle. More bullets hitting the ground around them.
“We've got to get to the boat,” Maclean called out. “She’s still breathing. Can you keep me covered?”
“Yeah. Go. now.”
Parker fired up the hill. He had no target in his sights. He just aimed in the general direction of the Land Rover.
Once. Twice.
Reload.
Once. Twice.
He groped in his pocket and found only two more shells. He broke the barrel and shoved them in.
Ca-rack! Ca-rack!
This time the bullets slammed into the rock in front of him.
He aimed up the hill at the flashing light from their rifles and pulled the trigger.
Once. Twice.
At the same time, Maclean lifted Bella in his arms and carried her to the edge of the jetty. Then he heaved her up on to his shoulders and descended the ladder on to the boat.
When Parker heard the engine fire up he crawled backwards away from the rock and lowered himself down the ladder. Maclean was sitting in the prow, cradling Bella's head in his lap, so Parker took the controls.
More shots were fired from the top of the hill as they cleared the little cove and the bullets plunged into the water all around them. But in thirty seconds they were clear of the rocks and out of range.
THIRTY ONE
They were a mile out when the fog came.
It rolled in from the west like a cloud on wheels, blotting out the stars one by one. The greyness swirled thickly around them, cold, clammy, oppressive. Maclean reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small lightweight compass which he handed to Parker.
“I managed to get hold of this on the island,” he explained. “Just make sure we're headed north, north-east.”
“How's Bella doing?” Parker asked, taking the compass.
He'd realized soon after starting out that Bella wouldn't survive the crossing. She was losing too much blood and her breathing was becoming more and more erratic.
“Not good,” Maclean said. “I can't keep her awake.”
When Maclean had opened her coat to look at the wound, Parker had seen it too and it had turned his stomach. The hole, when the blood was wiped away, wasn't very big, but the bullet had punctured her chest just above the right breast and he was able to speculate on the extent of the damage inside. He was surprised, in fact, that she had lasted this long.
Maclean was obviously refusing to accept the inevitable. He stroked her forehead and dabbed at her wound with his already blood-soaked hanky. Parker felt genuinely sorry for him.
He looked again at the girl and reflected on the irony of it. There had been three of them on the jetty and fate had decreed that the bullet fired by one of her own people should find her — the one among them whose only crime was that she had fallen in love with a man who was not deserving of it.
Parker stared ahead into the fog. The water was mirror-flat almost and he knew that probably meant a storm was brewing. Maclean continued to swab Bella's wound and her breathing gradually grew fainter.
Five minutes into the fog, the engine began to stutter. Maclean was too preoccupied to notice, but Parker became instantly aware of the change in the engine note.
His first thought was that they were running out of petrol and he prayed that this wasn't so. The islander had told him it was always kept full. But he had obviously lied.
The engine hiccoughed again.
And again.
Now Maclean was conscious of it as well and his face became so numbed by terror it seemed almost spectral against the eerie backdrop of grey, wispy cloud.
Then the engine gave a final splutter and died.
Parker reached over and unscrewed the petrol cap. Empty. Not a single bloody drop.
“You're sure it's not something else?” Maclean enquired anxiously.
Parker slammed his fist down on top of the outboard.
“Of course I'm sure. It's as dry as a bone.”
Maclean lowered his head and stared at Bella, his expression intense. And then he broke down. The quivering of his shoulders was followed by tears that fell in large droplets on to her tangled hair.
“No. No. No,” he cried.
There were no oars in the boat, so they couldn't attempt to row to Mull. They'd just have to sit tight and be carried by the current. Sooner or later, if a wave didn't swamp them, they'd be washed ashore somewhere.
For another ten minutes they drifted aimlessly without a word passing between them. Then Maclean sprang to his feet suddenly, and started yelling.
“Bella! Wake up! Bella!”
Parker watched, feeling strangely awkward, as Maclean began shaking her by the shoulders.
“Bella! Wake up! Please!”
Maclean sat astride her and started pumping her chest. Once, twice, three times. Hard enough so that if she was alive there would at least be a response. But there wasn't. Parker got up and stood over him, looking beyond his shoulders into Bella's face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, but she had stopped breathing.
“She's gone, Andy,” Parker said.
“No. She's sleeping. She can't be dead.”
But she was. And no amount of physical stimulation was going to bring her back to life.
“We've got to get her to a doctor,” Maclean shouted.
“A doctor won't be any use now,” Parker said.
Maclean turned on Parker. “You just shut up and get that fucking engine going.”
“It won't go, Andy,” Parker said. “There's no petrol.”
“I said get it going, dammit. We've only got a few more miles to go.”
Parker could see that Maclean was on the verge of losing control of himself altogether. He backed away from him and made a move to pick up the rifle — just to be on the safe side. But Maclean suddenly pushed himself up and lunged at Parker, grabbing instinctively for the throat. Parker was knocked off balance. His knees clashed with the sharp edge of the seat and he went over, knocking his shoulder painfully against one of the rawlocks.
Maclean was on top of him at once, trying to strangle him, crying, “You killed her, you bastard. You killed her.”
Parker clawed desperately at his hands but they didn't give an inch.
Maclean yelled, “If it hadn't been for you, she'd still be alive. You led them to us.”
Parker placed a hand under Maclean's chin and began to push upwards.
“I'll kill you!” Maclean was yelling. “I'll kill you!”
At last his hands fell away from Parker's throat and Parker gave one final shove which sent him reeling backwards.
But they were both as quick as one another to get up. Maclean dived for the rifle first. But Parker had anticipated the move and was on him just as his fingers touched the barrel. They rolled to one side locked in a violent embrace, and came crashing down on the side of the boat. The deck boards reared up under their feet and the boat keeled over, throwing them both into the ice-cold water.
They both went under and Parker found himself spinning aimlessly in a vortex of flying bubbles and flailing limbs. The suitcases, weighted down with the treasure, brushed past his left shoulder towards the bottom of the sea. He rolled this way and that, did a complete somersault and swallowed mouthfuls of foul-tasting water.
Then the chaos cleared and he struggled to an upright position, trying at the same time to get his bearings. The first thing to take shape was Maclean's shrinking form. He was swimming downwards, deeper, not in some mad attempt to rescue the treasure, but trying for some absurd reason to catch up to Bella, who was sinking rapidly as water flooded her lungs.
His own insides bursting, Parker kicked out towards the surface. He broke through after a few seconds and sucked in the sweet, chilled air. The upturned boat was close by. He swam to it and clung on to dear life while he struggled to catch his breath.
Around him the sea remained calm. There w
as only a slight breeze to stir the fog. He felt sick, cold, helpless. The seconds ticked away and Maclean did not appear.
*
Twenty feet below the surface, Maclean ran out of time. Too late, he realized that he had been carried away by his emotions virtually to the point of insanity. He was holding Bella's left arm, and had been about to pull her upwards, when his lungs gave out. His nostrils flared and his eyes swelled to golf-ball size. Then his mouth fell open involuntarily and the water poured in.
He drowned in a matter of seconds.
THIRTY TWO
Parker gave up on Maclean after ten minutes. Only a fish could hold out that long under water and Maclean was no fish.
Strangely enough, he felt a deep sense of loss. Not for the treasure, which never even entered his head, but for Maclean and the islanders who had suffered and would go on suffering. The grieving widows and orphaned children. The ones who would never be able to forget the four men who had come one night to their island and had done such irretrievable damage to their lives.
The current pushed him on into the night and for over three hours his fingers, number by the cold, grasped relentlessly to the upturned hull. But eventually he lost his grip. He slid under the water, and when he came up, choking and spluttering, he was already several feet from the boat. He tried to reach it, but couldn't. He was too tired even to raise one arm to complete a single stroke. The boat continued to drift further and further away from him and in time it was swallowed by the fog.
He closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. But at the same time he somehow found the energy to move his legs just enough to keep his body afloat. But his consciousness was slipping. Soon he wouldn't even be able to do that.
THIRTY THREE
