by Easton, Don
Seconds later, he saw Pike run past the doorway and heard him slip and partially fall as he clamoured down the steep stairwell to the lower deck. The stairs were not much different than a ladder, but plastic sides prevented Pike from falling completely and he grunted and continued on.
Jack quickly took the opportunity to go back out and climb up to the wheelhouse.
“Did you see where he went?” Pike screamed into the walkie-talkie from below.
Barfoot’s reply was interrupted with static and the sound of the engine from the tender.
“Can’t copy!” yelled Pike. “You’re broken. Go again. Did he go inside the lower deck?”
“Negative! Negative! He got past you. He’s in the wheelhouse!”
Jack looked at the control panel and saw a microphone. He knew he wouldn’t have time to explain his location and get a message out before Pike returned. He saw a row of switches marked LIGHTS and turned them off. The wheelhouse plunged into darkness, as well as the yacht’s running lights and all exterior lights.
Pike had already reached the top of the first stairwell and screamed up at him. “You think you can fuck with me you wimpy little bastard! The dark ain’t gonna save ya!”
Jack heard the sound of Pike’s feet pounding across the main deck to the second stairwell. This won’t be pretty …
Jack lay on his belly and squirmed over to the top of the stairwell and waited.
As soon as Pike’s head cleared the top, Jack reached out with his left arm and locked it around his neck, reefing him tight, while simultaneously plunging a screwdriver into his temple.
Pike never had time to utter a sound. A shudder went through his body as the shaft of the screwdriver penetrated through his skull like it was a melon. It pierced deep into his brain, not stopping until the hilt of the handle slammed against the side of his head.
Jack stared into Pike’s eyes and said, “Bet you’re not happy with that. Consider yourself screwed, asshole.”
When Jack let go, Pike’s body tumbled down the stairwell to the main deck. Seconds later, Jack searched him.
Again with no gun! What is it with you tough guys?
Jack heard the roar of the tender approaching as the walkie-talkie on Pike’s belt squawked.
“Pike! What’s happening?” demanded Barfoot. “You copy me? Over.”
Jack guessed he would have three minutes before they boarded. He also knew one thing for certain. They did have guns.
Chapter Forty-Five
Jack saw that Pike was wearing tan-coloured cargo shorts similar to what he had on, but his shirt was a different colour. A new plan came to mind.
Jack ripped Pike’s shirt off, not bothering to undo the buttons. He then tore his own shirt off, before grabbing Pike’s cellphone and walkie-talkie.
“Pike here. Can you copy?” said Jack. As he spoke he clicked the transmitter button on the walkie-talkie off and on repeatedly, giving a slightly broken message that would sound like static.
“Copy. What’s happening?” asked Barfoot, over the roar of the engine as Oskar directed the tender straight for the yacht.
“Over the starboard side,” said Jack, repeatedly clicking the button. “Badly injured. Grabbed a life preserver and jumped.”
“Starboard side! Copy!” yelled Barfoot.
“I’ll swing around and use the spotlight,” replied Jack, while climbing back up to the wheelhouse.
Barfoot ignored his yacht as it pulled away at high speed. His focus was on a life preserver in the water that the spotlight on the tender had illuminated. As they neared, the Princess had circled around at high speed and was approaching the preserver from the opposite direction.
Barfoot could see that the preserver was around the lower legs, with the feet sticking out one end while the body floated face down beneath the water on the other end.
Moments later, the spotlight on the yacht highlighted the life preserver from the opposite side.
“I see him!” yelled Oskar, as he and Barfoot used their hands to shield their eyes. Although the Princess was still a considerable distance away, the glare from its powerful spotlight still reflected off the water as it approached.
“Let me finish the bastard,” added Oskar, turning off the engine.
As the tender silently slid through the water up to the life preserver, Oskar grabbed the assault rifle he had laying on top of the duffel bag.
Chunks of the life preserver showered into the air as Oskar opened up with the machine gun. Many of the bullets found what he was aiming at and bloody chunks of flesh were torn from the thighs and buttocks. He didn’t stop until the magazine was empty.
“We got him!” radioed Barfoot, glancing at the Princess. “Slow down! Do you see us? We got him!”
“I see you, copy that,” replied Jack.
Barfoot gazed down at the body in the water. Something didn’t look quite right. The hair seems red … or is it from the blood? He reached in the water and hauled the bloody head out by the collar. He stared in disbelief at Pike’s face, with a screwdriver handle seemingly attached to his skull.
The sound of his yacht running at full speed echoed in Barfoot’s brain and alerted him to the danger. He looked at Oskar and yelled, “Get us out of here!”
Oskar stood dumbfounded for a moment, looking at the screwdriver handle sticking out of Pike’s head.
Barfoot dropped Pike and stumbled over Khalid’s prone body toward the engine, but knew he was too late when the hull of the Malaysian Princess briefly cast its dark shadow upon them.
Jack heard Oskar scream as he drove the yacht over them. It was followed by a clunking sound of the tender’s engine hitting the hull of the yacht, before the shredded remains of the tender were spit out the back.
Jack spun the yacht around immediately and shone the spotlight on the wreckage. Only the nose of the tender protruded from the water.
Good …
Then a head bobbed to the surface and he watched as Barfoot did a slow breast-stroke over to cling onto what was left of the tender. Jack put the engine in neutral and stepped out on the upper deck to look down at him.
“Swim to shore if you want,” yelled Jack. “I’ll get on the radio and wait.”
“My leg,” yelled Barfoot, “I’m bleeding bad. I need help.”
“More like you have a gun tucked in your pants and want to shoot me,” replied Jack.
“No, I don’t. Everything was in the duffel bag … except for what Oskar was using and it was empty. Please … help me.”
Jack saw that the water around Barfoot had turned a shade of red.
“You really are hurt,” noted Jack.
Barfoot nodded.
“Can you swim over?”
“My arms are okay. I can make it,” replied Barfoot, letting go.
“Not so fast, asshole, stay there!”
Barfoot grabbed onto the tender again and looked up at Jack.
“I sure as hell am not taking your word for it that you’re not packing,” yelled Jack. “Take off all your clothes. Then do a little roll in the water and spread your legs and arms so I can see. If you are packing, I’ll be running over you again.”
Barfoot did as requested and Jack waved for him to come over, before going down to the swim grid to meet him and drag him in by the arms.
Naked and bleeding profusely, Barfoot lay on the deck while breathing heavily. Jack saw a short series of deep cuts to the inside of Barfoot’s leg that had been caused from the propeller. Blood poured onto the deck like it was coming from a severed garden hose.
“Clamp your hand over it,” ordered Jack. “Looks like your femoral artery has been sliced. You’ll bleed out within fifteen minutes if we don’t stop it.”
Barfoot sat up and clamped both hands over the wound, slowing the blood flow only a little. He glanced at Jack who was standing over him while taking his belt off.
“There’s a first aid kit up in the wheelhouse,” gasped Barfoot.
“I’ll get it in a minute. F
irst we’ll use this to make a tourniquet,” said Jack.
“Thank you,” said Barfoot, as Jack tightened his belt around the thigh.
“Thank me when you’re convicted, you bastard,” replied Jack, reefing his belt tight.
Barfoot stared silently at Jack’s face, but didn’t reply.
“You’ve killed a lot of people … and left a lot of kids and mothers without their dads or husbands,” said Jack, bitterly. “I should really throw you back in and see how long it takes the sharks to find you.”
Barfoot swallowed but remained silent.
The holes for the belt buckle did not match up with the end of the belt when Jack tightened it, so he handed the loose end to Barfoot. “Pull it tight while I go get the first aid kit. Don’t move or you will bleed out within minutes,” warned Jack.
Barfoot nodded and clasped the belt, but then his eyes closed and he went limp, letting the belt loosen.
Jack could see that he was still breathing, but did not know how much blood he had lost, or how long he had left to live without proper care. He grabbed the shirt he had ripped off of Pike and wrapped it around Barfoot’s thigh to hold the belt in place, then hurried up to the wheelhouse.
He did not see a first aid kit on the walls, so he rummaged through some cupboards, tossing out charts and a couple of life jackets.
The sound of a thump caught his attention and he looked up as Barfoot staggered through the doorway and raised a speargun to take aim at his chest.
Jack immediately dived through the open doorway leading to the bow and ran around to face the wheelhouse through the glass windows.
Inside, Barfoot staggered forward, still aiming the speargun through the glass as Jack stepped back and forth sideways to make a difficult shot.
Barfoot scowled at him. He only had one shot and did not want to risk wasting it. He had the option of going out on the deck to pursue Jack, but knew in his condition that Jack could then try to run into the wheelhouse through the opposite door.
“Have it your way!” shouted Barfoot, before taking a seat at the helm. He placed the speargun on the dash in front of him and put the engine in gear.
“What are you doing?” asked Jack. “Let me take you to a hospital. There’s a bigger island just north of us, I’m sure they’ll have something.”
“I’m not going to any hospital in Thailand! Hang on for a fast ride, boy. We’re going back to Malaysia.”
“That’s two hours away! You’ll never make it!”
“I’ll tell you something,” snorted Barfoot. “Getting old is not for sissies!”
Moments later, the Malaysian Princess was cutting through the waves at full throttle.
Jack took Pike’s cellphone out of his pocket and Barfoot immediately picked up the speargun.
“Try to use that,” yelled Barfoot, “and I will come out there and put a spear through your gut!”
Jack stood for a moment, staring at Barfoot.
“It’s your call,” said Barfoot. “Do you want to chance it?”
“I’ll make the call after you’re dead,” replied Jack, putting the phone back in his pocket.
After a few minutes, Barfoot leered at Jack through the window and shouted, “So tell me, who the hell are you?”
“I’m a Mountie.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Well I’ll be goddamned. Didn’t they teach you not to turn your back on a prisoner?” chuckled Barfoot.
“I thought you had passed out.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something. Youth, vitality, and strength are no match for old age, wisdom, and treachery,” cackled Barfoot.
“Don’t preach to me about life. You’re a psychopath. You know nothing about the essence of being human. You pretended to care about people and family, but that was all an act.”
“Damned good act, if you ask me. I sure as hell sucked you in, didn’t I?”
“That you did. I took you as being a lonely old guy.”
“Take a look at this yacht you’re on! Pretty good for a lonely old guy!”
“So what? To bad you didn’t believe in what you preach about family values. Tonight you’ll die a lonely old man on a boat. Some life that is.”
“Yeah? Well I don’t need a nobody like you to tell —”
Barfoot quit talking as Jack backed up to the bow of the boat out of earshot and yawned before looking at his watch, then sitting down and taking off his remaining sock. He tied it around the gash in his own shin, more for something to do, as the bleeding had slowed and only oozed when he moved. When he was finished, he folded his arms across his chest and stared blandly at Barfoot.
Forty-five minutes later, Barfoot was still slumped over the wheel, but he had not moved for over twenty minutes.
Jack stood up and walked to the wheelhouse. When he reached the doorway, he saw Barfoot’s hand inch toward the speargun, so he returned to the bow.
Another forty-five minutes passed and the lights of the island of Langkawi were clearly visible when the Malaysian Princess hit a large swell and Barfoot fell from sight.
Jack crept up to the wheelhouse and jumped inside and grabbed the speargun. He had no reason to hurry. Barfoot was dead, laying on the floor in his own pool of blood.
Jack’s first phone call was to Randy, telling him briefly what had happened and asking him to meet him back at the Royal Langkawi Yacht Club in half an hour.
When Jack glanced at his watch, he realized that it was only eight o’clock in the morning in Vancouver and he decided to call home.
“I love you, Natasha Taggart!” Jack yelled.
Natasha grinned. It was good to hear his voice and know that all was well. “I presume it’s clear to talk,” she said.
“You betcha!”
“Then, I love you too, Jack Taggart. How are you?”
“Great.”
“Good,” replied Natasha. “Where are you?”
“On a yacht approaching an island in Malaysia called Langkawi.”
“On a yacht? Really?”
“Yes, I’m acting captain at the moment. I went out on a cruise with the bad guys today and did some fishing and then went for a swim. After that, we had a bit of a beach party and now I’m heading back to Langkawi.”
“Must be nice,” replied Natasha. “I’m at home cleaning up breakfast dishes.”
“I think it’s one of those things that sounds nicer than it really is.”
“Yeah, I bet,” replied Natasha, sounding skeptical.
“The good news is that the investigation is basically wrapped up.” Jack glanced at Barfoot’s naked body. “Well, one more guy to wrap up, but it’s pretty much finished.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Did it go okay?”
“I think so. I should be home in a couple of days.”
“Good. Speaking of bad guys, Laura came and got the boys yesterday morning for that thing you talked about before you left. She brought them back in the afternoon, but I don’t know if she will need them again or not. She hasn’t called.”
“She called me late last night, your time. It’s over. Put them on and I’ll tell them.”
“Hang on, I’ll hold the phone between the two of them.”
Jack waited a moment, before hearing Mikey say in a serious voice, “Hello. This is Michael speaking.”
This was followed by Steve saying, “Hello, this is Steven speaking.”
“We’re clear to talk, guys.”
“Daddy!” exclaimed Mike. “Did Mommy tell you? Steve and I went with Mrs. Secord yesterday to work undercover.”
“I heard,” replied Jack, sounding excited.
“I lent Miss Secord my Batman picture like you told me,” said Mike.
“And I let her have some of my toys,” said Steve.
“That’s good. Tell me what happened.”
“She taked us to see another lady,” said Steve. “We pretended this other lady is our mommy.”
“That lady’s name is Miss McCorm
ick.”
“Yes,” replied Steve. “Miss McCornynut is a police lady like Mrs. Secord.”
“That’s right.”
“But she’s not my real mommy. I only pretend I love her.” Jack heard Steve turn away from the phone and say, “But I love my real mommy. I was only pretendin’.”
“What happened when you guys were with Miss McCormick?” asked Jack.
“We went to a park to play where a bad guy was,” said Mike. “Then we went to Miss McCormick’s house and the bad guy followed us.”
“Policemen hide in the house, but the bad man stayed outside,” said Steve, sounding disappointed.
“After, Mrs. Secord took us back home,” added Mike, “but Miss McCormick kept my Batman picture.”
“You’ll get your picture and all your toys back real soon.”
“Okay,” they each replied.
“I wanted to tell you that your undercover worked. The bad guy came back to Miss McCormick’s house and the police arrested him.”
“It worked?” squealed Mike.
“It sure did,” replied Jack.
“I help catched a bad guy?” asked Steve.
“You guys sure did. He will go to jail for a very long time. Batman would be really pround of you guys, but not as proud as me.”
“Mommy! We catched the bad guy!” shouted Steve.
“He’s in jail!” added Mike.
Despite standing on a floor slippery with blood, Jack smiled all the way back to the marina.
Chapter Forty-Six
The following Monday, Assistant Commissioner Isaac stood up from his desk and gestured for Inspector Dyck and Staff Sergeant Rose Wood to join him as they all took a seat near the coffee table.
Isaac stared briefly at Rose and said, “I read Corporal Taggart’s report that you gave me Friday afternoon. I told you then that I would need some time to mull it over.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have to tell you, after reading it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it all weekend.”
“Problems, sir?” asked Rose.
“You tell me,” replied Isaac. “Let’s examine it one step at a time, shall we? First, starting in the Golden Triangle where a man is bludgeoned to death with a piece of concrete.”
