The Fighter

by Robert White

  “Clear,” he said.

  The room was indeed empty, other than for two items. A three legged stool and a polished wooden coffin.

  “The Captain?” offered Des.

  “Only one way to find out,” I said, doing my best to lift the lid. After two vain attempts, I turned to my mate. “Would you believe it’s nailed shut?”

  “I’ve seen a few dead blokes in my time, pal,” said Des, checking the lid for himself. “But I dinnea ever recall one opening the lid of his own casket. Bit creepy if you ask me. Like one of them horror movies where the devil jumps out, eh?”

  I shook my head and smiled, happy to have my pal back alongside me. A bit of banter always went a long way to calm a sticky situation. He stepped out of the room. Moments later he returned with a small jemmy and hunkered down next to the rather expensive looking coffin, Des eased each nail upwards until the lid was free.

  Once the last one was out, he looked up at me, holding the lip of the casket in his hand.

  “If fucking Damien jumps out of here, pal, I’ll be swimming for it, I’ll tell yer.”

  It wasn’t anything to do with a horror flick, indeed, there was no body at all. Rather than a corpse, packed inside the casket were dozens of rectangular packages wrapped in thick plastic and bound with packing tape. Des pulled his old service knife and carefully cut into one.

  He raised his eyebrows and looked at me. “Well, isn’t that a wee turn up fer the books, eh, pal?” he said.

  I stood next to him. “Oh yes, you can say that again… Nail that shut, pal, and keep this to yourself, eh?”

  Des began the task of hammering the nails back in place and my thoughts turned to that big payday I was talking about earlier.

  As I kept watch at the door, I heard footsteps treading the stairs. It was Marvellous Marvin Varese.

  “All clear down here,” I shouted.

  He stopped in his tracks. There was a look on his face that I couldn’t quite read. Guilt? Suspicion? I couldn’t tell. One thing I did know was I trusted him about as much as a wounded lion.

  “Okay,” he managed. “Good to see you in fine health, Fuller. We were worried about you for a while there.”

  “I’m sure you were,” I said.

  Lauren North’s Story:

  I watched as Rick dipped his head and stepped out onto the deck. His shirt was drenched in sweat sticking to his body. There was a slight swelling around his left eye, as if he’d been punched, but other than that, he looked well. Actually, he looked good enough to eat. He dropped an AK and spare magazines onto the deck and wiped his face with both hands. Just to see him alive and well caused tears to form and I felt them dribble down my cheeks. I thought my heart would burst.

  He caught my eye briefly, but there was no smile, just a nod of acknowledgement. That, I suppose, was all I could hope for.

  Mitch was covering our prisoner with his AK. He was a small Arabic looking guy and he lay face down on the deck, his hands tied behind his back, legs crossed.

  Rick stepped over to him.

  “Hello Doctor,” he said. “Well, this is a turn up for the books, eh? Care to tell us where you were headed?”

  “Ana la ‘aerif ‘aya shay,” said the guy.

  “He doesn’t know anything,” explained Sellers.

  Varese, who had been remarkably helpful once he’d realised we had control of the target vessel looked over to Victoria. “You speak Arabic?” he asked.

  Sellers pulled her hair from her ponytail and shook it, looking every inch a sex goddess. “I’m not just a pretty face darling,” she smiled, and walked over to our prisoner.

  “Hal taerif ma hu altazaluj ealaa alma?” she said, leaving the rest of us with blank expressions.

  The guy began to shout what sounded like insults. I didn’t understand, but he was obviously pissed off.

  “What did you say to him, Victoria? I asked.

  Sellers shrugged and gave me an impish grin. “I just asked him if he knew what waterboarding was, darling.”

  Rick lifted his foot and planted his boot firmly on the neck of our small friend. He leaned in until the guy began to choke. His voice low, threatening.

  “Now, I am well aware that you speak perfect English matey, so let’s not fuck about. You’ve already told me that you are bosom buddies with Abdallah Al-Mufti, which is enough for me to slot you here and now.”

  He lifted his foot and the guy took in lungful’s of air. Rick dropped to his haunches. “Care to enlighten the group where you were taking me? Or shall I let our very capable Ms Sellers wrap a towel over your face and play, let’s drown the man from the Taliban?”

  “Ana la ‘aerif ‘aya shay,” repeated the guy, and spat on the deck.

  Sellers let out a long breath. “Right,” she said, rubbing her palms together. “Cogan, North… find something weighty to tie to the corpses and chuck them in the drink. Fuller, find us a decent sturdy plank, some towels and a bucket, will you?”

  Varese had been suspiciously quiet during the proceedings, but on hearing Sellers begin to bark her orders, he held up a hand.

  “Whoa there, Sellers. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Firstly, if you hadn’t noticed, we have left the island of Ireland. If you recall, the deal was that I would take charge from here on in. Secondly… “

  “Secondly,” said Sellers. “I’ve changed my mind on that one. Woman’s prerogative and all that. The moment that you decided to try and blow this boat sky high with a team member aboard, you sort of played your ace, shot your bolt.”

  Rick’s head twisted around so fast, I thought it may spin off his shoulders. He glared at Marvin.

  Sellers noticed, but ignored the issue, cocked her head and looked at me. “Can you think of any more idioms to describe Mr Varese’s lack of composure, darling?”

  “He flies off the handle?” I offered.

  “Ah, yes, nice one, Ms North. Yes, he does, doesn’t he?”

  Varese’s face was thunder. “You can joke all you like there, Sellers, but when Whitehall find out about your treachery and deceit, there’ll be hell to pay. And if you think I will stand idly by, whilst you play fast and loose with the Geneva Convention, you can guess again.”

  Rick’s face was ashen with anger.

  “And where in the Geneva Convention does is stipulate that it’s okay to drown me, you cowardly fuck?”

  Sellers turned down her mouth.

  “Mmm… good point, well made, Fuller. By the way, are you currently employed by HM Forces?” she asked.

  “No,” said Rick, lifting the boat’s gangplank from the end of the deck and resting one end on a chair. “Why? Does that mean blowing me to bits doesn’t fucking count.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so, darling, but you miss my point,” said Sellers. “Cogan, what about you?”

  “Retired,” said the Scot, rolling one of the dead players into the water. “I’m a pensioner, would ye believe?”

  Sellers found her smile again.

  “So, the only military employee aboard, is Mr Collins over there, and as the Bush administration only banned waterboarding on detainees, by military personnel, it would seem that he alone would be exempt from such barbarism. However, that ruling does not apply to anyone else, even you, Varese so… don’t worry darling, I reckon the interrogation of our Taliban friend here, by any means we see fit, shouldn’t offend your sensibilities.”

  Big Mitch shrugged his huge shoulders.

  “You do what you like to the dude, Ma’am,” he said. “Me and the Taliban go way back.”

  He then shuffled over to help Des with another body seemingly unconcerned about our prisoner’s fate. Rick disappeared below and returned with a wooden bucket and a towel.

  Varese was at his side in seconds. “You can’t really be serious about this, Fuller. Come on man, you were a soldier on
ce. This is torture. Let’s just get this guy, and this boat back to dry land.”

  Rick began to tie a length of rope to the bucket. He changed the subject to one closer to his heart.

  “So, Varese, I understand you tried to blow this crate to pieces with me in it?” he said eyeballing the American.

  Marvin was resolute. “I was following my orders, Fuller. This cargo was not to reach its destination without our tail. You knew as much. That had always been the plan.”

  For the first time, Rick looked across the deck and deep into my eyes. “Lauren, how long did you search for me, before this fool tried to fire the mines?”

  I just shook my head.

  He turned back to Marvin. Rick had that look about him. The one that told you to stay away, steer clear.

  “Is that right Varese? You didn’t even try? Now, let me think. Why might that be?”

  Marvin’s bald head shone in the moonlight; he was sweating again.

  “It was hopeless. I couldn’t risk… “

  Rick curled his lip. “But you didn’t even try. So, I’ll ask you again. Why was that, Marvin?”

  He walked over to the prostrate Arab prisoner and gave him a swift kick in the ribs. The man cried out and cursed him. Rick turned.

  “Because, you see Weasel here? When he had me all trussed up below deck, ready to deliver me to his pal, Al-Mufti, he seemed a real brave boy, just like the square faced goon with a couple of rounds of nine mil in his head. He was a fuckin hero too. Especially when he had me chained to the wall. Now, under normal circumstances, when a man makes decisions like the one you elected to do, I would usually question that person’s courage. Was it down to lack of guts?”

  Rick got in close. Varese looked very uncomfortable.

  “You know what, Marvin, I don’t think so. I don’t believe that a Silver Star winner and veteran of dozens of covert operations behind enemy lines, is the fucking squeamish type. I think there may be something that you’re not telling us.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, his face incredulous.

  “Let me take a wild guess at what happened after I was taken. The moment my guys got back to your boat and gave you the good news, you immediately tried to detonate those mines,” Rick pointed at Des. “But this wee Scotsman here threatened to slot you if you did. Am I warm?”

  “Fuckin’ eejit,” muttered Des as he disposed of a third corpse.

  “I figured that one,” said Rick. “So, just as Sellers here has eluded to, you seem to suffer from overreaction under pressure. Not a trait that I would expect to find in a man of your reputation. Which brings me back to my earlier point.”

  Marvin glared at Rick. “I was given orders. And unlike some here, I follow them, to the letter. There is a bigger picture, Fuller. A picture that you don’t need to know about.”

  “Really, you don’t say,” said Rick, eyebrows raised.

  “Something stinks,” said Des, washing blood from his hands.

  Rick gave Varese a thin smile. “My Scottish friend has always been able to spot a gang fuck when he sees one.”

  Marvin’s tone was suddenly and unexpectedly conciliatory.

  “Look, Fuller. We’re on the same side here. We just work in different ways. Think in different ways. As I said, the priority now, is to get this cargo back on dry land, contact HQ and take stock.”

  Rick shook his head. I could almost hear his mind working overtime.

  “Doctor Weasel here knew all about me. He knew I’d be waiting for this very boat. He knew I’d be delivering those AK’s. How do you think he knew all that, Varese?”

  “I don’t know,” said Marvin.

  Rick pointed in the American’s face.

  “But you do know more than you are saying and I’ll bet a pound to a pinch of shit that the reason you don’t want us to interrogate our big nosed friend here, is because he knows that very same shit… and that’s why, I’m going to tie him to that fucking plank.”

  Rick Fuller’s Story:

  Doctor Weasel was fastened firmly to his board. Des was sitting at the stern smoking his horrible pipe. I reluctantly joined him as we watched Varese bitching about his lack of authority and trying to persuade Sellers not to go through with what we were about to do. He just wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

  “Do ye think the Yank is in on this?” asked Des, blowing smoke over his shoulder, and thankfully away from my face.

  “I don’t know, pal,” I said. “When you deal with MI6 and the CIA, nothing is straightforward, eh?”

  “Where did the intel come from that the AK’s were bound for Yunfakh use?” asked Des.

  “Ask me one on sport.”

  “You think Cartwright will tell you?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I reckon there’s another bigger puzzle to solve.”

  “Oh aye, ye mean the box down below?”

  “I reckon there is close on a hundred kilos of charlie stuffed inside that coffin, pal.”

  “Jeezo.”

  “Exactly. And where the fuck was that going?”

  “Maybe the wee boy with the big conk will tell us.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “And maybe that’s just why Marvin is so touchy about how we obtain that information.”

  Waterboarding was nothing new. It had been around since the late seventies. It’s a form of torture where liquid is poured over a cloth covering the face. The subject, in our case, Doctor Weasel, is immobilised on their back at an incline. You then pour water into the breathing passages, causing an almost immediate gag reflex and creating a sensation of drowning. The trick is, to pour just enough, or you kill your prisoner, dry drown the boy. Either way, it’s extremely painful, causes harm to the lungs, brain damage from oxygen deprivation, and other physical injuries, including broken bones, if your boy struggles hard enough.

  It is most fucking unpleasant.

  As I sat and watched Varese argue his corner to the point of ad nauseum. I still couldn’t get my head around the man. On the road to the port, when the shit had been flying, he’d fought like a lion. It was as if he needed to get us to our destination at all costs, but as soon as I was taken, something had changed. He’d been like the worst kind of Rupert. It was ‘by the book and hang the consequences,’ and that worried me on a job like this. I needed him gone. Out of my hair.

  Varese was a problem, I didn’t trust him. But it was the drugs stored in the hold that worried me even more. Drugs, especially in that amount, meant big trouble.

  I turned back to Des, my head spinning with information. “Why would you be transporting weapons and drugs on the same boat?”

  The Scot lit his pipe again. “Ye wouldnea. All yer eggs in one basket like. Too risky.”

  “That’s what I thought, pal.”

  The Scot blew out another long plume and tapped his pipe on the rail to empty it.

  “Ye know what I think, Rick? I reckon the AK’s were bound fer the Continent, but the coke is meant fe the UK. And I reckon, the buyers were, or still are waiting close by. This boat was never going to enter the open sea with all that gear on board.”

  “You could be right there Des. The boat pulled away from the coast then sat in some kind of holding pattern. It’s possible they were waiting for another craft. But I know one thing. Some very powerful people will want their charlie back. And until we get it off this boat and out of our hands we are all in the proverbial brown stuff.”

  “Aye,” said Des stuffing his pipe back in his pocket and eyeing Marvin again. “Greed is a terrible thing. When that kind of money is at stake, it makes good folks do bad things.”

  “It does indeed.”

  “You think he knew it was aboard all along? Is he on the take like Mason Carver?”

  I shook my head.

  “I couldn’t say, but I bet I know a man who can.”

  I rubbed a
nd cricked my neck; it was creaking and cracking like an old sideboard. Then I stood and stretched the pain from my back. I was definitely getting old, feeling my age, my body complaining at every juncture.

  As I stood there in the darkness, the breeze in my face, the aches in my muscles paled into insignificance as I was overcome by another, greater pain. At that moment, I longed for a little normality, the tender touch of someone who cared about me for who I was. I yearned to step away from the violence and the betrayal, to find compassion, kindness, maybe even love.

  Looking across to Lauren, I knew the answer to all of that lay with her. She stood close to Sellers, staring into space. How did I feel about what she’d done? I knew how angry I was, but I also realised that during those awful moments on the road to the handover, as she lay motionless, slumped across the wheel of her car, that there were more important things in life than a man’s pride.

  She looked over and there was a hint of a smile. Despite everything, her injuries, the fighting, the lack of sleep, she looked beautiful. I nodded and her smile broadened. There were no words required.

  Pushing thoughts of predictability and passion from my mind, I couldn’t help but feel that Des was right. The reason the Yunfakh boat had made such little progress, was that Doctor Weasel and the crew had been waiting to offload the contents of that coffin below, maybe a meet at a nearby cove, maybe another boat. We needed answers, and quick.

  On the other hand, Marvin was not only a liability, but he was getting right up my nose with his constant whining about the rights and wrongs of drowning the good Doctor. He was fast becoming a pain in the arse. So, I decided he was better out of the picture.

  If I was right, and we were due a visit from some very big hitters in the nose candy world, the last thing I needed was someone I couldn’t rely on aboard. However, even though he’d tried to top me, I still didn’t have him down as a traitor. No, there was more to this story than another bent CIA agent. Varese was not only a tough cookie, but a follow orders at all costs, type of guy. Someone at the very top chose him for this task just because of that.

  As for the problem at hand, as weird as it sounds, I half hoped that the intended buyers came calling. I had method in my madness, believe me. Those drugs amounted to a five million pound payday for Al-Mufti and I was extremely curious to find out who they were destined for.