by Sewell, Ron
Stunned, the man scrambled to his feet and hurled himself at Petros. A left hook below the heart and a right foot to the crotch had an immediate effect. The man’s head dropped onto a rising left fist to the forehead, knocking him out.
Bear grabbed his opponent’s shirt with both hands, pulled him close, and dispensed one head butt. He released the limp body, allowing it to fall.
“What do we do now?” said Petros.
“Find the radio shack and send a message.”
“Don’t tell me you know how to use a ship’s radio.”
“Morse and voice,” said Bear, “although I imagine my Morse is iffy at best.” He strolled onto the port bridge wing and noted an array of aerials on the mast. “This should be it.” With an effort he unfastened the steel clips, opened the door and searched for a switch. The single fluorescent tube flickered once and light flooded the space.
“Hell’s bells.” His gaze shifted around the dust-covered benches but otherwise empty compartment. He returned to the bridge, his dark eyes questioning. “Something’s wrong.”
“Can’t disagree,” said Petros, his hands in the air.
The barrel of a powerful handgun pointed at Bear. “Who the fuck are you?”
Petros lunged, shoving his clenched fists into the man’s face. The man collapsed but not before his finger squeezed the trigger.
“Shit,” shouted Bear. “The bastard shot me.”
Petros picked up the weapon, flicked the safety to on, checked the magazine and shoved it into his waistband. “Show me.”
He removed his t-shirt. “Creased my right shoulder.”
“Not much we can do.”
“Who is he?”
“Not sure, but as he’s wearing a dressing gown, the captain. His cabin must be below the bridge. Bear, we’re on shaky ground.”
“More than you suppose. The radio shack doesn’t exist. This smells like a ton of horse shit.” He pointed to the three men on the deck. “We should have spotted it. Jeans and a t-shirt aren’t kosher.”
“Bear, we need a Plan B fast. The alternative is we wait here and knock everyone out as they arrive.”
“You and your plan Bs. A thump on the head might work.”
“I was joking.”
“I’m not laughing. Is that mag full?”
“Full clip, minus one.”
Bear nudged him in the ribs. “Time for a recon. You go first, and don’t hesitate to shoot any bastard who wants a fight.”
“What shall we do with these reprobates?”
Bear went silent for a moment. “If he’s the captain, his cabin will be empty. You wait here.” Treading on the balls of his feet, he negotiated the central stairway from the bridge to the officers’ section. His eyes having accustomed to the red night-lights, he opened the first door on his left.
He heard a cough; on a bunk slept another member of the crew. The man had no chance as the blood flow to his brain stopped. With practised ease Bear removed his hands from the man’s throat and dragged him to the floor. A quick search found a leather belt, which he slipped under the man’s arms and pulled tight.
The next, and larger, cabin was emptyand the lights were on. He rummaged around until he discovered a first aid cabinet but nothing else of any use. In silence, he returned to the bridge. “Two cabins at the bottom of those stairs are vacant for our guests. I suggest we dump them in one.”
Petros handed the pistol over to Bear. “You keep your eyes open, I’ll lift and shift.”
Unconcerned, he dragged the first body feet first, its head bouncing on each step, into the larger cabin.
“Let me check the damage before you bleed to death.” Petros pulled back the cotton material. “Seen worse.”
“I love you too.”
“Hold still. This smells like antiseptic.”
“What do you mean?”
Without hesitating, he soaked the wound in the liquid.
“Jesus, that stings.”
With a pad fashioned from bandages and adhesive tape, Petros covered the red scar. “Best I can do.”
Bear pulled his t-shirt back and pointed out of a window. “There’s our next problem. Daylight. Any suggestions?”
“Find somewhere to hide.”
“Bit pointless. Four disabled, how many more? At a guess I’d reckon twenty at most. We need to get everyone.”
“You’re out of luck, pal,” said someone from the access door.
Petros and Bear turned as one.
“Don’t go there,” said a deep-throated voice from the other side.
Bear grimaced, faking the pain from his shoulder. “One of your crew shot me.”
“Shut it,” said ‘Deep Voice’.
Bear swayed to the right but fell left, snapping off three shots, hitting one man in the right thigh and the other in the chest. “Drop your pistol or end up dead.”
Petros pushed the slender young man to the deck and picked up the discarded weapon. In a deliberate movement he placed his right foot on the man’s upper leg. “You’re English.”
“Yeah, what’s it to you?”
“Why are you on this ship?”
The man brushed his uncombed dark hair from his face. “Fuck off.”
Petros twisted his foot. The man screamed. “Again, why are you here?”
“Money. My last captain heaved me ashore and sailed. I needed to get home and, provided I did as I was told, this outfit were going to give me five thousand dollars.”
“One born every minute,” said Bear. “A bullet in the head more likely. You’re lucky I missed.”
With his confidence increasing, the young man asked, “Missed what?”
“Your balls.”
Petros pressed the retrieved pistol into the man’s right eye. “This ship, tell me everything.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“I won’t kill you, well not at first. I’ll start at your feet, and shot by shot work towards your dumb brain.”
His face paled as he shook. “I’ll tell you.”
From far below came the sound of running.
“They’re leaving,” said the young man as he pressed his hand against the flow of blood. “The plan is to sink the ship in the Manila Trench.”
“How?
“Explosives in the bilge.”
“Well, my friend, you aren’t going anywhere.”
Two red lights flashed on the main console. Bear sidled across and checked what they were. “Two lifeboats launched. The rats have gone for a cruise.”
“Doesn’t do a lot for us.”
“Bastards,” said the man.
“Help us,” said Petros, “and I’ll fix your leg.”
“What choice do I have?”
“Murphy’s,” said Bear as he strolled onto the bridge wing.
Astern, two orange boats, their engines operating, trailed aft.
“They won’t be coming back.”
“Explosives - how much?” said Petros.
“No idea. My job was a bridge watch, as and when required.”
“So here we are still moving. How come?”
“Automatic pilot with the engines set.
“Ships aren’t my specialised subject,” said Bear. “Tell me where we are on this chart?”
“Fix my leg and I can put you within a mile, give or take.”
“Take your trousers off,” said Petros. “What’s your name?”
“Terry, Terry Pritchard. Is it necessary to point a gun at me?”
“It’s no longer pointing at you, but be warned, try something and my big friend will have no hesitation in snapping your neck.”
Terry stared at Bear. “Believe me, I’m with you.”
“Then why did you threaten us?”
“The captain told us you were pirates. Safer to shoot first and dump the bodies overboard.”
Petros cleaned and soaked Terry’s leg in antiseptic before covering the wound with an over-large bandage. “You’re lucky the bullet missed the bone. Now y
our turn, where the fuck are we?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Minister Wang Sheng studied the photos scattered on his desk. “Captain Ling Po, I have approved the following procedures. These men are to be at this location in one hour.”
Ling Po took the piece of paper and smiled. “A remarkable venue, sir. One name out-ranks me. I need your authorization to arrest.”
“My word is your sanction, Captain. Now go.”
The Captain saluted, turned, and marched out.
Wang blinked, the skin around his eyes creased as his sight remained on one particular photo. “You have betrayed our country and you will pay the ultimate price.”
* * *
In a dank basement, deep under one of Beijing’s infamous black jails, Wang Sheng sipped green tea with an officer seated either side. To the left and right of a metal table, spotlights focussed on the farthest wall.
“Captain Ling Po, you will ask the questions on my behalf.”
Ling Po nodded. “Number one.”
Two black-shirted men dragged a naked man into the room and flung him to the floor. He held his hands up to shield his eyes.
“Why were you at Beijing Central Prison two days ago?” asked Ling Po harshly.
“I obeyed my superior, sir.”
“And what were his orders?”
“To carry unconscious prisoners to a waiting car.”
“Why?”
“The officer told us they were enemies of the state.”
“And you believed him?”
“He is a high-ranking officer.”
“How do you know this?”
“Sir, he wore the uniform of a Police Commander.”
Ling Po exchanged glances with Wang.
On a slip of paper, Wang wrote, Three months in solitary confinement and, on completion, the Russian border.
The interrogations continued in a similar manner, each man and his family banished to a remote outpost.
Wang placed a photo on the table. “This man is to be tortured until he begs for his life. He is never to leave this prison alive.”
Ling Po nodded in agreement. “Guards, bring in Ding Lang.”
Without any compassion, they dragged and kicked the chained body of Ding Lang across the stone floor. He lay there, unmoving, until they pulled him to his feet. Fear and confusion showed in his eyes.
“Were you a Commander in China’s police force?” said Ling Po.
“I am a Commander.”
“You are not. Your illegal activities bring shame on our people. Explain to us why you have a large sum of money in several bank accounts.”
“My pay is credited to one bank. There are no others.”
“You lie well.” Ling Po raised his right hand.
The guards let the prisoner fall to the floor. In unison, they stomped on his back.
“When I ask a question, you must tell me the truth,” said Ling Po. “Answer.”
“One current account is in my name.”
The guards kicked, never faltering until Ling Po motioned them to stop.
“Answer my question.”
Ding Lang grimaced as they pulled him to his feet. Blood from open wounds covered his face. “I remember. There’s a deposit account. My retirement fund.”
Ling Po raised his right hand and the stamping commenced. “There is no point in lying. The evidence against you is overwhelming. I must have more information before you return to your cell. Where are the two Europeans you took from our jail in Beijing? The ten men interviewed earlier confirmed you were the officer during the removal. Thanks to you, these police officers will never see their families again.”
Ding Lang attempted to stand. “Those morons would sell their daughter’s virginity if the price was right.”
“Answer the question.”
“I know nothing.”
“Who authorised your orders? Give me the name of the high-ranking official and we will be merciful.”
“You are mistaken.”
“Bring in the chair,” said Ling Po. “You will tell me in time.”
Powerless, he shook his blood-streaked head.
Four guards carried in the metal contraption with wires trailing from its base and placed it in the centre of the room. They grabbed Ding Lang and strapped him into it.
“You and your associates demean our glorious country. I pray you do not die,” said Ling Po.
Ding Lang shuddered.
Ling Po nodded and one of them operated a switch.
Ding Lang’s body jerked endlessly as the leather straps cut deep into his flesh. He screamed and defecated.
Ling Po signalled. The power subsided. “What has happened to these men? Tell the truth and we will treat your wounds.”
“I obeyed my instructions.”
Ling Po gave the go-ahead and for sixty seconds a full charge tore through Ding Lang’s obese body.
“Who gave you these orders?”
“If I tell you, I will die.”
“If you do not, I promise you a slow, painful death. I know many ways of keeping you alive. I offer you the choice of living or dying.”
He muttered through split and bleeding lips.
“Speak clearly.”
“Stop. I will tell you.”
Ling Po stood, walked the short distance to Ding Lang and lowered his head. “Tell me the name.”
In the barest of whispers, he said, “Michael Yeung.”
Ling Po’s lips curled into a grin. “Now you will tell me where the two Europeans were taken.”
“Kill me.”
Ling Po returned to his position behind the table and sat. “Answer.”
One of the guards wielded a cane across Ding Lang’s face. From a blood filled mouth he spluttered, “The men you are searching for are in a container on MV Harvest Moon. You will never find them.”
“Why will we never find them?”
“No one knows where the vessel is going.”
“He is finished, sir,” whispered Ling Po.
Wang Sheng stared into Ling Po’s eyes. “The Emperor’s treasure. Who has it?”
“One more question. Who has the jewels you stole from the Great Wall.”
Ding Lang raised his head and spat out a mouthful of blood. “I have told you. You must believe me.”
“Guards take this,” he pointed at Ding Lang,”and find him a dark cell to mull over his misguided loyalty.”
The guards removed the fastening on the chair and dragged the battered carcass away.
“We do not want our dirty linen washed in public,” said Wang Sheng. “The high officials will find their positions untenable and retire. You find those men.” He stood and walked in a wide arc, avoiding the blood and excrement on the floor. “Clean up this mess.” He nodded to a guard who bowed and opened the door.
Ling Po picked up the phone on the table and spoke to someone. “The man your guards removed is never to glimpse daylight again. Keep him alive but do not treat his wounds. A crust of stale bread and one cup of water a day. Understood?” He replaced the handset and marched out.
Chapter Thirty - Eight
The calm weather of the morning changed. The crests of the waves torn free by the wind soared into sheets of spray and covered the bow.
“We are here,” said Terry, pointing with his forefinger to a pencilled cross on the chart.
“Nearest lump of land?” asked Bear.
“Taiwan, Hong Kong or Manila. Your choice. At this speed, a day.”
“And the but is?” said Petros.
“So long as we stay afloat … and before you ask, I’ve no idea when the explosives are set to detonate.”
“Back track from the Manila Trench?”
Satisfaction radiated in Terry’s voice when he answered, “One day, give or take.”
“What’s our closest point to the green bits on the chart?” said Bear.
“Take your pick.”
“Can we change direction?”
“Yeah.”
“Set a direct course for Hong Kong and we’ll cross several shipping routes. We’ll have a greater chance of being rescued.”
Terry drew a straight pencil line from where they were to Hong Kong. He limped to the ship’s main control consul and altered the autopilot. In seconds, the bow turned to its new heading. “Done.”
“Is that it?” said Petros.
“It’s like most things, easy when you know how.”
“Any food on this boat?” said Bear.
“Odds and sods.”
“Right, Terry, you lead me to the galley and we’ll make lunch. PK, keep a lookout for anything coming our way.”
“And if I see something what do I do? Wave a handkerchief?”
“Shout. I’m going to find what my stomach craves for, food.”
“A minor detail, but how do we stop?” said Petros.
“The red button on the console marked Stop Engine,” said Terry, “but don’t ask me how to start them.”
“Galley,” shouted Bear. “Oh, and PK,” he pointed, “dump the dead man. It’s untidy.”
“Yes, boss.”
* * *
“Don’t expect much,” said Terry as they entered the galley. Pots half-full of cooked food and open boxes littered the work surfaces.
“Anything’s better than nothing.” From a cupboard Bear removed packets of rock-hard biscuits, dried fruit and a tin of coffee. “What’s in the fridge?”
“Nothing. Doesn’t work.”
“Can we heat water?” On opening a storeroom, Bear found a box of apples and pears. “Well, we won’t starve.”
Terry washed three mugs and made the coffee. “I’ll take these up to your mate on the bridge.”
“Lead on,” said Bear, “I’ll follow.”
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Give me one good reason.”
“Because I’m one of the good guys. Just had a bit of bad luck.”
“Terry, you’ve been swimming with scum for so long you don’t recognise the good guys. Don’t spill the coffee.”
Petros turned his head when he heard footsteps on the companionway. “What’s for lunch?”
“Not much,” said Bear. “At least we won’t die of starvation.”
