by Ann Michaels
Chapter 22
The night of Monday 21th November, 1988
Harry de Groot
Lost at Sea
I wound down the window of my car and noticed that there was a slight chill in the night breeze, as though it had travelled from far away across the ocean. I got out of the car and walked for a moment, thinking about what I should do. Should I storm Ruslen’s place? That’s plain stupid, I decided….and not to mention pointless. Or, should I just wait around here and see what happens? The sound of my footsteps echoed loudly in my own ears, as a white van passed, cutting loudly through a large mass of water on the road. As the oily water sprayed me, I felt a surge of anger, but I could not see the driver, through the darkly tinted, side windows.
I stood watching the van as it turned into the car park of the yacht club and my heart began to beat a bit faster. Was this the yacht’s captain? Or perhaps, Kristina Ruslen, ready to make her escape?
I waited in the chilled breeze, shielded by overhanging bushes, in the dark shadows and watched, as a tall woman with a puff of blonde hair, which was moving like octopus tentacles, emerged from the van. A street light nearby lit up the scene, like she was on stage.
This woman, who was indeed Kristina Ruslen, was wearing exercise clothing and gloves, but I saw a glint of metal flash as she turned around and I believed that she had a gun tucked into the back of her lyra pants.
She briskly walked around to the back of the van, threw open the doors, and began to lug two bags from the back, which she hefted, one on each arm, and then, she began to walk in the direction of the Ruslen yacht.
Another car slashed past me and stopped with a screech of brakes, next to the white van. A young man in a uniform bounced from the door and began to look around. Seeing Kristina Ruslen with the heavy bags, heading toward the yacht, he pulled out a trolley from his car, and rushed to help her, and I watched as they walked quickly along the jetty and boarded the yacht.
Without really thinking about it, I dashed forward into the brightly lit car park and ran toward the van. I threw open the driver-side door and immediately saw that the car keys were not in the ignition. I swore out loud, feeling the adrenalin seeping through me.
I swore again and ripped open the plastic cover over the steering column. I quickly found the bundle of wires leading to the battery ignition, and starter motor, and located the red battery wire; I efficiently striped back the plastic. But holy hell! Which one was the bloody ignition wire? I stared down at a brown and yellow wire, trying hard to remember.
I looked up suddenly, and not far away, I could see Kristina Ruslen and the Captain, lit up by an overhead light, coming back down the stairs of the yacht, at a fast pace. I didn’t have the time to work these wires out, so I shoved them back into the steering column and rammed the cover back on.
I wondered what I should do. If I tried to make a run for it, I would stand out like dogs balls in the lighted car park; and if I jumped inside the van, Kristina Ruslen and the Captain, would likely see me straight away.
As they came closer, I crouched down, still unsure of the best line of action. Then I could hear their voices, loudly:
‘Yes Mrs Ruslen, we’ll have to let Liam go.’ The Captain said in his oily voice.
As they headed toward the back of the van, I almost unthinkingly, slipped underneath the van and lay flat on my back on the hard asphalt.
‘Liam will be able to keep that Tabra gal company at the bottom of the ocean’, Kristina Ruslen cooed, almost flirtingly. ‘And he can take the rap for the missing yacht’.
The fawning Captain laughed as though this was the greatest joke he’d ever heard, and added, ‘There are some insulin supplies on hand, which will do the job again. It’s traceless in 24 hours’, he added happily.
Gee, they sounded pleased with themselves. I heard the doors at the back of the van squeak open and the vehicle shake above me; then the sounds of more bags being removed and placed on the trolley. I began to debate with myself. Should I try and stop them by myself? I didn’t like my chances though, as Kristina Ruslen was a crack shot. I’d seen what she did to Keith the tiler.
The pair began to move away again and I remained where I was. Motionless. I was just lying there telling myself how gutless I was, when I became aware of a ranting voice, which sounded like it was coming from the wee folk. It’s official, I’m going crackers, I thought, as I slipped out from under the van. But then, I patted one of my many pockets and found the outline of the brick shaped, mobile phone. My brain clicked into action. I hadn’t hung up after talking to The Sarg.
I pulled the phone out and put it to my ear. The Sarg was roaring, ‘pick up the phone you bloody idiot’.
‘Hi Sarg’, I said, as casually as possible.
‘Look’, the Sarg shot out intensely, ‘that conversation is on tape and Kristina Ruslen is finished. Now we just have to stop her leaving the country. A squad is on its way…….that’s all I can tell you.’
‘No pressure’, I mumbled. But I knew what I had to do. But not how I was going to do it.
