The Borough

by Steve Dockray

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The Crescent was quiet. Just a few early cars and a few cleaners' vans. The offices occupied by Cavendish were in darkness, with no sign of his car in the road. Winner drove past slowly, then speeded up to widen his search. For fifteen minutes he cruised backwards and forwards across the Sharmouth roads, peering down every side turning for a glimpse of either car.

  He braked suddenly, screeching to a halt as an old woman with a shopping trolley appeared from nowhere onto a pedestrian crossing.

  The tiredness was getting to him, slowing his thought processes and reactions.

  Cavendish had disappeared, but why had he turned into Sharmouth unless he was heading for somewhere in the town? Starting off again from the pedestrian crossing, Winner was back outside the Crescent offices, having come full circle. He carried straight on down the High Street, finally reaching the quayside. He turned left, and there ahead of him was the marina.

  Of course, the marina, and La Mouette. Why hadn't he thought of it before? It was such an obvious choice for a place to hold Toby.

  There were still a few parking spaces along the quayside in the one hour parking zone, so he swung the steering wheel and drove in forwards, his front wheel going up onto the kerb and then slipping off again as he straightened up. Not very good for the tyres. He opened the door and stood on the door sill to get a view over the yachts and cruisers. La Mouette was still there.

  Winner hesitated a moment. He wanted to run into the marina and rescue Toby, but if he really was on board he would be guarded, and Winner had no sort of weapon. He locked the car, then changed his mind and went to the boot, where he found the wheel nut spanner, a fairly substantial piece of metal about a foot long. It wouldn't be any defence against a gun, but at least it was something. Slipping it into his coat pocket, he walked across to the marina entrance. The gate was closed, with no sign of a security guard. In the distance Winner heard the sound of a large diesel engine starting. Between two other boats he could see someone on the deck of La Mouette, hauling in a mooring rope.

  "What are you doing here?" It was Jack Evans.

  Winner spun round. "Jack, you startled me."

  Evans took in Winner's dishevelled appearance. Crumpled clothes, unshaven, dark patches under his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  La Mouette was starting out away from its moorings.

  "You've got a boat here, haven't you?" Winner asked.

  "Yes, why?"

  "Is it ready to use?"

  "Yes, I went out in it yesterday. What's the problem?"

  Winner kept looking at La Mouette. It was gradually pulling out into the channel. He would have to tell Evans at least part of the truth.

  "My son Toby's been kidnapped. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm sure he's being held on that boat that's just starting off. I've got to get to it."

  Evans stared at him. "Kidnapped? What for?"

  "Please," pleaded Winner. "I'll explain on the way."

  Evans slipped his entry card through the reader. "I don't know if I believe you, but it sounds like a bit of fun."

  They ran down the slope to the pontoons and Evans led the way to his speedboat. Precious seconds ticked by as he released the cockpit cover. La Mouette was now out in mid channel, the sound of its engines deepening as it speeded up.

  Winner released the mooring ropes while Evans started the big outboard motor. Winner looked at the side of the boat as he undid the knot and saw that it was called Look Lively. He hoped it would be able to live up to its name. He climbed down into the seat beside Evans and they chugged sedately out between the other stationary boats.

  "Won't it go any faster?" Winner asked.

  "Of course it will, once we're clear of the marina. It looks a bit choppy today, we might get a bit sprayed. Now tell me. Why should anyone kidnap your boy?"

  "It's Councillor Cavendish. I've been digging into his shady business deals and he's trying to warn me off. He's a madman."

  Evans looked into Winner's face, thinking that he might be joking.

  The look in his eyes told him no.

  "Bugger the speed limit," said Evans, flicking the throttle wide open. There was a howl from behind them and Winner felt as if a large hand was pushing him forward. The nose of the boat rose as the propeller bit down into the water. Away from the shelter of the river bank and pontoons the wind was whipping up small waves on the estuary and the Look Lively thumped from ridge to ridge. They swung round in a gentle curve until La Mouette was framed on the narrow piece of horizon that was visible between the two banks of the estuary.

  "He's doing way over five knots," shouted Evans over the roar of the engine. "Don't worry though, he can't out-run us."

  "What's this boat then?" Winner shouted back. "The fruits of your dating agency?"

  "Dating agency?" Evans tipped back his head and laughed. "You mean the baby sitting service. I make some of the arrangements if my wife's doing other work. It's her business really."

  "The other staff think you've been running a call girl racket."

  "I couldn't very well tell them what I was up to. I'm not supposed to run a private business from the office."

  "I won't say anything about that, if you'll keep quiet about this."

  Progress on the relatively smooth water of the estuary was fast, and by the time they reached the narrow section that marked the end of the enclosed estuary the distance between La Mouette and Look Lively had halved. Out of the river mouth the water was getting distinctly rougher, taking away some of their speed advantage. Heavy spray broke over them as they lurched from ridge to ridge. Winner was feeling so battered that he felt sure Evans would be worried about his boat, but Evans didn't seem concerned by the crashing about. Perhaps it was normal.

  "What are you going to do when we catch up?" Evans shouted.

  A good question. Winner wished he knew the answer.

  "Just get me on board, that's all."

  "I can't hang about in this swell, the boat would get swamped."

  "You go back, I'll be all right."

  Winner didn't say any more. It was too much of an effort to shout above the noise of the engine and waves.

  If anyone on La Mouette was watching the Look Lively, it wasn't apparent, because there was no sign of anyone on board the boat. Presumably they were sitting inside in the warm. Winner spun his head round to scan the horizon as they bounced off the top of a wave, but there were no other boats in sight. It was still very early of course. Even now, it was only just getting fully light. Gradually the minutes slipped by, and in the constant battering Winner was for once glad that he hadn't had any breakfast. The gap closed slowly at first, but as they got within a couple of hundred feet, the wake from La Mouette left a smoother strip of water and they quickly gained on the larger vessel. When they got within ten feet, the engine note of the big diesel rose, suggesting that the Look Lively had been spotted.

  Winner scrambled out of his seat and climbed over the low windscreen. The small prow deck was surrounded by a low chrome-steel rail and Winner hung on with a vice-like grip, un-easily remembering his freezing dip in the waters of the marina. His feet slithered about on the slippery wet fibreglass as the Look Lively got caught in the rougher side wash. He was getting soaked now, his raincoat no match for the bucketfuls of Atlantic water that were breaking over him.

  Evans got in as close as he dared. With the heavy swell, the height difference between the two boats was changing by five or six feet in as many seconds. Winner waited a moment. He was about to jump when a larger wave smashed into the front of Look Lively, knocking away his feet and drenching his clothes. He clung on to the rails and heaved himself back onto his feet. He wouldn't have many chances before bad luck or exhaustion put him out of action.

  Two more swelling waves passed under them and he watched the way the vessels moved in response. On the third wave he let go of the rails and launched himself off the Look Lively.

  He almost judged
it right.

  Almost, but not quite. The unpredictable motion of the waves momentarily pushed the two boats apart, so that his feet just missed the deck-well edge. He grabbed for the rail as his toes slid down the side and caught hold with his fingers as the waves rose up La Mouette, engulfing his legs.

  A moment later the water receded when La Mouette rolled, giving Winner the chance to heave himself up. He flung his left leg over and flopped down over the rail as the cabin door started to open. As he tumbled over into the deck-well, he saw that Evans and Look Lively were dropping back to return to the calm safety of the estuary. He was on his own now.

  Winner was half on his feet when Riggs emerged from the door. Any doubt in Winner's mind about the wisdom of his chase was dispelled by the brief glimpse of a head of blond hair in the cabin beyond.

  Riggs was charging towards Winner, a vicious knife in his hand, but the heaving motion of the deck robbed him of his footing and he had to grab out for a handhold on the upper deck access ladder. It gave Winner the extra second or two that he needed to get to his feet and pull the wheel spanner from his pocket. Riggs came at him again, slashing through the air with the knife. Winner dodged across the deck and they slid about like two drunks as La Mouette gradually changed course, exposing them to the broadside swell.

  Riggs had Winner cornered and swung his knife arm round to slash at his face. Winner cracked the spanner into Riggs' wrist, and the shock of the blow sent both the knife and the spanner clattering away across the deck. Riggs ducked back to make a grab for the knife, and as his head went down, Winner kicked out, catching Riggs on the side of his neck, but losing his own balance.

  They both slid across the deck, which was now awash with sea-water. Riggs was reaching for the knife, but Winner got hold of his hair first. They staggered to their feet and Riggs swung a punch at Winner that struck him a glancing blow on his left shoulder. Riggs pushed Winner up against the cabin door and tried to get him in a stranglehold.

  Riggs was probably normally quite a bit stronger than Winner, but Winner was filled with the strength of his anger. There was no way he was going to let Riggs beat him. He jerked his knee up between Riggs' legs and Riggs staggered back, half doubled up. Winner seized the moment and ran at him. Their impact coincided with a sudden lurch of the deck that tipped them both off their feet.

  For a moment they were in the air as the deck dropped away, then they were falling fast. In a reflex action, Winner stuck out his arms to stop himself from hitting the deck, but Riggs went down backwards. His head caught the bottom tread of the upper deck ladder with a sickening crack and he lay still on the deck. Winner was washed across the deck by the breaking waves and thumped into the side wall.

  He hauled himself up using the deck-well rails, preparing himself for the next onslaught from Riggs, but it never came. Riggs was on his back at the foot of the ladder, his body rolling with the motion of the deck.

  Winner used the next downward lurch of the deck to run to the cabin. Inside was a mess from the water coming in through the unsecured door. Toby was tied to a bulkhead at the far end of the saloon, a piece of sticking plaster across his mouth. It was a moment before he saw his Dad. The rising water and absence of Riggs had driven him to a frantic straining against the ropes as he desperately tried to get free. Winner ran through the slopping water towards his son, but when he was half way there the boat suddenly stopped its regular rolling. A noise of shattering wood and fibreglass momentarily drowned out the noise of the sea and the engines and then the boat was moving again. The sudden jerks sent Winner crashing into the wall next to Toby.

  Toby looked up, expecting to see Riggs, then realised that the sodden figure grabbing out at him was his father. He'd come at last, just as he'd known he would. Tears held back from his captors now welled in his eyes.

  Winner pulled off the sticking plaster. "Are you all right?"

  Toby nodded, temporarily unable to get any words out. He looked down at his roped hands and ankles. Winner dropped to his knees and fought with the water swollen knots. One by one he got them undone, but as he worked there was more and more water pouring into the saloon. By the time Toby was able to straighten out his stiffened legs it was at least a foot deep.

  The rope dropped away and Toby flung his arms round Winner, hiding his tears as he buried his face against his father's chest. Winner gave him a reassuring hug, but there was no time to lose. They waded across the rolling saloon and out onto the deck-well as the engine stopped. Winner was horrified to see how close they were to the cliffs. If the engine had kept running, they would have smashed into them in a matter of seconds.

  There was no doubt about it, La Mouette was sinking fast.

  Winner held tightly onto Toby's arm as he hurried him to the stern of the boat. The small tender was still hanging from the support arms. They clung on to the side rails as the increasingly rough water near the cliffs tipped La Mouette stern up, temporarily draining the rear of the deck. Winner saw the knife wedged in a drain hole and made a quick grab for it. As the stern dropped back into the water, they climbed over into the tender. Two more wild up and down swings and the tender was momentarily touching the water. Winner slashed at the retaining rope and they dropped free. He unclipped the oars and used one to push them away from the stern of La Mouette.

  Winner fixed the oars to the rowlocks at the sides and started pulling away from the stricken boat, using skills last tested on the children's boating pond at Sharmouth. They were tossing about in the waves, but Toby suddenly seemed to come to life and he scooped out the small amount of water that splashed in.

  Winner looked up and down the coast. There was no way he could row all the way to Sharmouth, they would have to find a small cove at the foot of the cliffs to beach the tender. In the distance towards Greycliffe there was a mysterious pall of black smoke rising up from near the water's edge. Very strange.

  Glancing back at La Mouette, he saw that it must have struck another rock or been more damaged on the first impact than he had realised, because the water was now up to the top of the deck level surround. For a moment he felt guilty about leaving Riggs, but there was no way he could have manhandled an unconscious or dead body into the dinghy.

  Gradually Winner managed to pull away from La Mouette, though the effort was causing a burning feeling in his upper arms and shoulders. He knew he wouldn't be able to go far. They would have to take their chances with the rocks at the foot of the cliffs. He swung the dinghy round so that his back was to the cliff and put the last of his effort into a final pull to the shore.

  The landing was inelegant, but effective. For a moment the dinghy jammed between two rocks and Toby jumped up onto one of them. The small craft slipped as Winner climbed out, but Toby grabbed his coat and stopped him from falling back. They were dripping wet at the bottom of a steep cliff in a freezing wind, but at least they were safely on land.

  Winner hugged Toby tightly to his chest. They were both shivering. Reluctantly, Winner broke his hold.

  "We've got to get moving to keep warm," he told Toby.

  They climbed along the foot of the cliffs from rock to rock, searching for a possible place to climb up. Now that Toby felt safe, the words came tumbling out. He told Winner how he had been grabbed from school and kept on La Mouette overnight. The only person he had seen apart from Riggs was a man with his arm in a sling.

  "I tried to fight them off, Dad, but there were two of them. I knew you'd come in the end."

  Winner looked away, choked by Toby's faith in him. He couldn't really see himself as Superman.

  Progress along the water's edge was slow, with some quite large boulders to negotiate. Toby was too short to be able to climb easily and Winner's energy was all gone. Eventually they reached a small cove where there was a steep but recognisable track leading up the cliff. Probably a little known access used by locals who wanted a private beach to sunbathe on in the summer. Winner let Toby go first, in the hope that he might be able t
o stop him falling if he slipped on the muddy track. They edged their way up the steep twisty path, pushing their way through straggly bushes in places, until after about ten minutes they were just below the old coast road. Before they could climb over the roadside bank, there was a sudden roar of heavy vehicles and two fire engines and an ambulance raced past in the direction of Greycliffe.

  "Do you think that's for us?" Toby asked.

  "I don't see how it could be. I did see some smoke, further along the cliff. Come on, we'd better start walking towards Sharmouth, before we freeze to death. With a bit of luck someone might give us a lift."

  "You must be joking, Dad. Just look at us."

  But Toby was wrong, because after they had been walking for less than five minutes a small Citroen stopped beside them and the passenger door opened.

  "Swimming in your clothes again, Mr Winner?" It was Sally.

  "Sally!" Toby cried out.

  "Don't stand around getting cold. Get in."

  Winner hung onto the door for support and waited while Toby climbed past the front seat into the back, a manoeuvre that was hindered by a hug from the driver on the way. He glanced at his watch, which was still functioning despite the knocks. He bent down and looked into the open door. "I wonder if I could trouble you to run me back to Sharmouth marina?" he asked. "I think my hour's nearly up on the parking."