Mahina

by Jack Dey

  “There you are. Come to Papa.”

  He searched around, just to make sure there wasn’t anything else of interest. The strong smell of perfume wafted past him. He checked his watch again… eight minutes left.

  Better get cracking, he thought, grabbing up the black computer case.

  Closing the back door again, he made his way down the steps, across the road to his car, opened the door and got in. He started the engine and sped away.

  *~*~*~*

  The door to the Mansfield Police Station swung open and a pretty young woman in a black tracksuit quickly made her way up to the desk sergeant. The young, male police officers behind the counter eyed her in appreciation. She was the prettiest sight they had seen all night. She walked straight up to the desk sergeant and complained of being robbed. She was quite upset and the sergeant took some time to calm her down.

  She noted his name tag and spoke, “Listen, Constable Lees, there is five year’s work on that computer and I can tell you exactly who took it.”

  “It is Senior Sergeant Lees and who do you allege took your property?”

  “It was that Incomec Pastoral mob,” she spat.

  “What would a big company like Incomec want with your laptop computer? And why didn’t you back up your work onto a disc?”

  Elishia looked embarrassed. “My back up disc was in the case with the computer.”

  Lees took down all the details she gave him and read them back to the woman. “We will make some enquiries, but I don’t hold out much hope that they will just hand it over to us.”

  The woman turned on her heels after completing the statement, obviously upset and stalked out the door, eight sets of admiring eyes following her.

  Lees sighed. “You get all sorts in here,” he thought out loud.

  “Just as well you’re transferring to water police next week, hey, Serge,” a young constable slapped his superior on the back.

  *~*~*~*

  CHAPTER 25 - PRESENT DAY

  The flat, round disc was attached to the side of Annemarie's hull, down near the floor inside the cabin, by a large magnet. The black data cable ‘pigtailed’ from inside the disc and joined onto the back of the converter box. The converter was attached by another cable into a laptop lying on the top bunk, recording data. A second laptop was sitting on the desk, deciphering the information. The time spent anchored at Morris Island allowed the two computers to catch up on the constant flow of data. They had covered a lot of ground and soon, a clear picture would become evident.

  It was so close.

  *~*~*~*

  The nightmares traumatised Charlie’s sleep. She would see Pooch’s face smile and disappear, then screams came out of somewhere in a swirling, smoky darkness. The rope which was wrapped around Pooch, turned into a snake and the frayed end began chasing her. She ran, but could only move in slow motion, as if she was running knee deep through mud, the sound of Damon’s voice demanding, “Here, take these,” and then throwing a bucket of water in her face. She tried to wake from the torment, but the sedatives just dragged her back. She was living somewhere... somewhere she didn’t like and couldn’t get out of.

  *~*~*~*

  The morning sunlight streamed through the wheelhouse windows, the sea outside the window a deep turquoise green and the white sands of Morris Island making him squint as the sun reflected off the coral atoll. Damon stretched and felt the stiffness in his back and neck. He had fallen asleep on the wheelhouse floor, exhausted. It was still early. The crew had not yet begun their morning routine and the vessel was quiet.

  Damon needed a shower and a change of clothes, so he made his way down into the galley and quietly picked his way to his cabin door, slowly turning the handle, hoping not to disturb Charlie. The door creaked as he gently pushed it open and he cringed at the noise. Charlie lay on top of the blanket, still dressed in her work clothes, her eyes wide open, staring into the roof of the cabin.

  Catatonic.

  “Charlie?” Damon whispered.

  No response.

  “Charlie?!” he called again.

  She just kept staring.

  Damon shook her gently. Still no response. He grabbed a torch from the medical kit behind the door and shone it into her eyes. Her pupils didn’t respond and Damon was worried.

  *~*~*~*

  Joe Best; his partner, Tim Farrell; and medic Tom Werth had had a relatively easy shift at the EMQ helicopter rescue hangar. The AW139 had only done one flight that night, taking a seriously ill young boy to Cairns Base Hospital for treatment, from a cattle property two hundred miles away. The helicopter did the trip in just over an hour, there and back, and the rest of the night the team were able to sleep.

  Tina managed the communication desk and would be ready for a shift change in less than fifteen minutes, when her replacement arrived. The phone rang and made Tina jump. It always scared the life out of her when it rang after a slow night. Tina’s voice came over the hangar intercom, calling the team to action stations. A woman, seriously ill, requiring an airlift to hospital from a fishing vessel anchored near Morris Island. She gave the coordinates as the team went through their flight preparation sequence. Joe and Tim worked through the flight plan and flight checks, whilst Tom jumped aboard the caterpillar tug and towed the helicopter out of the hangar and onto the tarmac.

  The Emergency Management Queensland’s Agusta Westland AW139, was an Italian made, jet powered helicopter. It had a top cruising speed of 305 miles per hour, a range of 450 miles, carrying 3500 pounds of fuel and it could easily accommodate seven passengers. The relatively new machine was a high tech dream and the two teams who flew it just loved the aircraft.

  Pete Marshal was a reporter for the Cairns Tribune. He nearly always hung around the EMQ hangar, hoping to get a ride on some breaking news story. He had been lucky in the past and was able to photograph some impressive rescues when he could convince Joe to allow him to ride. Today he got the thumbs up... quickly suited up and climbed aboard.

  The helicopter turbine began to turn and the blades of the disc began to rotate. The turbine caught and burst into life, while the blades rotated faster and faster, and the noise increased. Tom hurriedly shoved the cargo door closed, shutting out the noise of the turbine and allowing him to think again. Although it was still noisy inside the helicopter, it was at least bearable when the doors were closed, still requiring all communication between crew members to be done through helmet microphones. As anyone began to speak, the microphone would pick up their voice and transmit it to the other helmets onboard. It took some getting used to the voice coming through the helmet, as it sounded like a helium gas party trick... take a mouthful of helium gas and start talking Daffy Duck.

  The AW139 sat on the tarmac for several minutes, warming the turbine and after obtaining take off clearance from the control tower, lifted off. Joe punched in the coordinates for Morris Island and once he was out of controlled airspace, set the autopilot. The journey would take them just on thirty five minutes. Tom readied a stretcher and attached it to the winch cable. Once they were overhead, they would swing the winch guide out through the open cargo door and lower the stretcher onto the deck of the vessel.

  *~*~*~*

  Damon searched the horizon, looking for any telltale signs of an approaching aircraft. He heard the whomp, whomp, whomp noise of the blades pounding the surrounding air, before he saw the helicopter. The AW139 came directly overhead, churning up the sea with the downdraft from the blades. The helicopter positioned itself over the deck and Tom lowered the stretcher on the winch.

  Damon carried Charlie from the cabin out onto the deck and placed her in the stretcher, strapped her in, then leaned over and kissed her. The winch drew the stretcher aboard the helicopter and Tom gave Damon the thumbs up when she was safely aboard and the cargo door closed. What was left of Annemarie’s crew watched the AW139 disappear. Damon’s stomach was churning, worried about Charlie and wanting to be with her.

  The EMQ disp
atcher had managed to contact Debbie, Charlie’s mum, who would meet the helicopter at the hospital.

  *~*~*~*

  “Good morning, Sea Going Personnel, how may I direct your call?”

  “I want to speak to the manager.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Sea Going Personnel was a labour hire company, specialising in the maritime industry. This was the place for employers and employees alike to find people to fill positions, on any craft... anywhere.

  Darlene Maguire had just returned from lunch and was adjusting her miniskirt when the phone rang. She sighed and flopped down on her office chair and reached over to answer it. She was in her fifties, wore makeup which appeared to be applied with a trowel and smoked like a train. The black hair colour came from a bottle and looked like boot polish, with grey roots clearly showing through.

  “Darlene Maguire,” she said sweetly.

  “Hello, Darlene. This is Daniel Pierce.”

  “Oh, hello, sweetie. I haven’t heard from you for a while. Now what can a girl do for you?”

  Daniel nearly choked and had to control himself, stopping the gagging noises. “There is a fishing vessel, Annemarie, that will be looking for a ‘mate’. I want that position,” he demanded, the picture on the front page of the Cairns Tribune still in his hands.

  Darlene knew not to argue with Daniel Pierce. “I will arrange it and let you know.”

  “Thanks,” Daniel said, hanging up the phone.

  *~*~*~*

  CHAPTER 26 - PRESENT DAY

  Damon usually wouldn’t even consider operating at sea without a competent first mate or an engineer. Now, he was without both. He missed Charlie’s chatter and Pooch’s uncluttered presence.

  Morris Island was in a mobile phone dead spot, making communications by any means other than marine radio, impossible. Pipon Island was on the edge of the dead spot, but that was still two hours sailing time away. He would just have to rely on Knots and Johnny and if need be, Elishia would have to help too, forcefully, if needed.

  It was nearing midday when Damon finally got Annemarie underway. On their route, they would pass directly over the spot where Pooch had gone missing. Damon planned to stop over the spot and have two minutes silence, out of respect to Pooch, before continuing on to Pipon Island and anchorage.

  He had not seen anything of Elishia since their fiery tirade and the blush of recognition he had seen on her face when she saw Lees.

  *~*~*~*

  A red dot appeared on the laptop screen, indicating they were moving again and more data was coming in. Two deep green eyes intensely searched the screen, looking for clues. Half an hour later, the red dot disappeared again as the vessel came to a stop. Elishia opened the door to her cabin and found Johnny about to exit the aft galley doors.

  “Johnny, why have we stopped again?” Elishia enquired, feeling frustrated with the constant interruptions.

  “We over spot Pooch went missing. Skipper have two minute silence in respect of dead.”

  Elishia’s frustration turned to concern and she followed Johnny out the aft doors. Damon, Knots and Johnny faced the sea and stood silent. Elishia stared out over the stern into the turquoise water as well. A small tear formed in the corner of her eye and dropped unseen to the deck. She was sorry that this quest had claimed yet another life and perhaps, ruined Charlie’s. She tussled with her thoughts.

  Maybe I should just give up and let things be.

  Damon slowly turned from his posture of staring out over the water. His crushed expression met Elishia’s green eyes, a telltale tear stain tracking down her face.

  Elishia’s voice cracked as she said, “I..I am sorry.” She turned and walked back to her cabin and closed the door.

  The remainder of the voyage to Pipon Island was eventless. Damon’s mind and heart were at breaking point and he longed to hear Charlie’s happy voice again.

  By midafternoon, the rocky outline and the navigation light tower of Pipon Island came into view. He watched the sounder to find a shallow place to anchor safely, out of the way of other vessels. Pipon was in the middle of the LADS Channel, shortcutting the treacherous reef surrounding the coastline around Bathurst Bay.

  With Annemarie safely secured at anchor, Damon turned his mind to finding a mate for the return voyage to Thursday Island. He picked up his mobile phone, checked the signal icon and began to dial a well known number.

  The phone connected and a familiar voice answered, “Darlene Maguire.”

  “Hello, Darlene. This is Damon Anderson, M.V. Annemarie.”

  “Hello, sweetie. What can a girl do for you?” came the reply.

  Ignoring the distasteful greeting, he continued, “I need a good first mate urgently, someone who can double as an engineer, but there’s one hitch… I am anchored at Pipon Island off Bathurst Bay.”

  “It just so happens, I have an excellent candidate I found yesterday. His name is Daniel Pierce and he is looking for a vessel. He has a dual certificate, Master Class 5 and Marine Engine Driver Class 3 and is ready and willing to go. I believe the M.V. Capricornia is heading up your way tomorrow and if you want him, I will get him onboard.” She checked her watch. “He should rendezvous with you by... midafternoon.”

  “Thanks, Darlene. That sounds fine.”

  Damon knew this conversation with Darlene had just cost him four thousand dollars, the standard fee for labour hire. Damon sighed nervously. One down, one to go. He searched his address book for Cairns Base Hospital and dialled the number.

  “Hello, Cairns Base Hospital reception, what department do you require?”

  “I am looking for Charlie Myers. I don’t know what department she was admitted into,” Damon explained.

  “Just one moment... she is in MHU, connecting you now.”

  Damon was about to ask what MHU meant, when the line clicked and the phone began ringing again.

  “Good afternoon, Cairns Base Hospital Mental Health Unit.”

  *~*~*~*

  Through her seventy odd years, Gwennie Stevens had seen it all. The laugh lines radiating out from her sky blue eyes characterised her charismatic personality and her cheery approach to all situations, good or bad. She first put on the uniform soon after her twentieth birthday, falling in love with her Saviour. She had a softness around her that was tangible and real, yet tough enough to speak raw truth when needed.

  The staff around the Mental Health Unit welcomed her into their detached environment. She had been a common sight in MHU since the government opened the specialised area, nearly twenty years ago and whenever an emergency happened or stress was mounting around the staff, she would gently speak encouragement and softness into the situation; even massaging the shoulders of overworked doctors and nurses alike, bringing relief to strained muscles and nerves that had seen far too many hours in one day and defusing many dangerous situations.

  Gwennie was well known and loved by all the MHU clients and would often be mobbed when the Salvation Army uniform appeared at the beginning of the day. She would visit each client in the ward, stop to talk, read and play with the more lucid ones and just sit, holding the hands of the ones who had to be kept sedated and confined to their beds.

  As she walked around, Gwennie noticed a new client, a young woman with short, cropped, blonde hair lying in a bed in a catatonic state. She had just been brought in. Most of the people in here had been through catatonia, one time or another. Most came out of the state, but others did not. Gwennie had been captivated by the woman’s story after talking to her distraught mother. It seemed that a young sailor also rang in most days, enquiring after Charlie’s well being, the answer always the same... sorry, no change.

  Gwennie began sitting with Charlie, holding her hand and talking to her as if she was present and accounted for. Gwennie sat for a few minutes to start with, then increased her visits to a few hours at a time. She began reading to her, telling her about funny things that had happened throughout the day, laughing as if Charlie had enj
oyed the story as well.

  Eventually, she felt the still, small voice inside her say, “Tell her about me.”

  Gwennie brought her Bible in and began reading portions of Scripture, then explaining them, as if Charlie had asked a question. She talked about Jesus and explained the path to redemption. Gwennie then prayed out loud and said, “Amen.” Charlie just stared. Gwennie leaned in and kissed Charlie’s forehead.

  She wasn’t about to give up.

  *~*~*~*

  The loud, raucous sounds of Old Bull Reynolds’ ancient tub came into earshot. The Capricornia was a round hulled, timber construction vessel that rolled over the waves, rather than cut through them. The General Motors two-stroke diesel blew out more black smoke than an old steamer. The strange thing was, Old Bull still had a fishing licence and was still fishing, while nearly everyone else had gone broke. The white and brown rust-stained vessel came into view, and then within a few minutes she was alongside Annemarie.

  Bull was a thin, wiry old fisherman. His thin and tangled, shoulder-length grey hair was only outclassed by his long grey beard, which dangled down to his bellybutton.

  “I gotta present for ya, Damon,” Bull yelled from the wheelhouse of the Capricornia.

  “Thanks, Bull,” Damon yelled back against the noise of Bull’s boat.

  Daniel Pierce made ready to jump across from Capricornia onto the deck of Annemarie. His large canvas bag, full of his belongings, was over his shoulder, drawn tight and secured at the neck by a drawstring. Daniel made the jump successfully and shook hands with Damon.

  Bull yelled again across to Damon, “Ya know there s’posed to be a legend ‘bout anchorin’ in these here parts.”

  Damon just waved him off. ”Old wives tales, Bull.”

  Bull couldn’t wait to get out of Bathurst Bay. He saluted Damon, opened up the throttle and was gone in a dark cloud of diesel fumes and noise.

  Daniel Pierce was a tall, dark haired and bearded man. His eyes were pale blue and he was well stocked with muscle, but his appearance seemed a little too fair for a mariner.