Daring Dooz (The Implosion Trilogy (Book 2)) (24 page)

Chapter 55

While Moira was mercilessly dealing with
the elderly committee member’s Sister Mary enquiry, Hamish and the Reverend
Zac, had used a bizarre form of communication - all action, drawings and noises
- to agree that the next job was to get some muscle and bring things up from
the boat.

A team of fifteen women was soon
assembled and, working in a chain, they soon had everything neatly stored under
the long house. Hamish was very interested in the boxes full of batteries,
transformers, gear systems, large copper flasks and piping, electrical components,
lights, switches and plugs.

‘Later,’ said Zac, ‘al gemmasel a wee
kip, then we’ll gerra few plans on the goo.’

He slept all day and all night, despite
the fact that it was a communal long house. Several times in the night, teenage
girls pulled back his blankets to check whether such a strange looking person
had a willy.

Next morning, refreshed, and totally
unaware of the nocturnal inspections, Zac was ready for action.

First job was to find a power source. After
more drawings, actions and noises, he discovered there was a large waterfall on
a tributary to the main river, about 15 minutes away. The recce went well. The waterfall
was big and provided a fantastic 150-foot drop.

Within a few days, and with the help of
the Amazon ladies, he had transported and built a six-foot diameter waterwheel,
geared it to an alternator with pure sine-wave invertors in a little shed, and
run armoured, 3-phase cable back to the long house. The result? A lovely 120
volts of smoothly alternating current.

Hamish was with him all the time, and, while
having no idea about the electrics, was slowly began learn Zac’s interpretation
of the English language.

Zac was flattered by the attention, and
soon started Hamish on formal lessons, beginning with the essential Glaswegian
vocabulary. This included words for the more private body parts and functions, before
moving on to vocabulary describing the various levels of readiness with which young
women were prepared to indulge in sexual intercourse. Eventually, the lessons
gravitated to useful, everyday words like gizza (could I have),
brammer (excellent)
and electric soup (cheap wine).

The
next job was the still. Fortunately, Zac had prepared one earlier, so it was easy.
A small electric heater was plugged into the new supply and condensing water pumped
from the river, using garden hose from the hold. Within minutes, a mash was on
the go, and the village was on the verge of its first interactive experience with
Zac’s special - 120% proof Glenfiddich Urban Alternative.

Zac
now had everything a man could want, a small microwave, a fridge, a Cona coffee
machine and an endless supply of extremely potent whisky, and, who knows, maybe
one of the village girls would come across with the goods.

He
also realised that, for the first time he could remember, he was, sort of,
developing a family. Since he’d done a runner from Rome, he’d been thinking.
There were only so many illegal scams and swindles you could think up, only so
many bints you could hit on, and the pulverizing he’d received from Sister
Mary, had made him think that maybe he was getting too old to get into fights.

He
liked it here, wherever it was.

And
the villagers liked him. They now had illumination, alcoholic beverages and,
care of the hold, mosquito-zapping machines and a small refrigerator.

What
more could we want, thought Zac. And the answer was nothing. Nothing at all.
This was paradise.

And
for several months, it remained paradise, until, a week before Mrs Hathaway
arrived, Hamish turned up for his morning lesson, and found Zac was gone.

Chapter 56

‘Gone?’ said Mrs Hathaway.

‘Aye,’ said Hamish, solemnly, ‘nae there.’

‘Any ideas?’

‘Well,’ said Hamish with a sigh, ‘punters
disappear. Is heavy oot there. Y’nerra-noo whas goon t’bite, poison or crush
yous to deeth. Could happen tae anyone, anytime.’

‘We
have
got enough fuel to get back, haven’t we?’ said Jim.

Mrs Hathaway nodded.

Hamish explained how Zac had left his
trunk and all his spare clothes. The only thing missing was a large adjustable
spanner. Hamish had immediately checked the water wheel, where he’d seen Zac
use the adjustable before. There was nothing.

For the next week, search parties had
gone out, every day, without the slightest sign. Eventually, just the day
before yesterday, they resigned themselves to the fact that he was gone. A
little remembrance ceremony was held in the clearing. The whole village
attended. He might have been a maniac, but he was a clever, friendly maniac,
and he would be missed.

Hamish cheered up a little, and took them
on a tour of the long house and showed them where they would be sleeping.

On Mrs Hathaway’s pile of palm leaves
was a golden envelope.

‘How did that get there?’ she asked.

Hamish explained how a helicopter had dropped
a pack a couple of weeks ago, and that there was a letter with it saying to
expect a Mrs Hathaway, and it would be nice if whoever was in the village could
put her and her fellow travellers up for a few nights.

Apparently, Zac was very excited when he
read out the letter, because the pack also contained an advanced copy of the
latest
Daring Dooz
magazine. Mrs
Hathaway saw the well-thumbed magazine was underneath the gold envelope. It
featured a sixteen-page, special international exclusive,
Tallulah’s Titanic Trip.
The front cover was splashed with a sensational
still from the video where she was using Aubrey to beat off the shark. The
caption read,
Stowaway v Shark - Gory Results
Inside!

There was something slightly odd about
the photograph, in that it was slightly over-exposed, as though there was
additional rather bright lighting. Certainly, Mrs Hathaway hadn't noticed at
the time, but when you’re rescuing an idiot, at night, in a Force 9 Atlantic gale,
and
you’re being attacked by a
20-foot great white, you tend not to take much notice of how well the scene is
lit.

Mick and Jim were anxious to know the
contents of Daring Dooz Challenge Three, mainly from the point of view of
self-preservation, although it had occurred to them, that if anything serious
happened to Mrs Hathaway, they could be stuck among the deadly flora and fauna of
wherever they were, for ever. There was Zac’s boat. Perhaps they could get a
team of ladies to drag it to the riverbank and repair it? But neither of them
fancied their chances. Two miles, and they reckoned their designer tropical kit
would be floating off to the South Atlantic leaving a whole load of satisfied
piranhas in its wake.

Mrs Hathaway opened the letter, which
was titled
Daring Dooz Challenge Three -
the Tightrope Walk of Death.
Immediately, Mick and Jim re-visualised Zac’s semi-submerged,
badly burned boat as the equivalent of a Cunard liner. But Mrs Hathaway was
delighted.

‘Oh lovely,’ she cried. ‘I’ve never
walked a tightrope before.’

‘Ah, but do you have a manual?’ asked Jim.

‘Of course!’

‘Shit!’

*

Unfortunately for Mick and Jim, the
training tightrope Mrs Hathaway set up worked very well. She used some of Zac’s
remaining armoured cable stretched between two trees in the clearing. The cable
was only a few feet off the ground, but, as she explained, she was reading the
manual as she went along, so she was bound to fall off a few times, and didn't
want to hurt herself.

During her second day’s training, Mick
and Jim had slipped away with Hamish to check the waterfall. Reading the Daring
Dooz letter in detail, it appeared Giles’ flying minions had taken aerial photographs
and spotted, not only the waterfall, but some sort of rope stretched across the
waterfall’s edge.

Hamish explained. Apparently, some
months ago, one of the village kids had fallen in upstream and been swept along
to almost certain death. It was Hamish who managed to hang over the waterfall drop,
hold out a branch to the terrified child, and haul him to the bank.

Zac came up with the idea of running an
armoured cable across the top of the falls, so if anyone fell in, they could
grab the cable at the last second, then go hand over hand to the bank. And so, last
month, Zac had fixed this contribution to village health and safety firmly in
place.

The trouble was, the village kids felt
they could now dive in and swim full pelt towards the waterfall edge, knowing they
could have lots of fun grabbing the cable at the last second, and hauling
themselves to safety.

So the villagers agreed that the upper
reaches of the waterfall were placed out of bounds to the under tens. And
everyone, apart from the under tens, was happy.

Mick, Jim and Hamish sat on some
boulders near, but not too near, the edge of the waterfall. The roar was
deafening. The volume of water, immense. And the drop, terrifying. Clouds of spray
billowed into the air, full of little rainbows and flashes of reflected
sunlight, while down below, the water smashed relentlessly into an unpleasant assortment
of jagged rocks.

‘This is not the place to bring your
only pilot for a day trip,’ said Mick.

Jim didn't like the word trip, it
conjured up images of a future when their designer tropicals would wear out and
they’d be running round wearing loincloths and going on hunting expeditions in
all that nasty green stuff.

‘Just one point, my dear Hamish,’ said
Mick. ‘That cable must be four feet above the water – it’s got to be too
high for a kid to reach.’

‘Two reasons,’ said Hamish. ‘One: thessa
ridge just afore yer waterfall edge, so yon wee bairns can stand up to grab the
cable. And Two: Zac was a lecky man, endev story, so this is p
ure mince!’

Mick
and Jim had no idea what pure mince meant. But they understood.

On
the way back, using sign language and grunts, Mick got Hamish to expand on his
description of the cable arrangements in proper English. A rough translation
indicated that he thought the whole thing was a rickety piece of old shite.

*

When
they got back to the village, Mrs Hathaway had just learned to do her first
complete back summersault on the low-slung cable.

Mick
and Jim were treated to a joyous demonstration of her newly acquired skills.

‘Fuck,’
whispered Jim. ‘Who’s going to tell her?’

They
both looked at Hamish and smiled.

And
Hamish, in all innocence, smiled back.

Chapter 57

For
the next half hour, Hamish sat with Mrs Hathaway and explained that walking the
cable over the waterfall would be madness, impossible, idiotic and completely suicidal.

When
he had finished, she took to heart his advice that the challenge would be easy,
safe, impressive and in short, a piece of cake.

Mick
and Jim only became aware of this communication failure when she showed them
her design for the box in which cameraman Mick could be suspended below the
cable.

‘It
hangs on ropes attached to little wheels, which run on top of the cable. We’ll fix
a rope to the box, and James can stand on the opposite bank and haul you
across. You’ll go first, Michael, looking back at me. The box will be level
with the edge of the waterfall, but you’ll get an interesting angle looking up -
I believe Giles might like that sort of thing. And if you need more shots, like
long-shots from the bank, I’m sure I can walk across several times, without the
box.’

The first rule was to agree.

‘What a fabulous idea,’ said Mick. Then
through gritted teeth. ‘When Steven Spielberg gets to hear of you, you’ll have
a job for life.’

‘Who?’

Second rule: Move smoothly on to casting
doubt.

‘But, you have to consider that a shot
from a box below the cable, would give us exposure problems.’

Mrs Hathaway looked worried.

‘
Light
exposure problems.’

She relaxed.

‘The sky is so bright, the camera will
be looking up, and you’ll be in silhouette. It could be anyone.’

‘But you could use an on-camera, dimmable LED fill-in light,
you know, like a 70 watt Bescor or Vidpro,’ said Mrs Hathaway, confidently. ‘I’m
sure I noticed one when you were packing away your video things at St Bernards.’

Mick made a mental note to find whatever video manual
she was reading. Then, to guarantee her access to this information was
completely cut off, made a promise to stuff it as far as possible up his own arse.

Third rule: Agree, but make it sound too
complicated.

‘Of course,’ said Mick. ‘Silly old
Micky-poos! Although I’m sure that the exponential relationship between the key
light and fill light in lux, or foot-candles in old money, added to the
variability of the f-stop light intensity ratios…’

‘But, surely, Michael, you could use a simple,
collapsible reflector to fill in. A 42-inch would be fine.’

Yes, thought Mick. I’ll be squeezed in
some festering tea chest dangling over a 150-foot drop, holding a 40,000 quid
camera - and of course, I’d love to operate a collapsible reflector with my
teeth. Perhaps you’d like me to play the banjo with my feet while I’m at it.

Fourth and final rule: Use the Health
and Safety gambit.

‘Tallulah,’ said Mick, choking slightly,
‘I don't want to die.’

‘Of course you don't,’ said Mrs Hathaway,
and with a comforting smile, she placed her arm around Mick’s sobbing
shoulders.

‘Hamish has just given me his personal
guarantee that everything will be fine.’

Although he had just flopped wearily
over the end of his tether, Mick had to admire the woman. So confident. So
assured of success. So completely invincible. And she hadn't even seen the
fucking waterfall yet.

*

Jim, meanwhile, had slipped away to start
work on the box. This unusual level of industry was powered by the knowledge
that he wouldn't be the one dangling over the drop. The sooner he got it
finished, the less likely the mad, but lovely, old bint would come up with an
idea that involved the sound man hanging upside down in the waterfall, with
fifty gallons of primeval swamp run-off a minute powering its way up his
nostrils.

He found lots of odds and sods in Zac’s leftovers,
and soon had a workable Mick-mobile. The rope he would pull from the opposite bank
would run around a pulley attached to the box. He thought the pulley idea was
pretty neat, although this was a thought he would come to regret, bitterly.

An hour later, he gave Mick and Mrs
Hathaway a surprise viewing of the box.

Mrs Hathaway took one look and said, ‘How
lovely.’

Mick’s punch missed.

*

Violence was never Mick’s strong point.
He couldn't hand it out, and he certainly couldn't take it. So, after a few
harsh words, Mick and Jim decided to accompany Mrs Hathaway to inspect the
waterfall.

When they arrived, the torrent was more
thunderous than ever, the cable looked less secure than ever, and Mick and Jim
looked more terrified than ever.

Mrs Hathaway surveyed the scene.

‘James. Michael. I simply can't see what
the fuss is about. It’ll all be over in a few minutes.’

Mick was about to say that that was what
worried him, but the look in her eyes told him he’d have a more positive result
if he stuck his head under the business end of a steam hammer.

*

As Mick walked back to the village, his
brain was boiling with murderous thoughts, which swirled around other images,
such as crashing onto jagged rocks, trying to work out how to fly the Catalina
back home, sleeping in a tent with only frozen sausages to talk to, and having
to do hours of research into bloody Ealing comedies to keep Charlie Sumkins’
attack dogs at bay.

When they arrived back, he left the
others and walked round the long house, where he bumped into Hamish.

They sat down on a log and Mick poured
out two tots of Glenfiddich Urban Alternative from his silver hip flask, then
poured out his misgivings about the shoot the next day. The box, the useless
pulley system, the drop, the jagged rocks, the fill-in reflector, the dodgy
cable with even dodgier fittings, plus the fact that, if Mrs Hathaway fell,
they’d have no way of getting back to their friends.

‘Aye that’s reet tough,’ said Hamish, ‘but
I hae to sae they’re the least of your worries.’