Elephants can't hide forever (18 page)

Mouse was silent, was this bloke shitting him, no reason to, was he a nutter, no, Mouse was wise enough to have assessed everyone on the wing, and he had this bloke Jock down as a loner, but a
quiet type, not to be picked on, which was good in Mouse’s book. After due consideration Mouse spoke:

“Right, there’s nothing to lose by talking to your man, get him a Visiting Order to come in, you talk to him, and I’ll give you the questions I want answering before he gets
here, and then we’ll see how it goes.”

Jock looked suitably distressed before he spoke.

“That’s the one problem, we had a mission go badly wrong, and so he retired. I’m not sure of his address, but if we could locate him the prospect of one million pounds and the
thought of helping an old mate out of a deep hole will, I hope, be enough to persuade him to work out a plan to get us out of here.”

“No problem,” said Mouse, “I have plenty of people who are experts at finding people, even those that don’t want to be found. I also have people who can be very
persuasive in convincing people to do as I ask,” He said menacingly, “Just tell me where he was last seen and we’ll find him.”

“Australia,” Jock replied.

Since the evening when Jock Wallace had visited him with his life changing proposals, Mouse had been busy. Mouse spent the first night lying on his bunk going through what
needed to be done. The logistics problems were huge, and the facts were that somewhere in Australia was a man, retired, who needed to be found, persuaded to return to England, and then to devise
and execute a plan that would get Mouse, Danny and Jock out of this prison, off the Island, and ensconced somewhere the authorities could neither find them nor touch them. The what ifs were
enormous, but that didn’t deter Mouse; one way or another he would get his man to do what was required. If this guy was as good as the sweat was telling him, why not? The first morning after
Jock’s visit Mouse had already made some decisions. The escape plan, although in its embryonic stage, was underway.

Mouse had recognised that the modern day Prison Warden was more than just a janitor, especially on A Wing, where the screws were trained in psychological behavioural patterns, so he had figured
out a new relationship with Jock would not go unnoticed, a file note would be made and maybe some smart arse up the line would want to know why John Illes had befriended some no hoper thug from
Glasgow. So at breakfast, Mouse had whispered in Jock’s ear that he was going to do some “work” on the project, and that it was best if they weren’t seen talking together.
He told Jock to narrow down the field of search, or ideally come up with an address for the man in Australia, it shouldn’t be too hard, after all, he wasn’t on the run or anything, and
he must surely have left a forwarding address with someone.

John then joined Danny for breakfast, looking across the table he said: “We’re on the move, mate.” Danny just looked very hard at Mouse, who looked back with that old twinkle
that had been missing of late.
Fucking hell, he’s serious,
Danny realised.

That evening in Danny’s cell, Mouse filled him in about the previous night’s conversation. Danny listened intently, just nodding his acknowledgement occasionally. Eventually Mouse
finished.

“What do you think?” he asked Danny.

“Well, I’m not going to say no, that’s for sure,” replied Danny. “But we don’t know this sweat from Adam, he could be full of shit, or worse the real deal,
who could get us out then burn us for the million, or he could be our salvation, so we run with him, for now.”

Mouse agreed. “So here’s what we do then,” he declared. “The Jock will track down this geezer, Mike Tobin, or at least give us a bearing where he might be. You, Danny,
will get hold of someone we trust, say Dave Ward, and get us the lowdown on this Jock Wallace, and tell him we want every detail no matter how small. I will get Cathy to come in next week, tell her
I need to talk to Niall Penny and Richard Sykes, brief her why, and take it from there.”

The two characters Mouse was talking about were gangland enforcers, and their expertise was in convincing people who were playing up, one way or another, to step back into line. The tools of
their trade were knives and sulphuric acid, and their reputation preceded them wherever they were asked to go.

“Penny and Sykes don’t fuck about Mouse,” replied Danny, “are you sure? I presume they’re going to be going down to Oz to convince our man breaking us out of here
is a good thing for him?”

“Well” said Mouse “The place is so far away, I could send Cathy, who would be charming, offer him a million quid, and bobs your uncle, he says yes, no problem, but if he
doesn’t want to play, there’s fuck all Cathy can do or say, so I’d have to send the boys out then in any case, they can be polite when they need to.”

“Yeah, and vicious when they want to be, so if this guy in Oz says no to the money, then the boys will convince him otherwise.” commented Danny.

“That’s about the size of it” Mouse replied.

“Well, from what I know about the SAS, he isn’t gonna be no push over, if the money doesn’t appeal.” Danny said.

“Danny,” said Mouse, “this is maybe our best chance of getting out of here, it would be far better if he agreed willingly, but if he is the best man to get us free then
whatever it takes will be worth it. The boys aren’t stupid, they will understand strong arm tactics are to be used only as a last resort, so let’s keep our distance from here on in, we
will reconvene in a couple of weeks when I’ve seen Cathy and you’ve got the low down from Dave on the Jock. The Jock will hopefully have tracked down this Mike Tobin, and then we can
plan the next moves, fair enough?”

“Fair enough” replied Danny.

Two weeks later, just before lockdown, John and Danny were sitting in John’s cell.

Mouse spoke first. “So, Danny, let’s see where we’re at. Cathy came in just after we last spoke, she’s spoken with Penny and Sykes, they know the score, they also figured
out we’re desperate, they want fifty thousand up front to bring Tobin back, whether they have to persuade him or he comes of his own free will, I’ve agreed, it’s daylight robbery,
but we have no choice, have you got any information on the Jock yet?”

Danny replied, “Sure have, Dave’s done a proper job, obviously we had to have a guarded conversation as we spoke on the phone, but the upshot is he got kicked out of the Army after
something really big he was involved in went tits up, he then got mixed up with some real bad dudes in Scotland, this cumulated in him shooting two Customs officers, which is why he’s here,
but what Wardy found out that he’s well thought of, the way he handled himself through out the whole affair, the word is he’s his own man, and not to be messed with.”

“Right,” said Mouse “that confirms what I thought, I caught up with him this morning, he’s found out that this mate of his is living and working in a little place called
Port Douglas, which is up in Queensland. It won’t be hard for the boys to find him, so I reckon our next move is, I get Cathy to pull fifty large ones, get the boys on their way, and as soon
as they get him back here he can have a couple of weeks to suss things out then come in, and tell Jock how and when we go”

“I’m going to sleep well tonight.” was all Danny could think of to say.

Mike Tobin had arrived in Australia two years previously. He had had no real plans, or even any idea where he might live on the huge continent. He did have a big bank balance
so he could suit himself for a couple of years at least, or until the local authorities started asking questions. So quite simply, Mike had booked himself the first available flight out of Heathrow
and found himself in the town of Cairns. He found a reasonable long let, hired a camper van, and began to explore Northern Queensland hoping something might turn up, and as luck had it, it did.

One bright morning, Mike had driven out of town, heading north up the Cook Highway, when he spotted an old guy on the side of the road obviously looking for a ride. Mike stopped and enquired
where he was going.

“Heading up to Port Douglas, about forty miles north,” replied the grateful passenger.

“OK,” Mike said, I’m heading North, I’ll drop you off.”

The two men started a general conversation, and it turned out the passenger, whose name was Charlie Allington, was, like so many in Australia, from the British Isles. He had emigrated in the
1960s from his home in Bishops Stortford, paid ten pounds for the privilege, and set up a business in the town they were heading.

“So what do you do?” enquired Mike.

Charlie took a deep breath. “It’s a long story son, but back in those days this place was the Outback, no one came apart from the occasional Black fellas on walkabout, so I worked
the mines, then as the town began to grow, I worked on the construction of the new hotels that were shooting up. I’d made a lot of money down the mines, so I was always looking for an
opportunity to invest, this was the country for opportunists and I wanted to be part of it.”

“Go on.” said Mike, fascinated by the man’s story.

“So, as the town grew, we suddenly realised we were sitting on a gold mine, and hadn’t realised it.”

“So you went back down the mines?” asked Danny.

The old guy laughed aloud. “No, what I meant was a metaphorical gold mine, sitting just off the coast, none of us from these parts had even thought about it, and it’s almost
unbelievable now, you would know it as The Great Barrier Reef. But back in those days it was just a bloody nuisance for the fishing boats to navigate, they were forever getting their nets snagged
and maybe twenty boats a year were lost by ripping their bottoms out. Anyhow, people started arriving, initially from the towns down south, looking for the weather, and then they got more
adventurous and wanted to go out to the Reef, to see for themselves, so I went and bought myself a charter boat, went all the way to Sydney for it, then sailed it back here, and that was that. I
didn’t even have to advertise, just stood out on the dock each morning and within the hour, every day, it was full, twenty eager holiday makers all wanting to see the wonders of the sea. Over
the years we’ve had to move with the times, it started when people were happy enough just to take a few a photos, but of course now they want to get in the ocean and dive, so we offer all
that malarkey on the boat, we could have expanded like some round here, but what we got does us fine.”

“When you say we,” Mike asked “Is it your family, or do you have a partner?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, it’s just me and my daughter. I lost my wife a few years ago, she got stung by one of the jellyfish round here and we never got her to the hospital in
time, so it’s just the two of us now. Anyhow,” he said swiftly changing the subject, “what about you. young fella, what’s your story?”

Mike thought about the question, it would be good to unburden some of life, even onto a stranger. “Have you got a couple of hours spare?” he enquired.

“Actually, I have.” said Charlie, “So why don’t you come and have some lunch down on the berth, I’m sure there’s a couple of cold beers I could find, if
you’re interested. Jane, that’s my daughter, is doing the trip today, so I’ll show you the boat when she returns.”

“Sounds good,” came the reply.

So Mike and Charlie drove into Port Douglas. Charlie took the opportunity to point out the charm of the place as they drove along the ocean boulevard, explaining that at this point the Pacific
Ocean had given way to the Coral Sea. The beach was known as the four mile beach, for obvious reasons, and just beyond the horizon lay the Great Barrier Reef. Port Douglas is a spit of land that
goes nowhere, the road out is the same road in. At the top of town they turned left along the main street, Macrossan Street, bustling with people along the old- fashioned boardwalks. Tables and
chairs lined the footway, and the chic boutiques that were interspersed between the hostelries gave the air of a very laid back, but upmarket town.

Leaving the precinct behind, they turned again and this time the ocean gave way to a river, or creek. Charlie explained that it was called Dickens Creek and it was a subsidiary of the Mossman
River. This was the side of the town where all the boats were moored, safe from the odd cyclone that would blow in from the Coral Sea. Charlie shortly turned into a public car park, which led them
through into the boat yard; there were few boats moored at this time of day and they pulled up alongside a berth housing a small kiosk, and displaying a For Sale sign. Mike was curious.

“Is this your berth?” he enquired.

“Sure is” replied Charlie.

“What’s with the For Sale sign?” Mike asked.

Charlie looked wistfully at Mike. “Well, it’s like this, I’ve been doing this for over twenty years, and I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed every single moment, every day
meeting new people, all of them excited in anticipation of going over the Reef, that rubs off on you.”

Charlie opened a couple of bottles of Victoria Bitter, handing one to Mike he continued, “But unfortunately over the years the motion of the sea has caused the lower part of my back to
wear out, and some days out on the reef I wonder if I’ll make it back with the pain, that’s life, so I’ve made enough money to live more than comfortably for the rest of my days,
and I’m going to stay round these parts, so there would be nothing stopping me going out there occasionally if the new owner didn’t mind.”

Both men sat in the easy chairs that were permanently placed by the side of the kiosk. The dock was nearly deserted; the sky was that huge expanse of ice blue only found in Australia. Mike began
to tell Charlie his story, leaving out the more graphic details. Two more beers were opened, and Mike fell silent.

“Something troubling you, son?” asked Charlie

“How much did you say you were asking for the boat?” Mike asked.

“Well I didn’t, but it’s not a secret. One hundred thousand Aussie dollars,” came the reply.