Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (51 page)

Switching off the pumps, he slipped the bag from his shoulders and took out the alarm, and having set the time for detonation, wound the spring and placed the clock on a low shelf, and re-starting the pumps, got out of there fast.

Climbing back up through the levels, he noticed a slight roll to the yacht, and stepping out on deck, felt the strengthening wind, and then, through the slapping and tugging of the rigging he heard a man’s drunken voice.

‘Tara. Pussy woman. Come, it crew time. We fuck you now.’

Checking the lifeboat, he found Tara awake but huddled like a quivering ball of jelly, staring terrified into the darkness as she listened to the shouts of the drunken man.

Securing the cover, he made his way along the rolling deck and saw the ugly man he was hoping to meet - the machine gun at his side and staggering drunk, a bad combination.

Standing behind the mast, he waited until he came tottering along the rolling deck, and loading a ball bearing, aimed for his head, but as he fired, the man slipped and the ball bearing whined out to sea.

Cursing, he let him come closer, and stepping out, brought his knee up into the man’s crutch, and slamming his head into the mast, heard his neck snap, and easing the body down, pulled him into the shadows, took the machine gun and threw it over the side.

It was as silent as the grave when Frank made his way down the central companionway, and stepping into a wooden passage, made his way along to the first cabin and listened at the door, but there was no sound.

Looking inside he saw mahogany furniture and a four poster bed draped with discarded Bermuda shorts and brightly coloured shirts, but there was no sign of where a safe might be hidden - and the room opposite was the same, except on the bed were female clothes of an enormous size.

The next four cabins were equally luxurious, and the fancy clothes in each of them reminded him of the scum who were now dead up on deck - but it was the last cabin that turned him to stone, because along with jeans, sweater and trainers, there was an endless collection of sex clothes, with open crutch panties, stockings, suspenders and a peep hole bra, and on a hanger was a school girl’s gym slip with long strips of satin.

Slipping off the bag, he packed the jeans, sweater and trainers, and with a shrug, packed the open crutch knickers and peep hole bra, and taking the long strips of satin, walked along the passage until he came to a door with a brass nameplate. Saloon.

50

Easing the door open, the grand opulence made him think of a French Chateau, and looking around the edge of the door, a movement caught his eye.

It was a waiter clearing away the remains of a banquet, and he was moving on tiptoe around two people fast asleep on twin sumptuous couches’, a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, and a grotesque, incredibly ugly woman.

Loading a ball bearing, he took aim and fired, and when the waiter fell, he dropped the tray, but the man and woman didn’t stir, and they felt nothing at all when their wrists and ankles were bound with the long strips of satin.

Looking around the room, he noticed a large painting that didn’t seem flush with the wall, and walking over, saw it was slightly swung out as if on hinges, and pulling it open, saw a safe set into the steel bulkhead, and the key was still in the lock, so why was that?

Inside he found a jumble of papers, but there wasn’t anything that looked like a file, but on the floor there was a screwed up sheet of paper, and flattening it out, he read the notes that had been hastily written in a scrawl.

‘Our agent made a complete debacle of the Washington affair, and only succeeded in stirring up a hornets nest, both the USA and here, and although he died in Cheltenham before he could talk, it alerted the ghost agencies to our plans for Area 57.’

Reading down through the scribble, he came to realise why Monty was so concerned.

‘Good news, Sheverill managed to achieve the impossible and we now have a copy, and it confirms that a placebo of the most virulent strain of the Smallpox derivative was indeed sent in the shipment to Atlanta, so the real thing is safely hidden away at Area 57.’

Looking back to the Hawaiian shirt, he wondered what the bastard had been up to.

‘Oh how clever the Nemesis people were, because 57 is nothing more than an amalgam of the grid references, 20 and 37, on the Ordnance Survey map of the UK, Sheet 184, and it clearly shows what isn’t named. PD.’

So what the hell does that mean?

‘And as that particular site is far less defended than the two official containment area’s in both Russia and the States, our friends are more than willing to purchase the address.’

Frank thought of the four dead men up on deck, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich.

‘As payment has now been made to Zurich, they will collect the file from The Scilly Isles and the assault can then take place on 57. They will release the virus from the Caribbean during the hurricane season and the winds should carry it right across most of America, but we are assured they will give us ample warning in order to escape.’

Frank remembered the four men laughing as they stood pointing into the gathering storm, and now it all began to make sense - and old Monty had figured it out correctly.

As the pieces of the puzzle came together, he thought how simple this madness was, and all made possible when the Am-Brit, Nemesis think tank had decided to cheat the world.

And no wonder why Monty was scared half to death.

Am-Brit had kept back one of the deadliest strains of Smallpox ever designed, SNIFF, and they thought they were smart by keeping the file details in a top secret location.

But there’s always someone who’ll break the rules, and Glenndenning was that man.

So now it was vital to find the file copy, and before
Polyvotis
went up in a fireball.

But where could it be?

Well it had obviously moved on from the safe because they hadn’t bothered to lock it.

Loading a ball bearing, he stepped out into the passage, but a waiter suddenly appeared and called out in surprise, ‘Hey. Who you are?’

Frank went down on one knee as the waiter dropped the pile of trays, and as the catapult was brought up, the man drew the dagger from his waistband, and with the release of the ball bearing, the dagger flew, the ball bearing hitting the man in the throat as the dagger sliced through the rubber of Frank’s helmet, and as the blood began to trickle down his face, the man sank to his knees, and staring at each other, the man clutched at his shattered windpipe, his eyes wild as he slowly suffocated.

Frank counted three ball bearings left, and loading one, moved silently down the passage, and stepping over the body, climbed down the companionway to the next level and found the galley strewn with the mess of the crew’s evening meal, and looking around, saw two men sat slumped against the wall, empty bottles in their hands.

So that accounted for five crew, but where was the last one?

Tearing a towel into strips, he tied their wrists and ankles, and taking plastic bags, filled them with food for the coming day. Tara might be hungry.

Returning to the Saloon, he dragged the drunken Glenndenning over and sat him up with his back to a huge old dresser, and taking the satin strips, tied his wrists securely to the handles, and then repeated the whole thing with the enormous ugly woman.

Nodding to his thoughts, he placed the open crutch panties on Glenndenning’s head with his face showing through the slit, and fitting the peep hole bra around the woman’s face, adjusted it until her eyes could look out through the holes, and with the last two strips of satin, tied gags around their mouths.

Looking around he saw an enormous gilt edged mirror, and lifting it down, propped it up in front of them, and taking a beautiful ormolu clock, placed it in the centre of the mirror, and finally, with a soda siphon, sprayed them in the face until they spluttered awake.

Back out in the passage, he checked the first two cabins and there was nothing unusual, but in the third was an odour of burning and the waste-bin was full of chard paper, and looking across to a bedside cabinet, saw an expensive looking camera.

So maybe these people didn’t want to take the chance of carrying the file so they took photos of it, and taking out the film, burnt it in the waste bin.

On returning to the saloon, he saw that Glenndenning and Rattenegger were now awake and staring in disbelief at the vision in the mirror.

‘Hi. I’m Frank Lewis from Cardinal, and I guess you’re wondering why I’m here?’

They stared, eyes wide open at the bloodied, black clad figure.

‘Well it’s quite simple really. You see, you upset a lot of people by stealing that file, and now, I suppose, understandably, they want you both dead. That’s why I’m here…’

Glenndenning tried to struggle with the ribbons, but it was no use.

‘So while you’ve been sleeping off the booze, I’ve been killing your guests and the crew, and now that I have the file, everything you’ve done has been a complete waste of time.’

Rattenegger, furious, thrashed out with her huge legs.

But Frank just shrugged to their frantic struggling and pointed to the clock.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot, I’ve put a bomb on board and it’s timed to go off at four o’clock. It’s a farewell present from Tara Goodwin, and she hopes you enjoy the experience.’

Watching, he saw their eyes bulge as they stared into the mirror, the ormolu clock constantly reminding them of their diminishing time on earth, and that ridiculous vision in the mirror not letting them forget for a second why they were going to die this way.

Leaving them to their thoughts, he went back along the passage and clambered up the companionway, but as he stepped out onto the rolling deck, he heard a piercing scream.

Staring through the darkness he saw the last of the crew dragging Tara to the inflatable bed, but as he lurched and staggered in a drunken haze, he slipped and fell to the deck.

Frank started to run, but Tara had pulled herself free, and screaming wildly in terror, began to frantically climb the rigging.

Calling to her, he ran faster, but the storm was carrying his words away, and the crewman had already clambered to his feet and was climbing after her, and seeing him, she screamed out and climbed higher and higher with the man clutching at her ankles.

Coming to a skidding halt, he loaded a ball bearing and took aim, but the man saw him and drew the dagger, and as Frank fired, the man jumped and fell towards him, the ball bearing entering through his eye and coming out through the back of his head, his body falling and smashing Frank into the side of the yacht.

As
Polyvotis
rolled and heaved in the cauldron of the storm, it sent Frank tumbling unconscious back and forth across the deck, but on crashing into the dead man, he came awake, and looking up, saw what seemed to be dark scudding clouds chasing a girl high above in the rigging.

Shaking himself awake, he pushed the one eyed man away, and clambering to his feet, looked up and realised it was Tara.

Checking his watch, he saw it was now three thirty, and not knowing how accurate the old alarm clock was, knew that
Polyvotis
could explode at any moment.

Climbing the rigging, he inched towards her - but the closer he came, the further she edged away until she was clinging to the furthest end of the mainsail beam.

‘Tara, don’t move. It’s me, Frank Lewis.’

But the look in her eyes just then, reminded him of being on the balcony at Thornley, and when she stood up, he knew she was going to jump.

‘Tara, for god’s sake, don’t move …’

She began to tremble, ‘Don’t hurt. Please don’t hurt. Beg, beg.’

Looking at his watch, he saw it was three forty-five and the margin for error was gone.

‘Tara, it’s me, Frank Lewis. We’re friends, remember?’

Crouching to leap, her eyes became wild and desperate like a trapped animal.

‘Tara, please listen to me … I took you to the hotel with Evelyn … Remember ..? You stayed with Ted in Malmesbury. I’m your friend. For god’s sake believe me.’

Blinking, she remembered buying cream cakes, but that woman gassed her and brought her here to this hideous yacht. And now it was happening all over again.

‘No. I won’t … I can’t take anymore … It hurts too much …’

Frank slid his fingertips towards her, but she recoiled, ready to jump, but then the swell of the sea suddenly heaved
Polyvotis
violently over to starboard, and seeing his chance, threw himself forward, and catching her, held her close and jumped out above the sea.

As they tumbled down to the waves,
Polyvotis
lurched away, and then came the most enormous, shuddering explosion as the old yacht was torn apart, and as they fell, the blast caught them and sent them hurtling away towards the shore.

Crashing into the foaming waves, he held her close as the current carried them inland, the fireball casting ghostly shadows as they tumbled into the barren rocks.

Clambering to his feet, Frank steadied himself against the surging tide, and holding Tara, looked back to the burning wreck and felt the heat on his face.

With a shrug, he turned away and began climbing up the steep jagged rocks to Gun Hill, and laying her down in the heather, stripped off the dead man’s clothes and dressed her in the jeans, sweater and trainers, and leaving her to sleep, clambered back down to the shore and threw the clothes into the sea, and stripping off the wetsuit, washed away the blood, and dressing in his own clothes, packed everything else into the bag.

Laying cuddled in Luigi’s arms, Lucinda dreamt of erotic passionate love at the islands, her breath rhythmically soft against his cheek as misty visions played games in her mind. Murmuring, she snuggled closer as acts of sensuous fantasy became so incredibly real, but her vivid dreams were suddenly shattered, when at four o’clock in the morning they were suddenly woken by the thunderous sound of the most enormous explosion.

Coming awake in a fluster of confusion, they sat up startled and bleary eyed, their gaze drawn to the flickering glow that seemed to set the windows on fire, then rushing across, Luigi stared out to the inferno raging far away across the sea.

‘Madam. What this means?’

Following him to the window, she smiled towards New Grimsby Sound.

‘What it means, my gorgeous young boy, is that from now on we might both be free, because my target, and hopefully my troublesome husband, are no more.’

As lights came on like fireflies across the islands, men and women shouted and called to each other as they ran down to the boats in the harbour, and in the confusion, others rushed and crowded onto the quay to stand in shocked amazement.

Watching and listening to the cacophony of sounds in the flickering darkness, a puzzled expression began to dawn on Luigi’s beautiful face.

‘You say, ‘usband, no more?’

‘Possibly. He might just have pushed his luck, a little too far.’

Turning to the blaze, he made an upward gesture with his hands.

‘So he gone, in boom?’

‘Yes, he could have, but just to be sure, why not wait on the quay with his photograph.’

Settling back into bed, Lucinda smiled, and felt so pleased that everything had suddenly become so much easier - and now, her only outstanding target was Montague.

But she wouldn’t worry about him now, after all, he could be a million miles away.