Scorpio's Lot (30 page)

We strolled past a number of
chute-mounted orange lifebuoys, each with its self-igniting light on starboard
wing. This old boat was indeed full of surprises, with an array of some updated
accessories. Crossing to portside, our attention was drawn to three lifeboats
suspended from radial davits swaying in the gentle sea breeze.

‘Tom, what’s that machine beside
the lifeboats used for?’ asked Brigit-

‘That’s a winch. It’s used for
raising and lowering the lifeboats.’

‘Oh, and why these holes below
the railing?’

‘They’re called mooring pipes.
They can be either oval or circular and are fitted into the plating of the
bulwarks.’

‘And what’s their purpose?’

‘My, you are the inquisitive one!
Well, they assist the permanent anchor when the chains are laid down if the
boat’s moored for a period of time. The mooring pipes provide a smooth surface
through which ropes or chains can be guided.’

‘How come you know so much?’

‘I don’t. What you’ve asked is
just general knowledge.’

‘Well, maybe for a guy it is.
What about the speed? How fast are we going?’

‘Brigit, give it a rest. We’re
travelling at around ten knots, which equates to nearly twenty kilometers per
hour,’ I responded, feeling like a marine tutor. ‘Anything else?’

‘No, not for the moment. Thank
you, Tom. Maybe later.’ Brigit seemed amused at my lack of patience.

We continued our walk in silence.

‘Brigit, I’ve decided to take a
look at the interior of the wheelhouse if you want to join me,’ I said, in an
attempt to make up for being so short with her.

‘Sure, Tom. That’s the captain’s
bridge, isn’t it?’

‘One and the same, so to speak.’

En route to this navigating
bridge we climbed a further set of companion ladders and then passed some
firefighting equipment containing both valves and tank vents painted in a
highly visible red. Near the entry door to the wheelhouse I noticed the
binnacle housing the boat’s compass, which is something that had fascinated me
since childhood. I paused to take a look at this marvel of inventions. Made of
non-magnetic material and wood, the compass was mounted in a set of gimbal
frames. At the top and on either side were angle frames carrying the correction
spheres on slotted arms. If viewed in the dark, a form of illumination would be
built in to light up the compass card. Fascinating stuff, I thought.

A friendly face greeted us upon
reaching the platform from which the boat was directed. As we made our way into
this hallowed piece of the boat’s podium, the seaman told us without
explanation that our visit would need to be short. Not as big as I had
anticipated, the wheel-house was about the size of a bedroom crammed with main
engine and winch controls running along one side. On the other side a wheel and
gyrocompass with just enough space to include the helmsman’s seat completed the
bridge. It was all very compact, with an incredible three-hundred-and-sixty
degree view of the entire boat. We thanked our host for the privilege and
commenced our descent down the companion ladder to portside.

‘Tom, I don’t want to sound like
an alarmist, but look where all the cars are parked. Don’t you think that 4WD
at the end looks familiar?’ said Brigit.

‘Let’s take a closer look.’

Down one further flight of steps,
and like a couple of mice hugging the edge of a room, we walked cautiously
toward the vehicle. Traditionally cargo boats or ships are very open in design
and the
Molly Bloom
was no exception.

On reaching the far end of stern
side where this mysterious vehicle was secured, I put my hand on the tinted
window to shield the sunlight and looked inside. The interior was too dark to
see and it was made more difficult by the inclusion of blinds secured to the
back and two rear side panels.

‘It seems mighty similar to the
Toyota Land Cruiser that had chased us around Pedley some nights back,’ I said.
I looked around, half-expecting to see Charlie and Mick running toward us, but
fortunately we were still alone.

‘Should’ve taken their number
plate when we had the chance,’ said Brigit.

‘Easier said than done, and
besides, it was dark when they chased us,’ I said, thinking that a bloody
number plate had been the last thing on my mind that night.

‘My gut feeling tells me it’s
Charlie and Mick,’ stated Brigit.

‘If your gut feeling’s correct we
must hurry back to where the passengers are congregated. Safety in numbers is
the best policy.’

With no intention of deliberating
on the issue, we immediately set out for starboard at a faster pace. We
approached the companion ladder cautiously, knowing we had only to ascend one
level to join our fellow passengers. Upon reaching the upper deck landing, I
cast an eye down portside and to my relief there was still no sign of trouble.
Only the central cabins and engine room separated us from starboard.

With no time to waste, we hurried
across the open deck and around the corner to the other passengers and the
waiting officers, who appeared astonished by our sudden arrival.

‘Steady on, you two. Scared the
daylights out of me!’ said Burke.

‘We may have a problem, Darren.
There’s a 4WD on board that looks similar to the one that chased us around
Pedley the other night.’

‘Bloody hell, I’d hoped we’d have
a break from those bastards for a while.’

‘How sure are you?’ Martino
asked.

‘Unfortunately I’d put money on
it.’

‘What makes this difficult is
that we’ve never succeeded in getting a proper ID on Charlie or Mick,’ I said.

‘Except to say we know both men
are around six feet and are of average to large build,’ said Burke.

‘We certainly couldn’t identify
them from last night’s ordeal, not with those balaclavas on and all that
darkness,’ added Martino.

‘Tom, do you see anyone remotely
familiar amongst these passengers?’ Burke asked.

I leaned against the engine room
wall and studied the collection of people that sat or frolicked before me. The
children, with their respective parents, were all in a joyful mood and playing
a game of keepings-off with what appeared to be a miniature version of a
medicine ball.

‘I suggest we do it by
elimination. Just looking around, I can exclude about three-quarters of these
people. Forget the two families and four couples seated to our right on those
deck chairs. So who do we have left?’ I said, pondering over these remaining
male passengers.

Two men in their forties had
challenged each other to a game of chess in the far corner. A Jack Russell
terrier sat quietly between the competing board players. Their stature didn’t
appear to match that of our aggressors, for one was extremely obese and the
other had a left-arm deformity. A man of around thirty sat alone talking at
some length on his mobile phone. He appeared to be of foreign descent and
became quite orchestral with his hand gestures as he spoke. Another man in his
thirties, impeccably dressed and wearing a seagoing hat and dark sunglasses,
was sitting in a deck chair enjoying what appeared to be a cappuccino. Although
seated, he appeared to be only around five-seven and of slim build. A further
candidate to cross off our list. A short stocky man, complete with muttonchops
and plaited ponytail, sat reading a book to our left. He could also be
discarded. There was virtually no one on starboard that looked remotely
similar.

‘No one on this deck appears to
be a candidate,’ I declared.

‘Tom, do you think we might be
overreacting?’ suggested Brigit.

‘Not necessarily. It’s possible
some passengers are on portside. We still have to be on our guard.’

‘Worth checking out,’ said
Darren. ‘By the way, I’ve alerted the Pedley Station regarding our whereabouts.
The captain was very obliging.’

‘Still an hour before we dock,’
volunteered Brigit, looking at her watch.

‘Brigit, wait here with Darren
and Chris while I check out the other side. Don’t leave this spot, understand?’
I was afraid she might wander to the kiosk or start up a conversation with one
of these strangers.

‘I won’t, you have my word.’

Cautiously I proceeded to the
other side and immediately could see that my passenger count had increased. Two
men preoccupied in discussion walked past my portside entry. They seemed likely
candidates. They continued to amble in the direction of the bow, both dressed
in full-length overcoats and wraparound sunglasses that disguised their facial
features.

From the other direction a man of
around forty suddenly arrived on deck, having climbed the companion ladder from
stern side. He wore a brightly coloured bandanna over a shaven head and had a
noticeable scar running down his right cheek. Seemingly unperturbed by my
presence, he walked past without acknowledgement or gesture. I thought I’d
better get back to Brigit and the two officers to warn them of my observation.

Still glued to the spot where I
had left her, Brigit seemed reassured to have my presence by her side again. I
explained the situation on portside where two men wearing full-length overcoats
did fit Charlie and Micks description. Brigit let out a small cry, fearing that
capture was now inevitable.

‘It’s only a matter of time now,’
she said.

‘Nonsense, Brigit. We’re now less
than an hour from Pedley. Providing we stay close to each other and with the
other passengers no harm will come to you,’ encouraged Darren, trying to
brighten up her spirits.

‘I hope you’re right.’ She
sounded unconvinced.

I fumed at the thought of some
bastard double-crossing us. ‘What really pisses me off is that they seem to
know our every move. First it was the caravan park, then the farm and now the
Molly
Bloom,
for God’s sake. There has to be an informer behind all this. Other
than the Pedley Police Station, the only other person who knows about our boat
trip is Hamish and I can’t believe for one minute he’s behind this!’

~ * ~

‘What’s
the situation?’ asked Morgan.

‘All under control,’ Charlie
responded. ‘I’ll be down to join ya in a moment.’

In one swift move the crew on the
bridge had just been silenced. Bashed and bound, only one member remained
conscious for the sole purpose of directing the vessel into wharf. All outside
communication had been destroyed and mobile phones had been thrown overboard.
It was decided Mick would remain on bridge, primarily to control the remaining crewmember
but also to keep a watchful eye on the decks below.

Following a check on stern and
portside to ensure all passengers were congregated together, Charlie then
returned to starboard to assist Brad Morgan in securing the engine room door.
With these remaining crewmembers in mind, it was considered a necessary
precaution before any attempt could be made to seize Brigit O’Neill. Now within
striking distance, they could hear the chatter and general noise from beyond
the engine wall, the high-spirited passengers oblivious to what was about to
unfold.

Charlie and Morgan pulled down
their balaclavas and rechecked the array of arms they carried at waist level.
They were now ready for the assault. In one swift move they turned the corner
and came upon the unsuspecting passengers.

With gun poised, Morgan bellowed,
‘Sit down here with hands on your heads!’ He pointed toward the starboard deck.

Everyone appeared stunned for a
brief moment and then pandemonium broke out as parents grabbed their screaming
children. Some people literally froze, not realising there was a command, while
others became hysterical at seeing two guns pointed toward them.