The Abigail Affair (7 page)

He reached out a hand to see if he could grab the cradle and steady it. He got his fingertips to it, but the cradle was too heavy and tore away, almost taking him with it.

And then, just as he was seriously considering backing up to his setting-off point behind him, the rain eased.

A few seconds later it stopped, again just like a shower, this time being turned off. Drips continued to fall on him, dropping off the ledges and overhangs above him.

Toby steadied his breathing and waited. The wind-generated sounds died down. As the background noises diminished, he heard the girl again.

This time, she was whimpering rather than screaming. The sound was coming from ahead of him. The lighted porthole was presumably open. Once on the cradle, Toby would be able to see inside. That meant equally that whoever was inside could see him.

The cradle’s control box hung from a bracket on a thick cable. It had four large buttons on it. Toby hoped the device was easy to control and indeed that it had power.

There was the girl’s cry again! What the devil was going on? She was being beaten up or raped for sure. He would report it the moment he reached safety.

Toby readied himself to make the little jump to the cradle. The main problem was the rainwater, which made everything so slippery. He had to get two hands firmly on the guardrail, and one foot.

One … two … three, and he jumped. He grasped as tightly as possible and got a firm handhold. But his foot slipped, and for an agonising moment, he hung from his hands. He scrabbled and got a knee up quickly, and then the toe of his trainer. He now had enough purchase to push himself up and get his elbows on the guardrail of the cradle. From that point it was easy to swing up and over the railings.

He landed. Both feet slipped from under him and he fell with a thump on to the wet timber floor of the cradle.

Winded, he stayed there, motionless.

It started to rain again. This time there was no breeze; the rain simply fell from overhead, almost mournfully.

Another, louder scream issued from the porthole. Then another. Then a third, of pure terror. Then silence, apart from the big drops of rain that plopped around him, and the chirping frogs.

He felt a tingling on the back of his neck. He got to his knees and straightened up slowly. He advanced towards the open porthole, his back to the hull of the ship. Now his head was next to the opening.

He sneaked a glance.

Irina lay, spread-eagled on her back, wearing the dragon wrap, on a huge oval four-poster bed. Her neck was bent back. Whether she was dead, her neck broken, or simply unconscious, he could not tell.

It didn’t look good.

He counted to sixty and stole another glance. The scene was the same. He tried to see if the girl was breathing but couldn’t tell. He saw no one else in the cabin.

Toby longed for his cell phone.

His stomach heaved. He thought of the pretzels he had eaten on the plane, four packets of them, and suddenly felt very sick. His stomach contracted again. He tasted bitter fluid in his mouth. The tree frogs chirped on as if in reproach at his weakness. He spat out and shook his head. This was no time to throw up. He breathed in and out as deeply as possible. Bad move. This merely made him feel dizzy. The tiredness and jet lag set in again, and he felt tears of self-pity well up in his eyes.

What had he done to deserve this?

Then he thought of the Russian girl in the cabin and pulled himself together. He needed to summon help for her, better late than never, and that meant he needed to get off this ship. So, taking care not to slip on the wooden cradle floor, which was slick with some sort of mould or algae, he reached for the control box, which swung at shoulder height.

Luckily, there was enough ambient light from the porthole and other exterior lights on the ship and in the marina to see the controls. The buttons read “UP—DOWN—AFT—FORWARD.” Easy enough, even for a beginner.

Toby held his breath and pressed “DOWN.”

Nothing happened.

He peered closely at the control box again. Now he saw a keyhole, like the ignition of a car, on the side of the box. Damn it, this was the power switch. Where was the key? In the cradle? He cast around hopefully. It was a simple structure—its slippery wooden floor and galvanised tubing framework offered no ledge or receptacle that could store a key. Toby groaned to himself. He was going to have to retreat back the way he came.

The rain continued to fall. His wet hair flopped in his eyes and he pushed it back over his forehead as he did when he rinsed it in the shower. He was starting to feel cold as well as nauseated, and his cheek injury throbbed.

He tried to gear himself up for the treacherous trip back to safety along the slippery ledge. His spirits were as low as he could ever remember. Just then, he noticed a glint from the thick cable just above the box. He reached up and grabbed the control. There was a little snap shackle attached to the cord with cable clips, and from it hung a key.

He unclipped the key, inserted it and turned it, and pressed “DOWN” again. There was a whirring noise from above his head as the electric motor started up. With a slight jolt, the cradle started down.

Yes!

It was a maddeningly slow descent and Toby felt sure that the noise of the motor would attract attention. It must be getting towards the end of his stint, and dawn would soon break. He peered at his watch, but without the light from the porthole, now above him, the level of illumination had dropped and he couldn’t make it out without using both hands for the backlight, and his right hand was pressing the “DOWN” button.

He leaned over the side of the cradle. The ground approached slowly. Another couple of minutes at least at this speed. They were going to be long, tense minutes, but it looked like he was going to make it. Every second took him further away from the madhouse above him.

With a jolt, the cradle stopped.

He still had his finger on the “DOWN” button. He pumped it. Nothing. He pressed “UP.” The cradle motor whined and he jerked upwards. He pressed “DOWN” again. The cradle reversed, headed downwards for a second, then stopped again.

It must be at the limit of its travel, he realised.

Journey’s end.

Could he jump? He looked over. It was possible, but risky. The floor of the cradle was between six and nine feet from the ground. Two to three metres. He had done several charity parachute jumps and knew how to fall and roll to avoid injury.

He hesitated. Then decided.

Go for it!

He climbed over the railings and lowered himself until he was hanging from the bottom rail. If he clung to the edge of the floor, that would give him another margin of safety. He moved one hand down to grab the woodwork of the floor, then the other. But the wood was too slimy and he felt his grip loosen. A second later and he was falling, feet first.

As his feet touched, he bent his legs and rolled forward and then sideways. He lay for a moment on the jetty. Luckily, he had landed on a wooden section. Just a little way off was solid concrete. He had grazed his hand, another injury to add to his painful cheek, and he had winded himself a little, but apart from that he seemed to be in one piece.

He got up on all fours.

Now to get help.

A powerful light snapped on and blinded him.

“Feeble effort, Robinson.” A heavy South African accent.

Scott.

On the jetty.

He had been caught.

Chapter 6

Toby struggled to his feet. “I was investigating a disturbance, sir,” he said. “I heard screaming and went to check.”

“Why didn’t you call me as I ordered?”

“I was taken by surprise, sir. It seemed like an emergency, so I thought I should check at once.”

“I would say you were trying to jump ship. I offered you the chance to leave last night. You didn’t take it. You said you were up for it and eager to serve. So why did you decide to leave?
Moffie boy
?
”

“It wasn’t like that. I heard one of the girls screaming.”

“The amount of coke they all had on board, I wouldn’t be surprised at anything. Ever heard pigs squeal when they mate?”

“No, sir.”

“It’s a similar experience in every way. So that’s all you heard?”

Toby hesitated. Should he tell about what he had seen—Irina with her head bent back? And what the girl had told him earlier? Scott could be implicated in all that.

The officer continued to point the powerful searchlight at Toby’s face. Toby held his hands up to shield himself.

“Are you ready to get back on board and do your job?” Scott barked.

“Sir, I request to be relieved of my duties and leave the ship,” Toby said in a rush. “I was physically and mentally abused last night, I have had no sleep, and I am unhappy with the situation on the yacht.”

Scott turned the searchlight off with a snap. After-images blinked in front of Toby’s eyes like fireflies. Between them, he saw Scott’s face, bearing an expression of pure contempt. His accent when he spoke was sharpened into a caricature of a South African roughneck.

“Oh, deary me, ‘I am unhappy with the situation on the yacht’,” Scott mocked. “You pompous young puppy. You’ve been enlisted less than twelve hours, you’ve disobeyed simple orders, and because you’ve been humiliated and only had a few hours’ sleep you think you should walk away crying back to Mummy and Daddy. Is that your plan?” He pronounced it as “pleen.” “Because it’s not going to work. I offered you ee-very opportunity last night. Did I not? And you were full of bravado. You’ve turned out to be no more than a squirt of piss in a bucket. But I won’t let you go now. I’ve got to cast off in a couple of hours and I need your pair of hands, soft as they are, and I need a barman and steward. So tough luck, baby boy. It’s time to behave like an adult. Do that and you’ll get your pay and your discharge at the end of this passage.”

“This isn’t Nelson’s Navy,” Toby said indignantly. “I’ll leave now if I please and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Oh no?” Scott said. “Try this.” He reached with his free hand, grabbed Toby’s arm, and twisted it violently behind Toby’s back. His face was right in Toby’s in the gloom. “Now do I have your attention? You are coming back on board, whether you like it or not. I won’t break your arm because I need it, but I
will
take you back on board. Now behave.”

“Any problem here, suh?” The voice came from a security guard who appeared suddenly from outside Toby’s field of vision. He had his own flashlight and flipped it on, bathing Toby and Scott in its beam.

“Nothing, Sandy,” Scott said. “This crew member decided to go walkabout. I am just escorting him back to his duties.”

Toby seized his chance. “Please,” he said. “I want to leave the ship. He’s holding me against my will. And there’s trouble on board.” He felt his arm going numb from Scott’s vice-like grip.

“What sort ’a trouble?” asked the security guard, who sounded troubled himself.

“That’s enough, Robinson. The only trouble is what you’ve caused tonight. Don’t worry, Sandy, I will take care of this, and we’re leaving in a few hours anyway.”

“I believe a young woman has been seriously injured or even killed,” Toby blurted out.

“Bull-sheeet!” Scott exclaimed. “He heard some steek, is all. Noisy sex.”

“This is a serious allegation,” said the security guard. “T’ink ah should inform the police.” He produced a cell phone from his shirt pocket and flipped it open.

“Ag, man!” Scott said. “This doos has been on the dagga. He’s talking rubbish.” He released Toby’s arm, and Toby rubbed it. Pins and needles shot up and down.

“I’m telling the truth,” Toby said urgently. “I’m sure a crime has been committed against a young lady.”

The reason Scott had released Toby now became clear. The first officer reached into his trouser pocket, produced a wallet and peeled off a number of US dollar notes. Twenties, by the look of them. “Listen, Sandy, we don’t want trouble in this marina. Your boss, Mr McIntyre, wouldn’t thank you, would he? So here’s some overtime money, which you’re always saying you deserve, and I agree. I meant to find you yesterday. This is a ‘thank you’ from the entire crew of the
Amelia V
.”

The guard tilted his head and eyed Scott’s outstretched hand. “Make it a hun’erd,” he said.

“Sure, Sandy. You’re worth it.”

Scott produced two more notes and handed the wad to the man, who dropped his eyes, snapped off his flashlight, and said, “You fellas just keep it nice and easy, no noise on the jetty after ten at night, OK? Rules is rules.”

“Sure,” Scott said. “Shall do. Goodnight, man.”

Toby’s heart raced. He was going back on board the yacht. Short of screaming like a damsel in distress, there was no other option. The security guard was halfway back down the pontoon now. Scott was more powerful than Toby and had all the moves. Toby had completed one term of judo when he was ten. No contest.

“OK, you win,” he said. He felt his shoulders droop as he turned back towards the mega yacht.

“Atta boy, Toby,” Scott said. He put his arm round Toby’s shoulders. “Now see here, I’m a fair man. I’ve given you the news straight at every turn. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir. I guess.”

“I can’t let you go now. You must see that. But I’m not a vindictive man. Behave yourself and none of this will go in your record. You’ll get a good reference.”

“What about the girl?” Toby said.

“You’ll see her and the rest at breakfast—maybe a little hung over, but all nice as pie. It’s just their way. These people live on the edge. Krigov fought his way to the top of a multi-billion-dollar business empire using only his charming personality. He had nothing. He wrote his own script for life. You’re a tiny bit player in his world. Just mix the drinks and smile sweetly, and I suspect you will look back on this as the most exciting and rewarding time of your life.”