The Dragon's Tale: A Jack Lauder Thriller (17 page)

CHAPTER 4

     Diana had taken the tiller of the boat because no one else wanted the responsibility. Jack worked feverishly on deck. He didn’t look up until he had helped everyone he could into the lifeboats and then he glanced out to sea. She stood in the stern of her boat full of survivors and waved to him. The empty handed gesture he made back filled her heart with dread. He was saying goodbye. Then she screamed aloud as the ship toppled, hit by an arc of water. It towered like a cliff above the stricken vessel. The plume of water hid Jack’s body but she felt she saw something tossed into the air like a rag doll. It fell and crunched into a steel bulwark, seeming to break in two as it struck. The women in the boat looked up at her in pity as she tried to steer the boat away from the wreck. Two sailors pulled at the oars and she felt momentarily angry with them that they were in the boat and Jack had died. “He could have rowed!” she yelled at them. They looked at her incomprehensibly, recognising that she was raving, then all eyes were suddenly fixed back on the drama behind them. The steamer lifted up in the water as its front compartments filled and slid below the waves, its bulbous hull disappearing like the back of some gigantic, prehistoric lizard.

     Numb, staring lifelessly ahead, Diana steered the boat towards the dawn, which had begun to appear in the east. Other boats spotted them as the sky grew milkier and soon they were all huddled together like sheep on a hillside awaiting the shepherd. The boats tied on to each other so they could drift together in the grey seas. People who recognised loved ones in other boats called to each other in joy while others, who had scanned the occupants of approaching craft with hope in their hearts, wailed as they saw those hopes dashed. One woman in the lifeboat tied alongside hers pointed at Diana and began to call out in an excited jabber. Diana had difficulty following this dialect and guessed it was Chavacano from the Zamboanga region of Mindanao. She soon realised though that everyone had turned to look at her. Some pointed. “What?” she shouted in frustration.

     One of the sailors, resting now from his labours after the tiny craft had been tied together said, “That woman say your husband save her and her child. He very brave man.”  He turned to the rest of the boat and translated. Others piped up, “He help me too, missy, he wonderful!” She smiled as one after another took up the praise for Jack, the man they believed was her husband. She didn’t correct them. She sat down in the stern of the boat, her vigil at an end. One of the women hugged her and the show of warmth and affection made her burst into tears. She sobbed her heart out then. She had not been permitted that luxury earlier. For the first time she was able to examine her feelings and what she came up with confused her. She had always been out for herself, knowing no one else was likely to look after number one. Quite why she had taken to Jack she couldn’t explain because she wasn’t fooled by the romance thing, the glossy magazine, saccharine sweet illusion that the rest of life continued in the same vein as one idyllic moment. In many ways, he was a chancer like her but she knew enough about herself to recognise that hers was about material gain whereas Jack was after something else, something much less tangible. The reality was she’d liked him from the first moment she’d set eyes on him many years ago. He had a frank, open face. He was handsome in a craggy way, but that wasn’t what had attracted her. Thousand of men were like that. You could choose from the dozens you met if you were merely looking for a meal ticket or someone to help you reproduce your genes. Jack was different because he wasn’t a hero and yet here he had performed heroic deeds as if he did it every day. He didn’t shout or rail at people, he didn’t bluster and mouth off. He wasn’t tough and aggressive but he had the determination to overcome any obstacle. He had weaknesses but with him you’d never be on your own. Whatever was your worst nightmare, you’d never face it alone. Maybe he wasn’t unique but Diana hadn’t met anyone like him and she’d been around. With a start she suddenly realised she was thinking about him as if he were alive!

     The boats drifted until well into the next morning without any sign of company on the ocean. The athleticism of the night had spent itself like a grand passion. The storm had disappeared over the horizon and not a cloud appeared in the sky as the sun began to rise towards the zenith. Diana felt herself begin to burn and welcomed every shower of spray coming over the boat’s hull, even though she knew it made the sunburn worse. The problem wasn’t going to go away and more in hope than anticipation her eyes scanned the horizon. Around midday her vigilance was rewarded. Some distance away she saw the wake of what looked like a fast-moving boat. She stood up, almost unbalancing the small lifeboat and pointed. In a hoarse voice she shouted, “Look, it’s the coastguard!” Several eyes turned at once in the same direction and the survivors began to shout and bang the sides of the boats.  It wasn’t necessary. The speedboat had already seen them and it began to arc towards the boats. As it came closer it became clear that it wasn’t the coastguard. One of the women put her hand over her mouth and with a frightened shout, exclaimed, “Moro! Moro!”

    The words struck a chill into everyone. If the boat belonged to the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, a group waging war against the Philippines government for the control of Mindanao, no one was safe. Although the war was waged on religious grounds, the group was well-known for its brutality. The survivors lapsed into an ominous silence as the speedboat whined nearer. Their fears were justified because, in the motor launch, stood three men armed with semi-automatic weapons. Three other men made up the crew. They whooped with joy as they circled their prey and shot rounds of bullets into the air to stifle any suggestion of resistance. They tightened the circle until they were close enough for one man to leap aboard and tie a rope to the prow of the lead boat. The boarder left no one in much doubt about his intent. Grabbing a couple of choice, young girls by the hair and oblivious to their screams, he tossed them to whooping comrades on the launch. Diana kept her head down. A towel covered her blond locks. She knew that as soon as she was discovered the worst fate would be saved for her. How bad that could be was shown when one of the two women cast on the pirate boat couldn’t stop screaming. The boarder, who had returned nimbly to the launch, casually grabbed hold of the girl from behind and slit her throat with a long knife, tossing her haemorhaging body over the side as the men shouted loudly. At first it wasn’t clear what they were up to but the outbreak of cheers and applause revealed their grisly intent. They had shouted to attract the sharks. The sea’s predators were not far away. They shadowed the pirates as if they knew the pickings would be rich and now they fell on the feast. Moments later nothing was left of the young girl’s body. Her friend meanwhile had fared slightly better. She had stayed silent, accepting her fate. Women were precious to these pirates. The weak one so callously flung away was a warning to the others.

     The launch turned south and set off at fast pace. The second boat slipped behind the first but remained attached by its painter. The speed made the first boat lift and plane over the water, drenching the occupants of the second boat. After about an hour they reached a sandy island where the launch propelled the two boats into the shallows. Forced out at gunpoint the survivors waded to the beach. The women wept and the men looked grim. Once on the beach the six men wandered up and down in front of them. Their leader’s eyes glittered as he realised that Diana was a blond European. He strode into the silent, sullen group and grabbed her by the wrist. Everyone looked at her fearfully, wondering what her fate would be. The leader of the pirate band took her money and jewellery from the bag she had brought with her but he showed no interest in her credit cards, strewing them all over the sand. Once he’d robbed her, he reached out a hand and ripped her dress open. Theatrically he displayed her to his men, turning her round and round for each of them to admire. A communal whoop went up from his band as her breasts were bared. The leader held up his rifle to his followers and flung his prize captive on to the ground. She believed she was on the verge of gang-rape. Instead, the pirate leader seemed to gather his concentration and turn back to the job in hand. He turned to the survivors and barked out a few orders. His men rushed into the group and brought out the men. One by one they were made to kneel and shot in the head.

     The agony increased for each consecutive victim and one, unable to stand the tension, made a run for it, heading for the scrub on the hill behind the beach. The pirates didn’t shoot him. Two of them gave chase and brought the shivering fugitive back to the leader. He strutted up and down in front of the hapless figure, who kowtowed to his oppressor. The leader had him dragged to a point where two near-naked trees grew out of thin sandy soil. Quickly the screaming victim was strapped to the trees and the pirates began to streak him with blood-coloured paint from the boat; he looked like a flag with long stripes down his torso. The reason became horrifically clear when, almost nonchalantly, the leader, using a leather cloth which stuck to the paint, laid it on the man’s chest and ripped down the line of the paint smear, bringing the red flesh away with the paint. Diana’s hand shot to her mouth; some of the survivors screamed. The pirates took turns at flaying the shrieking victim. The leader roared with laughter and, catching Diana’s terrified stare, he winked at her and thrust out his tongue several times. Sexually aroused he took hold of himself through his trousers and gyrated his hips. Diana was under no illusions that she had been reserved for this pirate captain but she forgot about that when one of the pirates bent down and nonchalantly cut a hole in the flayed victim’s navel. Meticulously, he began to draw out the intestine.

     Just when everything seemed hopeless, a gunshot out at sea made the attackers stop. Another boat was speeding in through the surf. A tall man stood in the prow and he seemed European. Diana’s heart sank as she saw there were only two men in the boat. What could they do against this group? But, incongruously, the rabble band fell on their knees and began to implore forgiveness from Allah. The boat sped into the surf and the tall man jumped out and pounded over the sand towards the pirate gang. The leader, suddenly reduced to human status, stood sullenly awaiting the rebuke. The man glared at him; his first action was to go to the half-flayed victim. He cursed aloud and took out a pistol and shot the man where he lay in the sand. He strode back down the sand berating the pirates. He had no fear of these ruthless men and he made them kneel and cringe as if he might produce thunderbolts from the air. Glancing around beneath his wide sun hat, his eyes fell on her. A look of surprise came into his dark eyes. “What are you doing?” he screamed in English, obviously for her benefit, at the prostrated captain. 

     “Oh my God!” Diana didn’t even feel herself begin to faint.

     When she came to she jerked like an automaton into a sitting position, crying out in fear. It took a few moment before she began to appreciate she was lying on a stretcher on the beach. Then she began to sob. She’d held it in until now but the ordeal had been too much: a sinking ship; a perilous drift through the waves; Jack gone; expectation of rescue only to be captured by murderous pirates. And now?

     “Excuse me, ma’am?” She heard a polite voice and the tall, swarthy man, whom she now saw was of Arab appearance, showed himself suddenly in front of her. “You came off the shipwreck, ma’am?” He asked the question in a pleasant, concerned voice. Diana gazed at him suspiciously. The Englishness of the accent was somehow incongruous. She was wary, alert to any possibility. He wore a white jacket over his shirt and a hat which he touched now in a gesture of deference. “I say to myself this must be an extraordinary woman!” His eyes appraised her, resting on her luxurious figure. There was a gleam in them, one which she recognised and had seen before in many men in many countries of the world. His concern was not entirely selfless. Sympathy for her plight may have been in his mind but he also knew that life goes on. The poverty of her garb, following her forced exit from the stricken ferry and her treatment at the hands of the pirates, couldn’t hide her quality. Conversely, in that same look lay hope for her salvation.

     “Yes, yes, I am,” she stammered, entering immediately into the role of a poor female, left alone in the world by a terrible tragedy. “What happened to the others?”

     “Those cannibals!” the man said with unconcealed disgust. “Do not fear, my dear, they will not suffer further.” Something about the way he said it was reassuring even if the answer was an oblique one.
The man held out his arm. “I will help you, get you some new clothes. I would take you to the hospital but I have to say it is not that good. I can get better doctors to deal with your condition. I have with me one of my countrymen. We have the best doctors in the world. He smiled to let his words sink in. “You see, my dear, it wouldn’t be safe for you to be alone with the Moro around.”

     He looked at her with the same concerned expression and smiled gently. He had a very nice smile she thought, as she took his arm, glad at least for the assistance but still wary. He was very persuasive and Diana had the feeling she shouldn’t push it. The Arab had some connection with these pirates. Was she still a prisoner? He wasn’t bad looking, obviously not strictly legit, but what in her life had ever been legit? Jack?  Perhaps Jack but Jack was gone. Diana didn’t look back, she prided herself that she never took a backward step, and then she had met Jack again, considered it and look what had happened. The Police? She should talk to the Police but there again, she had learned in a hard school to butt out of things which didn’t concern her. What would Jack have done? Of course, he’d have been straight to the first ranger station; he’d have been leading them out to the island. Her fists clenched and suddenly she was angry. “Why did he have to be such a bloody hero?” she said aloud as her companion stepped ahead of her to signal to someone. As he heard her speak he turned and looked back. He must have realised she wouldn’t try and escape. Not like Jack. No, no, not good, old Jack. Good, old, dear, departed Jack! “Is there any news of the ship?” Diana asked falteringly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”