Cherringham--Blade in the Water (11 page)

Indeed, all afternoon the rest of Pat’s crowd (‘my crazy gang’ as Pat called them) had had a ball, cheering and shouting and drinking the boat nearly dry.

At one point Fran had been despatched in Jack’s rowing boat to get more gin from a pal up river.

But Jack had stayed sober — and in constant contact with Sarah.

If everything went to plan …

Magnusson would cross the finishing line just as Alan and his police support came down onto Cherringham Bridge.

Jen and Joan had already been alerted — on a signal from Jack they would hit the ‘Bridge Closed’ signs which stopped traffic half a mile away and sent it round the village on a diversion: thus clearing the way for a high speed police convoy.

This operation was near military.

Magnusson would be plucked from his boat before most of the Regatta crowd knew the police had even turned up.

If everything went to plan …

But now — planning done, just waiting — Jack started getting nervous.

*

Then — it was time.

From her vantage point on the umpires’ balcony, Sarah watched Magnusson confidently manoeuvre his yellow scull towards the starting line.

Beyond him, downriver, she could see a little flurry of yachts take to the water. She recognised them as
Oppies
— the tiny training boats used by kids to learn to sail.

She remembered — now the adult rowing races were nearly over, Cherringham school was hosting its own competition.

She scanned the crowds — still no sign of her ‘targets’.

With the race about to start, she couldn’t wait — she was going to have to text Alan to start the raid.

But then her phone bleeped.

A text — from Alan. ‘House secure. Result. On way.’

They hadn’t waited …

She looked down at Magnusson, sitting coolly in his scull, waiting for his opponent to come up to the line beside him.

As she watched he reached down and took a phone out from under his seat. His phone must have bleeped too.

She could see he was reading. A message? An email? He looked up alarmed — clearly checking the riverbank, the crowds.

Someone’s warned him,
thought Sarah.
Damn …

She saw him check downriver — as if looking for an escape route.

But the Oppies — twenty of them now at least — were blocking the way. She knew he could never row through those — and he would know it too.

The only way out for him was to head upstream towards Cherringham Bridge — the full length of the course.

He didn’t wait.

She watched as he took off like a bullet upstream.

His boat, and the oars carving into the water, made no sound. But all around Sarah could hear shouts of alarm and surprise.

And down on the riverbank, stewards began to wave flags furiously.

Sarah heard her father’s voice over the tannoy: “False start! False start!”

But only she and Magnusson knew this
wasn’t
a false start. It was a getaway.

The ViaVita boss was already thirty yards upstream and still accelerating.

There was no time to text Jack. She had to do something.

She spotted Carl among his pals in the crowd below, looking up at her quizzically.

And suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do
…

*

When Jack got Sarah’s text he already knew something had gone wrong. On the deck of the Brunhilde everyone had heard the repeated klaxons from the starter and the warnings over the race tannoy.

And down at the finish line, by the bridge, he could see frantic conversations going on as stewards puttered back and forth in a boat conferring with crew on the riverbank.

He and all of Pat’s ‘gang’ had rushed to the rail to try and get a glimpse of events downriver.

But nothing prepared him for what he saw next.

First — Magnusson’s scull, slicing through the water in front of them, approaching the finish line at an amazing pace.

And amazingly, not a single scull alongside or even within fifty yards.

Instead — a hundred yards downstream but gaining fast — a coxless four, containing four burly guys in white singlets, arms and legs pumping, their scull clearly in pursuit.

“Bloody hell,” said Pat. “Look at that! It’s the army!”

“They look jolly fit,” said Fran, staring at the boats as they drew near.

“Blimey,” said another voice. “They’ve gone right through the finish line.”

“They’re not stopping,” said someone else.

Jack was already moving.

This was no race.

And yet — it was.

“Mind if I borrow your boat Pat?” he said, heading for the gangplank. He didn’t wait for an answer, but raced to the rear of the Brunhilde where Pat’s tender was bobbing alongside.

As he reached it he looked across the water: Magnusson was just passing, heading for the central arch of Cherringham Bridge.

Just seconds later he saw the Army Four fly past fast on Magnusson’s heels.

Jack dropped the outboard into the water, tweaked the choke and pulled the starter rope.

The engine burbled, hesitated. Another pull — and it started. He cast off, rammed the engine into gear, twisted the throttle, spun the boat round hard and headed upstream.

At full throttle he powered under Cherringham Bridge leaving a wake behind him that would certainly rock all the other boats.

But this was no time for obeying speed limits.

He could see the two sculls a couple of hundred yards ahead, almost level now with the Grey Goose.

As he raced towards them he saw that the Army boat had drawn level with their prey — and then with a flurry of blades the two craft came together.

Magnusson seemed to jump — or maybe he fell. Jack saw him disappear under the water.

As the four pulled alongside the empty single scull, one of the soldiers dived in.

Jack arced to a stop next to the drifting boats and killed the outboard just as Magnusson burst to the surface of the water in the arms of the rescuing soldier.

And what happened next so surprised Jack … just when he thought these days nothing could surprise him.

The soldier held Magnusson firmly above the water with one hand, then raised his other fist and punched the Swede hard in the face.

“That’s for Donna,” he said.

He punched him again.

“Bastard!”

And much as Jack was happy for the unknown avenger to carry on punching, he knew he couldn’t allow it to continue.

“Whoa! Hang on. That’s enough!” he shouted.

He paddled the little tender round to the side of the sculls and with the help of the other soldiers dragged the two men out of the water.

Soon Magnusson lay moaning in the well of Pat’s boat, blood streaming from his nose.

“My nose … it’s broken,” said Magnusson with a groan.

“Yep,” said Jack. “Looked to me like you hit it on the side when you jumped.”

He grinned at the soldier who now sat facing him in the boat, singlet and shorts dripping, his feet on Magnusson’s back: “Nice to meet you,” he said to the soldier. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Carl,” said the other.

Jack offered his hand — and the burly soldier shook it.

“Job done, eh?” he said, grinning.

“Job done indeed,” said Jack.

And Jack fired up the outboard and headed for the bank. Down on Cherringham Bridge he could see the flashing blue lights of police cars arriving.

Even if things hadn’t gone quite as planned, there’d been the undoubted bonus of seeing Magnusson hammered.

Some surprises are good.

And though regular justice would take its course for sure, sometimes it was the irregular kind that gave the most satisfaction
…

Jack flipped the burgers on the barbecue and shuffled the chicken wings away from the direct heat.

“You sure you guys are going to be able to eat all this?” he said.

The look of amazement on the four soldiers’ faces was all the answer he needed.

“Should be okay for us, Jack,” said Carl, reaching down for another beer from the bag which dangled in the water off the side of the Goose. “But what are
they
going to be eating?”

He gestured to the deck of the boat where Sarah, Donna and the other wives and girlfriends of the Army team were sitting at Jack’s garden table laughing and drinking wine.

Jack laughed.

Being with the soldiers reminded him of squad days back in New York. Lot of laughter, ribbing, joking.

And often evenings like this where the guys would huddle round the barbecue and the wives would sit on the deck as the sun went down, the darkness of ‘the job’, the world of NYPD receding.

If only for a bit.

Until later, when they all kinda rearranged themselves again into couples
…

It had been Sarah’s idea to get Carl and Donna over to celebrate the arrest of Magnusson and his cronies. And Jack’s idea to invite the rest of the crew too.

Without the help of the Army team, Magnusson might have got away with it.

The police had picked up Viola Kent just a mile upstream, where she’d been waiting, engine running, to spirit her lover away.

Thanks to Carl and the guys of course — he never made it.

Kent and Magnusson both were now in custody awaiting trial on a whole series of drugs charges and fraud. And ViaVita’s assets were frozen while the company was investigated.

The drug dealers though had disappeared back to London — but enough pharmaceuticals had been found in Magnusson’s house to put the whole gang away for years.

And Sarah’s father had been full of praise for the way they’d manage to ‘clean up the village’ while not disturbing the Regatta, save for a bit of commotion at the end. But, as Michael said,
“Some people thought the whole thing was part of the show … Brilliant!”

Jack reached for his beer and took a swig.

Maybe now’s the time,
he thought.

He looked across at Sarah and waited until she caught his eye. He gave her a nod, and she excused herself from the table and came down the gangplank to join him.

“You want me to take over?” she said, smiling.

This part of the plan was definitely going to go right,
he thought.

“Why yes,” he said, nodding, smiling. “Thank you Sarah.”

He turned to the guys: “There’s a little something I need to say to Carl here, fellas. So if you don’t mind — maybe you can keep Sarah entertained? Carl — you got a minute?”

“Sure, Jack.”

He beckoned to Carl who looked surprised but followed him as he headed away from the Grey Goose upstream along the river bank.

“What’s the problem?” said Carl.

“No problem,” said Jack.

They walked together in silence, past the last of the moored barges until they reached a small copse by the side of the river which pushed the path a few yards away from the water.

Jack checked that nobody was looking, then motioned to Carl to follow him into the copse. Two or three paces took them to the water’s edge.

Yep, still here,
thought Jack.

Tied up at the bank was the surprise he’d prepared for Carl, covered in an old green tarpaulin.

Jack leaned down, untied the tarpaulin and peeled it back.

To reveal Magnusson’s bright yellow scull.

“Whoa,” said Carl, crouching down to check out the boat.

“Neat, huh?” said Jack.

“I thought it broke up and sank.”

“Yep,” said Jack. “According to all the witness statements, that is exactly what happened.”

“Worth a small fortune you know,” said Carl, running his hand along the frame. “It’s state of the art — Olympic standard.”

“A few thousand pounds, that’s for sure,” said Jack.

Carl stood up: “So what are you going to do with it?”

“No, Carl,” said Jack. “Question is — what are
you
going to do with it?”

“I don’t understand
…
”

“Sarah and I talked this through. It’s going to be a couple of years before ViaVita’s unravelled — maybe even longer before compensation is paid out. But you and Donna need cash now. No?”

Jack watched Carl taking all this in. He nodded.

“So here we are. Just you and me. And a boat that no longer exists. You know what I suggest?”

“Go on
…
”

“Tomorrow morning early, you come up here, you untie the boat and you row downstream. There’s a little boatyard in Oxford I know — Walkers. Guy who sold me the Goose. And he’s got an empty storage space and an ad all ready to go on Ebay for a high-spec yellow scull
…
”

“Just like this one?”

“You’re catching on quick, Carl,” said Jack. “Just like this one. Course, he’ll take a small commission. But he tells me you’ll clear a nice sum.”

“Right. Wow, certainly enough to get Donna out of trouble, that’s for sure.”

“Exactly.”

Jack kneeled down and tied the tarpaulin over the scull again.

“Now there is just one more little secret
…
” he said.

“You’re an interesting guy, Jack.”

Jack stood up and grinned.

“Hey thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He headed out through the copse and back onto the path.

“Well what is it?” said Carl as he joined him. “What’s the secret?”

Jack looked upstream to the line of barges in the setting sun. On the deck of the Grey Goose he could just see his guests all standing together now, chatting, drinking, laughing.

Music drifted towards them across the water — Van Morrison — one of his all-time favourites.

“I’ve got five rib-eyes back in the fridge that can’t wait to jump on that barbecue. And a half-bottle of thirty-year-old Lagavulin from a new friend that’s been waiting for an occasion just like this to finish.”

“So what are we waiting for?” said Carl.

And Jack put his arm over Carl’s shoulder and the two of them walked back down the riverbank to join the party.

END