Last Out From Roaring Water Bay (47 page)

I called over to Shamus. “Stay where you are old buddy. I think we’re the proud owners of a magnetically attached car bomb.”

Shamus cowered even deeper. “A bomb, yer say?”

“Well I assume it’s a bomb because I didn’t put it there and it would explain why the sniper didn’t hang about. I think the intention was to pin us down long enough for the sneaky bastard to attach this and put the blame on Irish terrorists.”

“We’d best get clear of the wretched thing before we’re blown to smithereens, Shacks sir.”

“What! And leave my beautiful car to be fragmented across Ireland. Never! It’s only a small bomb. It’s a simple device. If I keep these two magnetic contacts together and pull vigorously, like this!”

I stood up and waved the device in the air so Shamus could see I had it safely in my hands. “You can come out now, Shamus.”

“Now what are yer supposing to do with that, Shacks sir?”

“Well I’m hardly going to be calling the bomb squad at this time of the day.”

I walked carefully across the car-park, so as not to trip up accidentally and blow us to kingdom come. I climbed over the fence and across the grassland until I considered it was a safe place to propel the device, which I did, as far as I could throw it. I didn’t hang around for the inevitable explosion as the device sailed through the air. I made a run for it as fast as I could back towards the relative safety of the Roadster. The bomb exploded behind me numbing my hearing, a shower of rock and soil debris splattering across my back; a little too close for comfort.

Shamus was furious and jumped to his feet. “What in the name of Jesus possessed yer to do that?”

“Because I want the saboteur to presume that their dastardly deed was an instant success, that’s why, Shamus. Hopefully I’ve convinced a few people that I’m either badly injured or quite dead. Now hurry up and get into the Roadster. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Were going after him?”

“We’re going to follow him.”

Inside the car I fumbled into my pocket for the piece of paper I’d written on earlier, and added the name of a place I’d noticed on the drive to Mizen Head. I gave Shamus the piece of paper to scrutinize while I set the Roadster in hot pursuit.

“It be a telephone number and a message, Shacks sir.”

“How observant you are Shamus. When I drop you off at Baltimore, ring that number straight away. And when she answers and you hear the sweetest voice you’ve ever heard over a telephone, don’t hang about telling her so. Tell her that Shackleton Speed said she has to start proceedings straight away without a moment to loose and relay to her the information I’ve written down on that paper you now hold. Is that clear?”

“What’s going on, Shacks sir?”

“Stop asking questions and just do as I tell you.”

“What’s stopping you from ringing the number, Shacks sir?”

“I’ve a ship to catch before she disappears on the evening tide.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“I’m boarding the
Flying Fish
tonight.”

Shamus looked horrified. “Alone?”

“I haven’t exactly got a commando team behind me.”

“That’s plain stupid if yer don’t mind me saying so?”

“Have you a better idea?”

“I’ll board her with yer, Shacks sir. We’ve come this far together.”

“No,” I snapped, “Too frigging dangerous. Just ring that number, do you hear? That’s far more important. And tell her to arrange the rendezvous at that place on the note, urgently. Tell her it’s a matter of life or death and I’m in the middle. You got that?”

Shamus read the details. “I know that place well. Why there, Shacks sir?”

“Because, Shamus, that’s where I predict all this shambles finally ends, one way or the other. You just don’t let me down.”

I dropped Shamus off at a safe place, a pub he frequented quite often, rather than risk him returning to his home. He wasn’t too pleased that I’d left him behind when there was a battle to be fought. I didn’t care. He was safe and that was all that mattered. While I continued my journey back to Baltimore hopefully Shamus will have begun to make important telephone calls to influential people.

Once on the outskirts of Baltimore I parked the Roadster out of sight and waited until the night was pitch black before I made my move back to the harbour. I kept a low profile as I moved along the quay, using as much cover as possible. That’s when I saw the motorised inflatable dingy tied up between two large cruisers. What made it appeal to me was the
Flying Fish
logo in small white stencil on one side. I was on the verge of moving towards the dingy when I heard a slapping sound that had me looking sideways into the shadows. I crouched low and moved into deeper shadow for cover. I waited, listening hard. I heard the same sound again. This time I searched for its source. I spotted who I thought was a crewman from the
Flying Fish
sitting on a wooden crate and tapping a knife blade against his thigh out of boredom. I could only assume the dingy was the intended ride back to the ship for Love and Hate, once they’d disposed of Shamus and me.

Slowly, ever so quietly, I edged around and came in behind where he sat. The sole of my left boot caught a piece of discarded rope, which I retrieved from the ground, held it either end and moved closer to the unsuspecting crewman.

I lashed the rope around his neck and yanked him to his feet, twisted my body and threw him, judo style, over my shoulder. He hit the ground heavily. His feeble moan proved I hadn’t snapped his neck with my actions. To silence him fully I instantly followed with a savage kick to his rising jawbone. I didn’t like the horrible crunch I heard but then I didn’t particularly like the crewman. I left him where he lay. I hardly thought it mattered whether I’d hurt him badly or not just as long as he stayed out for the count.

I clambered down into the dingy, kicked a blanket to one side, and uncovered a snipers rifle. I mumbled,
Got you fuck face!
Referring to the crewman I’d just clobbered and then realizing I might have made a huge gaff. I frantically scanned the quay expecting trouble. What I’d not considered was the crewman I’d knocked out cold wasn’t waiting for Love or Hate because he’d already witnessed their execution. He was waiting for someone else. I snatched up the rifle in readiness, peering through the pitch black with the expectancy of an attack. Seconds turned into minutes and nothing happened. I eased off the rifle’s trigger and slipped the crafts mooring rope from the jetty, started the outboard engine and steered the dingy towards the
Flying Fish
anchored out in the harbour. While I steered I kept the rifle handy, glancing back now and again to check if anything was happening on the quay; there was nothing I needed to worry over and I could now concentrate solely on what lay ahead.

On nearing the
Flying Fish
I veered the dingy to one side and approached in a generous arc, mainly to establish if any watchmen were present on deck. It all seemed quiet and then again what had they on board the ship to fear about? All terminations were in progress or completed. They would have thought they were in the clear, all ends neatly tied. I steered the craft towards the boarding ladder with renewed confidence, switched off the engines and cruised in toward the ship using the strong current. After tying the boat to the foot of the boarding ladder I replaced the rifle in my hand with the gun I had retrieved from Hate; it was lighter, more comfortable and quicker to swing round in the dark. I climbed the steel gangway warily, my eyes meeting every moving shadow in anticipation of an expected fight.

I reached the deck unchallenged. There was only partial illumination from bulkhead lighting and I saw no signs of life. The boat creaked as it rocked gently on the waves. The creaking would disguise my footsteps as I tiptoed along the deck but I soon halted when I got a whiff of cigarette smoke.

I froze mid-step and eased into some shadow while I listened. I could hear the smoker suck hard and deep on a cigarette, the exhaled offensive smoke clouding the night air and revealing the smokers position between two mounds of tarpaulin. Inch by inch I crept forward. Now I could distinctly hear the rattled breathing of a heavy weed user. Then the red burning stub ejected from the gap and the person moved forward into a beautifully timed right hook that I executed with power. The smoker’s head twisted violently, a splash of blood spurting from split lips. He went down in a clump and when I checked him over he was out cold, wheezing heavily.

I popped my head from between the cargo to check if my actions had attracted others. It hadn’t. I dragged the smokers outstretched legs back with his knees in the air so anybody passing the gap wouldn’t notice him slacking on the job. If he had held a gun of any description with him I never saw it. I slipped out from the gap and kept tight against the bulkhead and made my way to the angle of light protruding from a steel doorway. I listened while I peered through the crack in the door. It was clear. I moved inside, pointing the gun forward and ready to fire if necessary. There was a companionway that led below. I crept down into the belly of the ship, glad of the cushioned soles of my boots on the steel treads. I stopped at the bottom and looked down the length of the passageway. I could hear voices coming from the opening at the far end. It seemed the obvious route for me to take which I did, carefully and alert.

When I’d reached the end I listened at the half opened door to the voices talking conversely. I immediately recognized the two voices I heard from inside the room. I angered, gripping the hand gun tight in my hand. Enough was enough and with the gun extended I pushed the door open and went inside.

There was a big man with ginger hair who had his back to me and was in the motion of sitting down comfortably in an appealing leather armed chair, holding a large brandy glass. I’d expected to find a few surprises waiting for me, but when I saw her sitting in a chair with a smug expression I was so frigging mad that I could have shot her there and then.

“Now isn’t this all very sweet and cosy.” I said, with rightful sarcasm. “I wondered how long it would take for all the creeps to show their true colours: red for danger and yellow for cowardice. I bet you weren’t expecting me, Commander Harris Morgan or you, Shayna. Why am I not surprised that you’re all here chasing Deveron’s dreams. I only hope you’re not celebrating too early.”

Morgan’s head spun round and he jumped up from his chair all in one movement, spilling brandy down the front of his jacket. “Shackleton Speed. Damn you!”

“Don’t even think of twitching an eyebrow Morgan! That includes you, Shayna.”

Shayna expressed sheer horror. “It’s not what it seems.” She blurted. “I’ve nothing to do with this.”

I wasn’t falling for her shit and made it clear to her I wasn’t. “Shut the fuck up, Shayna! I hold the gun so I get the deciding vote on who to trust. I’ll get to you after I’ve finish with frigging arse bandit here.”

“My, my, Speed, such vulgarity is uncalled. I would have expected a little more decorum with a lady present and something better than ‘arse bandit’.”

“Somehow it suits you.”

Morgan incensed me when he raised his glass and toasted me. “I have to admire you, Speed. You’ve been a wonderful adversary and have caused me undeniable trouble. You certainly know how to make a nuisance of yourself. Why can’t you die gracefully and quietly? It’s very upsetting when my plans go wrong.”

“I’m in the business to annoy authority, but in your case I’m making this personal. Besides, it would have been damned right rude of me to vacate this lifetime without saying goodbye to my commissioning employer and friends who happen to be a bunch of conniving, murdering rats.”

Morgan protested his innocence. “You’re forgetting one important factor if you’re thinking of calling the police, Speed. I haven’t personally killed anyone.”

“And that makes everything right?”

“It happens to be true.”

I pulled a face of disgust. “You make me puke, you frigging parasite. You don’t have to pull the trigger to issue orders.”

“I’m not a murderer. I manipulate people, as I did with you, Mister bumbling amateur. I threw you goodies to pursue. Gave you space to search for the submarine, and then reeled you back in when the time was right. You were perfect. It’s your nature to find things, and admittedly, you’re damned good at finding the impossible; a magnificent bloodhound. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me in finding the Japanese submarine.”

“I found a graveyard, only you weren’t in it.”

Morgan smiled. “You are the hilarious comedian, Speed. But I suggest you don’t consider it as an alternative career or else you’ll always be a poor loser.”

“This gun I’m pointing at your gut puts me closer to the finish line.”

Morgan seemed confident that I was talking shit. And I should have been concerned as to why Morgan’s eyes kept flicking behind me and then to my chest. I said, “If you’re expecting either of your overpaid assassins, Love or Hate, forget it! The blood on my clothing isn’t my blood. It belongs to Hate. As you can see by my presence, he isn’t coming back. And I wouldn’t wait up for Love either. I took care of those two squealing bastards. You know the two. The same ones you were going to put behind bars with a little persuasion from my testimony. That was your intention when we first met. But, of course, that was the manipulating crap swirling around in your head, wasn’t it. How things have changed. Here I am holding the gun. And you’re in serious danger of dying where you stand.”

“You’re a real eager beaver, Speed, but a fool.”

“I guess this means I’m not going to get paid for my services to the ministry?”

“You’re attempting to be the comedian again, Speed. Yet I suppose you are entitled to that rare privilege of humour. Who am I to argue, you’re the
man holding the gun.
”

“I want some straight answers from you, Morgan.”

“Why don’t you put the gun down, Speed? Good god man, your hands trembling so much you’ll probably wouldn’t be able to fire the wretched thing. Have a drink! We can talk, come to some arrangement.”