‘My God! What were you thinking?’
‘It was a well baited, well timed, trap. One that SWERVE just couldn’t ignore.’
‘But the risk.’
‘There was that, but they took the bait and forced their way into the building the night before the conference.’
‘Did you say all?’
‘Absolutely all, Sir. Our surveillance team accounted for all their Agents and Superiors, plus support staff; drivers cleaners etc.’
‘That’s really hard to believe, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Sir. I agree. But you see, their plan was to sort through all our papers; with their senior staff deciding what they needed, then ensuring it was immediately photo-copied and returned back to its correct position.’
‘You mean, so there would be no trace they had ever been in?’
‘Right. None at all. Meanwhile, we were having a slap up dinner, handing out annual awards and toasting your good health. You know, the regular sort of thing.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Oh, yes. I’m afraid your beautiful country residence blew up suddenly, about 5:00 am. Just as the SWERVE Boss was telling them what a great job they had done.’
‘No.’
‘Oh, yes. A nice, well controlled, explosion, the fastest way to destroy things we don’t want the world to know about. But of course you knew all about that, right?’
‘But, but what about my... my country mansion?’
‘Ah. Sorry about that, Sir. It was absolutely flattened! But all the paperwork’s destroyed and we knocked off everyone in there. The lot of them. There’s not one SWERVE member, Superior, Agent or support staff member left anywhere in the country.’
‘It was reported, of course, as one of those really nasty gas leaks, you know how the story goes.’
‘Yes, I know the story.’
‘So, I take it my temporary duty has come to an end, Sir?’
‘You bloody betcha!’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘Get out. Get out. Out! Out!’
CHAPTER 4
ALL AT SEA
‘Should we really have so much water slopping about in the bottom of the boat, George?’
‘It’s bilge water, Beth. That’s what it’s called.’
‘Yes dear, but should there be so much of it?’
‘Hmmm, maybe not.’
George wasn’t at all happy about the amount of bilge water. He’d kept an eye on it and was more than a little concerned about the way it seemed to be increasing in volume; but he hadn’t wanted to say anything for fear he might alarm Beth. They had gone down to Pakefield for the weekend with no intention of having anything to do with boats. But in The Jolly Sailor’s pub at Pakefield, they had met up with some old childhood friends of Beth’s. One of whom was a kindly old sailor who had offered, in fact insisted, they use his boat for ‘a spot of fishing’ the next day.
That Beth had somewhat embroidered the truth a little in the telling of their life story, their experience with boats and their love of fishing, might well have had something to do with that. Now they found themselves all at sea with no idea of how things worked aboard the boat, or where to go, or what to expect. As was now becoming painfully obvious, they had no idea of what to do if things went wrong.
‘Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure your old mate wouldn’t send a close friend out to sea in an unsafe boat.’
‘He’s not a close friend.’
‘What? But I thought.’
‘Oh, no. No, I used to know his first wife many years ago. I think he’s been married twice since then. At least I know she has.’
‘So… we know nothing about him, he knows nothing about us… and we know nothing about small boats. What did you actually tell him?’
‘I told him you’d been sailing here there and everywhere dear, for close on twenty years.’
‘Did you tell him it was all done deep down in the bowels of huge ships like oil tankers?’
‘He didn’t ask, darling.’
‘No? Well that doesn’t change the fact we don’t know what we’re doing, or where we are going.’
‘Don’t be silly! Things aren’t that bad, are they?’
‘Well, just a bit.’
Beth put down her knitting and said, ‘Come on, George. When in trouble, the first thing one must do is fully assess the situation, isn’t that so?’
‘Right. Right, it’s quite simple really.’
‘Oh, good!’
‘I’m pointing the boat this way. The tide is running that way and the tide appears to be winning.’
‘Why is that darling?’
‘I think it’s got something to do with the motor not running.’
‘Oh, I hadn’t noticed that! But we won’t panic, will we? Any other problems, dear?’
‘Only one.’
‘Good, what is it?’
‘We’ve lost sight of land.’
‘Oh, no! I thought you were going to keep an eye on Pakefield Cliffs, or Pakefield Church.’
‘I was. I was.’
‘What happened?’
‘One minute they were there and the next, they had both gone! Simple as that.’
‘Well the good news, darling, is that the tide will turn. Then it will take us back in, won’t it?’
‘When will that be, Beth? Do you know?’
‘I don’t know when, dear. But it changes twice a day, so it can’t be more than twelve hours, can it?’
‘It will be dark before then.’
‘Oh.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, Beth. I should never have agreed to this trip. I’ve put you in danger.’
‘Don’t worry, dear. You’re no Captain Cook for sure, but you’re a sweet man who’s looked after me very well all these years. I’m sure you’ll get us home safely. You always do.’
George was not so sure. The boat was beginning to pitch and roll now, as it got farther and farther out into the big swell. He was beginning to think their only hope of salvation rested on the premise of a chance meeting with some other vessel, that could render them some assistance and save the day.
‘What about life-saving gear, George? Do we have any?’ Beth queried.
‘Oh yes, of course,’ said George, excitedly jumping down into the cabin and rummaging through the lockers.
‘Here, grab this,’ he said, tossing Beth a life jacket. He quickly found another and put it on.
‘I think you’ve got yours on back to front,’ Beth giggled. ‘You never did have any dress sense.’
‘Good job I’ve got you, then,’ he said, taking off the life jacket and starting over again.
‘That’s better,’ Beth reassured him. ‘Now you’re properly dressed, you can go back down there and see what other goodies are in that box.’
‘I’ll go ‘below’, Beth and look in the ‘locker’, affirmed George, in his best nautical style.’
‘Yes, that too!’ Beth added.
George soon returned, brandishing something in his hand.
‘Oh, what on earth is that, dear?’
‘I think it’s a flare gun.’
‘A gun? Don’t point it at me!’ Beth protested fearfully, jumping to her feet.
‘Sorry. Ahhh…’ as George hurriedly shied away from Beth he accidentally struck his right wrist hard against the top of the cabin. The flare gun went off, flew out of his hand and dropped into the sea with hardly a splash, while the fiercely bright, hissing, fuming flare hit the outer cabin wall and dropped down on the deck. George, alarmed and fearful of the danger of fire at sea, instinctively bent down and grabbed the flare with his left hand and tossed it over the side. He watched it disappear quickly. Only then did he suffer the pain and recognise the awful smell of burning flesh!
‘Oh, George!’ Beth hurried to him. ‘Let me look at your poor hand,’ Beth suggested in a comforting tone. She got him down into the cabin, took his burnt hand in hers and bound it tenderly with h
er chiffon scarf. ‘Now, that’s better, you poor thing. What a dreadful day!’ Beth managed to find some Aspirins in her handbag and made him take some. ‘Now stay here and have a rest! I’ll keep a look out.’
‘Thank you, dear.’
‘What else can I do?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing we can do. We’ve got absolutely no control over this rotten boat. We shall just have to go wherever the tide takes us.’
‘Oh, but there must be something, something more we can do? A way of signalling our distress, surely?’
‘With no radio, no flares, no flags there’s nothing we can do. Absolutely nothing. I’m sorry but that’s the way it is! When we see another vessel and we’re bound to see one in this busy channel sometime, we’ll just have to stand up and yell and wave our arms as best we can in the hope of gaining attention, to let them know we are in distress. It won’t be easy. Until then, we’ll have to continue turns at keeping watch and taking turns in getting some rest.’
‘Ah, you see, that’s something, isn’t it? We are actually thinking positive. Well, you continue to rest up, George. I can see you’re very tired. We’ll change over later, alright dear?’
George, his face contorted with pain, agreed. He fell silent, completely dispirited and was soon asleep.
Beth joined him sometime later. They huddled close together for warmth. Beth didn’t have the heart to wake him and she fell asleep too. How long for, she didn’t know. They did not see or hear the Lifeboat approaching.
‘Ahoy there!’
The loudhailer and the brilliant searchlight, welcome as they were, almost frightened the life out of them!
They quickly scrambled up on deck and waved a frenzied welcome. A rope was thrown and George quickly made it fast. They were soon pulled alongside the Lowestoft Lifeboat and two of the crewmen jumped aboard. The first crewman asked them questions and took a quick look at Georges’s injured hands. The second crewman made his way aft and busied himself about the small flagstaff on the stern. When he came forward he quietly breathed, ‘Your distress signal, Madam?’ as he slipped a pair of ladies ‘tights’ or ‘panty hose’ into her hands. A quiet ‘Thanks,’ was all she could manage to say.
They were then transferred to the Lifeboat, where they were given warm clothing and a hot drink with a rum chaser. With their spirits rising and their boat in tow, they were soon heading back to Lowestoft harbour.
‘But I don’t understand how it was you picked up on the fact that we were in trouble?’ George asked the Skipper.
‘Oh well, Sir. It’s not unusual to spot a launch heading out to sea in the fading light, but stern first? Now, that had to catch our eye, right?’ he said, giving Beth a sly wink.
CHAPTER 5
THE CAR PARK
I found visiting Britain after such a long period of absence, was very trying.
So many changes! It would seem that new ribbon developments along the main roads everywhere, were slowly but surely, erasing the very essence of the quiet English countryside one would always dream of when far away from home. The whole country was fast being gobbled up by motorways, roundabouts and fly-overs. I was ill prepared for all these changes and I was beginning to regret my decision to hire a car at Heathrow airport. I had hoped I would enjoy a leisurely drive north to visit family and friends in Lancashire and Yorkshire. What a joke of an idea that was. There was absolutely nothing leisurely about traffic on the M1 on this day of travel for me!
I pulled off the M1 for a comfort stop at one of those huge fast-food places that regularly dominate the highway. After a cup of coffee and a bite to eat I felt a lot better, more confident and once again full of bright new ideas. I would get to my hotel nice and early, have a hot bath, watch a bit of telly, then go down to the restaurant for a good old fashioned English dinner. Well, they seemed like bright ideas at the time.
In the gent’s toilet, while washing my hands, I enquired of a man I thought was maybe a truck driver, just how far I was from Manchester. Oh, he said, just a few miles. Miles? Let me think now, are miles bigger or smaller than kilometres? It doesn’t matter, I thought. It’s only mid-afternoon, though I must say the rain does make it look much later than that. It must be something to do with the low cloud base cutting visibility down like that, to the point where even the odd vehicle here and there were beginning to switch on their headlights. Oh dear, I suppose all those direction signs on the motorway will be even more difficult to read and understand later, especially at high speed and with falling light levels.
Hmmm… I know, I know, I thought, ever the optimist. I’ll get off the highway and take the byway. I should have done that earlier, much earlier. Once I get on the slower main roads I’m bound to recognise a few familiar landmarks. After all, it’s only been what? Thirty, or is it forty odd years… or perhaps a bit more. The towns and villages can’t have changed that much, not in such a short time as that.
Feeling nicely refreshed, I pulled out of the car park and on to what seemed to be a road going north. Unfortunately, it sort of screwed around somewhat and I found myself going south. It could happen to anybody, I guess. I took the first turn-off I came to. It was to the left, which meant I must be going east, right? Wrong! Yes, because the road went up and over the highway and I guess, I must surely now be going west. I looked for any sign of the sun, which I knew was always to the north, right? Ah! No, no, here I must remember it’s to the South, isn’t it? It didn’t matter. There was no sun to be seen. It was as if somebody had switched it off!
Hey! Why are people flashing their lights at me like that, damn it! Oh, oh of course. It really is getting quite dark now and, unbelievably, it was only 3:30 pm! Hmmm, I guess I’d better put my lights on too. Yes, that’s better. Perhaps I’ll see some signs now. Ah! There’s one! Manchester. You little beauty! I’ll take that. I’m
turning right, ok? Yes! That’s north for sure! I couldn’t help breaking into my favourite song, “I’ll do it my… way…”
I drove on happily for the best part of an hour or so, keeping a sharp look out for the bright lights of Manchester or any outer suburbs of the city, any city! Trust me to ask for help from the only truck driver, or lorry driver as they say here; who must have been lost himself! Hah! Him and his “Only a few miles”!
There. Over there, definitely some bright lights. Good-oh! I’ll head that a-way. Wait a minute, where have they gone? Oh damn it! It’s all gone black again!
Ah, I think I must be coming in to the city through one of the outer industrial areas. Yes, yes, that must be it I think. Dear oh dear! Miles and miles, whatever they are, of desolate, boarded up, derelict ex-domestic and
ex-commercial properties. What is going on? Hmmm. Maybe they are doing some kind of major slum clearance around here? Perhaps they’ll build some kind of a swish new housing estate here. Maybe with pubs and clubs and shopping centres? Who knows?
Ah, hah! I was buoyed to see a definite growing aura of light in the distance. As I approached I could see it was nothing flash, just a few shops here and there and a pub! Yes, definitely a pub and another! Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Is this Manchester or Bombay! Everybody and I do mean everybody, appears to be wearing an Indian sort of garb – saris and things, baggy pants and strange headgear. How odd, or should I say quaint? Interesting even? Perhaps they are shooting a movie? Well, well, well. I’m not adverse to the odd curry now and again, anyway, on a night like this. I glanced at my watch. Stupid! It was still set for Brisbane time. I searched my instrument panel for a digital clock somewhere. My God! I don’t believe this, it is now only four o’clock in the afternoon!
I slowed as I spotted what appeared to be a car park, but more likely just an empty block where a building of some sort had been demolished. I looked for and found an empty parking space, right down one end. A bit far now from the shops perhaps, but what the heck! Beggars can’t be
choosers eh? I got out of the car and stretched a bit to loosen up. I looked around and I couldn’t believe what I saw! No more than a few metres farther down the car park back towards the shops, I saw a bearded man, in eastern garb, banging his fists on the roof of a large car; which looked strangely full of something, goods of some sort. Then he got in front of it and began banging on the bonnet. I walked towards him as he continued to circle the car, still banging away, back on the roof again and apparently cursing in some strange language.
‘Hey! Hey!’ I called out to get his attention. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘What, what on earth do you think you are doing?’