Read Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook Online

Authors: St John Lauren

Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook (21 page)

There was a commotion in the corridor outside and Tariq fell silent. The smell of the cabin - a combination of dried salt, stale sweat and mildew - had got into Laura’s throat. She’d have braved a school of piranhas for a single glass of water. Her skin had stopped burning, but her head throbbed. The voices died down again. The only sounds were the creak of wood and the dull roar of the sea.
‘How are the Mukhtars mixed up in this?’ she asked. ‘Why are they working with the Straight A gang?’
‘The Mukhtars became friendly with the Straight A’s when they were trying to obtain a false passport so I could come to the United Kingdom. That’s what I heard the Monk saying to Mrs Webb after they snatched me yesterday.’
‘Mrs Webb!’ cried Laura. ‘I knew it.’
‘She’s pretty frightening. I don’t know how you lived with her as a housekeeper. Anyhow, I think the reason they started working together is that the Mukhtars are bankrupt. They have big debts because both of them are always shopping and going on holiday. The bank was always sending them red letters saying that they were going to repossess the North Star if they didn’t pay up. I’m guessing that they got talking to the Straight A’s about how they could team up and make a huge amount of money.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I’m not sure, but they’ve been waiting for something big to come from Bangladesh - some massive delivery. Maybe its drugs or guns. The Mukhtars have been talking about it in coded language for weeks. Two days ago, I heard the details I put in the invisible letter: twenty units, Dead Man’s Cove and L.A.T, whatever that means. I thought your uncle might be able to help. Once, I overheard the Mukhtars discussing him, saying he was the most dangerous man in Britain.’
Laura snorted. ‘To criminals maybe.’
‘I figured that out because they said they’d been told that when he was at the top of his game, there was no one in the police force who could touch him. A week ago, I heard Mrs Webb telling the Mukhtars that trying to find information on him was like trying to prise secrets from a sphinx. I was going to warn you about her if I ever got to speak to you. Now it’s too late.’
There were shouts and the thud of boots running on wood. A key rattled in the lock. A wave of pure terror ripped through Laura.
The gaunt kidnapper, who, she was fairly sure, had used chloroform to knock her out, came in. He had white hair, black eyebrows, a slack jaw and the flat, lifeless eyes of a cod. His gaze roamed the cabin restlessly. He’d swapped the Pizza Perfect uniform for a black jacket and dark grey trousers with a sharp crease.
‘Ah, Laura, good to see you’re awake,’ he said in a bright tone that contrasted oddly with his colourless appearance. ‘Wouldn’t want you to sleep through all the action. Regretfully we had to give you a little something to calm you down, but you had the minimum dose and will feel all right in no time.’
‘Who are you?’ demanded Laura, her fear giving way to fury. ‘What do you want from us?’
The cod eyes fixed on her. ‘Rumblefish is my name. As to what we want from you, all will be revealed in good time.’
With a boldness she didn’t feel, Laura said, ‘My uncle is one of the best detectives in the world. When he finds you, you’ll be spending many years in jail reflecting on the massive mistake you’re making keeping Tariq and me hostage.’
Rumblefish raised a black eyebrow. ‘Laura, you are to be applauded for your misplaced faith in
former
Chief Inspector Redfern. Perhaps he failed to mention that the Straight A’s have a reputation for excellence of a different kind. Rest assured that by the time we’ve finished with you and Tariq, you’ll be gone without a trace. Your beloved uncle will not find one hair on your heads if he walks from here to China.’
He kicked open the door. ‘On that cheerful note, shall we go?’
23
‘THIS IS WHAT
you get when you work with amateurs. Incompetence. Delays. Idiocy. What are they waiting for - Christmas?’
The Monk’s dimpled cheeks were pinched in annoyance. He paced briskly up and down the short beach at Dead Man’s Cove, his stocky wrestler frame and brown suit bathed in the silver light of a full moon.
‘Settle down, Monk,’ snapped Rumblefish. He had infrared night-vision goggles to his eyes and was squinting at the ocean. ‘The best laid plans can have unexpected hitches. Mr A might have had some last-minute instructions, or there could have been some unforeseen complications with the delivery. We must be patient a while longer. Remember, this is the first of many such journeys.’
‘It will be the first and last if they take too much longer,’ grumbled the Monk. ‘The tide waits for no man - not even Mr A. We have a minuscule window of opportunity. If we miss it we’ll be dicing with disaster. I’ve never been partial to drowning, myself, have you?’
Huddled together by the wet, seaweed-coated rocks, Laura and Tariq shivered with cold. They’d been drenched as they clambered off the boat in choppy waters, and had been unable to warm themselves because they were still trussed and bound. Hearing the Monk’s words chilled them further, because they now knew the meaning of the acronym, L.A.T. - Lowest Astronomical Tide.
On the journey to the shore, one of the boatmen had explained to the gangsters that a combination of the full moon and extreme weather in the Atlantic had brought about an extra low L.A.T, meaning the tide went out much further than usual. The delivery had been timed to coincide with that.
Nothing more was said, but Laura’s blood ran cold. There could be only one reason to visit Dead Man’s Cove on a night when the tide was at its lowest point of the year and that was to gain access to the old smugglers’ tunnel. Her uncle had told her it was sealed up and impassable, but either the Straight A gang had information he didn’t or they were blundering headlong into catastrophe. Worse still, they planned on dragging her and Tariq with them.
Approaching Dead Man’s Cove from the ocean had been even more heartstopping than gazing down on it from the cliffs above. The sheer walls of black granite towered above the Atlantic like the battlements of some ancient fortress and the waves charged up to the beach like wild white stallions with flying manes. The tunnel was exposed - a black gash in the rock.
As soon as Laura, Tariq, Rumblefish and the Monk were ashore, the powerboat had shut off its lights and zoomed away into the night. Laura’s spirits had plummeted as she watched it go. She and Tariq were quite literally caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Even supposing they were to break their bonds and outrun two hardened criminals, there was no way out of the cove except to scale a sheer cliff face or swim the lethal currents of the Atlantic. Barring a miracle, there was no escape from whatever grim fate awaited them.
Every few minutes Laura craned her neck to look up at the cliff top, willing her uncle to pass by on one of his midnight walks. But, of course, he wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight. It was close to 3am. More than five hours had passed since she’d been abducted by Rumblefish. By now, Calvin Redfern would be going berserk. He’d have seen Tariq’s notes and put two and two together, but without the clues in the invisible letter, they were unlikely to help him.
‘We’re not going to be saved, are we? I’m never going to see my uncle or Skye again,’ she said to Tariq. She wondered if he was as terrified as she was. Although he was shivering and uncomfortable, an inner stillness radiated from him.
‘No one is going to rescue us,’ he said, ‘but we might still save ourselves. We must wait for our chance and have faith.’
He gestured towards the sea with his bound hands. ‘Here comes the delivery.’
Laura followed his gaze. Silhouetted against the moonlit horizon was a cargo ship. Not a single light burned on its decks. It crouched in the darkness like a panther waiting to pounce.
‘The tide is turning, I’m certain of it,’ moaned the Monk, casting a pebble in the direction of the crashing waves. ‘I must say that had I known a burial at sea was on the cards, I’d have come better equipped. With a wetsuit and flippers, not to mention my last will and testament.’
Laura had noticed the same thing. Minute by minute, the sea was creeping nearer to the hungry mouth of the tunnel.
‘Shut up, Monk,’ ordered Rumblefish, taking the night-vision goggles from his eyes. ‘You could make a person nervous with that talk. Anyhow, you need concern yourself no longer. Our passport to riches is on its way.’
Across the sea came the drone of the returning powerboat. The gangsters snapped into action. Rumblefish checked the ropes securing Laura and Tariq’s wrists and the Monk cleared some stray rocks from the landing area. Laura looked at Tariq. They both sensed that their fate was somehow linked with the delivery.
The moon laid a shimmering path across the sea. It was along this path that the powerboat travelled. As it drew nearer, Laura heard something else above the engine’s growl - a kind of keening. It made her hair stand on end.
The boat cut its engines and drifted closer. The keening stopped following a shouted curse. Presently a burly man jumped off and hauled the vessel onto the sand with the help of the two gangsters, turning on a couple of lights while it moored.
‘What took you so long, Joe?’ demanded the Monk. ‘This is not oranges and pears you’ve got here. The tide is turning. Lives are at stake.’
‘You try looking after cargo like this,’ came the grumpy response. ‘It’s like herding cats. We had an overboard situation that had to be contained. Some of the little rascals are dripping, but we got them on the boat in the end. Twenty units safely delivered.’
He waved to a figure up on the deck. ‘Dino, lad, unload them quick as you can. Time is against us.’
The lights went off and Laura made out a series of small shapes moving towards the boat ladder. The first one splashed down into the water with a muffled shriek. Another followed and then another.
Laura’s heart began to race. ‘Children! That’s the delivery - twenty
kids
?
’
As the Monk and Rumblefish herded their cargo up the beach a shaft of moonlight fell on them. The shapes materialised into skinny, coal-haired, brown-limbed boys and girls, some petrified and sobbing, others smiling broadly, all dressed in identical sweatshirts, jeans and trainers.
‘To disguise them and make them look like ordinary kids from regular families,’ Tariq said, his voice shaking with horror. ‘Only they’re slaves, I’m sure of it. Why else would the Mukhtars and the Straight A gang be shipping them here in the dead of night? They’re slaves like me. The smiling ones just don’t know it yet.’
Laura felt numb. She wanted to be shaken awake and told it was only a nightmare. She wanted to believe that there was a wholly innocent reason why twenty children barely in their teens had been deposited on a Cornish beach at 3am, but she already knew that the truth - wherever it lay - was a thousand times worse than she dared imagine.
‘Tariq,’ she whispered, ‘what does this have to do with us? Why have they brought us here?’
Before he could answer, a robed figure loomed out of the darkness like an obese, cartoon monster.
‘Mr Mukhtar!’ cried Laura. She hadn’t noticed him clamber off the boat.
‘Indeed,’ the shopkeeper said grandly. ‘Didn’t I tell you we always got those pesky Marlin in the end? You’re a troublesome girl, Laura Marlin, but you may in the end prove worth it. You’re going to be teaching English to these newly arrived boys and girls.’

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