Smoking Gun (Adam Cartwright Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

If I wanted to intercept the drifting vessel I would have to turn back and swim away from land. If the vessel was ‘Irish Mist’, as seemed to be likely, then I had swum too far inshore. If I had been able to do so, I would have kicked myself. But now was not the time for self-recrimination, I needed to focus on intercepting the drifting yacht.

This time I swam for about five minutes before rechecking the location of the vessel. Every time that I stopped swimming to check its position I lost swimming time and made the interception more difficult. Finally after about fifteen minutes I could readily see the top of the yacht’s mast without having to stop swimming. My spirits lifted as I decided that it was definitely ‘Irish Mist’. But then disappointment set in when I realised that it was drifting faster than I could swim. The tidal current combined with the rising breeze could well be my downfall, if I missed intercepting the yacht as it drifted past I would not be able to catch up with it.

Also due to the extra effort that I was now having to make, my already slim hopes of being able to turn back towards land and making the coast if I missed making the interception would be even slimmer.

I was still about a hundred metres from ‘Irish Mist’ when I realised that the moment of truth had arrived. The yacht was closer to the optimum interception point than I was and was definitely drifting faster than I could swim. My situation seemed to be hopeless until I realised that the tidal current must also be carrying me northwards as well. With that encouraging thought I put on a final spurt and made it to the side of the yacht.

Luckily the mainsheet had been detached from the winch and was hanging overboard, trailing in the yacht’s wake. I grasped the rope and wound it around my left forearm so that I could regain my breath.

Against all the odds I had found ‘Irish Mist’. Now I had to get on board and that was not going to be easy. ‘Irish Mist’ was a high sided thirty two foot long, thirty year old fibreglass cruising yacht. I was exhausted, too weak to reach up almost four feet to grasp a stanchion and drag myself aboard. It took several minutes for me to work out what to do.

While being held against the side of the yacht by the mainsheet wound around my forearm I tied a larger loop in the end of the sheet. I then tied another large loop a metre or so from the end loop. I then swung the end loop up and around to catch around the winch. My first attempt was hopeless, my arms and shoulders were tired and I lacked the necessary co-ordination. I then rested for a few minutes and tried again. And again. I finally made it, after at least a dozen attempts. I then put my feet inside the bottom loop, grasped the sheet near the winch and tried to stand supported by the bottom loop.

Eventually I succeeded. I was standing with my feet in the bottom loop about a foot or so below the surface of the water. My chest was level with the deck. With a final heave I dragged my body into the cockpit underneath the safety lines and collapsed onto one of the cockpit seats absolutely exhausted.

For some obscure reason I checked my watch. It was almost six fifteen. My final thought before lapsing into unconsciousness was that I had just experienced the most challenging five hours of my life and that, somehow, I was still alive albeit in desperate need of sleep.

***

Sleep I got. It was more than three hours before I awoke. I was clad solely in my briefs. My shirt, singlet and socks had been jettisoned along with my shoes, jacket and trousers soon after I had begun the long swim. Luckily the cockpit was in the shade of the cabin otherwise I might have got a serious dose of sunburn even though it was still fairly early in the morning.

When I awoke I was momentarily surprised to find myself stretched out on a cockpit seat. It was not that unusual for me to sleep in the cockpit but never just clad in my underpants. The previous night’s activities seemed to have been a dream until I became fully aware of my surroundings. The yacht was adrift and the mainsail flapping in a desultory fashion. The early onshore breeze usually experienced at sunrise had died away. The end of the mainsheet was tied in a loop and hanging loosely overboard from the starboard winch.

No. It had not been a dream.

I stood and stretched. The sleep, short as it had been, seemed to have allowed my arms and shoulders to recover sufficiently to be usable again. But I had not escaped totally unscathed. When I looked down at the source of an ache in my side I saw a spectacular, large black/blue bruise had formed. I gingerly felt the bruised area and breathed in and out deeply. I was in luck. Sore as it was, there appeared to be no damage to the ribs. I glanced around the horizon. No boats or ships were to be seen and the coastline was still distant.

My first constructive actions were to make things shipshape. I untied the loops in the mainsheet, dropped and secured the mainsail, and furled the headsail. Glancing into the cabin as I entered through the hatch, I was surprised to see my wallet and cell phone on a shelf above the chart table. Until then I had given no thought to either item. I had assumed that they had gone down with my jacket. For a moment I was deeply puzzled until I realized that my assailants probably wanted to make it seem that I had been on board. Like most weekend sailors I always removed my wallet, cell phone and small change from my pockets while on board. The obvious assumption would have been that I had fallen overboard and been lost at sea. In such a situation, items like a wallet and cell phone would be expected to be found on board.

But, whatever their intentions, my assailants had done me a favour and I was grateful for the thoroughness of their planning.

Last night I had been trying to avoid the question of whom my assailants were and why I had been attacked. This morning I was faced with an even more immediate question. What do I do now?

The obvious answer would be for me to report the events to the police. But, should I do that? Would they believe me? My story sounded like some sort of alcohol fuelled fantasy. If I heard the story from anyone else I would doubt it. I had no idea of who had attacked me or why they had done so. The police would probably assume that having had a beer too many I had fallen overboard and had a hard time getting back on board.

My instinct was to not report the incident to the police. At least, not yet. The very first thing was to have breakfast and a coffee. Looking around I noticed my boat bag lying on a seat by the table. I picked it up. It was unzipped and I could see that the provisions that I purchased the previous evening were no longer there. Opening the boat fridge I discovered that the perishable items had been placed there. The cans of soup and other non-perishable items had been packed away in the food locker. As I rechecked the cabin I noticed for the first time that the keys to the hatch and the motor were on the shelf alongside my wallet and cell phone. Those items had also been removed from my boat bag.

I sat back on the seat and pondered the situation. I had been knocked out by a blow to the back of my head and administered chloroform to keep me unconscious. My assailants had then found the hatch keys in my boat bag and planted my wallet and cell phone on board. They had even packed away my food supplies. They had set the scene perfectly. Their only mistake was to fail to give me enough chloroform to keep me unconscious. There was no doubt that I had dodged a bullet with my name on it. I pursed my lips wryly and shook my head thinking that my assailants had been good at their job, but thankfully not perfect.

***

After starting the engine and checking the horizon for other boats, I set the autohelm to take me back to Cairns before going below to prepare breakfast. Later, sitting in the cockpit consuming my cereal and toast and washing it down with strong black coffee, I made a decision, I would not report the attempt on my life to the police. But doing nothing was not an option.

Intuition told me that I needed to know why I was attacked. If I knew the reason then I would have a better chance of discovering who was responsible.

But the reverse was also true. If I knew who my attackers were then I would have a better chance of discovering why I was attacked. It seemed to be a classic Catch 22 situation until I was struck by a thought. Just how surprised would my attackers be if they saw me walking around and going about my business as usual on Monday. Perhaps they would be surprised enough to give themselves away. But that would depend on me getting ‘Irish Mist’ back into the marina in Cairns without being noticed by my enemies. And not being seen around town over the weekend.

An alternative would be to pick up a mooring at Port Douglas and lie low there until Monday. I did consider this option for a few minutes but eventually decided to return to Cairns and hope that I was not noticed. But instead of spending the rest of Saturday and Sunday in Cairns I decided to fly down to Sydney. Having made the decision I checked the GPS. I was over thirty kilometres from Cairns. Even allowing for the helpful tide it would take me five hours motoring to get back to the marina. That indicated an ETA of about two thirty. Reaching down through the hatch into the cabin I grabbed my cell phone from the shelf above the chart table and turned it on. As soon as it was powered up I selected and clicked the number flagged ‘Brian Clements’. Moments later Brian answered. “Adam, hi. Good to hear from you.” Then without waiting for me to reply he said, “Man. Do I have news for you.”

I laughed. “Don’t tell me you have met the perfect woman.” I paused for a moment before adding. “Again.”

Brian snorted. “Well may you scoff. But this time perfect is an understatement. By the way, when are you coming down to Sydney? I want you to meet her. After all you’ll be best man at our wedding.”

Brian and I had been friends since primary school in country New South Wales. Our hometown, Wellington, was some 350 kilometres north east of Sydney, four and a half hours drive away. We had attended Sydney University together. He had studied Computer Science and was now working as a contract computer programmer.

Not only had we been close friends since childhood but we were now neighbours in an apartment building in North Sydney. We had each bought adjacent two-bedroom apartments off-the-plan three years ago. Mine had been rented out for the past year while I was working in Queensland. Brian managed the letting and maintenance for me and, whenever I was in Sydney, I’d stay in his spare bedroom.

His boisterous nature could initially deceive others that he was not the smart, business-oriented individual that he was. He and I often joked about his constant search for the perfect woman. That being so I wondered if this was just another of his wind-ups. Even so his news made me forget the reason for calling him in the first place. “Are you serious? I remember you telling me that you had met someone pretty special a couple of months ago. Is it the same person?”

Brian laughed. “Of course. Her name is Kate. Kate Moore. Anyway, when can you come down and meet her?”

I hesitated. “Today. I can catch the Qantas flight at five to four this afternoon and arrive at Sydney airport at ten to eight this evening.” I knew the Saturday and Sunday flight schedules south from Cairns without having to check. “Brian. I’d love to meet Kate but the reason for my call was to see you. I have something that I need to talk to you about.”

He was immediately serious and solicitous. “Sure Adam. What’s the problem? You know that if there is something that I can do for you that you just have to ask.”

“Thanks. Brace yourself. The fact is that someone has tried to kill me.”

“Bloody hell!” His voice boomed out of my cell phone. “Are you okay? What did the police say?”

“I’m fine. But I haven’t told the police and don’t intend to. Not yet at least.”

“Why not?” Brian demanded.

“It’s complicated. That is why I want to talk to you. I’ll explain when I see you.”

He gave a slight chuckle. “It wasn’t a jealous husband, was it?”

I smiled and decided to keep it light. “I don’t think so. At least I hope not.”

Brian laughed loudly. “As if. Don’t forget just who you are talking to. I know you too well.” He then hesitated before continuing. “Kate and I were planning to have dinner this evening at her apartment. I’ll pick you up at the airport and bring you back here. You’ll have dinner with us.”

“Congratulations. I know that you will have made an excellent choice of a life partner. But in regard to the dinner invitation, thanks but no thanks….”

Brian interrupted. “Adam, I will not take no for an answer. I only popped the question last night. Kate and I are leaving in a few minutes to go shopping for a ring. Tonight is a special occasion for us. It’ll be a sort of engagement party, just the three of us.”

I acceded. “Thanks Brian, I’d really like to be there.” I laughed and added. “Even if it is just to warn Kate that it’s not too late to back out.”

“Good. You and Kate should get on well together. You both have a lot in common.”

I was puzzled and probably sounded it. “Lot in common? What do you mean?”

Brian laughed. “You both like living in your apartment. Kate is your tenant. My next door neighbour.”

I exploded with laughter. “Brian, you old dog. The poor girl. She didn’t have a chance with you dropping in to borrow a cup of sugar or whatever every hour or so.”

“Hey, I need every break that I can get. Anyway, I’ll see you at the airport around eight tonight.”

I terminated the call laughing. For a few minutes I had forgotten the predicament that I was in. Last night’s attack was not something that I could simply laugh off and forget. As I thought about it I started to feel nervous. There were forces at play that I did not understand and did not know how to respond to. Talking to Brian was the best first step that I could think of. Hopefully it might help me to develop a plan of action.

During the next five hours I motored steadily towards Cairns. The sea was calm and the breeze light. As I got closer I passed quite a few boats on their way out to the Barrier Reef no doubt looking forward to a day’s fishing, snorkelling or scuba diving. Everything was so peaceful and ordinary that the previous night’s events seemed to be a dream rather than a likely ongoing threat to my life.

After I terminated the call to Brian I rang Qantas, booked a flight to Sydney and then packed an overnight bag to take with me. Then, since I needed an activity to ensure that I stayed awake, I got out my laptop and sat in the cockpit with my back to the cabin writing down a detailed account of the events. From time to time I would stand and check that there was no danger of a collision with another vessel. I described everything, starting with me finishing work at the project site and driving down to Cairns. I included details of my swim and the problems with intercepting the yacht and getting aboard. Finally I summarised my thoughts about what to do next and who might be responsible. When I finished I sat back and read what I had written. After making a few changes I saved the file and was about to put the laptop away when I added a final line of text.

It summarised what I saw to be my possible strategies.

Fight or flight? Attack or defend?

***

Once I reached the shipping channel and began entering the port I switched the autohelm off and took the tiller. As I turned into the marina and approached my pen I studied the jetty and other boats to see if anyone was paying attention to me. Luckily it was as though I was invisible. No one appeared to do more than give a casual glance in my direction.

As soon as ‘Irish Mist’ was tied up and secured, I checked my watch. It was two forty five. I had more than an hour to catch my flight to Sydney. Thinking that it might be better if I left my vehicle in the marina car park I rang a taxi to pick me up at the marina gates. Paranoia had taken over to the extent that I gave the name Smith when I ordered the cab.

On the way to the airport I called in at a McDonald’s drive-through to pick up a couple of Big Macs. I was hungry and my plan was to sleep for most of the three hour flight to Sydney.

***

It was with a strange mixture of feelings that I greeted Brian at Sydney Airport. I was pleased for him and did not want to dampen his high spirits with my problem. I now regretted telling him about the attempt on my life. I was now less confident that involving anyone else, even Brian, was a good idea. It was my problem to deal with. Involving Brian was not fair to him, particularly when he had such a positive event in his life to celebrate.

On the other hand if Brian had found himself in the same predicament and did not turn to me for help I would have been deeply disappointed.

For the first time in our lives there was a degree of awkwardness when we greeted each other. Momentary as it was, we were both aware of the uncertainty about what to say. I broke the ice as we shook hands. “Brian, it’s good to see you again. Congratulations. Tell me all about Kate. We can talk about my stuff later.”