He was slumped in a sitting position against the bulkhead. I carefully moved over broken glass and splintered timbers towards the helm.
Reaching up I fumbled around for the switch to activate the autopilot.
“I think I’ve taken a hit in my shoulder, sir.”
He’d gone a ghastly shade of grey, and there was blood covering his right arm. I crawled over and took a quick look. Satisfied that it was a clean shoulder wound, I took off my shirt, ripped off a sleeve and used it as a tourniquet. “You’re lucky, Rumple, the bullet seems to have gone right through; you sit here and don’t move. Miss Price will look after you. Charlie, take over the helm and steer us back over the dive site, I’m pretty sure those goons will follow us. I’m going forward to even up the odds. When I give you the signal, detonate the explosives.” He nodded his understanding.
The small dart-like craft turned as I was making my way to the forward rack. The crack of their machine pistols sounded from not too far away, bullets whizzing overhead, the occasional thud as one slammed into the fibreglass structure. Lying face down, I struggled with the forward hatch shackle, but eventually managed to pull out what I’d had Rumple so carefully stow on board for me. The latest toy that the MOD had to offer, on loan courtesy of a favour I had called in. The KZL300 laser is capable of blasting a hole right through a tank at a mile.
Charlie was taking us back towards the dive site. As we passed over the Gin Fizz, I brought my arm up and down again. The next second, the explosion could be heard as the other boat came up fast behind us; the upward pressure plumed seawater high in to the air.
After two seconds, full power was indicated on the laser’s display. I locked the sight on to the small boat as they came around from swerving to avoid the great wall of water that had suddenly appeared in front of them. I squeezed the trigger very gently; the tiny craft burst in to a fireball as the beam hit them square amidships. There was no sound and nothing visual to warn them of what was coming.
“Inspiring!” I whispered to myself.
Our attackers, who ever they were, had died instantly. The heat generated by the laser canon and the explosion from their fuel tank that ensued had been so intense that there was nothing left on the surface. Charlie circled the area a couple of times, but there was nothing to retrieve.
“That was awesome! What the hell is it, and why is it on this boat?”
Charlie asked, his voice a little shaky. He knew my fixation with gadgets and that I had a contact at the Army’s Establishment for Weapons development in Surrey.
“Um, was rather effective wasn’t it,” I said with a smirk. “This Charlie, is the little toy I was telling you about, I asked LJ to phone a friend of mine and ask if I could borrow it for the assignment; never thought we would be able to, not in a million years. I wanted it because it’s as good underwater as it is on the surface. So that if there had been large rocks to shift out of the way down there, or blow a hole to gain access, this little beauty would have made light work for us.”
In silence we cruised back towards Sandbanks and the rented house.
We arrived back at around six thirty. Mrs Rumple had been informed by radio that her sewing expertise was going to be required again the minute we docked. In her usual expedient manner and without fuss this was taken care of.
We decided to leave the waxy opium packages hidden on board the phantom for the night, but to take everything else up to the house. We secured all hatches and double locked the boathouse doors. Everyone except Rumple and Mrs Rumple would take turns in doing a guard duty, just in case any other unwanted visitors called.
As usual LJ was already at his desk. I’d no doubt that he was already savouring a cup of piping hot black coffee to kick-start his metabolism for the day. I sat in front of the laptop using the built in camera and secure line video link.
“Good morning Jake, I hope you slept well after yesterday’s activities.”
“Can we cut the crap, please? We were ambushed; it’s as simple as that.”
“There is no other way of looking at it. Whoever those goons were, they had known exactly where we would be and I suspect what goodies we had just loaded on board. It could only be our client or this chap in Bournemouth, Flackyard.”
“OK, old son, you may be right — but please calm down, — I’ve made a number of phone calls, Hawkworth categorically refutes any suggestion that the opium found on board the Gin Fizz was being trafficked for him. It’s far more likely that this Robert Flackyard is behind the drugs, and that those three you sent to the bottom of the English Channel worked for him. Special Branch has confirmed that he is the subject of an ongoing investigation with regard to his various activities both here in the UK and abroad. Further more, Jake, please remember that had it been a team of let’s say, five, instructed by our client, you would all be lying on slabs in a mortuary.”
“Great, so we have a Cabinet Minister who has jumped into bed with a gangster instead. Who also has an appetite for dealing drugs and killing people? But where does that leave us, and where do we go from here?”
“Look, the first thing to do is for all of you to sit tight. I will arrange for the items retrieved from the safe, to be brought back to London, then the Partners can arrange the hand-over to their rightful owners. A dispatch rider will collect them this morning. Your code name will be used as the greeting.”
“Understood?” I nodded at the screen.
“Good, because once that is taken care of, I can take my instructions from upstairs so that we can concentrate on the more important matters such as the Italian Generals and their Sicilian project. In the meantime, see what else you can find out locally about this chap Flackyard. If you turn up anything interesting, call me immediately, at any time of the day or night, you’ve got my London home number.”
He broke the link and the screen went blank. At breakfast, I filled the others in on the conversation I had with LJ. I gave everyone something to do for the day ahead; the Rumples were to stay at the house to keep an eye on things. Fiona Price looked as if she was staying in Dorset and looked as if she were more than capable of visiting some of Flackyard’s clubs and wine bars.
“Try and find out as much about his organisation as possible,” I said, but please try to be discreet. Remember there’s an active investigation on this character and his many activities.”
Fiona assured me that discretion was her middle name, and that she didn’t know I cared so much.
Around 11.30 am Charlie and I decided to take a look at the local ‘in’ place, a modern café bar by the water’s edge. Highly polished chrome tables and chairs lined the marble frontage and overhead large billowy canvas blinds let shaded sunlight filter through, creating a relaxed atmosphere where life passes by and time stands still. We took a table overlooking the Bay. A waitress came over and took our drinks order. Charlie instantly struck up a rapport with the talkative girl, asking her if it were possible to have a chat with the owner. I noticed someone walking up the road from the direction of the beach. He was a muscular figure, perhaps a little overweight. His dark hair was cropped close to his skull and his chest featured more hair than his head.
A small crucifix dangled from a fine chain around his neck. He wore a baggy pair of swimming shorts and carried a towel, which he rubbed against his head as he walked. It was only the towel and shorts that marked him as a visitor, for as he approached us an attractive tanned woman came from behind the bar and waved enthusiastically at him.
He shouted, “Is that an English rose I see there?” In response the woman wrinkled her nose and pouted her mouth. As they met he kissed her on both cheeks and gave her a friendly hug. “God, you look good today, Georgina. How do you keep so young and vibrant, working this bar of yours morning, noon and night?” The woman ignored this compliment and guided the big American inside. I could see from where I was sitting, that she was whispering to him conspiratorially, flicking her eyes in our direction a number of times during their conversation. Five minutes later he came over and introduced himself.