The smell of fish and fuel oil greeted Jake as he stepped over the rail and boarded the trawler. The wooden deck was littered with fishing nets, lobster pots, hanks of rope and floats fixed to long pieces of wood. The five of them stood self-consciously on the deck with suitcases and sports-bags piled next to them.
The crewman with the lank hair was looking at them curiously but, apart from Gold Tooth, the only other person visible was a man in the wheelhouse wearing a peaked cap. That must be Captain Carlo Montaldi, Jake thought, recalling the name he had overheard earlier.
The wheelhouse was a boxy wooden structure near the stern with large windows on the front and sides. Narrow strips of deck extended from the stern each side of the wheelhouse and opened out into the large expanse of open deck on which they were standing.
There was no sign of Scorpion; with luck he was sleeping soundly in a cabin somewhere below. The people who had been shuttled out on the RIB earlier were also nowhere to be seen.
The captain reached up and flicked a switch. The floodlights on the wheelhouse roof and the mast went out, leaving only a few bulkhead lights on at deck level. Perhaps Captain Montaldi was still anxious about the coast guard patrol.
Greasy Hair had been giving them his full attention, staring in frank disbelief. It looked as though he was about to raise the alarm when his mate shouted at him from a doorway near the bow. Greasy Hair grunted and, with a final suspicious scowl, pointed towards the door. They obediently made their way forward, each carrying a piece of a stranger’s luggage.
Jake deliberately hung back next to a bulkhead light as the others went past. Ruby gave him a weak smile, Sam looked relaxed, Liv was obviously anxious, and Doug winked at him.
‘I’ll phone Jenny as soon as I can,’ he whispered and Liv managed a smile too.
The sports bag he was carrying had a name neatly stencilled in white lettering: Fawzi Mohammed. There was no way he looked like someone with a name like that. Greasy Hair was deeply suspicious but Jake reckoned he was unlikely to notice such a detail. If they got through this, there would soon be other things to worry about, such as how to deal with the situation when they arrived at Syntagma.
They picked their way carefully around nets and coils of rope towards the bow where a door was set into a steel bulkhead. Gold Tooth removed a spar of wood securing the door and pulled it open. He shone a torch through the doorway, revealing a steep companionway leading down into the hold.
‘Come,’ he said, pointing downwards.
But a face appeared, blinking in the torchlight. It was the big man in corduroy trousers and knitted sweater who Jake had seen earlier. He climbed up, holding the handrail carefully. Despite the two crewmen shouting at him in what Jake guessed was Italian, he continued climbing up resolutely and stepped out onto the deck.
He spoke loudly and gesticulated with his hands. They couldn’t understand what he said, but the meaning was clear enough; he held his nose and fanned his face. Another man had followed him, and another until there was a small group of them on the deck in a semi-circle around the crewmen. A pungent smell of fish wafted out of the open door.
Gold Tooth looked towards the wheelhouse, and everyone on deck turned to see what the captain would do. He stared back at them defiantly but after half a minute gave an elaborate shrug of his shoulders and finally a thumbs-up sign, like Caesar deciding the fate of a gladiator.
‘Okay,’ the crewman said in a stage whisper. ‘You stay deck but you quiet.’
‘Okay, okay,’ the big man replied in a similar whisper and called down into the hold.
Soon all sixteen people who Jake had seen earlier emerged. Some sat down on the fish traps and coils of rope that littered the deck while others stood at the rail, obviously grateful to be out in the fresh air. He looked at them curiously. There were kids at his school from all over the world and he was able to recognise different nationalities. This group was a mixture of Africans and Arabs. Some, if not all, of those left behind had understood the Arabic that Doug had spoken.
This activity had taken the attention away from the newcomers. They sat down quietly, trying to be unobtrusive and Jake hoped that Greasy Hair would forget his suspicions.
The bulkhead lights were switched off plunging them into almost total darkness with the small navigation lights on the mast and wheelhouse casting hardly any light at deck level. There was a vibration and a low throbbing as the trawler’s big diesel engine was started.
‘We’re moving,’ Ruby whispered after a few moments as a light breeze touched their faces.
‘Yeah,’ Doug agreed, triumphantly. ‘We’ve done it!’
‘I honestly thought that guy was going to dob us in,’ Liv whispered.
If there was going to be a problem, surely they would have been confronted already.
‘Back in a minute,’ Jake told them and eased across to the starboard side of the boat, bumping into some obstacles and a person lying down on a fishing net. The lights of a town showed in the distance and he reckoned that it must be Kassiopi on the north-east corner of the island. He leant against the cold steel of the superstructure and watched the distant lights. He judged that the trawler was heading south towards the strait between the island and the Albanian coast. Syntagma must be somewhere on the east coast of Corfu he supposed. He looked around furtively but the two crewmen were not in sight and he slipped the mobile phone out of his pocket and turned it on.
He wondered if it had got wet when he was hanging onto the side of the RIB and whether it would still work. But the screen glowed in the darkness and, yes, there was a signal, which was quite strong. He keyed in the number for Thunder Bay and waited impatiently while it connected. But a low bleep told him that it was engaged.
Yes, tonight had gone brilliantly so far. He now needed to make contact with Jenny and report where they were. Surely then the police would alert the coast guard who would be able to track the trawler and intercept it when they arrived at Syntagma.
It was flat calm and they were making good speed, the sea gurgling peacefully along the side of the little ship. Most passengers had lain down to try to get some rest while others were clustered in small groups, chatting quietly. It was a warm night and the breeze from the movement of the trawler was welcome.
He waited a few minutes before getting his mobile out again and pressing redial. It rang this time and Jenny answered.
Jake sensed the person next to him and smelt his body odour a moment before a hand closed round his wrist in a steely grip. Garlic-laden breath washed over him as he heard Jenny’s distant voice say, ‘Thunder Bay…’ The mobile was pulled out of his hand and a guttural voice told him simply, ‘Not allow.’
Jake struggled but the man was heavily built. He realised that it was Greasy Hair when he called out and Gold Tooth appeared almost at once. It was pointless to resist and he let them take him by the arm and march him along the deck to the wheelhouse. One of them opened the door and he climbed the three steps and was pushed inside. Greasy Hair tossed the mobile phone onto a chart table and exchanged gruff words with the captain in what Jake recognised was Italian.
‘You no pilgrim,’ the captain said by way of a greeting.
Jake simply returned the stare. What could he say? Besides, he was trying to work out the options. The captain, a short middle-aged man with a pinched, weather-beaten face under a jaunty naval cap looked at him appraisingly but Jake was taking in the interior of the wheelhouse. Even in the subdued lighting it was obvious that this was a basic working ship, with simple fittings and a spoked wheel set into a pale green control console. There was a door in the centre of the back wall and he imagined the crew’s quarters were back there. That must be where Scorpion was sleeping.
The steps up from the deck resulted in a surprisingly good view out. It was inky black ahead of the ship but he supposed the captain relied on the small radar screen mounted on the console. Among the gauges and dials a vase of brightly coloured plastic flowers provided incongruous decoration. His mobile phone lay accusingly on the wooden chart table in the back corner. The two crewmen stood just inside the doorway while the captain nonchalantly held the wheel with one hand while staring him up and down. Jake knew he was running out of options; he couldn’t get past the crewmen but even if he could, there was nowhere to run to.
‘Warren is not feeling well. I’m Warren’s friend,’ he said at last. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
‘Friend?’ the captain asked, looking disbelieving.
‘Yeah, I was just phoning him to tell him all was okay.’
The captain just stared at him.
‘You are Captain Carlo Montaldi,’ Jake went on as casually as he could.
The captain grunted and visibly relaxed but continued to scowl at him, his oversized black eyebrows drawn together under the naval cap. Jake knew he needed to appear confident if he was to bluff his way through this. He spoke in simple words he hoped would be understood.
‘Warren told me Scorpion will be sleeping so I must tell you new plan.’
‘Yes, Scorpion sleep,’ the captain agreed. So far so good.
‘The new plan is when we get to Syntagma, you drop me with the food.’
The captain looked surprised.
‘New plan,’ Jake went on. ‘Because Warren sick.’
The captain clicked his tongue and looked at his large steel wristwatch. ‘I saw him two hour ago and he not sick. And why only four peoples with you? They say eight peoples.’ He was clearly unconvinced.
‘Others also sick. Bad food at monastery,’ Jake explained on the spur of the moment.
The captain again clicked his tongue, whether in disbelief or annoyance Jake couldn’t tell. He turned to a radio transceiver mounted on the wall of the wheelhouse and flicked a switch, bringing the set into life.
‘Warren, Warren, Warren, come in,’ he spoke into a hand-held microphone. There was nothing but a low buzz from the radio and the captain sighed and tried again.
Jake held his breath, but looked calmly through the side window. He could feel the captain’s eyes on his back. On deck someone lit a cigarette and the lighter flared briefly in the darkness. Groups of people were visible in the light spilling from the wheelhouse. The Thunder Bay group sat together and Jake could sense from the way they were sitting and talking that they had seen him being frog-marched away.
He could also see the reflection of the captain behind him. He eventually shrugged his shoulders and spoke rapidly to Gold Tooth. Jake jumped when he heard the name ‘Scorpion’.
The crewman put his hands together and rested them against the side of his head in the classic ‘sleeping’ gesture.
The captain looked quizzically at Jake, who put his fingers to his lips and said, ‘Shhh.’
The captain grinned unexpectedly. ‘You know Scorpion very well, I see,’ he said and his round stomach shook with laughter.
He turned back to the wheel and shrugged again, before pushing back his cap with long thin fingers and scratching his head. ‘What can I do? If Warren say you take the food, no problem. Food is here.’ He aimed a kick at a large white and red cool box under the chart table.
Jake let out his breath slowly and quietly. Please let his luck hold out!
‘But cell phone, not allow,’ the captain said and picked up the mobile and put it into his pocket. ‘Not even for Warren friend,’ he added without the flicker of a smile.
He pulled his cap back to its proper place and spoke rapidly to the two crewmen. Greasy Hair went out on deck and Gold Tooth vanished through the door at the back of the wheelhouse.
Jake stood quietly in the corner, unsure whether to go back on deck or to stay where he was. He would have liked to ask the Captain where Syntagma was and if he knew about his sister. But he didn’t want to push his luck and further conversation might raise the captain’s suspicions again.
Gold Tooth brought them both mugs of sweet coffee. The trawler was making smooth progress and the captain watched the compass in its binnacle and the small radar screen mounted next to it as he sipped the hot drink.
The silence in the small wheelhouse was palpable and Jake tried to think of a topic of conversation. ‘How long to Syntagma?’ was all he came up with.
‘Maybe one hour,’ was the terse reply.
‘Do you like football?’ Jake tried again a few minutes later.
‘No, no football.’ He responded without taking his eyes from the windscreen, although Jake noticed the captain watching him in the reflection. ‘I like to fish.’
A trawler man whose hobby is fishing; that was rather sad.
Doug, Sam, Ruby and Liv had detached themselves from the other passengers and were leaning against the ship’s rail looking over the side. Now and again one of them would look towards the wheelhouse and Jake wished he could confer with them and plan what to do.
But he couldn’t really plan ahead as he had no idea what awaited them. And he felt he couldn’t go and talk to the others without the captain becoming even more suspicious. He wasn’t at all sure that his flimsy story had been accepted, but at least with every minute that passed they were getting closer to Syntagma. So he stood there quietly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
Half an hour or so passed and he was brought another cup of coffee. The coast of Corfu was slipping by on the starboard side as the trawler made its way almost due south. Greasy Hair came inside and the captain chatted to him in Italian. Jake was happy to be ignored.
Eventually the captain looked at his watch and said, ‘Now we wake up Scorpion.’
Jake’s heart sank. ‘No need,’ he blurted out. ‘I take the food.’
The captain looked at him with a faint smile. ‘No, must wake him up. Scorpion leave the boat at Syntagma,’ he replied. He said something to Greasy Hair, who went out through the door at the back of the wheelhouse.
‘I thought he was going to Italy,’ Jake said weakly.
‘No,’ the captain said smugly. ‘He tell Warren he go Italia, but he tell me he get off at Syntagma.’
Jake stared unseeingly out of the window. What on earth was going on? It didn’t make sense. But worse, Scorpion would appear at any moment and he would be in deep trouble. What could he do? Greasy Hair came back into the wheelhouse and said something to the captain. It would not be long now.
‘Where is toilet?’ Jake asked. That would at least give him a few minutes to think of something.
The captain smiled his half-smile again. ‘We have one toilet,’ he said. ‘Scorpion is in it right now.’
‘I’ll go outside then,’ Jake replied and opened the wheelhouse door and shot outside before they could think of stopping him.
Doug and Sam came up to him at once. ‘You okay?’ Sam asked.
Jake led them along to the foredeck. ‘They caught me using my mobile before I could speak to Jenny,’ he told them. ‘Now they are waking up Scorpion. Guys, we’re in trouble!’
They looked up at the wheelhouse. Greasy Hair was at the wheel now and behind him they could see the burly figure of Scorpion. The captain was waving his arms and talking while Scorpion was listening.
‘Gee, what are we going to do?’ Sam asked.
‘The only chance is for one of us to hide somewhere. When we get to Syntagma, get ashore and raise the alarm,’ Jake said. ‘It can’t be me, they know me now. One of you do it.’
‘Let’s both hide,’ Doug suggested.
‘No,’ Jake said firmly. ‘Only one. They might do a headcount and two will be missed, but we might get away with one.’
They looked up and Scorpion was staring at them from the wheelhouse. Suddenly the bulkhead lights came on around the ship. The wheelhouse door was wrenched open and Scorpion climbed down onto the deck.
‘Come ‘ere,’ he shouted. Several passengers looked up, startled by the lights and the sudden commotion.
‘Hellfire, that’s wrecked that plan,’ Jake remarked in a low voice as Scorpion walked purposefully towards them.
‘Can we tackle him?’ Doug asked.
‘No way,’ Jake replied. ‘There are four of them anyway.’
But Sam stepped forward. ‘You talking to me?’ he asked.
Scorpion stopped. ‘You the one who had the cell phone?’ The menace in his voice was obvious and several passengers got to their feet and moved away. They couldn’t understand what was going on, but there was clearly an ugly confrontation developing and they didn’t want to be involved.
‘That was me,’ Jake said, putting up his hand, trying to defuse the tension.
‘You leave him alone,’ Sam said forcefully.
‘Go, Sam,’ Doug said quietly.
‘Oh, yeah?’ Scorpion asked, amusement in his voice. He hadn’t approached them and was still five metres away on the side deck as he took a small tin box out of the pocket of his khaki shirt. He continued to stare malevolently at Sam while deftly removing a small dart from the tin. It reminded Jake of a tiny injection syringe, but his eye was held by the vivid scorpion tattoo on the back of the man’s hand. Taki was right; it was huge.
He dropped the dart into a length of rigid plastic tubing that he pulled from his trousers’ pocket, his movements quick and practiced. This preparation had taken only seconds and Jake watched in puzzled amazement as he put the end of the tube to his lips.
Scorpion coughed and Sam grunted in surprise and fell back.
‘What is it?’ Doug asked in alarm, a hand on his shoulder.
Sam wrenched the tiny dart from his shirt and held it in the palm of his hand, his eyes wide with shock and fear. They looked at the tiny glass and metal object in disbelief.
‘It’s a poisoned dart,’ Sam croaked, his hand shaking, before he flung it away over the side of the trawler.
They looked at Scorpion, who was smiling at them through his bushy beard.
Sam’s knees gave way and, before the others could catch him, he sprawled full length onto the wooden deck.
