No Fifth Horseman

CHAPTER 1: The Hunt Resumes-1

CHAPTER 1: The Hunt Resumes

The hand extended to Marty Rebel bore physical evidence of the miles of rope yarn and steel hawser that had passed through its owner’s grip during the many decades he had spent at war with the elements on his trawler in the North Sea and North Atlantic.

Marty’s hand almost disappeared in the enthusiastic grasp of the older man’s as they stood, eye to eye, and shook on their deal. ‘You know I am determined and I have resources, all of which I am prepared to spend on this mission; and Pelops is a trained killing machine, so I can’t guarantee any of us will come out of this trip in one piece, let alone make anything from it, other than what we are out of pocket.’

The ageing seadog abruptly stopped the handshake. With a sincerity that was confirmed by the unwavering set of his head and the unblinking gaze of his sky-blue eyes he said, ‘I seen Poseidon do his worst an’ still stepped ashore; ain’t no man alive as can scare Ethan J Entwistle. An’ as for payment, he took nowt from the sea as he didn’t have the right to have in his net, nor took nowt he didn’t earn from no man, neither.’ He smothered their linked hands with his free one. ‘I am here, with you, young man, coz it’s some purpose for rollin’ outa me bunk I’m lookin’ fer, not mekkin another pound. Me wallet’s fat enough already to break a man’s foot, thank you!’ He emphasised his thanks with one last, vigorous shake of Marty’s hand.

They released hands and Marty turned to look across the hotel room. He called to one of the two men talking at the bar. ‘Robbo, sorry to disturb you. Three single malts over here, neat and sweet as you please. Sure it’s back to business as usual again we all are, old buddy.’

Colin Robbin put the tray of drinks on the table and handed the other two men a glass. The ex-Detective Chief Superintendent, a free agent, having recently taken early retirement, sat down to join Marty and Ethan. ‘So now you two have decided it’s a go, can we all down this snifter and go and have a look at the cruise ship?’ he said, referring to Ethan’s trawler. ‘I don’t want to put a damper on the occasion, but my impressions of life on board for the redoubtable stars of “The Deadliest Catch” leave me with an urgent need to see just what I am letting myself in for this time.’

‘No need to worry, shipmate, my Adelene, she rides the heavy seas like a trip round the pier, an’ her engines will tow the Rock of Gibraltar back to the UK.’ The seaman chuckled. The sound was warm, a deep, cheery rumbling, his solid frame shook with delight. He put a hand on the shoulder of each man and said, ‘Juss you set me a course, leave me on the wheel, shipmates, an’ you can get on with findin’ an’ catchin’ this Pelops fella you’re after. So c’mon lads, the jetty’s about two miles from here, an’ I reckon thass about one in that great big posh car of yours, Marty, me boy. Let’s move.’

The trio finished their toast and left the lounge bar, Robbin waving a farewell to the lone drinker, unobserved by the others. The man stopped fiddling with his cell phone, nodded and waved back.

With the winter daylight fast fading, Marty nodded to the car park attendant, speared a neatly rolled fiver at the man and manoeuvred his car out of the hotel driveway at speed. The Range Rover’s defrost system hummed industriously in its battle with the freezing air; ice blue headlights cutting into the twilight haze.

The reflection off the windows in the brilliant white superstructure of the bridge of the trawler Adelene, caught in the swathe of the Range Rover’s headlamps as it approached the vessel, created the illusion of a gloomy smile. The boat’s shimmering image emerged in ghostly contrast to the dark backcloth of the harbour water. The weather-worn boards of the deck of the rundown jetty stopped their disturbing creaking as Marty eased the vehicle to a halt abreast of the trawler.

‘Welcome aboard the good ship Adelene, shipmates.’ Ethan spread his arms wide in gesture of warm greeting to his new crew members. He hovered at the shore-side bulwark, watching Marty and Robbin make their way across the small gangplank and jump aboard. ‘You can see that me fishin’ gear is gone; but that ol’ winch there, she just is the most damn useful thing of any of us stood on this deck right now. But, c’mon lads, nuff of me prattle. Let me show both of you the delights below deck.’ He threw the outer securing clasps free, heaved the heavy, watertight door open and beckoned them to follow him into the accommodation.

Robbin was by far the more apprehensive of the two as they surveyed the crew’s tiny mess-come-galley and cramped sleeping quarters.

Marty, on the other hand, had the advantage of his childhood experiences on board a wide variety of seagoing craft belonging to the fishermen colleagues of his late father in Northern Ireland.

Robbin could not hide his uncertainty about his capacity to make the voyage to Africa. ‘How many days do you think this thing is going to take to get to Matadi? Why the hell must we go on a trawler? I still think it will be far easier, certainly safer and much more comfortable to fly.’

Marty, took great care to disguise his annoyance at the questions, said, ‘I guess I didn’t explain so clearly earlier, Robbo. We have to take the Jeep with us. We need transport for supplies and the kind of defensive equipment that’s a must for survival in the Congo region. There will be plenty of hazards on the way to the Karangabe, let alone when we get to confront Pelops and Quesada. We need stuff we’d never find there; even what we could carry we would never get through airport departure or arrivals.

The rousing strains of the American music classic, “Dixie”, spoiled Ethan’s opening to make the retort he was bursting to make in response to Robbin’s unflattering allusion to Adelene in his thoughtless outburst.

‘Sorry, me laddos, that’s mine,’ Marty said.

He flipped his cell phone open and listened to the incoming call; his expression relaxed to a less intense one. ‘It’s Dixie,’ he said to the two eager onlookers. ‘She’s well on her way, hopes to be here with Archie in less than an hour; can’t wait to let go and get this show on the road now.’

He put his attention back to the phone, directing Dixie to the trawler’s location.

Robbin was surprised by that piece of news and was uneasy again.

‘Dixie?’

Robbin’s voice was pitched higher as he struggled to take in the belated snippet of information.

‘You didn’t say Dixie was coming with us on this trip. What if..? okay...’ He hesitated, uneased by the look of annoyance on Marty’s face. ‘Okay, when we locate Quesada and Pelops, always providing they don’t get wind of our objective and locate us first; don’t you think it’d be mad to put Dixie at risk, Marty? Have you forgotten how readily that fiend managed to murder Sir Rupert, then Helen, my own sergeant, Alan Purvis and then DI Ray Jenner? Yeah, I know Archie’s a great guy, but he still holds Andrea’s death against Pelops as much as it was Mainwaring’s doing. So, just maybe, Archie’s in this with some kind of death wish, apart from being just a little bit more than a smidgen past his best to consider even making the voyage with us. Such a treacherous trek into equatorial Africa after this guy and his druggy mate just ain’t gonna be no package safari holiday.’

Ethan jumped into the conjecture. ‘There’s nowt but grey in what’s left of the hair on me head, lad, but if you are thinkin’ me an’ my Adelene here..., he glared at Robbin, putting great emphasis on the name of his beloved trawler. ‘If you think we gonna take you to Matadi an’ then me just sit an’ twiddle me thumbs in the stinkin’ heat of the River Congo, you can think on, me lad. This ACM fella sounds ok to me, a real gutsy old-timer, what I heard of him from Marty so far; an’ this gal, Dixie, well there ain’t never been nowt so welcome as a woman’s touch in the galley.’

‘Hey, calm down, both of you, we’ve got a hell of a long way to go together, so let’s all remember that.’ Marty said. He addressed Robbin, eye to eye. ‘If you can fly the helicopter organised by Domino for our use down there, sure, I’ll gladly tell Archie he’s excused boots on this one, Robbo. And as for the galley, me laddos, at the risk of being hit over the head with a frying pan for making such a chauvinist assumption, I’m sure Dixie will be the most willing of any of us to do a stint at the stove.’

More contemplative and more than a little abashed, Robbin said, ‘I’m sorry, Ethan, I …’

The seaman held his hand up in a gesture of peace, leathery palm open, ‘Think nowt of it, Robbo, it’s just that my Adelene, she’s all I got in this world now, an’ if I don’t stick up for the ol’ girl I sure can’t expect her to look after me. All I know is, you give her a chance, shipmate, an’ you’ll grow to love her afore we get across Biscay.’

The seaman slapped Robbin on the shoulder, coughed in embarrassment at his emotional outpouring. ‘Right, lads, let’s go up an’ sort out some current African coastal charts off the ol’ magic box up there. I gotta make sure I can get the okay to navigate the Congo without being hogtied by too much red tape, shipmates.’

Marty said, ‘First I just want to be sure your cargo space is adequate, Ethan. Just need to be certain you have got room for the Humvee we’re taking on the mission.’

*

Dixie Montcliffe, clad in stretch jeans, a thick scarf almost covering her mouth and cocooned in a padded parka, leaned on the frost-covered bulwark of the Adelene’s tiny bridge deck, overlooking the jetty and the foredeck.

Early morning preparations for the voyage ahead were in progress below. Ethan was happy as the proverbial sandboy, operating the winch heaving provisions and equipment and supplies aboard. He was aided by Marty in the stowage hold, with Robbin and ACM Edgar Thompson harnessing each consignment of the varied cargo.

Dixie shouted down to the busy gang of crusaders, ‘I’m waiting for you guys to get that stock of groceries aboard. This is one morning that won’t be complete without a bellyful of bacon and eggs,’ her voice barely audible above the hum of the auxiliary power unit and winch. ‘Sooner the perishables are in the fridge the better; and I presume we’re eating before we leave for distant parts?’

Robbin scrambled amongst the collection of crates on the jetty. ‘Found it – I think,’ he shouted back. ‘We’ll send the fresh stuff up next. Make my eggs easy over, on well crisped bacon, and don’t forget the hash brown, Dixie.’

Dixie laughed, waved cheerily and turned to make her way down to the foredeck. Her course changed when she noticed a car parked opposite the trawler’s redundant jetty on the quay the other side of the harbour inlet. She looked around the bridge navigation desk, gave an almost inaudible grunt of satisfaction as she picked up a pair of binoculars. Edging stealthily to the window, a quick look made it clear nobody was in the Mercedes, or any sign of exhaust gases billowing into the frosty air. She could not get a view of the registration number plate due to the position of the car.

The reporter panned the surrounding area, her attention caught by something in the cabin of the dockyard crane some yards from the vehicle. There, surveying the activity on the Adelene in exactly the same manner, was the indistinct outline of a tall, burly figure.

‘My god, surely it’s not him, it can’t be…’ Dixie muttered under her breath, trying to get the image into a better focus on the binoculars. She strained every eye muscle to determine a more positive recognition of the figure, jerking back as the unidentified observer swung his interest towards the bridge window, as though aware of Dixie.

The man had what looked like a rifle in his arms.

She jumped back, alarmed, but still thinking clearly. ‘Hell, what would I give right now for my bloody camera,’ she murmured.

Carefully easing back and sidling away from the window, she dashed across the bridge and out of the door. She nearly fell down the companionway in her haste to inform her colleagues.