Fallout (The Nick Sullivan Thrillers Book 1) Page 2

  Like hell he did, Nick thought, but managed the conciliatory smile that was expected. He found himself wondering about these people. The tension flowing between them was palpable.

  “Don’t worry,” he said distractedly, “it’ll be easier to use mine.” He called over his shoulder to Tim asking him to bring over the tool kit, then with one last bemused look around him, hunkered down at the engine and began peering and probing. “What happened exactly?”

  Harris spread his arms in a ‘Don’t-ask-me’ gesture. “No idea. One minute we were ok, and the next minute there was a loud crack and the damn thing stopped turning.”

  Nick cautiously touched the engine. It was still hot. “Have you checked the oil recently?” he asked, hardly able to believe that it could be something so basic.

  The three men exchanged glances. “Um…probably not,” Harris admitted. “Is that the problem?”

  “I’d say so,” Nick said. “The engine’s completely dry. The pistons have seized up.”

  “Can you do anything about it?”

  “Me? No. If it was a newer engine it might have been worth trying to get it repaired, but it’s so old, it’ll probably be cheaper to throw it away and buy another one.”

  Once again the three men exchanged looks. Nick’s sense of unease deepened.

  “Are you sure you can’t do anything?” Harris asked, his smile rigid.

  “Quite sure.”

  Tim joined them on the deck. “We can give you a tow,” he offered, evidently still oblivious to the atmosphere around him.

  “That would be great,” Harris said with apparent relief. “We don’t want you going to any trouble though.”

  “No trouble,” Tim said. He glanced around him with interest. “So what have you been looking for?”

  Harris’s head snapped up. “What?”

  Tim gestured to the air tanks lying on the deck. “I presume you’ve been scuba diving. Have you found anything interesting?”

  Nick noticed the other two men visibly tense. “Oh you know…this and that,” Harris said vaguely.

  “You don’t get much scuba diving around here,” Tim chattered on. “The water’s too murky. A few divers try their luck searching for wrecks, but you have to know what you’re looking for.”

  Harris fixed him with a cold stare. “Really? I wouldn’t know.”

  Tim hesitated as though he had been struck by the incongruity of what Harris had just said. Nick noticed Tim’s confused look, which mirrored his own uneasy thoughts. Why didn’t Harris know? If these men were experienced enough to go scuba diving on their own without the back-up of a club, then they should also know about the best diving sites. He didn’t know whether or not they were experienced scuba divers, but he certainly doubted that they were capable sailors. No tools, not even a basic knowledge of their vessel, and a curious attitude to fellow-mariners offering assistance.

  Nick regarded them each in turn, instinctively feeling that at a later date he might need to recall what they looked like. All three were middle-aged but gave the appearance they could handle themselves. Harris was the tallest of the three, with a long beak-like nose and a bony frame. He returned Nick’s curious stare with eyes that were ice-cold and alert, and Nick shivered involuntarily, recognising a formidable intellect that was both uncompromising and calculating. The second man was brawny and taciturn, and Nick had the uneasy feeling that he could break a person’s neck with a single twist from one of those hands. It was, however, the third man who interested him the most. He was standing to one side, observing but saying nothing. Nick’s gut reaction told him that for all his current silence, this was the one who called the shots. His light brown hair was streaked with grey, and his hazel eyes were boring into Nick with an intensity that was disturbing. It seemed as though an unspoken communication had passed between them, both acknowledging mutual suspicion.

  “Where do you want to be towed back to?” Tim asked, cutting through the silence that had descended. Harris turned to him, momentarily nonplussed. Nick saw that the question had thrown him.

  “Sorry? Oh, anywhere. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you sure?” Nick asked neutrally. “Don’t you want to be towed back to where she’s berthed?”

  Harris turned to him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I told you, we don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “No trouble,” Nick persisted. “Tell us where she’s berthed and we’ll take you there.”

  For the first time, the third man spoke, instantly silencing Harris. “Your offer is very kind but we can’t possibly accept. We’ll be happy to be dropped off at the nearest port.”

  Nick turned to him with interest. “Is that a German accent?”

  The man inclined his head in a gesture of assent.

  “Apart from a couple of skiing holidays in Bavaria, my knowledge of Germany is limited. I can hear you’re not Bavarian though.”

  “Correct.”

  Another silence descended, in which it became obvious that if Nick was hoping for elaboration, he was going to be disappointed.

  “I’ll fetch a rope,” Tim said, looking embarrassed, and quickly disappeared from Nick’s side. Nick gave the three men a half-hearted smile and hurried after him.

  “Bloody hell, Tim!” he hissed into his friend’s ear when they were both back on the cruiser. “What have you got us into? Those three are seriously wrong.” He cast a quick look over his shoulder. “And if that bloke’s name is John Harris, I’m the tooth fairy.”

  “What are you going on about?” Tim sounded surprised.

  “He had to think about his name,” Nick explained. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I suggest we keep going and leave them to it.”

  Tim shot Nick a worried frown. “We can’t do that. We promised.”

  “No, you promised,” Nick corrected him. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “We can’t just leave them,” Tim said unhappily.

  “The fact that this is my boat says that we can,” Nick argued.

  Tim rounded on his friend. “What’s the matter with you? All we’re doing is offering a hand to three blokes with a broken engine. What do you think is going to happen? We’re going to be murdered for your sausage, egg and chips?”

  Nick opened his mouth to argue, but found that he couldn’t. Put like that, Tim was right. He gave a rueful grin. “Yeah, OK, perhaps I’m over-reacting. But I still don’t like the look of them.”

  “You don’t have to like the look of them; we’re towing them back to shore, not moving in with them.” He regarded Nick quizzically. “They’ve really got you bothered, haven’t they?”

  “Well, yeah,” Nick admitted. “What are they doing here? You realised yourself that they’re not your usual scuba diving fanatics, and they know bugger-all about their boat.”

  “True,” Tim conceded, “but that doesn’t mean anything. You know how many idiots rush out and buy boats without the first idea of what to do. If it wasn’t for people like that, the coastguards would be out of business.”

  Nick shook his head. “But idiots like that are usually grateful when mugs like us turn up and rescue them. I feel like a wildebeest who’s just offered to cook dinner for a pride of lions.”

  Tim laughed nervously. “Pack it in, will you? I’ll be getting as paranoid as you are.”

  “Well, they’re certainly hiding something.”

  “How do you make that out?”

  “They didn’t want me to go below deck.”

  “There could be lots of reasons why they don’t want you below deck,” Tim said with exasperation.

  “Such as?”

  Tim shrugged. “I don’t know…perhaps it’s a mess.”

  Nick snorted with derision. “What, like they haven’t changed the potpourri or pumped up the cushions?”

  Tim reached past him for a heavy rope that lay coiled on the deck. “You always resort to sarcasm when you know you’re talking bollocks.”

  Nick gave a grin. “No
w you’re sounding like Esther.”

  Tim’s expression darkened. “Well, maybe you should listen to her sometimes.” He began gathering up the rope. “I suggest that you stay here and plot a course for the nearest port whilst I’m securing their boat, ok?” He didn’t wait for an answer but hurried away, dragging the heavy rope with him.

  Nick watched him go with a confused frown. That was the second time in less than an hour that a frivolous comment had elicited a snappy reaction. He decided he would have it out with Tim later, over a pint of cold beer in the pub.

  The thought of a beer made him remember he was hungry. He looked over to where Tim was throwing across the rope and scrabbling after it. There was plenty of time. He hurried down to the galley, sorted through the fridge for something edible, and emerged triumphant from the chilly depths with a cellophane-wrapped baguette bought the previous day and forgotten. It wasn’t much, but it would do. He sprinted back up the steps, discarding the wrapper as he went, and as his head cleared the top rung he glanced casually over to the stricken boat. The sight that met him stopped him dead in his tracks.

  He froze, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Tim had just finished securing the rope and was in the act of straightening up when the second man stepped up behind him, grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and yanked him to his feet. As Nick watched, his baguette half way to his open mouth, Harris stepped forward. There was a glint of sunlight on steel as he made a slicing motion across the front of Tim’s throat. Nothing happened for two seconds, then blood spurted from the severed artery and gushed across the deck. As the man holding him relinquished his grip, Tim collapsed in a heap, dead.

  From that point on, time seemed to move in slow motion. Nick knew that the seconds were rushing by but he was hardly aware of them. He reeled back down the steps, fell to his hands and knees and crouched there, hyperventilating, as he tried to make sense of what he had seen.

  Tim was dead!

  They had killed Tim!

  He hunched there, shaking with horror as the shock came in waves and rendering him immobile. A thought shot through his befuddled brain, clearing his head like a sluice of icy water. He would be next! He had no idea what was happening; he only knew that these three men would not kill Tim and then allow him to live. He hauled himself to his feet, staggered to the drawer and pulled out a razor-sharp seven-inch kitchen knife. He realised his hands were trembling. Another six seconds had passed. They would be coming for him. Adrenaline took over. He became unnaturally calm.

  Tim was dead!

  He couldn’t think of that now. He pushed the image of blood gushing across the deck to the back of his brain. He would deal with it later. They would be here any second. He moved with speed, looking around him for the life jackets that were stowed under the seat. He grabbed one and took the stairs two at a time. Less than a minute had passed in total, but in this strange slow-moving world it seemed like an hour. He was cool and rational; fear and panic were now suppressed by the need to stay alive.

  As his head cleared the top rung he heard a shout and saw feet running towards him. He reached out and grabbed an ankle, twisting hard. He heard a crack and a yell of pain as his pursuer fell heavily; adrenaline was not just slowing down the world around him, it was giving him strength. He bounded clear of the stairs and met Harris head-on. He punched him full in the face and wheeled around to deal out the same treatment to the German who was racing over towards him. The German stopped dead, eyes locked onto the knife in Nick’s hand, but in the same moment, Nick became aware of movement behind him. He reeled around, just in time to fend off a blow from Harris who was coming up behind him, blood gushing from his nose. In the same moment, Nick saw the second man staggering to his feet and limping towards him. The three men were closing in on him. He was surrounded with no way out.

  With a bellow of rage and fear he ran to the side of the boat, leapt up onto the rail and stood there, silhouetted for a heartbeat against the early evening sun, then plummeted from their sight, gasping with shock as the cold water closed over his head. The impact punched the air from his body but he immediately struck out, away from the boat. His lungs soon began to burn. He had to breathe. He had no choice but to surface but as his head cleared the water he heard shouts and caught a glimpse of three men hanging over the rail pointing in his direction. He sucked air into his lungs and dived again, going down and down, still clutching the life jacket. It was too soon to inflate it. He couldn’t allow himself that luxury until he was safely clear of the boat. He realised that he still had the knife in his hand and slipped it into an inside pocket. If the men came after him, he would use it.

  The need to breathe again became pressing. He reluctantly struck out for the surface and cautiously looked around him. The boat was a long way off. He could just make out the backs of the three men leaning over the rail searching the waters ahead of them. They had lost him! He felt a surge of triumph, but then remembered Tim.

  The triumph evaporated and was replaced by anger and grief. He looked around him but could see nothing but the two boats bobbing together in the distance. The waters around the English coast were normally busy, but evening was approaching and most people had already set off for shore in search of a hot meal and a bed for the night

  He began to tremble violently. He didn’t know whether it was from adrenaline or the cold. He was lucky it was October. If it had been the middle of winter he would be measuring his life in two or three hours at the most. He looked around him, searching desperately for a glimpse of the distant shore, but although the chop was slight, it was enough to obscure his view. Tremors began to wrack his body. He recognised that he was going into shock. He looked to where the two boats rode the waves, still tied together. He could no longer make out the three men on board. A thin mist was descending and he hoped he would be invisible to them. He began to shudder, his teeth chattering, and he felt the strength draining out of him. He shrugged himself clumsily into the life jacket and with fingers that he could no longer feel, pulled the cord.

  As the jacket inflated around him, he turned onto his back scanning the horizon for a friendly ship. The sea had become a lonely endless space. He could just make out the two boats disappearing into the mist but as he watched, the stricken vessel seemed to be riding at a strange angle. He rubbed his eyes and peered again wondering if the cold and stress were playing tricks on his mind, but even as he stared, the disabled boat began to list.

  It was no trick of the mind. The three men had scuttled it, and it was going down fast.

  Dusk descended, and as the cruiser drifted into the gloom Nick felt an overwhelming rush of loneliness. Although the men on board were trying to kill him, they represented other human lives in a large and empty sea. He lay back into the embrace of the life jacket and the image of blood gushing across the deck came unbidden into his mind. He could no longer push it to the back of his brain.

  Tim was dead!

  Those men had killed him, and unless Nick drifted into shore or was picked up by a passing boat, they had succeeded in killing him too.

  He scanned the horizon but saw only the mist thickening around him. He cried out in wretchedness, but apart from a few late evening seagulls whirling and screeching overhead, there was no one left to hear.

  Chapter Two

  Nick drifted briefly into consciousness and was aware of voices around him. He tried to open his eyes, but they seemed to be stuck fast. Hands were gripping onto him and pulling. He opened his mouth to speak but his lips didn’t respond. He was too confused to wonder about it. He could feel himself being lifted clear of the water and laid on a hard wooden surface. There was a gentle breeze blowing against his face and he could hear the sound of an engine idling. He was in a boat. A man was talking urgently to him, his mouth so close that Nick could feel the warm breath on his ear.

  He drifted off again. Time passed. He had no idea how long.

  Someone was tugging his waterlogged clothes from his body. He tried to p
rotest but the words came out as a feeble groan, and then he was being covered by something scratchy but dry. He stopped fighting and yielded to its warmth.

  He slipped back into unconsciousness and knew no more, sleeping a long dreamless sleep that seemed to last an eternity.

  ***

  “Oh, you’re back with us again! You men, you’re all the same, happy to snore your head off until the breakfast trolley turns up.”

  Nick found himself staring with confusion at a round, smiling face that was hovering just over his own and talking to him as though he should know her. He flinched as she rammed something cold in his ear but she chattered happily on, having presumably decided that explanations weren’t necessary. She withdrew the strange object and examined it briefly.

  “That’s better,” she announced with satisfaction. “Your temperature will soon be back to normal. You had the paramedics worried there for a while.”

  “Where am I?” Nick asked in a voice that was little more than a croak.

  The face disappeared from view but reappeared moments later carrying a cuff for measuring blood pressure. “You’re in Kent and Canterbury Hospital. Apparently, you were found floating in the sea outside Whitstable a couple of hours ago by some early morning fishermen. Do you remember how you got there?”

  Nick struggled to recall what had happened, but then his face darkened as the memories came flooding back. Every horrific detail was clear from the moment that the three men had killed Tim to when he had finally lost the battle against the bone-chilling cold and had lapsed into unconsciousness. He didn’t know how long he had drifted alone in the vast empty darkness of the sea, but he knew that it was only his determination to tell someone about what had happened that had given him to strength to keep going.

  “I need to speak to the police,” he told her.

  The nurse scrutinised the readout from the inflated cuff and reached for a pen and a folder.