Skulduggery , livre ebook

Title Page
SKULDUGGERY

Bob Stevens



Publisher Information
Skulduggery
Published in 2015 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Bob Stevens to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2015 Bob Stevens
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



The Secrets Of Mafu
‘Ketch lost with crew presumed drowned’ was the gist of most headings to limited news tucked away in the back pages of mainstream newspapers in America.
The sailing vessel, a fifty-foot Adams Ketch held registration issued in Nassau Bahaman Islands in the Caribbean. At least that fact was established but the media could not ascertain the names of or number of crew. Departure point and intended destination was known to just a select few.
When the Kestrel disappeared sometime in the third week of September 1985 the public in general showed little concern over the scant media coverage. After all it was not really an uncommon occurrence, especially with sailing vessels engaged in racing and tempting fate with transitions of the often-violent Southern Oceans. Collisions with partly submerged sea containers, whales, ships and reefs had caused a myriad of previous mishaps with ensuing loss of boats and crews. The main players in the media considered the incident a non-event and not worthy of further investigation.
But the people involved in the charter of the Kestrel were aware of the vessel’s position just hours before its disappearance. They reached the conclusion that the weather at least did not play a part as meteorological conditions were so favourable that even a rowboat would not have been threatened in the prevailing conditions. It was suspected that something sinister had happened to the ketch and crew.
Renee Marcou, a French intelligence officer based in Noumea New Caledonia had the answers to many questions pertaining to the disappearance of the yacht as he had been aboard a 33-metre gunboat offshore the Island of Mafu the night the Kestrel and crew vanished. But had he been approached by the media, he would have denied any knowledge. The events of that evening were to have a sickening and lasting effect on a man who deeply believed in fair play.
Armed with knowledge forwarded by a French agent in California, to the SDECE (Service de Documentation Exterieure et de Contre-Espionage) in Paris, the Kestrel’s progress had been monitored right from departure of San Diego California. Reprovisioning of the vessel and departure from Suva Fiji had also been noted by a French Embassy official.
It was a moonless night 18 th September 1985 as the Kestrel hove to three nautical miles to the north of the Island of Mafu. Almost immediately, just after 8.30 PM a Zodiac inflatable was lowered over the side with propulsion supplied by a silent electric outboard motor. Within the space of two minutes three occupants were heading at 25 knots towards the uninhabited northern extremity of the Island. The Captain stayed with the yacht with the intention of keeping the vessel in the vicinity to pick up his comrades upon their return.
Little did the party of four realize that they were never to view another sunrise following the act of barbarism that scarred Renee Marcou for life.
With its bow held into the north by a single nylon anchor rope to minimise noise and all lighting extinguished, the gunboat just sat in the slight swell waiting for its prey to draw closer as would a spider with an insect. A radar screen in the wheelhouse of the vessel monitored the progress of the Zodiac in the darkness ahead. It was obvious that the intended landing was to be made on the 50 metres of sandy beach beneath the towering cliffs directly astern of the gunboat. The prediction had been correct.
The Zodiac was a mere 150 metre in front of the gunboat when the carnage commenced.
In their last few seconds of life, the occupants of the Zodiac would have been extremely startled by the sudden appearance of a blinding powerful light from directly ahead that transformed the immediate area from blackness to that akin to daylight. The gunboat’s twin diesel engines roaring into life between them and the shoreline would have added to their concern as they watched the tracer arc of the 50-mm cannon creep towards them from the water a few metres ahead. Terror would have captivated their total being in realization that death was imminent.
With his eye now honed into the target, the machine gunner on the bow of the gunboat raked the well-lit Zodiac and its occupants. The massacre was complete within a few seconds with the presence of the inflatable and crew completely obliterated soon after.
With its engines emitting a throaty roar and now up on the plane the gunboat sped seawards in excess of 40 knots. The Kestrel now in the process of fleeing the scene at eight knots under engine power, was a sitting duck, as its stern loomed larger in the gunboat searchlight.
The first fusillade cut the mizzenmast in two as it traversed just above deck height, removing much of the wheelhouse in the process. The Kestrel Captain would have died instantly. The yacht now beam on to the gunboat was raked with cannon fire just above the water line. Due to the trajectory the projectiles exited the hull below water line with an ensuing watery grave for the vessel and its crew of one.
A shocked Renee Marcou noted that the killings and destruction had taken less than eight minutes from the moment the searchlight had been activated. ‘Why was he not briefed fully on the planned outcome? How could the superior intelligence officer on board have resorted to such inhumane action? How could murder be justified when capture of the yacht crew could have been accomplished with minimal risk? Did his superior suspect that he did not have the stomach to resort to such savagery had he been in charge of the operation?
This first covert attempt at unlocking the secrets of the Island of Mafu had ended in tragic failure.



The Plan
It was 11 AM and Tom Best had just plonked three ice cubes into an orange cordial drink when the phone rang. “Tom here” he said upon lifting the receiver.
“Tom this is Bill Brook, long time no see,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “What are you up to these days?”
“Not much Bill” Tom replied. “I’ve just been mowing lawns and come inside to cool off with an orange drink. Probably go down to the Pub for something stronger around 5 PM” He added.
Tom shared the house with two others who were avid anglers and who had departed at daybreak this hot Saturday morning for a two day fishing expedition further up the coast. ‘It’s your turn to mow the lawns’ he was informed during preparation for the fishing trip the previous night.
“Tom I’ve got a proposition to put to you that is as risky as hell but will bring in one hundred big ones if you can pull it off” Bill stated. “I don’t wish to discuss the job over the phone but will drive down and fill you in further this afternoon if you are interested.”
“Jeez that’s a lot of money. Nothing ventured nothing gained I say. You’ve got a three and a half hour drive; sure come on down, we will have a few beers and you can stay here the night.” Tom suggested.
So Bill reckons the proposition is as risky as hell he mused whilst recalling that tortoises make progress only when they stick their necks out.
It would probably be around 4 PM when Bill would pull into the driveway after completing the 280 kilometres from Melbourne to Greenville. They had been good mates during their time together as parachute jumpers attached to the Search and Rescue Division of the now defunct National Safety Council of Australia. Although they hadn’t seen a great deal of each other these last three years they had competed against each other on a few occasions in State and National Parachute and Skydiving competitions and there had also been the odd phone conversation between them.
‘I hope he doesn’t expect me to help him knock off a Bank’ Tom pondered and then laughed inwardly as he realised that Bill, although as game as Ned Kelly, would not be capable of such dishonesty.
Cleaning the oven, around the hot plates, a bit of vacuuming and generally tidying up the house which seemed to scream three bachelors live here kept him occupied till 3 PM. ‘Guess Bill will be ready for a cold one when he arrives.’ He then hopped in his old Holden Ute and a few minutes later plonked a slab of Vic Bitter on the seat beside him. With the beer deposited in the fridge and the ring top pulled on one of the cans he slid into a lounge chair and started guessing what he could do that was worth $100,000.
‘Perhaps it was a Skydiving Movie Stunt like diving out without a chute on and grabbing one off someone else in freefall. No that had been done before by Rod Pack in America and a repeat wasn’t worth $100,000. Plenty of Skydivers would do it for $10,000. Come on Bill arrive now, you’ve got me intrigued’ he uttered.
The sound of a car door closing later in the afternoon prompted Tom to arise from his lounge chair and walk to the back door. “Didn’t hear you coming up the drive” he remarked as Bill came towards him with an