The Deep Enders, page 22
But Skip Turner wasn’t done yet, and, with a war cry, he belted a rock-solid fist into the thug’s chin. Finch grunted in pain, and his vicious blade swung wide of Skip’s neck and sliced his shoulder. Ignoring the wound, the skipper saw his chance and smashed a haymaker into Finch’s face—a loud snap heralding a broken nose. Finch roared as he staggered backward and thumped down awkwardly.
Skip kicked desperately at the tangled mess of canvas wrapped around his ankles. Almost free, he looked up as the enraged madman sprang back to his feet and charged toward him. The impact was bone-shaking, knocking Skip hard against the gunwale. In a flash, Finch had him by the throat, steely fingers digging deep into Skip’s neck, lifting him and forcing him over the surface of the ocean. The knife in his other hand was set to finish the job when Finch spotted the tangle of rope and canvas around his victim’s feet. And an evil smile crossed his face.
“Drown!” he hissed in Skip’s ear.
And then Finch let go.
Skip dropped over the edge of the boat like a stone, his feet hopelessly tangled in the safety rope and heavy canvas suit, sinking fast. Finch watched with a satisfied smirk as the body disappeared into the murky depths.
“Nooo, Dad!” Murph screamed from the other side of the boat.
Finch whirled around.
“Finish him, now!” he exploded, angrily wiping blood from his busted nose. Murph dropped to his knees, his heart crushing with pain, as Toothy moved in for the kill.
Chapter
35
Like shooting fish in a barrel, Murph was easy prey for Toothy. Although he’d never killed anyone himself until now, there was plenty of blood on his hands. It was Toothy who’d helped Finch dispose of the bodies of both China Pete a few months ago and that US corporal who came snooping around yesterday afternoon.
Time to step up. He urged himself forward. The nine-fingered urchin tossed the pearling blade from one hand to the other, his eyes narrowing as he closed in on the kid huddled behind the dinghy. Toothy’s blade was old and grimy, but he knew from painful personal experience the damage it could inflict. It was sharp enough to kill a teenage brat for sure—especially one whose spirit was already broken. He raised the knife to strike.
Suddenly, Murph pivoted on one knee, and a bright red steel box clattered onto the deck beside him. It took Toothy a moment to recognize the short-barreled flare gun, the kind they used in maritime emergencies. Only this time, the flare gun was pointed directly at him!
Toothy snarled and lunged at Murph, the pearling blade slashing for his throat.
Murph pulled the trigger.
Whoooosh!
With a brilliant flash of white light, the blazing-hot flare rocketed from the barrel. Toothy leaped aside, but the flare glanced off his arm, searing through the sleeve of his flannel shirt and burning a huge welt on his skin. Screaming in pain, he dropped the knife and stumbled back toward the cockpit. For a few seconds, Murph watched, mesmerized as the bright white flare continued skyward, twirling out of control high into the morning blue. Then it burst with an orange flash, and a bright incandescent tail tracked its slow descent toward the water below.
Finch’s heavy footsteps on the deck brought him back to earth. Murph fumbled inside the orange box, clicked open the flare gun, and, with trembling hands, slipped a second cylindrical cartridge into the chamber. He snapped the gun shut and—
Too late!
There was no gravity. Murph sailed above the Azure in slow motion, hurled violently backward by Finch before crunching down onto the wooden deck, bruising every bone in his body. The flare gun clattered against the roof of the cockpit and spun overboard with a splash. Finch motored toward Murph as he lay gasping for oxygen. Through blurred eyes, he spotted a steel bucket used for swabbing the decks nearby and hurled it at his attacker. The bucket flew high but dropped too soon, clanking onto the deck and tumbling end over end. Finch kicked the bucket, and it bounced harmlessly away. It was no use. He looked miserably at the edge of the Azure where his dad had gone over only a minute before. This was it. Murph was beaten, and his heart fell into his boots.
“Sorry, Dad,” he whispered to the ocean.
Then, something grabbed his attention—the safety line over the edge of the lugger was pulled tight and twitching!
He’s alive! Tangled underwater and drowning but definitely still fighting. Murph had to try. Biting back the pain, he leaped up just as Finch lunged at him. His whole body hurt, but the years of schoolyard gridiron had made Murph light on his feet, and he ducked the tackle. Then, without a moment to spare, he bolted for the side of the boat and dove straight into the ocean.
“Good riddance,” Finch roared. “The sharks can have both of ya.”
Murph swam deeper than he’d ever gone before until his ears ached and his lungs screamed. Still, he followed the safety rope down, watching the fuzzy shape in front of him morph into his father, struggling in vain to remove the diving suit.
The safety rope was pulled tight, suspending him halfway between the boat and the seabed like a pink schnapper caught on a fishing line. He’d been underwater for almost two minutes already. Even an experienced diver couldn’t hold their breath much longer.
Ignoring the burning in own chest, Murph swam harder, reached his dad’s feet, and tugged furiously on the suit and then the rope. Faster, faster!
Murph un-looped the rope from around his leg and yanked hard. The suit finally came loose, and Skip kicked madly upward—just as the distinctive thud of the Azure’s diesel engine rumbled to life.
They hit the surface at force, gasping in huge lungfuls of air until the wretched pain in their chests eased. Murph’s eyesight blurred, and he almost passed out. By the time the fuzz in his brain cleared, the Azure had sluggishly motored away, her diesel engine protesting as always in the cold morning air. Even so, the lugger was already thirty yards away and moving too fast for them to catch. Toothy was at the wheel with his back to them and a cold beer pressed to his badly burned arm while Finch nursed the engine below deck. The Azure coughed again, the gap growing with every passing second.
Treading water, Skip and Murph searched for anything to latch onto, but the Indian Ocean stretched out blue, cold, and empty as far as the eye could see. They couldn’t survive for long in the open sea. Murph glanced at his dad, a stain of red blood in the water from the wounds to his shoulder and head. Shark bait.
And suddenly, something skimmed past his feet.
Murph yelped in fear.
Skip saw it too, but it wasn’t a shark.
“Hold on.” He clamped onto Murph’s forearm and dove back under the water.
A few seconds later, they were plowing across the surface of the ocean, Skip hanging on for dear life to the diving safety rope trailing behind the Azure. The white water buffeted their bodies as they bounced along the surface like rookie water skiers. Skip strained to hold them both until Murph eventually got a good grip on the rope himself and shimmied forward against the pounding wake. Then he twisted his legs around the rope, lying on his back so he could breathe without his lungs filling with surging seawater. Skip did the same, shifting up close enough to tuck Murph’s feet under his arms for extra strength.
Skip shuddered at how close they’d been to missing the safety rope as it zipped past. Even now, one mistake and it was all over. The Azure slowly started gaining speed. It was like being trapped under a waterfall and their hands burned as they slipped on the rope. Skip Turner knew the old lugger better than anyone. It would only be a matter of minutes before her cold engine found its rhythm, and once that happened, they’d never hang on. They had to move now!
★✩★
Five miles north of the Azure, the orange emergency flare had not gone unnoticed as it slowly drifted down toward the ocean. Inside the cockpit of his Mitsubishi Zero fighter plane, Petty Officer First Class Hidei Sankai caught a fleeting glimpse of the bright speck in the distance before the waves snuffed it out.
Hidei flew at 5,000 feet in perfect formation with eight other Zeroes and a C5M2 command recon aircraft. All were veterans of the Imperial Japanese Navy’s 3rd Kokutai squadron, proud pilots with a string of recent victories. It had been two weeks since their first attack on Darwin and nearly three months since the glorious victory of Pearl Harbor. Today, their mission was to destroy a strategic airbase and any enemy aircraft, further weakening the Allies’ defenses. Hidei knew it wouldn’t be long and—like Singapore, the Philippines, Malaya, and the Dutch East Indies—Australia, too, would fall.
He flicked on the radio and notified his commanding officer of the flare. The officer considered the news for several seconds, reluctant to break formation so close to their target. They had been tasked to destroy the enemy’s defenses and aircraft without unduly targeting civilians. However, he also knew the element of surprise was paramount for the success of their mission.
“Search and destroy the vessel,” the order crackled through Hidei’s radio headphones. “Then rejoin the attack on the mainland.”
Grinding his teeth in anticipation, Hidei acknowledged the order and banked south toward the flare. He would be the first to taste action today.
Chapter
36
The Azure was charging through the water now, her diesel engine finally running hot as she whisked the guilty crew away from the scene of the crime. Behind the wheel, Toothy sucked on his third beer of the morning before gently resting the cold bottle back on his throbbing arm.
“Not long now,” he murmured as the familiar peninsula of land appeared on the horizon.
Toothy placed the bottle beside him, flipped a cigarette into his mouth, and shoved his mutilated hand inside a pocket, fumbling for matches. Impatiently, he patted the other pocket, cursed, and scanned around the cockpit. It was then that he noticed the spray of congealed blood on the deck from Finch’s fistfight with Skip Turner—and a nagging thought took flight.
What if the cops are waiting for us? What if they found the Black kid or the Yank soldier who Finch killed? Maybe someone reported seeing us leavin’ the harbor. He looked again at the blood.
Locking the wheel in place, Toothy snatched up the beer and stepped out of the cockpit. Then he poured a liberal splash from the bottle and scrubbed the deck with his shoe until the blood loosened and blended into a beery mess. Toothy checked around for any other telltale signs of a struggle.
“Strewth,” he said, spotting the diving safety rope still trailing behind the Azure. His gaze followed the empty rope to its end, where it bounced and splashed fifty yards behind. Nothing to worry about; he’d drag it in once they were moored. Toothy took one more look around the lugger as he walked back to the cockpit. Then, satisfied that there were no other loose ends, he turned his attention back toward the fast-approaching mainland.
Soaked and exhausted, the Turners huddled behind the dinghy at the back of the Azure. It had taken several gut-busting minutes to drag themselves along the rope to the back of the lugger, finally clambering through the clawing wake onto the aft deck. They lay out of sight for a long time, regaining their strength. Eventually, Murph risked a look. Finch was nowhere in sight, but Toothy was still in the cockpit, guiding the lugger toward the headland.
“We’re not far from port,” Murph whispered as he ducked back behind the dinghy, crouching next to Skip.
“You saved me life back there,” his dad said, still breathing heavily from the exertion.
“Yeah, but you saved mine a minute later.”
“Looks like you lived up to your name, son.”
“Hmm?”
“Sea warrior.” Skip patted Murph’s hand, and as he did, spotted the impressive diving watch strapped to his wrist.
Skip looked at him curiously.
“Queenie gave it to me,” he said quietly.
“Queenie?” Skip was confused. “Why?”
“Dunno. She said something about backing both sides.” He shrugged. “But it’s just a watch.”
“Maybe.” His dad took his wrist to inspect the unusual steel buttons on the side of the bezel. “But that Queenie’s a strange one. Think again. Did she say anything else?”
Murph ran a finger over the salt-encrusted watch face, trying to remember.
“Click, click,” Murph murmured to himself.
He placed a thumb and forefinger on either side of the bezel, then double-clicked both steel buttons.
Instantly, two razor-sharp blades, an inch long and curved to resemble a small saber, flicked out from the base of the watch and locked open like the wings of a plane. It happened so fast that one of the blades nicked his middle finger. Murph chomped down on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out in pain. Skip stared in awe at the deadly watch and the drop of bright red blood quivering on the tip of one blade.
“Queenie.” He smiled at his dad. Giving them a fighting chance was her bet on both sides. If they won, then Queenie still had the original black pearl in her silk pocket. And if they lost, she’d simply stick to her deal with Toothy and Oculus Finch. Either way, she’d come out on top.
Murph clipped the saber blades back into the concealed slots on either side of the watch. He gave a determined nod, hoping the odds had finally shifted ever so slightly in their favor.
But that hope was dashed a moment later when the heavens exploded with the deadly clatter of Japanese machine guns!
Chapter
37
Sergeant Roly Withers shot to attention as the police station door swung open and a Japanese girl in a blood-stained shirt stepped sheepishly inside. His chair toppled backward as he jumped to his feet, dumbstruck. A couple of seconds later, Lt. Boscovich appeared behind the girl, guiding her forward with a gentle hand on the shoulder.
“Morning, pal,” the American called out. “I’ve got someone for you.”
“Crikey mate, ya almost gave me a heart attack,” Sgt. Withers said. “Is she a Jap? I mean, a foreign national?”
“Yep, but she’ll be no trouble,” Lt. Boscovich said. “She gave herself up to save her…friend’s life.”
He and Micki exchanged a knowing look. Banjo might be related, but there was no point in locking him up too.
“Righto.” Sgt. Withers plonked his chair back upright. “Well, there’s no flexibility on foreign nationals these days, but she’ll be treated fairly, you can be sure of that.”
The policeman motioned them toward his desk, sat down in his chair, and rifled through a drawer for the correct forms. The ceiling fan overhead whirred crazily, and the papers whipped about in the breeze.
“We’d better get some paperwork done before we call military intelligence,” he said, slapping a sheet onto the desk and placing an inkpot on top to stop it blowing away. “Do you speak English, young lady?”
“Yes, sir,” Micki said in her perfect Australian accent.
“Of course you do. A strange town, isn’t it?” he said wryly and slipped his reading glasses onto his nose. “Okay then, can I get your name, please?”
“Micki Hirito,” she said and paused, looking intently at his round face. “I’m friends with your daughter Elisabeth at school, Mr. Withers.”
Sgt. Withers peered over the top of his glasses. He cleared his throat, shuffling the papers in front of him.
“Uh, yes, of course, Micki, I remember now,” he said, his cheeks flushed pink. “Sorry about all this.”
Sgt. Withers tapped the tip of his pen a little too hard on his desk, looking from the girl to Lt. Boscovich. Then he sighed and wrote her name on the form.
★✩★
A screaming Zero split the sky above the Azure, the fighter’s .303 inch machine guns sending showers of water and blasting a dozen jagged holes in her deck.
“What the hell was that?!” Finch cried out, his head appearing through the hatch.
But Toothy was too terrified to speak. He pointed a trembling finger as the plane circled to attack again. Finch hurled himself back down the hatch as the powerful guns splintered the deck. The Zero rocketed past, close enough to see the red circles on its wings and the determined face of the Japanese pilot. Toothy shook uncontrollably, tormented by the memory of his last Japanese encounter and thirteen ghastly hours adrift on the ocean.
“I won’t go down with the ship again,” he screamed to the sky, throwing the Azure’s throttle to full speed and steering directly for Broome’s long jetty two miles ahead.
Inside the Zero’s cockpit, Hidei considered using his 20mm cannons to obliterate the vessel but was reluctant to waste any more ammunition on an old lugger. The mainland was so close now, and richer pickings beckoned.
★✩★
In the belly of the Azure, Finch heard the Zero’s engine fade and, in an opportunistic flash, knew exactly what to do. He scurried up the ladder and grabbed the two-way radio. For a split second, Toothy admired his courage until Finch gave a conspiratorial wink.
“This’ll work perfectly for us,” he said smugly.
“Whattaya mean?” Toothy’s voice quivered.
Finch switched on the radio.
“Mayday, mayday, this is the Azure,” Finch spoke urgently. “We’re under attack. Do you read me?”
The response was immediate. “Azure, this is the HMAS Sydney, what’s your location?”
“We’ve just rounded the headland, we’re a couple of clicks out of Broome. They’re headed your way.”
“How many aircraft are there?”
“No idea, mate.” A cold smile on his face. “But they shot up my boat pretty bad and killed the skipper and his son.”
★✩★
The police radio crackled, and Sergeant Withers turned up the volume as HMAS Sydney responded to the mayday.
“A local boat, the Azure’s under fire!” he gasped.
