Читать книгу Cull - Stafford Ray - Страница 20

Another burst of gunfire bounced from gantries and wire cables, killing the steaming light and knocking the radar sweep from its support bracket.

A loud hailer cut through the gloom, as the gunboat stopped parallel and fifty metres away.

“What is he saying? Do you understand that?” the captain shouted.

“It’s Bahasa, Indonesian. He says bring out your guns or they sink us.”

“Tell him we’re refugees, no guns.”

He did.

“You are pirates. Bring out your guns!”

The captain called to the women and children cowering behind the gunwales. “All stand up. Let them see you. Move slowly. Don’t alarm them. Slowly, slowly!”

Loi grabbed the captain’s arm. “No! They’ll shoot!”

“If they sink us we drown anyway,” he whispered. “We need to show them we’re refugees. Stay calm.”

The spotlight outlined the silhouette of an inflatable leaving the gunboat and moving slowly towards them, half a dozen armed men sitting along the sides and one efficient-looking machine gun manned at its bow, covering the men at the trawler stern.

“Come aboard and see for yourself!” the interpreter called. “We have nothing.”

Silence broken only by sobbing of children held while the inflatable came alongside and the armed men jumped aboard.

The captain breathed a sigh of relief when he saw they wore uniforms. “On your knees!” There was no need for the interpreter to speak.

“Do as he says!” the captain called. “They’re customs officers. Don’t be afraid.”

Armed men had spread along either side to also cover the women and children while the officer came past the wheelhouse to the stern.

“We find guns, we shoot children. OK?”

“No guns. Look for yourself.”

He pointed to the engine room hatch.

The officer called one of the men over and spoke rapidly. A man lifted the hatch and a cloud of fumes ballooned out.

“Turn it off!”

The captain hit the kill button and the old diesel sighed and died.

Silence held while the man climbed down and could be heard moving about.

Locker doors were opened. The man threw aside wet weather gear, life jackets and food cans. Suddenly he stopped.

The officer interpreted his pause as a gun discovery and covered the captain with his side arm.

The last bottle of Scotch appeared in his hand and the captain laughed.

“Not funny!” The officer lifted his pistol to point at the captain’s head. “Sharia law say I shoot you, infidel.”

“OK,” the captain said calmly. “Throw it overboard. We had it to trade, not to drink.”

Loi would have loved a drink right then and admired the captain’s cool.

“We’ll keep it for evidence,” he snarled. “Tell women, take off jewellery.”

“Take off your jewellery,” the interpreter called to the women, adding, “I guess that means rings and bracelets too.”

Necklaces were undone and wedding rings slipped from fingers as the armed men moved among them, dropping the loot into a plastic bag. When they had finished, the officer shouted, “Show all hands!”

He holstered his weapon and began checking that all rings had been surrendered. He stopped at one woman who was still struggling to remove a wide and tight-fitting gold band.

He pulled out a knife and before anyone realised what he was about to do, took her hand and sliced cleanly through her knuckle, slipping the ring from the stump and throwing the twitching finger over the side.

She was so shocked she was silent for a moment, then her head dropped and her wail of shock and pain chilled them all. As her head shook her hair aside, torchlight reflected off diamonds hanging from her ears.

Quickly, while everyone was still coming to terms with what had happened, the officer pocketed the ring and grabbed the diamonds, tearing them from her lobes.

Her husband launched himself at the officer, his fingers grabbing at the knife, the other hand chopping towards his neck. Jewellery fell to the deck as the officer pushed him off. He was clubbed on the back of the neck with a rifle butt and fell, unconscious.

Loi realised they didn’t want to shoot anyone. If it was to happen it would have been then.

Two men rolled the unconscious husband off the fallen jewellery and collected it, adding it to the contents of the plastic bag.

Loi noted that the ring stayed in the officer’s pocket as he moved to the woman’s side, first holding her from falling, then easing her to the deck beside her husband.

Nobody spoke. They were completely at the mercy of the customs men and could only watch as they lifted saris, ripping off anklets and checking for necklaces that might be hidden under long hair. Then as quickly as they they’d come, they were gone.

The captain sprang for the medical kit and looked around for help.

Loi took it and began work on the woman, blood still pumping from her finger. He tied it off as the old diesel motor coughed to life and they were again underway.

He found a phial of morphine and injected it into her arm, then turned her husband onto his back, feeling his throat, searching for a pulse. It was only just there, but very fast. Fibrillation, he diagnosed and thumped his chest, then listened, ear against his shirt. He nodded his satisfaction and returned to the wife, searching through the supplies for needle and surgical thread.

The gunboat was still running parallel and he tensed for the machine gun burst that must come. ‘They’ll smash holes through the waterline and send us to the bottom,’ he thought, ‘and we’re not yet halfway!’

“How is she?” The captain had returned from the wheelhouse.

“She’ll be OK,” Loi answered. “It’s him I’m worried about.”

He rose and pulled the captain away. “Could be a broken neck. It might be kinder if he doesn’t wake up.”

He looked back towards the wife, being comforted by Lin Poi.

“I don’t like his chances.”

He moved back to the woman, sloshed some methylated spirit over the stump and began to sew. It was a small finger and skin soon came together to seal the wound.

He was no longer aware of the gunboat and turned his attention to the woman’s ears. He inserted just one stitch each side. Bleeding had already stopped.

When he looked again, the gunboat had peeled away to pursue another victim.