“I missed,” gasped Max, who had aimed at the coiled body, “but it must have actually bitten the bullet,” he laughed hysterically at this stupid joke. Badly shaken, he stepped round the still writhing body and headed watchfully to the ladder.
“I’m getting out of here pretty bloody quick,” he told himself and rapidly climbed up into the friendly sunshine.
Back on the deck again, he listened intently for the helicopter, although it would not be due for at least half an hour. Only the sounds of the jungle met his ears. He felt very precarious, 100 feet up in the middle of this sea of dark green treetops. He lay down; it felt more secure that way, his whole body felt weak and it trembled.
Having drifted off to sleep in the sun, he woke suddenly to the sound of the returning helicopter. But no, the sound was wrong. Then he saw, way off in the distance, a big two-rotor job heading for him. He moved quickly with the box and hung from the ladder under the deck, hopefully out of sight.
Max foolishly imagined that if they thought the statuette had already been taken, they would go away. Not so, they had already seen Max on the deck, so they made for it and the ropes were dropped. Looking up into the open door way of the machine, he clearly saw Philippe looking down. There was no mistake, when someone fires a gun in your face, if you live, you do not forget who did it.
Tying the box in place, Max aimed and fired at the pilot. He missed; the pilot veered away and came back, side on, with two men who opened fire at the deck. Max held his fire until the men started to slide down the ropes. Lucky shots got both of them; their falling bodies missed the deck and fell to the jungle floor. They opened fire again, while others slid down, but stopped shooting when the rope men were over the small deck; Max fired into them as they slid down. One fell dead onto the deck; the other crashed to the ground. As the machine veered away again, Max checked the pistol; only three shots remained.
Max made a grab for the machine gun, belonging to the dead man on the deck. Taking it off the lifeless body was not as quick and easy as he thought. He rolled the body over and the shooting recommenced.
Back under cover again Max fired a full clip into the open cabin, another body fell through the trees.
As the helicopter veered off out of range, Max took more ammunition off the corpse.
As they approached once more, Max aimed at the pilot and hit something vital. The big machine went out of control and headed away. A minute or so later the engine stopped, and it dropped like a stone into the trees. Max prayed no one would survive to come back for him.
The Sikorsky helicopter dropped through the jungle canopy, smashing trees and branches on its way to the soft ground below. Apart from the men who were shot before the engine cut out, everyone survived the crash. Philippe was like a man possessed. Yet again, his bitch of a daughter and the ‘old fool’ had got lucky and walked away with his statuette. Well that is how he saw it, and nobody on the helicopter was about to argue with him, each wanting their own revenge.
Minutes later, Max could hear his own helicopter. He dragged the body off the deck and brought the box back up again. The pilot hovered as a harness was lowered. Max fitted the harness, tied the box to it and was winched to safety.
Once on board the helicopter, Max gleefully strapped himself in and relaxed on a journey back to the Ocean Raider. He looked a complete mess, blood from the decapitated snake stained one trouser leg, his clothes were torn, stained with sweat and grime and there was more blood on his shirt from the dead gunman.
The pilot and his assistant asked Max what had happened, did he get what he came for? “I actually got more than I bargained for and I don’t recommend the place for a relaxing holiday.” The two men looked questioningly at each other, but said no more.
***
Back on board the Ocean Raider, no one asked what was in the large canvas bag and Max did not tell; he had it placed in the vault until Carla came back on board from Malé, after her short stay with Amy and David.
After dinner that evening, Max kissed the back of her neck and whispered, “Have I got a big surprise for you in the bedroom.”
“Oh come on, can’t you come up with a better line than that,” sneered Carla, still pissed off with him for not taking her on the mission.
“Oh! I am so pleased to see you as well,” Max snapped back and went down to wait for her in the cabin.
She felt awful now, she had really wanted to hug him and now she had spoilt everything. Following him down she apologized, putting on her best little girl act.
“By the way, what is in the bag?”
“Oh! Just something I know you wanted for your table in the hall.”
She looked at him oddly, and pulled off the bag. “Oh-my-goodness, what-have-you-done? The Organization will go mad when they find out.”
“They won’t,” replied Max “I have checked it out with Sam. He said it’s none of their affair and they don’t want to know.”
Carla smiled at the thought of the statuette on her table, back at the hideaway.
“So that’s what you have been up to. How on earth did you find it?”
Max put his arms around her waist, from behind. Drawing her close and holding her tightly, he told her his story.
***
In response to their call for help on the radio, a rescue party picked up Philippe and his men; ironically they used Max’s platform for lift off. Philippe’s men had no trouble in finding it again, after the crash; they were fully trained and well used to the jungle. They had tried hard to catch up with Max before his transport arrived, but were just minutes too late.
Philippe still wanted the statuette, all €6 million of it, so agreed to rehire the men to retrieve it.
“You can do what you want with the old fool, but Carla is mine. She will pay dearly for all the trouble, embarrassment and pain she has caused me.”
After extensive enquiries, Philippe decreed their first stop would be Malé, to find and board Ocean Raider. They would do whatever it took to recover the statuette.
***
Max awoke early the next morning and decided to go up on deck to watch the sunrise.
The air was extremely warm but fresh. A gentle sea breeze carried the birdsong from the nearby island, adding to the delight of being alive in this paradise. How his life had changed over the last four months, since Carla came into his life, that night on the mountain road.
He had tasted the danger of being chased by gunmen and escaped. Then there was the luxury home he lived in with her, a beautiful, young remarkable girl, whom he loved and who also loved him.
He thought about the dinner-party at the Duke’s home and the man’s charisma and charm. He had welcomed Max warmly, into his world - a world of immense wealth, understated power, intrigue and danger.
A chill ran through Max, as the repressed memory of Philippe’s gun, exploding in his face, surfaced in his sub-conscious. The sadness he felt at the Duke’s murder and his inability to comfort Carla, also grieving at the loss of the Duke. Still he had come through it and was much stronger for it.
He was also much healthier; the regular workouts in Carla’s gym and here on board ship had undoubtedly made a difference. Although forty-six years old, he was becoming as fit as an active man of thirty-five; trim and firm muscled.
His thoughts turned to how his personal wealth had literally changed overnight, after recovering the diamonds from the wreck. All because of a chance meeting with a hit and run victim, in Malé.
He remembered his excitement, as he planned how to retrieve the wheel and the intensive training he did, so he could dive on the wreck at night. He had always wanted to dive at night, but the secret fear of the dark depths and hidden perils had prevented him, until then.
The events of the dive ran through his mind. Luck was certainly with him that night and he could easily have died a horrible death from drowning, but had got away with it. His conscience pricked him about the other two divers he had murdered - yes murdered! Supposing they’d had nothing to do with Manuel, maybe they were just having a night dive? Max shifted position; guilt was sweeping over him, at the possibility that the men were innocent victims.
He forced his thoughts on to his adventure, recovering the statuette; his gift to Carla. He had always considered himself resourceful and the way he had handled things then, proved he was no dreamer. Getting lost in the jungle and the confrontation with the snake had certainly sharpened his instinct for survival. No wonder he had no problem shooting the men in the helicopter, particularly Philippe - he deserved to die.
Now here he was, back again in the lap of luxury, safe and in love. Perhaps he had better quit the adventure bit whilst he was ahead.
The steward approached him, “Sir” he said, “Would you like breakfast on deck or in the dining room?”
“On deck I think, my usual please--- and I have a hankering for the hazelnut coffee with a dash of cinnamon.”
“Thank you sir,” the steward gave a slight bow. “It will be ready in five minutes.”
“Yes this is the life for me, from now on---” mused Max.
At breakfast, the steward passed Max a message from the radio room. It came from the laboratory that carried out the DNA test on Amy’s hair. Max smiled as he read the result; he pondered over the implications and what he should do next.
The young Cypriot detective looked with interest at the corpse, opened up for autopsy. The victim had already been identified as one of the local thugs, but what had caused him to drown? He appeared to have no fatal physical injury, and fully functioning dive equipment.
Preliminary inquiries revealed that this chap, Jose and his brother Rafael had been associating with a man known as Manuel. The brothers were seen diving on the Zenobia, from Manuel’s hired cruiser. Manuel and Rafael had now suddenly vanished.
The pathologist found some bruising on the dead man’s head from a blow with a blunt object. Bruised wrists were consistent with having been held from the rear, and a slight tear at the side of his mouth, possibly the result of his regulator being ripped away.
Here in Larnaca, diving accidents were more likely than murder; but this death was suspicious, so a full investigation was getting under way. First course of action would be to track down the brother and Manuel.
According to airport security they had boarded a flight to Malé. The young detective immediately contacted Interpol and police at Malé, to pick up the trail.
In a large office building in Karala, India, the distinguished looking European sat at his ornately carved mahogany desk. The whole room was filled with valuable object d’art from all over the world. He had recently employed Stephen Jackson to deliver the statuette to him.
He answered the phone in a curt manner. The caller confirmed he would track down the missing statuette, starting from its last known location, on board the Ocean Raider. His fee for recovering this object would be $250,000 to be wired straight to his Cayman Island account, on exchange.
The caller had earned a well-deserved reputation for achieving success with his commissions; he had the uncanny knack of picking up the correct leads, which helped him succeed where others failed. Satisfied, the tall man replaced the phone and resumed planning his next acquisition.
***
Carla appeared just as Max was finishing breakfast. “You and Amy seem to get on very well, don’t you?” he enquired.
“We sure do, I believe we are as close as sisters might be.”
“How would you feel if she turned out to be a sister, or your twin?” persisted Max.
“What a strange situation that would be,” she replied thoughtfully. ”It would be wonderful to know I had family but, I see her as a friend, a really good friend and in a way I suppose that would end. Then I would have family obligations. I am a loner; I have always had to find my own way in life. With family there are emotional ties and that would smother me. No, I like things as they are; I can dip in and out of this friendship when I want.”
Max dropped the subject; he sensed Carla was getting uptight. Perhaps she secretly hoped she was related, but could not stand the thought that Amy might have been loved more than her. Well whatever the reason, the fact that Amy was her twin was his secret, and one better kept, for the moment at least.
“By the way Carla, we must get some money to Mrs. Bryant and her family. I will try and get a flight to the Greek Island of Poros in the next day or so.”
Having booked the flight for Saturday, he phoned Mrs. Bryant to tell her he was planning to visit. She was intrigued when he said he had a gift and a message from her late husband, wanting to know more.
“Mrs. Bryant I am sorry I cannot discuss the matter fully over the phone. Only that I was at your husband’s bedside when he died and I promised to honor his dying request.”
Manuel looked up from the digital phone scanner, grinning widely at Atsoo. He had been monitoring all Ocean Raider’s calls, from the hired yacht moored close by.
***
Athens was particularly hot that day and it proved to be a very tiring 10-kilometre taxi ride to Piraeus, to catch the ferry to Poros. Both Max and Carla were grateful for the cooling breeze off the sapphire blue Aegean Sea, as they waited on deck for the hydrofoil to cast off.
Max recognized the brown faced, bearded man with the rather stressed Japanese girl and greasy looking male companion, as the party that sat near him on the flight from Malé. He often speculated about the lives of fellow travelers when bored with his journey. The three had looked nervous and furtive, seldom engaging in conversation. The Japanese girl was probably in her early twenties and tended to cling to the bearded man, who clearly dominated her. Perhaps he was her father figure; he was after all, twice her age. Max suddenly realized how hypocritical he had become, wondering what the young girl was doing with an old man!
Where did the greasy looking guy fit in? The two men were apparently working together; the bearded man was undoubtedly the boss. They dressed like tourists but travelled light, each carrying only a small backpack. And another thing; apart from the older man, the other two looked familiar, but Max could not place where he might have seen them before.
***
Poros is typical of many Greek islands and is heavily reliant on tourism. The main town has developed around the harbor, with its restaurants and small shops facing the sea, and the tiny white houses rising up the steep rocky hillside behind. Somewhere amongst the maze of narrow lanes and side streets, was the home of Mrs. Bryant.
Max had phoned ahead from Athens airport. They were to meet Mrs. Bryant at 5:00pm sharp, outside the Sack of Jewels, a little jeweler’s shop opposite the ferry landing. Together they would walk back to her white terraced house, on the hillside.
The hydrofoil ferry docked in good time and having spotted the jeweler’s shop, the couple went into the cafe nearby for a long cool drink, out of the blistering sun.
Max whispered to Carla, “it seems the Three Musketeers who travelled with us, all the way from Malé, want to drink at the same place as we do. There must be a dozen other places near here to choose from.”
Carla replied, “There are two other men here from Malé as well. I am sure they are police, judging by the way they talk to each other, and seem to watch what’s going on. I reckon they’re interested in the three you’re talking about.”
Max checked the time, “Better drink up, we’ll go and meet Mrs. Bryant.”
He paid for their drinks and they ambled over to the jeweler’s, towing their cases.
Mrs. Bryant was punctual, but apprehensive. She was in her early forties and of normal build, with smooth light-brown skin, melty dark brown eyes and long black hair. Her face appeared tense, deepening the worry lines on her forehead and around her mouth. Nonetheless, she was still an attractive woman.
She spoke perfect English with a slight Greek accent, suggesting they might prefer to leave the suitcases at the small hotel around the corner, where they could stay overnight. Max and Carla checked in and accompanied her to her home. Max was feeling quite tired out by the steep climb up the narrow cobbled streets and stone steps, in the heat. The ladies however, showed no signs of fatigue. Carla never seemed to become weary and, he thought, “Mrs. Bryant must be used to it.”
Eventually, they reached her little house. Inside, it was deceptively large, narrow and deep; the ground floor was on three levels as it ran back, up the hillside. The rooms felt comfortably cool and, although dark because of the small windows, they could see it was spotlessly clean. They sat in the living room, whilst Mrs. Bryant stepped into the kitchen, to make cold drinks.
***
There came the faint sound of approaching footsteps along the stone passage. Max and Carla looked up in amazement at the brown-faced man who walked in. He held a finger to his lips, warning them not to make a sound. The Japanese girl and the other man, pushed into the room as well, nervously looking around.
Brown face pulled a knife, as Mrs. Bryant entered the room from the other end carrying a tray of drinks. She gave a stifled scream as she noticed the three new visitors. It was not just the knife that startled her, though it should have been enough; it was the man holding it.
“Manuel,” she gasped, “How did you find me?” and looked at Max accusingly.
Max answered her look, “I don’t know these people, they were on our flight and on the same boat, but we don’t know them.”
“You do!” hissed Rafael, the greasy looking man. “You killed my brother, Jose and you nearly killed me. We were the two divers following you up from the Zenobia.”
“Ah! So you were out for a quiet night-dive, not after a certain lorry wheel we had recovered?”
Manuel raised his arm, barring Rafael’s sudden lunge at Max. Rafael moved back and fell silent. Max could see the matter of Rafael’s dead brother was just placed on hold.
Manuel motioned with his knife for Mrs. Bryant to sit down, and she did so.
“I have come for the diamonds,” he directed at Max, “Where are they?” he demanded, pointing his knife at Max’s throat.
“They’re not here,” Max snapped back.
Manuel backhanded Max across the face and through teeth clenched with pent up anger, he growled, “don’t mess with me, I have chased after these damned stones for years. I want them - now!” Max raised his hands, gesticulating he honestly did not have them with him.
Another swipe knocked Max back into his chair and made his nose bleed. He could see there was no way out of this; no smart move or heroic action was possible.
“OK! OK! The jewels are in the safe deposit boxes of twelve banks in Cyprus. Most of one of the 12 packets we removed from the tire has been sold. I have in my pocket, a banker’s draft payable to Mrs. Bryant, for €2.5 million. The rest is in my bank, all €3 million. I can write you a check now, if it will help?”
Manuel sneered. “You’d better be telling the truth. Rafael will stay here with your girl and Mrs. Bryant, and you will come with me and Atsoo to Cyprus, to get the stones. Any tricks and you will all die!”
Max stiffened, as two more men eased into the room behind Manuel and the others. Manuel sensed something and glanced round. One man grabbed Manuel’s knife hand, jerking it upwards and his other arm encircled Manuel’s throat. They staggered and swayed as Manuel tried to turn the knife on his attacker.
The second man grabbed and struggled with Rafael.
Max leapt up; he kept Manuel’s knife pointing high and away from anyone. Atsoo snatched Rafael’s knife and stabbed wildly at the man holding Manuel.
Seeing the second knife coming at him, the man twisted Manuel to face it, just as Atsoo struck. The thin blade easily penetrated Manuel’s chest, right into his heart. Atsoo screamed with shock at the realization that she had killed the man she loved, not saved him.
Rafael broke free and snatched up Manuel’s fallen knife, slashing at the jugular vein of the man who had held him.
Max leapt at Rafael and as they fell awkwardly to the floor, Rafael’s temple collided with the sharp corner of a massive sideboard. He fell to the floor, stone dead.
Atsoo was lunging at Max with the fallen knife, when a sudden deafening explosion obliterated the sickening smack of a 9 mm bullet, as it punched through Atsoo’s skull.
Mrs. Bryant stood silent, smoke curling from the barrel of her Browning, as Atsoo fell dead on top of Rafael.
Carla rushed past Mrs. Bryant into the kitchen and returned with a towel. Rafael had nicked the neck of the man who held him and blood was spurting from the wound. While his colleague applied the towel and administered first aid, Max used his mobile phone to call for medical help. Mrs. Bryant calmly took over the call in Greek, explaining the situation and giving the address.
The uninjured man explained that he and his wounded colleague were from Interpol. They had been following Manuel and Rafael, investigating the death of Rafael’s brother, Jose. Their only suspects were all dead so what part did Max, Carla and Mrs. Bryant have to play in all this?
Thinking quickly, Max explained how Manuel had murdered Mr. Bryant; he and Carla had come to deliver a deathbed message to Mrs. Bryant, from her late husband. The officer made notes and explained everything to the local police when they arrived. Whilst not under arrest, Max and Carla had to stay on the Island and surrender their passports, until the police cleared the matter up.
Two days later, Max and Carla were allowed to leave. Mrs. Bryant would be charged with the killing of Atsoo but, in view of the circumstances, it was a formality and she would be free to return home.
Max gave her the bank draft and the message from her husband, that he loved her and the two children very much. He was sorry that he had ruined a good life together, by getting involved with smuggling diamonds.
She took the message stoically; she had loved her husband with all her heart, in spite of his failings. Now that she had money, she could get on with life at last, without substantial hardship.
“Well my love” sighed Max. “It’s time to go - back to your hideaway and we shall see how the statuette looks on your hall table!”
“Yes, I think we might have out-stayed our welcome on the Ocean Raider,” replied Carla. “I’m surprised we have not heard from Sam, perhaps we are out of work - permanently.”
Their plane touched down at Malé airport and Carla phoned ahead for the launch to take them to the ship. It would be 4 hours before they could be picked up, so she called Amy to see if they could visit. Amy was thrilled and said she would put the coffee on. They travelled by water taxi to David’s boat, where they were warmly greeted by Amy and David.
The girls instantly went into natter overdrive, whilst David poured drinks and talked about his and Amy’s future plans. Both Max and Carla avoided mentioning the extreme elements of their recent visit to Poros. It was just as well David and Amy felt they had a full and exciting life; it gave them plenty to talk about and they did not pry into the gaps in the others’ tales.
Max overheard Amy asking Carla what she knew about her parents. “Nothing at all” she replied, “I don’t even remember much about my foster parents, I lost touch with them when I went through my wild phase.”
Amy went on to mention a curious visit from a woman claiming to be researching the psychological effects of adoption, especially with twins.
“I was 19 then, having a fantastic time with older guys, so I didn’t think too much of it. She visited regularly for nearly six months; we became quite close actually. Strange really, I sometimes wished she had been my mother; I had an affinity with her like no one I had ever met. Anyway, she was going back to Italy, the north I believe, just for a week and then she would come to see me again. She said she had found out something rather interesting that concerned me and needed to check it out! Well, she never came back. Just shows how thoughtless some people can be. I got all keyed up wondering what she had to tell me, then, nothing! I remember; her name was Lana Green.”
A chill ran through Carla at the sound of the name; she matched her age with the death of the Duke’s wife, when Carla would have been 19. Amy saw Carla’s mind was racing, her face fixed in an expression of disbelief, her bright blue eyes darting, as the facts and possibilities flashed through her brain.
“What’s the matter?” asked Amy, concerned. Carla appeared not to hear and spoke over her.
“Was Lana Green a very attractive and elegant blond, with long curly hair and blue eyes that glowed with warmth and love?”
Amy gasped, “Yes, yes she was just like that. How do you know?”
“You’ll never believe this Amy; I know exactly who she was.”
“Who was she? Was - what do you mean, was?”
“She died!” replied Carla sadly. “It has to be the person I am thinking of - gosh it can’t be - but everything matches; the dates, northern Italy, her description, everything!”
***
David realized he had been talking to himself; Max was listening intently to the girls.
Suddenly, it dawned on Max. Lana Green, that beautiful woman in the portrait in the Duke’s office, must be Amy’s mother. They looked so alike. Amy and Carla are exact genetic matches so Lana must also be Carla’s mother!
Carla burst into tears; her worst nightmare had come true. The way she saw it, her best friend had unknowingly seen her mother for six months; she came to know her and obviously there was love between them, even if they hadn’t realized it.
Her friend had been loved and missed enough for her mother to come looking for her, but where was Carla’s mother? Didn’t Carla deserve to be loved and missed too? She had suppressed her feelings about her unknown parents all her life. She desperately wanted them to find her and love her, but they never came. She thought it must have been because she was not good enough or worth enough to be missed.
Sure, she had been loved and cared for by the Duke, but he was not her father. What if the Duke was Amy’s father? What had happened to prevent Lana from bringing up Amy, with or without the Duke?
In her emotional state, Carla’s reasoning failed her; she could not see the obvious possibility.
Max tried desperately to comfort Carla, whilst Amy and David looked on in stunned silence.
***
Before any more could be said, the launch from the Ocean Raider arrived. Max led the still sobbing Carla aboard, sat her down and went back for the luggage. He would phone Amy and David tomorrow; he felt they must meet again once Carla had recovered because he had something to add to the story, which would go a long way to clearing up the mystery.
He boarded the launch; the man smoking on the jetty quickly turned away when Max looked across in his direction.
“Nosey sod,” Max thought. “He must be wondering what all the sobbing is about,” and dismissed it from his troubled mind.
Geoff Collins, the nosey sod, knew all about the commotion on David’s yacht, though it was of no interest to him. His camera case concealed a state of the art listening device, which he had aimed at the open entrance to David’s cabin. The part he was interested in, however, was that Max and Carla would be meeting David and Amy again soon. If he lost the launch that was heading off back to the Ocean Raider, he still had a way of picking up their trail again.
Collins waved casually at a group of small boats moored nearby. A launch engine burst into a deep muffled roar, as it headed towards the jetty to pick him up. Keeping his keen eyes on the rapidly disappearing launch, he leapt aboard and directed the helmsmen to follow Max and Carla.
***
Geoff Collins was currently on a mission to recover the statuette for his new employer. He would be 52 in January though he looked older. He was a complex man; his craggy face and close-cropped greying hair worked well for him, by making credible the three contradictory personas he readily employed, when out to deceive.
On one hand, he could look intimidating; his withering eye contact and don’t mess with me expression made most adversaries back down.
Alternatively, he was the sharp-witted, intelligent man of authority. A man others obediently followed, who they could trust and confide in. A man with a human touch, a warm smile, drinks with anyone; fun to be with, but never out of control.
If he wanted to remain unnoticed, he could soften the expression and appear slow-witted, kindly and ineffectual, totally unimportant, a grey man, the sort of unnoticed body that makes up a crowd. This was his role today.
His great talent was gleaning information and tracking down people. He always knew what questions to ask of the right people. His instinct led him to conclude seemingly impossible tasks, in a remarkably short time.
So far today, he had discovered that the Ocean Raider had been at sea for a