Captives

SIXTY-EIGHT

The engine of The Abbott sounded deafening in the silence, the loud spluttering replaced rapidly by a rumble as the boat moved away from the pier.

John Hitch wandered towards the cabin, where Terry Morton was steering the boat, peering out over the river.

'How come you know how to drive these fucking things?' Hitch asked, looking for the first sign of their quarry.

'You don't drive a boat, you ignorant cunt,' chuckled Morton. 'You pilot it.'

'Whatever,' Hitch shrugged.

'My old man worked the river all his life, doing deliveries, pick-ups. They used to use it like a canal; anything that couldn't be moved easily by land, they'd stick it on a boat. My old man worked the length of it. He had a pleasure boat for about ten years before he died, used to run fucking tourists down to Hampton Court, that sort of stuff.' Morton moved the wheel slightly, bringing the boat around. 'He made a ton of money ripping them off. I used to go along with him a lot of the time.'

'John, check it out, mate,' called Adrian McCann from the small foredeck. 'Coming up on our right.'

Both Hitch and Morton looked and saw the warning lights of a small boat approaching. As yet it was a little over two hundred yards away. Hitch reached for the binoculars and peered through them. He read the name on the side of the boat.

'The Sandhopper,' he said, smiling. 'Bingo.'

Morton guided the boat towards the centre of the river, then towards the oncoming Sandhopper.

Still peering through the binoculars he could see movement on the other boat: two men looking ahead, one of them pointing towards The Abbott.

'They'll signal us to turn aside,' Morton observed.

'How do you know?' Hitch asked.

'Rules of the river,' Morton told him. 'What do you want me to do?'

'Bring us up alongside them,' said Hitch, and glanced across at his companion. 'You set?'

Morton nodded and inclined his head in the direction of an Ithaca Model 37 shotgun on the bench beside him.

Red warning lights were flashing the bridge of The Sandhopper as the two boats drew closer, Morton now angling The Abbott so that it was heading directly towards the other craft. Hitch reached inside his jacket and touched the butt of the Beretta he'd taken from Scott.

The two boats were less than one hundred yards away from each other now.

Morton slowed the speed a little, preparing to bring the boat to a halt when he needed to.

Eighty yards.

Adrian McCann stood by the prow of the boat, one thumb hooked into the pocket of his jeans, his other hand gripping the butt of a Uzi sub-machine gun.

Sixty yards.

Hitch could hear shouting from the other boat, though most of the words were indistinct. He saw one man motioning animatedly with his arms, as if to deflect the other boat from its route.

Forty yards.

'Steady now,' Hitch said and Morton slowed up a little more.

Twenty yards.

They seemed to be the only two vessels moving on the dark water; The Abbott was almost invisible in the gloom. The red warning lights of The Sandhopper glowed like boiling blood in the blackness.

Ten yards.

Hitch could hear the men shouting now, see them gesticulating madly towards The Abbott in an effort to divert it from what appeared to be a collision course.

Morton cut the motor.

The boat floated the last few yards until it actually bumped the side of The Sandhopper. One of the crew immediately crossed to the side of the smaller boat and pointed a finger angrily at Hitch.

'What the fucking hell are you playing at?' he bellowed. 'You could have sunk us. You haven't even got your lights on…'

The sentence trailed off as Hitch pulled the Beretta free and aimed it at the crewman.

'Cut your engines,' shouted Morton, swinging the Ithaca up into view, working the pump action, chambering a round.

McCann stepped forward too, the Uzi held in both hands the stubby barrel pointed at the deck of The Sandhopper.

'All of you get out where I can see you,' shouted Hitch.

'What the fuck is this?' the first crewman said. 'Are you the law?'

'No,' said one of his companions, looking at the Uzi. 'They ain't the law.' He lifted his hands into the air in a gesture of surrender.

'All of you,' Hitch shouted, watching as the third man joined his companions on the foredeck. He was the youngest of the trio, in his early twenties, with short black hair. His companions were both in their forties, one of them greying at the temples, a squat, powerfully built man; the other was a tall gangling individual with deep set eyes which remained fixed on Hitch the whole time.

'Who the fuck are you?' the second man asked as Hitch stepped aboard The Sandhopper.

Hitch ignored the question.

'Get the hold open,' he said sharply, pushing the barrel of the pistol towards the tall man's face. 'Do it,' he rasped when the man hesitated.

The younger of the trio looked at McCann and Morton and decided he would be better advised not to try and reach the.38 he had jammed into his belt.

The tall man opened the hold and Hitch peered down into it, glancing at dozens of crates all of roughly the same size.

'Bring one out,' he said, watching as the tall man struggled with it, finally dropping it on to the deck. 'Open it,' Hitch told him.

'You're making a mistake,' said the second man.

'You're the one making a fucking mistake,' Morton snapped, raising the Ithaca and pointing it at his head, if you open your mouth once more I'll blow your fucking head off. Got it?'

There was a creak of splintering wood as the tall man prized off the lid of the crate. Hitch told him to back off, then moved across. Beneath a layer of foam rubber there was a dark brown carpet of coffee beans. He dug his hand through the aromatic blanket and his fingers closed round an unmistakeable shape. He pulled the video-cassette free and gripped it in his free hand, the pistol still trained on the tall man.

Hitch slammed the cassette hard against the crate. Once. Twice. It cracked, then split open.

Yards of video tape spilled onto the deck, along with pieces of broken plastic.

And a small plastic bag full of white powder.

He tore it open, moistened the end of one gloved finger then dipped it in the substance and touched it to his tongue. It felt cold as the powder reached his tastebuds. He smiled thinly and motioned the tall man back. Morton looked across expectantly.

'We've got it,' said Hitch, smiling. 'Now let's get it loaded and get out of here.'