Counterpoint (16 page)

The Snake glided rapidly closer to Max,
it was not satisfied with just the cap, it wanted the whole
man.

Max kicked something hard with his
heel. It was a rusting gun, probably Stephen’s, or the pilot’s; he
hoped it would still work. He reached down and grabbed it and aimed
at the coiled body of the snake, then pulled the trigger. It hardly
moved. Max examined the gun, the safety catch was off, so he tried
to cock the hammer; it had rusted up already. Working the hammer
frantically, to ease the mechanism, made the snake glide even
closer. Max could almost hear the rasping sound of its scales, as
its body moved over dead leaves and twigs.

Dense undergrowth stopped further
retreat; the gun had to work now. Click! The shell was Dud! He re
cocked the mechanism, ejecting the shell, and a new one slid home.
Bang! The gun fired, but the bullet passed harmlessly into the
ground. Max fired again as the snake struck.

The bloody neck struck Max’s leg, and
the snake fell writhing in front of him.

“Wow! Phew!”

“I missed,” gasped Max, who had aimed
at the coiled body, “but it must have actually bitten the bullet,”
he laughed hysterically at his stupid joke. Badly shaken, he
stepped round the still writhing body, and headed watchfully to the
ladder.

“I’m getting out of here bloody quick,”
he told himself and climbed rapidly up into the friendly
sunshine.

Back on the deck again, he listened for
the helicopter, though it would not be due for at least half an
hour. Only the sounds of the jungle met his ears. He felt very
lonely 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. The helicopter was back, but no, the sound was
wrong. Then he saw it 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, 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
ropes were dropped. Looking up into the open doorway 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, and the pilot veered away, then came
back, side on, with two men who opened fire on 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. Other men opened fire again, while others slid
down. The men in the helicopter stopped shooting, when the rope men
were over the small deck, and Max fired into them as they slid
down. One fell on the deck, dead; the other fell to the ground. The
machine veered away again, and Max checked how many more shots
remained; only three.

The dead man on the deck had a machine
gun, so Max made a grab for it.

Taking it off the lifeless body was not
as quick and easy as he thought. He rolled the body over, and the
shooting restarted. 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. This time the
remaining men planned to descend together shooting as they
dropped.

Max aimed at the pilot again, 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 had survived to come and
get 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, shot before the engine cut
out, everyone survived the crash. Philippe was like a man possessed
by the Devil himself. Yet again, his bitch of a daughter and the
old fool with her, had got lucky and walked away with his
statuette. Well, that is how he saw it, and nobody on the
helicopter was going to argue with him. They also wanted their own
revenge.

Minutes later, Max heard the sound of
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 on, tied the box to it, and was winched to
safety. Once on board, Max gleefully strapped himself into his seat
and relaxed on a journey back to the Ocean Raider. Max looked a
mess, blood from the decapitated snake stained one trouser leg, his
clothes were torn and stained with sweat and grime, and he had 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?
Max just said, he actually got more than he bargained for, and he
could not recommend the place for a relaxing holiday. The two men
looked questioningly at each other and said no more.

Back on board the Ocean Raider, no one
questioned what was in the large canvas bag, and Max did not say,
but 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 gave her
a kiss on the back of her neck and said, “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 with him.

“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 really wanted to cuddle him, and now she had spoilt everything.
She followed him down and apologised, putting on her best
little girl
act.

“By the way, what is in the bag?” She
said.

“Oh! Just something for your table in
the hall, I know you wanted it.”

She looked oddly at him, and pulled off
the bag. “Oh my goodness, whatever have you done? The Organisation
will go mad when they find out.”

“They won’t,” replied Max “I have
checked it out with Sam. It’s none of their affair, they said, 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 circled round behind her and put
his arms around her waist, drawing her close and cuddled her, as he
told his story.

***

After calling for help on the radio, a
rescue party picked up Philippe and his men, ironically they used
Max’s platform to lift off. Philippe’s men had no trouble in
finding it after the crash; they were well trained and used to the
jungle. They had hoped 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
get it. They could do what they wanted with the
old fool,
but Carla was his. She
would pay for all the trouble, embarrassment, and pain she had
caused him.

After extensive enquiries, Philippe
decreed their first stop would be Malé in the Maldives, then find
Ocean Raider, and board it. They would then do whatever was
necessary 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, ever 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 and remarkable girl whom he
loved, and who also loved him.

He thought about the dinner-party at
the Duke’s home, the man’s charisma, charm and the warm welcome he
gave Max, into his world. A world of understated power, intrigue,
of immense wealth, and taste of danger.

A chill went through Max, as the
repressed memory of Philippe’s gun, exploding in his face, surfaced
in his consciousness.

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 much stronger
in character, as well. He was also healthier; regular workouts in
Carla’s gym, and here on board ship, undoubtedly made a difference.
Although forty-six years old, he was probably as fit as an active
man of thirty-five and as 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, 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, he could have died
from many causes, resulting in a horrible death from drowning, but
he got away with it. His conscience pricked him about the other two
divers he murdered, yes murdered! Suppose they had nothing to do
with Manuel, suppose they were just having a night dive? Max
shifted position; guilt was sweeping over him, at the possibility
of the men being innocent victims.

He forced his thoughts on to his
adventure, recovering the statuette, as a present for Carla. He had
always considered himself resourceful, and the way he handled
things, then, proved he was no dreamer. Getting lost in the jungle,
and then the confrontation with the snake, certainly sharpened his
instinct for survival. No wonder he had no problem shooting the men
in the helicopter, especially Philippe, he deserved to die.

Now here he was, back in the lap of
luxury again, 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 I’ll have my usual
large fruit juice, shredded wheat, and yoghurt. I will also have
hazelnut coffee with a dash of cinnamon,” Max added.

“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, when the waiter had gone.

The steward served breakfast, and gave
Max a message from the radio room. It was from the laboratory that
carried out the DNA test on Amy’s hair. Max smiled as he read the
result and then went into deep thought. What should he do now?

The young Cypriot detective looked with
interest at the opened up corpse, on the autopsy table. The dead
man had already been identified as one of the local thugs, but how
did he come to drown, with no fatal physical injury, and fully
working dive equipment?

Preliminary inquiries had shown the
man, Jose, and his brother Rafael, had been associated 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
disappeared.

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.

Diving accidents were more likely than
murder, in Larnaca, but this death was suspicious, so a full
investigation was getting under way. The first thing to do was
track down the brother and Manuel.

The airport security revealed they had
boarded a flight to Malé. The detective immediately contacted
Interpol and police at Malé to follow the trail.

In a large office building in Karala,
India, a tall, distinguished European man sat at an ornately carved
desk. The whole room was filled with art objects of exceptional
value from all over the world. He had recently employed Stephen
Jackson to deliver the Statuette to him.

Picking up a ringing phone, he answered
curtly. The caller confirmed he would track down the missing
statuette, starting from the last known place it was seen, the
Ocean Raider. The recovery fee would be $250,000 paid into his
Cayman Island account, on exchange.

The caller had a well-deserved
reputation for achieving success with his commissions; his uncanny
knack of picking up the correct leads helped him succeed, where
others failed. Satisfied, the tall man replaced the phone and
continued his work, planning his next acquisition.

***

Max had finished breakfast when Carla
appeared. He wanted to tell her that Amy was her twin sister, but
thought he should see how she might react to the news, first.

“You and Amy really get on well
together, don’t you?” He enquired.

“We sure do, I believe we are as close
as sisters might be,” she replied.

“What would you think 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, 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 ties, emotional ties that would smother me. No, I like
things are as they are, I can dip in and out of this friendship
when I want.”