Private Sydney (Private 12)

Both containers were empty.

Chapter 81

PICKING THE LOCK on the boat would have been child’s play, if not for his injuries. Just as the man thought he’d have to break in, the lock clicked and the hatch doors opened.

Down in the galley he went straight for the cupboard under the sink. He removed a tin marked ‘herbal tea’ and a bottle of gin strategically hidden behind it. Buried under the peppermint tea-leaves was a set of keys wrapped in plastic. He peeled them free with his good hand.

Next he unscrewed the cap from the gin and placed it on the small dining table before descending the aft stairs and lifting out a spare set of clothes from the storage area under one of the bunks.

Above and to the left of the sink was a latched cupboard containing a first-aid kit. He placed it on the saloon table. He unzipped his jacket and examined the still painful wrist. The shoulder ached but would heal. The spider bite still gave him grief. Sweats and nausea slowed him down more than he would have imagined. On the positive side, the lymph nodes under his arm were reducing in size. His body was slowly clearing the toxin.

He popped a pill from the kit to counteract nausea, washing it down with a sip of gin. He carefully washed his wrist with liquid soap, dried it and applied antiseptic cream before covering it with a bandage.

Thirty-six hours without sleep. He needed to rest so slid into the bench seat, closed his eyes and lay his head on the table while he waited.

Moments later a noise above deck disturbed the quiet.

He stayed silent and still. He was no longer alone. A light shone through the window, then a pause. Footsteps slowly descended the companionway. Fifth step, fourth.

He splashed the bottle’s contents down his front and on the table.

Third.

He slid on the dark glasses.

A light moved through the crack above the hatch. The handle on the hatch moved.

The man gripped the flick-knife in his pocket with his left hand.

When the door opened, he was sprawled face sideways on the saloon table.

Chapter 82

FROM WHERE HE lay, he could make out the image reflected in the window. The intruder had a mouthpiece wired to a radio on his epaulette. Marina Security.

He moaned.

‘Hey.’ The guard stepped closer and poked the stranger’s arm. ‘You all right?’

The man snorted and sluggishly lifted his head off the table.

The guard recoiled. ‘Jeez, you reek.’

The man licked his lips and slurred, ‘Officer, I didn’t do it.’

The guard lifted the half-empty bottle. ‘How can you even drink this stuff? I need to see some ID.’

The man fumbled for his wallet, then pointed to a shelf. The guard turned his light to a framed photo of two men on a fishing trip. One currently stank of alcohol. The other was the boat’s real owner.

‘That was before my wife left with … our bastard of a lawyer.’

The guard hesitated and swung his torch around inside.

‘I got a report someone broke in.’ He kept the light on the boat’s keys. ‘Next time let us know you’re coming. Save us all a lot of hassle. And, mate, I’ve been there. Alcohol is never the answer.’

The man folded himself down on the table.

The guard reported to base that the owner was sleeping off a binge, and was informed two kids had been spray-painting on the other side of the marina. The police were on their way. He sighed, took one look back and left.