“POLICE! STAY WHERE YOU ARE,” he shouted determinedly, at the same time raising a small cylindrical object in his right hand.
Masters could hardly believe his luck. He almost laughed at the pathetic excuse for a cop who was trying to apprehend him. Spitting on the floor contemptuously, Masters broke into a run and charged straight at him, intending to swat the skinny cop aside and steal his car.
Seemingly undeterred, the plain-clothed officer raised his left arm, palm facing out. He rolled his neck and took aim with the object in his right hand. “STAND STILL, ARSEHOLE,” the cop yelled.
Masters didn’t like being called names, and he decided to give the dweeb a good hard slap for his insolence. Uttering a battle roar that took him back to his schoolboy rugger days, he bore down on the smaller man at a frightening speed.
The gap between them closed to twelve feet, then ten, then eight, then…
“AAARRGGHH!” Masters cried out as a jet of CS spray hit him square in the face. The pain was excruciating and he clawed at his eyes to wipe the noxious substance off.
“You’ve just been sprayed with a shitload of CS incapacitant,” the copper was casually saying, “and I hope it hurts like a fucking bitch.”
As Masters dropped to his knees, unable to open his eyes and struggling to breathe, the three men who had chased him from the Sea Cadets’ building reappeared.
“You lot couldn’t catch a cold,” Kevin Murray said, shaking his head contemptuously. He was leaning on the Astra’s roof, watching dispassionately as Masters writhed about in agony.
“What’s up with him?” Evans asked.
Murray held up the cannister in his hand. “I wouldn’t go too close just yet,” he informed them, “only I’ve just given chummy a liberal dose of CS.”
“I can see,” Steve Bull said, giving Masters a very wide berth in case the wind started spreading the gas cloud. “You heard me put up the chase over the radio, then?” he asked, joining Murray by the car.
“Good job for you I did,” Murray replied. He looked down at the little cannister in his hand. “Always wanted to get a chance to try this stuff out. Turns out it works pretty well.”
Bull raised the radio to his lips and announced that they had one in custody, just in case any other units were breaking their necks trying to reach them.
“Well,” Murray said, “it was lucky for you I was nearby or this one might’ve got away.”
“We had it under control,” Bull said, defensively.”
Murray sneered. “Course you did, Stevie boy.”
Evans took a circuitous route to join them, leaving young Jarvis to worry about providing aftercare. “Any word from Mr Dillon yet on the other scumbag who jumped overboard?”
“No,” Bull said unhappily, “and I can’t begin to tell you how much it worries me that Winston’s still on the loose.”
“Where was he last seen?” Murray asked, getting back into the car.
Steve pointed back towards the river’s edge. “Over there, on the other side of the car park.”
“Well then,” Murray announced casually. “I suppose I’d better go and find the dopey knuckle-dragging twat and save him, too.”
Chapter 38
The quay on this section of the river bank was home to a myriad of boats that came in all shapes and sizes; some were fishing charters; others were pleasure cruisers. Winston was unable to force entry to the first three that he tried, but on his fourth attempt, he got lucky and found an unlocked door. Thankfully, with no streetlamps or moonlight to illuminate his skulduggery, he’d been able weave his way through the shadows unseen.
The boat was a very well maintained fifty four foot long steel gaff-rigged cutter, and from its pristine condition, Winston assumed that it was its owner’s pride and joy.
Dripping water everywhere, Winston poked his head through the wooden door, waited several moments to see if anyone challenged him, and then cautiously descended the deep companionway steps that led down into the unlit pilothouse. Once at the bottom, he paused again, listening like a furtive animal for any sounds of movement coming from further inside.
There was a large, bespoke skylight above the boat’s saloon, constructed from stainless steel, wood, and glass, but the sky was so black above them that the ambient light coming in through it hardly made any difference to the darkness inside.
His right hand brushed against something cold and metallic, and when he glanced down, he saw it was a big red fire extinguisher attached to the bow wall by two thick brackets.
The recesses on either side of the companionway steps each contained double berths. The mattresses were currently unmade, but a stack of neatly folded bedding and two puffy pillows sat in the centre of each cot so that it could quickly be made ready for use whenever it was required.
Winston agitatedly fumbled around the walls until he found a light switch. When he flicked it on, the saloon’s interior was bathed in a warm glow. His eyes darted around the boat’s interior, taking everything in. There was a well-equipped galley running along the port side to his left, and he instantly clocked the two rows of carving knives that protruded from the wooden rack next to a four ring hob.
On the starboard side of the cutter, a full-size chart table was full of dials and instruments he didn’t understand. Beyond this was a lavish wrap around seating area, big enough to comfortably accommodate six, with varnished oak shelving containing an assortment of books and nautically themed ornaments above it. A circular table was bolted to the floor directly in front of the plush seats.
Unimpressed by the obvious opulence, Winston rushed straight through the saloon, snatching the largest of the knives from the rack as he went. His first priority was to establish whether there was anyone aboard who might raise the alarm, and with that in mind, he began a frenetic
