Perilous Affairs
By Dick Nowakowski
Copyright © Wladyslaw R. & Denise Nowakowski 2012
Smashwords Edition
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All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons
living or dead are purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Other books by Dick Nowakowski
Prologue
The athletic looking American businessman dressed in a white tropical suit appeared to be uncomfortable and was perspiring heavily. There were dark sweat patches under his armpits and on his back. Jeff Kruger, also known as Mister Jackson, was in a makeshift hacienda, in the humid and mosquito infested clearing, deep in the heart of the Colombian jungle, negotiating the purchase of cocaine with Senor Rodrigo who represented the drug cartel. Both knew and trusted each other from previous transactions to deliver as per agreement, but they were also aware that there was always a possibility of a ‘misunderstanding’ or simply of deceit.
Several hundred half naked men and women supervised by armed guards, toiled from sunrise to sunset. The crop they produced was for world distribution. They were a proud people, disillusioned but confident that the money made from the sale of their product would help to topple the corrupt regime and create democracy.
‘Mister Jackson, your offer is much too low. We couldn’t even produce the excellent quality product for what you are offering!’ said Rodrigo.
‘OK Manuel, I was only testing. We know you and your merchandise and I’m happy to double our offer and cover the expenses if you get fifty kilos packed and delivered the way we have discussed previously. My syndicate will pay you twenty-five per cent of the value, in used US dollar bills, within a week. When the product arrives successfully at the destination, the balance will be transferred to the Swiss Bank account number, as usual. I will also get you a five per cent skim off for your personal account if you accept the deal now.’ Jackson looked up at Rodrigo anticipating agreement. They shook hands.
Turmoil outside stopped their celebration. Before the racket could be investigated, an excited CIA agent barged into the hacienda holding a sawn-off shotgun in his hand.
Though he wasn’t looking him in the face, Jeff Kruger noticed that the young man was nervously scanning the room looking from one to the other, he was breathing heavily and his hands were trembling. Jeff asked in an even tone.
‘What’s up, man?’ at the same time determining the extent of the threat from the intruder.
‘Raise your hands and stand back!’ shouted the edgy agent; hoping reinforcements would arrive any moment. Jeff, recognising the signs of fear raised his hands slowly and at the same time turned to face the agent. In the process he pulled out a slim razor-sharp dagger from his chest scabbard. The stiletto had a heavy brass handle and as he turned, he threw the knife aiming at the young man’s chest. Kruger and Rodrigo dropped to the ground, but there was no need for it.
With a look of surprise on his face the agent slid to the dirt floor with a pierced heart, without even pulling the trigger. Soon, a large pool of blood formed around his body.
Both, Kruger and Rodrigo disappeared without a trace.
The murder of the US CIA officer was discovered within a very short time and was connected with Jeff Kruger. However, despite the effort of a number of US agencies, Kruger was never found. In the end, Interpol were notified, but couldn’t trace the murderer either. Fingerprints from the sweaty marks were taken from the handle of the weapon and kept as evidence in the CIA files for future use as evidence.
Jeff Kruger escaped to the other side of the world. He acquired a new face via cosmetic surgery which altered his appearance, making him look much younger than his thirty-five years. He changed his personality and with forged documents became a new man.
Kruger arrived in Australia as Mr. Jeff Smith, a twenty-six years of age Canadian citizen.
Shortly after, he acquired a luxury motor yacht in Cairns and renewed his working relationship with the Colombian cartel. Because of the reputation of his uncompromising treatment of the people working for him, as well as his dealings with his associates and dealers, he was known as Boss.
The automatic in Rick’s right hand was getting heavier every second. He was trying to keep it steady using the last reserves of energy, which was rapidly escaping with his blood, forming an ever-increasing puddle at his feet. Rick was hoping against hope for a miracle.
The noise in his ears was unbearably loud. As seconds passed it was more difficult to remain upright, but he knew that to live he had to stay on his feet. Despite all the effort, he swayed, his knees buckled. All went dark and he was spinning into a bottomless pit.
1
Eighty kilometres south-west of Melbourne, Corio Bay with its sandy beaches and tall trees creates a picturesque background for the City of Geelong. The most prominent building in town was the beautiful Gothic style, St Mary’s Cathedral. The spires were visible from far.
On the afternoon of the third Saturday of March 1955, a three week old baby boy was crying loudly when the priest poured water over his head, saying: ‘Richard Francis, Ego te baptiso in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sanctus, Amen.’ The little boy’s parents and God parents were delighted and took him home for baptismal celebrations.
As soon as he was old enough, Rick joined the Boy Scout movement. The Be Prepared motto, taught him to be aware of his environment and the people he interacted with. He was always ready to give a hand to the needy.
On his thirteenth birthday, his parents surprised him with a present that he could have only dreamt about – they gave him a 35mm Nikon camera and a small Durst enlarger. Rick was hooked. Photography became his passion.
After finishing High School he chose the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT), where he could specialize in Commercial Industrial Photography.
Rick graduated from RMIT, with flying colours. The qualifications in his pocket allowed him to venture into the business world of photography.
Instead, he joined his best friend, Bruce McKay, in the Reserve Commando Company at Fort Gellibrand in Williamstown, where he learned many useful mental and physical drills: such as tolerance to pain, to fend for himself and a number of unarmed assault and self-defence techniques as well as precision hand gun shooting. The Red Berets suited him, but at the end of his initial training Rick decided to return to first love, photography, and to continue with the Commandos on part time basis.
He was an only child and was very close with his parents, so when two years later they were killed in a car accident at a railway crossing, his grieving was very intense. Rick turned to alcohol trying to forget the tragedy, neglecting his obligations.
His newly established business began to falter. Fortunately his close friend Steve Collins, with whom he’d studied Photography at RMIT, helped Rick to see the harm he was doing to himself and the business.
‘You’re a bloody idiot, Rick. Stop the booze and start living!’
Rick took Steve’s advice, attended sessions with his family doctor and finally managed to settle down to work again. Once more his work became fun. His life was exciting - new clients, new opportunities. Richard sold his parents’ house in Geelong and moved to Williamstown, a Western suburb of Melbourne. He loved being close to the sea. He bought a beautifully renovated, three bedroom house on a quarter acre block, located on the Strand. It was close to the town centre with a magnificent view of the City of Melbourne across Hobson’s Bay. After a short while he added a small studio to the house and converted one of the bedrooms into a well equipped modern photographic laboratory.
During his Army days, of all places, he learned to meditate. Usually he combined the meditation with prayer, which created a peaceful environment conducive to solving pressing problems.
An unusual episode of deep meditation occurred shortly after he finished his twelve months of vigorous training. He had had considerable stress connected with establishing Richard Dickson Photography, which made him climb the walls. Unexpectedly, during the deepest part of his meditation, he found himself on a beautiful coral island. He could read the name at the jetty ‘Underwater Viewing Green Island’. The encounter was absolutely real to him. He could swear he was there. Even the people on the island seemed real, except that no one appeared to notice his presence. When he mentally returned home he realised that the session had relaxed him to such an extent that he was able to think clearly and solve his problems easily.
Later, Rick wrote about the meditation episode to his mentor, the Indonesian Army Officer, who was in Australia on a training mission at the time. He replied that what had occurred to Rick was what is called Transcendental Spiritual out of body experience. He explained that only a small group of people in the world are able to do this. He thought Rick was specially gifted and was the only one, apart from himself, whom he personally knew to achieve the state of separation of the spirit. Rick didn’t understand why it was given to him, but who was he to question it? He wondered if this would ever happen to him again and to what purpose he might be able to use this gift. Or maybe it was only a dream after all?
He retained social contact with most of his mates, particularly those with whom he had a strong bond. One of his closer friends, Corporal Jack Smith, compared them to the Three Musketeers,
‘All for one and one for bloody all,’ he used to joke.
By mid 1970s Rick’s artistic flare and precise photographic portrayal of technical and industrial subjects, as well as his business acumen, proved successful. Richard Dickson Photography became a respected establishment.
At the age of twenty eight, he was at the top of his physical form. He loved swimming, SCUBA diving, an occasional game of badminton and volleyball. Rick also loved fishing in the Bay with friends. His many daily activities made it difficult to allocate additional time for more hobbies. His life was full.
In 1976 Rick met an attractive, intelligent and witty young woman. Rick and Jane became engaged, but he soon discovered that Jane was cheating on him. He was shattered, and so, a period of depression followed the break-up and Rick developed a phobia of women, particularly young women, and decided to keep away from females for good.
Photography was his life from then on.
The day he finished a jewellery catalogue shoot, Rick realized that he had a spell of ten days before his next assignment. Apart from his regular clients, he often looked for new ones. It provided a safety net for the times when there might be a shortage of work.
He hated being idle and simply had to fill in the gap with another job. Rick looked out the window rubbing his chin. He would contact his old mate, Steve Collins. Steve was employed by an Earth moving and Diesel Engine Manufacturing Concern as their Company Photographer. As part of his job, Steve had to travel interstate or overseas, and occasionally, if there was an overlapping assignment, he would engage Rick to do the job. This time, when Rick asked for Steve, the receptionist connected him with Bert Wilson, Steve’s supervisor, instead.
‘Richard! Am I happy to hear your voice!’ exclaimed Bert. ‘Steve is away on sick leave for about two weeks, nothing serious, I swear. According to his doctor he simply needs some rest, the lazy bugger.’ Bert chuckled. He considered Rick a competent photographer and was glad he rang.
‘Mate, your timing couldn’t be better. How are you?’ he asked, and without waiting for Rick’s reply continued, ‘I was raking my brains to see a way out of our predicament. In fact, I was going to ring Steve to get your number, because I didn’t want to engage an unknown photographer out of the Yellow Pages. I hope you can help us. We need an urgent photographic and journalistic coverage of a crayfishing trawler in South Australian waters.’
Rick’s ears pricked up.
‘We need a photo illustration of our Marine Diesels in one of the largest modern pleasure craft, converted to a fishing trawler; a very successful enterprise in South Australia. The Sales Department also requires a testimonial in the form of an article to accompany the shots. Would you be interested in such an assignment, and if so, could you handle it on your own?’
Rick couldn’t believe his luck. ‘Would I be interested? I love the sea, I love fishing! The reason for my call was that I have about two weeks till my next assignment. I had hoped to get some work from you to fill in the gap. Of course I’d love to take the job and I’m sure I’ll be able to manage it on my own.’ confirmed Rick.
‘Then I’d like to commission you for the task, the only stipulation is that the work has to be done pronto, mate.’ Rick could hear the relief in Bert’s voice.
What luck! The offer made Rick’s day. He had ample time on his hands and had never been on a commercial fishing boat before. The assignment would be very different from any of his usual jobs and in addition, the Company required a cover story.
‘I’m not a professional writer as you know, but I’m capable of interviewing your client and writing some pertinent notes, as a starting point for an article. Actually, with the photographs and the verbal briefing, there should be ample material for a professional writer to produce a comprehensive story. And, if needed, I can also organize a journalist to write it for you.’ Rick rattled on excitedly.
Bert thought for a moment. ‘You’ve worked for us before. I trust your judgment, Richard. I’m sure that the job will be done to our satisfaction. The commission requirement is for you to drive to Kingston SE in South Australia, to charter a boat there to take you to the trawler Australis, which is at present about forty nautical miles from the Base, fishing at the edge of the Continental Shelf in the Southern Ocean.’
He paused to take a breath.
‘When all the photographs and interviews on board are finished, you return to Kingston, stay overnight, then, drive to Adelaide in the morning. You will then get the background information and some additional pictures illustrating the After Sale Service from the Marine Diesel dealer’s Head Office. Anyway, I’ll fax you the confirmation,’ he finished the litany.
‘No sweat. I don’t expect any problems, but if something unforseen develops, I’ll get in touch. See you when I get back. And thanks again Bert.’
The illustrated article was to appear, amongst others, in the prestigious International Fisheries News, where Bert promised an appropriate by-line. The by-line would have a potential for additional Marine assignments for Rick. He was thrilled.
The following day Bert informed Rick that the local Branch Manager of the South Australian Dealership had already organized the visit with the owner of the boat, Patrick Murphy, who was expecting the photographer to arrive midmorning of the following Wednesday.
‘Bert, the assignment is a dream come true for me. I love the sea but my only boating experience so far has been in the Bay in my 18 footer with an outboard.’
‘I assure you, it will be totally different,’ said Bert. ‘Don’t forget to take sea-sickness pills with you.’
Rick had a good mate who owned a pharmacy just around the corner. He rang Jeff explaining his assignment at sea.
‘Don’t worry Rick; I have the latest and probably the most effective remedy available. The beauty of this medication is that you can take up to eight tablets a day without experiencing any dangerous side effects. They are twice as effective as any other on the market. The only thing that you’ll notice that you’ll became thirsty and slightly drowsy. You also need to avoid alcohol, so don’t get sloshed while on board.’ Jeff joked. ‘The medicine is still on a selected trial basis but we have permission to sell it to patients whose medical history is known to us personally. If administered to people with heart problems it could increase the heart rate, causing tachycardia or arrhythmia. In such cases, the medicine should be terminated immediately. The symptoms can be unpleasant but not fatal.’
‘Thanks a lot Jeff. I expect to be on the trawler for twelve hours only, but you never know. Please let me have enough to cover at least twenty four hours and a few more, just in case. I’ll pick them up tomorrow. I’m pushed for time at present, but on my return I’ll make a special effort to come to have a chat. Thanks again, mate.’
As soon as Rick’s cray fishing assignment was confirmed he rang Bruce McKay to brag a little about his forthcoming job. Chief Inspector Bruce McKay, an ex Commando Sergeant was Rick’s best friend even before their army days. He was currently employed by Victoria Police, working from Head Office in Russell Street. Bruce, in his mid thirties, handsome, sporting a military style moustache and crew cut blond hair, had a muscular build, and looked ten years younger than his real age. Rick couldn’t contain his excitement.
Bruce listened intently and after a short while said: ‘You’re a bloody lucky, bastard! Struth, I wish I could be with you on that bloody boat mate.’
‘Never mind cobber, when I return from this job, I’ll give you a bell and we’ll organise a fishing trip in the Bay. It won’t be the same as the ocean, but it’ll give us a chance to have a yak. I’ll tell you all about my experience on board.’
‘By the way, where did you say you are starting this assignment?’ Bruce asked with a note of concern in his voice.
‘Why, Kingston SE in South Australia, I mentioned the bloody place to you a minute ago!’ Rick exclaimed indignantly, thinking that Bruce wasn’t listening.
‘I know mate, I know, I just wanted to make sure,’ he said. Bruce was closely associated with the Canberra Bureau of Customs and Narcotics in charge of the Narcotics undercover section. He also knew of Rick’s passion for criminology.
‘As you know, I work closely with the other States in the fight against drug smuggling. I heard via the grape-vine that something bloody fishy is going on in that part of the woods. Since we’ve been friends for many years, I want to ask you a favour. When you arrive at your destination, keep your eyes and ears peeled, but at the same time I warn you not to get involved in any heroics. Knowing your interest in criminology I think you might enjoy a bit of snooping around. Once again I caution you, be careful, it can be bloody deadly.’ Bruce advised seriously.
‘You can count on me, mate. I’ll do what I can and will let you know if and what I’ve discovered on my return from the assignment. It’ll make the trip more interesting. Let me have a phone number on which I can contact you twenty four/seven and also your radio frequency.’
‘I’ll do better than that cobber. Drop in at Headquarters tomorrow after lunch and there will be the latest in communication technology waiting for you; a small digitally coded UHF set, so no one can decipher the conversation. The battery should last a while, but just in case, we’ll give you a spare one. There is only one problem, the two-way works in a straight line only. To obtain a bloody connection you must be no further than 10k from the receiving aerial, because of the earth’s curvature. If the aerial is on top of a hill then of course the connection will occur earlier. Telecom has recently erected a network of antennas in anticipation of the new technology so you won’t be left high and dry.’ He gave Rick the number and frequency code, in case he’d have to use the radio, which Rick wrote in his diary. ‘See you when I get back.’
The assignment appeared more and more interesting. Rick was counting the hours. He rubbed his chin, anticipating the experience.
After collecting the high tech marvel from Police Headquarters the next day, Rick went to his pharmacist friend to pick up the sea sickness pills. Jeff prepared an additional drug for Rick which, according to him, was sometimes used illegally by professional sports people.
‘The drug is a combination of amphetamine and several other potent substances to enhance the ability to overcome fatigue and muscle pain. Knowing your tendencies to get involved in helping people in need, I suggest taking the pill before any anticipated strenuous activity. Don’t overdo it, though. I’m giving you just two tablets, to use only as a last resort. Take only one if you come across volatile and excessive exploits. And if you won’t have any need for the drug, please bring them back to me.’
‘Thanks a lot Jeff, I don’t think I’ll need it, but you never know. It’s better to be prepared.’
Rick rushed home to get ready for the trip. He intended to arrive in Kingston SE on Tuesday afternoon, spending the night in a local motel and then cast off first thing in the morning.
He aimed to work all day on board of the trawler obtaining the required material and then to either radio for a boat to pick him up and take him back to Kingston SE, or if the Australis was returning to port that evening, to come back with them.
He would stay in the motel overnight again and drive to Adelaide the following morning as Bert suggested. He hoped to be back home by Saturday night.
Rick’s almost new, powerful V8 Holden Monaro coped well with the long haul. At the SA border he reset his watch back half an hour to match local time. It took him only six hours to reach his destination. He arrived in Kingston SE on Tuesday afternoon.
The town was smaller than he imagined. The sun was shining through broken clouds. The air smelt strongly of seaweed. A chilly fresh wind blowing from the Southwest instantly penetrated his jumper giving Rick a warning for the next day.
He booked a room for two nights in the only motel in town, a dingy looking joint, with paint peeling off the façade. The lawns and flower beds were neglected. However, he found that the interior was clean, well appointed and was run by a friendly staff.
The main attraction in the town was the South Australian Fisheries Co-operative or SAFCO. It was located near the fishing wharf which consisted of a number of jetties on the edge of a channel leading to the open sea. During the season, its main activity was crayfish processing with the aim to export the frozen lobster tails to USA and Asia. However, SAFCO also handled wet fish, particularly in the crayfish off-season between September and December.
As Rick walked along the SAFCO building complex, he found it difficult to hear himself think for the shrieks of myriad seagulls. How could people tolerate such a racket? Entering the building he turned towards the retail counter and felt grateful for not having to work there permanently. The noise but the smell would make most people ill, he thought.
‘Hi. I’m looking for a boat for charter,’ said Rick to the girl behind the counter at the SAFCO office. ‘Can you point me in the right direction, love?’ Rick was waiting for an answer, rubbing his chin. The pretty girl, no more than eighteen, in a blue working frock and a hair net covering her blond curls, pointed at a group of men standing near the entrance, talking loudly.
‘Go and ask those guys, they are the local fishermen. I’m sure they’ll be able to help you,’ she smiled.
‘Thanks a lot darl,’ Rick waved his hand and walked outside.
‘G’day. Can one of you fellows help me? I need a hike to the Australis tomorrow morning.’
After a short pause, a middle aged man turned to Rick:
‘I can take you there,’ he said, ‘it’ll cost you a bloody packet though’.
‘That’s okay, as long as you can get me to the bloody trawler safely, and back if required.’
George Papadopoulos was the Master of a nine metre cray fishing trawler Southern Cross. He was in his late forties, overweight, wearing a Skipper’s cap and a greasy wind-cheater.
‘The weather is getting real fucken bad, you’d be advised not to go till it settles back to normal,’ said George. ‘It’ll make you bloody sick.’ Rick rubbed his chin in thought. ‘I wish I could postpone the trip, but I can’t. I need to be there tomorrow before noon,’ Rick said, making a sour face.
Firstly, he was committed to meet with the Australis in the middle of the ocean the following morning and secondly, Rick was expected to attend another assignment in Melbourne and had to be back no later than on Wednesday of the following week.
George showed Rick his boat which was moored at the end of the fishermen’s jetty. They came to an agreement regarding the fee and decided to cast off at five o’clock next morning. It was much too early for Rick’s liking, but to reach the Australis at a favourable light, they had to start in the dark.
As it was still early afternoon, there was plenty of time before sunset, so Rick set off sight-seeing. The town consisted of a few retail shops, a couple of corner milk bars, a mandatory pub which also served as additional accommodation during summer, and a number of houses spread along the tidy streets. The dwellings, particularly those of older vintage, were constructed from large off-white bricks sawn into shape from ancient coral, quarried in the southern parts of South Australia. Rick had learned from George that the population of Kingston S.E. consisted primarily of fishermen’s families.
Looking around the channel dotted with short jetties, he saw a variety of boats, the majority being fishing vessels, safely moored and waiting for favourable weather. The pleasure craft jetties at the Marina were practically empty as it was close to winter. Most of the boat owners usually moved north in the autumn.
There were only three pleasure vessels at this time. The closest two were aluminium Striker boats, well maintained, nine or ten meters long with a flying bridge each. The third however, stood out, being much larger and of modern aero-dynamic design, maybe thirty or even thirty-five metres long. The vessel definitely was a luxury ocean going motor yacht. It seemed strange for such a luxurious craft to be in the company of those ordinary boats. There must be a special reason for this boat to be in Kingston at this time of the year, Rick thought. What reason could have brought this boat to Kingston, he mused. Maybe they were trying to catch a White Pointer as a trophy, he pondered as he walked past, heading for the motel.
The sunset was crimson and according to the locals foretold a strong wind for the next day or two. At the motel, Rick packed his photographic gear, ready for the early morning departure. He had a simple dinner, watched the news, and after reading a few pages from the S.A. tourist directory about the fishing industry, he prayed for a safe trip, then turned out the lights and went to sleep.
Normally, Rick slept like a log, without any dreams, but that night he had a vivid nightmare of long tentacles resembling hairy arms, threatening to drown him in a pool of blood. He tried to run away but his legs were made of lead. It took him a mighty effort to wake up. He awoke covered in cold sweat. Then he tossed and turned the rest of the night and was glad when the alarm finally woke him with the early morning news. All he remembered later was the unfavourable weather report.
He sat quietly on the edge of the bed thinking about his hopes for a safe trip and somehow still felt anxious. He took a shower, had a quick breakfast of cornflakes and a mug of strong coffee. He stacked his photographic gear and a suitcase containing a change of clothing and a pair of Army jump boots into the Monaro and within a few minutes, arrived at the jetty to meet with George.
Rick wore a jumper, a windcheater, and his favourite pair of faded jeans. On his feet he had a pair of running shoes with soft, thick rubber soles. His head was covered with a dark blue adjustable peaked cap. A puff of blustery wind penetrated his outfit and he felt cold. He was glad his belongings went on board with him, because suddenly he had a premonition that he would be spending the night on the Australis.
It was still dark at five in the morning. The setting full moon visible through wispy clouds looked like a huge orange disk creating bright reflections on the uneven surface of the sea. In the black sky Rick could just make out the Southern Cross constellation not far from the horizon.
The street lights were flickering through the moving leaves of shoreline trees. There was a distinct sound of wind whooshing through the foliage. The branches waved in the breeze like lamenting arms, set to warn him against venturing out to sea, reminding him of his nightmare. Rick wasn’t at all superstitious, but once again a feeling of some intangible dread descended upon him. The air smelt of salt and rotten seaweed. The surf was rumbling on the nearby beaches. The wind was gaining strength. He could feel its cold gusts on his face. It was no more than eight degrees Celsius, not counting the chill factor of the wind. The artificial channel in which the boat jetties stood was still calm. The South-Westerly must have picked up not long before his arrival at the pier.
He was glad he’d taken a couple of the sea sickness tablets after his light breakfast, after all. Without the pills, the initial stage of his ocean journey might have turned to disaster. The interior of the boat was saturated with the stench of stale fish and diesel oil.
The boat shook and throbbed under his feet. They were under way.
2
They reached the twenty-five metre trawler Australis close to 10.30am. The boat looked large and almost new. At first glance, the Australis looked like an ocean going motor yacht rather than a fishing vessel. Richard knew about the motor yacht having been transformed into a fishing boat, but never expected it to look so new and sophisticated. It was painted white with a cobalt blue trim. The name AUSTRALIS was in large upper case letters in the trim colour with black outline on both sides of the bow and on the stern below the life boat. The lifeboat was also marked with the name AUSTRALIS in a similar style, but in smaller letters and on the stern only.
A crisp sunny morning with a moderate south-easterly blowing steadily at about ten knots, created an ideal prop for Rick’s pictures. The sky was almost true cyan with scattered white clouds to the south. The dark blue, and in places, almost black colour of the water was an indication of a great depth. The tops of the transparent waves were light blue-green. The combination of colours of the water and the sky, sprinkled with white clouds, looked ideal for camerawork.
The wind whipped the sea, placing small white caps on top of the swell. The scene seemed as if straight out of a glossy tourist brochure. Rick asked George to circle around the Australis while he took shots from different angles. He was using his medium format Hasselblad camera for the main illustrations and a Nikon 35mm for the slide presentation. He managed to get several good shots of the craypot retrieval and then waited until the large boat picked up speed to go to the next potting area. Again the cameras captured more excellent pictures showing the boat under power. It really looked impressive and Rick was happy with his catch.
While the crew of the larger boat were preparing to accept him on board, George kept circling the Australis and Rick observed the trawler in detail. The trawler’s side view was of modern marine architecture; streamlined, with the bridge about one third of the boat’s length from the bow, being a part of a large cabin. The aft section of the boat behind the cabin was lower. The open flying bridge was on the upper deck above the wheelhouse. The exhaust stack was placed at the rear of the superstructure. Just in front of the stack and grouped together, were the radio aerials and the rotating radar antenna. There were three round bronze portholes on either side of the vessel. On the main deck, both front and rear were two derricks, looking totally out of place. The railing surrounding the lower and upper decks was finished in lacquered timber, but the lacquer was worn in places opposite the hoists, probably by the friction of the ropes or nets being pulled over their surface. The oversized lifeboat hung at the rear of the trawler, raised about a metre above the deck.
The crew of the larger boat lowered several foam bags on the starboard side to prevent damage when the boats came together. Finally George approached the Australis for docking. At that moment, the wind picked up and pushed the boats dangerously close. George applied full power to his engine and took off to avoid collision. Making a circle, he returned to attempt docking again.
The deck level of the trawler was over two meters higher than the boat Rick was on. He had to use a rope ladder to climb aboard.
Although Rick had experience with rope ladders from his army days, his first attempt was a blow to his ego. In the constant rocking of both boats he slipped and nearly fell into the sea between the two vessels, but fortunately, managed to hang on by his hands until he found his footing again. The experience made him feel uneasy. He also noticed one of the crew had a laugh at his expense. It took some strategy to complete the transfer. He reminded George that he might need to be picked up later in the evening. Finally, he was safely on board and waved good-bye, then turned around to meet his host.
3
‘Welcome aboard, Richard!’ said a man wearing the Captain’s peaked cap. Extending his hand, he introduced himself.
‘My name’s Patrick Murphy, but everyone calls me Pat.’ His voice sounded surprisingly deep. Rick also noticed a distinct twitch under his right eye. Patrick Murphy was a jovial Skipper of Irish origin. Rick could trace the accent from the moment they met. Captain Murphy was the proud owner of the fishing trawler Australis. In his early forties, he appeared to be a man of the seas.
He was about 175cms tall but stocky, sporting longish dark wavy hair, a short clipped beard and moustache. His Captain’s cap was slightly askew to the right. He had determination and confidence written on his face, which made Rick feel safe, dissipating almost completely the nagging feeling he’d had earlier
‘Pat, please call me Rick, as all my mates do.’
‘No problem, Rick,’ smiled Pat, shaking his hand. ‘I hope you won’t mind a bit of rough weather, ’cause the forecast isn’t very encouraging. There will be a lot of tossing about. I wonder if you’ll be able to stand up to it.’
Rick thought that although Pat’s smile seemed genuine, his attitude towards him appeared strained, though that could have been his imagination, stirred by the mishap on the ladder.
‘Thanks for giving me this opportunity to be on board. It’s a magnificent boat. I’ll try not to disgrace myself and do my work without being a bloody nuisance.’
The boat looked solid enough to withstand any kind of weather, but could she? Rick thought. He rubbed his chin trying to figure out how to avoid being sick. As soon as he could, Rick took another pill. After a short while the uncomfortable sensation diminished considerably. However, a nagging feeling that something was amiss came to his mind again. Rick could not explain the reason nor did he have any idea of the source of the emotion. Maybe it was the lingering memory of the previous night’s nightmare or the sneer of the deck hand, or, a combination of both?
Despite the nuisance of the nausea, Rick was getting used to the continually rocking deck under his feet. Sea sickness was an experience he’d hoped to avoid, but apart from the slight discomfort, he was happy to be on board. Everything looked exciting to him. Rick had even discovered that one of the deck hands was a pretty girl whose presence could brighten the day and add variety to the assignment. He imagined a caption under a picture of the girl holding a large cray fish:‘Beautiful Sea Wolf Catches Delicious Lobsters’.
Pat started Rick’s introduction to the boat from the bottom; first was the engine room. He took Rick beneath the deck via a steep metal ladder with hand rails. The heart of the boat was located at the lowest level and aft, and was surprisingly large.
Painted glossy white, the engine room, including three Terra Boss Diesel engines and all equipment were in immaculate condition. The power plant comprised of V12 Turbo Diesel, driving the propeller shaft; a smaller straight 8 cylinder, also a Turbo engine, was hooked to the electric generator and a hydraulic pump, providing power for the whole vessel. And the third, in case of emergency, a smaller, four-cylinder Diesel was on stand-by. It would be started if the main engine failed; it was placed parallel to the main shaft and could be easily connected by a chain drive to keep the boat on course, albeit at a slower speed.
The compartment was equipped with tools for emergency repairs, consisting of a metal workbench, a grinder on a separate pedestal, and a medium size lathe. The neatly stacked and secured tools were displayed on a large, shadow wall panel. All the spare parts for the mechanical, electrical and electronic equipment were stored in their separate compartments. Rick took a few shots with his Hasselblad as well as the Nikon (in case there wouldn’t be another chance), then Pat led Rick to see the rest of the vessel.
Despite being told that the ‘trawler’ was in fact a motor yacht, he had not expected such luxury. The interior was generously outfitted with clear lacquered timber railings and highly polished brass fittings, as well as quality solid and strong custom-built furniture. The living quarters were below the main deck. There were four cabins assigned for the crew with two bunks side-by side in each, a wardrobe, a hand basin and a small table, including two padded stools. The cabins were of second-class ocean liner category and the interior smelt of fresh paint and cleanliness. The round, bronze portholes were well above the water line.
At the rear of the passage were two bathrooms with a small changing room, a hand basin and a shower recess in each. Two separate toilets were located close by.
Apparently all members of the crew had a roster for their share of domestic duties. Rick found it quite unusual, expecting an additional crew member to be looking after the cleanliness and comfort for all working on board. It was Pat’s idea. It worked well to create an atmosphere of co-operation and belonging.
In the bow section, on the same level as the crew quarters and along the same narrow passage, was the master cabin, more than twice the size of the crew quarters. The queen size bed and en-suite, plus bedside tables, comfortable padded chairs and a large wardrobe with mirrored doors opposite the bed, completed the furniture of this floating bedroom. Two paintings (they looked like Renoir originals to Rick) in gold gilded frames were fastened to the walls. The portholes were gold plated and discretely covered with muslin curtains.
The biggest cabin on the Australis was the Stateroom, adjoining the bridge. The large room filled most of the width of the deck, leaving only enough space on either side to permit one person a comfortable throughway. The cabin was probably five metres wide and at least nine long and over two metres high. On both sides and at the rear, the cabin was surrounded with a hand rail.
The re-enforced roof served as a sun deck. It was framed by a similar balustrade as the main deck and was accessed through the flying bridge via a narrow, steep staircase, fitted with stainless steel hand rails. The interior of the state-room was panelled in real walnut. In the centre of the room stood a large, solid oak table bolted to the floor for safety, plus eight matching leather chairs, which had special locking devices around the table in case of rough weather. There was a leather couch by the starboard wall and on the opposite side three lounge chairs, matching the dining setting. The couch and lounge chairs were bolted to the floor permanently. The paintings on the wall were excellent copies of several masterpieces by Van Gough. Gold-leafed, wide, modern style frames displayed the works. The famous painting of the Irises (definitely an excellent copy) stood out, being in contrast with the warm coloured interior.
Attached to one wall were two bookshelves filled with a number of known authors such as Joseph Conrad, Jack London, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Shakespeare, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Alexander Dumas and a number of others unknown to Rick. An assortment of Agatha Christie, Alistair Mac Clean, Tom Clancy and Ian Fleming were in hard covers. The 1976 leather bound addition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica plus numerous marine periodicals and several related text books completed the collection. Rick was surprised to find such diverse interests in what he expected to be a simple fisherman. The latest desktop computer with a 19” monochrome screen was set on a small table together with a dot matrix printer.
Next to the library was a small well stocked liquor bar made of solid Australian oak. He could see bottles of Irish whiskey, Premium Scotch, and some French brandies. Bottles of red and white table wines were stocked close to the floor in special spill proof receptacles. The glasses displayed above the bar were engraved with a marine motif, and appeared to be hand made from lead crystal by a highly skilled artisan.
The lacquered oak parquetry cabin floor was covered with rugs. There was a standing order to take off shoes and work aprons before entering the stateroom. Slippers were provided at both entrances. There was direct access from the stateroom to the bridge via a set of four steps. On either side of the access doors was a window fitted with electric wipers. Another access to the Bridge was available by means of steep metal steps, directly from the main deck. Both, the bridge and the state-room had square brass framed windows.
The galley adjoining the state-room was one level below and could be reached through a wide, carpeted staircase from the rear of the state-room. The interior of the boat was fully air-conditioned. On top of the deck, fore and aft, were round crayfish tanks. Only a meter and a quarter of the tanks protruded above the decking, while the bulk was sunk below. A round safety rail surrounded the tanks.
Pat showed Rick the lifeboat. The large boat was hanging on two reinforced stainless steel curved arms and secured with stainless steel cables. The launching of the craft was done manually. The boat hung at the rear of the yacht and took up its full width of about eight metres. The boat looked partly like a speedboat and partly like a Navy interceptor.
It was smaller than the Navy vessel of course, but had all the attributes of the real thing. It was wider than a conventional speedboat, but lower than the Navy craft.
A large Hamilton jet propulsion unit was attached to the powerful Terra Boss turbo Diesel, which made it very fast and incredibly manoeuvrable, with the added advantage of being able to travel over knee deep waters. The boat had a half cabin with the option to cover the entire boat with a heavy-duty tarpaulin. The cabin was locked.
‘It can make a bloody 360 degree turn on a fucken sixpence!’ boasted Pat as they came to the end of the tour. It was evident that Pat was proud of his vessels and all their trimmings. Rick wondered why they would want jet propulsion for a lifeboat, but Pat explained that it was part of the parcel when he purchased the Australis.
‘Your trawler is magnificent. It’s a luxury motor yacht rather than a fishing boat. You must be very proud of your Australis, Pat.’ Rick commented with genuine enthusiasm.
‘Fishing is my life,’ Pat said. ‘The sea always fascinated me though I began my adult life as a teacher of geography, math and science at Adelaide High School. After several years I bloody had enough. Being single and having no commitments, I just went to the fishing jetty and said that I was available for hire and that I was a beginner. Initially the bastards took advantage of my inexperience and put me to the dirtiest, most smelly bloody jobs available, paying bloody peanuts. The beginning was hardly fun. But I gritted my teeth and thanked God for the opportunity to learn the trade from the very bottom up. I enrolled at TAFE to study navigation and the rules applying to commercial fishing. I’m now a qualified skipper of small to medium size fishing and pleasure craft.’
‘Was it difficult to change your lifestyle so drastically Pat?’
‘Well, originally the environment and the fishing fraternity were very strange to me. It took a bloody long time to feel at home, but I have never looked back.’
It was obvious that Pat was satisfied with his achievements. He took hold of the hand rail and looking at the sea continued. ‘I managed to buy my first fishing trawler in a relatively short time. It was a much smaller boat, but luckily, we had very good catches for three consecutive seasons.’ While listening, Rick took a few shots of Pat at the hand rail. He noticed that Pat was casting an occasional glance towards the deck hands retrieving craypots. Rick guessed that Pat had to keep his eye on everything, yet there was something in Pat’s glance that seemed anxious. ‘When I found out that the Australis was for sale and that she originally belonged to a bankrupt estate, I just couldn’t miss the bloody opportunity. I had to have her and I did my best to bring the price down to a manageable level and risked all my bloody savings to pay the deposit and the insurance. My idea was to make my fishing really enjoyable.’ Pat looked at Rick and gestured at the boat proudly.
‘I have no close family. Living alone in a small house in Adelaide, in which I spend a couple of days a month, is no fun. The Australis is a home away from home for me and the crew.’ he said and then added ‘As you observed correctly, it was a pleasure craft originally. I had to reconstruct the craft sufficiently, to make the boat suitable for my fishing needs.’
‘I suppose you wonder how a bloody poor fisherman could afford such luxury.’ Pat looked at Rick as if expecting a comment. There seemed to be a question in the air, as if Pat was asking Rick if he understood.
‘Pat, it’s not my business to question your financial dealings. You don’t have to explain anything to me.’
‘I just wanted to tell you how I managed to achieve this. It’s for your ears only of course. This is the third year since the conversion which took only a couple of months to complete. Now we fish for lobster in comfort. I only pray for a few more good seasons to be able to finish off my bloody repayment obligations.’ Pat’s deep voice sounded as if he was worried. This seemed fair enough, yet, Rick wondered what was behind his confession. Was it just a need to share his burden with a friendly soul or something else? Rick noticed the twitch under his right eye was quite prominent.
‘You saw the notice to enter the state-room in slippers and there is also a roster of domestic duties for the crew. I designed the system purposely to make everyone on board feel proud of their workplace and to feel at home.’
Rick was right assuming this earlier on. At the end of the ‘grand tour’ and a few additional photos, Rick met Jim Smith, Pat’s second in command, the guy who took over the potting while Pat was showing Rick around. He was about thirty-five, tall, and blond, with neatly cut hair. A week’s whiskers made him look even more masculine. His grey eyes were full of energy and a sense of humour. Jim was dressed similarly to Pat but wore no hat. He was the boat’s engineer responsible for the mechanical operation of the vessel, including the navigational gear.
Rick saw an honest face and eyes, as Jim spoke. Rick liked him instantly.
‘They work like a fucken watch, mate,’ Jim said in a crisp baritone, referring to the Diesels. ‘The only danger we might have to face is a bloody large Blue Whale or a fucken atomic war.’ He laughed a rippling sound.
‘I’m glad to hear it, Jim, because it sounds like a guarantee of a safe trip, especially in this weather.’ Rick said, also laughing.
‘There is no reason to be concerned for the safety of this craft in any weather. The boat is made to withstand a fucken cyclone; the engines are the best money can buy. But I’m not so sure about your stomach’s ability to cope with the rough conditions,’ Jim said on a more serious note.
Rick was also somewhat concerned. ‘Let’s hope I won’t make a spectacle of myself,’ Rick answered seriously as he rubbed his chin.
Jim seemed very proud of ‘his’ Australis too.
4
Meeting the rest of the crew confirmed Rick’s earlier observation that there were three deck hands; a young girl and two fellows, one of them a teenager.
When Rick saw the female at close range, his heart missed a few beats. The girl was an unexpected surprise. She was an exceptionally attractive woman of about twenty-two or twenty-three. Her dark unruly hair was framing an oval face. The hair was kept in place with a white silk scarf. In addition to her lightly tanned complexion and a slightly upturned nose and sensuous lips, she had the most unusual azure-blue eyes, accentuated by her dark, long, curved eyelashes and perfectly shaped almost black, eyebrows. Rick couldn’t detect any makeup. The eyes created a startling contrast with her dark hair. In her ears she wore tiny Ceylon sapphires, which resembled the colour of her eyes. She was slender, yet had a somewhat prominent bust and nicely rounded hips. She wore a pair of denim shorts, a white cotton blouse and as protection from the cold wind, a black windcheater. Below the shorts a pair of long shapely legs completed her stunning silhouette. Just before they were introduced, the woman took off the heavy canvas apron and a pair of long re-enforced rubber gloves to reveal slender hands. Pat looked at the girl appreciatively, not being able to hide the grin on his face.
‘This is Jackie, our female deck hand and we are proud of her. She can show any male crayfish retriever how to work efficiently,’ Pat said as he introduced her with a smile. Rick just couldn’t stop staring. Later, he found that her full name was Jacqueline O’Malley (obviously Irish), and that she was from South Australia on sabbatical from her Arts course at Adelaide University.
Jackie was distantly related to Pat Murphy who had agreed to take her on board as a crewmember for the current cray-fishing season, on the condition that she would work like any other male deckhand and would contribute part of her time the same as the rest of them, to keeping the interior of the boat tidy.
‘Hi’ she said smiling. ‘My name is Jackie O’Malley, but my friends call me Skye. What’s yours?’ The girl asked in a pleasant contralto voice, looking directly at Rick. She was clearly used to male stares.
For a moment he lost his wits. He blushed. He was glad he was suntanned and hoped it hid the flush. She had well-kept hands with long fingers and short clear lacquered fingernails. Her handshake was firm. He immediately noticed she wasn’t wearing any jewellery on her fingers.
‘Oh, ah, I’m Richard Dickson, Rick to my friends,’ he stuttered, rubbing his chin. ‘Your surname is Irish, but Jackie derives from Jacqueline I think, which is definitely a French name. Am I right?’ Rick asked.
‘My maternal grandmother was French,’ Jackie said with a smile.
‘And you are employed as a deck hand, too.’ He tried to hide his embarrassment by making conversation.
‘I like the work. It’s hard but bearable. It gives me an opportunity to relax mentally.’ Jackie smiled. She had a warm and inviting smile displaying a set of white, even teeth.
The other deckhand was John Bergmann. The surname suggested a German or Jewish origin. He was the one who made fun of Rick’s mistake when he was climbing the rope ladder on his arrival.
They shook hands. John was a rugged, muscular man, about 175cms tall. He had dark, slightly curly hair and a week’s bristles on his face; he also had piercing, dark eyes. His work clothes consisted of coarse fabric shorts, a short sleeved striped shirt, a pair of runners and a kind of military style soft hat on his head. He was probably a few years older than Jackie and by his movements and ‘ready to pounce’ stance, reminded Rick of a strip joint bouncer.
Somehow, he didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the crew. Pat told Rick that John answered Pat’s ad for an experienced deckhand in the cray fishing industry, for the current season. His previous work in the trade before entering tertiary studies was a couple of cray fishing seasons in Geraldton, WA. Like Jackie, he was also on sabbatical, but from the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT).
‘Glad to meet you,’ he said with a forced smile. His relatively high pitched voice contrasted with his appearance. ‘If you aren’t used to the sea, you’ll have some fucken problems in getting your shots on this bloody trip mate. It’s gonna blow fucken hard and you will probably spend all the time being sick, hoping to die.’
John spoke to Rick, but turned towards Jackie laughing, enjoying his joke.
His comment irked Rick. He looked at John, rubbing his chin. ‘We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we, John?’ Rick looked directly at John smiling.
Judging by the way John was looking at Jackie, it seemed to Rick that he was clearly attracted to her (what red-blooded male wouldn’t?). Rick suspected that the owner of the boat was also keen on her as he was getting close to her whenever possible. Rick noticed that the girl suffered their attentions under duress. Jackie continually tried to move away from one or the other, although she smiled and talked pleasantly enough with all of them, Rick observed.
Sam Murphy, the third deck hand was a teenager, probably seventeen. He was slightly built, softly spoken and sporting long reddish hair tied in a pony-tail. He was on board the Australis to learn the trade. Sam was Pat’s nephew. He decided to quit school at year eleven, to become a fisherman like his uncle, whom he considered his role model. He too, wore shorts, a short sleeved shirt and a pair of runners, but no head cover. He was unsure of himself and Rick noticed that Pat and the other members of the crew seemed to be using Sam as a messenger, a gofer, a helper, ever since he, Rick, had boarded the Australis. It looked like Sam was just beginning his initiation into the trade. Rick hadn’t seen Sam doing any pot retrieval so far. They shook hands and Rick asked:
‘How do you like working on a fishing boat, Sam?’
‘It’s cool man, but the rough seas make me feel yucky, though I think I’ll get used to it in time. I never learned to swim. The water all around us…’
His face looked a bit off-colour. He had arrived on board of the Australis only a couple of weeks earlier.