Akropolis Page 2

  “You okay?” Nat said.

  The skipper shook his head. “It was the wrong forecast.”

  Nat watched as Jake walked over to Rick Delaney’s parents and confirmed their son was missing. They listened, faces impassive, then turned and left the wharf in silence, refusing all offers of comfort. Sarah Delaney hesitated when she passed Seb but she continued on her way without speaking.

  Nat stood looking across the deep water. It was the wrong forecast. He frowned. What was that about? He’d ask Seb later.

  A flash of silver fractured the darkness and he peered into the sleet over the bay. The rain had started to fall in long driving slivers, merging the sea and sky into one. There. A large fish slid through the water, visible whenever the moon cleared the clouds. A shark wouldn’t be this close in, Nat thought.

  As he watched, a sudden jolt caused him to stumble backwards as if hit. He recovered his balance and looked wildly around. No one was near.

  I’m here. Listen to me.

  A confusion of stray words crowded his mind, remnants of thoughts not his, and he clamped his hands to his head in an effort to stop them.

  Protect Seb.

  After a few seconds his mind cleared. The fish had gone. Shaken, he stepped back from the edge and turned to his brother. Seb and Jake were about to board the ambulance to the local hospital for routine procedures after exposure, checks for hypothermia and shock, blood tests. Seb was looking at him questioningly.

  “Forget it,” Nat said, “we’ll talk later.”

  At the hospital he sat on the bench, thinking of Rick. Nat hadn’t known him well in life‌—‌Rick had kept to himself, like Seb. Now he clearly imagined Rick’s death as if it were his own‌—‌alone in the ocean in the night, fighting the swell until his limbs loosened, tired of the passion of drowning, becoming the drowned. The worst possible death, Nat thought, no control, no escape. He’d been at the dock once when they’d brought in a diver with the bends, barely alive. After that he refused to go out with his father and Seb looking for blue-eye or other deep sea fish. Nat preferred land under his feet.

  He leaned forward and closed his eyes against a sudden sadness. This cray season was to have been their last, the last before Seb and Rick left for university, the last before Jake retired. A special season.

  “Seb’s okay to go.” His father placed his hand on Nat’s shoulder. “Leave him, Nat. He needs time.”

  Nat managed a brief nod for his father and rose to go home.

  * * *

  These were the facts, as put forward by the Chief Magistrate at the inquest on the fifteenth of August:

  “On the afternoon of the sixth of June, local fisherman Jake Eastman and two deckhands, Sebastian D’Angelo and Rick Delaney, were aboard Eastman’s crayboat the Cormorant in the Tasman Sea off the coast from St Annes, laying craypots. Eastman had employed the boys to help him with the season’s catch. They planned to spend the night at sea, collect the pots and get back to St Annes early the following morning.

  “At approximately 4.15 pm the weather changed to the south and a gale force wind blew up, accompanied by heavy rain. They found themselves in a violent storm fighting to keep the boat afloat.”

  In the courtroom Seb listened intently, remembering how it was.

  The storm came early. I was testing the rigging, checking fastenings. Rick was tying stuff down. He’d been strange all day, edgy. I didn’t know why, not then.

  “Safety procedures appear to have been followed at all times. The crew wore life-jackets with PLBs and other emergency equipment attached. The boat’s radio had been operational during the day and all lines and lifebelts had been checked the previous week, well within required guidelines.

  “Because of the extreme conditions at the time, it is not possible to determine an accurate sequence of events. At approximately 7.15 pm the boat sustained damage and Jake Eastman sent out a distress signal. When he received no response he called Seb D’Angelo to assist him. The radio was dead. Eastman went below deck to check on the pumps. D’Angelo waited until he returned, then left the wheelhouse soon after. They were in darkness, the lights had gone and the storm obscured the moon.”

  The emergency pumps failed. The bilge alarms hadn’t worked and the boat had been taking on water. I went inside the wheelhouse to activate the laser flare but Jake stopped me. We’ll get out of this, he said. When the pumps kicked in I went back on deck. Rick was standing outside the rail, hanging on, looking as if he was about to jump. He said, there’s a portal, we can leave here now. I thought he’d lost it. I tried to stop him, we struggled. And then he disappeared.

  “Jake Eastman heard D’Angelo yell Delaney was overboard. He reached D’Angelo in time to prevent him attaching a cable to himself and going in after his crewmate. They threw over a lifebelt but were unable to locate Delaney in the high seas, eventually abandoning all hope of finding him. Both crew reported seeing a large fish near the boat but couldn’t identify it.

  “The Cormorant saw out the storm and was located by a search helicopter at 4.20 pm the following day, in response to a flare activated by the crew. Because of the weather St Annes Sea Rescue was unable to go out until 5 pm. The boat returned to St Annes Bay under the guidance of the rescue craft at approximately 6.15 that evening.

  “Despite extensive air and sea searches Rick Delaney was not rescued nor his body recovered. His lifejacket was found washed up on the beach two weeks later.”

  Nat glanced at Seb. There was a short silence while the magistrate consulted his notes.

  “This inquest finds that Rick Delaney drowned at sea as the result of a tragic accident. Both Jake Eastman and Sebastian D’Angelo are to be commended for doing everything possible to rescue their crewmate, risking their own lives in the attempt.

  “Jake Eastman has been criticised for taking the boat out when a storm had been forecast. Early reports had indicated the position of the storm as further out to sea. As it happened, the storm came earlier than forecast and closer to shore. It was also unexpectedly severe, the worst in a decade.

  “We live in a region known for unpredictable weather conditions and high seas. This tragedy underlines the risks local fishermen face every day. Despite the latest advances in technology, nature has again proved more powerful.

  “Although they have lived in the area only two years, Mr and Mrs Delaney can derive comfort and support from their community, some of whom have also suffered the loss of loved ones at sea.”

  Seb rose quickly and made his way from the courtroom, avoiding curious glances.

  Nat caught up with him outside. “Was that how it was?” he said. Seb hadn’t talked about the accident, not to any of them, apart from the police.

  “Not all of it.” Seb turned to him. “I need to leave here, go away for a while, to the mainland.”

  Nat stared at his brother. He could remember only one or two occasions when Seb had left the island. Protect Seb. How could he do this with Seb on the mainland?

  “Okay,” he said.

  3

  In the days since the inquest, Nat had been difficult. No, Seb thought, before then. He knew his brother’s moods and he’d remained calm when Nat’s voice had risen to a higher pitch, “Someone’s tracking you! Do something about it. Or I will.”

  Recently Nat wouldn’t let up. They both knew he’d keep his silence, he always did. But it was clear to Seb he was doing a lot of thinking.

  Seb was starting to believe there might be something in what Rick had told him, weird as it seemed. Rick had got himself involved in some kind of group and had warned Seb they were both in danger. Apart from the name the group called themselves, Seb knew nothing about them.

  Who were the Ascendants, and why were they tracking him?

  Returning on the Cormorant Seb had tried to shake the voice in his head. At the time it seemed part of the storm, the roaring wind. He thought he’d imagined it.

  You’re there, I know you are.

  Now he heard it most nights.r />
  I’m here. Listen to me.

  Seb sat up, fully awake, and waited for the next part.

  I didn’t drown.

  He knew it was irrational to think that Rick had survived. Seb had forced himself to regard what happened as an accident, one where survival was never an option. He had no choice.

  The searches had continued for more than a fortnight. At the beginning, there was a faint chance that Rick had survived the storm and been washed up on one of the small islands off the coast. Seb knew this was impossible. He and Rick had been out on the boat with Jake many times before, in all weather conditions. They knew that once overboard in such seas the chances of rescue were close to zero. Rick was gone as soon as he hit the water.

  All this meant nothing now.

  Seb was certain Jake would keep the truth to himself. The inquest was over. No one would believe them anyway.

  * * *

  Jake was looking tired and grey as Seb approached him in the park, and Seb tried to hide his shock at seeing him so unwell. He owed Jake. Years before when Seb had taken off from home, his parents called on Jake for advice. Despite his assurances that Seb would turn up safe, the town had mounted a search.

  After that Seb had been forced to consider other ways to satisfy the demands of a solitary nature. He started work on Jake’s boat two years before the end of college, during semester breaks. When Rick joined them they became a close team, working long hours in silence, listening to the wind and the birds and their own thoughts. Good days.

  Seb knew Jake had questions, but none he could answer. He sat on the bench beside him.

  “Got your message. You okay?”

  Jake shrugged. “Not so great. Finding it hard to sleep.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “Seen Rick’s parents lately?”

  “Not since the inquest.” He looked at Jake. “You weren’t there.”

  “Haven’t been too well. Didn’t matter. I told them what I saw, or thought I saw.” There was an edge to his voice. “I didn’t say much. Like we agreed.”

  Seb hesitated. “What’s wrong? We were going to leave it for a while.”

  Jake looked at him. “Seb, I think we should talk to your parents and then to the police. Tom Carson’s a good man, he’ll give us a fair hearing.”

  Seb replied calmly, “We discussed this. We both felt it was better for Rick’s parents this way. What good would it do them to know their son took his life? How can it change things?”

  Jake watched some seagulls on the path ahead, fighting over crumbs.

  When he spoke again his voice was hard. “Was that what happened?”

  Seb stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “You and Rick had been arguing. What was that about?”

  I can’t tell you. “I can’t tell you that, Jake.”

  “When I came above deck, you were struggling.” Jake was speaking with effort. “I heard Rick say something, and then he just…‌disappeared, vanished. I didn’t even see him go overboard.” He paused for breath. “Seb, if it was some sort of accident, something you didn’t intend to happen, everyone will understand. But for your own sake it’s better to tell them.”

  Seb looked at him. “What did you hear Rick say?”

  “He said, No, Seb, listen to me! I won’t drown, you’re wrong!” Jake bent forward, hands to his head. “I can’t forget it.”

  Seb leaned back. Jake heard that. It changes things. A sea eagle flew overhead, riding the wind, watching the ground with quick turns of its head.

  After a minute Seb said, “What about the fish?”

  “I didn’t see the fish clearly. And what difference would it make? A large fish?”

  “It wasn’t a fish,” Seb said, resigned. He’d made up his mind.

  Jake hadn’t heard him. He was saying, “I’m asking you to come with me and talk to Rick’s parents about it. On the wharf, when I told them, Sarah Delaney seemed to know there was more. They deserve the truth, whatever it is.”

  Seb stood and slung his pack over his shoulder. “You’d better tell them, then.” He hesitated. “Do what you have to do, Jake. It’s okay.”

  Jake was saying something, almost to himself: “The forecast. I asked Rick to check it before we left. He said it had changed, the storm was moving north, it was no danger.” His voice was a whisper. “I believed him.”

  He was still sitting on the bench as Seb walked away.

  * * *

  The trouble with living on an island, Seb thought, is that you can’t get off it in a hurry. He knew he had to leave Tasmania. He needed to lose his trackers. Rick had said, keep a low profile, don’t draw attention to yourself. Easier on the mainland.

  There were only two ways to cross Bass Strait, the wide, treacherous body of water separating Tasmania from the mainland. Seb ruled out the ferry crossing. Even if he were lucky enough to score a lift from St Annes he’d never make the port in time. The closest airport was Launceston, a two hour drive away. He’d head there.

  He knew Nat would help. Nat was the best tracker Seb knew. He’d tracked him once when Seb was camped beside the lagoon down south‌—‌Seb still didn’t know how. Seb had woken on the third day to find Nat standing over his sleeping bag, staring down at him. “Satisfied?” Nat had said, his voice cold. Seb remembered the way he’d said it, even now.

  “Take it easy, Nat,” Seb had replied calmly. “I’ll be home tomorrow. They understand.”

  “Get home tonight or you’re history,” Nat said. He turned and walked off. When Seb got home Nat had said nothing to his parents about tracking him.

  Seb trusted him more than anyone.

  He needed to be gone by nightfall, before Jake spoke to Rick’s parents. Time to go home, pack a few things and write the notes he planned to leave. No texting. He’d dump his phone somewhere.

  Catching a regular flight from the busy airport was out. He couldn’t take the risk of being noticed by someone from St Annes. The alternative was island-hopping with a small aviation company servicing the scattered groups of small islands that dotted the strait. He could make the crossing to the mainland in stages, with less risk of discovery.

  He didn’t waste time. It was his best chance.

  At home he made sure he left notes where they would be quickly discovered.

  Mum/Dad– I’m OK. I need to get away and think about things for a while. I’ll be fine –Seb

  He thought for a few moments before writing to Nat.

  Nat– Don’t try to find me. I’ll contact you. Don’t forget to feed the hens –Seb

  After ten minutes he was ready to go.

  4

  Freedom. Seb checked his timeband: 3.20. He was on the boundary of the city already. With a bit more luck he could be on the small island in the strait by evening and from there get a flight to the mainland the next day.

  He’d picked up a lift within minutes of reaching the highway, a businessman in a hire car, a sales rep from the mainland, travelled around a lot. Despite his casual gear, the man bore the worried look of someone concerned with schedules and performance indicators.

  He glanced at Seb. “So, I guess you’re a student?”

  “Yeah. I study IT.” That’s pretty general.

  “Whereabouts?”

  “In the north-west.” Seb changed the subject. “You get down here regularly?” He hoped the rep would pick up he didn’t want to talk about himself and steered the conversation to sport. They got on to the local team and their winning streak. The rep didn’t press him further.

  The man was on his way to the airport and dropped Seb about 500 metres short of the carpark. Seb waited until he’d driven off and then walked to the furthest section of the airfield.

  He ditched his phone in bushes along the way. It could be tracked and if he didn’t have it he wouldn’t miss it. He could always get one later. Unlike Nat, Seb preferred being offline.

  The regional airline’s office was in a small building opening out to the airfield. The man
at the desk shook his head.

  “You’ve missed the flight out by a couple of hours. Sorry,” he said, curious why the tall, fair-haired youth was travelling out to the island on his own. He knew all the islanders in the strait and the boy wasn’t one of them. Whatever the reason, the man thought, it was obvious he needed to get there in a hurry.

  He watched as Seb turned for the door. After a moment’s hesitation he called him back. “We have a charter plane going out in about five minutes with a special delivery. You can get a seat on that if you like.”

  At the counter Seb took the ticket with a grateful smile as the man handed it to him. Forty minutes later he was looking down on the choppy seas of the strait with the island beneath him, a large irregular shape with long sandy beaches surrounded by a group of smaller islands, all huddled together in the vast expanse of dark green ocean.

  The plane landed at the local airfield at dusk. Seb got a lift to the fishing port and from there set off walking to the nearest beach. The evening was cool and the beach deserted and he could finally relax. Relief overcame him and he closed his eyes to take it in.

  In the scrub behind the beach he found a place to set up camp, protected from the wind behind two large dunes. He emptied his pack and checked his gear. Never go anywhere without a line, Jake had told him, and Seb had carried a line and hook in his pack ever since. He looked back along the beach. To the south there was a large rock platform extending over what appeared to be deep water. If the kelp wasn’t too thick he might catch something, rock cod or flathead. He hadn’t packed food and he was hungry.

  He marked his position in the sand and set off south. Along the way he picked up a small stone to use as a sinker and collected some black mussels from a rocky outcrop for bait.

  As he approached the large, lichen-covered rocks he saw a figure standing on a rock platform. Probably a local, he thought, but his instinct kicked in. Don’t go there. He hesitated for a second, then headed with a loose, casual stride towards the dunes, out of sight of the figure on the rocks. He was sure he hadn’t been seen but he waited ten minutes before venturing back onto the beach.