Kidnap Island Page 8

  “Like sailing,” laughed Jonny as Eric came in clutching three steaming Pot Noodles. “Let me get some bread to go with these.”

  “Beef and tomato; my favourite,” said a man’s voice. Louisa and Eric screamed and all three children jumped up, Jonny’s Pot Noodle flying across the room.

  “Sorry, did I surprise you?” It was old Bert from the sailing club, standing in the doorway calmly smiling, as if he’d not done anything unusual in arriving unannounced on the island.

  “Bert! What are you doing here?” Jonny was shocked and relieved at the sight of his old friend. “Did you know we were here?”

  “I’ll tell you in good time,” said the softly spoken man with a smile. “First of all, any chance of a Pot Noodle? My missus never let’s me have them at home, and it looks like you need a refill, Jonny.”

  “Er yea, hang on.” Jonny went into the kitchen, not sure if he was more surprised at the sight of Bert or the fact that an adult liked Pot Noodles.

  Eric followed him in. “Can we trust this guy?” he whispered as he pulled the lids off two more Pot Noodles from the seemingly endless supply.

  “Of course, Bert’s sound and, besides, he knew your granddad, remember?”

  “Well maybe, but it seems a bit odd he’s arrived on the island at night. He can’t have known we were here.”

  “I trust him, so let’s find out what he has to say. We don’t need to say too much about what we’ve been up to.”

  The boys returned to the living room, and Bert eagerly tucked into his Pot Noodle, the children following suit. It was obvious that the man wasn’t going to say anything until he’d eaten.

  Finally, he soaked up the last drop of juice with some bread and licked his lips. “That was delicious, thank you,” he smiled. “This is a nice little camp you have here, shame you made it so obvious that you were here.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jonny indignantly.

  “Oh come on lad, I wasn’t born yesterday. There are no tents in the field behind the club where you’re meant to be and I watched you sail off around the island and not reappear the other side, so it was quite obvious you’d landed here. I’ve plenty of time to sit and watch the comings and goings in the harbour.”

  Jonny smiled as he thought of all the times he’d seen Bert sitting on his favourite bench overlooking the water, pipe in mouth. Not much got past old Bert but the children were about to find out that the quiet man know rather more about their adventure than they could have imagined.

  “So why are you here now, apart from to eat Pot Noodles?” asked Louisa.

  “That not a good enough reason for you? grinned Bert.

  “Er no,” smiled Louisa, warming to this gentle man with his twinkling eyes and ready smile.

  “I wouldn’t normally pry into others’ coming and goings,” admitted Bert, “but it was this boy’s accent and appearance that got me worried. You’re a Goldsmith, aren’t you lad?”

  “I sure am,” grinned Eric. “And you are granddad’s gardener’s son.”

  Now it was Bert’s turn to be surprised. “I am indeed, I was a teenager when your family left for America and my father, and then me after he died, kept an eye on this island ever since, just as your grandfather asked us to. I rarely heard from him after he left, but I followed his success in the newspapers and, more recently, on the internet. I was sad to hear that he’d died but he must have been a good age.”

  “He was 98,” said Eric proudly.

  “That adds up. He was a young man when he left England and he’d recently inherited his father’s fortune. He wrote to me some twelve years ago to say he had a baby grandson and that one day he, or rather you, would inherit Folney and all that it contains.”

  “’All that it contains’ – that’s what grandad’s will says. What does it mean?”

  “Ah, well I’m sure you are Mr Goldsmith’s grandson but I think I really should ask for proof before telling you any more, because I suspect that others are trying to get in on the act.”

  “Here’s a copy of granddad’s will and I can show you my passport.” Eric passed over the folded sheet of paper he’d previously shown his friends and rummaged around in a rucksack. “Here’s my passport, it’s an old photo though.”

  Bert looked at the passport and smiled. “Yes, you’re definitely a Goldsmith. I could tell when I first saw you; you have your granddad’s black hair and green eyes, and then I heard your friends here call you Eric, your granddad’s name.”

  “You should have been a detective, laughed Jonny.

  “Maybe I should have,” replied Bert thoughtfully. “But you don’t want to know about me, this is all about Eric and his fortune.”

  “Fortune? What do you mean?” Eric was shocked.

  “Well young man, you’re rich.”

  “Er, yes, I guess I am but that’s no big secret.”

  “No, I mean you are rich, not your family. You see, your granddad left you rather more than just an island.”

  “Just an island?” interrupted Jonny. “I’d be very happy with that!”

  “I’d be happier with none of it,” declared Eric.

  Bert looked puzzled at this comment but continued his story: “Your granddad and his family left England during the war because they were scared the Germans would invade and cause trouble for them because they were Jews. They were also worried that the Nazis would steal their fortune. They managed to take some money to the States with them but had to leave most of it here. You see, there were all sorts of concerns about the security of banks and what would happen to currencies if the Germans won the war, which seemed likely for a while. Your granddad believed that the safest thing to do was to buy gold, so he used his business contacts to get as much as he could find and then hid it here on the island.

  “So that’s what the men were after!” exclaimed Eric.

  “Men? What men?” Bert sounded worried. Eric quickly related the story of the men searching the island and kidnapping his father.

  Bert was shocked. “My word, this is serious. I did have my suspicions when a man came snooping around a couple of weeks back asking questions about the island and who owned it. Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “Eric’s dad didn’t want publicity,” explained Jonny. “He’s a well-known politician in the US.”

  “Ah yes, I know about his career, he’s doing well for himself but I’m sure he’d have wanted you to get the police to help.”

  “Maybe, but would the police have believed three kids who said one of their dads had been kidnapped from a deserted island?” Jonny pointed out.

  “Umm, you may have a point there. The police don’t tend to be very imaginative when it comes to unusual problems.”

  Louisa glanced sideways at Bert. He sounded like a man who knew what he was talking about. She wondered what he’d done in his life before he looked after the sailing club.

  “So where is the treasure hidden,” asked Eric. “Those men had a pretty good hunt around, and pops and I explored the house and island when we first came here last week.”

  “I’ll show you in daylight,” promised Bert. “For now, though, we need to decide what to do about rescuing your friend and Mr Goldsmith. I wonder why Will’s not replied to your text.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Will pulled his phone from his pocket and read the short message from his cousin – “ru ok? xx” – and wondered why she’d not said more. Still, he also wondered why he’d not already thought of using his phone to call for help, and then he noticed he’d no signal – that text must have just arrived before the phone was out of range of the mainland. He was too late.

  Then he noticed a new sound. In addition to the low roar of the engine, there was a higher pitched hum coming from above. He looked up and saw the radar antenna rotating. Will was sure that wasn’t running earlier but it made sense to use radar when crossing the busy shipping lanes that dissected the English Channel, especially at night. He climbed up onto the helm’s seat an
d looked at the instruments in front of him, which looked surprisingly new and expensive compared to the rest of the boat, and Will guessed there’d be an identical set at the indoor helm below. Sure enough, there was a radar screen lit up but, although Will had seen the one on Louisa’s family’s yacht, he didn’t really know how to use radar. He then spotted that another device was active – it was the autopilot which, again, he was slightly familiar with. Surely the men hadn’t left the boat to drive itself with just the radar keeping watch? Even at twelve, Will knew that was a crazy thing to do in the English Channel, the world’s busiest shipping lane. He climbed down the ladder and peeped into the cabin – it was empty! The men must have gone to sleep hoping that the radar’s alarm would warn them of any approaching boats. Madness.

  Shocked, Will climbed back up to his post on the flying bridge, shivering as the cold wind hit him once again. He studied the autopilot’s control panel as a new plan formed in his mind. With a touch of a button he disengaged the autopilot and used the wheel to slowly turn the boat around. Another freshly installed screen was a GPS navigation unit that displayed a chart of the English Channel and Will could see from the flashing cursor that they were about 30 miles from home. The bright boy was comfortable with computers and mathematics and had enjoyed helping with the navigation on his uncle’s yacht, so he was soon able to set a course back to the harbour entrance and he even managed to reset the autopilot to steer the boat in for him. He realised what was wrong with dinghy sailing – there just weren’t enough gadgets to play with!

  Unlike the sleeping men below, though, Will was worried about other boats in the vicinity so he pulled his knees to his chin and sat up keeping a watch for navigation lights piercing the inky darkness. He also kept an eye on the radar screen although he wasn’t confident he knew what the various blips on it were. Then he remembered the radar’s alarm and realised that if it sounded, the men would wake up and notice that the course had changed, so he clicked through the various settings and managed to disable it.

  Will was feeling rather pleased with himself and thought that all he needed now was a warm coat and a mug of hot chocolate to be content. The latter he couldn’t manage but he did find a tattered – and rather smelly – piece of boat cover on the floor which he thankfully wrapped around him to keep the wind off. He grinned and kept peering into the darkness, almost enjoying himself.

  He checked his phone; it had a signal again, so he sent Louisa a message: “on way back, get police in”. He knew Eric hadn’t wanted the police involved but he figured they’d have to be now that he was going to deliver the kidnappers straight into their arms. Gosh he was smart!

  A flashing light broke the darkness – a lighthouse. Will looked at the electronic chart on the screen in front of him. Of course, it must be St George’s Point just to the west of the harbour entrance. He remembered seeing that during his recent Channel crossing with Louisa’s family. He was bang on course. Before long, the red and green lights which marked the entrance to the harbour became visible. Will had entered the harbour several times on yachts during the day but only once in the dark, and that was with his uncle at the helm, and Will remembered him saying it was a tricky approach as there are sandbanks each side and a strong current flowing in and out of the narrow entrance. He figured that the tide would be on its way in which should be helpful.

  Once the channel markers were within sight, Will switched off the autopilot and took the wheel, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His phone buzzed again, it was Louisa: “what do u mean? xx”. He replied quickly: “taken control of boat and coming into harbour with prisoners”. He grinned; that would get them thinking.

  As the boat came alongside the first of the buoys which marked the way into the harbour – red on the left and green on the right – Will began to feel it being pulled forwards by the strong tide running in. He needed to slow down but was worried that a sudden change in engine note would waken the men below, so he just gently eased off the throttle a bit at a time, but still the big motor yacht was flying along, caught up in the current. There was nothing Will could do but hang on and do his best to keep on course. There were no other boats around so he went straight up the middle of the channel rather than keeping to the right as boats are meant to. The motorboat was being tossed about by the churning water but Will knew that once he was inside the harbour entrance, it would be much calmer.

  Then he jumped – there was a loud banging and yelling coming from below him. The men must have been woken by the rough water. Now what?

  The harbour had a speed limit of eight knots which meant that it normally took about 20 minutes to get up to the marina at its head and Folney Island was about five minutes before that. The men were bound to escape before then. There was nothing else for it. Will pushed the throttle right forward and the big boat roared ahead and lifted onto the plane sending a massive wake towards the shores. This’ll annoy a few people thought Will as he reached for his phone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Right, the police are on their way,” said Bert as he put his phone into his pocket. Louisa had noticed that the old man hadn’t dialled 999 as she’d expected but had instead used another number and asked to speak to “Perkins” who seemed to be someone Bert knew, by the chatty tone of old man’s voice.

  Then Louisa’s phone rang. She answered it and could hear Will shouting at her over a loud noise. “I’m on my way but I need help, they’re gonna get out!”

  “Where are you and what’s happening?”

  “I can’t hear you. Damn, I think they’re out.” The line went dead.

  “That was Will. It sounds as if he’s in trouble but I’m not sure what’s going on,” Louisa explained.

  “Hey, what’s that noise?” Jonny ran outside and the others rushed after him. There was a loud roar coming towards them, so they rushed down the path to the shore.

  “It’s a motorboat at full throttle,” said Bert. “What’s the kid up to? He must be mad going at that speed up here.”

  “It’s coming from down the harbour, hurry.” Jonny led the way around the island’s narrow shore. By now, it was starting to get light and they could see a large motor boat tearing towards them and creating a huge wave. Behind it was another smaller boat with a blue flashing light on top of it.

  “It’s the Jenny Wren and the police!” shouted Louisa.

  “My word, she’s coming straight for us!” yelled Bert. “Run!” He grabbed Louisa and Eric and pushed them up into the thick woods, with Jonny dragging Anslie along by his collar, none of them caring about the brambles attacking their legs. They were only just in time, as the Jenny Wren came crashing onto the beach just where they’d been standing, making a sickeningly loud bang followed by the sound of splintering fibreglass as the boat rode bumpily up the beach, its bow coming to a grinding halt just before it reached the horrified children and Bert.

  They had to shout to make themselves heard above the sound of the roaring engine which was still running, its propellor churning up the shallow water behind the stricken vessel.

  “Come on, let’s find Will,” shouted Louisa, running around to the side of the motor yacht.

  “Watch out!” yelled Jonny as a man jumped off the boat and pushed Louisa to the ground before running off into the woods as Bert helped the surprised and shocked Louisa to her feet.

  The powerful police boat had stopped just offshore, it’s blue light still flashing, and the men onboard were lowering a small RIB into the water. Before long, two marine police officers were making their way to the island.

  “We need to check Will’s OK,” insisted Louisa. “Jonny, give me a leg up.”

  Jonny immediately held his hands together and Louisa scrambled up onto the deck of the beached motorboat.

  “Don’t forget there’s another man on board,” warned Eric. “And my dad, too!”