No Going Back

By Ian Townsend

An adventure based on real events, "No Going Back" begins with a getaway aboard a yacht
Slipping out of Vancouver Harbour under cover of darkness, Ian Townsend escapes with his son David, fleeing barely ahead of the authorities who had seized his young son and put him into care after the tragic death of his mother.
On the high seas, he is held prisoner on his yacht, Vixen, by Australian gunrunners who have taken David hostage to force Ian to sail them and their weapons to Mexico. He manages to overpower two of his captors, rescue David, then hide out on Catalina Island until the rest of the gang gives up the search for them.
Arriving in Hawaii, Ian is accused of murder when a female crew member is reported missing. No sooner had this matter been cleared up, Ian and his son have to flee again after inadvertently assisting in a robbery.
Hiding out on a rundown and abandoned mid-ocean NASA missile tracking station, Ian runs afoul of the authorities once again, this time it is the FBI. By a clever ruse and brandishing a rifle, Ian and his son outrun the sea pursuit and hide out on uninhabited Pacific islands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadOnTime BV
• Release date: Jan 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781742842462

Ian Townsend

Ian Townsend is a journalist who worked for many year with ABC Radio National. He has won four national Eureka Prizes for science and medical journalism, and an Australian Human Rights Award for journalism. His first novel, Affection, based on the 1900 plague outbreak, was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Writers Prize for Best First Book, the Colin Roderick Award, the Vance Palmer Prize for Fiction, the National Year of Reading, and was long-listed for the Dublin IMPAC award. His second novel, The Devil's Eye, was long-listed for the Miles Franklin Award. He lives in Brisbane with his wife, Kirsten MacGregor, and their three daughters.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ian awoke and attempted to sit up. Dizziness and nausea swept through him like a flood tide. Pain lanced through his head. He cautiously touched the back of his head. Something came loose and he peered at it. A hairy clot of blood clung to his fingers.

Wondering how long he’d been unconscious, he reached out to steady himself, missed the edge of the bunk and fell headfirst to the deck. As he struggled to sit up he closed his eyes and put his head between his knees to stop from vomiting.

He struggled to stand up and pushed the door that led out to the cockpit. It was stuck. He slammed it with the heel of his hand. It still didn’t open. He took a step back then lunged at it with his shoulder.

It was locked from the outside!

About to force it again he paused as he heard laughter. It sounded like Ben, the muscle of the trio that had hijacked the yacht earlier.

Ian put his mouth close to the door. ‘Alright Ben, unlock this door or I’ll break it down.’

‘You can come out if you behave yourself, otherwise you’ll stay there until we’re ready to sail. Up to you, Townsend. I couldn’t care less.’

The cabin was large for a twelve metre yacht, but the headroom was less than his one-eighty. He sat on the edge of the bunk and looked around for something to use as a weapon. Reaching out to open a drawer he remembered it only contained clothes and linen.

He put his mouth close to the door. ‘Okay, Ben, let me out.’

A moment later there was the sound of the key in the lock. The door remained closed.

‘It’s unlocked so come out slowly with your hands in front of you.’

Ian slammed the door with the side of his fist. Ben, on the other side of the cockpit, was grinning as he motioned with his gun to go below.

The last thing Ian had remembered was turning his back on his three guests earlier as he had followed his son, David, to tuck him into his bunk in the bows.

David! Where is he?

* * *

Three weeks earlier the man at the wheel of the salt streaked, storm battered ketch entered the harbour of San Francisco on Christmas day nineteen sixty seven, he was wet, exhausted and smelly, but he had a smile that almost split his face in two. His eyes, normally large, brown and intelligent were sunken and bloodshot. Deep crows-feet and a week’s stubble marred his usually neat appearance.

For the previous two weeks he’d been single handedly sailing his twelve metre ketch, Vixen, down from Canada. He hadn’t left the wheel for the last two days and nights. Shoulders and arms aching, he’d fought to control the wheel as it attempted to spin out of his grasp. There would have been no second chance. Slewing broadside to a breaking wave was certain death.

Huge storm driven waves had reared up over the stern and dumped tons of freezing water onto the transom. As the bow plunged into the next deep trough the water surged over the cabin. To avoid being washed from his position he’d clamped his legs around the steering pedestal and gripped the spokes until knuckles whitened and threatened to pop. The added weight of water had caused Vixen to shudder and momentarily lose steerageway. Seconds later a huge wave would pick her up and send her creaming down into the next trough like a startled bird. As the bow was buried up to the for’d hatch she’d lost headway until lifted by the following wave. When almost clear, the screaming wind would strike the sails a thunderous blow and heel her over to send her flying off the crest of the next mountainous wave. Ian had ceased to be frightened when the constant fear had turned to monotony and numbing, automatic reflexes.

* * *

Single handed, yes, but not alone. As David, his eight-year-old son, stuck his head out of the main cabin hatch, he looked up at the underside of the Golden Gate Bridge.

‘Oh, it sure is big. It’s so high. Are we almost there?’ His young yes glowed with excitement.

His father smiled at him and noticed, other than his hair, which needed a good wash and trim, David was better turned out than himself.

‘We will be if I can find a marina on this side of the bay. How about you sit on top of the main cabin and look for a group of yachts tied up along the shore.’

As Vixen motored along the shore David pointed off the starboard bow. ‘There, over there!’

Ian had seen the yachts a moment before and felt sure David would spot them and get pleasure from his discovery.

‘Oh, yes, I see them.’

Within an hour they were moored to an overseas visitors berth near the end of the wharf.

‘I’ll go ashore and find a phone to let the authorities know where we are.’

‘Can I come too?’ David asked.

Feeling a bit mean he said, ‘No, I want you to stay on board and guard it in case somebody comes while I’m gone. There’s bound to be a phone on the shore end of the wharf. I won’t be long.’

A few minutes later he returned to David waiting anxiously on deck.

‘They weren’t too happy. Most of the staff is on holiday. The person I talked to promised to find somebody and send them as soon as they can. In the meantime we’re to stay on board.’

Two hours later while he was sorting out the mess below Ian heard, ‘Hello, may I come aboard?’

He put the broken dish on the counter and looked through the doorway at the visitor. Ian leaned across the table, lowered his voice and said, ‘David, let me do all the talking. Don’t interrupt or correct me if I say something that you don’t understand. Okay?’

David stopped working on his drawing and frowned. ‘Why, have we done something wrong?’

Not here and not yet, my son, but your Dad is about to become a bit of a storyteller.

Ian forced a smile and looked up. ‘Customs?’

As the man stepped aboard he laughed, ‘No, Immigration. We couldn’t get anybody from Customs so they sent me to do the honours. I’m George Sampson.’

‘Welcome aboard. I’m Ian Townsend and this is my son David.’

David looked up from his colouring book and smiled.

‘I was at home with the family when they called me out, so please forgive the lack of uniform.’ He sat down at the table and looked around. He looked alarmed. ‘Where is your wife? She hasn’t gone ashore has she?’

‘No, there’s just the two of us.’

George looked from one to the other and was about to say something, but shrugged instead. He was studying the yacht’s registration papers when he held out his hand.

‘Your passport, please.’

Desperately containing his nervousness, Ian blurted, ‘I haven’t got one. I mean I haven’t got it yet.’

George leaned back and looked at Ian over his spectacles. ‘What do you mean you haven’t got it yet?’

‘You see it’s like this…’

George frowned. ‘Anytime somebody says, You see it’s like this I get very suspicious.’

‘No, no, there’s nothing wrong! It’s just that when I was ready to leave, it still hadn’t come in the mail. When I contacted the Passport Office in Ottawa they said there was a delay while they changed David from his mother’s passport to mine. It would be another three weeks before my passport arrived so I told them to send it to the Canadian Consulate here.’

George looked suspiciously at Ian and dropped his pen. ‘You’re not doing a Sterling Hayden are you?’

‘What do you mean? What’s a Sterling Hayden?’

‘He was involved in a messy divorce and his wife had custody of the children and wouldn’t let him see them. So he abducted them and sailed to Tahiti on his yacht. As he had disobeyed the court order the authorities flew over and took the children back and at the moment Hayden is out on bail.’

Ian swallowed and looked down at his hands gripping the edge of the table and put them on his lap out of sight. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed David staring at George and opened his mouth to say something but Ian swung his foot over and kicked David’s ankle. He was startled and looked at his father. As he was about to say something George studied Ian.

‘You’re not. Are you?’

‘No! No, of course not. It’s just that my wife died in a car accident recently and I didn’t feel like hanging around after the funeral.’

At least that part’s true. Hopefully George won’t get in touch with the authorities back there because he’ll find I neglected to clear Customs and slipped out of the country moments before Social Services were arriving to take David back from me. If Hayden couldn’t get away with it, how the hell do I expect to.

George stared while Ian forced himself to make eye contact without blinking or looking away.

‘Okay. Canadian citizens don’t require a passport. I’ll need to see some official identification such as birth certificates and your driver’s licence and Social Security Card.’

George copied information from the documents onto a piece of paper then folded it and put it in his shirt pocket.

‘I’ll have a look around to satisfy Customs you’re not importing prohibited goods. I saw in the logbook the trip took you two weeks and you had storms for several days.’

Relieved, Ian said, ‘As you can see we’re still in a bit of a mess and I haven’t had time to put things in order. I’ve had to steer most of the time for the last few days and nights to keep on course and housekeeping has been the least of my worries.’

‘How long will you and your son be staying in San Francisco?’

‘Probably a month. I’ll need to advertise for a crew. I’ve had enough of doing it on my own. We’ll sail to Tahiti or Hawaii. As you can imagine an eight-year-old boy isn’t much help.’

George picked up his spectacles and slipped them into his shirt pocket as he climbed the steps to the deck.

‘This is an unusual arrangement with a separate sleeping cabin aft of the cockpit. And it’s rather a large cockpit at that.’

Ian opened the door and slid the hatch back.

George noticed the pile of wet dirty clothes on the deck between the two bunks.

‘There’s a Laundromat two blocks away. I’ll wish you luck and get back to my family.’ He shook Ian’s hand and ruffled David’s hair. ‘Take care of your Dad, son.’

Ian sagged with relief as he watched George walk along the wharf. It appeared that George believed his story. Luckily he was anxious to get back to his Christmas celebrations. George had been quite casual because he didn’t ask about firearms or duty free alcohol, just cigarettes and fresh fruit. Ian was relieved this man was called out and not someone more competent.

‘I’ll have a wash and shave then we’ll go ashore and buy some fresh fruit and vegetables. And some meat that doesn’t live in a tin.’

‘But not carrots or broccoli,’ David said.

Glancing through the window above the sink Ian saw George walking purposefully towards the yacht. He’s coming back! It’s occurred to him something isn’t right. Damn, where did I slip up? He went on deck expecting to be exposed.

Chapter 2

George wasn’t smiling. He was frowning as he strode purposely toward Ian.

A dozen scenarios flashed through Ian’s mind. All violent and impractical. It definitely wasn’t going to be an invite to share Christmas dinner with his family.

Ian stepped onto the wharf and faced him with his arms folded on his chest and waited for the bad news.

George stopped in front of Ian, looked him in the eyes and said, ‘I forgot something.’

‘What?’

‘My pen. I left it on the table.’

Ian felt so relieved he almost wet himself.

‘Hang on; I’ll get it for you.’

He dashed below and was back in a flash and handed it to George. ‘Was there anything else?’

He smiled, ‘No, sorry to bother you. Have a nice day.’ He turned and walked away.

As Ian watched him leave for the second and hopefully the last time.

You bastard, you certainly put the wind up me for a moment.

He waited until he was sure George had gone then went below to prepare lunch.

After they’d eaten, Ian sent David along the wharf to find another child to play with, then crawled into the tiny engine room and brought out two cardboard boxes. Placing them on the settee and cutting the tape he emptied the contents onto the table.

A power point on a light post was close enough to run an extension cord into the main cabin. When all his preparations were completed to his satisfaction he made a cup of coffee and relaxed on the settee waiting for David to return.

When David stepped aboard and started down the steps to the main cabin he gasped in amazement.

‘Oh, we really are going to have Christmas! I thought we were going to miss out. Where did you get the tree? And the lights and everything?’

‘I hid everything in the engine room before we left. I hoped we would be here before Christmas. Do you like it? Those presents are for you and there’s even one for me from you. You probably forgot about it. This evening we’ll find a restaurant and have a proper Christmas dinner to celebrate.’

‘You are the bestest Dad in the whole world!’ He sat on his father’s lap, put his arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

Ian had a lump in his throat as he hugged his son.

Don’t be too sure of that. I still don’t know if I’ve done the right thing by you or if we’re even going to get away with it. So far this is the first day he hasn’t asked about his mother. I’m going to have to think up some more lies. I can’t tell him the real circumstances of her death or what a poor mother she was to him.

* * *

A couple of days later they were taking down and packing the Christmas decorations. ‘We don’t seem to have much luck advertising for a crew, do we son?’

‘No, those last two men kept looking at me like I was a dog or something. I didn’t like them.’

‘Yeah, they were a bit strange all right.’

David looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Do we really need help to sail the yacht? I could help.’

‘We don’t have self steering and I’m not too keen on repeating that last trip. I’ve never sailed a yacht in the ocean before and you’re too young to stand watches and steer. You’d have to sit at the wheel for hours in the rain and the dark while I slept.’

‘You’re right. It doesn’t sound like much fun. Why are we doing this then?’

Ian’s answer hadn’t got him out of what was developing into an awkward situation. How to answer that one? He can’t tell anyone the real reason. Especially David. He’ll have to sometime. Now is not the time or place. He’ll have to put a lot more miles behind him. Like being in a cyclone, Ian is still in the dangerous quadrant where he could get sucked into the centre.

‘Well I thought after all the trouble I went to to build Vixen we should at least sail around for a while; otherwise it would be a waste of time and money.’

‘We could sell it and buy a house.’

‘Don’t you want to see other countries and meet different people?’

‘Not really.’

‘Oh,’ Ian frowned, deeply disappointed.

David was experiencing the adventure of his life and unless he changed his attitude he may not benefit from the experience. Ian had so hoped that David would revel in this adventure.

* * *

That night Ian was unable to sleep. He lay on his bunk and thought about David’s question. Why are we doing this then?

Ian thought back to the evening his comfortable little world was destroyed.

He had been operating a drill press on the nightshift at the aluminium factory in New Westminster when Ernest, the foreman, came up to him and said, ‘You’d better come to the office.’

Ian finished drilling the twenty millimetre hole in the aluminium beam, shut down the machine, and followed Ernest across the workshop floor.

As he entered the office a male and a female police officer held out identity cards.

‘I’m Senior Sergeant Brad Symonds and this is Constable Mavis Bochensky. Please sit down. I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news for you.’

Ian remained standing and looked at each of the officers. He turned to Ernest. ‘What’s going on?’

‘They’ll explain.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘I’ve got to get back to the floor. If you need time off I’ll arrange it.’

He left, quietly closing the door.

Ian was puzzled by their visit until he remembered the charges the lawyer, one of the summer cottage owners from down the hill where he had built the yacht, threatened him with when he was moving it up the hill on their private road. They had known for the three years it had taken him to build it that he had to use the road, but they had said nothing until he was actually doing it. That was two weeks ago.

The senior officer cleared his throat, took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. The constable nudged him and whispered something.

‘Ah, well, there has been an accident. A serious one, I’m afraid. Unfortunately these things are all too common. Well, not exactly common. Not in our patch anyway.’

She nudged him again. ‘Get on with it, sir.’

‘Yes, um, this Elaine Masters. You aren’t married? You just live together, I take it. Without benefit of marriage, that is.’

The constable raised her eyes and shook her head.

‘I wasn’t aware it was against the law,’ Ian snapped.

The officer stared at him with wide open eyes. He seemed to have forgotten what he was about to say.

The constable nudged him again.

Ian, annoyed at the man’s attitude wished he’d just get on with it.

Ian grinned.’ If you do that again he may have you up for assault. When he undresses tonight his wife, unless he lives in sin like me, will wonder where he got all the bruises.’

‘Mr Townsend, where were you tonight?’ the sergeant barked.

Ian frowned and glancing at the constable noticed she was looking at the senior sergeant with her mouth wide open and her eyebrows reaching for her hairline.

‘At eleven o’clock to be precise.’

Ian was stunned and took a step forward.

‘What the bloody hell do you mean?’

Ian went to the door, opened it and shouted, ‘Ernest! Come in here please.’

As Ernest entered he kept his eyes on the floor.

‘Yes? If it’s about time off you…’

‘It’s about Mr. Plod here. He wants to know where I’ve been tonight. Like where was I at eleven.’

‘Why, here. You’ve been here since the shift started at eight.’

Ian turned to the sergeant. ‘My son could do a better job than you. Now get to the point.’

‘Actually, it is about your son.’

Ian grabbed his arm. ‘What’s happened to him? Is he hurt?’

The constable stepped forward, firmly lifted Ian’s hand, turned to the sergeant and said, ‘May I?’

He nodded and sat behind one of the desks, picked up a pencil and savagely tapped it on the desk until it snapped, angrily he threw it away.

‘Your son is alright. Mr Townsend, please sit down and I’ll explain. At eleven-ten this evening we attended a single vehicle accident. Your partner was the only occupant. She was travelling towards your home when her vehicle, obviously travelling at high, speed ran off the road and into the concrete barrier at Boundary road and Elm Street.’

‘Is she…’

‘She died instantly.’

Ian sat there, stunned, knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his chair, staring at her in disbelief.’ He laughed. ‘No. It wasn’t her. She’s at home with David.’

‘We checked. It’s your car. We believe there was another person in it at the time, they left immediately after the accident. Was there anybody staying with you?’

‘No. You’ve got it wrong. Where’s my son?’

‘He’s at your house being looked after by another officer. We identified her from the contents of her purse and thinking you were at home we went there first. A neighbour, Mrs. Yamamoto, told us where you worked.’

‘Was she babysitting David?’

‘No, David was alone. The house was locked. The gas heater was on and the house was in darkness.’

‘I don’t understand. She wouldn’t have left him alone. Unless it was an emergency. But she would have called me.’ He looked at her. ‘But we’ve only got one…’

‘Car.’ She finished for him.

‘Can we go now?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll get my gear and tell Ernest. ‘

‘We’re parked out front.’

* * *

Ian peered over the back seat. ‘Is that it up ahead?’

‘Yes.’

The constable had taken over from the sergeant who had been silent since Ian’s outburst.

‘Aren’t we stopping?’

‘No, she has been taken away by the ambulance. I’ve got to inform you that it appears she had been drinking.’

‘Doesn’t make sense.’

The sergeant turned around, put his hand on Ian’s shoulder and clumsily patted him.

Ian smiled at him. ‘Sorry.’

The sergeant nodded and faced forward.

Everybody was silent the rest of the trip. They parked above the house and walked down the short path. Ian was introduced to the other police woman. A woman wearing an ankle length skirt and a shapeless blouse sat across the lounge glaring at Ian and made no move to get up or introduce herself.

Ian headed towards David’s room. The woman quickly stood and blocked his passage. He collided with her in his anxiety to see his son. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m from Social Services. You can’t go in there.’

‘Like hell I can’t. Move aside please.’

‘No. I’m in charge of the boy. You are not allowed to see him at this time.’

‘If you don’t step aside I will, at this time, pick you up and dump you outside my house.’ He stared her down.

She moved aside.

He was back in a minute. ‘Something’s wrong with him. He won’t wake up.’

The woman from Social Services thrust a paper at him. ‘Sign this.’

He brushed it aside and went to the policewoman who had been at the house when they arrived. ‘What’s going on?