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       Ionian Gangster Boy - Book 2, p.1

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Ionian Gangster Boy - Book 2
Ionian Gangster Boy

  Voyage of Discovery

  Book 2

  Despicable people, murderous deeds and self-preservation force 
Morgan Burdett to

  challenge the mafia underworld, which reveals his unknown Greek family.

  Mikey Simpson

  Copyright 2017 Mikey Simpson


  Chapter 7 - Voyage of Discovery

  Chapter 8 - A Girl Called Ismene

  Chapter 9 - Night of the Long Knives

  Chapter 7

  Voyage of Discovery

  Morgan paced below deck in the main cabin, drinking coffee to nurse his hangover from the previous day, he looked through the fridge and made himself a ham and mustard sandwich then sat down on a sofa in the dim light. Instinctively he knew where everything was in the kitchen and the layout of the craft containing a relatively small bathroom, three bedrooms at the front of the craft, two bunk beds and a master double bedroom. The area seemed cramped, but for a boat, it was luxurious with an expensive tasteful minimal finish. He relaxed sat back and sipped some more of his sweet coffee as his body moved to the gentle rhythm of the boats movement.

  The boat was no stranger to him, although the name was different he had known instantly that this was the boat that had been named after his mother Sophia. It was the first boat that his father had bought in the late eighties. It was at present the last remaining legacy of his dad’s empire. The only thing physically that Morgan owned, and could take possession of. A link from the past, and a signal for the future. It reassured him that whenever there seemed to be a dead end a new door would open. New partnerships made on this epic voyage would secure his destiny as a man free from the shackles of the police and mafia.

  Morgan drank the rest of the coffee and then ventured out onto deck, he emerged to the first signs of daybreak as the orange sky lit the way east toward Turkey and the Middle East beyond.

  ‘Kali mera, Ariston!’ Morgan joined the silhouette of the man on deck. ‘I thought you might like a drink!’ he handed over a mug of steaming coffee.

  ‘Ah you read my mind. I could smell that aroma coming from the cabin, efharisto!’

  Morgan watched the pilot steer the boat, constantly scanning the horizon for other craft and for the dangers of larger shipping. He was aided by satellite navigation to plot his course and radar to navigate around tankers and cruise ships.

  ‘Any sign of the navy or coast guard?’ Morgan asked, shivering from the early morning air.

  ‘No they will wait until first light before they investigate! They might send some boats out to try and find us, but they are a little late we’ve already made quite some distance from the Ionian islands.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Morgan Asked.

  Ariston avoided the question. ‘I thought you would be asleep, like your friend.’ Ariston yawned a little as he pulled at the strap of his rifle on his back. He drank some coffee and then rubbed his face to waken himself a little. The man continued. ‘How's the leg, is it on the mend?’

  ‘It’s still stiff and gets sore when I do too much. It’s difficult to walk long distances, but it’s getting better!’ He was touched to be asked by the man.

  ‘Well there’s plenty of time for sleep. The journey to Cyprus will take over a week, so plenty of time for swimming and R&R. When we get there you’ll have some energy to burn off in the nightclubs.’ he laughed.

  It sounded like a well-rehearsed line that the pilot would have used many times before with his wealthy clients on board, when chartering the yacht around the islands. It sounded terrific, a bit of down time without the need to look over your shoulder everywhere you went. ‘Sounds good, just what I need!’ The boy sat in the captain’s chair at the side of Ariston, sheltering from the cold.

  ‘I could do with some sleep, here you want to take her for a bit?’ Ariston offered the boats wheel to the boy.

  Morgan looked a little alarmed and just looked back in astonishment. ‘You want me to pilot?’

  ‘Come on Morgan, it’s time you put all that I taught you into practice. After all, it’s your boat now!’ Ariston smiled and then took off his rifle and fleece. ‘Here you might want to put this on it’s chilly!’

  Morgan pulled on the oversized fleece but refused the rifle. ‘I’ve always preferred a pistol.’ He showed the bulge of his gun in his shorts.

  ‘OK but I will leave it. If anyone comes near the boat you use it to scare them off. It might be the new millennium but be careful there are still pirates out there!’ With that said the man left the deck and disappeared into the cabin. Below the snoring of Vince could be heard, until Ariston yelled at their companion to shut up.

  Five minutes later a bleary eyed Vince emerged onto deck. ’What time is it?’ He asked a little shell-shocked.

  ‘Time to get up!’ Morgan laughed. ‘There’s some coffee downstairs, go get a couple of mugs and join me on deck!’

  Vince scratched at his stubble and head, returning moments later with black coffee and a pastry. What time we going to make port?’

  ‘A week tomorrow, I guess!’

  ‘What the fuck!’ Vince nearly choked on a Danish pastry. ‘But I got to get back to London, or all sorts of shit’s going to happen!’

  Morgan shrugged and sympathised with his colleague.

  ‘Where the fuck we going?’ Vince tried to comprehend the route as he looked at the sat-nav and the radar in frustration.


  “What! Where the fuck's Cyprus? How the hell, am I going-to-get back home from there?’ Vince was getting agitated.

  ‘Relax it’s a five hour flight. Just think of this as an extended holiday, I’m sure Bob and Harry can handle business!’

  ‘They’ll be fucking dead by the time I get back there.’ Vince did indeed look horrified by the situation, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  As dawn broke over the crystal clear dark blue waters, two figures watched the horizon. The number of yachts and ships around them, increased steadily. Morgan who had by now organised himself a little better, had a map of the locality and binoculars ready for any sign of trouble. He had spent some time concentrating on the hi-tech instruments. Particularly the radar and was now quietly confident that he could judge the size of a vessel and its distance from their position, by its corresponding blip on the screen. He saw that, in their path, there was a main shipping lane. There were adjoining streams of boats accompanying the larger vessels at a crossroads to mainland Greece. There were also other routes back westerly, to Malta, Italy and the Island of Sicily. The amalgamation of traffic mostly sailing towards the east and the Cyclades Islands, Crete, Cos, Rhodes and many more of the easterly islands that were Greek territory.

  The route according to the plotted course would take them around mainland Greece, past the Gulfs of Messinia and Laconia to stop in Santorini. The next part of their journey would take them past Rhodes, down the coast of Turkey and on to Cyprus. The only difference in his calculations was the time scale. It would take them a distance of 1000 miles. By his reckoning, at a hundred miles per day it would take nearly two weeks, rather than the one-week Ariston had stated. The boy mulled over the chart some more as Vince made himself useful at the wheel. He planned out a few alternative routes along the bottom of Crete into more open water where the currents and wind might assist, but it was longer so his calculations remained the same at two weeks.

  'You look deep in thought?' Came the fresh voice from behind him.

  He looked up and acknowledged Ariston's return to the deck. 'You been able to sleep?' It had only been a few hours since his departure below.

  'Like a baby, but I feel the need to build up speed to quicken
the journey.' Ariston looked at the wind harnessed sails and pulled at one of the slackened ropes. 'You want to make the journey as soon as possible?' He asked Vince.

  'I need to get back to the smoke as quickly as possible.' the Londoner nodded in agreement.

  'In that case I'll make a seaman of you yet. If you do as you are told and follow my instructions, you will be able to fly home in five days.'

  Morgan looked doubtful but as Ariston barked orders out to both of his sailing companions, it was easy to see how the pilot had won sailing competitions around the world and in the Olympics. By mid afternoon without a break they had covered two hundred miles from Corfu, which included the speedboat ride to the north of Cephalonia. With wind in the sails, they were cutting through the high seas traffic. Harnessing as much power as possible, Morgan marvelled at how fast they were actually travelling down to the tip of the mainland.

  As the journey progressed, and nightfall came they took it in turn to watch and steer the boat in two-hour stints, which became easier as they mastered tightening the sails. The next morning they were all weary, but they fell into a pattern to monitor their voyage. By the time, the fifth morning arrived - true to Ariston's word, in the distance the island of Santorini with its half moon shaped cove. Overjoyed to anchor in the bay, they had driven themselves unbelievably hard, but now they would be able to take the day to land Vince on the island, hopefully he would be able to catch a plane home to
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