Thirteen

Tintin didn't find the Captain at the harbour master's office. He didn't find the Captain at any of the pubs along the waterfront and he certainly didn't find the Captain back at their hotel either. The next morning Tintin spent about fifteen minutes knocking at the Captain's bedroom door before going down for breakfast. After breakfast he went back to the Captain's room and spent another fifteen minutes knocking, before finally giving in and accepting that the Captain simply wasn't there.

So where is he? Tintin wondered. Bagghar was a large city, and unfamiliar to Tintin. He had no idea where to start looking for the man, and with no other feasible ideas he rang the harbour master's office to check whether or not the Captain had shown up there, but no joy. The man had just… disappeared. Worried, Tintin started phoning around hospitals – in case there had been an accident – before finally phoning the police.

"Captain A. Haddock," said the voice on the other end of the line. "Yes, we had him in last night. He was picked up for being drunk and disorderly."

Of course he was, Tintin thought. "I see," he said aloud. "Is he still there?"

"No, he spent the night in the drunk tank and we let him go. Let me see…" The voice disappeared for a second and Tintin heard the sound of papers rattling and a few computer keys being tapped. "Yes, he was released about fifteen minutes ago."

"Do you know where he went?" Tintin asked hopefully.

"Uh, I think he mentioned something about heading to the harbour master's office. He was banging on about a conspiracy of some kind. T'be honest, we just thought he was a bit, y'know, touched in the head. Sort of simple."

Tintin thanked the man and hung up. It was infuriating: he'd spent the night worrying over the Captain, and the morning searching for him, only to discover that the man had gotten disgracefully drunk – again! – and had been arrested! The man was a liability. Tintin quickly hurried to the harbour master's office and tried to decide what he would do. Go spare? No, there's no point losing my temper. That won't help anything. But I can't have him hanging around me if he's drinking: it's too dangerous. I'll have to send him back to the hotel – he can camp out in the bar there – while I try and find Allan again.

It was a good plan, he decided: a solid plan. He just had to make sure he didn't hurt the Captain's feelings by excluding him from the investigation.

He was at the docks now. The warehouses were on his left and the waterfront was on his right. There were few ships in port that day, and only one or two cranes working to move cargo to and from the holds. In fact, the docks were almost empty. He checked his watch as he jogged along with Snowy: it was noon. People would either be at prayers or lunch, he supposed. He looked up again, and spied a familiar figure far ahead of him. It was a man wearing a blue jumper and black trousers, striding with a determined gait. It had to be the Captain.

At last!

Still jogging, Tintin picked up the pace a little. It was no good shouting: he was still too far away for the Captain to hear him. He kept his eyes on the Captain… and wondered what the hell was going on.

He slowed down for a second as he watched the scene unfolding ahead. Four men had come out of one of the warehouses on the left and had quickly surrounded the Captain. It looked as though… Well, it looked like they were attacking him…

He picked up his pace again, going into a flat-out run when he heard the Captain shouting for help. It was the Captain, but the men had grabbed him and were hitting him a few slaps as they dragged him into the warehouse. What has he gotten himself into now? Tintin wondered frantically as he ran.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Hey! Let go of him!" He was close now, so close he could see one man – a very familiar man: he was one of Allan's cronies from the Karaboudjan – looking at him, and he could see the man's mouth moving as he said something. Another man looked over and gave Tintin a nasty grin as he slammed the door to the warehouse closed, and a moment later Tintin hit the thin metal door, twisting to the side and trying to bang it open again with all his might.

It stayed closed.

He struggled with it, trying to ignore the Captain's shouts on the other side as he tried to force the door open again. Precious seconds ticked by. He could vaguely hear the sound of car doors slamming and the Captain's voice being cut off. An engine revved, and the door shot open. The inside of the warehouse was almost empty with just a few crates stacked against the walls in the gloom, but the other door – the door that lead to the busy market street beyond – was open, and Tintin was in time to see a black car pull away from the kerb.

He tore through the warehouse and onto the street beyond. Looking around he spotted a yellow car parked nearby. It went against his morals to steal a car – he didn't download pirated movies either – but it wasn't stealing if he intended to give it back later. That's called 'borrowing'. He hopped into the front seat and hotwired the engine, which burst into life behind him. It must be one of those cars where the engine's in the back and the trunk's up front, he thought. He put his foot on the accelerator and –

– the car went backwards.

What the heck?

Surprised, he stuck his head out of the window and noticed for the first time that the car was actually attached to a tow-trunk, which had just started to drive off. Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, he jumped out before the trunk picked up too much speed and took off at a run.

x

Snowy liked to run. It was his favourite thing after chicken. He didn't know why he was running, but he did it anyway in case chicken was the end result. Besides, Tintin was running. It was fun to run with Tintin.

x

Tintin ran in the direction the black car had gone. He could barely see it, up ahead, but it was nearing an intersection and would soon be gone from sight. He looked around frantically, panic starting to set in, and spied an taxi sitting idly a few meters away. He ran to it, opened the door, and jumped into the back.

"Quick! Follow that car!" he said, at the same time as another voice said; "Central Station, please." He looked around and saw he was sharing the back seat with a small, rather portly, dapper-looking man with a briefcase. The man looked back at him with arrogance borne of the knowledge that young people were second-class citizens compared to the middle-class.

"Excuse me," the man said, "but I believe I was here first."

"I don't think you were," Tintin said irritably.

"Look, boy," the man said angrily, "I am not in the habit of arguing with children. Get out of my cab! I have to be at the Central Station in fifteen minutes!" As the man spoke, he waved his finger in Tintin's face in a threatening manner.

Snowy, who was sitting on Tintin's lap, stood up and eyed the finger. The hair on the back of his neck started to bristle. To Snowy, people were fine as long as they didn't threaten Tintin. But when they threatened Tintin, they threatened Snowy's supply of chicken.

And Snowy wasn't about to stand for that.

"And I must go to the hospital urgently," Tintin said as he got a good grip on Snowy, "because I've just been bitten by a mad dog!"

Snowy lunged, snapping and barking at the man who dared threaten his supply of chicken and his primary care-giver. Tintin kept his hands firmly around Snowy's chest, allowing the dog to get close enough to the man to scare him, but not close enough to bite him. With a shriek, the man dove out of the taxi and took to his heels.

"Good boy, Snowy! Quick, driver, follow that black car!" Tintin faced forward with a grin, petting Snowy to calm him down, and saw the bemused face of the taxi driver staring back.

"I thought they only said that in the movies," the driver said.

"Quickly!" Tintin urged.

"I'd love to, son, but what black car?"

Frowning, Tintin craned his neck and looked out of the windscreen: the car was long gone.

x

He could still hear the taxi driver's laughter as he made his way towards the market. He was fuming: that idiot with the briefcase had really loused things up. God only knew what the crew of the Karaboudjan were doing to the Captain, and Tintin had no way of finding them. He'd gone to the police, of course, and the harbour master's office, but they hadn't believed him. The harbour master had patiently explained that the Karaboudjan had gone down with all hands, and there was no way he could have seen Allan Thompson or any other crewmate. The policeman behind the desk had listened to his story about seeing a kidnapping and told him to bugger off.

Sometimes, it sucked being fourteen years old. Adults never listened, or asked questions like; "Where's your parents?" and "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Gits.

The only thing he could think of to do was to try and find the alley where he'd lost First Mate Allan. Eventually, someone from the Karaboudjan would go there and Tintin would see which house they were visiting. And they could very well be keeping the Captain prisoner there.

But first, he needed a disguise. If they were bold enough to attack the Captain in the middle of the day they would do the same to Tintin too, and he doubted if anyone here in this strange land would care.

So his first order of business was to find a shop selling burnouses. He kept his eyes open as he reached the market and strolled through the stalls. The buildings surrounding the market were shops, but they sold food and clothes to the locals instead of the tourist tat on the majority of the stalls. Up ahead, he saw one with a rack of clothes outside the door. That'll do, he thought as he made his way to it.

As he walked, he watched as two men came out of the shop, followed by a hunched, smiling, elderly man who waved them off. There was something familiar about the figures: it was the black trousers that peeked out from the bottom of their burnouses, and the sturdy black shoes that clearly advertised them as policemen.

The Thompsons!

"Hey!" he called, immediately putting on a burst of speed to catch them up. At his heels, Snowy lunged at them happily. The Thompsons turned and saw him, their faces instantly melting into relief.

"Thank goodness!" Thompson exclaimed. "We've been searching for you for ages! We didn't think we'd find you alive."

"I'm more concerned that he recognised us straight away - from behind - in spite of our disguises," Thomson said, clearly put-out.

"What happened on the Karaboudjan?" Thompson asked, ignoring his colleague. "We got your radio message and jumped on to the next plane to Bagghar International, and here we are: ready to help."

"Did you know the Karaboudjan sank?" Thomson asked. "We heard about it on the news when we landed. Are you sure she was carrying heroin?"

"I'm absolutely positive," Tintin assured him. "The drugs are hidden inside tins of crab with the same label as the one that was taken off the drowned man in Belgium."

"Huh," said Thomson thoughtfully. "We saw one of those tins in the shop we were just in."

Tintin had already turned around and was heading for the shop. "Then we should go and check it out," he said firmly.