Last Out From Roaring Water Bay (21 page)

“As I said before, you’re going to be busy finding the right answers, Commander Morgan. And good luck in trying to convince the Peelers there’s a lot they’re missing.”

“We’ll do our utmost best, Mister Speed. That’s after we have finished our internal investigation to find the insider who’s deviously removed incriminating material concerning the recently exhumed Spitfire. We have to find this insider before we lose control of the situation, and it has to be done in complete secrecy. Any other way just won’t work. And it has to be done without treading on too many toes”

“Can you do all that without attracting attention to yourselves?”

“We damn well have to, Mister Speed! Our careers will be at risk. We balls this up and it’ll be more than our pensions at stake. There’ll be ridicule and humiliation and we’ll be the fall guys; probably get the sack to add to our woes and be disgraced through the media.”

“I’m sure you’ll make the right decisions.”

“That’s where you can help us, Mister Speed. If we can locate Love and Hate first, not only will we prevent further tragedy, but we might get them to direct a true course to their employer and the possible mole inside Whitehall.”

“When you eventually find Love and Hate, you have my permission to throw them in the Tower of London and squeeze the truth out of them in any way you redeem to be acceptable.”

“Something I would enjoy immensely, Mister Speed; only we British have morals to maintain. We’re not a third rate country so we can’t simply snatch them from the street and throw them in prison before a question is asked. We have to stick to European guidelines. Hard proof is required for the D.P.P. to even sniff at the case. An incident that happened three years ago in Cyprus doesn’t warrant an instant arrest on two men who have no positive criminal convictions. Yes they’re on a long list of police files as suspects but there are no outstanding warrants for their arrest. No jack-shit! We need something stronger to use other than immigration defaults.”

“They attacked me. Hamer witnessed everything. Get them arrested on those grounds.”

“That would be an acceptable solution but for one stumbling block. I see little evidence on your person of any kind of assault, and from what Inspector Hamer reported, I digested that it was the viciousness of yourself and dog that were the aggressors and victors. A top barrister would have a field day with us and have you arrested for assault instead.”

“That’s British Law for you!” I said, condemningly. “And you’ve got your work cut out.”

“Not if you are willing to work alongside us. Mister Speed.”

“You want to use me as bait to attract a pair of rats?”

“It’s an interesting thought. But that’ll only draw out Love and Hate. I want the top dog behind this outrage. You can help us penetrate the solid mass that blocks our way to the truth. What you decide to divulge to us will be treated with the strictest of confidentiality, naturally. The discovery of the Spitfire hides a story, Mister Speed. It has resulted in some very serious incidents which require explaining and I feel you can help us uncover the truth.”

I was finding it more and more difficult to control my feeling of persecution. “I seem to be having a lot of trouble convincing people I know nothing of the crashed plane, which is obviously what you’re referring to, other than what I’ve read in the papers and have been told.”

“You will be well rewarded, Mister Speed.”

“Whoopee!” I said sarcastically.

“Further more, any involvement you had concerning the matter, I’ll guarantee you’ll be free from any form of prosecution; in writing of course, in return for adequate information. We can’t have ruthless villains posing as MDP officials and causing havoc. We need to apprehend the villains quickly, Mister Speed; time is of the essence.”

“Then there’s not much hope, since I’ve nothing else to add to your dilemma.”

“There is always hope, Mister Speed. I suspect you know a lot more than you’re willing to tell. Work with us, not against us. We get the right convictions and you’ll be adequately paid for your efforts. That means easy money in your bank account and no questions asked. Does that sound tempting?”

I smiled. “Sounds more like a frigging bribe.”

Morgan’s forehead deeply lined. “It’s not a bribe, more like what the constabulary describe as informers payments. It’s all quite legit. Now do we have a deal?”

“I’m not certain I can give you anything of value, Commander.”

“It all began somewhere, Mister Speed. Start by explaining the reason why so many infuriating criminals showed interest in a metal detector enthusiast who, I might add, has gained a renowned notoriety for selling antiquities on the black markets of Europe.”

I shrugged. “Beats me”

“You have something in your possession, possibly passed on to you by your friends, that maybe is destined for the black market?”

“I don’t sell on the black market!” I said decisively.

I noticed that Morgan was beginning to get extremely frustrated. “Come now, Mister Speed. You’re known in the European black markets as the Norseman-a highly respected trader of illegal antiquities. I suspect years of elusiveness from the law has somewhat dampened your enthusiasm to cooperate. Nevertheless, we still require your help to round up these monsters and I’m not really concerned about what you do for a living.”

“I don’t want to get involved.”

Morgan’s face muscles tightened. “Whichever way you look at it, Mister Speed, you are involved, whether you want to be or not.”

“And if I choose not to help, what then?” I thought I’d better ask the question.

Morgan smiled. “I’m sure you’ll want to cooperate voluntarily.”

“You sound confident?” I asked warily.

“We have our methods of persuasion.”

“Torture chamber, you mean? I better warn you that I’m used to that method of persuasion.”

“That’s the primitive alternative, Mister Speed. What I was actually getting at borders more on the victimization side of life. To put it bluntly, help us and we won’t consider putting you on trial for vandalizing a war grave and stealing the pilot’s personal equipment.”

“You’ll never make it stick, Commander,” I said calmly.

Morgan attempted to brush-off his bullying tactics. “It’s pitiful, I know. But we are desperate, Mister Speed, and desperate people revert to desperate measures. Additions can be arranged to strengthen our bargaining powers.”

“In other words, Commander, you telling me you can falsify evidence against me to ensure a conviction of grave robbing.”

Morgan smiled. “Not that we would wish to.”

“And you’re supposed to be the good guys,” I scoffed.

“I’d think things through very carefully what is on offer. We can make your life very difficult, Mister Speed.”

I’d no doubts that Morgan wasn’t bluffing either, and normally I don’t surrender to threats. Yet, if I’m honest, and I thoroughly understand my predicament on both fronts, to progress further along my lines of enquiry, I was certainly going to require help and who better than the government themselves.

So I told him straight. “If you want to use me as bait, I want written immunity from prosecution first, information of what I know you get after.”

“That can be promptly arranged,” Morgan announced, and he reached into his pocket for a pen.

I stopped him there.

“It has to be presented on official government paper, signed, stamped, and sealed, so I can arrange for my solicitor to hold it in storage; just in case, or there’s no deal.”

Morgan’s face tightened, as if he was to explode with anger. “That’s damned impertinent of you to mistrust my promise.”

“No, Commander. That’s damned sensible on my part.”

“This is preposterous! I offer you immunity from spending time in prison, and you fail to take me on my word. Good gracious, you philistine! What do you take me for? Do you realize it entails a trip back to my office? Time is against us, man! We need to press on. We can’t allow two murderous villains to abscond a second time. The longer we take the further they stretch from our reach.”

I stood my ground. “Your office isn’t far, Commander. Without the official documentation there is nothing. If I’m to get involved in something dubious I want to be in a position where I come out unscathed.” I shuffled my feet in readiness to leave. “It’s up to you.”

I could tell by the frowns on their face’s they detested my stubbornness. I rather enjoyed watching Morgan bite his bottom lip as he relented.

“Very well Mister Speed. I shall deal with the matter the moment I return to my office. Where can we contact you?”

“Inspector Hamer knows the exact location,” I said. “He thinks he’s my lodger.”

Morgan turned and walked away in a huff. I caught Hamer by the arm and asked him if he could locate the whereabouts of Sir Dillon Deveron for me. I did rather expect a volley of abusive language from him in retaliation, especially as I hadn’t exactly been cooperative myself, only he took me completely by surprise and nodded agreeably. Perhaps he was in a state of shock. And then again, I could only assume that they’d already anticipated my agreed involvement and that Hamer was under strict orders to fulfil any reasonable demands I made. I actually found that amusing. Yet I’d no doubt that the questions of my interest would come later. In my opinion Hamer was too much of a nosey bastard not to ask them.

I returned to the Imperial College and went in search of a Professor Cyril Squires. I found him where I expected to find him at three o’clock in the afternoon, sitting in his office, eating his lunch after he’d finished his tutorial sessions. I knocked courteously on his door and waited for him to answer. His slow, articulated voice said, “Enter.”

I went in and closed the door behind me. Professor Cyril Squires was behind his desk comfortably embedded in his favourite well-worn green leather executive type chair and with a napkin on his lap catching the minute crumbs falling from his triangular cut wholemeal sandwich with no crusts.
Posh sod,
I thought with a smile. His bulging round eyes caught my approach to him.

He had grey, wiry hair, kept in place with the application of a wet comb, and his high forehead gave his face the appearance of being long and stretched. He was sixty three years old but to his credit his clean and healthy complexion made him appear younger. His long, thin forefinger wiggled to direct me to the chair opposite him. I made myself comfortable.

He quickly swallowed what he was chewing and said, “Nice to see you again, Shacks. Been keeping away from trouble?”

“I’ve built a steel wall around myself,” I reassured him.

“That’s not what I’ve been hearing lately. And those photographs you left at reception; old aerial footage from the war. Not something I would have associated with you. Now whatever you’re presently into, keep the details well away from me unless you’re willing to tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth, to help me fend off the police when they come knocking on my door.”

I ignored his lecture and pressed on. “Did you get a chance to look at the photographs?”

“A fleetingly observation since I do have lectures to conduct.”

“Did you deduce anything from them worthwhile?”

Professor Squires expressed alarm. “Slow down. Why are you always in a hurry, Shacks?”

“I don’t want to be caught in the rush-hour traffic.” I lied. Being stuck in traffic had never bothered me. My excuse was more in line that I didn’t really want to hang around for a chit-chat over a cup of tea in the canteen afterwards, where he would undoubtedly start asking me awkward questions and force me to lie through my teeth. I’d always had an open and an almost honest relationship with him, but the way the present situation was panning out, I didn’t want him deeply involved in my present caper.

He laid his napkin on the desk, rose and drifted over to the filing cabinet that sat in the corner. There was one thing that struck me about old Squires. I can’t recall ever having seen the professor dressed in any other clothing other than what he wore for the office: brown tweed jacket with leather patches sewn on the elbow regions, a green shirt and dark brown cord trousers held in place with red elastic braces. I guessed he’d a full wardrobe of familiar attire.

On his way back to his desk with the envelope I’d left him earlier, I noticed how the hems of his trousers lifted above his ankles due to the tight pull of the braces he wore, his every step revealing an awful looking pair of grey patterned socks beneath. He re-seated, pulled his chair closer to the desk and spread the contents of the envelope onto the desk.

“Hmm,” he muttered, and then put on a pair of reading spectacles and selected one of the reconnaissance photographs.

Besides being an excellent, if not boring, tutor on the subject of metallurgy, he knew a great deal about rock formations around the world that no serious person could possibly know, and despite it being the most menial of subjects that a person could ever sit and read about, it was the rock formations in the photographs that I required his knowledge.

He sipped in a mouthful of water, flushing the fluid around his mouth, this he does regularly to dislodge food particles in his mouth, and swallowed. He cleared his throat with a slight cough. “These are terribly old photographs and badly water marked too. My initial findings earlier have somewhat changed since I’ve had more time to reflect on the images.”

He was beginning to sound negative but he soon rebuilt my confidence in him.

“It’s a good job old Squires isn’t a quitter, and it’ll take a lot more than crap photography to dampen my enthusiasm. Can I assume that these are something you found or stole? Or should I not be asking?”

“Both and don’t ask,” I said.

He didn’t flinch at my reluctance to divulge details because he knew me too well.

With a sharp suck of breath, he went on: “These are interesting rock formations, but as I stated the quality of the pictures does rather hinder the process of their true locations. Yet challenges I thrive on, and I detest defeatism.”

I interrupted him and told him what I knew, “It’s somewhere along the West side of the British Isles, if that helps any.”