The Abigail Affair (18 page)

“Toby, as a British subject in the care of the crew of a Naval warship, you are probably safer than strolling down to your local pub for a lunchtime beer. Can you see the lights yet?”

Toby stared out over the glassy black sea. Smithers hadn’t answered his question. “Not yet. No—wait—what’s that? I think I see a red and two whites. Port and two steaming lights. Ship over fifty metres.”

“Yes, that’s the
Amelia
. We’re going to close with them a little and then take the RIB across. The boarding party will be four, consisting of two ratings, you, and me. The ratings will be armed openly. I will be armed discreetly.”

Toby contemplated the mission ahead. He turned to Smithers. “When do I get to talk to my parents? And when can I have my phone back?”

“We’re running some checks on the phone. You likely won’t get it back. It wasn’t yours anyway.”

“What sort of checks?” Toby asked anxiously.

“Well, obviously, we’ll see who it’s registered to, or where it was bought if it’s pay-as-you-go. Then there are some other clever things we can do with our technical friends up north in Washington.”

Toby said, “I know who it belongs to. Julia Simons, my boss on the
Amelia
.”

“So you say,” replied Smithers. “Or so she says. But as the song goes, it ain’t necessarily so.”

“
Porgy and Bess
. Sung by Sportin' Life, the drug dealer.”

“Precisely.”

“None of you believes my story, do you?” Toby said.

“Is it a story? What are you holding back, Toby? Best to make a clean breast of it.”

Toby hesitated, but said nothing. He stared out over the water towards the
Amelia
. He could just see the shape of the yacht now, slightly lighter than the dark night sky.

He didn’t trust this naval lot. They weren’t being straight with him. OK, so he had left important information out of his account. But they didn’t know that. What was everybody up to? Toby felt another wave of tiredness sweep over him. His second wind from the meal and shower hadn’t lasted long, and he hadn’t slept properly for what seemed like a week. He was starting not to think straight, and that was worrying.

He felt anxiety rise in his chest as they speedily closed the distance to the
Amelia
. He didn’t want to go back on board. His spirits drooped as the Russian mega yacht loomed ever closer. He needed time alone to think and get prepared.

“Can I go for a walk around the deck? I need to clear my head,” he said.

“Sure,” Smithers said. “But I’ll have to come with you. Can’t have civilians on the loose.”

Toby set off towards the bows. Smithers kept pace with him. Toby cursed to himself. After a bit, he said, “On second thoughts, can I go and get a bit of kip before the expedition? I’m tired as a dog.”

Smithers raised his arm and pointed out over the water towards the
Amelia
. “Too late, Toby. Look, we’re nearly there. And we want to pop straight across. Three in the morning is a great time to catch people off their guard. Let’s go down and get ready. You’ll need a lifejacket and helmet. Health and safety, you know. Now, is there anything you need to tell me before we go? If you have not told the truth, you could be in serious trouble.”

I already am,
Toby thought. He hesitated.

“Well?” Smithers said.

“No, sir, you know everything. Let’s get ready and nail these crooks.”

Chapter 16

Toby’s anxiety levels rose as the safety briefing proceeded and shortly after as they prepared for the boarding of the
Amelia
. The naval RIB was still in the water, so it was a simple matter of descending the long ladder down the side of the ship. The RIB bounced a little on the swell, and Toby jarred his bad toe again (thanks to the slippery new trainers) when he dropped into the bottom of the boat. He picked himself up. The boarding party talked in low voices among themselves. It consisted of Smithers, the pilot who had brought him over from the fishing boat, and Seaman Cockney.

Toby looked around for the pirogue that had nearly cost him his life, but had then led to his rescue. He couldn’t see it. Perhaps they had already scuttled it.

“Everyone ready?” the pilot asked, and then opened the throttle. The RIB reared on up its bow wave, and then settled back into a fast plane across the glassy night sea towards the grey shape of the Russian yacht, which rolled gently as the sea rose and fell.

Moments later, they were alongside the
Amelia
. The boat hangar doors were open, and with a sinking feeling, Toby saw two figures, one squat and one tall, silhouetted against the boat bay lights.

Scott and Ski-Pants, his twin tormentors.

Toby consulted his watch. Nearly 3am.

Scott and Ski-Pants were all matey and smiley with the naval crew. “Glad to see you. Thought we’d lost young Robinson back in St Helen’s,” Scott said to Smithers after they had disembarked and taken off their crash helmets.

“Hello, Toby,” Ski-Pants said. “Where you get to? Everyone worry.” The man’s mouth split into a gruesome attempt at a smile.

Toby kept his eyes down and said nothing, as he had been briefed.

They ascended in the elevator. “We can talk in the crew mess,” Scott said to Smithers.

“Right you are,” replied Smithers. The naval crew hadn’t said much, instead choosing to preserve a professional, if rather frosty, civility.

Toby was surprised when the RIB pilot stayed behind in the boat, bobbing around outside the boat bay. After a moment’s thought he realised they would never leave their transport unguarded. However, that left just Smithers and Cockney to protect Toby.

“Bring us some coffee,” Scott said to Ski-Pants once they were installed in the crew mess. The lights glared down from the steel ceiling.

“Wait outside,” Smithers ordered Cockney in turn, who acknowledged with a smart “Yes, sir,” and left the room, his automatic weapon on his hip. That left just Smithers, Toby, and Scott in the canteen. Toby heard the blood rush in his ears in the sudden quiet.

“Cigarette, anyone?” Scott asked. He produced his packet and lit up. Smoke curled upwards as he exhaled through the corner of his mouth towards a vent in the corner of the room. Toby watched the smoke head to the vent as if magnetically attracted. The trail of smoke thinned out as it travelled. He thought it wise to decline the offer of a ciggie, so he said nothing.

In fact, no one said anything.

After a minute, there was a rap on the door, and Ski-Pants reappeared with a tray containing three mugs of coffee. He set the tray down and retreated.

After feigning courtesy with the usual sugar and milk business, Scott said, “I want to thank you for finding Robinson and bringing him back. I thought he’d jumped ship back in St Helen’s.”

“Tell us what happened, please,” Smithers said.

“Robinson joined the ship, as scheduled, in St Helen’s. He obviously didn’t like the company, or maybe the work, because he left in the wee small hours on his first night. We sent a shore party down in the morning to look for him, but they didn’t find him. We couldn’t delay sailing because the owner and his guests were aboard and we had a rendezvous planned in St Bart’s.”

“So you just left St Helen’s not knowing where Robinson was? Without knowing if he had left his post voluntarily, or been kidnapped, or maybe had an accident?”

Scott tapped his cigarette on a small tin ashtray. “No way. That would have been irresponsible. Toby was in our care, a signed-on crewman. So I made investigations and found out from Security at the marina that a young man answering Toby’s description had left the marina at approximately 3am yesterday. I had to assume Toby had abandoned his post and resigned from the crew. I took his Immigration documents and passport down to the office in the morning, handed them over, and signed him off the crew. But yes, I was worried that he had gone a little crazy. Why would anyone climb down the side of the
Amelia
in the rain in the middle of the night?”

Smithers narrowed his eyes. “You saw Robinson trying to climb down the outside of the yacht?”

“No, we found the images on the CCTV hard disk the next morning when we were looking for him. There was no doubt. I can show you if you like.”

Smithers turned to Toby. “You didn’t mention this to me. Is this what happened?”

“No,” Toby said. “I mean yes, strictly speaking I did climb down a little way on the cleaning gantry. But that was in connection with my duties.”

“You’re making this worse for yourself,” Scott said. “Robinson, you abandoned your post and did a runner—why, I don’t know. Don’t try to implicate the
Amelia
and its crew in your fantasies.”

Toby felt sweat start to trickle down his chest inside his loan T-shirt. Hell, they were setting him up all round here. Why hadn’t he told the whole truth? His head throbbed as his heartbeat went through the roof.

Smithers closed his eyes as if in exasperation. “Robinson, explain what happened.”

Toby took a deep breath. “I climbed down the gantry because I heard a woman screaming. I was investigating. I looked in from outside and saw one of the hooker girls, Irina, lying on the bed in a cabin. She looked dead.” This was going badly. Toby felt a fluttering panic rise in his chest again.

Scott exploded. “Hookers? What do you think this yacht is? A whorehouse? There are no female guests on board, and there haven’t been since you joined the ship. What the hell are you accusing us of?”

This was too much. Toby raised his voice and shouted, “No women guests? That’s a downright lie. Everyone saw them—you, Julia. They must be on the CCTV. Show the TV records to the Navy. That will prove me right. Including the hookers snorting the coke. And Irina came to me on the bridge and wanted to escape, too.”

Smithers said, “Calm down, please, both of you. These are serious allegations. Robinson, you are saying there were women on the ship using cocaine. And Mr Scott, you are saying Robinson is fabricating the whole thing, he was only aboard for a few hours, and jumped ship before you sailed. Mr Scott, presumably the CCTV records will prove this one way or the other?”

“They would,” Scott said, his South African twang now more pronounced. “But we turn the cameras off in the guest areas when occupied. The owner doesn’t want to be snooped on aboard his own vessel by the likes of this moffie.” He sneered and waved the back of his hand towards Toby. “However, I would be pleased to show you the footage of the crewman escaping down the side of the vessel.”

“I am sure you would,” Smithers said. “But one thing puzzles me. Don’t you have a seaman on watch monitoring these cameras in real time, to prevent people coming aboard in this fashion—or indeed, leaving?”

Scott pursed his lips and sighed. “Yes, ideally. But we are short-handed and Robinson was
the
one on watch. I made a mistake in trusting him on his first day. But obviously, once he had left the bridge, he didn’t monitor himself escaping.”

“Escaping? Is that how you describe it?” Smithers asked.

“Escaping as he saw it, I guess. Abandoning his post, as I see it. If he didn’t get out and over the side, how do you account for us having him on tape and people ashore seeing him leave? Do you prefer his story, whatever that might be? I’m intrigued to know what he told you.”

Toby tried to steady his breathing. “This is all bullshit. Let’s go and find the coke.”

Smithers slapped the table in exasperation. “Robinson, I told you, I will decide what happens here.”

Scott appeared to be emboldened by the way events were unfolding. He turned to Smithers and said, “If that’s all, may we proceed on our way? You can take Robinson back with you or leave him here. We will treat him fairly and discharge him back to St Helen’s where he can reunite himself with his passport and go home to Daddy and Mummy. I’m sure the British Royal Navy has better things to do than take on young fools like him.”

Smithers stood up and said, “This is going nowhere. I am here under the authority vested in the Royal Navy under international maritime law to maintain order on the high seas. In particular, I am here to investigate narcotic trafficking in the region. I have received allegations that this vessel is carrying illegal drugs and I now intend with my colleague outside the door to conduct a search of this vessel. Mr Scott, you will accompany us. If you wish to wake the owner and inform him, you may do so.”

“No need, unless you want to search his personal quarters. This yacht is clean. You carry on and I’ll take you anywhere you like.”

“Robinson, you come too and show us where you allegedly found these substances.”

Toby rose from the table. Outside the door, Scott dismissed Ski-Pants. Cockney joined them. Toby noticed he carried the aluminium case that held the Coke-ometer. The four men set off. “The cool room,” Toby said. “Start there.”

Scott led the way down to the service deck and along the corridor towards the galley and cool room. Toby resisted the urge to run on ahead.

They reached the heavy doors of the cool room. Scott opened up, and they went inside. Toby went straight to the shelf where he had found the “Salt – Iodised. Produce of Engeland.”

He reached up and scrabbled for the box. There it was! He felt a rush of adrenaline. He was to be vindicated!

He pulled the box down. Yes, it was full of the plastic packages. Why, there was the very one he had opened and tasted! “Here,” he said in triumph and handed the box to Cockney.

Cockney put the box down on an empty section of shelf. He set his aluminium case on the floor and removed the sniffing device. He took an age as he fiddled with the programming buttons and calibrations, but finally he was ready. The device emitted its regular drone. Cockney waved the wand thing over the cardboard box.