The Rock (2 page)

Peering through the aircraft window as the plane neared touch down on terra firma, Tamara caught a fleeting glimpse of the fast moving motorcycle as it raced down the marina road. Her attention did not linger. Her eyes were drawn instead to the myriad lights of the sovereignty shining brightly against the pitch-black darkness of The Rock’s vast backdrop.

The flight had been a non-stop battle to stop her fellow passenger chatting her up. The large man with the flying phobia seated next to her had insisted on transferring his fears into a constant stream of questions and banal observations. Worse still, he had begun to smell and the stench of drying perspiration was beginning to hang cloyingly in the air, despite the best efforts of the aircraft’s noisy air conditioning system to disguise it. At one point, as they flew high over the outskirts of Madrid, she had even toyed with the idea of utilising her oxygen mask by way of escape. Fortunately for her, her companion had eventually noticed the lack of warmth being returned by his beautiful co-passenger and had ceased conversation. However, as the plane began its descent to the peninsula, it became clear that he had merely been planning his revenge for Tamara’s lack of bonhomie.

‘It’s quite dangerous, you know,’ he said ‘ Landing in Gib. Fifth most dangerous airport in the world’.

‘Goodness,’ replied Tamara.

‘
The
number one, numero uno dangerous airport in the whole of Europe. It’s the Rock, of course. Apparently causes dangerous up currents or down drafts, that sort of thing. And the runway is ridiculously short. Designed for military aircraft, you see. Pretty hairy most of the time. You religious at all?’’

If she had bothered to answer, Tamara might have told him that she was a Catholic. A lapsed Catholic and guilty about it. But guilt was something she was used to. Her religous failings simply joined the back of an ever- growing queue of imperfections.

The aircraft reached the end of the runway and began to taxi towards the terminal- the sound of the premature unclicking of seatbelts signalling the beginning of the crush and rush to be off and out of the claustrophobic tube. Tamara chose to relax and wait for the mob to leave. Flying was no fun on a budget airline and the rush to the baggage carousel was something she would pass on. After all, luggage handlers made all travellers equal by their talent for not serving up cases, prams and golf clubs on a first come first served basis. One got one’s baggage as and when the fates allowed and tonight, Tamara was cool with that. After all, she was in no hurry to check into her budget hotel - merely short term accommodation until her apartment was available at the end of the week. There would also be no one to welcome her at the passenger terminal and Tamara was cool with that too.

‘Welcome to Gibraltar,’ the flight attendant offered as Tamara left the aircraft.

‘Thanks,’ she replied, ‘but I’m not entirely sure I will be.’

*

The narrow streets of the town were still busy with tourists, although it was evening. The motorcycle weaved its way through them – it’s engine roaring in frustration as the robbers grew increasingly anxious. This had not been their intended getaway route and as such was proving to be a haphazardly improvised plan B. Rounding a corner, they narrowly missed a group of teenagers crossing the street - the exchange of insults between both parties broken only by the bike’s angry acceleration up the street and away.

Minutes before, motorcycle officers Ferro and Bryant of the Royal Gibraltar Police Force had witnessed the speeding bike blaze past them. Within seconds, the policemen and their powerful Honda motorcycles were pursuing at speed - their duo of sirens giving clear indication that a chase was on.

Entering the densely packed Casement Square, alive with restaurants and promenaders, the thieves were forced to slow and manoeuvre through the thick throng of humankind. As they kicked and punched their way through, the shocked crowd parted like the Red Sea. No sooner had the parting closed, it was forced open again to allow the flashing police bikes clearance. The younger revellers in the square laughed carelessly at the disruption. Older and wiser heads looked on in concern. A female tourist cried out in pain at the broken nose she had just received from the flailing fist of the passenger on the first motorcycle.

At last the felons broke free of the crowd and escaped down a narrow byway. Officers Ferro and Bryant followed just seconds behind, unfazed by the mayhem, their steely professionalism maintained in pursuit of their prey.

*

Jennifer and Martin Tavares had chosen to walk home from the hotel stopping off at their favourite restaurant, Cafe Rojo, for a drink and some light supper. It had been a big night for Jennifer - the culmination of over a years’s charity fundraising. Getting the much needed cash for the children’s garden from local businesses had not been easy in difficult financial times. Martin looked at his handsome wife and felt the rush of pride and deep attraction he had always experienced in her company.

‘That was a fantastic speech, Jenny. Really.’

The woman stopped dead in her tracks as she turned to look at him.

‘Are you feeling all right, Martin?’

‘Uh... fine. Why?’

‘Well, I might be mistaken, but that sounded like a compliment!’

Her man seemed almost hurt, but put his pride to one side as he looked into her eyes.

‘I mean it. I’m very proud of you, Mrs Tavares.’

She smiled as her gaze moved to his lips, her body rising up on tiptoes as they kissed.

‘Glad to see you’re feeling charitable this evening,’ Martin said, his cheeks reddening. As he leant in for a second kiss, his wife turned her head - distracted by the shrill sound of a fast approaching police siren. The road rumbled underfoot as a speeding motorcycle hurtled round the corner and headed straight for them.

‘Jesus Christ!’

A second motorcycle with a police officer upon it, passed at equal speed as the couple panted in shock. Martin stepped away from his wife and out into the middle of the street.

‘Bloody idiots! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Then, to his horror, a third motorcycle appeared. The two-tone wailing of its siren deepened in pitch as the headlights doubled, tripled, quadrupled in size before the bike lurched heavily to its left, it’s plastic and metal scraping along the hard cobbled street. Martin dived to the ground to avoid being hit by the lethal machine. The police rider simultaneously fell from his seat a few yards further on. The now riderless motorcycle careered onwards across the street with huge velocity, hitting a grocery store shop front with a deadening thud.

In a daze, Martin pulled himself to his feet and moved slowly towards the mangled wreckage of plastic and metal.

‘Jennifer? Jennie!’ Martin shouted as he reached the shop front. The long blonde hair was clotted with red as it lay tangled in the gears of the motorbike. Jennifer Tavares’ body lay prostrate and lifeless, her neck bent at a most horrific angle. Martin looked down at his beloved wife. Momentarily paralysed with the enormity and shock of what lay before him, he could not move. For what seemed like an eternity, Martin stood motionless - the calm before the storm of emotions that would inevitably rip free with horrific force. At last, the sound of footsteps behind him. Police Officer Gavin Bryant’s dishevelled form appeared at his side. Martin’s voice betrayed no emotion as he turned his head to look at the blood spattered face of the man responsible for this living hell.

‘What have you done? What have you done to her?’

‘Jennie? Jennie, it’s me. It’s David,’ he panted.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dr Budrani said sternly, ‘but you’ll have to leave. We’re operating.’

‘But I have to be here!’ he replied. ‘Save her! Please! She’s my sister!’

*

The old lady sat alone in the darkened room. The many ancestral faces that stared down at her from the ancient paintings upon its walls all seemed to share the same expression. It was one she recognized whenever she glimpsed her own face in the mirror. A slight aloofness that could not quite conceal an anxiety that played around the eyes and mouth. It was, she had persuaded herself, only imagination – her own fears transferred to the images caught in fading paint upon cracking canvas.

As much as the afternoon sun brought her happiness, so the deep swallowing darkness of night brought her fearful and tormented nightmares. The house, so old and so long a part of her family was not a home but a shell in which her last days would slowly be eked out. She tried again and again to remember the brighter times with husband and friends filling the rooms with life and laughter. But each image, each memory would fade as quickly as it had appeared. All those times. All that love and warmth was gone now. Long gone.

The old lady sat alone in the darkened room and waited - waited for the demon above to rise and engulf her in pain.

*

In a private room just off one of the main wards of the hospital, PC Gavin Bryant sat up in bed, his head pounding beneath a blood-stained gauze. The tap at the door signalled the arrival of his superior officer, Chief Superintendent Harriet Massetti.

‘How are you doing, Bryant?’ Massetti asked with as much warmth as she could muster.

‘Just a few bruises, ma’am. They’re keeping me in for observation.’

Massetti said nothing; just gave a small smile and a slight nod of the head.

‘I didn’t stand a chance. I was in pursuit, turned the corner and there he was... just standing in the middle of the road.’

‘I understand,’ replied Massetti. Whether or not she really did was not entirely clear.

‘I swear. I didn’t even see her standing there !’ The young man continued.

‘Understood, constable. You just, er.. just get yourself together. All right?’

Massetti backed towards the door, her head bowed far lower than usual. Although nothing had been said, Bryant knew something was troubling her.

‘She... they brought her here as well, didn’t they? The woman, I mean.’

‘Yes.’

Bryant hesitated for a moment, unsure as to whether he really wanted to hear the answer. ‘And?’

‘I’m afraid she didn’t make it, Bryant.’

Only two words escaped Bryant’s lips:

‘Oh God’

‘I’ve tried to speak to the husband downstairs, but... for obvious reasons... it’s not the appropriate time. Just try and keep it together, constable. We’ll sort this.’

Bryant lay back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. It was a tragic accident. It wasn’t his fault. He knew that he had to stay strong. A single tear slid down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away and turned to bury his face in his pillow..

*

Accompanied by two constables , C S Massetti headed for the main hospital exit. She seemed tiny next to her companions. Her dark, short cropped hair revealed a delicate, finely featured bone structure that her distant Genoese ancestors would have recognized as their own. Yet any serving officer of the RGP would quickly confirm that Massetti’s outward feminine charms hid a ruthless and powerful professional will of steel. These characteristics were about to be challenged. She and her constables had barely reached reception when they were halted in their tracks by a group of local press reporters, all eager for a story.

‘Chief Superintendent Massetti? This is the second accident involving police vehicles from your force in the last twelve months. Would you say your drivers are reckless?’

Massetti kept a calm exterior, despite the anger that was building inside her. ‘Our drivers are highly trained professionals. This is a tragic accident brought about by the reckless driving of mindless criminals. My officer, PC Bryant, is being treated here for minor injuries and shock. I wish to send my sincere condolences to Mr Tavares and his family at this difficult time. I will make a full statement regarding this incident later today. Thank you.’

Sensing her unease, the constables stepped to Massetti’s side and escorted her to the waiting car. Although the reporters had begun to follow, they were soon distracted by the sight of Martin Tavares and his brother-in-law leaving the main building.

Both were visibly pale and shaken. David took a written statement from Martin’s hand and began to read, his voice cracking under the strain of grief.

‘Words cannot express the deep despair that my brother-in-law Martin, myself and the rest of my sister’s family feel today. Her death should not have happened, but-’

‘The police are supposed to be here to protect us, not take our lives!’ Martin exploded, the spittle flying from his lips. ‘Someone has to pay for this! I will not rest until they are forced to pay!’

The slamming of car doors drew attention to the police vehicle parked just a few metres away. Looking over, Martin locked eyes with Massetti seated in the back of the car. Pushing his way through the reporters, Martin moved towards her.

‘You! You killed her! You killed my wife!’

Before he could reach the visibly shaken Chief Superintendent, the police vehicle was driven away. Massetti sat back in her seat - her head throbbing. This was not the manner in which she wished to see this incident progressing.