by Conrad Jones
My eyes adjusted to the goggles and I patiently studied the cliffy shoreline of Rocky Coast. I couldn’t see anything untoward. The headlands looked clear. I decided to land in a sheltered cove that we used to call ‘boulder beach’ when we were younger. The beach was made from white, almond shaped rocks the size of melons, hence the name. I could hide the rigid there by pulling it onto the beach. If I climbed up the headland, I would be able to look down onto Soldier’s Point. I would be able to see the remains of the outhouses and rear gardens and the approach road without too much effort but to see the much larger Porth-y-Felin House beyond it, I would have to navigate the overgrown grounds to search for a breech in the building’s walls. The last time I’d seen the place, every window had been bricked up, to discourage both the elements and curious intruders from entering. With the engine running quietly, I took the rigid into the shore. The toughened hull held strong against the wave smoothed boulders. I jumped into the sea when it was knee deep and dragged the rib onto the stones leaving only the outboard in the water.
I sorted out as much as I could carry. The storage box with the three bombs inside was the heaviest and also the most important. I tipped the medical supplies from the kitbag and filled it with shotgun shells and spare 9mm clips. I fastened my blade to the belt and pushed the Glock down the back of my trousers. I cut some of the mooring rope from the rib and tied it around the stock of the Mossberg then I fastened the other end to my wrist. I didn’t want to part company with her again. The throbbing from the bite on my leg reinforced the importance of it. I couldn’t carry anything else and still remain mobile enough the run or fight. Taking a final look around, I set off up the beach. The stones clunked and clacked as I trudged along. I found a path through the thick grass, which took me to the headland, and I placed the storage box down on the grass. The clouds parted for a second and I could see broken glass along the top of the walls glinting in the moonlight. It was a testament to the times when we were allowed to defend our properties without considering the harm we might do to burglars. The vicious shards were sparkling green and white like emeralds and diamonds.
Forked lightning split the sky and blinded me for a second. Its path to earth was etched in my mind as I waited for the image to fade. Thunder followed seconds later and then the heavens opened. The rain bounced off the floor and deep puddles formed quickly. My clothes were drenched as I looked two hundred yards away to my left, where the breakwater meets the land. The rear walls of the hotel grounds met the side walls at right angles. A mock turret, complete with arrow slits marked the right angle where they intersected. The outer walls were in reasonable condition although the original white paint was only visible in a handful of places. Moss and climbing ivy dominated the vertical sections and the leaves looked like they were made from black wax as the rain dripped from them. Behind the wall were three oblong shaped buildings, which had been added to the main structure at various points in its history. The roofs were completely collapsed into the interiors making them almost irrelevant to my search. Only the insects and rodents could manoeuvre through the debris and the intertwined mesh of vegetation; thistles and nettles protruded through the empty windows. Another flash of lightning illuminated the scene. I couldn’t see any sign of life.
The side walls followed the access road for a hundred yards, where the main gate led to a sweeping horseshoe drive. It was barely recognisable now. The gravel had been overtaken by greenery. The spiked iron gates were fastened with a rusted chain and a newer security mesh had been fitted in front of them to discourage trespassers. From what I could see, the security fittings were intact. The lane was empty, as was the area around the gates. I hadn’t expected there to be guards dressed in sackcloth cassocks, their faces hidden by cowls, but I was almost disappointed by the lack of activity. I decided to circumnavigate the walls by following the rear structure to its end where it met the harbour wall with a ten-metre drop to the rocks below. The walls encompassed three sides; the sea formed a natural barrier to the east.
I carried the bombs in the crook of my left arm which left my right arm free to hold the shotgun. Progress was slow as I picked my way over rocks and boulders until I reached the breakwater. I rested beneath the turret for a minute and then followed the wall towards the sea. Coastal erosion had taken its toll on this section of the hotel grounds. The harbour wall was still well maintained by the port authorities, but they didn’t extend their maintenance to the privately-owned properties which formed part of the marina. The section which met the hotel grounds had fallen away into the marina, leaving a perilous overhang. Water gushed over the edge in deep rivulets, carrying more of the land with it every second. There was no way that I could get around the walls there. I retraced my steps and took another breather beneath the turret and wiped the rain from my eyes, before ducking low and jogging down the lane as quietly as I could. When I reached the gatepost, I pulled the security mesh and looked at the fastenings. The clasps and bolts were pitted with rust spots. I was happy that they’d not been opened recently and then resealed. I thought about climbing over, but the bombs were too cumbersome and Joseph’s warning to reconnoitre the area properly was fresh in my mind.
I carried on down the lane until the walls were interrupted by another turret, signalling that the boundary had been reached. I climbed through a hedge to follow the wall to the east away from the lane. Trees of different sizes tried to breach the wall, their branches reaching over defiantly. The canopy of leaves gave me some relief from the downpour. I scanned the area in front of me. I was in the grounds of Porth-y-Felin House now; the wall separated one dilapidated property from the other. I was also somewhere that I had no former knowledge of. This part of the properties wasn’t visible from the road or the sea. I knew that the jetty which belonged to the RAF was in front of me somewhere. I scanned the thick undergrowth between myself and the humungous mansion, searching for any signs of sentries but the goggles showed nothing of any interest. The bushes and thickets which encircled the mansion looked alive with movement, but I knew that it was just the rain hammering the foliage. I pressed on until the trees gave way to a low fence and a five-bar gate. The gate gave access to the marina.
I climbed the gate and slid down a steep slope, which brought me to a rock outcrop above the jetty. I realised that I could use the metal structure to get around the hotel wall into its grounds although I would have to be careful. As I looked for the easiest way to go, I heard a whisper on the breeze. At first, I thought it might be a voice from the marina across the bay carried on the wind, but it was much closer. I froze to the spot and tried to melt behind the nearest tree trunk. Water dripped from the tree, running down the back of my neck but I couldn’t move. There was a rhythmical rippling of the water below almost lost beneath the relentless rain and constant rattling of the rigging on the yacht masts in the marina. Ting, ting, ting, ting. I heard a splash below me. I thought that it may be a seabird or a conga eel jumping for an insect, but it was too persistent, and it was coming nearer.
As I watched, four green shapes emerged from behind the yachts. They were sat in a line, obviously in a kayak of some kind. Two of the figures moved in time, paddling the vessel towards the jetty. I sat and waited, my heart pounding, my breathing sounded deafening inside my ears as the boat came closer.
I clicked the goggles up, so that I could see the individuals in detail. My eyes struggled to adjust at first but then I focused clearly. Lightning streaked across the sky arcing from one black cloud to another. Ear-splitting thunder followed immediately. The sudden flash revealed that there were three men and a smaller figure, a female or young male. They neared the jetty and I tried to see where they’d gone but they were out of sight. I stood and peered from behind the tree. From my elevated angle, I could see them tying up the boat and I could also see two other boats already tethered there. We had planned to land at the jetty and if Joseph had come along, we probably would have. It would have been a mistake. I had a feeling that some things happened
for a reason. Whispers drifted to me, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. My breathing was shallow as I waited for them to appear on the jetty. I could hear them climbing up the iron ladders. It took them forever, the rungs made greasy by the rain. When they reached the platform, they exchanged words and then walked up the boards towards the landing and to my surprise, headed in different directions. Three walked towards the old RAF building but one of them climbed over the railings and walked towards the hotel. I flicked the goggles back down when they split up, not sure who to follow. I needed to know where they were entering the buildings, but I couldn’t see in two directions at the same time. The group of three climbed up the steps which led to the front of the mansion and then they took a path which led them left around the building, out of my line of vision.
That made my decision simple. I had to follow the lone figure. He picked his way through the thick undergrowth with remarkable ease. It was a path which he’d taken many times before. I remembered that this area was once a shrub garden about half the size of a football pitch. It was dissected by paved footpaths allowing guests to wander and enjoy the flowers and manicured rose bushes. Somewhere up ahead, there were wide steps which led up to the front lawns and the horseshoe drive. A huge triple fountain once dominated the upper lawns, the setting for hundreds of wedding photos. The contrast to what it had become was hard to comprehend. Mother Nature had reclaimed the area as her own. There was no symmetry anymore just a never-ending free for all, as bushes, trees, shrubs and vines all wrestled for light and space.
Using my memories, I tried to pick my way through the vegetation without making any giveaway racket. I heard a swishing sound up ahead, like the noise of supple branches springing back into their space and when I looked up, the green figure had gone. I crouched down and tapped the goggles as if they might not be working properly. If in doubt, give it a knock. There was still no sign of him. He had been about twenty metres ahead of me when he disappeared, so I edged a few metres closer. When I focused, I could just make out lines in the foliage. The tree canopy seemed to be much higher beyond which told me that the lines that I could see were the curved stone steps which led up to the hotel lawns. The figure had disappeared before the steps. He couldn’t have climbed them without me seeing him. I remembered that there was an ornate wall with a stone balustrade which separated the gardens from the lawns above. Wherever he had gone, I couldn’t follow blindly without covering my escape. I turned and retraced my steps. It was hard going; my clothes were clinging to me and the rain was sapping the warmth from my being.
Tiptoeing back through the brambles, I climbed onto the jetty and set the storage box down. Keeping the spot where the lone green figure vanished in sight, I took one of the bombs out and placed it tightly beneath a tree root against a rock. I twisted the top from the bottle and added some of the liquid metal. My hands were trembling as I fixed the detonator to the device, slipping the fuse wires into the liquid. I stood back to gauge the arc where the shrapnel would rip everything to shreds; the killing zone. I decided then that the jetty would be the escape route for me or for the Niners. I primed a second bottle and set it close enough to the first for it to be detonated by the other, but far enough away for it to impact a different area, widening the killing zone. The rocks would deflect the blast forward, aiming the metal fragments towards both the path and the jetty. When the number was dialled, anyone in that area would be torn to pieces. I could only pray that no one else would call that number before I did, or my plan was dead in the water.
CHAPTER 40
I made my way back to the gardens and crouched down under a bush. I could see the steps beneath the undergrowth but the walls either side were swamped by ivy. The wind was picking up, driving the rain sideways; the salty air was filled with the ting, ting of the yachts. I took the remaining bomb out and then slid the storage box into the leaves and crouched low as I searched the area. I studied the grasses and brambles for breaks, aware that every footstep caused the sound of cracking twigs. Although the noise was minimal, each tiny snap sounded like a bullwhip cracking in my mind. I heard something, but I wasn’t sure what it was. The noise of the storm and the marina was drowning everything. I listened hard and there it was again, a sobbing noise.
I froze and listened intently, nothing but the ting, ting of the rigging and the rustle of the wind and the rain dripping from the trees. I relaxed and took another step and there it was again but this time it was more of a cry. The rain was distorting where the sound was coming from. I held my breath and waited; another sob and then the muffled echo of a door being slammed. I wasn’t the only one who heard the noise. A rat the size of a toy dog bolted from the ivy thicket. The sudden movement stopped my breath and tested the strength of how anally retentive I was, but it also gave me a clue as to where the door was. I looked down at where the rat had come from and sure enough, there was an area of trodden ground. It was barely visible in the thick undergrowth but there, nonetheless. Muddy prints were visible beneath the vegetation. I used the shotgun to lift the thinner branches of ivy. Behind it, there was a narrow doorway, arched at the top. The cracked wooden door was decorated with metal studs and a plaited metal knocker. The frame was warped, and the rats had chewed holes through the weather bar. I took a deep breath and ducked beneath the ivy, pushing the door open with my foot.
I looked around a gardener’s storeroom; the gardener himself at one with earth, his body long since riddled with worms. The image of his rotten skull jumped into my mind. Hideous millipedes slithered out of his empty eye sockets, pincers snapping closed. I could smell the stench of rotting flesh; it was almost overpowering. I blinked and the image was gone replaced by the web strewn room in front of me. My mind tried to comprehend what I’d seen and what I thought I’d seen. I focused on reality. A heavy grass roller stood against the far wall next to a dilapidated clothes locker. The floor was littered with broken terracotta pots. The vision of the rotting corpse had startled me. I hadn’t experienced anything like it since the last time I’d been in close proximity to Fabienne Wilder. I wondered if she was aware that I was here, and she was playing with my mind or if it was just my imagination picking things up. She said that I had the type of imagination which could see more than most. I clung to that rather than believing that she could get into my head. I had to believe that, or I was finished.
A stifled cry shook me back to reality. I looked around. The storeroom was no bigger than the average bedroom. There were no doors and no windows. The floor was compacted earth. I looked up. The ceiling was vaulted and made from limestone bricks. If the lone figure had come in here, then I couldn’t see how he’d got out. Voices murmured, almost whispers and then I heard the sobbing again. I walked over to the locker. It was made from tin. I pulled it from the top, but it wouldn’t budge. There were metal fastenings bolted to the wall, the metal was warped and blistered by time. I opened the doors, hoping for a Narnia type door but there was nothing but spiders and rust. I jammed the second device into the corner of the empty locker, primed it with liquid metal and then set the detonator. I didn’t know where it was but there was an entrance to somewhere in here. I just had to find it.
I tugged the grass roller, but it wouldn’t move an inch. I grabbed both handles and yanked hard. There was a creaking noise and then a snap as the handle ripped off. I was sent backwards by my momentum and landed heavily on the soil. The noise was enough to awaken the dead. I held the Mossberg tightly against my shoulder and waited for the onslaught. Nothing happened. After long seconds, I put my hand on the ground to push myself up and felt a draft on my wrist. I flicked a large piece of terracotta pot with the back of my hand, but it didn’t move. The soil around it felt spongy. I put my face to the floor and felt the draft once more. I could also hear sobbing. Not just one voice but several. I stood up and brushed the shards of pot with my boot. Some of it was stuck, fixed with some kind of adhesive. Then I saw a dull metal ring beneath the rim of a large piece. I pulled it and a trap
door lifted. There was a rush of foul air and my video screen vision was awash with an orange light.
Slimy stone steps led down to a corridor below and although I could only see a small square, I could tell that the rock floor had been worn smooth by time and use. Candlelight flickered giving the place an eerie glow. I’d come too far and seen too much to be frightened. Whatever was down there needed to be equally afraid of me. I took the steps slowly keeping the shotgun aimed high. As I went lower, I closed the trapdoor above me. There was a bolt which fastened it to the joists around the hatch and I slid it home. It could delay my escape if I was in a rush, but it was better than allowing more of them to come from behind me. The steps curved to the left and then met the corridor. The walls were carved from the rocks, the floor was uneven and pitted with lips and ledges. The ceiling was higher in some places than in others. I knelt down and looked along the length that I could see. It looked like there were doors fitted randomly on both sides. The stench was stomach churning a mixture of animals and death. I could smell decaying flesh, but I could also smell the living. The smell of body odour and human waste was choking.
At the end of the corridor another set of carved steps led upwards. The murmuring voices were coming from that direction, but the sobbing wasn’t. It was coming from somewhere much closer. I stayed low and edged down the corridor slowly. The first doorway was shoulder high. There was a hatch near the top of the thick metal door and a keyhole fitted halfway down on the left. The size and shape of the keyhole told me that it was very old. I listened against the door but couldn’t hear anything. I slid the hatch open and peered inside using the goggles. I recoiled at the smell that came from the hatch; stale urine and excrement and the putrid odour of unwashed humans. I held my breath and looked again. There was a green figure in the far corner of a tiny cell which was nothing more than a two-metre hole in the rock. It cowered against the cold rock. I couldn’t make out any features, but it had long, wispy, grey hair.
