He told her he would ring her in the evening when they could talk more. "I'm out of the flat for a few days, doing some travelling but I'll get in touch so stop worrying. I'm fine."
She cradled the phone after Roy had hung up and looked at the clock. Its red numbers glowed. It was 5.15. The wind blew and the blinds rattled, knocking the bowl on the ledge. She burst into tears. Knowing that there was something wrong, that she was losing him.
The tape machine recorded not only the conversation but also her anguish.
***
Roy had hand written a note giving all the relevant information about the next ten bombs, the ones that were due to explode within the month. He faxed it to the Editor of the ‘Daily Telegraph’ in London who immediately forwarded the details to the police.
At 9.15 a copy of the fax was distributed to the few people sitting around the conference table.
"The message came through yesterday that the money had been removed, almost without doubt by Hanna, and nobody has seen sight nor sound of him since. His girlfriend received a telephone call early this morning from Tasucu, a ferry port on the south eastern coast of Turkey. I've made enquiries and Roy Hanna didn't pass through so all we can assume is that he's using an alias." Robin Carey, Director General of the security services looked across at the Commissioner and then at Alexander Smythe. "You’re aware of the consequences of the note? Our man has taken the money and has run without fulfilling his part of the agreement. From the look of this we have details for fewer than half of the bombs supposedly planted."
Smythe spoke without taking his eyes from the facsimile. "We’ve a third person on the island and I'm sure you are all familiar with his background. He is fully equipped and ready should you feel you need him. The movement into Turkey shouldn't pose problems as we’ve a number of NATO airfields for a drop of equipment. This would, of course, have to be the final answer to our problems."
"But that could be the start of our problems. If Hanna was telling the truth, and right now, it would take a brave person to argue to the contrary, there are a large number of bombs waiting and we’ve neither the locations nor the times to be able to make them safe. I think it's time Joan was brought into this equation and furnished with a few facts. She will, according to the telephone conversation, be going over there in a few days which probably means he's going to return or ..." Sheila Dewar broke off. She did not need to complete her thoughts.
After further discussion the meeting ended and it was agreed to speak to Joan Johnson. Their investigations had confirmed that she was likely to be the innocent party, unaware of the crimes Roy had committed.
***
Roy was on a rather uncomfortable bus travelling from Tasucu to Mersin. His view from the window seat was breathtaking as the road hugged the side of the coast. This part of the Turkish mainland had suffered little from the ravages of tourism and vast stretches of unspoiled Mediterranean beaches met the crystal, turquoise sea. The curtains at the windows blew as the bus bumped its way eastwards. In a couple of hours, he would be in Mersin.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joan was called from her classroom and walked towards the Head's room. He had told her she had two visitors who needed to speak with her urgently. He would take her class. The door to the office was open and two people were sitting on the chairs that faced the desk. As she entered the room, both stood.
"Please sit down, Miss Johnson.” He pointed to the Head's chair. “My name is Stephen Walsh and this is Pat Peters." They both showed her their ID.
"Are you police?"
"In a way, yes we are, but our role is more in line with the security services. We deal with terrorism, Miss Johnson." He looked at her and he could clearly perceive her total and utter surprise.
"Is this a wind up? I have a class to teach." She stood up as if to go, she would no longer be part of this game.
"Sit down, Joan," instructed Pat as she rested her hand on her shoulder. "We want you to talk about Roy Hanna. I can assure you it's not a wind up and we are certainly not joking."
Joan sat down and stared incredulously at the two people opposite her. Her mind raced as the word terrorist filled every cavity.
"We have cleared it with your Head for you to accompany us to the police station. A police officer will take your car home if you leave the keys with the school secretary. May I remind you that you are part of an investigation of great importance and we believe you may hold the key we need. You’re welcome to bring a solicitor, if you wish. You’re not under arrest or suspicion, but that is your right."
Joan could hardly believe what she was hearing but stood up and was led out. Pat dropped her car keys at the office and explained the situation.
***
The co-ordinates were showing on Pippa's GPS but she could not find anything. She continued to walk along the roadside, kicking at the odd crushed drinks can and lifting litter but she found nothing. Her military GPS was accurate to metres but in the search out there on the hillside she felt the manufacturer's claims were rather optimistic. She moved backwards and forwards sweeping the area visually, she certainly did not want to put her hands into the holes in the ground or under stones if she could help it. On the second sweep of the area she noticed it, the small grey stick that looked more like a stubby pencil than an extremely expensive transmitter. She had found it. She drove into Girne, located the cafe where she had met Roy Hanna and ordered an orange juice. The tree offered her shade. After drinking she phoned Bob and he relayed the news Home. They were now sure that Roy had the Bergen without the transmitter.
***
The room in the police HQ in which Joan was seated was comfortable. She had a coffee brought and the two officers remained with her and chatted. Although she was still naturally tense, she felt herself relax a little.
"What's all this about?"
"Joan, we have reason to believe that Roy Hanna is responsible for the bombs placed on the motorway bridges, in fact we now have little doubt. We have no reason to believe you are implicated other than by the fact that you live with him."
Joan could not believe what she was hearing or maybe she just did not want to let the cold facts percolate the fears that she had held. She had observed the change in Roy at the outset of the bombings, of his callousness and fascination with the media reports.
"We would like you to show us your house and let some of our experts check for any traces of explosives and we’d like you to be present."
Joan had no objection; in fact, she longed to get home, away from this.
The truth facing her clarified many of the doubts that she had felt, doors suddenly opened in her mind and answers tumbled freely. It was possible that what they were saying was true. Her intuition told her it was and her fear turned to anger.
Her car was already parked when the police vehicle pulled up outside their home. She fumbled with the keys and they followed her.
"Please sit through there. Could I get anyone a drink?"
"Forensics and representatives from other departments are on their way. Please relax if you can.” Pat went through to the kitchen with her and helped.
Before long three vehicles were parked outside the house and a hoard of people swarmed through the property systematically. It was the cellar that attracted the most attention and it soon became evident that explosives had been stored and assembled there, but the results would have to be confirmed in the lab.
One of the officers in the cellar was Sam Phelps. He had checked to see if there were any remnants of a bomb factory but he found few. He climbed the steps and approached Joan. He shook her by the hand and introduced himself.
"I'm sorry to put you through all of this Miss Johnson. Are you all right?" His manner was of genuine concern and she warmed to him immediately, she felt as though she could trust him. "Do you know if Roy had a machine like this?" He held up the palmtop and she immediately recognised it.
"He has used one of these all the time I've known him. There should be one
in the study upstairs."
They both moved to the study and there on the desk was the computer. Sam picked it up and opened the lid. He pressed ‘ON’ and the screen responded with the words, ‘Password Protected.’
"The password's V," said Joan.
Sam pressed the letter and the 'agenda' file flashed on screen. There was little information within any section.
"Is this the only one he has?" Sam placed the computer back onto the desk.
"I really am not sure. There's always one here so I guess he must have one with him."
The investigation lasted most of the day. Forensic had confirmed their earlier suspicion that plastic explosives had been handled in the cellar. The search brought little further information.
Even when Roy's travel logs provided by Drew were analysed, they found little evidence to trace the remaining bombs. His journeys did not include the south and yet bombs had been placed on the M25.
***
The bus pulled up on the dual carriageway that ran the length of the promenade at Mersin. The palm trees certainly gave the resort a Mediterranean feel. The large shops, restaurants and hotels faced the sea. Roy made his way to the docks and located the ferry building. He booked a ticket for the return to Famagusta the following evening and then booked a room in a hotel facing the sea.
The room was bright with double windows and a balcony overlooking the main street and the public gardens. The wind blew the curtains as he moved away to shower and change before heading out to the shops. The market was busy and noisy and the air was filled with an overpowering stench. Roy looked into the back of one of the open backed trucks to be greeted by a hundred staring eyes; it was full of sheep's heads, no bodies, just heads. Flies settled on the nostrils, gaping mouths and lolling tongues. Even he was repulsed and he thought of the men who had stared in the same way after the missile attack. His whole crew, one minute laughing and alert and the next, after the dust had settled, nothing. The memory was as fresh as the blood in the wagon.
The rest of the day passed slowly and lazily as he sat in the garden area in front of the sea enjoying the view. It was a far cry from Bradford. His time there was now a lifetime away. He would eat and go to bed early after telephoning Joan.
***
After returning to the Police Station, Joan was questioned for the rest of the day and her co-operation was surprising considering the shock she had faced six hours previously. They failed, however, to take into consideration the anger that had been released within. She could never have believed that Roy could have stooped so low. She remembered the photo images of the train and the funerals for those killed; children with flowers for lost parents. No cause, no amount of anger, no vendetta was worth that. The two million pounds stunned her, Roy was never truly materialistic and that seemed to be a wrong piece in the complex jigsaw. Everything else could be seen to fit but blackmail was just not credible.
"You said Roy will be telephoning you this evening?" enquired Pat Peters. "We’d like you to carry on as before. You’re aware there's the possibility he is holding back on information about other bombs. Earlier he mentioned fifty-seven and we have information on fewer than half."
"I don't think I can even speak to him, let alone appear normal. What you ask is impossible."
"You have to. Your planned visit at the weekend may give us the information we need. It may also help Roy get this resolved before anyone else is killed. As I'm sure you're aware, the Governments of Northern Cyprus and Britain have no extradition treaty and he can stay there with his two million safely in the banks and let the world go to hell. For some people that might mean literally." Pat paused and looked Joan in the eye. "You’re our only real chance to obtain the rest of the information. You have to think about this whole situation. We’ll be there to support you in any way we can but you have to help."
"A man called at the house, he was in charge of the bombs, Sam I think his name was. Would it be possible to talk to him before I make any decisions?"
Pat nodded at Stephen Walsh and he left the room. Minutes later, he returned. "Sam will meet you at your house as soon as possible. He can't give a time but he will be there."
"I'll do all I can tonight if Roy rings before I speak with Sam."
A car took Joan home and she sank into a chair and wept. She clutched a card on which Pat had written her phone number in her hand. She would help day or night. She stood up and went to the phone looking through the personal directory until she found the telephone number for Bill O'Brien.
"May I speak with Dr O'Brien, please? Tell him it’s Roy's girlfriend, Joan, and it's urgent." Music drifted down the line.
"Joan, how are you?" Bill's voice was slightly high-pitched conveying either anxiety or concern, she could not discern which.
"Bill, what do you know about Roy?" She paused before taking a breath to say the word she hated. "Could Roy ever be a terrorist, a cold, calculating killer?"
"Roy is not only very confused but he’s also ill, physically as well as mentally. As you’re aware he experienced some dreadful things in the Gulf, and may well have been exposed to chemicals that could, given the way they were administered, act in different ways with various people. It seems too much of a coincidence that so many troops suffered strange and unexplained illnesses after the war. Roy suffered terribly, as you know, and was extremely frustrated and angry by the lack of support. To answer your question, Joan, yes, I believe he could but I really don't think it was to vent his own feelings, I feel it would be for reasons other than that. I didn't know Roy all that well after the two sessions, he was only beginning to relax in my company. More importantly, what do you feel?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Joan are you there?"
"Yes, yes. I just don't know anything any more."
"Would you like me to come round?"
"No thanks, I'll be all right. I knew there was something wrong, but I never guessed it was this." She laughed more to release emotion and then started to weep. "I thought he'd found another woman ..." She recovered her composure, thanked Bill and hung up.
Bill stood looking at the wall where the picture had hung, the one that Roy had so admired, and questioned his own position. Could he have done anything? Should he have spotted the signs on Roy's first visit and done more? He would never know. He put the phone down and cleared away. His night would also be full of consternation.
Joan paced the room, and then settled onto the settee and curled up. She had left the phone in the other room; she would need time to answer its ring.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The streetlights cast a yellow film over the main street in Mersin. The traffic moved freely along the road that headed from the port. Roy ambled along the side of the shops staring in at the windows. Families walked, stopping occasionally to look at the displays. The place had warmth, a friendliness that appealed to Roy. He opened the door to a coffee shop. Huge glass counters displayed pastries and chocolates, sweets and cakes. He ordered a coffee and a cake from one of the trays before settling into the seat near the window. The tinted glass gave the outside world a strange appearance. He drank his coffee and nibbled at the cake, its sweetness defeating him, before going to the phone in the corner of the shop. He dialled Joan's number.
The ringing phone brought with it an oozing fear that choked, convincing her she was going to vomit; the phone continued to ring. She moved through to it taking deep breaths and considered quickly the lines she was going to deliver.
"Joan, it's Roy. How are you?"
Joan managed to get through the call. She led Roy onto their holiday and convinced herself that she could not wait until the weekend when they would be together. Everything went well until Roy closed with, "I love you, Joan." She just put the phone down and wept uncontrollably. Roy put it down to the fact that she was missing him. He had no idea of the hatred she harboured, no idea that she knew that he was on the run. He left the cafe and walked through the streets for an hour. If her thoughts could kill, he wo
uld be in the gutter.
The security services now knew his location and searched credit card company details to try to locate his hotel or onward travel arrangements but to little effect. He had not used his credit cards since England. They would wait in the firm belief that Roy would return to Famagusta.
Joan tucked herself up on the settee again, feeling totally alone and vulnerable. She heard a car stop outside, followed by a knock on the front door, it was Sam Phelps. She moved to open the door.
"Good evening, Miss Johnson. I believe you wish to speak with me. Are you all right?"
"Fine considering the circumstances, thank you for coming. Please." She pointed to the lounge and offered Sam a seat. "Could I get you something to drink? I have some beer in the fridge or red wine if you would prefer."
She poured two glasses of wine and returned to the lounge. Sam was looking at a photograph of Joan and Hanna taken in Cyprus the previous year. He looked away when Joan returned.
"How may I help you?"
"It looks like Roy has done all of these dreadful things. Is there any way Roy never planned to hurt anyone? You see I just find it so out of character for Roy to contemplate hurting the innocent."
"Miss Johnson I can't answer for Hanna, or balance his motives against his obvious anger, but I can say that anyone who plans and plants bombs does so in the knowledge that someone could be killed or injured. I’m aware that the bomber gave warnings to some but not to all and he also planted anti-handling devices to some. I lost a key man to one such device. Joan, this bomber knew he would kill and I personally hold little sympathy for him or for what he thinks he’s fighting for." Sam looked Joan in the eye. "If Hanna planted these bombs, and right now everything points that way, he needs help and we need to know the position of all the other bombs."
Joan stared long and hard at the carpet and then at the photograph of Roy on the fireplace.
"Tell your people I'll do all I can to help. Thank you for your time." She looked at Sam. His eyes were compassionate and understanding. She moved her hand into his and thanked him.
Bridging the Gulf (Aka Engulfed) Page 18
