by Oliver Tidy
Tallis shook his head in silent resignation. Keen to change the subject, Harris said, ‘You said you had something for him.’
Tallis fished in his pocket and retrieved the thong and wedding band. ‘He might be looking for this when he wakes up.’
Harris took it and put it in his own pocket. ‘I’ll see that he gets it.’
The two men started as a patient trolley, guided by two medics in Army fatigues, crashed through the doors to the ward. A Major followed them in, deep in conversation with the doctor who had attended to Sansom earlier.
‘I really don’t understand why you would jeopardise this man’s recovery, his life, by moving him now. He’s getting excellent care here,’ said the doctor.
The Major smiled benignly at him. ‘It’s really not my decision, I’m afraid. You’ve had your instructions and I’ve had mine. End of. We all just do what we’re told. Anyway, you said yourself that he’s no longer in a critical condition.’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean that he’s stable enough to go riding around country lanes in an Army truck. You are aware of the extent of his injuries?’
‘If you can provide me with his medical record sheet, I will be,’ said the Major. ‘We are not unused to dealing with gunshot victims,’ he added.
The doctor threw up his hands in defeat. The Major approached the two men. Harris snapped to attention and saluted.
‘Captain Harris?’
‘Sir. This is Detective Inspector Tallis.’
The Major and the DI shook hands.
‘Please tell me that you’re not going to give me a grilling for stealing your prisoner,’ said the Major. ‘As you can see, I’m already out of favour around here for stealing a patient.’
‘What would be the point, Major?’ said Tallis.
‘To be frank, none. Right, Captain, you can be on your way if you like. We’ve got it from here.’
‘Sir.’
The Major turned to Tallis and with a curt, ‘Inspector,’ left to finalise the collection of Lieutenant Sansom.
‘How about that drink?’ said Harris.
‘Why not?’ said Tallis. ‘They’ve got a social club here that’ll serve us a decent pint. And besides, I’ve got a favour to ask you.’
***
2
In contrast to the enforced darkness of the NHS ward, the Army hospital room was bathed in early morning sunlight. Somewhere, not too distant, the parade ground was busy with the synchronised rhythmic beating of hundreds of highly-polished boots. The bawling of an RSM upbraiding recruits vibrated the air.
Lieutenant Acer Sansom lay in his cot insensible, as he had done since being deposited there more than forty-eight hours previously.
A sudden screech – the berating of a soldier out of step – punctured the soothing sound of muffled communal routine and effort. Deep within the subdued and troubled memory of the sleeping soldier, something stirred.
A barely perceptible pin-prick of dullness appeared in the distance. Instinctively, he began to haul his leaden existence, fatigued, spent, towards his salvation. The pin-prick expanded, brightened, became a diffused glow. Wearily ascending from the abyss, he struggled upwards, exerting every sinew, clawing at the darkness, the urge to survive desperate. His lungs agonisingly crushed, fighting for breath, for life, excruciatingly helpless. Nothing left: exhausted, drained, sapped. A sinking dizziness, resigned submission. The fight lost. His agonising exertions, frantic thrashings, were at an end. Defeat. Gravity the victor.
A hand, an arm, reaching out from the world above; clasping his outstretched fingers, a firm familiar grip dragging him to safety. Brightness increasing. Dazzling. Bursting through the surface. Gasping, sucking, filling his shrivelled lungs with warm salty air. Relief flooding his whole being. Staring into the face of his beautiful wife, his reason, his responsibility, his saviour. Her remarkable features moving towards him, eyes closing, lips parting, intense heat.
Then nothing.
Water turned to fabric, gently lapping waves an electronic pulse. The warmth flowed out of him. Alison vanished, replaced by yellowed polystyrene ceiling tiles. Desperately, he closed his eyes once more, searching for his wife. But again she had left him alone. A tear left his closed eye, streaked across his cheek and fell to the pillow.
A door opened. The sound of human chatter and activity crept in.
‘Lieutenant Sansom?’ A woman’s voice.
The man swallowed hard, moistened his lips. He said, ‘I haven’t been called that for a long time.’ Squinting through half-open eyes against the glare, he could make out the woman crossing to the wall of windows and drawing a thin fabric, diffusing the light. She was wearing Army medical scrubs.
‘Good to have you back, sir,’ she said.
‘Back where?’
‘The land of the living,’
‘I’ll let you know about that. Where am I?’
‘DMRC Headley Court,’ she said, approaching his bed. ‘Take some water, sir.’ She brought a plastic beaker with a straw to his mouth. He sucked it gratefully. ‘Enjoy the peace while you can, sir,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be busy – gentleman wanting to speak with you.’
‘I can imagine,’ he said. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Since 0100 hours, Monday. It’s 0800 hours Wednesday now, give or take. I’m going to fetch the doctor, sir. Anything I can do for you before I go?’
The officer was staring at the muslin fabric at the window. ‘Would you open a window for me?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘And for God’s sake stop calling me sir.’
He watched as the curtains billowed into life, like the sails in the memories of his last days with his family. Somewhere close by a pigeon called, searching for a mate, or pining for one lost.
*
Captain Harris settled into the padded chair he had organised for himself to the side of the hospital bed. If he was going to be there for some time, as he believed he would, he intended to be comfortable. Sansom eyed the man neutrally.
‘Well, Lieutenant,’ said Harris, smiling affably. ‘I imagine that you must have a very interesting tale to tell. Neither hide nor hair been seen of you in thirteen months and then you turn up with a smoking gun, quite literally, in your hand. The Army, for starters, would very much like to know what you’ve been up to. Personally, intrigued doesn’t even come close.’
‘And you are?’
‘Sorry, Captain Harris, Royal Military Police. No need to get up, but let’s just remind ourselves that currently we are both serving officers in the British Army, shall we?’
The thought that he was still being regarded as a soldier brought the hint of a smile to Sansom’s lips.
‘I have the enviable task of finding out exactly where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to since you dropped off the radar. For now, this is informal, depending on what you have to say and whether you wish to cooperate, that is.
‘I won’t lie to you; the circumstances of your disappearance and resurfacing are probably going to involve all sorts of law enforcement in time. Eventually, you are going to have to account, officially, for rather a lot.’
With a resigned sigh, Sansom said, ‘I understand all that, of course.’ He looked the Captain in the eye. ‘I have no intention of doing anything other than cooperating. It’s the best chance I have, and besides, I have nothing to hide. When do you want to start?’
‘No time like the present; if you’re up to it, that is.’
‘Suits me. It might alleviate the crushing boredom of just lying here.’
‘And how about physically? I understand that your wound is healing well.’
‘That’s what they tell me – out of the woods.’
The Captain reached into his bag and retrieved a small recording device. ‘You don’t mind, do you? Saves all that tedious note-taking.’
Sansom shook his head. ‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘At wherever you believe the beginning to be.’
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Lieutenant Sansom took a stabilising breath. ‘That would be on the ship, The Rendezvous. If you know who I am, you must know all about the trip.’
Harris inclined his head. ‘Yes, we have you down as on leave, part of a group sailing across the Pacific.’ Harris hesitated briefly, searching the man’s face for some kind of emotion, as he continued: ‘Your wife and child were on board with you, I believe.’
‘Yes,’ said Sansom, ‘they were.’ A determined expression settled on the Lieutenant’s features, his jaw clenched and Harris noticed that the man’s eyes glittered with tears.
Harris remembered the ring the policeman had given him. He found it in his satchel and passed it across to Sansom. ‘This was around your neck when you were brought in. Hospital staff needed to remove it before they operated on you.’
Sansom took it from him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice catching. The Captain waited patiently while the man, fingering the ring, mustered his composure. ‘I had to put it on a cord to wear in the end,’ he explained. ‘I lost so much weight that it just kept falling off my finger. Couldn’t risk losing it.’ He looked up at the Captain with his moist eyes. ‘I used to weigh nearly fifteen stone,’ he said.
Harris guessed that Sansom would probably tip the scales at around nine stones today. ‘What happened? Have you been ill?’
Sansom snorted. ‘A year alone marooned on an uninhabited Pacific island happened.’
As Sansom brought the straw of his drink to his mouth, his interrogator pressed the record button on the listening device.
‘The cruise was supposed to have taken five weeks – the trip of a lifetime for me. Alison, my wife, had arranged the whole thing, knowing my love for the sea and the old sailing ships. We were on a refurbished tall ship sailing in the south Pacific. There were twelve other passengers and six crew.
‘The idea was that the passengers, in a token way, would contribute to the running of the ship during its passage. It was an opportunity for those of us with rose-tinted spectacles about the past to live out some kind of fantasy. But you must know all this?’
‘I’ve read the file, done some homework, but it helps to hear it all from you,’ said Harris. ‘Please, in your own words is best. Don’t leave anything out.’
‘Two weeks into the trip we stopped at an uninhabited island. We planned to spend a day or two there, just enjoying the island-paradise-exclusivity.’
‘What was the name of the island?’ interrupted Harris.
‘Jackson. It’s a few hundred miles south of the Pitcairns.’
‘I don’t remember reading anything about that on the trip itinerary.’
‘It wasn’t part of the original plan. In fact it was a little out of our way. It was added after we were under way and everyone seemed keen to try it.’
‘Who added it?’
‘The skipper said it had been suggested by Harper, the trip organiser, after we left port.’
‘Right. That’s where he fits into this?’
Sansom nodded. ‘We arrived in the evening, dropped anchor about half a mile off the island. There were reefs and the water was too shallow to get the clipper any closer safely. Next morning we made our way in using the dinghies – all the passengers, apart from Alison and Abby, and two of the crew.’ Abby wasn’t well, had a bit of a fever and we decided it would be better if she stayed on board and rested. We were to take it in turns to be with her. I went to the island first.
‘After we unloaded the supplies and set up the temporary shelters, I decided to take the opportunity to explore something of the place. It rose to quite a height in the middle and I thought the view would be worth the effort of getting there.
‘I think the prospect of the climb was a little too much for the others. And it was tough. I ended up taking a nap while I was up there. It was meant to be just a few minutes. I awoke to the sound of gunfire. You never forget that sound if you’ve been in battle. Have you ever been in battle, Captain Harris?’
‘Yes,’ answered Harris, meeting the man’s challenging stare.
‘I had a good view of the beach. It was pandemonium. There were several men who weren’t part of our group. They were armed with automatic weapons and were firing into the air, rounding everyone up. One of the men, Holdstock, made a break for the trees. They shot him. Out by The Rendezvous, I could see another ship had anchored – much more modern. There were men on the deck of The Rendezvous too.’
‘You could be sure of all this from your distance?’
‘I had a powerful pair of binoculars. I got down to the beach as quickly as I could, but by then they’d rounded everyone up and were in the dinghies heading back to the ships. There was nothing I could do.’
‘I understand,’ said the Captain, sensing the man’s angry frustration still.
‘I was standing there completely useless, helpless. I could see what was happening: modern-day piracy or kidnapping. Holdstock was badly wounded but not dead. I guessed that they might be back for him, or me once they realised I was missing.
‘I got him to his feet, had my arm round him, was dragging him to the trees – then his head exploded. The force of the shot that took him out knocked me off my feet. I lay there dazed for a few seconds, covered in bits of him, fighting to keep calm. More bullets cracked overhead into the trees. And then I broke for cover. When I looked back from the tree line, I could see that there was already a boat on its way back for me. I had about five minutes.’
Sansom broke off to sip his water.
‘I put as much distance between them and me as I could and then got into deep cover. All I had was a Swiss Army knife. They weren’t professionals. Their approach was amateurish. The four of them came after me. None of them stayed with the boat. No coordination. No leader. Just random searching.’ The Lieutenant broke off from his narrative. ‘I take it you’ve seen my service record?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you know that I spent time in Belize.’ Harris nodded. ‘They teach you some things about surviving against the odds there.
‘They split up. They were speaking English. It was accented though. I’m sure it was South African. They were shooting at shadows. I’m surprised they didn’t shoot each other. I got behind one of them. Swiss Army knives don’t just open tins of beans.’
‘So you got a weapon?’
‘Yes, an M16, but the sights were fucked. Otherwise I’d have done better. First one I shot at, I missed. As soon as they realised I had a weapon, they ran. I went after them, but I was too cautious. Thought that maybe they’d be luring me in, Norman style.’
‘Norman style?’ said Harris.
The Lieutenant looked at the Captain frowning. Didn’t he know his military history? ‘Battle of Hastings, 1066: Harold’s doing well from his advantageous position, the Normans fake a retreat and the English lose all discipline and give chase, only to be caught in open ground and lose their advantage, lose the battle and lose England to the frogs.’
Harris nodded his understanding, again.
‘I gave them too much credit. They were just cowards. Not used to having people shoot back at them, probably.
‘By the time I got back to the beach they already had the engine going and the boat in the surf. I fired on them again; put one down. Whoever had that high calibre rifle started firing on me again. From that distance on a bobbing craft, he was good. Good enough to drive me back to cover.’
Sansom drank some water, gathering his thoughts, composing himself for what he had to tell next, what he had to remember and relive.
‘The guy I’d taken out in the undergrowth had a walkie-talkie. I found it and got myself to a place where I had a good view of the deck of The Rendezvous. I called them up. I couldn’t see any point in pissing about, so I told them that I had one of their crew and that he was alive and all they had to do was let my wife and daughter go. We could do an exchange.’
Sansom broke off again, the recollection of what was to happen seen again for the thousandth time. His
eyes filled with tears. His voice became strained.
‘I won’t ever forget the voice of the man who I spoke to. He laughed at me, asked if I could see the ship. I told him that I could. I couldn’t know what he was going to do next. Through the binoculars I could see that he had everyone on deck. I could see Alison. Then they ran a plank out.
‘ “You like the idea of the past at sea, do you, Mr Sansom?” he said. He had my name already. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Allow me to show you how much that fool’s life means to me.” Using a boathook, he forced one of the men out on to the plank.
‘“Are you looking, Mr Sansom?” he said. “Of course you are.” He waved at me, drew a pistol from his belt and shot him. He crumpled into the water. The screams of the others followed the noise of the shot across the water.
‘“Now let me offer you a deal, Mr Sansom,” he said. “I’m going to count to ten; if I don’t see you on that beach with your arms in the air before I get there, your wife is next. One.” I jumped down from the tree. “Two.” And ran. “Three. Hurry, Mr Sansom. Four. Bring her here.” My foot got caught in some vines and I fell. “Five.” I was too far out. I knew I wouldn’t get there. “Six. That’s it, Mrs Sansom, out on the board. Seven. Mr Sansom, I see sharks. Eight. Steady now, Mrs Sansom.” Before he said nine I was on the sand, jumping up and down waving my arms in the air. There was nothing else I could do. “Ten. Say goodbye, Mr Sansom,” he said.
‘And then I was knocked off my feet for the second time. The bastard had got me on the beach as target practice. The bullet nicked my side. The walkie-talkie landed next to me. I lay there numb; my body had gone into shock. I had to listen to the screaming on The Rendezvous, to the executions. Every few seconds the stillness of the island was punctuated with the noise of a pistol shot. I must have lost consciousness for a minute or two.
‘If he’d sent a boat for me immediately, I wouldn’t be here now.’ Sansom looked again at his questioner. ‘Most of the time since, I’ve wished that I wasn’t. Can you imagine what it’s like waking up night after night seeing that in your nightmares, hearing the screaming of the condemned and dying? It doesn’t diminish, Captain. And somewhere in that screaming is the one you love – even if she’s unrecognisable.’
