A Breath on Dying Embers

by Denzil Meyrick

Cabdi looked down at the motionless figure spreadeagled two hundred feet below him. Faduma was dead; there could be no doubt. He crouched back on his heels, his one thought now to do what had to be done. But first, he must evade capture.

  He pictured the landscape from the memory of the map in his mind. He would head northwest through the pine forest, then find somewhere to gather his thoughts. Though he knew he’d be pursued, he’d been trained when it came to remaining unseen. With his head still splitting, and blood drying on his head and face, he crawled from the ledge, heading for the treeline and safety.

  27

  Royal Marine officers and members of the crew had managed to clear the foredeck of passengers. Lieutenant Naliss marshalled passengers, Marines and crew in a calm, efficient manner. Whatever was happening, panic would certainly be unhelpful. All she knew was that a drone had been spotted near the vessel and it was her job to make sure this deck was empty of passengers.

  ‘Eleven o’clock, ma’am,’ shouted one of her men, just as the last of the guests had been ushered below. She looked skywards and spotted an object hurtling from the sky towards the ship.

  ‘Get down everyone – now!’ Her voice rang out along the deck. The Royal Marines responded immediately, in some cases having to drag their merchant colleagues down with them.

  Everything was happening so quickly.

  From their van, Scott and his team watched in horror as the drone hurtled across the loch. There was no way they could do anything now to stop the device, but Scott knew they had to press on, catch whoever it was who had launched it. For now though, like the Marines on the Great Britain, the team of police officers braced themselves as they saw the small aircraft hit the side of the great ship and smash into pieces.

  ‘Situation, Sergeant Shaw?’ Scott shouted into his radio.

  ‘Patching you through to Commander Brachen . . .’

  ‘DI Scott, the drone has come into contact with our vessel but left nothing more than a dent. I’m sending a team to help you, but you’re closest to whoever flew this into the Great Britain. They must be apprehended as quickly as possible. A helicopter from the frigate will be assisting. Do you copy, over?’

  ‘Aye, roger that,’ said Scott. ‘But how come nothing happened?’

  ‘We’re investigating. We’ll get divers to fish what’s left of the drone out of the loch. My guess it’s some newspaper stunt gone wrong. But find the people who did this, and quickly, DI Scott!’

  Daley watched from his window. At first, when he saw the drone streak through the air towards the cruise ship, he stood back instinctively, awaiting a deadly tumult that never came.

  As he tried to make sense of the scene, perhaps sensing the tension, his son began to wail. ‘I want Mummy!’ he roared.

  Daley picked the child up in his arms. ‘It’s okay, James – I think,’ he added quietly as he took in the bustle aboard the Great Britain, and watched the grey frigate that had been anchored in the Sound make its way into the loch, a huge wave at its prow. Already two RIBs were bouncing across the waves from the warship towards the shore.

  He picked up his binoculars again, setting his still wailing son down on the floor at his side. There was no sign of activity on the rocky outcrop.

  Nothing makes sense, he thought.

  Behind him, a familiar voice. Furious.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Liz lifted their sobbing son off the floor.

  He lowered the binoculars. ‘I don’t know – I really don’t know.’

  When Scott and his team arrived on the outcrop of rock, they saw a body lying motionless on the rocky grass far below. Even from this distance, Scott could see that the man was dead. Dark blood had oozed and congealed on the grass around him.

  ‘He’s dead,’ said Potts.

  ‘Aye, top marks, son. There’s no’ anything gets past you,’ replied Scott waspishly. He looked around, but of the second man Daley thought he might have seen there was no sign.

  Potts was kneeling on the grass. ‘Look, sir, leading into the trees.’ He was pointing to a rough trail where the grass and scrub had been recently disturbed. ‘There’s blood.’

  ‘Come on!’ said Scott, hurrying along the track into the woods. They followed it carefully, until it suddenly ended. Scott looked around. ‘What happened?’ Automatically, he looked up.

  ‘Maybe he flew,’ said Potts, equally baffled.

  ‘Right, we keep going.’ Still in the lead, Scott made his way forward slowly, brushing aside tree branches, footsteps muffled by the scented pine needles that formed a carpet beneath them. After a few minutes of slow, careful trudge, the trees thinned out into a small clearing, where sat an old blue Transit van and a rough-looking tent.

  Carefully, batons drawn, the small group of police officers checked the van and the tent, but there was no sign of life.

  ‘Right, pull back,’ said Scott. ‘Trace your steps back the way you came. We want to disturb this scene as little as possible. We’ve got evidence all over the place, so there’s bound tae be plenty for SOCO tae go on.’

  ‘Sir – on the grass.’ A uniformed constable pointed to an area just beside the tent. Lying beside an old blanket was a rudimentary mobile phone.

  Scott put the radio to his mouth. ‘Sergeant Shaw, patch me back to Brachen, will you?’

  28

  Brachen stared at Symington. ‘Why on earth didn’t you inform me about what had been spotted on the hillside?’

  ‘I was in the process of conducting another investigation: we found a murdered man in the Sound. As far as I was concerned, this was a civilian matter, and I still think that. I can see nothing to connect a drone’s being flown into the side of your ship with the death of a local birdwatcher.’

  ‘As far as you were concerned? That’s a load of bollocks!’ Brachen took a seat and visibly tried to calm himself. ‘The drone – what was left of it – has been recovered by naval divers, and found to contain nothing more dangerous than the battery used to propel it.’

  ‘I take it that it was equipped with cameras?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And that’s why you’ve termed this an exercise, Commander?’

  ‘We have to reassure our passengers; anyway, it was on orders from the Ministry. There’s no harm done, but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, Chief Superintendent. You should have informed me of suspicious characters on the hillside, not hushed it up!’

  ‘Now, hushed up . . . there’s a term I heard recently.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that my orders to keep the murder of the local man and the sighting of the men in the van quiet came from the Foreign Secretary. So if you want to end any careers, he’s your man.’

  Brachen thumped the desk in front of him. ‘This is intolerable. How are we to protect these people when police and politicians are going behind our backs? I’m going to take this up with my superiors, of that you can be sure.’

  ‘Please do, Commander. As a police officer, I take instructions from my superiors, too. In any case, we are following another line of inquiry as regards the murder, and we are unsure if these men in a van have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

  The door opened and Captain Banks walked into the large cabin.

  ‘This ship is pretty well soundproofed, but the way you pair are conducting yourselves every passenger aboard will know that we were under attack a short while ago. I’m sure that’s not what you want.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, Captain. I’m meeting with the Chief Superintendent – in private. It’s a security matter. And there’s no suggestion this was any attack. Probably over-enthusiastic press photographers.’

  ‘Oh, that sounds plausible.’ Banks shook his head. ‘Well, please conduct your meeting in your own quarters. This is my cabin, and despite recent events I’m still captain of this vessel. And we have a problem that I have to attend to urgently.’

  ‘Something you haven’t
informed me of, Captain. What on earth can be so important that requires your urgent attention?’

  ‘You may have noticed the lights flickering, Commander. It seems a large part of the ship is without power for some reason. That means – though your team wish it were otherwise – we can’t sail.’

  ‘We can’t what?’

  ‘We can’t sail. I would have thought that was reasonably self-explanatory the first time round.’

  ‘Superintendent, will you excuse us?’ said Brachen, still glaring at Banks.

  On Kinloch’s second quay, the usual crowd of observers had gathered. Word had spread that something was awry aboard the Great Britain, and half the town had gathered to see what the problem was, and speculate in a way only they knew how.

  The road that wound down to the causeway had been closed, and residents – including Hamish – had been evacuated in what was termed as Commander Brachen’s ‘exercise’.

  ‘This’ll no’ dae any good for oor chances as a tourist destination,’ said Donald Major, locally known as the crazy captain, a play on his name, and the regimental way in which he walked. ‘Who’ll want tae come tae Kinloch and get blown tae kingdom come?’

  ‘Ach, yer arse,’ said Annie. ‘I didna hear any explosions, did you? Aye, and you know whoot they say: there’s no such thing as bad publicity.’

  Donald shook his head and took a swig from the hip flask in his pocket. ‘Well, in my opinion, since that Daley character arrived here, there’s been nothing but bother, one way or other. That’s a’ I’m saying.’

  ‘Good, we’re a’ glad that’s a’ you have tae say,’ said Annie, a sentiment echoed by many of her fellow townsfolk.

  ‘It’s they Alkies,’ said the Trencher. How he had acquired this nickname had disappeared into the mists of time, but no one called him anything else, most people having forgotten his original name in the first place.

  ‘Alkies?’ The question was on many lips.

  ‘Och, you know fine whoot I mean: they Alkie Eeda buggers.’

  Hamish sucked on his pipe, sending clouds of tobacco smoke across the gathered crowd. ‘Well, now, you see, my understanding is that one o’ they drones hit the ship, and there could be any number o’ reasons for that. Anyway, if it’s Alkies they’re looking for there’s no shortage of culprits here, and that’s a fact.’ His eyes settled on Donald Major, who was taking another long draw on his hip flask.

  Once the hilarity had died down, a young woman with a baby said, ‘But what aboot poor Cameron Pearson? Is it they Alkies that killed him?’

  Again a murmur swept through the assembly.

  ‘Ach, I’m thinking it’s best no’ tae speculate on that,’ said Hamish, a look of grim resignation on his face.

  ‘Here, look!’ said a spotty youth bearing a large smart-phone. ‘Someone’s put this up on YouTube.’

  ‘And jeest what’s View Tube?’ asked Hamish.

  ‘It’s YouTube.’

  ‘And whoot’s that a’ aboot?’

  ‘You can see stuff on it: videos, TV shows, your mates at the banter – that kind o’ thing.’

  ‘So you view these things,’ said Hamish with a half-smile.

  ‘Aye, well, of course that’s whoot you dae, Hamish.’

  The old man nodded his head sagely. ‘Aye, well, there you are; they should have called it View Tube, then a body might have known jeest whoot the hell it was all aboot. Here, gie me a look.’

  The lad pushed his way through the crowd and handed the phone to Hamish. ‘See, there you are.’

  The footage featured the Great Britain. On deck, there appeared to be a commotion as camouflaged figures rushed to and fro. For a split second, there was a flash from the bow of the vessel.

  ‘Och, that’ll be they special effects. Somebody oot tae profit fae jeest nothing at all. One o’ they false faces, likely. They’ve got a wild job wae that o’er in America right noo,’ said the old man, as he took another puff of his pipe and handed the phone back.

  ‘It’s false news,’ said Annie.

  ‘Aye, but look,’ said the youth. ‘It’s been put up by the Kinloch Herald, so it canna be wrong.’

  Hamish canted his head to one side and looked at the young man steadily. ‘If you believe a’ you read in the papers you’ll no’ drink a drop o’ whisky, eat meat, smoke or have relations wae the opposite sex in case you’re taken tae an early grave. Aye, an’ forbye that, if it’s like oor local newspaper, a’ the names will be wrong, and they’ll have Christ crucified at Calgary, like they did in the Easter edition last year.’

  At this there was a general murmur of agreement.

  ‘Whoot I’m saying is, if a’ they well-to-do folks is on that boat, it makes sense that they carry oot such measures tae ensure their safety. Man, folk in this toon would make Ben Hur oot o’ Tom and Jerry. Jeest nothing but drama in the extreme, that’s it in a nutshell.’

  The crazy captain, who had seen enough, and in any case had drained his hip flask, marched off in high dudgeon.

  ‘And there goes that bugger,’ said Hamish. ‘All he needs is a military band tae accompany him tae the Douglas Arms.’

  Brachen was in his cabin preparing for the security meeting to be held in the officers’ dining room. A naval rating knocked at his door and entered on the commander’s request.

  ‘Sir, have you seen this?’ He handed the officer his smartphone.

  Brachen looked at the footage, then handed the phone back to the seaman with a word of dismissal. When the door had closed behind the young man, he placed his elbows on the desk in front of him and rubbed his eyes. What had been intended as a jolly round the British Isles was rapidly turning into a bloody nightmare – one that could have been so much worse had the drone that hit the Great Britain been more than just a drone.

  He picked up the phone on his desk. ‘Get me Vice-Admiral Hutchins. Tell them it’s priority,’ he said wearily.

  29

  It’s truly wonderful what happens when you set something in motion. The theory of chaos applies to everything, no matter how detailed the preparation.

  Sometimes – often – this works against the best laid plans. However, in some circumstances, chaos augments intention, and the end result is better than could have been wished for.

  He put down his pen and smiled. Though things had indeed not gone to plan, the fiasco that had ensued had had more impact then he had expected, and now that he’d seen the mobile phone footage he could have stood and clapped his hands in glee.

  He put pen to paper again.

  But this is just a beginning, a small starter to a meal of many courses. And when this particular meal ends, everything will be changed.

  He could feel a pain in the small of his back when he leaned forward. It was pain that he relished, a constant reminder of why he sought to do what must be done. This pain had accompanied him for most of his life, and though sometimes its severity would keep him awake at nights, its mere presence galvanised him again and again.

  The time had never been right – until now.

  *

  Gathered round the large table were Captain Banks, Commander Brachen, Annabelle Tansie, representative of the Security Service, Commander Naysmith from the frigate now moored beside the Great Britain on the loch, Chief Superintendent Symington and Sir Edward Chapelhouse, a senior civil servant from the Home Office.

  ‘We need to move as soon as possible,’ said Brachen agitatedly. ‘What is the situation with the Great Britain, Captain Banks?’

  ‘I’m waiting for a team of engineers. They will be with us later today, I hope. As to how long it will take to fix the problem, I have no idea.’

  ‘Surely some of your men know how to service their own ship!’ Brachen’s impatience was clear.

  ‘I’m informed it is a highly specialised electrical matter, involving complex computer diagnostics, only held by the original shipbuilder. If you want, we could get under way, but there would be no hot food, no hot water, no heating and very limited lighti
ng. As it is, if we stay put – as we are scheduled to do – we can provide these things using mechanical backup systems, as long as the ship is at anchor, that is.’

  ‘I say we sail out to sea. What do you think, Tansie?’ said Brachen.

  ‘I agree.’ The security coordinator was sitting to Brachen’s right in pristine blue fatigues, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. ‘We are sitting ducks here for a future attack – if that is what it was. Definitely, we should make way, with all urgency.’

  Symington frowned. ‘I know you had people here prior to your arrival in Kinloch. I thought they were checking out the lie of the land?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Tansie. ‘They were. The loch was considered to be a safe haven – as safe as anywhere else, that is. This type of thing could have taken place anywhere around the British coast; we took risk into account then planned the schedule based on our assessment. I’m sure it’s a process – as a senior police officer – of which you are well aware.’ She glared at Symington.

  ‘As far as HM Government is concerned, all’s well that ends well. Apart from the YouTube footage, which is easily explained away as being fake, or the product of an overenthusiastic photographer. The body found on the hillside is D-listed, so need-to-know basis only, as you are all aware. If questions are raised then this was a planned exercise. It is my duty – on behalf of the government – to ensure that our guests enjoy a trouble-free tour of these islands, in order to encourage them to invest in our country. We have been successful to date, and I see no reason why that cannot continue.’ Sir Edward sat back, as though he felt his contribution had brought the discussion to a conclusion.

  ‘We are equipped to combat anything like this,’ said Commander Naysmith from the frigate. ‘That’s why we should have been stationed alongside the Great Britain in the loch instead of in the Sound.’

  ‘And that, Commander, would have made our friends on board feel welcome and safe?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘No, it would have engendered a siege mentality. As though an attack of some description was expected at any moment. I assure you, that is not the kind of ambience we are anxious to cultivate.’