Killsong

by Mark Mannock

  Just before the aircraft stopped, Robbie West announced to our group, “I’ve got a little surprise for you folks.”

  As the door opened, we saw a row of luxurious-looking chauffeured black SUVs.

  “For us?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. I know we would normally take a helicopter to the Isle of Wight from here, but I figured we’ve all had enough of chopper rides for a while, so I asked my manager to book these. We’ll ride in comfort, and by the way, each vehicle has a fully stocked bar.”

  Now I was cheering … on the inside.

  We climbed aboard one of our black four-wheeled saviors. Greatrex and I had a vehicle to ourselves. We were barely out the front gate of the base before we were both kicking back with a scotch and surveying the passing scenery.

  “Great to be a civilian again … again,” he said.

  “Cheers to that,” I said, raising my drink.

  It was just under two hours to Southampton, where we were to catch a ferry to the island. We didn’t talk much as we traveled down the A34 in our convoy. The alcohol softened our mood, but we were still deeply worried. As usual, a variety of scenarios, most of them bleak, were playing around in our heads as the green fields and small towns with enchanting names rolled by. After a while we passed through a small village ominously named World’s End.

  “I hope not,” said Greatrex looking at the sign.

  “Well, it’s up to us to make sure it’s not. Not for Leyla and Amira, not for Kaitlin Reed, if she’s still alive, not for us, and not for anyone else.” I was starting to feel a bit of grit setting in, obstinate conviction. About time.

  “We need a plan of attack or at least something to build on,” said Greatrex.

  I responded, “It’s time we were on the front foot. Every time we’ve stepped forward on this, Winter has pushed back. We need to commit.”

  Greatrex nodded.

  “I’m tired of that man calling all the shots,” I continued. “I do feel better that we have some sort of backup from the general out there—”

  “But?” interrupted Greatrex.

  “I know we have his direct line, and he can arrange people to support us if we need it, but … it’s still going to be up to us to fix this. We need to make a statement, get under Winter’s skin,” I said.

  “So?” asked the big fella.

  “If we provoke the bastard, put him under pressure, he’s more likely to make a mistake, and more likely to create an opportunity for us.

  “I agree, but do you have any idea how to do that?” asked the big fella.

  “I do,” I said. Then I explained.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jack Greatrex was sitting next to me with a grin on his face.

  “You know this could go bad very easily,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “But you want to do it anyway?”

  “I do,” I said.

  Still the grin. “You know the front foot is definitely my favorite foot,” he said.

  Before long, the A34 and the English countryside disappeared into the outskirts of Southampton. Southampton had been a major sea port for many centuries. It has featured strongly in Britain’s maritime history. The Pilgrim Fathers had sailed from there on the Mayflower in 1620. Just under three hundred years later the Titanic had sailed from the same port. Two famous journeys, two very different outcomes. I could feel the history of the ancient streets, buildings, and the waters themselves as we drove to the dock where we would meet our waiting car ferry.

  The journey across the Solent took us around an hour. We arrived in East Cowes, on the Isle of Wight, in a positive state of mind. The consistent intake of scotch may have had something to do with that, but more to the point, we now had a plan.

  Before we went back down to our SUVs on the ferry, Robbie gathered us together again.

  “I have one more surprise for you,” he announced. “As you know, we have two days until the festival begins. I have booked out a hotel overlooking the ocean on the southeast side of the island. My instructions to you are to relax for a couple of days, and when you’re done with that, kick back and chill. Time for a bit of R & R, all expenses paid.” Robbie was a wealthy rock star as well as a nice guy.

  The news went down well with the band.

  I smiled. So did Greatrex, but we both knew rest and recuperation was not on our to-do list. We were just about to enact a plan that would provoke the most dangerous man either of us had ever met. There would be no rest, and what we were about to do would be the opposite of recuperation. It was a walk to the edge of a deadly abyss. We needed to build our resolve and anticipate a world of possible bad outcomes. Everything was at stake here. We were about to poke the bear, and Giles Winter was going to become very unhappy with us. There was no doubt, none … there would be consequences. We just needed to be ready for them.

  It was therapeutic to drive over the rolling island hills, past endless majestic, historical properties, and take in the breathtaking ocean views that the Isle of Wight offered. As I looked out the SUV window, I was aware that one part of me was greatly looking forward to performing for thousands of people at the Isle of Wight Festival. What a spectacular backdrop this landscape would make to a memorable musical performance. We were due to play just after sundown on the Saturday night, prime time. On the flip side, another part of me was dreading the outcome if we got the darker side of our work here wrong. Would this same awe-inspiring panorama become a scene of violence and tragedy. Was it possible that good people could die and evil could prevail among such epic natural beauty?

  Just as the conflicted philosopher in me was trying to resolve these issues, we turned off the road, passed through some large rustic gates and onto a long tree-lined rural driveway. A few minutes later it was obvious Robbie West was as good as his word. The final curve of the driveway revealed the most magnificent two-story county estate I had ever seen. Overlooking the endless blue ocean waters, Robbie’s hotel was just as promised. Surrounded by elegant outhouses, lawns and a large swimming pool, this place would have been nirvana at any other time.

  “Robbie has outdone himself,” observed Greatrex, as our vehicles came to a stop in front of a set of majestic stone steps leading to a massive pair of double doors.

  “Iraq suddenly seems a long way away,” I responded.

  Fifteen minutes later we had all been escorted to our separate rooms. After the hotel porter had delivered my luggage to my room and wished me the obligatory pleasant stay, I looked around. It wasn’t really a room at all. Perhaps suite would be a better description. Palatial chambers would also have done the trick. An enormous bay window overlooked manicured lawns leading down to the sea. The furniture was all high-quality antique, and a chandelier hung in the center of the room from an overly high ceiling. The adjoining bedroom contained a bed the size of a small airport. My first thought was how different this was to our barracks accommodation in Al Taji. My second thought was perhaps I had died in that helicopter crash after all and fluked my way to heaven.

  My thoughts were interrupted with a knock on the door. Without waiting, Greatrex walked right in.

  “If it is all going to end here, I can’t think of a better place to face the apocalypse.”

  “I hope you’re overstating the downside of our mission here,” I answered. “But yeah, if you’ve gotta go, this is a hell of a place to leave from.”

  We both sat down on the oversized couch.

  “Time to work out the logistics and get to work,” said my friend.

  “A couple of things first,” I began. “I guess we need to accept we have just committed a major international crime against humanity by smuggling samples of chemical weapons and nerve agents into Britain. If things go pear-shaped, a life sentence in one of her majesty’s prisons awaits us for that little indiscretion.”

  “No, really, don’t pull any punches,” was the big fella’s response. “Do think we could try and put that out of our minds for now?”

  “Of course, but I t
hought it was worth mentioning.” Nicholas Sharp, bringer of doom. “The next thing,” I continued, “is the question of whether Winter is planning to take his package off our hands here or wait until we get back to the States?”

  “It could go either way, but I’m leaning toward him making his move here.”

  “My thinking exactly, Watson.” I had always been a bit of a Sherlock Holmes fan, although clearly I didn’t display any of his detecting skills or we wouldn’t be in this situation now. “We know that from the picture with the girls and the newspaper masthead that Winter is, or was, holding Leyla and Amira in South-West England. I think he has gone to the trouble of bringing them to England because he plans to act here, on the Isle of Wight. He needs them close in case we misbehave and require disciplining.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What’s more, I reckon he is probably aware that if something goes wrong, he’ll need to move quickly. He will bring the girls onto the island.” I was sure of that.

  “That means Leyla and Amira could be on the island now.”

  “Highly likely, but equally likely we would never find them even if we looked. The island is a big place, and it will be flooding with people coming for the festival. Winter and his men aren’t about to take the girls out shopping.” I was stating the obvious again.

  “So, we get to work with your plan to flush them out and push them to the point of error.” Greatrex was on the money.

  “First we need to get to know this environment. Neither of us have been to the Isle of Wight before; we need to be able to find our way around. We also need a car. If things change, they will change quickly, and we need to be ready and able to move.”

  “I’ll arrange a car,” volunteered Greatrex.

  “Have you checked in with the crew members who are moving our stage gear from the air base to the festival site?” I asked.

  “Yep, I just heard back from them before I came in here. All the gear is arriving on site as we speak. It will be stored in a shipping container marked ‘Robbie West Band’ in the backstage area, behind the main stage.”

  “And the keyboard?”

  “I have asked them to put it in the container last, for easy access. I told them we needed to get to it to adjust some of the programmed sounds over the next couple of days.” Greatrex was all over this. So far so good.

  “Great, so next up we need to change the rules of the game,” I said.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m sure,” I responded. “It’s a risk, but it’s the only way to mess with Winter’s head.”

  “How do you want to go about it?” Greatrex asked.

  “If you can get me the car, I’ll go over to the festival site and take care of it,” I said.

  “Done.”

  Two hours later I was on my way to the festival site, straightening out the twists and turns of an engaging island road in a rented black Mini Cooper S. Greatrex had done well. I like my cars, and the Mini suited me just fine. The Cooper S was like driving a rocket-powered brick.

  At the VIP entrance to Seaclose Park, the festival site, the guard at the gate waved me through as soon as I showed him my access-all-areas pass. I parked and went to track down Dennis Scutt, our lighting guy. Dennis had arranged to get me a key to the container that held our gear.

  Another twenty minutes later, torch in hand, I opened the container door. I quickly identified the familiar road case that contained my Nord keyboard and opened it. Another fifteen minutes’ work with a screwdriver, and I had levered the end off the keyboard casing and reached in to pull out the package with the samples. Thank God it was still there. I put the package carefully on the floor, closed the keyboard and put it back in its case.

  Before picking up the samples package, I quickly installed the small security camera Greatrex had provided me with, on the wall. My friend was a very resourceful man. I went back outside, locked the container doors and went back to the car.

  With the samples safely and carefully placed under the front passenger seat, I drove off through the gate, waving at the guard as I passed. I didn’t speed at all. Now was not the time to be pulled over by the island’s police.

  “You’ve got it?” asked Greatrex as he opened the door to his suite. It was just as luxurious as mine.

  “I’ve got it,” I said. “Did you come up with a place to store it that we can access quickly if needed?”

  That had been Greatrex’s job while I retrieved the samples.

  “I found a drystone wall at the back of the main building. One stone was just loose enough to pull out and create a kind of small safe. The area is quiet and out of the way. I wouldn’t want to leave the package there for long, but it’ll do the job for now.”

  “Excellent,” I responded. It was vital the samples were not in either of our rooms in case Winter’s people came searching. Twenty minutes later the package was in its stone safe and Greatrex and I were back in my room. The sun was setting and the view over the water was magnificent.

  “I wish I was enjoying this view under different circumstances,” observed Greatrex.

  He was not alone in thinking that.

  “Well, stage one completed,” I said. “The rules have now changed.”

  We both looked over the water.

  When Giles Winter went looking for his cache, he would quickly work out what we had done. While he wouldn’t yet panic, our move would have been unexpected. We knew he would be angry, very angry. We were now gambling everything on human nature. Angry people make mistakes. For all our sakes, we desperately needed Giles Winter to lose his grip on things just a little, just enough to let his temper into the room, just enough to make an error of judgment.

  At last, we were pushing back.

  28

  The next morning Jack Greatrex and I left the rest of the band and crew by the enormous pool. They were nursing their hangovers and planning a day doing very little. They were also now beyond questioning what we were doing.

  Our plans involved getting to know the geography of the island. We didn’t know exactly how things were going to play out, but we figured there would be movement. We also figured it was most likely whatever the scenario was, it would happen on the island.

  We drove the length and breadth of the Isle of Wight. From the southeast coast, where we were staying, over to St Helens and Ryde. We then doubled back the width of the island through the bustling town of Newport over to the west coast. Less populated than the east, and more rugged, the west coast of the island featured wild untamed areas where long high-speed roads and clifftop views abounded. The Mini Cooper loved the roads. After examining the extreme west of Alum Bay and Yarmouth, we headed back to Cowes. We drove past the entrance to Osborne House, the summer home of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.

  While we grabbed some lunch in East Cowes, one of the locals told us Queen Victoria loved the Isle of Wight and Osborne House so much that she chose it as her place to die. I could understand that; the whole island was miraculously stunning. That said, neither Greatrex nor I particularly wished to follow the good Queen by meeting our demise here.

  As the day was ending, we drove back up the drive to our hotel. We had no answers, and we had moved no closer to a resolution, but at least we had done our groundwork.

  Greatrex went straight to his room to check the feed to the camera in the storage container. Any movement inside the container would trigger it to record automatically. This was directly relayed back to Jack’s computer. It was very handy to have a tech-head around.

  “Nothing,” said Greatrex as he entered the majestic dining room where the band were gathered for what promised to be a memorable meal.

  It was an evening of stories, laughter, and more stories. Musicians are good at telling tales. It’s a life that puts people in all sorts of strange situations. It’s also a life where you interact with an incredible variety of people, such as those around that table. I enjoyed the company.

  Greatrex went up to
his room a couple of times to check the feed to his computer, but there was no change.

  We retired to the formal living room, which took the term “grand” to another level. We sat, drank, and talked, in sublime luxury.

  Despite all the frivolity, the darkness wouldn’t leave. In a quieter moment I asked Greatrex, “If you were Giles Winter, where on this island would you choose to make your base?”

  “I think I’d go with a less populated area, my bet would be somewhere in the west,” he said.

  “I agree. I think the relative isolation would appeal to him,” I responded.

  It was still no real help to us. We just had to wait. I hated waiting. As it turned out, we didn’t have to wait for long.

  It was around 2 a.m. and I was in a restless sleep when I was awakened by an unexpected sound. For a second I was startled, but then I realized it was someone banging on my door. Trying to walk into as much furniture as I could in my half-asleep state, I went to the door and opened it. A smarter, more awake man would have asked, “Who’s there?” I was not that man. Thankfully, it was Greatrex.

  “Come, look,” he said. “We have a mouse in our trap.”

  Mouse in our trap—really? I followed Miss Marple to his room.

  “Look at this,” Greatrex said, pointing to the screen on his laptop.

  I could see nothing but a black screen. After a couple of seconds, the container lit up. Judging from the moving shadows, the light seemed to come from a powerful flashlight. As my eyes grew accustomed to the relative darkness on the screen, I began to make out the shape of a figure. The flashlight had been laid down, presumably so the figure could work with both hands. That helped us.

  “Have you watched this through to the end?” I asked. “Do we know who it is?”

  “No. As soon as it triggered, I went to get you.”

  We looked on. We could make out the figure a little better now; it looked like a male. He followed the same process I had the day before. He opened the keyboard case, got the keyboard out, and began to work on the end of the casing with a screwdriver. We still hadn’t got a look at his face.