The Man Who Played Trains: The gripping new thriller from the author of Playpits Park

by Richard Whittle

  ‘I need access to the whole vessel, Sturmbannführer,’ he says calmly. ‘These are my reasons. Firstly, the changes to our armaments mean the bow of the boat is lighter than the stern, so when we crash-dive we move crew to help balance the boat. Secondly, all our vital controls are duplicated, so if central control fails then my crewmen need immediate access to the manual systems, some of which are in the bow tube room. Thirdly, this vessel is my responsibility. Again I ask you – ’

  The first statement is nonsense. His crew can adjust the trim of the boat by moving water in ballast tanks but Roth does not to know that. He squeezes a fat hand into a side pocket of his leather jacket, takes out a bunch is keys, unclips one and hands it to Volker.

  ‘Very well, Kapitänleutnant. You will give your assurance that your crewmen will enter only when I am present.’

  ‘Sturmbannführer, I give you my word my crew will not enter except in emergencies. The door will remain closed but unlocked.’ Theo looks at Roth’s chin and nods at it. ‘You are injured. Shall I call the medical orderly?’

  Roth wipes his chin with his hand and sees blood. Ignoring the offer he swivels on his heel, ducks through a doorway and heads for his cabin. Men stand aside. Theo looks at Lange and then at the bosun.

  ‘Chief… Bosun… the bow tube room – no access except in my presence. Tell the crew.’

  When Theo first examined his boat he was shocked by the changes. Not only are there no deck guns and torpedoes, the forward torpedo room – the bow tube room – has changed beyond recognition. In place of torpedo tubes, loading carriages and torpedo racks, there is a varnished mahogany door leading to two cabins, a washroom, a shower and a WC, all timber panelled. Both cabins have telephones. On the floor of one of the rooms is a brass-fitted box containing silver cutlery and pewter dinner plates – each plate monogrammed with two tilted shields that touch at their tops.

  The cabins could pass for rooms on a luxury yacht – though the ceiling heights are barely adequate and all but one of the cabins tapers towards the bow. Though a stranger might find them claustrophobic, a U-boat man would consider them spacious.

  Strapped upright against one wall in the space that remains in the tube room are the six rubber-clad crates brought by Theo. Beneath them, in a space under the deck plates normally used for storing torpedoes, are more crates, works of art from god-knows-where. All are in wooden crates, unprotected by bronze boxes and rubber.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-TWO

  IT WAS WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT when Benares returned to the counting house. He struggled up the steps bearing boxes and bags, dumped them on the floor and returned for more. Repeated the trip three more times without saying a word.

  ‘You have found a heater,’ Bar observed. ‘That is good. Leave everything else. Put it over there and turn it on.’

  Benares had excelled himself. He had found an industrial heater mounted on a tripod he set up in the corner of the room, rolled a large red gas bottle towards it and connected it up. Soon it was glowing brightly.

  ‘And lights?’ Bar asked. ‘You have brought us lights?’

  ‘I have not,’ he said. ‘That thing gives enough light. It is unwise to light up this place.’

  ‘You told me the window in the door faces the sea. If it is true then who can possibly see us?’

  Benares, ignoring him, unloaded the bags, placing sealed packs of sandwiches, bottled water and packets of nuts on the table.

  ‘This is all I have been able to buy.’

  He tore the seal from of a sandwich pack, dragged a chair to the table, sat down and bit into a sandwich. Bar spoke in Spanish and Benares replied; a heated exchange followed that included the word hija.

  ‘What about her?’ Spargo asked. ‘What are you saying about my daughter?

  Both men went quiet. Benares turned to Spargo.

  ‘You speak Spanish?’

  Spargo enjoyed the moment and then shook his head. ‘I know a few words. You were talking about my daughter.’

  Bar nodded. ‘Luis was saying he does not know where she is. But we believe we know who has abducted her.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Giving such information to you will not help her.’

  ‘So you are just going to sit here?’

  ‘That depends on you.’

  Bar swivelled to face Benares. ‘John Spargo believes the translator Lewis was a member of Theodor Volker’s crew. How can he know such a thing?’ He turned his gaze to Spargo. ‘Has it not crossed your mind that if this is so then Mister Lewis might have known what became of Theodor’s cargo? If what you told me is true – if this Lewis is now killed – ’

  ‘You should know,’ Spargo said. ‘You had him killed.’

  ‘No, John Spargo, I did not. Keep silence and listen to me. If it was not Lewis who told you these things, who was it? If you tell me where you obtained this information then I am sure it is possible to have your daughter brought to you.’

  ‘You said you don’t know where she is.’

  ‘I do not need to know where she is. But I know how to contact her abductors.’

  Benares and Bar exchanged glances, conversed in Spanish, then turned their heads to face Spargo. Benares spoke.

  ‘Mr Letchie was recommended to me by a member of Mister Bar’s consortium. I hired him to investigate the situation here at Kilcreg.’

  ‘The situation?’

  Benares shrugged. ‘He is – was – a journalist. I was told he was good at his job, a regular little detective. I did not hire him to commit acts of violence.’

  ‘But that’s – ’

  ‘Let me finish. I also hired a young man to observe your daughter.’

  ‘I know about him. Jez pointed him out to me, he’s as inconspicuous as a streaker in a dayglow jacket. She wasn’t worried, she was sure he fancied the young man in the flat above hers and was stalking him. Is he the one who’s abducted Jez? Against your orders, I suppose.’

  Bar spoke. ‘Luis tells me that until recently this man, Mr Midge Rollo, was most reliable. Regretfully it seems this is no longer the case. As I said, he was instructed to watch over your daughter.’

  ‘Like lions watch over their prey.’

  ‘No, Mister Spargo, Luis employed him to watch her and if necessary to protect her, is this not so, Luis? It does seem that recently he may have switched allegiances. As I repeatedly tell you, resolving these issues is simple. Just tell me how you know these things about Theodor’s crewmen. Have you determined what became of Theodor’s cargo?’

  ‘I have not. I’m sure it doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Why do I not believe you? You returned to the old house. What were you going to do, search there?’

  ‘There was nothing there. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, we know that now.’

  Bar clamped his hands on the arms of the plastic chair. He pressed down on them, eased himself up, emerged from the sleeping bag cocoon and stood unsteadily with one hand on the table. Benares slapped a half-eaten sandwich on the table and sprang up to help him – loyalty, despite recent disputes. Clearly, Bar still pulled the man’s strings. Benares, manservant and henchman. Hit man.

  ‘Very well,’ Bar said, now standing. ‘If you remain stubbornly uncooperative there is nothing more to say.’

  Spargo stood up and stretched each leg in turn.

  ‘What now? Where are we going?’

  ‘You are going nowhere. You have heat, you have a bed and you have food. I shall leave you my torch. Do not breach my confidence in you by attempting to leave.’

  ‘So where are you going?’

  ‘I shall return home, I am tired of all this, I have done all I can do. You are keeping things from me, John Spargo. I have protected you and yet you refuse to tell me who told you about this man Lewis.’

  ‘Protected me? You are both mad! What about Jez? How can you expect me to tell you anything when you have already murdered three people? You’ll go on killing until you get what you want. And I know who is h
olding Jez, it’s Tony Day, he’s involved in all this. That’s where Jez has been taken, out to the Alcatraz he calls home.’

  ‘John Spargo, you are right when you say we will get what we want. Was Lewis married, is that it? Did he tell his wife these things? Have you spoken to her? Did she tell you about his past?’

  ‘He wasn’t married.’

  ‘But there is someone, John Spargo.’

  Spargo nodded. He knew he had a choice – give up Rydel, an elderly man nearing the end of his time, or risk sacrificing his daughter, a young woman with so much to live for.

  Bar had reached the door before Spargo spoke.

  ‘Wait... there are things I can find out. But we will do it my way.’

  Brave words. Bar shuffled towards him and they stood face to face.

  ‘Then tell me, John Spargo. What is your way?’

  ‘I need a phone.’

  Bar hesitated, deep in thought. Then he nodded to Benares, who produced Spargo’s own mobile, switched it on and checked its charge and its signal. Spargo went towards the door but Bar blocked him.

  ‘Stay inside. You have been given your telephone. Do not try to be clever.’

  ‘I can’t let you listen.’

  ‘Then I cannot let you phone.’

  Spargo moved to the gas heater and stood in its orange glow. He unlocked his phone and soon had a ringtone. He waited. Cancelled the call and tried again, silently cursing Rydel for not answering. A glance at his watch showed him it was just after two. He was being foolish. There was no way the man would answer his phone at that time of night.

  Then a click. Then a voice.

  ‘Who is there?’

  Spargo had rehearsed what to say. As soon as he heard Rydel’s voice he spoke forcefully. ‘My daughter…’ he said. ‘My daughter has been kidnapped by the men who killed Mark. If you hang up on me I will send them to question you.’

  Cruel words. For a while there was silence.

  Then: ‘Tell me what you want from me.’

  Spargo asked questions, keeping them short. All were answered. As he ended the call Benares rushed forwards, grabbed for the phone but missed. Spargo, anticipating the move, dropped the phone onto the glowing red element of the heater and with a flash of yellow and spurts of black smoke it burst into flame. Phone gone, internal directory gone. Call registers with the identity of the last person called, all gone.

  Benares swore. Bar laughed. Coughing and choking, all three made for the door as the room filled with smoke. Bar stepped into the ice-cold air and the others followed, Benares still coughing and cursing.

  ‘So, John Spargo,’ Bar said. ‘Was your call successful? Have you learned what you wanted to learn? If so, that is good. Now I must leave you. I am tired.

  ‘Leave? Now?’

  ‘It appears I am no longer in control of this situation. You want to do it your way, so whatever you do is no longer my concern. Tell me, should Luis and I return to Madrid or should we stay? And what about your daughter, do you want Luis to attempt to find her, or do you wish to do that on your own also? Tell me, John Spargo. We are letting you do it your way.’

  ‘I have the information you need. Take me to my daughter and I will tell you what you want to know.’

  ‘John Spargo, the air inside this pig pen is too foul to breathe and the air out here is cold. It will take Benares two or more hours to drive me to what you people call civilisation. Perhaps, when I have rested, I will make my decisions. In the meantime you can reflect on what you have just learnt from your call.’

  The engine of the departing SUV faded into the night as Spargo, alone again, dragged the heater outside and stood it on the landing. Not wanting to be without heat he scraped the remains of his phone from the now extinguished burner and fired the thing up again.

  Worry and pain kept him from sleep. Between four and five o’clock he dozed. At six, sleep finally overtook him.

  More than once during the following morning he considered setting off for Kilcreg, and each time he decided against it. His wound hurt badly, he wouldn’t get far. Also, he had made some kind of deal with Bar to stay put. He wasn’t at all sure what that deal was.

  Around midday he heard an engine. He no longer hoped for the Mitchell miracle so it had to be Benares. Slow, laboured, and most unexpected footsteps on the stairs told him Bar had come too, that despite last night’s pronouncements he had not flown home. The man shuffled into the room and slumped down in the chair.

  ‘John Spargo, I trust you had a good night?’

  The words came between long, laboured breaths. The man was exhausted, his eyes dark-rimmed and set deep in their sockets. His spare facial skin was pale and puffy and sagged more than usual. Benares, behind him, looked almost as bad.

  ‘No. It was lousy,’ Spargo said. ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘It was your choice. Had you cooperated you could have spent at least some of the night at home.’

  ‘Hospital, you mean.’

  Bar grunted. ‘It is eight hours since I was in this place. I spent much of that time in that damned car and no more than three hours in my hotel bed. Luis has had no sleep, he spent the night telephoning. Things have changed, John Spargo. I know where your daughter is. I know she is safe.’

  Spargo ran his fingers through his hair. He wanted to thank Bar but couldn’t bring himself to do it. It could be a lie. Surely it wasn’t in Bar’s interest to say Jez had been harmed.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I said I would endeavour to secure your daughter’s safety and I have succeeded. In return you will endeavour to recover my boxes. It seems to me I am closer to fulfilling my side of the bargain than you are to yours. Did you learn anything last night when you made your call, or are you simply stalling for time?

  ‘I know the boxes came ashore. I know where they were taken.’

  Bar raised his eyebrows. ‘Why did you not tell me this last night?’

  ‘You didn’t seem interested. You told me to sleep on it. I am told the boxes were here. That doesn’t mean they are still here.’

  Bar leant forwards, beckoning with his hands as if encouraging more words.

  ‘So? Where are they? Tell me!’

  ‘Before I tell you any more I want to speak to Jez.’

  He expected a refusal. Benares was standing in the doorway and Bar waved him close, speaking in Spanish. Benares frowned, produced a mobile, and held it out to Bar who waved it away. Benares poked at buttons and held the phone to his ear.

  ‘It is Luis,’ he said in English. ‘Let me speak to the woman.’ Then a long pause. Then, loudly, ‘You will do it! Mister Bar wishes it!’

  Bar reached out and took the mobile. He listened for a few seconds, held the phone an inch away from his mouth and barked into it: ‘Enough! Give her the telephone now!’ He listened again. Satisfied, he passed the mobile to Spargo.

  ‘Jez?’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m okay. Murphy’s here. He’s got a – ’

  The phone went dead. Spargo heard no more. He looked at the phone as if it was responsible for ending the call. Benares snatched it from him.

  ‘Murphy?’ Spargo said to Bar, ‘Grant Murphy?’

  Bar gave a shrug. ‘I was not responsible. It was the consortium. There was nothing I could do.’

  ‘You’ve abducted him too? Why? He hasn’t worked with me for years. He knows nothing about any of this.’

  Jez had sounded fine. Though she didn’t like Murphy, at least she was with someone she knew.

  ‘I have not abducted Grant Murphy,’ Bar said. ‘When I revealed to the consortium the possible connections between Theodor Volker, Kilcreg and your late mother, they sought out someone who knew you well. Against my wishes my associates took him on board.’

  Spargo shook his head. ‘Murph? A member of your consortium?’

  ‘I told you, it has not been my consortium for many years. Your friend Grant Murphy agreed to provide information abo
ut you on the condition he joined our group. He provided us with the mine plans and records Luis sent to you. It was easy for him. I believe he once worked in Canada at that particular mine.’

  Spargo took it in, thought about it and looked for holes in it. He found it hard to accept that Murphy, a man he had trusted implicitly – and saved from jail on at least two occasions – could do such things.

  ‘He lied to me,’ Spargo mumbled. ‘He flew from Seattle to Heathrow and then to Edinburgh. He said he was flying from Edinburgh to Aberdeen and then on to Oslo.’

  Benares now, frowning a question: ‘And that is a lie, Mister Spargo?’

  ‘It was a lie because no airline flies from Edinburgh to Aberdeen.’

  ‘Do they not? Then that was most careless of him. In any case, your friend lied to you about many things. He did not fly from Seattle that week, he was with me in Madrid, we flew together to Heathrow and from there we travelled to Edinburgh on different flights. It would have been regrettable if I had been with him when you met him at the airport, would it not? In Edinburgh he introduced me to Mister Letchie and together we went to your house. To ensure we were not disturbed I arranged for your friend Mister Murphy to spend time with you at the airport.’

  ‘You went to my house and killed Letchie? Why did you do it there, as a warning to me?’

  ‘He had become a liability. The opportunity to resolve that problem presented itself to me in your basement, but that was not why we went there. He wanted to show me the diaries you had found. The bronze box was there, but the diaries were not.’

  ‘And that’s why you killed him? Because the journals were not there?’

  Bar interrupted: ‘Of course not. He has told you why. That man was a liability. It was he who killed your mother. During Luis’s many telephone calls during last night he learned Ian Letchie had also killed your translator, Mr Lewis. Now, enough of this! The remaining boxes, John Spargo! A wiser man might wish to concentrate on those!’

  ‘Very well. I know Volker came to Kilcreg. He put a crewman ashore, a man who had been injured. By your SS man Roth.’

  Bar went quiet. Then: ‘That is implausible.’