Charlie had found Josie, Jill and Robbie huddled around a table and settled himself between the girls nursing his whisky. Steel had just stood up with an empty glass in his hand.
"Hello Charlie," Steel said, "any word from Kurt yet?"
"Only a roundabout sort of way, nothing direct, he's still waiting." Charlie replied. Steel went back to the bar, where George was already settled in his usual place, close to the door and under the television, a pint of heavy on the woodwork in front of him and another appeared as Steel eased into the crowd beside him. "What do you reckon?" He said.
George sipped his beer, thinking. "We'll finish this one, then go and see what sort of result we have," he paused, running his finger around the rim of the glass, "you nervous about what we might find?"
"Nervous, not sure, definitely got a few butterflies. That slightly exhilarating feeling that we're on the brink of something, it may be exciting, or terrifying, but which?" Steel remarked and fell silent, supping his pint. George merely nodded. They remained quiet until the glass stood empty on the bar and they left. George fell into step beside Steel and they retraced their steps to the back of the dive shop. George unlocked the door and switched on the lights as Steel headed for the sink. The water was still warm to the touch and the cylinder metal itself had become less cold. He stopped. "We're not doing it right, I'd feel a lot more comfortable if we had a camera, because this is getting weird."
"Bastard!" Steel muttered and after a moment's thought, he went on, "Langhers took the digital, but Josie has a single-use, she may have it on her. Hang on I'll be back in a minute." He nipped out of the back door and disappeared. He was back inside five minutes with Robbie close behind. "You got it?"
"Yeah and I brought Robbie, he's the nearest thing to an official we have around here and he does have this perverse interest in strange cylinders."
“I guess you two are the best of mates." Asked Steel.
Robbie nodded. "Long standing, we go way back?"
"So far it would blur loyalty to another party, if need be?" Steel asked.
"I don't follow you," George retorted, "what are you talking about."
"We've come this far, oh fuck it, somebody put the kettle on, we can chew this over with a mug of tea, but let's look at what we're doing. I'll start with me. I'm here because not too long ago some bastard decided I threatened him, not by my actions, but possibly by my knowledge. I don't know what that knowledge is, yet, George, your involvement is based on this cylinder and our interest in it. My assessment, right or wrong, you have a highly developed and potentially dangerous level of curiosity," George's face grew solemn and his nodded was slow and definite, "so I'm right, so far, Robbie, your lead in came from the phone call from Jack Cocker and again, we have another potentially dangerous level of curiosity."
Robbie folded his arms across his chest and chewed the tip of his thumb for a moment before he affirmed the diagnosis. "Pretty close, it'll do me."
"Okay, it's crunch time. We have a choice here, either we stop, warm the cylinder up, put the wax back and pretend nothing happened, possible for you two, for me, not easy, but not impossible, or..."
"We say fuck it and go the whole hog," said George, "Why pour wax into a cylinder, I want to know?"
"So does this one," Robbie answered, "My lead in, as you say, came from a phone call, the result of two men dying because a cylinder exploded and left a young lass with a bairn to raise on her own. Call me sentimental, but I reckon it's not right. I don't know if there's a connection, it might turn out to be a one in a million, shit happens incident, but if there is a batch of rogue cylinders out there and they're starting to mingle with the regular gear, then there is a potential for trouble."
Steel watched the coast guard, wondering where loyalty is would lie if the situation went haywire. "If you feel compromised Robbie, then you're free to go, you can either forget everything which has happened, or if you wish, file a report to your superiors. I'll take my chance with them too."
George tested the temperature of the water in the sink, prompting him to drain it and refill with more hot water. "Give it another few minutes," he said, "then we'll have a dig and see what comes out." Robbie set the kettle to boil and dropped tea bags into three stained mugs and then when the kettle had boiled brewed up; he splashed in the milk and left the bags floating. He handed the mugs around.
George put his mug aside and picked up the Stanley knife again and carved into the malleable wax. The knife sliced easily through the wax and George put that aside and began to pull at the incision. Robbie leaned forward. "What's that?" he asked.
"Give me a chance," Steel pleaded.
George was working his fingers around the edge of the cylinder peeling away the wax, as Robbie pointed out.
He didn't get an answer, Steel ordered. "Camera, now, get a shot of this."
"Oh, right," Robbie answered and snapped away. A thin coating of wax had been poured over a thin rubber disc fitted to the bottom of the cylinder. George scraped it away until he could lift the rubber out of the way.
. Four tightly packed condoms lay like short fat sausages on the paper. Steel picked one from the pile and lifted it to a fresh piece of paper and held the condom with the forceps as George handed him the Stanley knife. He delicately pierced the latex and sliced it open and a filling of small stones, spilled on to the paper. Steel put down the pliers and the knife and straightened up. "Gentlemen," he breathed softly, "I think we are in the shit. That's not gravel is it?"
Robbie picked up the pliers and gently pinched the jaws around a stone the size of an orange pip and held it up to the light. "I've got this really uncomfortable feeling, if this is what I think it could be, we have just found out why," He turned and held out the pliers, "hold out your hand." He said to Steel, who did and Robbie dropped the stone into his palm. George leaned closer, straining to see the rock.
"It feels cold." Steel said, slightly surprised.
"I think the word is glacé, ice."
"The big D," George whistled, impressed and over-awed, "we are, aren't we. This is deep shit" He settled back and leaned against the sink, pulling out his tobacco pouch and rolled himself a cigarette, his first for close to half an hour and drew the smoke into his lungs. "This is way beyond stage decom, we could be talking chamber and mixed gas."
Steel placed the stone alongside the others on the paper. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, clenching his fists, dumbfounded, his stomach grumbled uneasily. "They're coming for this, they have to be, there's too much money involved here. This is a bloody fortune."
"How much, what's your guess?" George interrupted.
"No idea but suddenly I feel lucky to be alive and worried.”
"So we have to be on our guard." Said George Evans.
Steel paced the room; thinking, balancing the options, stay put and take the risk, or withdraw and watch from a distance? To watch from a distance he would need technical support. He moved back to the table and picked up a couple of the stones, judging their size. He put them in the palm of his hand and closed his fist. "I don't suppose anybody has a condom, do they?"
"No, why?" asked Robbie, "Are you planning to put them back?"
"Well I'm not feeling horny. Some of them, we exchange one of them and get a positive identification on the sample, hopefully, we'll get a valuation," Steel said, "I want to replace the damaged one with gravel, re-rig the cylinder and put it back, treat it like any other cylinder and see what happens."
"You reckon they, whoever they are, will come looking for it?" George said and rolled another cigarette.
"Who are they?" Was Robbie's next question.
"I don't know and I'm saying that far too often these days. I haven't got a bloody clue. But now we've got these," he said and holding his hand out, opened his fist, "I, we, could be closer to finding out, or a name, but to answer your question George, I think they will. These little beauties are eagerly awaited and the fact they aren't where they should be will be driving some bastard u
p the wall and the minions will know it."
"And if they get pissed off enough, they'll probably want to do something about it, but that could lead to an outbreak of incidents like yours." Robbie muttered.
"It could, but it doesn't necessarily follow, a good option would be to take it steady, watching and waiting, too much aggro and it could invite interest in their activities. If that happens everything is in danger of coming apart, just this," he indicated the cylinder in the sink, "might have damaged their operation and their reputation." Steel said. George picked up his mug and scowled, grimacing at the cold tea, he turned to empty it down the sink, "Oh bollocks, I suppose we'd better do something about clearing this mess up."
Robbie picked up the strainer. "It does look like a bomb's hit it, but we still need that condom. Leave it with me, I'll wander down to the chemist and see what I can find."
Steel agreed. "Alright, George, get back to your compressor shed. I'll sort the kitchen out and then bring the cylinder back to the shed. We'll screw it back together and leave it outside the shed, put a tag on it. Found, see shop for information, that sort of thing and see what happens."
"See you later, Oh, when you get chance, bung a fresh brew across to the shed will you?" George said and let himself out of the door.
Steel hummed quietly to himself as he prepared the pieces for re-assembly. Robbie's quest was successful, but he declined to say where he had found it, fending Steel's curiosity with a mock horror, remarking that, "Gentlemen, don't normally ask such things." Steel grinned and let it go. The pair worked together, steering the conversation along any lines they wished, just so long as no-one mentioned the D-word until it reached the point where the kitchen was clean and the cylinder ready to be restored to its earlier condition. "Robbie, is there any film left?"
Robbie picked up the single-use box and checked the counter, there were a couple left. "A few, I might as well finish them off."
"Yeh, take one of the cylinder and the condoms together, then we'll start to put it all back together.
Robbie lined up the condoms at the foot of the cylinder, unfolding a fresh sheet of newspaper and standing the cylinder at the top, the condoms in front of it and snapped the picture. Steel checked the wax in the pan, stirring it with a teaspoon, it moved easily. It was ready to pour; all he needed to do was keep it at that level. He turned the gas off, leaving the residual heat to keep it flowing. There would inevitably be a slight loss of wax, but if he got it ready, then he should be able to keep that to a minimum. He worked quietly, speaking only when he required something from Robbie, who thankfully, got the drift and stayed silent, biting back on the questions which began to rise as they had time to digest the day's activity. As the last of the wax dribbled into the cylinder and pooled around the seal Steel put down the jug and stood back, stretching his arms and working his shoulders. Robbie manoeuvred the top of the cylinder into position over the bottom. Working it until the thread began to bite and easing it around until it stopped. Robbie drained the sink and refilled it with cold water and Steel stood the cylinder in the water and they left it to cool.
They dropped off George’s keys at the compressor shed and said they would see him later in the Mishnish. Steel left Robbie with Charlie and the girls, then slipped outside to the phone box on the quay and realised he couldn’t remember the number, so had to pop back and drag Josie out. "What's wrong?" She demanded.
"I want to ring Jardine at the Grange, on the Outland line and I can't remember the bloody number."
She shook her head and chuckled. "What are you like!" and slipped into the phone box ahead of him, lifted the receiver and squeezed a handful of coins down the slot and tapped out the number. She let it ring twice, cut the connection and dialled again, then handed the receiver to Steel who had slipped into the box beside her. She snuggled into the corner and waited with him.
Jardine snatched up the receiver and sat on the edge of his desk. "Stone Grange, Jardine speaking, what's happening Josie?"
"It isn't Josie, this is Steel."
"Steel, why are you using Josie's ident? Is she alright?"
"Yes, she's fine, she rang, not me. I've forgotten the bloody number."
"So where is she?" Jardine demanded.
"I'm here," Josie called out, quite able to hear his voice through the ear-piece, "I'm fine, I did it out of habit."
"That's OK then, so what's happening?"
"How secure is this line?"
"Standard landline, probably not secure at all. No guarantees." Jardine remarked.
"Got in this morning and met up with some friends, he's following a line about a recovered cylinder. Spent some time this afternoon going over it with a fine toothed comb." Steel explained.
"So, what did you find?" Jardine prompted.
"One answer, still a lot of questions, but we found large number of octahedral crystals, sourced from ultramorphic rocks?” Steel though for a moment and said, "Look, Charlie’s transmitting via Ark Angel. I propose to tell him and work direct through the Morse operator at the Grange, Hannah, is that her name."
"Yes, it is Hannah Brown; I didn't know you knew her?"
"Well we've talked, she dragged me downstairs to listen a couple of times as she chatted to the Radio hams, just keeping her hand in," Josie went all sniffy, feigning hurt and half turned away from him, not easy in the close confines of the box. Steel playfully nudged her with his elbow and said, "If she's been monitoring the traffic already she'll recognise Charlie's fist." I may be paranoid, but I'll feel better with that contact."
"That's fine with me; can you give me some idea when you'll be transmitting?"
Steel hummed and ahhed for a moment or two. "After eight tonight, not too late though."
Jardine agreed. "Right. I'll wait for your signal then, take care, both of you." He hung up. Steel replaced the receiver and pushed out of the box, Josie automatically slid her arm around Steel's as they walked along the front. She looked up at him as they walked. "So, what is an octa-whatever crystal sourced from ultramorphic rock?" She asked nonchalantly.
Steel reached into his pocket and took out a couple of small stones. "Hold your hand out," he said and dropped them into her palm, "these are." He said.
She stopped walking, slipped her arm out of his and picked up the largest piece, holding it up to the afternoon light. "It's..."
"Not quartz, you can get a fantastic gloss on quartz, it can look like something else, that's..."
"Altogether something else." She whispered. She put the stone back in her hand and closed her fist.
“We may be close to finding out what I stumbled on and this is what the people behind my attack thought I already knew, it doesn't help me sleep easily."
"They're coming for these aren't they?"
"Yes." He said flatly.
"It worries you?" An obvious question.
"Bound to, get edgy after a bit, start jumping at shadows," Steel moved slightly, stepping across the pavement so he could lean on the rail and watch the street, he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to ease the dull ache inside his head, "when will it end, when will it all end." He groaned. Josie moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly, until he winced and she eased off, "Sorry, didn't mean to hurt you, let me help, I want to."
Steel ruffled her hair, releasing a few strands to blow in the breeze. "I know you do, but there's not much anybody can do for what's going on inside." He didn't respond to her embrace, intensely aware of her proximity and the turmoil inside him.
"What can I do, please tell me?" She asked.
Steel held her close, but loosely, her grip slackened, responding to him. "Be there, that's all, simply be there."
"I'll do my best." She said and eased herself around him, resuming her earlier position at his side and they continued their walk, away from the Mishnish, towards the quiet end of the town, back to the distillery and the open space in front of the garage. He wasn't ready for the crowded atmosph
ere of the pub, five minutes, might be all he needed, just to breathe and adjust to the development. It was not complete but it was some way to providing an answer to some of his questions. Josie still clutched the handful of small gem-stones in her hand, the same one she had slipped through his arm and as he glanced down at the white knuckled ball of her fist, he felt the stirrings of an unusual fear, not of physical danger, or injury, but a deeper sensation that buried itself far inside. This little lady may tell herself she's playing a role and Steel might just convince himself that it was true, but he knew there was more to it than that and his response to her? How easy it would be to spoil everything, just a few well-meant but ill-timed words. How certain would he be of what he was saying, were the emotions he struggled to find a voice for real, or just a blast of exhilaration that he had come out alive. A quiet voice, where the ragged interface of the conscious and subconscious ebbed and flowed, told him not to go there.
"What do I do with these?" She asked. Steel took the diamonds and wrapped them in a piece of newspaper. He tucked the little parcel into the pocket of his life-jacket and pressed down the Velcro flap.
They walked on, staying on the pavement overlooking the water, the tide was well in now, lapping against the stone work of the fishing pier and the boats moored alongside were beginning to stand on their own as the water lifted them from the mud and gravel of the bottom, Steel paused and looked around, niggled, a sixth sense, something was becoming familiar, simply because it was a constant. Steel steered her towards a bench and sat down, Josie snuggled up beside him and Steel fidgeted slightly until the pair of them were sitting as comfortably as they could. "We have a watcher," Steel murmured softly in her ear, "don't react, keep your head close and listen, about twenty yards away, on the other side of the road, I want you to kiss me and while you’re doing it, watch the man wearing the taupe coloured jacket, late twenties, dark hair and a pony tail, tell me what you make of him."
"I'm not going to kiss you, not if that's the best excuse you can come up with, I want a bit more originality than that." She teased.
"Josie, I'm not kidding, he's been around most of the day, if he wasn't I'd miss him."
"It doesn't automatically follow that he's watching us, he's waiting for someone perhaps and he doesn't know what time they're due to arrive, we're in the same boat with Kurt, "She snuggled in a little closer, resting her head on his shoulder and lowering her voice to a murmur, matching his, "your present temperament may think he's watching us deliberately, but he may just be someone who finds watching people a fascinating thing to do, I mean, you do the same thing yourself at times and before you say anything I have seen you, at the end of the bar, thinking you haven't been noticed."
"You know me too well." He said.
"I have known you a long time," Josie remarked, "and the grapevine doesn't often get it wrong, not among the girls in the admin pool."
"That doesn't sound too comfortable, being dissected by the admin pool."
"You have nothing to worry about, but I'll save the details for later, it has no pull on what we're doing."
"So what are we going to do about our watcher?" Steel pondered aloud, "whose slant do we take, yours or mine?"
"He might have moved since we sat down, I guess I'll have to have a look and see where he is." She shuffled around on the seat and eased herself on to Steel's lap, folding her arms around his neck and leaning in close, until her hair brushed against his face. He breathed in the scent of it and the warm aroma lifting from the collar of her shirt. For the first time he experienced the undiluted smell of her and the effect was immediate and he fidgeted on the bench. She tilted her head and laid her mouth over his, moulding it to his and her tongue darted forward for a second, touched his and skimmed along his teeth before she remembered herself. The contact was electric and for a rare moment, the playing stopped. A breath and it was gone and they tumbled back to reality, her lips still held him and her eyes swept the street beyond his head. Josie broke the kiss, he saw the colour flush upwards from her throat and she laid her head against his, hugging him and watching the road. A few seconds more and she slipped back on to the bench. "Oops." She whispered. Steel arched an eyebrow.
"He's still there, outside the MacDonald Arms, sitting on the window sill, hands in his pockets watching the world go by, as nonchalant as you like."
"How about we disrupt his nonchalance a little?" Steel suggested. Josie nodded and leapt to her feet, spun round as Steel was standing and hit him with the flat of her hand, the palm striking his cheek with a crack. Normally it would have been painful enough, but the barely healed wounds sent the pain way off the scale and she snapped, loud enough for anyone within a couple of yards to hear. "No, I will not do that, God, but that's disgusting!" Spun on her heel and set off down the road at a brisk walk. Steel nursed his face with the flat of his hand, real pain starting the tears from his eyes as he stooped, lowering his head. "What the bloody hell..." He gasped, gave her a few yards start and followed her, as she strode across the road, the blush of the kiss held by an act of will as an angry glow, she reached the opposite pavement and swung left to pass the watcher outside the pub. He was moving too, closer to the door, preparing to step out of the way as she breezed past, he eased back into the doorway and Josie passed him, then at the moment she was out of view as he stood framed by the doorway she turned back, stepped in and pinned him to the wall, the manicured tips of her nails pressing firmly into his Adam's apple as she slipped the Browning from its holster inside her jacket and pressed the muzzle against his groin. "You and I and my friend," she said softly, "are going to have a talk. If you have an innocent explanation for watching us then we shall let you go and you will forget you ever saw either of us. If not..."
"If not," finished Steel, "then we shall think of something appropriate." He felt the muzzle of a second gun hard against his ribs
"I'm sure you will Mr Steel, but hear me out first," He answered, “I can’t stand hospital food.”
Josie cocked the pistol, dragging the hammer back with her thumb and as she did the muzzle pushed against his testicles. "I think you can put that down." He said.
"I think," she mimicked, "that you know too much for me to put this down just yet."
"In my jacket pocket, you will find a leather wallet, take it out and read it." He told Steel, "then maybe we can all relax a little." Josie pushed the gun a little harder as Steel reached into the pocket and drew out the wallet; he flipped it open with a twist of his thumb, read it and held it for Josie to see. She eased the hammer back on the gun and slipped on the safety catch, the weapon disappeared back inside her jacket, all in one single movement. Paul Jones rubbed his throat where the talons had marked the skin.
"Oops, sorry." She said.
"That's OK, it's nice to know you won't have to follow through, I'm not too keen on seeing my Adam's apple in somebody's hand." He accepted her apology.
Steel's Browning had disappeared as well, "She isn't always this ferocious, she has a gentler side."
"I had noticed, but her temper seems to match her hair." Jones remarked.
"Shall we go in, or take a walk, Mister Jones?" Steel invited him to make the choice, "You're a cool one, you barely turned a hair."
"The advantage was mine, I knew who I was up against unlike you. All I needed was time to identify myself, thankfully, you gave me the chance. Paul will do, you're Josie and you are..."
"Steel, just Steel, very few call me by my first name."
"Steel it is; who did you think I was?"
Steel shrugged. "No idea I never thought you'd be the Excise, just didn't like the idea that you might be watching me. I've been a bit sensitive about things like that recently. I have this feeling of unfinished business hanging around. How much do you know about us?"
"Let's walk and then we can talk with less chance of being overheard." Jones offered.
Steel and Josie followed him and headed for the Mishnish in time to meet Jill and Robbie coming out
with Charlie close behind, Steel collared the old man and introduced the Customs officer. Charlie listened, then said firmly, "We'll go aboard, it'll take a couple of trips, but it might be for the best, then we'll be in place should Kurt decide to contact us, we should be getting an update on his situation soon."
Charlie completed the transfer in three trips, taking the girls first, it gave Steel and Jones a couple of minutes alone before their turn came round. Charlie bunged Robbie a twenty pound note and sent him to find a couple of six packs of beer and a few other bits and pieces. Steel waited until they were aboard the ketch before he asked his question again. “How much do you know about us?"
Jones said nothing, but reached inside his wallet and slipped out a credit card sized laminated calendar, then found a pencil and scribbled a five letter word, the third letter formed by the number five. "Jardine told me to ask about the navigator."
"The Portugee is fine," Steel responded, "so you know more or less everything."
"Yes, because that was the only way we could persuade the Police to stand back and let you run," Jones sat down on the edge of the cockpit and twisting the pencil in his hand rubbed out the word. Charlie slipped the painter and went for Robbie. Josie settled herself beside Steel, who shuffled up to make room. Jill sat on the edge of the cabin roof and smiled when Steel completed the introduction. Jones already knew her role, explaining that "Janet MacGregor had been very co-operative." Jill raised an eyebrow and he laughed readily, his eyes twinkling with the humour. Steel reintroduced a serious note into the proceedings
“What put you on to me, well, us."
“The way you put Brock in hospital."
“Brock?"
“Yes, his name is Steve Badger, bit of a thug from south of the border, one of a bunch we've been keeping tabs on for a while. Known associates of a known villain, you might say. They holiday together in this area, charter a boat, do a spot of fishing, some diving, plenty of drinking, we've been watching him for some time. He's the heavy for a firm who moved goods around the country and do a bit of import/export work."
"Any of it legal?" Asked Josie.
"Some, but we were after the illegal, the holiday pattern began to interest us and the grapevine hinted at a correlation between the holidays and activity on the market, but what really got our attention were the ones where the holidays went ahead and nothing came on to the market, but they were spending as though it had." Jones commented.
"He likes to flash the cash?" Steel returned.
"Oh yes, he definitely likes to flash, bit of a snappy dresser in his time, fancies himself as a bit of a ladies man, or he did. You definitely cramped his style."
Steel patted the pocket of his life-jacket. "Hang on a minute; I want to show you something." He said and pulled open the flap to take out the crumpled newspaper parcel. He handed it to Jones, who opened it and poured the rocks into his hand. He looked at the stones, then around the assembled group. "Bastard, what the hell am I going to do now?"
Charlie watched him and reached a similar conclusion. "Too many people, you could do with the help, but it's protecting the ones who aren't heavily involved, isn't it."
"You two I can use, especially you Steel, the bastards are after you. I can't force you to do this, though some in my department who would use what you did yesterday morning as a bargaining tool and co-coerce you into assisting with our enquiries, to use the old constabulary term. I prefer to ask..."
"Because a volunteer is worth any number of pressed men." Robbie chipped in.
Steel ran his fingers through his hair and put his hands on his knees, facing the Customs man squarely. "Paul, I'm in on this whether you, HM Customs and Excise, The Police or even the bloody Women's Institute like it or not, I'm involved and I'm going to get answers, now these are the first thing I've seen in the last four weeks which make sense."
"Granted and I can appreciate that, but I'm concerned about Mister Maclean, Miss Darling and Josie." Jones commented.
"Josie can take care of herself..." Josie interjected.
"I've no doubt of that, but Mister Maclean and Miss Darling are the ones I'm particularly worried about," he turned to Robbie and Jill, weighing his words carefully, "It would be better if you could both go home and when you get back to Oban, Mister Maclean, ring this number and say you've spoken to the American Renegade, he’ll tell you what to do." Robbie took the card and zipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. It was a scribbled name and number for a washing machine repair man on the back of a dog-eared card advertising a launderette in Oban. Robbie, pulled back the cuff of his jacket, looked at his watch and said. Robbie looked across the cockpit to his cousin and tried to read the expression on her face, something churned behind her eyes and he couldn’t figure out what it was, then suddenly they cleared and she had reached her decision. "We'd better get a move on if we want to make it back to Oban before it gets too late."
Jill cloaked her feelings well and Robbie acknowledged that Jones’s suggestion was the best and safest option for both of them. She straightened her jacket as she stood up, reaching towards Josie who rose to give her a hug. “Be careful,” Said Jill, “I’d much rather meet up with you all again over a scotch than a saline drip.”
Steel grinned. “Sod the saline; top it up with single malt.” She let the comment go and nodded over Josie’s shoulder at him. “Mind you keep an eye on that one and I suppose I’ll have to mind this one.” She flicked her head sideways, nodding at Robbie. “Men, forever playing their great games and expecting us to pick up the pieces and mend them.”
Josie chortled, her eyes beaming. “I know why do we do it?”
“Somebody has to.” Robbie chipped in and lowered his head under the withering gaze of the two women. Josie let Jill go and stretched out a hand to Robbie. “Take care, of yourself and Jill.”
Robbie was strangely sombre for a moment; the familiar crinkle of his lips, hinting at a smile was gone. “I’ll do that,” He turned to the Excise man, Jones, “if you think I, or we can be of any...”
Jones cut him short, “Don’t worry, if we do I’ll bear it in mind, but I really do not want to do it.”
Charlie sorted the tender, topped up the fuel in the tank and started the engine, while Robbie and Jill gathered themselves together and clambered into the small rubber boat. Steel walked down the deck with them and hitched the painter over the rail while Charlie helped them down. Robbie looked up at Steel from his seat on the tube. “Watch your back.” He said. Steel simply nodded and they said their goodbyes before Charlie ran them ashore. Running the tender up the slipway by the Garage and dragging it out of the water so they could land dry shod and walk with them to Robbie's car. Steel walked forward until he stood with his feet astride the anchor chain, watching the old man on the shore as he walked back to the tender and sailed back to the ketch. Steel was waiting for the painter when Charlie lobbed it up from the boat, caught it and walked him back towards the stern where Charlie scrambled back on board. He confronted the Customs man, Jones. "I notice you said nothing about me in your little conversation."
"Listen, you old duffel-coat, I'm well aware of your abilities, slightly diminished by age and a little infirmity." Jones responded.
Charlie smiled broadly. "You've been talking to the Angels, or should I say, Angel?"
"Perhaps." Jones' smile was cagey, not to say, absolutely evasive.
"Customs and Excise, never bloody change, you tell them everything they tell you sod all." Charlie volleyed back at him. An easy familiarity settled over them as they sat on opposite sides of the cockpit, Charlie had been passing the time of day with Jones off and on for nearly six months, dissecting the weather forecasts and the scuttlebutt around the islands. Jones had slowly built up a picture of who sailed through the Sound of Mull, calling at Tobermory, Salen and Lochaline and passing westward around the island and anything unusual on the Inner Sound.
Steel hitched the painter to a cleat on the deck and joined t
he others in the cockpit, sitting on the coaming and dangling his feet over the edge. Josie sat on the cabin roof, her feet curled up beneath her and from a distance it was a casual informal group enjoy the late afternoon sun. Paul Jones held centre stage and the other three waited expectantly. Jones pulled a small flat tin from his jeans and selected a cigarillo, lighting it with a reusable Clipper lighter. He drew the smoke into his lungs and picked a fragment of tobacco from his lip.
"Alright Paul, what's the story, how did you come to be out here?" Steel asked.
"I guess I'm the bolt in the stable door," he said as he smoked his way through the cigarillo, the words coming out with puffs of smoke at times, he rolled the diamonds around the palm of his hand, "there were a number of shipments of these little beauties which surfaced, pardon the pun, on the market at irregular intervals, at first there was nothing really to work with, but then a pattern started to emerge. A known fence in the smoke was receiving from a small firm, probably only about half a dozen, but when we checked out the suspects and located their addresses we discovered they were spread around most of the south east and Home Counties, with only a tenuous connection, until the dive team angle came together. The distraction was that there was very little activity from the group as a whole in their locality, or along the south coast, but it began to emerge that every so often they would, occasionally with little notice, for a week to ten days, meet up and head for the Scottish Islands. Mull is a favourite spot, but they sometimes work further north, rarely, though it is known for them go south. The pattern took time to emerge, because they varied the boats they used. A hard-boat, working out on a daily basis, for some trips and on others, a large RIB. The link there was the skipper, whether it was a hard-boat or RIB, it was the same skipper."
Josie butted in. "Why did you say you were the bolt in the stable door."
"The stuff was already coming in," He replied, "it wasn't as though I was going to stop it, much of my time is spent watching and listening, gathering information for someone else to process and pass on to the Cutters and then they act on it, it's like trying to stop water running out of a colander. There are a couple of thousand miles of coastline around these parts, heavily indented, isolated and impossible to watch all of them with the small fleet we have to work with and the variety of traffic is amazing. Fishing vessels from everywhere between Spain and Norway, even the occasional Russian to stretch the line even further, leisure craft much the same, Spanish, French, most of Western Europe, then there's the trans-Atlantic sailors, over from the US and Canada, spending the summer over here, then heading back for the autumn. If these islands were the centre of a web, then it would cover most of the North Atlantic and Arctic Ocean."
"That's a bloody big web and how close to reality is that analogy?" Charlie probed, "and where do we fit in?"
"I can talk more freely now the others have gone. They don’t need to be involved, once they’ve made the call from Oban they’ll be debriefed and a watch will be put on them. Then they can reasonably get on with their lives. Anyway, they’re someone else’s concern for now. As for me, I’ve been dotting around the coast for about fourteen months and along with others I’ve gradually put together the pieces of a jigsaw, working with our own staff and shared information from both sides of the Atlantic. We knew about Maclean’s exploding cylinder before he did. We got an official contact with a good few details to work with, probably more than he did but until you told me about it I didn’t know about this one."
Josie shifted, rearranging her legs and working the calf muscles in her right leg to ease the pins and needles and said. "What does the picture show?"
Jones finished the cigarillo and pinched the end to snuff it, before returning the dog end to the tin. "We call it the Iceline, because the picture began to emerge over the movement of diamonds and in addition, it seems to travel across the northern countries and then Trans-Atlantic, a bit like a railway."
"How do you mean, a railway?" Steel looked puzzled.
Jones nodded his head. "Describe how a railway network would operate?"
Steel replied, still looking perplexed. "Stations, track, goods yards, rolling stock."
"I know where you're coming from, but I'm thinking more along the lines of how it actually does the job?" Jones tried to work the idea, teasing the information out of his listeners.
"I get it, branch lines and main lines." Steel offered.
Jones nodded, smiling broadly and said. "That's it and they carry what?"
"Local and express traffic?" Suggested Josie.
"Exactly, local and express traffic," Jones agreed and went on to explain, "that's what we couldn't get a handle on, for most of the time, the branch lines, as we called them work independently of one another, linking up with whoever has something they want to trade or move around. Only now and then does something come through which requires the branch lines to connect and allow express traffic down the line and that's where the diamonds come in, they're the express traffic. Small volume, high value. A flood of high quality gem stones will depress the market and then we could see other things starting to fall as well, the inter-play of markets might be more fragile than we think and if the diamond market collapses, who knows where it might end. Diamonds are a more easily moved commodity than cash, you could hide a million dollars of diamonds in a fairly ordinary jar of bath crystals and you can certainly tuck them in your pocket. Apart from the chemical signature, they are difficult to track to a source.”
"If I were to tell you that the cylinder they came from had four or five condoms, about an inch and a half long, three quarters diameter, what's the ballpark figure?" Steel asked.
"Impossible to say without actually seeing them, it's all down to the individual size, gem quality and whether they've already been cut or not, but on what we've already seen, the general shipment value is about half a million per cylinder." Jones responded.
"More than one cylinder hadn't thought about that one." Charlie muttered.
"No, neither had we for a long time, until we weighed up the risks they were taking for five hundred thou. It didn't seem worth it compared to what they could be handling."
Josie said. "He makes it sound like small change."
"It is and once they've been cut they are virtually untraceable, which is the beauty of it."
"And the diving cylinders?" Commented Steel.
"Invisibility," replied Jones, "you're a diver Steel, how many times have you had your equipment checked after you've been out for the day?"
"Never have, just come and go." He answered.
"Exactly, who the hell's got that sort of manpower and how do you check them? Weigh every single one, strip the valve and give them a visual. So who notices an extra one that comes ashore, heads for the compressor shed and on the way finds itself transferred to the stack of full bottles without going to the compressor first."
"Which is where I came in and dropped myself in the fertiliser," Steel sighed, "of all the bloody cylinders in the line-up."
Jones blew a lungful of smoke into the air. "Life's a bitch Steel, but there it is."
"Surely the question has to be, what happens now?" Charlie remarked, perching on the roof of the cabin opposite Josie.
"Two choices," Said Jones, "simply put, we can wait and observe, see what reaction there is, drip a few juicy titbits into the local gossip, just to bait the hook, or we can drop a little bombshell and poke around in a hornets nest."
"Explain please." Said Charlie.
Jones drew a long calm breath, easing the smoke into his lungs and letting it out in a fine stream. "The snippets go into the gossip stream anyway and we start nosing around in the area where our information suggests that the exchange takes place. If luck is with us we might stumble on a consignment waiting to be collected and how the transfer actually takes place, how the target is marked and located. There has to be something, otherwise looking for a needle in a haystack would be a piece of piss."
"Suppose we do find so
mething, what do you suggest we do with it?" Josie was stretching the envelope."
"I don't follow; what have you got in mind."
"Is there some way we can, or probably your people can doctor the material so it can be followed."
“There might be a problem, if the pick-up is scheduled during the time we have the target away being doctored, then the opposition might, understandably, work out that something is going down and they need to avoid the area, then everything we have gleaned over the last eighteen months will be redundant.."
"Why not go with the cylinder found idea.”
“They’d have to be totally brass-necked to go for that one.”
“And if it goes wrong, it's back to square one, without the slightest thing to work on beyond the faces you've already spotted."
"Right, but they probably won’t hang around; they would vanish like smoke on the water." Jones agreed. Steel let his body topple backwards until he lay on the deck, with his feet in the cockpit and stared the tip of the mast, circling gently as the boat moved with the tide. "I hate to be a real misery guts, but how possible is it that we are already in that phase and before you ask, two things suggest we might already be back at the start. I shot Badger through the ear and the loaded cylinder has been lost, hence it's trundling around the ocean bottom and found again and brought ashore. That's why the gossip stream is perhaps the most important part of whatever happens next." He said quietly.
Jones had heard every word, as clearly as if it had been shouted in his face, as did Josie, who turned to Jones and said. "You'd already got that far hadn't you?"
Jones simply nodded, after drawing on the cigarillo, now little more than a glowing stump between his fingers.
"Yes, that's why he looks so knackered." Murmured Steel and a strange reverie fell on the boat, each wrapped themselves in their own thoughts and listened to the sound of the water lapping around the hull of Westering Home and breathing in the salt tang of the air, Steel found himself downwind of Jones’ smoke and savoured the slightly aromatic hint in the air. A keening gull swooped down and landed on the mast head, twisting its head to stare at the figures below, the glint in its eye ever watchful for a morsel of food. It flexed its wings, shuffled its feet and settled and Steel watched it for a minute or two. "It's the idea that life has butted in and fucked up what might have been a workable plan, just kicks the guts out of you."
Charlie was about to speak when a small buzzer screwed to the bulkhead just inside the cabin sounded. Steel rolled his head and looked curiously at Charlie. "Ark Angel?" He asked. Charlie shrugged. "Only one way to find out." He said and ducked inside as Steel resumed his earlier contemplation of the masthead. The buzzer was wired up to the Morse transmitter and Charlie busied himself below decks, receiving the signal and tapping out his reply, he reappeared on deck clutching a scrap of paper, with the transcribed message.
"It wasn't Angel, this is straight from the Grange. Langhers has been transferred to Machrihanish to collect fresh transport. He’ll be with us ASAP," Charlie passed on the news, "nice fist on the key, like a pianist."
"Oh that's Hannah; she's a radio ham, worked with Morse for years." Steel muttered.
"So all this traffic routed through Angel has been monitored by Jardine."
"Certain of it," admitted Steel, "he's like that. When he gets the chance it's not just belt and braces with him, he likes a bit of string as well."
"The next time you see the young lady; tell her from me, she has a beautiful fist." Charlie said wistfully, "could listen to her all day and night."
“The rest of her is pretty cute too.” Steel remarked.
“Don!” Josie scolded and said. "We do have one more thing in our bag now, we can talk direct to the Grange and hopefully Kurt, when he finally gets back, will have a couple of replacement sat-phones. That should take a lot of the hassle out of communication." Josie piped up.
"Are they secure?" Asked Jones.
"As secure as anything you could put your hands on." She replied.
He nodded. "OK, we'll go with them. I take it that they can also talk to lesser mobiles?"
"Not a problem." Josie said, "Once the signals back on the ground it can be routed through anywhere. It’s the sat link that makes them useful."
"So to get back to the business in hand, Steel has a point and that's why I think the gossip stream is important, if they have dropped everything in this area, then we need to allow them to think that the disruption is accidental, down to the weather, or similar unpredictable factor." Jones said. The silence that fell on the boat told the assembled company that no-one really thought that to be likely. It was a long shot, but at the moment, the only one they had and Hobson's choice was never a good one. Charlie ducked back into the cabin and pulled a large scale chart from the drawer under the table and brought it out on deck, laying it out on the cabin roof. "OK Paul, show me, give me the best possible locations for the next stage of our campaign?"
Robbie Maclean had followed Jones' instructions to the letter, driving himself and Jill Darling back to Tobermory via the ferry at Craignure and rang the number on the card from a phone box on the dockside. The repair man had asked a handful of questions and said he would be round in an hour. They were still unpacking when the knock came on the door and a scruffy looking character in his thirties stood in the doorway. Renegade Repairs wore authentic looking overalls, toted a scuffed and dented toolbox and as Jill closed the door behind him put a finger to his lips and Jill watched as he unlocked his tool kit and retrieved a compact scanner from the depths. He tucked an ear-piece in place and switched on. Working from room to room he spent fifteen minutes sweeping the flat for anything electrical which might be suspicious. The property was clear and he switched off and unplugged his ear. "Sorry about that, but we can't be too careful, paranoia is probably a better word, but we do it anyway. Alan Saunders, the renegade's accomplice." He said and put out his hand. Jill took it and saw a disarming smile behind the tired lines around his eyes. His short grey hair was slightly unkempt. Robbie had tried to speak when he emerged into the room and followed his cousin's signal to remain silent. He took Robbie's proffered hand and motioned for them to sit down. All three sat around a glass topped coffee table and Saunders put down his gizmo and took out a small tape recorder from the box, he laid it on the table and switched it on. "What happens now?" Asked Robbie.
Saunders leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell everything you know, don't leave anything out, the slightest detail might be important. Speak clearly and the recorder should pick you up." Jill went through everything she had seen and heard since Steel had been wheeled into her care and Robbie followed with his own tale from the first conversation with Jack Cocker. Half an hour ticked by and the recorder whirring softly. "...and when we got back, we rang you, just as Paul Jones asked us. He seemed to think we might be in some kind of danger." Robbie finished.
Saunders switched off the tape. "There is an element of risk. That’s undeniable, but the PLT, or perceived level of threat, is not high. What I would like you to do, is carry on with your normal life, but be careful, anything unusual, use the number Jones gave you and ask for the renegade."
"Can we carry on working?" Jill asked.
"Yes, the police are guarding the guy that Steel shot and you, Robbie, should be safe enough, you're well known locally among the boat owners and anything happening to you would only attract attention, we have to hope that's what they don't want."
"You don't sound too optimistic?" Robbie probed.
"Just be careful and hopefully, before too long we can go back to our normal humdrum lives, myself included," Saunders said, "but thanks for your help." He picked up the tape and dropped it back in his tool-box. He gathered up his equipment, packed it away and left. Jill closed the door behind him and slipped on the chain. Robbie stood in the doorway. "Do you believe him?"
"I don't know, but I want to," Jill said, "and I don't thi
nk we have a choice."
"You're right; we're out of it, hopefully for good, who knows what may be around the corner?" Robbie said and leaned on the door jamb.
Jill squeezed past him, there was a moment in the doorway, then it was gone and she was through the doorway and still a non-kissing cousin. "I need a stiff drink, because I'm scared and I don't want to be." She made straight for the drinks compartment in the sideboard. "Can I stay for a day or two, until things seem a little more settled?"
Robbie took the Scotch and dry ginger she offered him and poured herself a gin and tonic, heavy on the gin. "Yeah, not a problem, you have the bed, I’ll take the sofa.” He said.
*****
Chapter Twenty One
Iceline Page 22
