Hy Brasil

by Margaret Elphinstone

  ‘So Jack Honeyman drove his van into the base as usual, and his papers were cursorily checked at the gate. He opened the back doors as usual, and as usual the guard glanced in at yet more sections of flexible piping. We crossed the tarmac under the eyes of a dozen sentries with sub-machine guns and pulled into the loading bay. The chance came when the shifts changed, and Jack got us out of the van and into our hiding place. He was white as a sheet, and that worried me, but he stayed cool enough. He was the one I didn’t know, you see. The one who didn’t belong. If he failed us, killing him wouldn’t have saved us, not in there. We were in his hands. But he came through. Oh yes, Jack came through. It only took about three minutes to get us out of the van and down the manhole. Then we were hidden inside the obsolete sewer, the one that had cracked open in the first place. God save me from an active life again.

  ‘Jack went home at the proper time, and waited with the rest of our men. He’d played his part. In 1958 there wasn’t a sophisticated internal alarm system; we’d already crossed the wires that were hooked up to the control room. We had the whole night to work in. We were inside the perimeter sentry patrols, and we didn’t need to go any nearer the manned section round the control room. We’d studied Jack’s plans, and we knew exactly where to find the access points to the drains. We weren’t short of drain rods: I’ve never seen so many as they’d got piled up in there, after all the trouble they’d had over the years. We used Satchell charges with plastic explosives. In those days you could get anything like that from US army surplus – just buy it on the open market – with no questions asked. They were ideal for the job – you can carry them in a pocket like a lump of clay, and yet one of those things will take out a whole block – all you have to do is put in your detonators on the spot, attach the charges to the leading edge of the drain rods, then very carefully thread them through the system. That way you can lay your explosives at the strategic points. They’re radio controlled; Fernando fixed the detonators with a different frequency for each section. And of course the methane in the old sewage system would give an extra boost to an explosion.

  ‘In fact the control room probably wouldn’t have gone right up if we had blown up the place – the drains just didn’t get quite close enough, and the room itself was embedded in solid concrete – but we banked on them not taking the risk of major explosives going off all round, and we were right. We kept a watch for internal patrols and had to duck out of sight of a couple. That was all. Slow and cautious, that’s what we had to be. Silent. We knew the layout. We knew where Jack had stored the rods. We knew from him just where to go, and when we got there Baskerville knew what had to be done. By the morning of April 10th the entire sewage system of that base was mined.

  ‘Fernando was in charge of the detonators. Lem and I stood guard with tommy guns. We knew they daren’t rush us, because Fernando would have got his explosion in first. There was a benign phone system – for ordinary calls. We tapped into that. We called HQ and told them we could blow their base to atoms at the touch of a button of our own. We were prepared to negotiate.

  ‘It took them a little while to realise we were serious. In fact we had to blow up a section of offices at the edge of the complex before they fully understood that we meant what we said we’d done. We gave them four minutes to evacuate the rooms first. After the explosion they did begin to talk.’

  ‘Sweetheart, you should explain to her it wasn’t quite as simple as that. If you hadn’t had the Americans behind you, you’d never have got the Brits out.’

  ‘If she wants to hear all that tedious stuff, would I be the man to deny her? Penelope is right, m’dear. Nothing is ever quite as heroic as it looks. Possibly the White House was a little less surprised than Westminster by our tactics. The British colony of Frisland was becoming something of an embarrassment at a time when so clearly the North Atlantic was destined, by those who believe in manifestations of destiny, to become territorial waters. I’m not suggesting that we hadn’t talked to anybody at all. We had no army of our own, so some form of tactical alliance was obviously essential. The point is that we won. A bloodless revolution. I am delighted that we’re able to welcome you to the independent nation of Hy Brasil.’

  I watched Maeve clear the plates and set out summer pudding and a jug of cream on the table. My favourite. Was it my imagination, or did I notice a touch of disapproval in the rigidity of her back as she walked away and shut the door behind her? I felt a totally irrational sense of solidarity, and maybe it was this that emboldened me to clear my throat and speak. ‘The bit I don’t understand, though, is that I keep hearing that John Honeyman was exiled for being a British agent. I heard that he had to leave the country in 1979 and he’s never been heard of since.’

  ‘Poor Honeyman. You’ll have realised by now that he was a man who could quite easily be persuaded. Yes, too easily swayed. Too easily wrought to the point of action. And once he was in, he was in deep. It’s a sad story. From May ’79, you see, British policy in the Atlantic began to harden up again. The Falkland situation didn’t happen out of the blue, whatever the media liked to suggest. No, imperialism may go into remittance from time to time but in my experience it never quite goes away.’

  ‘But I thought Honeyman was a Marxist?’

  ‘Honeyman was a disillusioned man, m’dear. I told you he was a Romantic. He expected more from a revolution than it was able to deliver. Because we’d used him he mistakenly assumed that he had a further claim to power. Certainly he began to make a nuisance of himself almost from the moment of our success. In the late seventies the British opposition was already making plans for after the election, and in Hy Brasil they found our disaffected hero ready to their hand. Typical Honeyman, he went in deep, and shortly afterwards, sadly, an example had to be made.’

  I helped myself to pudding. It reminded me of home, and that made me feel tough. I wasn’t going to give up yet. ‘So what happened to him in ’58, after the revolution?’

  It was Penelope who answered, and I had a feeling she was trying to steer the conversation into a different direction. ‘He went home to Ogg’s Cove, and carried on with his business. It must have been a couple of years later that he married Josie O’Hara. We went to the wedding. It was a happy marriage, as far as anyone outside can ever tell, though I know they were upset about not having any children. And then suddenly after all those years that wheat-headed baby came along, and of course he was the very apple of their eyes. A different kind of child might have been spoiled, I suppose, but he was an independent little chap, and his parents were sensible people. But I do remember how Jack used to take him out fishing in that boat of his when really the child was much too young.’

  We had our coffee in the drawing room. Before that Penelope directed me down a wood-panelled passageway, and I passed one open door before reaching the bathroom at the end. I glanced inside. It was a comfortable-looking den, with a deep armchair, a television set, and book-lined walls. Opposite the doorway, at the desk, there was a lit computer screen. I would never normally have done such a thing; my mother would have been horrified if she could have seen me, but somehow the events of the last day or two had strung me to an unusual pitch, as if I’d almost started to believe I was living in a James Bond film. God knows what I expected to discover, but I took two furtive steps into the room until I was near enough to read the writing on the screen. It was an email message, and it said:

  Hi Pappa,

  Tell Mamma Martha sent L.L.Bean Catalogue snail mail this a.m. Summer schools finish today, thank God. Supposed to leave for Santa Barbara mid-week. Kids have chicken pox, so flight will probably be hell. Not even sure if we can smuggle them aboard in all their pustular glory. Meantime James Jr. threatens to drop out of school, and Tara writes me to say she’s come out as lesbian and is moving in with her friend. Her bank direction, so that I can continue her allowance, arrives in the same mail as their mother’s letter saying why all this is my fault. What possessed me that I’m putting myself through
all this TWICE? No final dates yet on European trip. May fly HB from Frankfurt after Germany conference mid August. Love to Mamma. Brendan.

  I returned to the drawing-room feeling slightly ashamed of myself, and assuaged my conscience by talking to Penelope about the propagation of fruit trees. This led to a lecture from the President about the democratic way to run a cider factory. I was feeling vaguely troubled, and I felt I needed time to think about why. I wondered how Jim had known that I came from a godly household. Surely no one would bother to have a dossier on me? I had an idea I needed to be careful, that in some intangible way the ground was shifting under my feet. It’s very difficult to be careful when you don’t quite know what of. The President asked me about my book. Surely he can’t be worried about that? He said he’d like to read the proofs. Why? Or was he just being polite? Somehow I don’t feel at present that life is very straightforward. Even back here at Ravnscar, the place no longer seems to be quite what it was at first. Lucy had gone to bed when I got in. I wish there were someone in Hy Brasil that I knew well enough to be able to wake them up in the middle of the night. But I don’t know anybody here nearly well enough for that.

  SEVENTEEN

  ON SATURDAY EVENING the offices of The Hesperides Times were almost deserted. Friday night was the climax of the week; the paper was in the shops in St Brandons at opening time on Saturday morning, and across the country by midday. Weekend work was desultory; much of it was coverage of rural events, and so Saturday was a good time to work in the office in peace and quiet.

  In the main office the monitors stood like tombstones in the slatted light of the streetlight shining through half-closed Venetian blinds. A bright light drew the eye onward through the open door into the sub-editor’s office, and within its bright circle two intent figures studied a paragraph of white print on a blue screen. Colombo scrolled slowly to the end, watching the other’s face to see when he was ready to go on reading. Baskerville sat hunched on his stool like a hawk on a dead tree, his famous predatory profile, subject of innumerable Times cartoons, highlighted against the dark wings of his stooped shoulders in the black pinstriped jacket he’d been wearing for the past forty years. He was frowning, but that meant nothing. Baskerville usually frowned. Colombo took his forefinger off the cursor, and waited patiently for the verdict, while he re-read his own words. A pithy piece of work: he was pleased with it. His contact in the Finance Department had provided him sub rosa with some rather interesting statistics that seemed to contradict the official breakdown of the GNP for 1996–7. Tidesman, without making any overt statement, had achieved, Colombo thought, just the right note of ironic ambiguity.

  ‘Tidesman,’ said Baskerville eventually, ‘should not be young.’

  ‘You expect him to do something about his age, sir?’

  The old man slewed round on his stool, and looked Colombo in the eyes. Colombo met his gaze squarely. ‘You asked my opinion, MacAdam, and you’re getting it. You need to remember that Tidesman is a hundred and twenty years old. He’s learned discretion. Treat him with respect. Tidesman knows a lot more than he tells. That’s his secret. A young fellow like you, you’re too impatient. You’re asking him to say too much.’

  ‘You think he should read like the Delphic oracle?’

  ‘The Delphic oracle was a demented virgin. We don’t have room for that kind of exploitation nowadays. Nothing inspired, nothing cryptic. Isn’t that your style, MacAdam? You’re not attempting the oracular?’

  ‘No. And since I’m neither demented nor virgin, possibly that’s just as well.’

  Baskerville’s laugh cracked out like a whip. Colombo was used to it and didn’t flinch, but he flushed when Baskerville said, ‘Crossed in love but not without consolation, eh? Don’t let them get you down, MacAdam. Oh yes, Tidesman’s an old man. He knows the most unexpected things. Don’t underestimate him. That’s your trouble, you’re not letting him speak for himself.’ Baskerville dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. ‘He has his own voice. That’s the problem with your generation. They’ve not been taught to listen. You have to learn to wait on him and see what he tells you.’

  ‘I’m a reporter with a job to do,’ said Colombo. ‘Not an altar boy in an esoteric mystery ritual.’

  ‘It’s a pity,’ replied Baskerville. ‘The Kings would have you. No denominational prejudice there. You wouldn’t reconsider?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Of course,’ remarked Baskerville. ‘You speak in ignorance, since you choose to know nothing about it. But then you’re a Papist, and so is Francis Morgan’s daughter. Possibly you’re well suited, for a more iconoclastic pair it would be hard to find. But she won’t have you, and you won’t force her because these days it’s not considered a viable method of operation. Just as well for you, MacAdam; that house has no luck. So there we are: you approach Tidesman with unprecedented arrogance, and Morgan’s daughter has sent our treasure out of Hy Brasil, and you condone the act.’

  ‘No. I’ve told you before I think she was wrong. The treasure didn’t belong to the Morgan family; it belonged to Hy Brasil. It was an arrogant act, if we’re speaking of arrogance, to give it away.’

  ‘Curiously enough that’s exactly what Tidesman said about it.’

  ‘I remember that he did. I wasn’t in his confidence then, but on that occasion I agreed with him wholeheartedly.’

  ‘Ah, now this is better. If you always approach him with respect, the way you’re doing now, his voice will sound more clearly.’ Baskerville shifted painfully and turned to the screen again. ‘And what does Tidesman know of profiteering? Tidesman works with our government and not against it. That’s why he’s still here.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want him to keep silent if government were wrong?’

  ‘Or if MacAdam thinks it wrong? MacAdam should be very sure of his facts if he values his position.’

  ‘I think I’m careful enough,’ Colombo gazed at the screen. ‘There’s no connection between me and Lucy Morgan, you know. I don’t know who told you that there was.’

  ‘No, none,’ agreed Baskerville cordially. ‘I know that. I’ll tell you one thing I ought not, and that’s very unusual for me. But you’re a promising young man, though much too obstinate, and I wouldn’t want to see you come to grief. It’s this: Nicholas Hawkins was initiated, a sennight before he was killed, in the secret chamber under Ravnscar. You know what that means?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it and I don’t want to. And Nicky’s death was an accident. It was no one’s fault.’

  ‘So MacAdam is to be judge of that too?’ Baskerville laid a claw-like hand on Colombo’s knee. ‘I’m warning you for your own good, young man. Keep away from Ravnscar. It’s an unlucky house.’

  ‘It’s not my house. I don’t know why you’re warning me.’

  ‘I do so because you may be getting into deep water, meddling in too many matters that don’t concern you. Don’t think I don’t know why you asked my opinion tonight. You think all this is a game, young man, but it isn’t. If I cared to say what I know, it wouldn’t be your work at stake. It might possibly be your life.’

  ‘Is that a threat, sir?’

  ‘No, as a matter of fact it’s not. I ask you to respect Tidesman, because I’ve a fondness for him. I say keep clear of Ravnscar, if you don’t want to tangle with the Kings. There are those who may be under oath to avenge a brother. But I won’t give you away, even if I do know where you’re going tonight. I won’t talk to the President about you, so long as we have Tidesman in common. And that’s in your hands, MacAdam, if you can keep it there. So take care! That’s all I have to say: take care!’

  ‘Ssh!’ said Colombo. ‘There’s someone coming up the stairs. Do you want me to print this out? I don’t want it on screen if we’ve got company.’

  ‘I’ll see it in print soon enough. Modified, if you take my advice.’

  A voice was already calling out from the main office, and it accompanied its owner without ceasing into the room. ‘Colombo?
Colombo? Ah good, this is fortunate. I had hoped to find you here. Ah, Fernando, well, well, long time no see. I can only spare you a few minutes just now, I’m afraid, but we’ll meet at the Mayda Trust meeting next Tuesday. I’ve been putting together some new proposals. You’re going to find them extraordinarily stimulating. Colombo, this is the latest Pele Centre press release. You’ll want to make it a major headline, of course, after the unusual amount of seismic activity we’ve had this month. The tables of figures are the measurements of magma movement underground given from the two installations on the southern flank of Mount Brasil. You’ll want to print them in full. The text gives a further breakdown of the figures relating to the two seismic events recorded earlier this month, and consequent predictions of further volcanic activity. You won’t need to change anything. It can go in just as it is, on the front page. And I’ve included a photograph of myself. You won’t need to bother about getting a new one. I know how busy you must be.’

  ‘I’m not the editor. I’ll leave it on his desk for you.’

  ‘West!’ barked Baskerville.

  ‘Yes, indeed. If you want to read my proposals in advance …’

  ‘I hear you’ve sustained a robbery.’

  ‘A robbery!’ Olly West stared at him. ‘I hardly think so. As you know my house is never locked, but mother doesn’t go out. No, no, you’ve been misinformed, my dear Fernando. I haven’t been robbed.’

  ‘I’m talking about your office.’

  ‘My office? With the new burglar-alarm system? No, no, I’m glad to say it’s not possible. I’ve just had it fixed. The company were appallingly inefficient, selling me the wrong components and then trying to cover up their own mistakes. I was on the phone to them every day, and in the end it took months to get it working properly. But it’s installed now and in full working order. I had the police in Ogg’s Cove busy checking it all last Sunday afternoon. No one could break in. Of course we have all sorts of expensive equipment in there …’