They watched as she sat down with the two soldiers.
"Ah, that's what they were waiting for," thought Gus.
***
"You don't mind," said the young woman, and sat down opposite the two men. She yanked a clip out of her and ran her fingers through it, making it stand up like an out-of-control Afro. She said nothing else until Maura Dilby had set a mug in front of her, and filled it with coffee. When Maura moved away, she leaned forward. "Morning, boys," she said softly. "I'm Peri. Did Tommy let you know I was on my way?"
They glanced at each, and then the one she judged was a little older, and probably senior, said, equally softly, "I feel we should saying things like, 'The geese fly south for the winter'. You know. Some kind of password?"
"How about 'buckthorn red'?"
"That's a start," he said. "We were told you were on your way last night."
"Jet lag," she tersely. "I was on my way last night, but I had to stop."
The other man snorted. "Jet lag, from London to Wales? What's the time difference, then?"
She held out her wrist, where her watch read 4:20. "That's home time," she said. The two laughed. "OK, twenty-four hours ago I was hauled out of bed in the middle of the fucking night in New York, given a quick briefing, a new job, and shoved on a plane to London with a pile of buckthorn homework so I could come here and put up with your so-called wit. I'm shagged out, irritated, disgruntled, out of my depth, fucking annoyed that they gave away my room, irritated, and if that wasn't bad enough I've broken a fucking nail."
"You said 'irritated' twice."
"I'm twice as irritated. And I can't stand fucking smart-arses who count things. Right?"
The older of the two grinned broadly. "I think you've established your identity. Tommy said to expect a mad woman with crazy hair and a tongue that could strip wallpaper."
"You got me on a good day. And what do you mean by 'crazy hair'? That Tommy - he's nothing but a gangrenous haemorrhoid in the slimy, stinking arse-crack of the fucking universe. He'll be sorry, believe me."
"Whew! How much coffee have you had?"
"Not nearly enough. Right. You know who I am, I'm crazy hair woman, also known as Peri Carlton. Who are you?"
"I'm Steve Taylor, and he's Troy Marks."
"Not 'Tempest'? And doesn't that make your sidekick 'Phones'?"
Troy groaned. Steve said, "Hang on, isn't it obvious? He's the sidekick."
Peri grinned. "Were your parents big fans of 'Stingray' then?"
"Nope. Shakespeare. It's short for Troilus. But it could have been worse!"
She laughed. "It certainly could. I bet you're glad it wasn't Pandarus,"
He laughed in turn. "You know the play, then. I think Thersites would have been worse."
"Listen, I can sympathise with the problems of growing up with an exotic name. Children can be right little bastards, can't they?" She pulled her passport out of her bag and handed it across to Troy. His eyes widened.
"Bloody hell, what were your parents thinking?"
"Don't say it out loud," she said quickly.
"My lips are sealed, ma'am."
She turned to Steve. "So. 'Steve' is it? Don't you feel odd having such a mundane name?"
"It might be short for something unbelievably strange. Tell you what, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
She waggled her eyebrows and teasingly started to lift the hem of her tee shirt. She let it drop and stuck out her tongue at him.
"Very elegant," Steve said, laughing.
"What can I say? I'm a linguist."
"But are you a cunning one?"
"Enough of this," said Peri. "What's new?"
"Ah, Okay," said Steve. "Nothing much. We've been watching the comings and goings. Quite honestly, Tommy wasn't sure what was going on, so his advice was to wait for you to brief us."
Peri noted that they now had the room to themselves. She sighed. "Guys, I'm an observer from the United Nations, that's all. Tommy is your event manager."
"Really," Steve looked shocked. "I thought you were …" He looked round and dropped his voice to a whisper. "- one of Tommy's people. You know, London North."
Peri leaned in and lowered her voice too. "Between you and me, I'm not with North, I'm not with South. I'm with West. I'm an analyst stroke translator. I don't do field work. And honest, no kidding, I was asked to check out Chen's death on behalf of the UN."
"Well, me and Troy, we're just guns and muscles. Tommy said you're here to do the thinking."
"Then we're fucked. And I don't buy that. I've worked with Hereford people before, I know that's not true."
"Hereford?" Troy looked offended. "Have you seen that big greyish bluish thing out there? That's called the sea, that is. Hereford don't like getting their feet wet."
"All right, I've worked with Poole people, yadda, yadda."
"So, boss," said Steve. "What do we do?"
Peri sighed with more than a hint of irritation. "What do we know about what happened to Chen? That's what us what do the thinking call a rhetorical question, by the way. The answer is that we know close to the square root of sod all. So what would a guns and muscles specialist do to improve our knowledge?"
The looked at her, expectantly.
"That wasn't rhetorical."
"Oh, right," said Troy. "Well, go and look, obviously."
"Obviously," said Peri, dryly. "So, first order of business is reconnaissance. When do we get a ferry?"
"Ah," Steve said. "That's a more difficult question than you know. Let me see, it must be close to slack water now, and we need a bit of a tidal flow, so I think we need to wait..."
"Fuck! Do I need to know the phases of the bloody moon to get on a boat?" snapped Peri. "What is this fucking ferry - pre-menstrual?"
"...half an hour," Steve finished. "We can get kitted out …" He made a finger gun and mimed shooting. "… and stroll across to the get the ferry."
"So you boys have weapons handy, besides your devastating wit, I mean."
"We not only have guns, we also have muscles," said Troy with a suggestive leer.
Peri stood. "I'm going to ignore that one," she said. "Right. I'm popping down to see the village bobby. I'll meet you by the ferry in half an hour, fully kitted out with my deadly bad temper, and god help anything that gets in my way." She put her shoulder bag on the table. "Put that in your secure storage. If it gets lost then I get shat on from on high, and we all know which way shit flows. Right. I'm off." She waved her hand roughly southward as she spoke, then noticed that both men were pointing in the opposite direction. "I knew that," she grumbled, and headed out the door.
***
Arwensmouth had a tiny police station, normally manned only during the tourist season, but it was hosting the official police investigation into Chen's death. It was down by the little harbour, and difficult to miss with a marked police car sitting outside. She walked into a tiny, empty reception area. Seeing no-one behind the counter she simply shouted, "Shop!" at the top of her voice. After a minute or so, she heard a toilet flush, and a uniformed constable emerged from a door to her left.
"Good morning, madam," he said. "How may I be of assistance?"
"Morning," she answered. "I'm Peri Carlton, from the UN. I wanted to talk to the lead investigator about my colleague, Mr Chen."
"Ah, Mr Chen, is it. Well, madam, may I offer condolences over your loss."
"Thank you."
"And I regret to say that my colleagues are over the water at the moment," he said with a gesture in the direction of Anifail.
"Do you know when they are expected back?"
"Ah." He scratched his right ear. "Truth to tell, no, I'm not sure. They went over first thing, see, just to clear up the scene, and I did think they'd be back before slack water. But they're still over there."
"They're clearing up? Have they finished, then?"
"Pretty much, madam. We picked up all the forensics we could at the scene, and the circumstances look clear cut, see. We
're due back in Colwyn today."
"Can you tell me what conclusions you've come to?"
Again, he scratched his ear. "Well, I'm not sure. You're from the UN, you said. Well, Mr Chen being Chinese, see, we've been asked to keep it between us, and London, and that's all." He screwed up his face in thought. "But I don't see that it'll do any harm, like, you being a colleague.
"We searched the river banks and the seashore both ways, and all round the island. We identified the spot where he went into the water, see. He dropped down the cliff, and when the tide came in it floated him off and round to where we found him. His rucksack was on the cliff path on the island, and a climbing rope was tied off to the fence right by it. The evidence says he went down the cliff, like, and fell off."
"He was alone?"
"No other fresh footprints but his by the cliff edge. The rest is up to the Coroner, but we reckon it was an accident. I mean, it wasn't deliberate. Not suicide."
"Yes, I see, if he intended suicide, why go down part way on a rope, I suppose."
"That's right, madam."
Peri, nodded and was about to turn away, when a thought struck her. "I understand there was a climbing accident a few weeks ago?" she asked.
The constable nodded back. "That is true, madam. Happily, there was just one minor injury, a young lady who had been climbing the cliff."
"What happened?"
"The cliff face just crumbled away and fell off," he answered, and looked thoughtful. "I've been thinking Mr Chen was looking at where the cliff broke away. It's possible the same thing happened to him, you see, the cliff crumbled and he lost his hold."
"Thank you, officer. That's very helpful. Well, I suppose I'll probably see your colleagues on the island when I get over there."
"Indeed, madam. Take care now."
***
Though only fifteen minutes had elapsed, she saw that Steve and Troy were waiting by the ferry ramp.
"Did you get what you wanted from the police?" asked Steve.
"Yes, there was a constable in there, and he brought me up to date." Peri quickly summarised the conversation. She saw both men were frowning. "What's up?"
Steve gestured toward the island. "We've seen no signs of people moving over there. That's odd, I think. And I'm a little concerned that the cops crossed over at the crack of dawn and didn't come back when their man expected them."
"Hm. Well, we need to keep an eye out for them. Did you pick up your things?" She mimed a pistol shot.
"Yep. We brought along my good friends, Mr Sig and Mr Sauer." He held his jacket open to let her see the butt of a small pistol.
"Hm. Tiny. Sure it isn't Sweet and Sauer? Looks like a toy to me," she said, and looking at Troy, she asked, "Is yours that small as well?"
"I've never had a complaint," said Steve.
"It's not the size that matters," contributed Troy.
"Yeah, yeah, I've lost count of the number of times a guy has told me size doesn't matter," Peri grinned. "Usually when they're trying to convince themselves of … something." She nodded towards the ferry. "Shall we board?"
They walked up the ramp and onto the ferry. A man was leaning into the little cabin at the front of the boat, talking to someone inside. He looked round when he heard their footsteps. "Morning!" he called out.
"Morning," Peri answered. "Three of us to cross over. How much will that be?"
The man shook he head, and said, "No charge for pedestrians, my dear. Only vehicles." He gave a box labelled 'Tips' a significant look.
"Really? Oh, thanks very much," replied Peri. "How does the ferry stay in business if there's no charge? There can't be a lot of road traffic going over there."
"Council subsidies," he explained. "The running costs aren't much, see, and it's cheaper than putting in a bridge. We'll be off in a minute." He leaned into the cabin. "If you'll permit, Gus, I'll need in there now."
"Of course, Bill," was the reply, and the white-bearded old man she had seen having breakfast stepped out, with his very large dog at his heels. He smiled at Peri and her companions. "Good morning, folks," he called out. "I'm Gus. Nice to meet you."
"Peri," she replied automatically, her eyes fixed on those of the dog, which was staring at her intently, almost hypnotically. Then she shook her head and glanced to one side, lowering her voice. "Steve, is it a good idea to have civilians crossing over?"
"Not until we've looked the place over," he replied. "But do you have the authority to stop him? Because we don't."
Meantime, Bill had released the chains that secured the ferry, and was making his way back to the cabin.
A voice called out, "Wait! Wait, please!"
Peri looked round at the loading ramp. She saw a red-haired woman running for the ferry She was about Peri's own height, wearing a white knee-length top over a white tee-shirt, and dark slacks. She was out of breath and a little red in the face, having run from the parking area.
Bill flipped a chain over a bollard with the expertise of long practice. "Step aboard, my dear, you've just made it." He held out a hand and helped the woman as she jumped aboard.
"Thank you," she said, breathlessly, and slumped against the railing around the ferry's deck. She looked around, and saw the other passengers. "Sorry if I'm holding you up. I can't make head nor tail of the timetable, so I've no idea when I'd get across if I missed this sailing."
"It is no problem at all," said Gus. He looked round at the others. "That's right, isn't it? None of us is that much of a hurry?"
Peri frowned, and murmured, "Another civilian. What do we do, Steve?"
"We can try to keep her with us, just in case," he murmured back.
Meantime, Gus was saying, "I am Gus, by the way, and my friend here , he is Tash." He patted the dog.
The woman smiled. "I'm Amanda. Amanda Booker-Smart. Your dog's name sounds a little, er, feminine for a boy dog. May I pet him?"
Gus grinned at her. "Of course, my dear lady, of course. He won't bite you." In a stage whisper, he added, "Just don't let him know you think his name is a little bit girlie. He doesn't realise it, you see."
Amanda was busy tickling the dog's ears and rubbing his chest. "Do you live here, Gus, or just visiting?"
"Visiting," he answered. "And you?"
"Oh, it's work I'm afraid. I'm meeting some archaeologists who crossed over yesterday."
"How interesting," said Gus. "And what do you do?"
"I'm a documentary film-maker," said Amanda. My company is financing them. I specialise is historical documentaries, and I'm hoping to get a nice feature out of this, solving a bit of a mystery dating back to Roman days."
"A mystery? Oh, Amanda, I love a good mystery! What is it, an unsolved crime of some kind?"
Amanda laughed. "No, not that kind of mystery, I'm afraid. My colleagues came across some tantalising clues about a Roman military operation in this area, that seems to have been hushed up by the Romans. We've been surveying and digging up and down the Arwen valley, and it turns out that all the clues point here. Whatever the Romans were up to, it appears their operation reached its conclusion here, and we expect to find something buried under the island that will solve the mystery of why they tried to conceal it."
Peri listened to the conversation with growing unease. "Did you say your colleagues have been digging here, on the island? When did this start?"
"Yes," replied Amanda. "Well, they won't be digging yet, they only just arrived. But they're investigating the site of an old chapel, then they'll need to get the landowner's consent, and then they'll get down to digging."
Steve moved closer. "Where is this chapel?" he asked.
"Roughly in the middle, actually a bit north of centre. Do you know the island, Mr…?"
"Steve. Call me Steve. This is Peri, and that's Troy. This is my first visit." He gestured with one hand towards the island. "And I must say, the weather looks like it's deteriorating fast. You might be best going back to Arwensmouth until it clears a bit. You too, Gus. What do you th
ink?"
Sure enough, the island shore looked hazy, the land beyond seemed misty, and further up the slope a fog was gathering.
Amanda replied first. "Good heavens no. A bit of damp never hurt anyone! It's not far to my team's camp site, and if I have to shelter in their van, well, it's a chance to look over their latest footage while we wait out the weather."
Gus grinned, and asked, "What about you, Steve? Are you planning to turn back?"
Steve answered with a non-committal shrug. There was an awkward silence. Then Peri spoke up. "Well, I don't want to turn back, but on the other hand, if the visibility gets worse, someone could easily trip and injure themselves out here. I think it would be prudent not to wander the island alone. We'll be going in the same direction as you, and I'd be quite happy for us all to stick together for the time being."
Amanda smiled. "Well, I'd be happy with a bit of company as far as the dig site. What about you, Gus?"
Gus simply smiled broadly, displaying perfect white teeth surrounded by his snow-white beard. He pulled his shoulder length white hair back into a pony tail and secured it with an elastic band.
"Okay, nearly there, folks," called Troy from the front of the boat.
Chapter 20
Anifail Island, North Wales, May 29 last year
The ferry bumped against the pier and the boatman tossed chains one by one over bollards to secure it. He let down the boarding ramp so that his passengers could disembark onto the island.
"It looks like we have three choices," said Peri. "Left, right and straight ahead. The road straight ahead should take us closest to your dig site, Amanda, and is the quickest route to the north cliffs. Which way were you going, Gus?"
The bearded man smiled broadly, and said, "I'm happy to go straight ahead, Peri."
"Me too," said Amanda. "My party should be no more than ten minutes up the road."
"Yes," Steve agreed. "If we're going to take a good look at the top of cliffs where Chen died, that's the best course."
"Chen?" asked Amanda. "Who's that?"
"A colleague of mine," said Peri. "It seems he fell from the cliffs."
Island of Fog and Death: A sci-fi horror adventure Page 14
