by D C Macey
‘So, I’ve to just sit and twiddle my fingers while you’re off doing heaven knows what.’
‘Bluntly, yes. I know you’re mobile, more than you ought to be, but the Isle of May in winter is tough. With this weather, I doubt you’d even manage to get out of the RIB, much less get about the island. Anyway, let’s be clear, this is your show. You need to be here at the centre ready to respond if anything goes wrong. It’s no good us both being isolated on a small storm-locked island.’
Helen tutted and took a mouthful of rosé. She put the empty glass on the table. ‘See what you’re doing to me, Sam Cameron - driving me to drink!’
Xavier arched his eyebrow, tilted his head slightly to look Helen in the eye and smiled at her indulgently. ‘I think Sam is not the cause here, no?’ He picked up the wine bottle and refilled her glass.
‘Thanks. I know it’s not Sam’s fault. It’s just so frustrating to be an invalid, Xavier. So frustrating.’ She lifted the glass and cradled it in her hands.
‘My friend, I think you should not travel alone. Like Helen, I cannot manage such an expedition, but please take Angelo. He is strong and more than capable. I will stay here with Helen. If, as we think, you uncover some of our Church’s most holy relics then there must be a priest on hand for validation and to ensure the proper care is taken.’
Sam was about to object but stopped himself. Angelo was indeed fit and capable, and Sam knew him to be courageous. ‘That’s good of you, Xavier, thank you.’ Sam leant round Xavier. ‘If you’re up for it, Angelo?’
Angelo’s nod and confident grin combined to assure Sam he was making a sound choice. ‘That’s settled then. Thank you. Now there’s one thing left to do. I need to work out what the four oval medallions from box number two tell us. I’ve got a good idea. If you’ll all excuse me, this is one where some peace and quiet is called for.’
Xavier raised a restraining hand. ‘Sam, before you go, please, another point I don’t understand. How can a glass sheet contain a message of the Templars when its box was made hundreds of years before they existed?’
‘Good point, Xavier. I wondered about that. I think the boxes were used differently. Probably the original use of the boxes involved painting or waxing a message directly onto the glass. Shatter the glass and the message is gone. To reuse the box, just wash away the former message.
‘I’m thinking that the Templars either ground their required indents into the original glass or just replaced that original glass with fresh sheets.’
Xavier half raised a hand in acknowledgement as Sam stood and took the second box and four medallions.
• • •
Cassiter stepped out of the car and crossed to the harbour side. The working day was not over but northern darkness had already settled. The enclosed waters of the little haven shimmered golden under the harbourside lights, complimented from one corner by the floodlight of a small shrimper whose owner busied himself prepping for the next trip out.
A man emerged from a nearby van and hurried over to join Cassiter.
‘It’s over there,’ said the man, nodding discreetly towards a RIB that bobbed gently as it strained between its mooring line and the pull of the ebbing tide. ‘He put it into the water after lunch and spent some time working on it before driving off to his office in Granton. I don’t know what he did there.’
Cassiter looked out across the harbour towards the sturdy RIB.
‘It’s a nice one,’ said the man.
‘Okay, once that fisherman leaves and the harbour is quiet, I want you to fix a tracker on it. Be sure to check back to base to ensure it’s working properly. Then standby here. We have a vessel coming up from the south. It won’t get into the Forth until the day after tomorrow. Meanwhile, I want to know as soon as there’s any action brewing. Be careful; for the time being, we must not intervene. I just need to know what they are doing.’
Cassiter turned and walked back to his car, satisfied he had a clear understanding of what was happening, and there was nothing more he could do. The high tide was going to be just after seven the next morning. Cameron would want to move around then.
• • •
A tapping sound on the study door had Sam lift his head as Helen entered, wine in hand.
‘How’s it going?’ she said.
‘I think we’re making progress. Come see.’
Helen stood next to the desk. She rested a hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently. ‘Are you sure going out there tomorrow is a good idea?’
‘I’ve checked the weather. The wind will be dropping a bit overnight, and with Bill at the helm, I’d be pretty confident anywhere. He knows his stuff.’
‘So you said earlier. He’s another one of the mysteries from your past.’
‘No mystery. Bill’s ex-SBS, Special Boat Service. That’s the webbed feet version of the SAS. If it weren’t for him, I’d never have got out of Bristol last year. I can trust him completely.’
‘I sometimes wish just one of your old buddies was a chess player.’
‘You know, I’ve probably got one somewhere. But right now, Bill’s the man, trust me.’
‘I do, Sam, I do. Now, where have you got too?’ She put her glass on the desk and pulled a chair close.
Sam arranged the four medallions on the desk. ‘These are the approximate positions they occupy when placed in the glass. See, together these three form a shape a bit like a beech leaf.’
‘Or a bay leaf maybe?’
‘Perhaps. Certainly a slender ovoid, a very rough ovoid, with some jaggy edges.’
‘Holly even. What does it mean?’
Sam turned the computer screen so Helen could see. ‘Look here. It came to me after a little while. We know this is all leading us to the Isle of May. What shape is the island? It’s long and slim, a bit like a leaf. There are plenty of pictures and maps of the island but only one or two with a decent range of its features or geographical names. See, there’s Altarstanes, in modern English you might call that Altar Stones, and there’s Pilgrim’s Haven.’
‘Okay, where do these take us?’
‘Remember, Pete told us that Pilgrim’s Haven was an old pre-power boat landing place. Beaching on the shingle.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m thinking three of the four medallions combine together to form the rough shape of the island. The shape could never be formed exactly - back then they didn’t have modern-day plotting devices or bird’s-eye views. Now, look carefully at the bottom medallion of the three. Down here, at what would be our south end of the island … see the medallion’s pattern around the edge and look closely at that tiny mark. It’s actually a Templar cross.’ He passed his pocket magnifying glass over the medallion, so she could see clearly.
‘It marks the indent on the map where Pilgrim’s Haven is!’ said Helen.
‘Exactly my thought. I really can’t tell what these other patterning elements represent until I’m there. But I think we need to start off at Pilgrim’s Haven.’
‘What about the fourth medallion?’
‘I don’t know yet. It must have a purpose; there’s a place for it in the glass adjacent to the southern end of the island, beside Pilgrim’s Haven. But it seems to be placed separately from the other three that form the island’s shape. Right now, its engraving just seems to be a series of lines. But see here … it has a tiny Templar cross to one side and another here too. Perhaps they link with the other little cross marked at the spot that may represent Pilgrim’s Haven. We just don’t know yet.’
‘Another one for field research then?’
Sam nodded. ‘Yes, we’ll be quick though. I need to get there, sort it and be off the island before any of the heritage people are ferried out or Cassiter shows up. I’m guessing that will be Monday at the latest, so at best, we’ve got the weekend to wrap this up.’
20
Friday, January 24th - a.m.
Pete Summers stood on the harbourside breakwater, his face writ with a raft of anxieties. He worried
for the wellbeing of his friends, had concerns over the safety of his RIB and was as uncomfortable as ever with having to meet yet more new people.
Sam wrapped an arm round Pete’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry; we’ll take care of her.’
In spite of a nod of acknowledgement, Pete was far from reassured. In the water beneath them, Bill was at the helm and had the RIB nuzzling gently against the harbour side, close beside a column of iron rungs set into the stonework. He was large-framed and unshaven with a long, grey-streaked ponytail flowing from beneath his woolly hat to trail down his back. To any uninformed observer, Bill was just an earring short of a pirate.
Angelo embraced Xavier and Francis then climbed down and stood on the deck waiting for Sam to load their kit.
Having lowered rucksacks and tool bags, Sam let the line drop into the RIB. He shook Pete’s hand. ‘Thank you, Pete. You’ve been a great help. I’ll keep in touch.’ He let go of Pete’s hand, bid farewell to Xavier and Francis before turning to Helen. They exchanged hugs and kissed briefly.
‘You be careful out there,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be back almost before you know we’re gone. I’d be more concerned about you right now. Why not give Brogan a call. He’s sympathetic and, one way or another, things are coming to a head now. Any protection would be useful.’
‘I’ll see how things play out. Maybe call later today.’
‘Do that. Now, I have to go,’ he said as a slightly impatient revving of the engine reached up to them from the water below. A final hug and kiss, then Sam clambered down the iron rungs into the RIB. Even as he steadied himself and looked up, Bill had the RIB underway. First a gentle manoeuvre, lining up on the little harbour’s mouth, then he opened up, firing the RIB ahead, out into the still black of pre-dawn open water.
A van parked on the quayside at the end of the breakwater betrayed no sign of life to Helen, Pete and the two priests as they passed by. Inside, an observer made an urgent phone call to his boss. The game was on.
• • •
Nearly an hour had passed. The sun had risen above the horizon to light another grey day. The journey north across the firth had been uneventful though uncomfortable. Fortunately, the wind had dropped overnight and the waves had followed it down, but a persistent swell that had built over several days continued to roll in from the northeast.
‘Let’s do a circuit of the island,’ said Sam.
Bill nodded and altered course slightly to allow them to run north along the island’s western edge. As they moved into the protective lee of the island, the rolling swell vanished, and the endless motion dropped. The going was suddenly much easier.
A rugged expanse of low-lying rocks provided a protective fringe to the southern tip of the island. They pushed on and the coastline quickly rose, becoming sheer black cliffs.
The island’s rock was ancient volcanic stone, hard and durable. Nonetheless, the efforts of the seas had, over thousands of years, punched through lines of weakness to create a wicked and unwelcoming spectacle for seafarers, inaccessible sea caves and jagged, arched recesses punctuated the unforgiving façade.
‘I don’t fancy this shoreline much,’ said Bill.
Sam pulled out a clear plastic bag containing a chart featuring the island and showed it to him.
‘I know it’s pretty inhospitable, but there are a couple of spots that might work. I’m reckoning that just beyond that next outcrop we should see Pilgrim’s Haven. That was the traditional landing spot in previous generations. We could nudge in a bit and have a look as we pass. What do you think?’
‘No problem.’ Bill turned the helm slightly to starboard and had the RIB edging in. As they moved ahead, Pilgrim’s Haven came into sight.
The haven was a narrow inlet ending in a shingle beach. Bill guessed the inlet might be little more than a hundred paces wide and narrowed to twenty or so at the shingle beach. Set well back in a recess between high cliffs, the beach was completely sheltered from the eastern weather, but any wind blowing down the Forth from the west would make for a hazardous landing.
Bill did not go right into the cove. Attempting to beach and missing the little line of shingle would almost certainly have fatal consequences, ending the expedition before it had properly begun. They would make a decision on where to berth once the options had been appraised. He turned the RIB’s head and continued on round the island.
‘Look up there … it’s the lighthouse,’ said Sam. Pointing across the rocky skyline to where the dull grey-brown stone of the island’s main building appeared briefly in a break in the cliffs, Bill kept them moving on.
• • •
‘Patch it through,’ said Cassiter. He kept the line open and began selecting a feed on his computer.
‘What is it?’ said Parsol, driving his wheelchair across the floor of the hotel suite to join Cassiter.
‘We’ve got a visual. Here it comes now. See.’ He pointed at the computer screen.
‘What’s this?’
‘The North Berwick Seabird Centre has live camera feeds from the Isle of May, focusing on certain spots. My team in Paris have taken control of the cameras. They’re monitoring Cameron’s progress wherever possible.’
‘Good, your tracking device already confirmed where he was heading. But I like pictures. They can be very informative. Who are the two men with him?’
‘Near the bow is one of the Sardinian priests, the younger one. There’s Cameron, and I don’t yet know who the third man is.’
‘Find out what you can.’
‘We’re already on it. Nothing yet. He’s a bit of a mystery, just appeared for the first time at the harbour this morning.’
‘Well, keep on it. I don’t want any surprises. How’s my yacht doing?’
‘En route. It will reach the Forth tomorrow morning. Then I’ll join it at once with a team and get out to the island.’
‘Okay. I would have liked my son to travel in your party. He should be there to represent me, but he has other business to deal with. I am not happy that I cannot come.’
Cassiter knew what Eugene Jr’s role was to be and understood the older man’s frustration at not being able to lead on this final leg of their quest.
‘I know but landing on the island can be tricky, all but impossible in your circumstances, if the weather is bad.’
Parsol moved his chair to look out of the window. ‘It does not seem so bad today.’
‘No, but the forecast is bad again. Best stick with our original plan. Come out by helicopter, once we have secured the site.’
‘Agreed. But you must make sure Cameron is still alive then, I want to see his end, personally. Then we can go on to deal with the Johnson girl, together.’
Cassiter smiled. Most of his killings were dispassionate. Who the victim was did not matter to him, although their suffering was always a pleasure. But in Helen Johnson’s case, there was history; her killing mattered to him. It mattered to him a lot.
• • •
They had devoted much of the morning to doing a double circuit of the island, making sure every possible feature was appreciated before landing. Other than two or three little inlets, it was as unwelcoming a shore as could be imagined. Where the sheer cliffs and crags did drop away, ranges of coastal rock filled the sea to form an impenetrable barrier.
‘You see the line of sea-level rocks ahead?’ said Sam.
Bill looked to where Sam was pointing. ‘Yes, I see. It was immediately behind them that we saw the sheltered channel, first time around. You said it led into Kirkhaven. Fancy giving it a go?’
‘Yes, I reckon it’s our best bet for landing today. It’s got a proper little concrete jetty, and the rocks create a lee for the channel.’ Sam thrust the plastic-wrapped chart under Bill’s nose.
‘Looks good to me too. Let’s line it up and go see.’
Bill turned the RIB hard to starboard and eased back on the engines as he assessed the little channel ahead. It was a tight opening and seem
ed to get narrower further in. The power of the sea broke against the great beds of sea-level rock to either side, allowing a relatively clear run-in for a powered craft.
‘What do you think?’ said Sam.
‘No problem; we’ll give it a go.’ Bill pushed the engine a little harder, and the RIB moved steadily ahead. Slipping into the channel formed between the two rock beds, the RIB moved into protected waters. Two grey seals had pulled themselves out onto the rocks, and they watched the RIB go by. A little beyond, another seal’s head bobbed up, and it watched the passers-by too.
Sam jumped off the RIB onto the cement jetty, pulling a bow line with him. He tied it to a steel cleat to secure the RIB then went to help Angelo unload the kit. Three rucksacks, two tool bags.
Bill hopped up onto the jetty and bent to check Sam’s bow line was secure. He had the loose end of a second line in his hand and stepped ahead, securing it to a further set of cleats. Straightening, he assessed the RIB, watching as the now ebbing tide had it straining gently against the two bow lines. He peered into the water beneath then looked back to Sam with a grin.
‘She’s safe enough here, it’ll do nicely. Another hour or so and she’ll ground on the sand as the tide goes out. That’ll be fine, but I’m reckoning we won’t be able to float her again until the middle of the afternoon.’ He stepped along the jetty and secured a stern line, allowing just enough slack so the RIB could settle evenly on the sandy bottom.
‘Okay, we’ve got to survey the island first, so I don’t think we’ll need the RIB for a while,’ said Sam.
‘Fine, you’re the boss. Where to now?’ said Bill.
‘Step one, let’s get our kit under cover in case the weather turns again. Look, the visitor centre’s only about four hundred paces north. See, over there, up the slope. We’ll take everything there now, collect our thoughts and then get on.’
The three men each shouldered their own bag and, between them, shared the burden of the tool kits on their journey up the track that rose quickly away from the sea. At some point in the past, the track had been surfaced with tarmac but time and steady use had worn away much of the original top layer. Now they walked on a rough and rutted surface of broken stone. The island was devoid of trees. The year-round winds and thin earth prevented any from gaining a hold.
