The Fifth Man (Ben Sign Book 2)

by Matthew Dunn

  She breathed deeply. “I don’t know anything more than you know. That bloody Argie spy ship has been nipping at the islands’ ankles for a couple of months. It annoyed everyone here, though didn’t cause us any harm. But it was like, you know, an insult to us. Eddie in particular hated it being in his fishing waters. I could see he was getting more and more angry with it being here.”

  “How often did you see Eddie?”

  “At least once a week. My husband passed away two years ago. Eddie came here to check on me and do work around the house if needed.”

  “So, you were gifted with a good barometer for his temperature?”

  “What?”

  “You could tell his mood.”

  “Yes, yes.” She wrung her hands. “But, he was a quiet lad and didn’t give much away in words. I could tell, though, from his eyes and the odd comment he made. He wasn’t happy with the Argie ship. He blamed the British military for doing nothing about it. After his death, the police and military didn’t tell me anything about why he was out on his boat that night. He fishes when he has to but for the most part he had a routine – night fishing, day fishing, twelve hours rest in between. One day off a week if he can get it. And he was getting drunk in Sally’s pub in Stanley on the night of his death. As you know, Rob, Billy, and Mike were with him. Eddie never drinks before sailing. It makes no sense for him to have suddenly decided to do a night fish. Anyway, Rob and Mike aren’t fisherman. I can’t see why they’d have been on the boat with him, hauling in nets.”

  “And that is why I’ve been sent to see you. The police and military are in no doubt that this was a tragic accident. I agree with their conclusion. I’m sure it would give you greater peace if there was a better reason for your son’s death than simply a drunken slip into the water. Did the coroner tell you about weather conditions that night?”

  She nodded. “She told me that the navy said the weather was atrocious that night; that there were swells and fast tides. They should never have gone out that night.”

  Casero chose his next words carefully. “Do you think the Argentinian ship was in any way responsible for the accident? Maybe it crossed your son’s path and caused him to make an emergency manoeuvre. Or something similar.”

  Floods of tears were coursing down Mrs. Wilson’s face. “I don’t think so. Eddie knew these waters. My guess is he and his friends went out there on some drunken rampage, got close to the spy ship, went on deck with beers, and started hurling insults at the Argies. They got hit by a wave or whatever. That’s when they went overboard.”

  “I regret to say that we agree with your analysis. As you say, The Argentinian boat has gone. We know that.” Casero chose his next words carefully. “It is a shame that there were no witnesses to the incident. The Argentinians on their ship may have seen what happened but they are of no use to us. We’ve made a formal request to the Argentinian government for assistance. Predictably they denied having a spy boat in the islands’ waters. I wonder though.” Casero faked a look that suggested a thought had just occurred to him. “Would it be possible someone else was on Eddie’s boat when the tragedy occurred? Maybe that person also drowned but his body was washed out to sea. Or maybe he survived but is either too embarrassed or traumatised to come forward to local authorities.”

  Mrs. Wilson looked perplexed. “Another man? None of you lot have asked me that question before. I don’t think so. Can’t see how that could happen. Eddie had three friends. That’s all he needed.”

  “Did he ever mention anyone else to you – an islander whom he had dealings with?”

  She looked exasperated. “Everyone here has dealings with other islanders. We’re a small community. We rely on each other.”

  “In particular, I wonder if there was anyone that Eddie knew who would be keen to join his crew in order to taunt the Argentinian boat. It would probably be a male; someone who hated the spy ship; maybe a drinker, maybe not.”

  “You’re talking about every man on these islands. But, no. Eddie never mentioned to me anyone who might be the type to join him, Rob, Billy, and Mike. Why do you think there might have been someone else on the boat?”

  Casero shrugged. “I don’t. It’s just wishful thinking on my part. I have to pursue every line of enquiry. I fear that when the weather abates I must fly back to London and advise my masters that there is nothing to report.” He stood. “One again, I’m so sorry for your loss. And I’m sorry to have intruded on your grief. Thank you for your time Mrs. Wilson.”

  When he was in his car, Casero called Fontonia. “I have a lead - Sally who runs a pub in Stanley. The men were heavily drinking in the bar on the night of the incident. See if she knows anything about a fifth man.”

  Sign was wearing a suit as he attended the headquarters of RAF Mount Pleasant. After getting through security checks, he was ushered to a room where he sat and waited.

  A young RAF woman opened the adjacent door and said to Sign, “The colonel will see you now.” She left the door open and exited the room.

  Sign entered Colonel Richards’ office. It was large and contained an oak desk at the far end of the room, behind it were windows overlooking the runway, chairs facing the desk, and wall-mounted pictures of previous military commanders of the base.

  Richards was sitting at his desk, rifling through paperwork. “Mr. Sign. What do you have for me?”

  Sign sat on one of the seats. “I’m not here to report progress. Instead, I’m information gathering. I’d like the flight manifests of every plane that landed here after the death of Wilson and his friends.”

  Richards frowned. “What use would they be to you? You should be concerned about who’s left the islands after the incident, not who’s come in.”

  Sign lied. “I’m wondering if someone came in to help the fifth man. Maybe a relative or friend. No one has been able to leave the islands since the gun battle. Thus, if a relative or friend of our mysterious witness came here, then that person is still here. He or she won’t be able to leave until the RAF permits flights to recommence normal duties. I’m particularly interested in passengers who may have a connection to the islands. That means most likely the person was on one of the two Brize Norton flights that left England after Wilson, Taylor, Green, and Jackson were murdered. But – belt and braces – I’d also like to check the manifests of the two Santiago flights that arrived before lockdown was imposed.”

  Richards was unconcerned with the request. “As you wish. I can’t see the point, but I suppose you have to check all angles.” He made an internal phone call. “Flight manifests for the four planes that arrived before we suspended passenger flights.” He hung up and looked at Sign. “Have you made any progress?”

  Sign smiled. “None whatsoever. Knutsen and I have interviewed some locals but so far we’ve not ascertained any new data.”

  “I paid you to get quick results!”

  Sign held the Royal Marines commander’s gaze. “You didn’t pay me. The Ministry of Defence paid me. The MOD reports to the minister of defence who in turn reports to the prime minister. Shall I call the PM and tell her that we have a problem? She’ll do what I tell her to do. She’ll ignore you and the chief of defence staff. You’d be on the next flight out of here, enjoying early retirement and beekeeping in Surrey, or such place.”

  Richards’ face reddened. “You have no right to talk to me like…”

  “Yes I do, Richards.” Sign maintained his calm persona and tone of voice. “Know your place. You brought me in to solve this riddle. But, I am not your employee. Until this case is closed you are my employee.” Sign crossed his legs and clasped his hands. “If I find the fifth man what are your plans?”

  “That’s classified!”

  “Not from me. You’ve already told me that you’re planning war. Your islands would be the launch pad for a strike on Argentina. It would be a nice feather in your cap before you retire. The chief of defence will no doubt promote you to brigadier before you leave government service. That will be a
nice hike in your pension. You have a vested interest in the death of Argentinians.”

  Richards sighed. “If you get a testimony from the fifth man, one that clearly identifies the Argentinian ship as the perpetrators of murder, we will punish Argentina. There will be air strikes on their military bases, naval bombardments of ships and docks, and air strikes on communications systems. Then, we will back off because the point will have been made. It will be a sledgehammer to crack a nut. The end game is, for once and for all, to get Argentina to forget the phrase Islas Malvinas. We maintain our security and strike capability in this part of the southern hemisphere. The Argentinians fuck off for good.”

  “It is ever thus that countries like Britain want to carve up the world according to their perceived needs.” Sign was nonchalant as he said, “You pretend that you want to protect a few sheep and their owners, wherein the truth is you want a military platform. To you the Falklands is in essence a massive, static, aircraft carrier.”

  “And I have no problems with that. It’s my job.”

  “Indeed it is.” Sign decided to change tack. “My job is different. Knutsen and I will continue our investigation until we solve this problem. The task in hand is difficult. We just need to find an access agent.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Someone who knows who the fifth man might be. That person can then facilitate a meeting with the fifth man. Depending on circumstances, that introduction will either be done with or without the access agent’s knowledge that Knutsen and I will be there to pounce on our target.”

  Richards sighed. “I can’t be bothered to ask you what that spy stuff means. But I can be bothered to tell you that we need fast results. What are your next steps?”

  “Knutsen and I will continue interviewing locals. But in tandem the flight manifests may speed up matters. I presume there is still no sight of the spy ship, or any other Argentinian presence in our waters?”

  “Correct.”

  “So, the islands are safe.”

  “For now.”

  Sign nodded. “Good. Are you still deploying army routine foot patrols on the islands?”

  “Of course. A bit of snow doesn’t stop our security protocols.”

  “Cancel all patrols. Restrict your men and women to your bases. And tell the police not to do routine patrols; rather to only respond to emergency situations.”

  “What?! That would be absurd! It would serve no purpose.”

  Sign said, “It would produce an aura of calm. The fifth man will continue to lay low if he thinks he’s being watched by authorities. I want him to think that the weather has gotten the better of your men and that they are putting their feet up in their barracks. Ditto the police. I want them to be brewing tea and coffee in their station and playing cards to kill time.”

  “I have no jurisdiction over the police! The governor of the Falklands is the only person who could issue such an order to his law enforcement officers”

  “Technically you have no jurisdiction over the governor. In practice you do. Tell him to stand his officers down from all but the most critical incidents. Lie to him. Say to him that there is a team of investigators on the islands searching for a wanted man who’s fled from England to the islands. Tell him that a lack of police presence will allow us to do our job. Do not name me or Knutsen. Conclude that this is only a temporary situation until the man is captured.”

  Richards was incredulous. “You’re telling me – the military commander of the Falklands – and the governor – the highest ranking politician on the islands – to not do our jobs over the coming few days or weeks?!”

  “Yes.” Sign elaborated. “The weather is atrocious. It would not seem odd if locals saw the suspension of routine military and police patrols. But, the locals are hardy folk. They’d think you’re weak and would laugh at your inability to continue normal business while they carry on with work regardless of conditions. If my assessment is correct that the fifth man is a local, he too will think it’s a joke that an eight man unit of British soldiers thought it was too treacherous to venture out of Stanley, that your helicopters won’t take off, that police are worried about getting their cars stuck in snow drifts. The fifth man needs to make a living, doing whatever it is he does. Zero sight of military personnel and cops with the power to arrest will induce complacency in him. In other words, he will come out of hiding.”

  Richards couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “I could be court martialled for issuing such an order and for lying to the governor.”

  “I will make a call to the powers that be to ensure you are not chastised. On the contrary, I will say that you came up with this ingenious plan whilst cognisant that there is currently no threat to the Falklands. In Whitehall, you will be lauded as brave and smart. It will be another feather in your cap.”

  Richards looked confused. “I… Of course I have authority to do this. But, to all intents and purposes you’re making the islands a lawless territory.”

  “Only for a brief period. Once we get the fifth man, we bring him in, normal duties resume, and you can have your war. And if you want your war, you have no alternatives. The fifth man is key. Without him you have nothing other than speculation. No fifth man, no war.” Sign was silent as he stared at Richards.

  Richards bowed his head for twenty seconds. He looked up and said in a quiet voice, “You really are a piece of work. I’ll do it. Just make sure you make that call to Whitehall. The flight manifests are with my secretary in the adjacent room. Unless there’s any further business to discuss, I bid you good day!”

  Mrs. Wilson was outside her house, using a shovel to shift snow from her driveway. The task was backbreaking, compounded by the arthritis in her wrists and fingers. She was making little progress. But the job had to be done. She had a two wheel drive vehicle in her garage that, with the flick of a dashboard switch, could be transformed into four wheel drive. Alas, the switch no longer worked. Snow was a major problem. The roads in Stanley were regularly cleared. But that was of no use to her unless she could get her vehicle out of the driveway. She winced as she persisted with the task. She knew it was fruitless. There was at least a ton of snow to clear and more of it was pouring from the sky. If only Eddie was here. He’d have gotten the job done in a jiffy.

  Knutsen stopped his vehicle on the road by her house. He got out and approached the woman who was oblivious to his presence. “Mrs. Wilson?”

  She stood up and turned toward him, wincing as she rubbed her back. “Yes. Who are you and what do you want? I’m busy.”

  “I can see that. My name is Tom Knutsen. I’m a scientist, working with the British Antarctic Survey in South Georgia. I specialise in the southern hemisphere oceans.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “I’ve been sent here to see why your son and his three friends fell off their boat on the night they died. If it was a human error, then the matter is out of my field of expertise. If, however, it was down to a natural phenomenon such as a swell or a tidal wave, then I’d be interested to ascertain why we were unable to predict such changes in sea behaviour.”

  Mrs. Wilson was angry. “Do you think I have a clue what the sea was doing when my Eddie died?! Fishing’s been in my family for generations. But I’ve never been on a boat. I’ve got other things to worry about. You’re speaking to the wrong person.”

  “I do apologise. I wonder if you have a theory about Eddie’s death.”

  She walked up to him. “My husband – Eddie’s dad – is dead. The sea got him. He died in bed in this house; but he might as well have been swallowed up by the waters out there. A lifetime of working the nets will do that to a body. He died a smashed up man. Eddie knew what he was getting into when he took over the business. He knew the risks. Fancy scientists like you don’t know what a hard day’s work is. The sea’s a cruel mistress, my grandfather used to say. He was right about that.” She continued shovelling snow, her teeth gritted as she struggled with pain.

  Knutsen pl
aced a hand on the shovel. “Let me help you. In return, I could do with a cup of tea.”

  She was hesitant. Then she handed Knutsen the shovel and entered her house.

  It took Knutsen thirty minutes to clear the driveway.

  Mrs. Wilson came out with a mug of tea. “Thank you.” She handed the mug to Knutsen and sighed as she looked upwards. “Another night of this snow means that what you’ve done will have been pointless.”

  Knutsen drank the hot brew while breathing fast. “You could grit and salt your driveway. Or you could park your car on the road.”

  Mrs. Wilson stood next to him and looked at the nearby road. “Grit and salt don’t do anything when the weather’s this bad. Only snowploughs can keep the roads clear. Yes. I’ll park my car on the road. I wish my husband and Eddie were here.”

  Knutsen looked at her.

  She didn’t look at him. Instead, she looked at the sea. “Why are so many people interested in my son’s death?”

  “I didn’t know they were.”

  “Police; army; this government bloke this morning; you. My son drowned because…”

  “The sea is a cruel mistress.” Knutsen slammed the shovel into the bank of snow adjacent to the driveway. “Out of interest, who was the government man who came to visit you this morning? I thought I was the only one investigating the sea conditions on the night of your son’s accident.”

  Mrs. Wilson shivered. “He wasn’t a scientist; I can tell you that. I don’t quite know what he wanted. London government type. He was more interested in the Argie spy ship. I reckon he was a British spook.”

  Knutsen faked a relaxed demeanour. “Oh, that makes sense. I know London was worried that the Argentinian ship might have sailed in front of your son’s trawler on the night of the accident. I don’t think that’s what happened. But before I leave the islands I need to file my report to the British Antarctic Survey. If British Intelligence is investigating the Argentinian ship, a copy of my report will need to be submitted to them. He was probably using a fake name but did the man who visited you this morning give you any form of identification? I may know him.”