Medusa (18 page)

The
Policia Municipal
building looks right down on to the commercial quay, so that I was not surprised when a police car with two officers in it drew up on the quayside. We were just taking the last of the fresh stores on board and they parked there, watching us. If I had not come ashore when Luis uncleated the stern warp preparatory to letting go, they would have been on the radio immediately for a harbour launch, which would have stopped us before we had even reached Bloody Island.

I watched from the quay as Luis coiled down the stern warp, then ran for'ard to hoist the jib. The mains'l was already set and flapping on a loose sheet as the engines took her out into the open waters of the harbour and Carp turned her into the wind, heading east to clear the old grassed-over fort on Figuera Point at the entrance to the harbour proper. She looked a lovely sight once the sails had been hauled in tight, a rather hazy sun glinting on the new paint of the hull and transforming the twin bow waves into silver glitters of spray.

I turned then, thinking as I walked back to my car that I might catch up with them before they cleared the point. But then the police car cruised up alongside, ‘You are not going with them?' It was Inspector Molina, and he was smiling at me. ‘Such a nice boat. It must be very tempting. And Malta. Your wife comes from Malta.'

He was still smiling as I said, ‘Yes, I would have enjoyed the trip. But you have my passport.'

‘Ah
si,
and you are a law-abiding citizen of our island.' And he added, They can see your boat is preparing to sail from up there.' He nodded in the direction of the citadel with the slip road snaking up like a staircase with two hairpin bends in it. ‘I just come to make sure.'

It was on the tip of my tongue then to tell him he would have been better employed searching the
Santa Maria
and the villa on Punta Codolar, but I checked myself. Sooner or later it was surely inevitable they would find the gun where I had hidden it. ‘
Adiós
.' They drove off and I went back to the office to ring Lopescado at the Taberna Felipe in Ciudadela. The
Santa Maria
had left.

‘When?'

But he didn't know. Sometime during the night, he said, for it had been there the previous evening. In fact, all three of them had come ashore about eight o'clock. They had sat around outside and had a few drinks, then they had gone into the fish bar for a meal. They had left about ten-thirty and gone straight back to the ship.

‘All of them?' I asked.

‘Yes, all of them, and the boat is still there when I go to bed, with a light shining in the wheelhouse aft as well as a riding light at the forestay.'

‘Did you gather where they were going? Did they clear customs, anything like that?'

‘No, I never saw any official go on board, not then, nor any time earlier during the evening. But then I was very busy last night, a beeg party from Banyos, a German party …' He hesitated, then said, ‘Once, when I am serving the next table, I hear your name mentioned. It was something about the
policia
. They were arguing about why some information had not been acted on. The last I hear they think you will try to leave Mahon sometime today. No, you will
have
to leave. Those were his words.'

‘Whose words?' I asked. ‘Was it Evans who said that?'

‘
Si
. The boss man with the Guevara moustache. Pat Eevanz.'

He couldn't tell me anything more and when I put the phone down I sat there at the desk for a moment, gazing out towards La Mola and the Mahon entrance four miles away and wondering where the
Santa Maria
was now, what Evans was up to. I could just see
Thunderflash,
her white hulls and sails outlined against the hazy shape of Lazareto Island. Once they were clear of Punta del Esperó, the easternmost tip of La Mola, they would have a beam wind and a fast run to Cape Faváritx, then only five miles and all downhill to Macaret at the entrance to Port d'Addaia. Perhaps I should have arranged for them to put into Es Grau, but the entrance was very narrow and overlooked by almost every house in the little fishing village. In any case, I hadn't known then that Evans had sailed, and even if he did intend to spend the night at the villa on Punta Codolar he would probably anchor the
Santa Maria
in Arenal d'en Castell. It would be very sheltered there in an easterly blow. A picture flashed through my mind then of him opening a can of beer, or sitting down to a quick meal, at the table in that kitchen with the gun he thought was still on board the catamaran right there under the floorboards at his feet.

Soo came in then with the news that the council had been in session at the
ayuntamiento
most of the day. Nothing had been decided and there was talk of a local election.

I finished my packing and took her to the Atlante, the restaurant a few doors away, for an early meal. Sitting there, drinking
vino verde
as an aperitif, we discussed the possible choices that a newly elected council would have. But even we, whose interests were identical, could not agree – I favoured Gonzalez Renato, while Soo wanted Antonio Alvarez to be the next alcalde, chiefly I think because he would support a progressive building and development policy.

It was just as the waiter was serving our marinated sardines that the door opened and a small man in a brightly
coloured short-sleeved shirt, and wearing a red floppy hat pulled down over his ears, looked in. He said something to Manuel, the patron, glanced quickly across at us, nodded and then left. ‘Who was that?' I asked the waiter, conscious suddenly that I had seen the man lounging against one of the bollards when I'd come back from seeing Carp and Luis off in
Thunderflash
.

The waiter hesitated, looking at Manuel and repeating the question. Manuel in his turn looked uneasy, as though reluctant to be drawn into giving me any information about the man. ‘
Vigilancia?
' I asked him, and after a moment's hesitation, he nodded. The
Cuerpo de Vigilancia
were plain-clothes security police and like the
Guardia Civil
they were paramilitary and came under the direct control of the Provincial Governor. The fact that they had me under surveillance was confirmation, if I needed any, that I should get out while the going was good. Also it suggested that the killing of Martinez was regarded by the authorities as something more than just an isolated terrorist incident.

I suppose I had fallen silent after the door had closed on the man and Manuel had confirmed he was one of the
Vigilancia
. Certainly my mind was concentrated on the future, on what life held in store for me – for both of us. ‘Eat up,' Soo said, ‘these sardines are delicious.' And then, almost in the same breath, ‘What will you do when you get there? How long will you stay? Have you decided yet?'

It was a strange meal, both of us trying to look ahead, and at one stage, when we were sitting over our coffee and a large Soberano, I had the distinct impression that she was flying something close to a flag of seduction. Soo was odd that way, always had been. I think it was the Maltese in her. She was so volatile in her emotions, one minute cold as ice, the next minute … I remember we sat there like a couple of lovers, gazing into each other's eyes and actually holding hands across the table, clinking our brandy glasses.

God almighty! Why can't people be more sensible, more consistent? And why the hell was I so set on a son? What would a son do for me? You change its nappies, see it through all those infantile diseases, watch it teething and grow up, and the next thing it's borrowing the parental bed to poke a girl or getting high on drugs, or worse still, standing for cap'n in place of Dad, waiting for the old sod to drop dead.

I ordered more coffee, and another brandy for us both, and we sat there, not saying anything, each alone with our own thoughts. I touched her hand again, the fingers answering to the pressure of mine, her grip almost urgent. Did she want me to stay? Was that the message she was trying to convey? And the slight flutter of her nerves. Was she scared? I hadn't thought about it until that moment, my mind so concentrated on my own predicament. Now I tried to see it from her point of view, alone here, her husband slipping away on a yacht bound for Malta and the police suspecting him of complicity in a political murder.

Political? It had to be political. Martinez had no other interests. He hadn't been in business, he hadn't fiddled his taxes. He hadn't slept with other men's wives. No breath of scandal had ever touched him. But political enemies – he had those all right, and of course decisions had been made that did affect the business community. ‘It'll be all right,' I said, holding her hand tight. ‘Once I'm away they'll forget all about me and concentrate on other leads. A week and they'll know for sure that I had nothing to do with it. They'll get the date when I took
Thunderflash
over and then they will begin to enquire into Evans's movements.'

Her hand tightened on mine as she slowly nodded her head. ‘But suppose –' she hesitated – ‘suppose the police are in on it? Suppose it's political and they're covering up.'

‘Then there'd be a single name emerging as the new alcalde.'

She sat there for a moment, her head still bent and not saying anything, the almost black hair gleaming in the
lights, which had just been switched on. ‘Fuxá,' she murmured. ‘I keep hearing the name Fuxá. Ismail Fuxá.'

‘He makes a lot of noise,' I said. ‘But the separatist element is only a small minority. The people know very well an island like this could never make it on its own.'

We talked about it for a moment, then I paid the bill and we left, hand-in-hand, and the man in the red floppy hat watched us from his post by the bollard just a few yards from the Atlante. Maybe it was the brandy, but I felt warm and very close to Soo at that moment, and my mind, dreaming in the softness of the evening, the faint lap of wavelets the only sound, turned to thoughts of a ménage à trois, wondering whether I was macho enough to keep both a wife and mistress satisfied. Petra with child! Petra on Bloody Island, a kid running around the dig, our son, Soo here in the house with her basenji, running the office. She and Petra, they liked each other. They were so different it might work. Soo cared about marriage. The Navy and Malta, she'd been very conventionally brought up. But Petra – I had never discussed it with her, of course, but I was quite sure she didn't give a damn.

It might work, but as I climbed the stairs my mind returned to normal and I knew it was only a dream.

I got my holdall and my oilskins and dumped them in the boot of the car. ‘What about your minder?' Soo said. ‘The guy in the floppy hat.'

‘You drive,' I said, still buoyed by the drink. ‘I'll ride in the boot till we're clear of the town.' I crawled in, holding the lid of it slightly open. I had done it more or less as a lark, and Soo, who was always very quick to respond to a mood, was giggling as she said, ‘You look like something out of
Alice
crouched in there.' She was still giggling to herself as she got in and started the engine.

We went about a hundred yards and then she slowed to a stop and I heard her say, ‘Am I permitted to drive out to see my friends? I'm supposed to be playing bridge tonight.'
And a male voice answered her in Spanish, ‘Of course, senora. You do not take your husband?'

‘No. He's looking after Benjie.'

‘Benjie? I do not understand.'

‘The dog –
el perro
.'

‘
Ah si, el perro
.' And then they were both laughing as though Soo was out on a cuckolding run. I nearly burst out laughing myself, thinking of Gareth Lloyd Jones safely tucked away in a frigate under the massive bulk of the Rock.

She drove fast after that, following the curves of the waterfront, and I watched the road astern through the slit under the boot lid. Nothing followed us, the cars along the Levante all parked, their owners still occupied with whatever it was they had come to the harbour for. By the Aduana I glimpsed the lights of a vehicle snaking down the Abundancia from the centre of town, but when it reached the Customs House it turned away from us.

By then we had reached the point where the Andén de Poniente runs into the Passo de la Alameda and the road to Fornells. I banged on the lid and after a while Soo stopped. ‘I thought perhaps you'd gone to sleep.' She was still in a giggly mood. ‘You could have got out back by the Maritimo. There was nobody following us. I was watching in the mirror.' And she added, ‘Are you sure you haven't got delusions of grandeur? I'm beginning to wonder if it's all an excuse to go for a sail in that damned cat.'

I didn't answer that, simply got in beside her and we drove on. Now that I was on my way and committed to leaving Spanish soil without clearance, I was in a more sombre mood.

‘You're sure this journey of yours is absolutely necessary?' She said it lightly, still joking, but there was an undercurrent of concern in it that matched my own mood. I said nothing and we drove on in silence.

It was 22.57 when we turned north on to the Macaret road, 23.07 when we started down into Port d'Addaia. Soon
we could see the water of the inlet, the islands at the entrance dark shapes, no moon, no stars.
Thunderflash
was already there, riding to her anchor just off the new quay, the semi-inflatable ready alongside. I flashed our lights, then switched them off and got my gear out of the boot.

The tender was on its way almost immediately, so there was only a brief moment of privacy to say goodbye. Perhaps that was as well. I don't know what Soo was thinking as I kissed her, but my own thoughts were already on the voyage ahead and what it would be like to be back in Malta, this time without a passport. She didn't cling to me. In fact, she showed remarkably little emotion. Perhaps she was thinking of Lloyd Jones, wondering if his frigate would put into Mahon while I was away.