Stormtide (17 page)

There were no protests. Taking the two seamen, he went out to the beach. The second guard was making faint moaning noises and beginning to stir. Beside him, the shotgun muzzle resting inches from the man’s nose, Clapper Bell relaxed a little.

‘Shouldn’t be long now, sir,’ said the bo’sun cheerfully.

The sky to the east now had a positive edge of light. The hour Shannon had needed would soon be up. Nodding, Carrick hoped the rest of it would go smoothly.

The two coaster men willingly dragged the semi-conscious guard back into the cave, with orders to tie him. They’d hardly gone when pebbles crunched along the beach and Dave Rother hurried out of the grey gloom. He was carrying a few pieces of thin driftwood but he looked worried as he laid them down.

‘We may have trouble coming,’ he said bluntly.

Carrick tensed. ‘Lucas?’

‘Maybe.’ Rother chewed his lip. ‘I couldn’t be sure in this light – and I didn’t wait too long to find out. But I worked along to where we came ashore and there’s something happening out on the
Heather Bee
.’ Seeing the two coaster men returning, he lowered his voice. ‘I’ll go back and keep an eye on things.’

‘We’ll both go.’ Carrick turned to the coaster men. ‘Gently with this one – and when you’ve got him in keep that gun ready. We’re taking a prowl around.’

‘He’s big, but we’ll manage,’ grinned one of the men. ‘Ready, sailor?’

Bell grunted as they hoisted him up, then gritted his teeth against the pain as he was moved slowly towards the cave. Once he’d vanished, Carrick and Rother started off along the shore. They went carefully, conscious of the way every moment that passed was widening the band of light to the east and increasing the risk of their being spotted.

The tide was coming in too. At one point they had to wade almost knee-deep through a froth of
gradually advancing water. Splashing out at the other side, Rother suddenly grinned to himself.

‘Another week and I’ll have quit all this,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Makes you think.’

‘Meaning that deal you won’t talk about?’ Carrick kept his attention ahead.

‘Why worry now?’ Rother almost slipped on a piece of damp seaweed, swore, then carried on. ‘The crazy thing is, the credit belongs to Helen Grant. She was a geology student – you knew that, but it was also why we were together a lot. The first time she came over to Camsha she went wide-eyed then started chipping rocks. Then, after she’d checked with some of her university pals, I told her to keep quiet about what they said.’

‘She’d struck gold,’ suggested Carrick sardonically.

‘No.’ Rother chuckled. ‘But almost the whole of Camsha Island is one big chunk of diatomite rock – fossilized, high-grade insect cake, the stuff the chemical boys use by the ton in everything from toothpaste to oil processing. I’m selling out to a London outfit.’

‘Big money?’

‘Enough to square what I owe. I’ll see her family get a slice of it and …’ Rother’s voice died as Carrick suddenly pulled him hard down behind the nearest rock.

The reef where they’d dumped the air cylinders was just ahead and beyond it lay the little inlet where the dinghy had been pulled ashore. But the grey half-light showed two dinghies’ and the air cylinders had gone.

While they still stared the unmistakable click of a rifle bolt reached them over the murmur of the sea. It came from somewhere near – and the shot which
followed a second later smashed into the rock close to their heads, chipping fragments like miniature shrapnel before the bullet wailed off in a wild ricochet.

As scores of gulls began rising and screaming they heard a hoarse, dry laugh.

‘Come out of there,’ called Alec MacBean. ‘Come out – and make it slowly.’

Grimacing, Carrick rose and Rother followed him. As they stepped out, four figures quickly closed in through the gloom.

Carrying the rifle, MacBean came forward with his thin face a narrow-eyed mask. A few paces to his left, equally watchful, Fergie Lucas held a sawn-off shotgun. Their two companions, dressed like fishermen, were armed with pistols and glanced round nervously as the slight wind rustled a clump of gorse further in among the rocks.

‘Stay like that,’ snapped MacBean. Crunching nearer over the shingle he stopped and swore softly. ‘Rother … !’

‘We all make mistakes,’ agreed Dave Rother sadly. Next moment he grunted with pain and staggered back as the rifle barrel slashed him hard across the face.

‘That’s a start.’ Wolfishly, MacBean savoured the long gash he’d opened down Rother’s cheek.

‘Leave it, Alec,’ snapped Fergie Lucas impatiently. ‘There were three sets o’ those air tanks, remember?’ He came up close to Carrick, whisky heavy on his breath. ‘Where’s your other pal?’

‘At the cave – he likes the company there.’ Carrick eyed him calmly. ‘So much he’ll shoot anyone who tries to interfere.’

Licking his lips, Lucas nodded and turned to the men in the background.

‘You two stay near an’ keep your eyes open.’ As they eased away he stepped back a pace. ‘That was a neat trick Shannon played, Carrick. But you’re the one left holding the broken bits now.’

‘What about the men we had on guard?’ demanded MacBean, scowling.

‘Forget them,’ said Lucas with a casual disinterest. ‘We’ve our own worries.’ He considered Carrick again briefly. ‘But they still did us a favour. We were expecting one o’ them back, so when he didn’t show up we came looking.’

‘And found us.’ Carrick shrugged wryly. ‘You might as well know the rest, Fergie.
Marlin
’s coming back.’

‘Not for a spell. Our radar’s clear – and when she does we’ll be gone wi’ you along for insurance,’ said Lucas with a sneer. He shifted his stance. ‘Rother …’

‘Well?’ Blood still oozing down his cheek, Dave Rother faced him with a weary expectancy.

‘We don’t need you. Do we, Alec?’ Lucas nursed the shotgun, the breeze stirring his hair in the gathering light. ‘And Alec has a little matter of his brother bein’ dead to square.’

MacBean nodded, his eyes hard and bright.

‘John was his usual, plastered as a newt,’ mused Lucas. ‘But a brother is a brother.’ He took one hand from the shotgun and cuffed Rother hard across the undamaged cheek. ‘I happen to hate your guts too, Rother. You’ve fouled things up for me – right through.’

Behind them, the two men in overalls were watching from the fringe of the rocks. One licked his lips, as if he knew what was going to happen and wanted it finished. Then Carrick suddenly had to fight to stay impassive. Something had moved a little way behind the man. It had been just a quiver among the gorse, but a quiver that was too isolated to be any waft of the breeze.

‘So you’re all set for another killing?’ he asked, deliberately raising his voice a fraction. ‘Benson, Gibby Halliday, the coaster engineer – all yours so far, aren’t they, Fergie?’

‘That’s right.’ Lucas twisted a bitter grin at MacBean’s hasty mutter of warning. ‘Hell, why worry now?’

‘But MacBean set up the job.’ The gorse had stopped quivering. Yet Carrick was certain he’d seen another flicker of movement, nearer this time, drawing close to the two pistol-carrying sentries. ‘Well, who’d blame you for hoping it would be second time lucky?’

Lucas’ mouth fell open and MacBean looked equally surprised. Even Dave Rother, nursing his bleeding face, stared at Carrick.

‘Meaning what?’ snarled Lucas.

Carrick shrugged. ‘That Helen Grant was drowned just before the last bulk shipment of whisky was due to go out.’ Carrick paused, knowing he had to goad the man to the limit. He was sure about the movements among the rocks now – and there was more than one man out there. ‘You let something slip to Helen, didn’t you? Enough to let her guess the rest?’

Breathing heavily, Lucas stayed silent but the answer was in his eyes and Carrick became certain about the rest.

‘That’s what you really meant about Dave fouling things up, isn’t it?’ He glanced sideways at Rother, who stood bemused. ‘Helen wouldn’t tell her uncle – not the way things were between you. But she warned you she’d tell Dave. And you couldn’t risk what he might do.’

‘Shut up,’ hissed Lucas warningly. ‘Shut up, damn you.’

But even Alec MacBean was listening as if hypnotized.

‘Afterwards there was too much fuss going on,’ said Carrick softly. ‘So you had to cancel the first plan. But you were still lucky – her uncle and his ex-army pal were so busy trying to hush up a scandal that they covered up something worse.’

Suddenly and silently one of the men over at the rocks had disappeared. But his companion was too intent on what was happening to notice.

‘Nobody knew, did they, Fergie?’ Carrick felt his mouth drying but kept on. ‘Not even MacBean, who thought he was running the show. But tell him now. What happened that night? Did she jump – or was she pushed?’

A strange, bubbling, animal-like noise came from Lucas’ lips.

‘Which was it?’ taunted Carrick. ‘You killed her, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, damn you.’ Face contorted, Lucas swung the shotgun butt back like a club.

But there was a shout of fear from the rocks, a single shot as the second sentry went down, then, as MacBean cried a warning, figures were rushing forward.

Snarling, Lucas glanced back, then tried to bring the shotgun round again, his trigger knuckle tightening. Both barrels of the weapon blasted as Carrick sprang in and knocked his arm up. Dave Rother was wrestling on the pebbles with MacBean, the running figures were almost with them.

Using the shotgun butt, Lucas smashed Carrick back and turned to run. But after a few paces he stopped, staring wide-eyed at the tall, thin figure in that ridiculously over-sized oilskin coat who had appeared in front of him.

Harry Graham came forward with an impassive
face and his hands almost casually extended. And Lucas came to life again, reversing the empty shotgun, swinging it like a flail.

Except that Graham suddenly wasn’t there. One swift, flickering sidestep took him clear. Then he gripped Lucas oddly by the neck and shoulder, spun him round, and brought a thin knee up at the same time.

There was a snap of bone and Fergie Lucas went limp, his head lolling. Silently, Graham let him go and he fell like an emptied sack.

For a long moment the distillery manager stayed where he was, looking down at the man he’d killed. Then he shrugged slightly and turned away.

MacBean was in handcuffs, the two others were being dragged over to join him, Dave Rother was grinning from ear to ear. Still dazed, Carrick realized Jumbo Wills was at his side and that apart from Sergeant Fraser, who was walking quietly towards Graham, all the men around were from
Marlin
.

‘We hammered the guts out of those diesels,’ declared Wills, still almost spluttering with excitement. ‘Then the Old Man landed us on the other side of the island, because we didn’t know what the hell had happened. And that character Graham – once he gets going he’s the original invisible man.’

‘I saw what happened.’ Feeling as if a nightmare had ended, Carrick took the lighted cigarette someone handed him and drew on it thankfully. Then, after a minute, he saw Sergeant Fraser walking back alone, Graham was standing by himself, looking out at the sea.

‘Sergeant,’ – Carrick went wearily to meet Fraser – ‘did he hear? About the girl, I mean?’

‘Aye.’ Fraser nodded slowly and glanced over towards his friend. ‘I saw him kill two Japs like that
once. God, that’s close on thirty years ago – but he hadn’t forgotten.’ He moistened his lips. ‘I’d still like to call it self-defence.’

‘You’ve a witness,’ said Carrick.

Out at her anchorage the
Heather Bee
was trying to get under way, heading out. The sight didn’t worry him.
Marlin
could take care of whatever men were left aboard.

He turned, beckoned to Jumbo Wills, and started off for the cave.

What Captain Shannon vaguely termed the ‘tidying up’ took the whole day long. And when they got back to Portcoig the real aftermath began … though somehow, in the middle of it all, Dave Rother succeeded in disappearing.

It was 3 a.m. before Carrick finally managed to get to his cabin and collapse in his bunk and close on noon before he woke with Shannon standing over him and shaking his shoulder.

‘Had a good rest?’ asked Shannon sardonically. ‘Mister, I was beginning to think you’d maybe died under those blankets.’

Grinning, Carrick yawned and found his cigarettes. Then he realized the bearded, moon-faced figure now slumped in the armchair opposite was eyeing him strangely.

‘Rother brought his scuba gear back this morning,’ said Shannon suddenly. ‘The air tanks were empty.’

‘We’ll get them recharged,’ said Carrick. He got up, yawned again, and started dressing.

Shannon stayed where he was, lips pursed, oddly silent. Then, at last, he said grimly, ‘The distillery people had a boat out at Moorach this morning, trying to locate where the coaster was sunk.’

‘That should have been easy,’ agreed Carrick.

They’d an exact position from Alec MacBean, corroborated by the rest of the hijack gang. The coaster had been scuttled in thirty fathoms of water less than half a mile off the island.

‘It was.’ Shannon chewed his beard. ‘Mister, when they got there the whole damned sea was littered with floating whisky casks. Then they sent a diver down. He says he found the cargo hatches open, just open, mister. Not smashed, not damaged.’

Shirt half-buttoned, Carrick stopped and scrubbed his unshaven chin. ‘But …’

‘Exactly,’ snarled Shannon. ‘You explain it, mister. MacBean swears those hatches were closed when they scuttled the
Lady Jane
. And do you know how many of those bulk storage tanks they’ve found so far? Just two – both of them washed up on Moorach.’

Which left six missing – six times two thousand gallons of whisky, in steel tanks which would have floated as soon as they came loose.

Shannon rumbled into his beard for a moment then looked up. ‘I’ll tell you Rother’s story of what he was doing last night. He said he used his other two boats to tow the
Seapearl
down to Mallaig for repair. He did – I’ve checked. But they took a hell of a long time getting there.’