The Hijack (27 page)

The noisy dumper truck chugged by without so much as a nod or look from the old man at the wheel.

As the vehicle passed, the customs officer lost his balance and let his end slip a little, enough to send a bottle of wine rolling to the edge, which the priest made a grab for, missed, and the bottle dropped into the water closely followed by the wailing priest.

The priest surfaced immediately, spluttering and grasping for the edge of a small rowing boat tied alongside.The others quickly put the table down and the customs officer and restaurant owner scrambled over the edge of the quay and into the boat to help the panicked priest. They unceremoniously hauled him in and then all three sat down to recover from their efforts while the mayor and lawyer stood above them giggling like children.

The captain shook his head as he placed a fresh cigarette into his holder and lit it. Stratton joined him to watch the restaurant owner and customs officer help the priest back on to the quay while the mayor graciously lent a hand.

‘Have you been here long?’ Stratton asked the captain.

The captain looked to see who was talking to him. ‘Nine months with one more to go. A year for some, but ten for me, thank God,’ he said.‘They’re nice people, but, well, I’m from Athens, if you see what I mean.’

Stratton smiled as if he agreed. ‘I should think island fever sets in pretty quick around here.’

‘Yes. For sure.’

‘Gets lively in the summer, this place, I suppose,’ Stratton said.

‘Sometimes. The tourists can fill up the handful of apartments, and the boats that arrive can help fill the restaurants too. Occasionally an interesting person turns up, but not often.’

‘So no one comes here in the winter then?’

‘No.’

‘Except crazy Russians,’ Stratton said, forcing a chuckle.

‘Yes,’ the captain said, puffing on his cigarette and forcing a polite smile of his own. Stratton obviously did not fall into his category of interesting people.

‘What was he doing here?’ Stratton asked matter-of-factly.

‘Diving.’

Stratton pondered the comment. ‘I do a bit of that when I can,’ he said.‘Where’s the good diving around here?’

‘I understand there are some exceptional caves on the south side of the island. I’ve never seen them. I don’t dive.’

‘Is that what the lawyer is frightened of, the Russian being back soon because he’s on the south side of the island?’

‘I don’t know where the Russian went. He rented a boat from a fisherman.’

‘I think I’d like to do that while I’m here . . . Who can I rent diving equipment from?’

‘I have no idea. As I said, I know nothing about diving.’

Stratton was digging too quickly with the Russian but felt justified in taking advantage of the opportunity. ‘So, why did they call him crazy?’ he asked.

‘He was big, like a Frankenstein. That scares some people. He also kept to himself.’ The captain then smirked. ‘He carried a large piece of wood in a bag everywhere he went. He never left it in his room when he went out. That perhaps was a little crazy.’

‘A piece of wood?’

‘Yes. A small log. Why does someone carry a log everywhere with them if they are not a little crazy?’ the captain asked.

Stratton nodded. Something about the story niggled him but he couldn’t put his finger on what precisely. ‘When did he leave to go diving?’ Stratton asked.

The captain looked at him, at last wondering why Stratton was so interested in the Russian. ‘Must be a week now.’

‘I’m curious to know what the diving was like. I hope I’m here when he returns.’

The priest was finally hauled back on to dry land and he stumbled away with the help of the customs officer.

‘Captain,’ the restaurant owner called out, drying his hands with a dishcloth. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ the captain said. ‘Excuse me, please,’ he said to Stratton before starting to walk away.

‘Captain . . . How do you know he was Russian?’

The officer paused and looked back at him. ‘His passport. He was Latvian, actually. From Riga. It was needed for the hiring of the fishing boat. I helped with the paperwork.’

‘I thought you were going to say you spoke Russian. I wouldn’t have been surprised,’ he said, turning away to look out over the harbour and cringing at his pathetic efforts to disguise his interest.

The captain’s eyes lingered on Stratton a moment before he headed into the restaurant.

Stratton felt the officer watching him before he moved away. One too many questions, but then he did not particularly care what the captain thought. He was unlikely to have anything to do with whatever the hell it was Stratton was chasing. He reflected again on how absurd this assignment was and imagined handing it over to a fellow operative and explaining, or attempting to, what exactly they were doing and what they had to go on. It was a joke.

Despite all the negatives though, he had to admit it held an element of intrigue. He wondered if the Russian, or Latvian, played any part in all of this. Was he Gabriel’s vision, the fearful demon on a mission? Was he the man in Thetford Forest? If so, where was he going in the fishing boat? And what about the log? Maybe the man was crazy. Maybe that’s all Gabriel had picked up on: a crazy Russian.

Stratton’s peripheral vision caught movement to his side and he looked over to see Gabriel standing on the edge of the quay staring down at the water. The first thought that flashed into his head was accommodation, and then, as if he had read his mind, the mayor called out to Stratton.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Ah. Glad you asked. We don’t have anywhere booked. Could you suggest a place?’

‘My wife will take care of you. Your friend looks tired. Perhaps you would like to get him to an apartment. ’

‘Thank you,’ Stratton said.

The mayor called out to his wife, explaining what he wanted, and she came over to Stratton, beaming a smile, and invited him to follow her.

‘Gabriel,’ Stratton called out. ‘We have an apartment for the night.’

Gabriel nodded and walked back to where his seat was and picked up his bag. Stratton collected his and stopped in front of the mayor. ‘Can we contribute to the evening?’ Stratton said, reaching for his wallet.

‘No,’ the mayor said. ‘You are our guests. Besides, you’ll pay through the nose for the apartment since it’s the only one available tonight.’ He grinned.

Stratton got the picture. ‘Thanks anyway,’ he said, and walked off after the mayor’s wife and Gabriel who were waiting for him.

‘This is probably the only place open for breakfast tomorrow so we’ll see you then,’ the mayor called out.

They walked away and the mayor’s smile faded as he was joined by the lawyer, both watching the strangers go.

‘What do you think?’ the lawyer asked.

‘I don’t think the old man is a university professor, and neither is the Englishman his assistant.’

‘I agree,’ said the lawyer. ‘But I don’t think they’re here looking to claim a house either.’ He glanced at the mayor for his consensus.

‘So what are we worried about then?’ the mayor said, grinning. ‘Let’s finish off the wine.’

That was an attractive offer and they returned to the table.

Stratton and Gabriel followed the mayor’s wife around the bend of the quay then up a narrow, dark, cobbled side street, past a tethered goat and along another street that headed steeply uphill.

She paused at a corner, indicated a three-storey house opposite, handed Stratton a large old key and remained where she was, smiling, and waiting for acknowledgement. It was clear she did not intend to go any further, obviously uncomfortable about going into the house with two strange men.

Stratton nodded thanks and crossed the alley; it could not be called a road since no car could pass along it.

The two men faced the front door which would have been in complete darkness had it not been for a light in the house opposite. It looked centuries old with ornate carvings around its edges and a lion’s face in the centre. Stratton looked back to find the mayor’s wife had gone and then glanced at Gabriel.

‘This okay for you?’ Stratton asked.

‘As long as it has a comfortable bed, I don’t care.’

Stratton put the key in the lock, turned it with a heavy clunk, pushed open the door and stepped inside. He felt around for a switch without luck, took a small button torch from a pocket and shone it around the hallway. There was a switch on the wall opposite, at the foot of the stairs, and he walked over to it and flicked it down. A bulb came to life above and Gabriel walked in and closed the door behind him. There did not appear to be much downstairs other than a cellar and so Stratton mounted the steps. The place looked as old as the door, the plaster in many places fallen away to expose stonework.

At the top of the stairs, across the landing, was a door. Stratton opened it and turned on the light to reveal a contrastingly clean and freshly decorated room, sparsely furnished with a bed and wardrobe, and net curtains framing a pair of French windows.

‘Not bad,’ Stratton said.

‘I was beginning to wonder,’ Gabriel said. He walked along the landing that doubled back on the stairs to another door, pushed it open and flicked the switch on the wall but it did not work.

‘You need a flashlight?’ Stratton asked, remaining in the doorway of his room.

‘I can see a table lamp,’ Gabriel said as he entered the room. A second later a dim light came on inside.

Stratton walked into his room, put his bag on the bed, and went to the French windows which had a small balcony beyond. He parted the net curtains to look at the view, which was quite stunning. Silver moonlight illuminated one side of the black mountain and silhouetted the edge of the town, a part that had long since been abandoned. Beyond was the Turkish mainland where tiny lights flickered, outlining the coastline.

There was a thump from the next room, not a very loud one, but at night in a strange house in a foreign land with unknown people, it was enough to warrant an inquiry.

Stratton went back to his door and looked up the landing. Gabriel’s door was still open with the light on inside.

He walked along the landing and looked inside the room. It was larger than his, not as cleanly decorated, with plaster coming away in places around the edges of the ceiling, but the large, comfortable bed nevertheless made it inviting. Gabriel was standing with his back to Stratton, his bag on the floor beside him, no doubt the source of the thump.

‘Gabriel?’ Stratton said quietly, wondering why he was standing so still.

Gabriel did not reply.

‘Gabriel?’ Stratton repeated as he took a step closer to the old man.

‘This is the room,’ Gabriel said, almost in a whisper.

Stratton took another pass around the room, checking to see if there was something obvious he had missed. ‘What room?’

‘I didn’t tell you because there was no point at the time, but he was in a room in the derelict town . . . It was this one.’

Stratton walked across the room, scrutinising every inch of it.

A wedge of light from the top of the lampshade washed the cracked plaster wall above the bed, highlighting what appeared to be several lines of Greek writing in large letters across it. His eyes were drawn to the meaningless letters which suddenly reminded him of something. ‘Remember the letters you wrote on my notepad, at the garage, on the way to Thetford?’

Gabriel looked at the wall. ‘This is Greek,’ he said. ‘What I wrote was in Russian according to your people.’

The word Russian got Stratton’s attention. ‘What did it mean?’

‘Nothing. Random letters, like a serial registration. ’

Stratton could sense some kind of connection or emerging pattern but he could not quite see it.

‘He did not like being here and was anxious to leave, but he was forcing himself to be patient. He was suspicious of the locals, I feel . . . Do you think he’s the Russian they talked about?’

Stratton didn’t answer. He walked to the doorway and paused to look back at Gabriel. ‘I’ll talk to you later . . . If you think of anything else, come and tell me. Don’t worry about waking me, okay?’

Gabriel nodded without looking at him. ‘He was still very afraid of what he was planning to do, but also determined to do it . . .That was many days ago, Stratton. I think we will be too late.’

Stratton stared at him a moment then walked away.

His footsteps echoed down the wooden stairs and a second later the front door banged closed. Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed and looked at a worn Persian rug on the floor, then at his hands.They were trembling.

As Stratton made his way down the street back towards the harbour he pulled his satellite phone from his pocket and scrolled through the numbers until he found the one he was looking for, pushed the call button and held it to his ear.

‘Sumners? This is Stratton.’

Sumners was reading a newspaper on the sofa by lamplight in the small living room of his terraced house in Hampstead. As the satellite phone on the desk beside the sofa chirped and Sumners reached for it, his wife automatically got up out of the armchair to turn down the television and then without a word left the room to go into the tiny kitchen to make a pot of tea.

‘Yes, Stratton,’ he said, still reading the article.

‘I think I have something. Not sure. Probably nothing, ’ Stratton said.

Sumners lost focus on the paper. He might have been irritated with most of his other agents for ringing with a comment like that, but Stratton would never call unless there was an underlying importance to his empty introduction.

‘Nothing?’ Sumners asked anyway.

‘It’s vague enough as it is, but since this isn’t mauve you’ll have to bear with me.’ Stratton was referring to the mauve secure phone system. The system did not work on wireless systems such as mobile and sat. phones. That required an altogether different scrambling encryption, which was difficult to implement on an international grid.