Spears of Defiance

by David Holman

  Swan bit his lip. What happened to the old methods of sleep-deprivation, followed by a welcoming cup of coffee and a cigarette? Why did it have to come to these brutal tactics nowadays?

  Sahid Ramir kept his head down and stared at the floor as Gannon approached him. ‘Someone from London wants to ask you some questions,’ Gannon bellowed.

  Swan waited for some response. The Libyan still stared downwards then started to mutter something under his breath. He seemed to be repeating it over and over. Swan caught it to be some sort of religious chant. The prisoner then raised his head and Swan took in his glazed eyes and sneering smile.

  ‘For God’s sake, what the hell have you given him?’

  Gannon shrugged. ‘It’s just a little LSD, Alex, that’s all. It helps to loosen up the tongue. Go ahead, ask him a question.’

  Swan paused. He suddenly didn’t want to be part of this anymore, but he had to find out why this man met with Hennessy and Munroe. He sat down in the other chair and waited for Ramir to acknowledge him.

  The Libyan’s eyes continued to dart around the room, then suddenly, they settled on Swan’s hazel stare.

  Swan addressed the man slowly and extracted the photo of the meeting. ‘Mr Ramir, can you hear me? My name is Alex Swan. I’m investigating your recent trip to London. I need to know what your business with was with these two people.’ He moved the photograph closer.

  The Libyan focussed on the picture and smiled in recognition. ‘Miss Siobhan Hennessy. She is a beautiful woman,’ he slurred.

  Swan nodded. ‘Yes, she is a beautiful woman. What was the purpose for your meeting with her and this man?’ Swan specifically pointed to Munroe.

  Ramir smiled again. ‘It was business, you understand? Only business.’

  ‘Yes, but what business?’

  ‘Our business.’

  Swan put the photograph back into his jacket. ‘Were you arranging a shipment of arms or explosives?’

  Ramir stared at him. ‘Yes, shipment. Business.’

  Swan came back quickly. ‘Yes, weapons or explosives business?’

  The Libyan began to stare at Swan as if he had just become transparent.

  Swan repeated. ‘Weapons or explosives, Mr Ramir?’

  The Libyan gave a leering grin. ‘Miss Hennessy. She is an attractive woman. But not last time. She not wear a dress. Her hair not good. She just asked me for Semtex, not like she was last time.’

  Swan sighed his relief. He was finally beginning to get somewhere. ‘Who was the Semtex for?’

  The Libyan looked blankly at him as if he was hearing something strange, but Swan was insistent. ‘Tell me who the Semtex was for.’

  There was a long pause between them, then Ramir spoke. ‘Semtex for the man she was with.’

  Swan took back out the photograph. ‘This man?’

  Ramir studied it again and nodded. ‘Where is the Semtex going to, Mr Ramir?’ ‘Semtex to go to Beira. But not now. Kerrigan says no.’

  Gannon looked at Swan. ‘Why is it going to Mozambique? And, who is Kerrigan?’ Swan was already lost in thought. If Munroe was to pick it up there, the target could possibly be something in Southern Africa. But then there was this new player, Kerrigan, the name sounded Irish, IRA perhaps, and by the sounds of it, someone high up in command. He addressed the Libyan again. ‘When is the Semtex to be delivered?’

  Ramir hesitated. ‘Six days.’

  Working this back from the meeting in London, Swan knew this meant Munroe would’ve been collecting it from the port in two days. But, it now sounded like the deal was off. The prisoner then started to chant again.

  Back outside in the corridor, Swan paused to light a cigarette. He stared at Gannon as he exhaled the relieving tobacco smoke from his lungs. ‘So, what becomes of the Libyan now?’

  Gannon shrugged. ‘We’re doing a prisoner swap with Mossad. They’ve got us a nice little Russki who wants to defect, an engineer who has been working on the Soviet Buran space shuttle programme.’

  Swan nodded. ‘How convenient.’

  Gannon agreed. ‘They want this guy for supplying the explosives for a bus bombing in Tel Aviv.’

  Swan and Gannon walked side by side. ‘So where do you go from here, Alex?’

  Swan thought for a moment. ‘I think I need to find out more about this Kerrigan chap, and try and track down Mr Munroe.’

  As Swan boarded the helicopter to take him back to England, he couldn’t get the prisoner out of his mind. Yes, the trip had been profitable, but seeing him in that room made him feel sick. And now, the Israelis would soon be coming to take him to God knows where and do what they needed to do to track down their bus bombers. ‘Poor bastard,’ he muttered under his breath as the helicopter lifted from the tarmac.

  15

  Next morning in the SID office, Swan finished adding these new details to the incident board. It was now confirmed whoever this man, Munroe was, he was involved in both the Axminster affair and the Hennessy case.

  The phone had rung on Janet’s desk and answering it to John Stratton, Swan had been informed the man had been spotted at Johannesburg Airport, after getting off a Heathrow flight the morning after the shooting.

  He had assigned Janet to already check people boarding flights to South Africa around that time, but had now assumed Munroe had used a false passport under a different name; this was something mercenaries were good at. This was also the only lead they had to the death of Baines. There was a strong possibility Locust Rain could be out there somewhere, and their only suspect had slipped away.

  Still on the telephone, Swan and Stratton had both decided there was only one thing for it. ‘Looks like Andrew and I are off to South Africa to meet with this man, Cunningham from the NIS.’ Swan suggested.

  He put down the phone and looked across at his wife. ‘Two tickets to Johannesburg then, my darling.’

  Janet gave him one of her stares, a stare that showed concern as well as disgust. Her husband was off again. ‘Don’t you think you’re getting too old for all this jet-setting? You only got back from West Germany, yesterday.’

  Swan laughed. ‘Janet, I’ve only recently turned fifty-eight. I don’t need my Zimmer frame just yet.’ He rose from his desk, putting on his jacket. ‘Besides, I’ve got to show the powers at the MOD, our department is still alive and well and very much active.’

  The pending review still loomed. After leaving Porton Down, the trail had gone cold. This wouldn’t be the right thing to take to next month’s meeting. Suddenly, things were taking a new turn, and Swan could feel the temperature beginning to rise again.

  *

  It was nightfall in their home in Kent, when Andrew Gable and his wife sat down to what would be their last meal together until he returned from South Africa. They had just finished packing the small blue suitcase for the trip, and this now lay under the stairs in the hallway.

  Sandra Gable had served beef stew with suet dumplings. It was her husband’s favourite dish, the recipe handed to her from her mother-in-law which was also Arthur’s favourite as well.

  Outside, a blustery wind hammered the French doors of their dining room, and as Andrew Gable waved his knife and fork over the plate, he thought how appropriate this meal was to sustain the cold late November evenings.

  Sandra wondered what the two men would be eating while on their trip, but thinking about this had suddenly made her feel angry. When Andrew had told her, he was going to fill his father’s shoes, she had been sceptical. Yes, it meant he was having to commute to London, and an office in Whitehall instead of the Police headquarters at nearby Maidstone, but then, after the odd excursion abroad to accompany his chief, she had begun to resent his change of career.

  His father hated travelling aboard, so respecting this, Alex Swan would always go alone. Arthur Gable wouldn’t even go to the Isle of Wight because of his dislike for sea travel. But this was always good news for Sandra’s mother-in-law because although her husband’s work was sometimes dangerous, at least Annie Ga
ble wouldn’t have to wait night after night for him to safely return to her. She always knew on what Arthur called ‘Slow Chummy Days’, he would be hitting the A13 Commercial Road in good time for supper. Sandra also realised this new role had also put her husband more in the firing line with these dangerous people SID had to deal with. South Africa was no exception to this, especially with all the ANC activity she had read about or seen on the evening news bulletins on television.

  ‘Why do you and Alex have to go?’ Sandra finally asked him.

  Gable put down his knife and fork. ‘Because it’s our case, and you know Alex, Sandra, he doesn’t like other people interfering with SID’s work.’ He desperately wanted to tell her the reasons for his trip but knew he just couldn’t.

  Sandra continued her salvo of questions. ‘That’s all very well, but I’m sure, Janet realises her husband is not getting any younger. He shouldn’t be jetting all over the place for the sake of Her Majesty, not at his age.’

  Gable nodded. ‘Look, I know you’re upset. But, it’s what we do, and we do it so that not only Her Majesty, but her subjects can sleep safely in their beds at night.’ He poured out another glass of wine then leant across to fill his wife’s glass. ‘There’s a lot of bad people still out there, Sandra, and while SID are still in service, we have to do our duty to track them down and stop them.’ He gestured to his jacket hanging over the door containing his 9mm Browning HP pistol. Although since joining SID, he hadn’t needed to use it, it was standard practice to have it on him. ‘By force, if necessary,’ he added. He also made a mental note to remember to take the gun out of his jacket and put it in the safe before leaving for the airport tomorrow morning.

  After dinner, he helped his wife clear the table. Following the conversation about his trip, he noticed she had not said much. He stared at her across the kitchen, her thin petit frame and blonde hair cascading down her back, sensing from her silence and actions as she gathered clothes from the washing basket, then moving on to the dishes from the meal, she was doing her best to put her mind off it all.

  He walked over to her, picked up a tea towel and took a wet plate from her hands.

  ‘You don’t have to do the drying Andrew. I can manage,’ she snapped.

  Gable lifted her hands from the soapy foam in the sink. ‘Just leave them. We can do them in the morning. He slowly removed her yellow rubber gloves. I thought perhaps we could get an early night?’

  Eventually, she resigned from her tasks. Her husband would be gone tomorrow. By the time she sat down in her chair at the primary school where she worked as the secretary, he would be on a plane, on his way to Johannesburg. ‘Okay, that’ll be nice. I’ll just put the rubbish out.’

  He watched her as she tied up the black sack and carried it out to the refuse shed. She opened the shed door then dropped the sack to the floor.

  To her husband, it was as if it had just fell out of her hand. ‘What is it Sandra?’ He saw she was frozen to the spot. ‘Are you okay?’

  She stood, transfixed at something inside the shed, the light from the kitchen partially illuminating what had caused her to drop the sack.

  Gable went to the door, then in the half-light, saw what had startled her. He bent down and picked up a toy rubber snake and showed it to his wife. ‘I think this must be Brian’s.’

  Brian Tomkins was the boy from next door. He was always trying to play practical jokes, and this had obviously been one of them. One which had been taken too far.

  ‘It’s only a toy one,’ he reassured her, waving it in front of her. ‘Besides, real ones here can’t hurt you.’ He thought again. ‘Well, Adders have a nasty bite and may make you feel ill. But all you’ve got to do, is go to hospital and they give you the anti-venom. Anyway, they normally run away whenever you get near them. And you’ll be lucky to see one about this time of year.’

  Despite being just a toy, Sandra was still not comfortable with it. ‘I just don’t like them. I could kill Brian for doing that. Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!’

  Gable laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll try and catch him before he goes to school in the morning and have a word with him.’ He rolled up the snake and placed it on the Welsh dresser.

  A short while later in their bedroom, Sandra was getting herself ready for bed when she had a thought. ‘Don’t they have all sorts of nasty creatures in Africa?’

  Gable smiled at her. The incident with the rubber snake was obviously still playing heavily on her mind. ‘Sandra, I’m going to Pretoria. It’s a city. You make it sound like I’m being dropped into the bloody jungle. I don’t think there’s much chance of me coming face to face with, say a Black Mamba, while walking down a busy street, is there?’

  Sandra shrugged. ‘I suppose not.’ She pulled back the bedsheets. ‘Just be careful all the same, won’t you?’

  Gable nodded from the other side of the bed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Alex and I will be back before you know it.’

  His wife looked doubtful. ‘Like you were when you both went to Vienna?’

  Gable shook his head. ‘I told you as much as I could why it took the time it did. Mind you, the press probably told you the rest anyway. It’s been over a year since it happened and they’re still giving it a lot of print space.’

  ‘Well, I suppose he probably thought he was safe in London, after his defection from Bulgaria.’

  Gable sighed. As much as he tried to keep certain details of his job discreet from her, all she had to do was read the dailies, putting two and two together. ‘I see you worked out why we were in Austria?’

  Sandra gave him one of her cynical looks. ‘They don’t sell poison umbrellas at train stations, do they Andrew?’

  Gable shrugged. ‘No, I suppose they don’t.’

  His wife smirked at her husband’s embarrassment. ‘I take it the case is still open?’ Gable gave her a sheepish look. ‘You know I can’t say anything about it, Sandra.’

  She tutted. ‘Jesus. Don’t you think I know that?’ She laughed, ‘I was just teasing.’

  Gable nodded, pleased to see her sense of humour had returned. ‘Of course, you were,’ he smiled.

  His wife had suddenly remembered something she needed to tell him. ‘Anyway, you better be back before Sunday. Oliver and Laura are coming up to visit. They said they have some good news to tell us.’

  Gable bit his lip. It had been a long time since he had seen his son. Oliver lived with his girlfriend, Laura, in their flat in Portsmouth, and rather than follow his father and grandfather into the police force, was a marine engineer on the Mary Rose shipwreck project. ‘I’ll be back by then, I promise. Maybe this good news is they’ve decided to tie the knot at long last.’ He walked over to the window and closed the curtains. ‘Or it could mean Laura’s pregnant,’ he added.

  Sandra gave him a scowl. ‘Andrew, leave them alone. They know what they’re doing.’

  Gable thought it best not to say anything else, he needed to calm the situation. He climbed into the bed, sliding up next to his wife, with his eyes falling into hers. He kissed her lips. ‘I’m sorry. Now, why don’t you put the light out and we can have a proper farewell.’

  Part 2

  Cascade

  16

  Anala, an adult female white rhinoceros, stirred and grunted in protest to the sudden stopping and starting of her transport, while inside the cabin, the driver, a big bearded South African, scrutinised the Beitbridge border crossing with the usual apprehension he had when attempting these moves into Southern Rhodesia.

  As always, the paperwork was legitimate, the beast was bound for the Wankie National Park, and it was hoped at least one of the anxious males already there, would take more than just a fancy shine to her so even in this current political climate, the White Rhino population could continue to flourish.

  The border guard waved the truck forward and the driver with his bare sandaled foot, eased down on the accelerator. Once again, Anala protested at the jolt caused by the halting of the truck at th
e barrier.

  The guard, a black RLI soldier, placed one hand on the strap of his shouldered rifle, peered into the side window and nodded to the driver. 'Papers and passport please?'

  The driver reached over to the passenger seat to retrieve a wad of documents. Handing them to the soldier, he allowed time for him to peruse them.

  Then, taking them with him, the guard walked to the back of the truck and peered through the slats to find his curious eye, meeting directly with that of the animal. He then quickly covered his nose and mouth as the foul aroma of the rhino’s excrement hit his nostrils, and now wanting to move this load quickly on, thrusted the South African-issued passport and papers back at the driver, hastily lifted the barrier and waved him through.

  As the vehicle crossed into Rhodesia, the driver sneered. It never fails, he thought to himself. He reached for a map. Then, driving with one hand along the dusty road, used a finger from the other hand to follow the route to Bulawayo.

  Behind him, Anala, had laid down on her side and started to doze off. Her compartment was slightly smaller than the usual wild animal transit, but that was because between her and the driver, lay a false partition; a space to accommodate the driver's other cargo.

  Although, Janny Van Der Kroek made a reasonable living as an animal transport driver, he had also, over the years, made even more money as an illegal arms smuggler.

  Normally, his illegitimate cargo was guns, and he didn't care whether it was the rebel factions or the militia who received them. As long as there was a heavy enough pay cheque involved, the job would be done.

  On this occasion, his shipment was something different entirely, and had Anala had the intelligence to understand it, she would have bolted at the earliest opportunity. Between her compartment and the cabin, inside two large green metal crates, rested two French manufactured, Aerospatiale AS-30, air to surface missiles.