“About twenty miles east of Aberdeen, Skipper.” Eddie tucked the flute into his waistband. “We’re locked on a south easterly course.”
“I need some coffee.” The Captain lurched towards the wheelhouse. “My tongue feels like a mohair jumper that’s been tumble dried. What time do you estimate we’ll reach Dundee?”
“Not too long.” Eddie tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. “Unless the tidal wave gets there first.”
Captain Morrison’s back stiffened and he slowly turned around. He noticed the tiny radio perched on the wooden bench beside the sailor.
“Makes for interesting listening, does it?” He leaned against the cabin wall. “Whatever you heard, it’s just speculation.”
“It’s a nationwide alert, Skipper.” Eddie stood up, legs apart and hands dangling by his side. He had hidden a Marlinspike behind the bench where he’d been sitting, just in case. It was used for hooking and stunning large fish but would work just as well on the Captain. “The Met Office says that huge methane deposits are on fire in the North Sea. They claim it will cause a tsunami that’ll wipe out the east coast of Scotland.”
“They’ve been wrong plenty of times before.” The Skipper appeared unruffled. “It’s not proof of anything.”
“And what would proof be?” Eddie spluttered. “The Lillian Gish ending up in the top of a tree?”
“And just what advice did the Met Office give to ships?”
“To stay at sea. A tidal wave is only dangerous when it reaches land and gathers height. In the open ocean we’ll barely feel it passing under us.”
“I know how the tides work, boy. Did they give any other recommendations?”
Eddie hesitated. “As an alternative, they suggested sailing into an estuary and getting as far up river as possible.”
“And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” Another bout of coughing racked Captain Morrison. He spat again and took in a gulp of sea air. “We’ll head into the Firth of Tay and up the river. By the time the Lillian Gish reaches Newburgh we’ll be farther inland than any wave can reach.”
“The Firth of Tay is too far away!” Eddie refused to back down. “We could head out to deep ocean and be safe.”
“Sailor. What we’re carrying could put us in jail for years.” The Skipper pressed thumbs into his eyes and shook his head to clear it. “We need to get rid of this cargo and the only place we can do it is Newburgh.”
“We could dump it over the side.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“Why? What exactly is our cargo, Skipper?”
Captain Morrison clumped over. Eddie’s hand reached behind him, just in case, but the bearded man snorted humourlessly.
“I’m not going to harm you.” He plonked himself down beside the sailor. “I can’t operate the damned ship myself, and you know it.”
“What are we carrying?” Eddie repeated.
“Treasure.”
“Skipper, this is a fishing trawler, not the damned Jolly Roger!”
“Be that as it may, treasure is what we’re carrying.” Captain Morrison gave a bitter smile. “During World War Two, the Waffen SS had a branch called the Ancestral Heritage Research and Teaching Society. They were obsessed with the occult and scoured the globe for artefacts they believed had supernatural significance. On the way, they nabbed any other possessions they thought would be worth a lot of money.” He wiped at his mouth again. “Their plunder is what we have on board. Terrible, I know, but the contents of those crates are worth an absolute fortune on the black market.”
“Are they worth dying for?” Eddie thought of Lasse Salvesson. “Our share is only a few thousand each.”
“You don’t understand. Historically, these artefacts are priceless.” The Captain scratched his beard awkwardly. “I sort of lied about the size of our share.”
Eddie cocked his head. “How big a lie?”
“Our cut is £500,000.”
Eddie Hall’s jaw dropped.
“You cheap conniving…! You said I was getting five thousand for the whole trip.”
“You were.” Captain Morrison shrugged nonchalantly. “But circumstances have changed somewhat. Get us to our destination and I’ll split it with you. £250,000 to be exact. Still want to dump the cargo over the side?”
“I’m reconsidering, it has to be said.”
“This old girl can make it.” Morrison patted the rail of his ship. “In a way, the disaster has worked in our favour. The coastguard, the army, the police, they’ll be dealing with a massive evacuation. If we reach Newburgh, they won’t have the time or the inclination to look twice at the Lillian Gish.
Eddie couldn’t help himself.
“Things didn’t work out all right for Lasse Salvesson.”
The light seemed to drain from Captain Morrison’s eyes.
“I sailed with the First Mate for years,” he said. “He was a dour man, objectionable even, but so am I. We never had an argument before. Not one.”
He leant back against the wheel and stared into the sky, ashamed to look at his crewmate. “He tried to use the radio to get more information about what was happening. Against my orders. That’s mutiny, in my book.”
“No it’s not, Skipper. It’s common sense.”
“I tried to stop him and the set landed on the floor and broke. Salvesson stormed out and I went after him. I was drunk and I was mad.” Captain Morrison gave a hiccup. “I caught up with him by the stern and grabbed him and he tried to pull free.”
“You pushed him overboard?”
“Of course not! I slipped on an oil slick and it looked like I was going over the side so the First Mate reached out to pull me back. I hit my head on the bulwark and knocked myself out but he must have lost his footing too.” A broken, bitter exhalation escaped the big man’s glistening lips. “When I woke he was gone. I circled for half an hour but I couldn’t see him. Not that it would have mattered. Nobody could last more than a few minutes in that water without a lifebelt.”
The Captain looked with undisguised hate at the flute tucked into Eddie’s belt.
“Salvesson was right, you know. This cargo is cursed. I should have listened to him.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We break the curse, lad. Only way I can think to do that is deliver the cargo and hope we never see it again.”
Eddie looked fearfully across the ocean. But it was flat and smooth as marble.
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” he said sadly.
“Me and Lasse? We had no family, neither of us. He was a plain man and not much fun but we’d sailed together for… I forget how many years. And he died saving my life.”
Tears began to trickle down Captain Morrison’s cheeks.
“I killed my best friend.”
WPC Arnold parked her car next to the Tay road bridge and got out, a pair of binoculars round her neck. She remembered Gordon Berlin saying that one of the two bridges was the longest in the world when it was built, but she couldn’t recall which. She focussed the binoculars on the structure but there was nobody on the pedestrian walkway. Perhaps Gordon and the children had already crossed. If they had, there was no way she would find them in the deserted city. Best to stay here and hope they would show up on the Fife side.
The field radio crackled and she picked it up.
“This is Sergeant Cooper, 2nd Battalion of the Black Watch. Over.”
“WPC Arnold here.”
“It’s happened Constable.” The interference couldn’t mask the shock and disbelief in the soldier’s voice. “There’s been a massive slide at Storegga and a tsunami is heading towards the coast of Scotland. You need to get out of there pronto.”
WPC Arnold’s heart lurched.
“I’ve got an hour and a half before it hits, Sergeant.”
“With all due respect Ma’am,” Cooper replied firmly. “We don’t know how far inland the wave will reach. I strongly suggest you head for higher ground right now.”
&
nbsp; “Understood. I’m going to make one more circuit of the area. If I don’t find anyone, I’ll get the hell out.”
“I’ve too much to do to argue with you. Good luck, Constable. Please don’t get a flat tire.”
WPC Arnold smiled, despite herself.
“I’ll drive on the rims if I have to. Over and out.”
Eddie Hall stuck his head into the wheelhouse of the Lillian Gish. He was in a state of high agitation.
“The Storegga slide has started!” How long will it take the wave to reach us?”
“What does the Met Office say?” Captain Morrison was crouched over the wheel, willing the ship to go faster.
“I can’t tell! The reception is all garbled on this piece of…”
“Look! We’re only fifteen miles from Dundee.” The Captain waved his hand at the navigation instruments. “Go sit on deck and play your damned flute or something. Storegga is almost a thousand miles away. We’ll be out of danger in a couple of hours.”
-43-
Baba Rana finally reached the Tay Rail Bridge and sat down to rest. The iron girders towered over her and she lay back on the damp grass, staring up through thick black triangles at the heavy grey sky. She closed her eyes for a second and almost nodded off.
She heard a click-clack noise above. The woman gave a start and opened her eyes.
A troop train was crossing the bridge, coming from the direction of Dundee. It was dull grey and packed with soldiers. As it passed overhead she could see anxious faces staring out of the windows.
She suddenly remembered another train filled with terrified troops – only these soldiers had different uniforms.
She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and twisted round.
The boy from the Ethylene plant was heading down the coast road in the direction of the road bridge. He glanced back at the train, gave a frightened skip and increased his speed. The woman struggled to her feet.
“Gorgio!” She cried out. “Wait! It’s me. It’s Rana!”
Wait. I just called his name! she thought. How do I know his name?
For the strange run, the shock of dark hair, even the slope of the boy’s back were suddenly all too familiar. And not just from a few days ago.
“Gorgio! Wait for me! Please!”
Baba Rana staggered up the riverbank and on to the road as quickly as her aching legs could carry her. A stabbing pain shot through her upper body, bringing her to a gasping halt. Clutching her chest, she sank to her knees, her head spinning.
The boy was getting further and further away. Taking a deep breath, Rana rose to her feet and forced herself to hobble after him, just as she had so many years ago.
This time she would not let Gorgio get away.
This time she would catch up with her brother.
WPC Arnold shot along the shoreline and skidded to a halt beside the rail bridge. This structure didn’t have a walkway and looked pretty unsafe to cross on foot, even without trains running. Still, she wanted to be sure. Arnold trained her binoculars on the girdered giant but there was no sign of life. An icy wind had sprung up and she buttoned her police jacket.
“I’ll check the road bridge once more. One more check. I’ve got time.”
Lying flat on the embankment that sloped up to the bridge, Gordon and the children watched the Panda rocket away.
“That copper’s like a bloodhound,” he muttered.
“It’s her all right.” Bobby propped himself on one elbow. “The same policewoman you used to go drinking with.”
“I can’t believe the cops are still looking for me. Doesn’t she ever give up?”
“She’s very pretty.” Mary rolled over on her back. “We should have talked to her.”
“I’m not particularly talkative with handcuffs on,” Bobby’s father retorted. “And we’re so close to Dundee.”
“So what do we do now?”
“She’s probably setting up bear traps at the road bridge.” Gordon looked longingly at the city across the water. It was too far to be sure, but there seemed to be no sign of life there either. “We’ll have to cross this one.”
“The rail bridge? What if a train comes?”
“Let’s face it.” Gordon gave an embittered snort. “There’s nobody for miles except us and that bloodhound in uniform. I don’t think there’s going to be any trains.”
“Let’s walk fast, just in case. Get this done.” Bobby scrambled up the embankment and onto the rail track. With a fretful glance at his father he turned and started off towards Dundee. Gordon gave a shrug and followed him. Mary hesitated at the top, stepping onto the tracks and back off again. Bobby looked back at his nervous friend.
“I got a feeling, Bobby.”
“You want to stay here?”
Mary thought for a moment.
“Not on my own I don’t.”
And she hopped onto the bridge and ran after her companions.
WPC Arnold slowed to a halt beside the road bridge and got out of the car.
“Well, I’ll be damned…”
There was an old woman sitting on a bench overlooking the river. The Constable slammed the car door and hurried over to her. As she got closer she realised who it was.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, sitting down beside Baba Rana. The woman looked at the end of her tether, frail and shivering in the wintry breeze. Her head was bare, apart from a red ribbon hanging limply from her ponytail.
“I walked,” she said listlessly. I was following my granddaughter.”
“Have you seen any sign of her? Or Bobby and Gordon Berlin?”
“No.” Baba Rana stared out over the water. “But I am waiting for a sign.”
“You stay here and you’ll get a lot more than a sign.” WPC Arnold looked at her watch. “We need to leave this place right away.”
“I have a confession to make.”
“Best save it for another time, ma’am.
“It’s important!” Rana pleaded.
“I’m sure it is, but there’s a…”
“When I was a little girl, my family were hunted by the Nazis. We were Gypsies, you see. Undesirables. But that wasn’t really why they were after us.”
“I’m sure this is an interesting story, Ma’am.” WPC Arnold held up her hand. “But it will have to wait.”
“I’ve waited seventy years.” The woman clutched angrily at WPC Arnold’s sleeve. “Now that I finally remember, I must tell someone! I haven’t any time left.”
“I wouldn’t argue with that.” The Constable looked around hopefully. Perhaps Gordon and the children were just over the next hill. After all, if an old woman could make it here….
“Go on, then. But make it quick.”
“It was 1945. My people, a Romany group of about twenty, were trying to reach the British and American lines. German defences were crumbling, but one group had chased us for weeks. The Ahnenerbe Forschungs und Lehrgemeinschaft, they were called - The Ancestral Heritage Research and Teaching Society.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bunch of teachers to me. And I went to a pretty tough comprehensive.”
“They were an SS group. Thieves and plunderers. We must have had something they wanted very badly. One night they finally found us. My father told my brother and I to run for the woods.”
A tear slid down Baba Rana’s wrinkled cheek.
“He told us that, if we were caught, we were to say we were both good German children and Gypsies had kidnapped us. My brother Gorgio wouldn’t hear of it, but my father made him swear a solemn oath. He handed us his most prized possessions – an ancient flute that had been in his family for generations and a ribbon that belonged to my mother. That’s when I knew we would never see him again.”
WPC Arnold stood up and looked around again. Still no sign of Gordon and the children.
“We didn’t get very far before the Germans captured us. We told our story to the SS officer but he didn’t believe it. He even took away my flute. We were put on
a train, the carriages filled with broken, beaten people, and taken many miles to a strange place. My brother told me it was called Auschweiken. Auschwitz.”
The policewoman slowly sat down, listening properly for the first time.
“It had sheds and huge chimneys and smelt of sulphur and gas. Just like the Ethylene plant next to where I live.” The woman clasped her hands together, thinking of her sketch pad. “All my life I thought I had drawn something from the future, when I was really drawing something from the past.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” WPC Arnold reached out and took the woman’s hand. “But you really will have to finish this story later.”
“My brother knew why we hadn’t been believed.” The old woman ignored the interruption. “I had fair hair and blue eyes and could pass as Germanic, but he… he had thick black hair and his skin was olive. So… when we got off the train he told the officers a different story.”
Baba Rana’s face crumpled.
“He said that only I had been kidnapped. But he had grown to love me and that he had to tell the truth. This time they fell for it. Told me I would be taken away and given to a good German family.”
The woman gave a choked sob.
“It was bitterly cold, like today. My brother was older than me but he was a slight boy and very small for his age. I gave him my coat and hat to wear and he fixed the ribbon in my hair. Then he kissed my forehead and made a run for it. When he refused to stop, they shot him.”
Baba Rana began to cry.
“From the back he looked just like me.”
“Oh,” WPC Arnold swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry.”
“I blanked all this from my mind.” Baba Rana stammered. “I couldn’t bear to remember what had happened.”
Sobs racked her feeble body. WPC Arnold took off her police tunic and draped it over the woman’s shoulders.
“Here. You’re freezing.”
“That isn’t the worst part, you know.”
“It can get worse?”
“I told my daughter and my granddaughter that we weren’t of real Gypsy blood. That the caravan in the garden was just an old woman’s pipe dream. Somewhere deep down, I didn’t ever want them to be persecuted for who they were. I fooled them into denying their roots, just like I denied mine.”
Waiting For a Train That Never Comes Page 15