In Treacherous Waters

by Richard V Frankland

  Returning to the bedroom he picked up his phone and dialled the MV Verlorenvlei’s Inmarsat number.

  “Kallenberg.”

  “Leonard. Did Jan Vermeulen contact you?”

  “Ah, yes, Leonard. Yes, Jan called, I understand you have a cargo for Cabinda.”

  “Correct, where are you at the moment?”

  “Hamburg until tomorrow then we pick up a cargo from Antwerp.”

  “When can you arrive off Madeira?”

  “Maybe in one week’s time. I will be keeping in touch with you to arrange exact timing.”

  “That is probably best. If you can get here sooner so much the better.”

  “We will do our best. Is there anything else?”

  “No, that’s all for now. Don’t forget the sooner the better.”

  ***

  Unlike Vaughan’s previous arrival there was little applause as the landing at Madeira’s Santa Caterina airport was quite straightforward. There was no short coach journey to the terminal building on this occasion and passengers were safely guided by ground staff from the aircraft to immigration and passport control. The walk, reducing the chance of being overheard, enabled Vaughan to brief his companion, Special Branch’s Detective Sergeant Brian Conway, on his personal status. At Gatwick their introduction had been too brief and too public and with a full aircraft they found that they were separated. Conway looked older than Vaughan had anticipated he would and gave the impression that he had been around the block a few times, a feeling that gave Vaughan some confidence in the man’s abilities.

  “Just in case the Yard didn’t mention it, my cover here is that of a maritime author who came here to research pilotage and shore facilities for inclusion in a new book.”

  “Yes, they did, mind you it was about the only thing they did tell me,” replied Conway. “A Tramps Guide to the Islands of the Atlantic.”

  “That’s the one, Sergeant. Oh, you had better call me Ian by the way, we are supposed to be two guys who just got talking to each other at Gatwick,” said Vaughan.

  “Okay, I’m Brian, first names it is.”

  Clearing immigration and customs Vaughan walked with Conway over towards Carlos who greeted Vaughan like a long lost friend.

  “Brian this is Carlos, he will take us to the Pestana Grand Hotel. I have to look up an old friend once I’ve checked in; maybe we could meet up this evening for a beer?”

  Conway looked surprised. “That sounds good, Ian.”

  Carlos led the way several paces in front with the trolley, allowing Vaughan to explain the reason for delay in searching for Staunton. “The last time I was here I should have made contact with the lady that was involved with exposing the recent coup attempt. It was a stupid omission on my part and is something I should try to put right.”

  “I was briefed with most of the arms smuggling information and abduction but it’s the first time I’ve heard about your involvement in the coup, Ian.”

  “This is just my suspicion and something I have to confirm as soon as possible, but I somehow think that this man Staunton may have had some connection with the coup, not just the illegal arms trade.”

  On the way into Funchal, Vaughan gave the Sergeant a brief history of the island and its people.

  “You seem very fond of Madeira, Ian.”

  “I am, particularly the people, they are really rather special.”

  “I must say the road system is a hell of a lot better than I expected.”

  “The amount that Portugal is having to pay back to the EU though is very rough on its inhabitants. Fortunately, the trouble in Egypt, Turkey and Tunisia has meant that a lot of tourists are returning here for their holidays, which can only be a good thing for the island, as it does not have much to export.”

  At the Pestana Grand, Vaughan paid Carlos and having checked in, both men went to their rooms. Swiftly unpacking, Vaughan changed into lighter clothes, then leaving his room walked out of the hotel grounds and up the hill a short distance to the Real Canoa restaurant.

  The owner, Bruno, was standing on the pavement alongside the menu board. “Mr Vaughan, welcome back, it is good to see you again. Are you lunching with us today?”

  “Yes, if you have a table free. The name is Ian by the way.”

  “Of course we have, please how about that one there,” Bruno Silva said, pointing to an outside table close to the main restaurant window.

  “That is great, thank you, sorry I mean, obrigado.”

  “Amelia will be very surprised to see you back here again, she was very upset that you left without visiting her, she saw your boat had gone and when she asked she learnt that you had returned and then gone away.”

  Vaughan and Amelia had become platonic friends. Vaughan, still hoping for a reconciliation with his estranged wife, had suppressed any feeling of attraction he had for the beautiful Amelia and would have ended the friendship earlier had she not expressed her concern about her uncle’s secretive meetings. Following their exposure of the coup plot the two had spent a lot of time together whilst they endured seemingly endless questioning from the military, who had imposed temporary martial law on the island. When Vaughan was seriously wounded, SIS had him flown back to England, then, not making time to see her again when he returned to collect his yacht he had obviously caused hurt.

  “Sadly it was all very much of a rush, I am afraid I was unable to call at her office.”

  “That is a great pity, Mr Ian, because shortly after you left she was attacked in the street by two men and badly beaten. She was in hospital for some days and now she only working half day and is still suffering much hurt from people.”

  “That is terrible, Bruno. Have the police found out who made the attack?”

  Bruno shook his head, “No, Mr Ian, and I think maybe they do not try so hard.”

  “Why not, it is obviously connected to the coup and that blasted uncle of hers. Maybe some of those people who would have supported the coup.”

  “Or, Mr Ian, those who believe she was part of the coup.”

  “Are there many who believe that?”

  “I think yes, there are. She gets shouted at occasionally when she is out in the street and her son, Zeferino, he now is bullied at his school.”

  “I thought that the authorities had finally accepted that she was innocent of involvement.”

  “It would not matter, Mr Ian, she would be hated by one side or the other, whatever.”

  “Is she back at her old apartment?”

  “No, she has moved to near my home at Càmara de Lobos. If you like I will give you the address.”

  “Thank you, I will go and see her straight after I have finished my lunch,” said Vaughan picking up the menu.

  ***

  As Vaughan sat down and started looking through the menu, police in London were entering the Hamstead home of Yakov Gorokhin.

  A young police constable, the third person through the door, gagged on the smell of rotting flesh and glancing at the mutilated body in the study turned and ran out into the street, throwing up into the gutter. Even the most hardened of officers were shocked by what they had found.

  The room had been ransacked, as had much of the three-storey house.

  “All three computers have had their hard drives removed, Sarge.”

  “Oh, right,” answered the sergeant, his attention focused on a grey suited man, who had suddenly appeared standing in the study doorway, holding up a badge for the sergeant’s inspection. “SIS, so I presume you want to take over from here.”

  The man nodded, “It would be appreciated, Sergeant, with as little further contamination of the scene as your men can manage, if you don’t mind.”

  “Stop everything,” the sergeant shouted. “We are being politely asked to leave. No rush, and be careful how you do it.”

  Then turning back to the man in the grey suit he said, “What’s the interest for SIS then?”

  “If I told you I would have to kill you.”

  “Oh God, a
bloody comic. No seriously, what’s your interest?”

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant, I honestly can’t tell you.”

  “Fair enough; you heard about the hard drives.”

  “Yes, I did. It seems the killer was a very frustrated and angry man.”

  “Seems to me that the man was a bloody psychopath.”

  The police sergeant was not the first to pronounce Staunton as being psychopathic. The army doctor at Camp Bastion in Hellman Province had come to the same conclusion following a fight in the camp between Staunton and another Major. Tragically the recommendation for Staunton to be returned home for mental assessment and treatment following the incident had been put into a handwritten report that was destroyed the next day in a Taliban rocket attack on the base.

  “Probably that as well, Sergeant, but looking at the way his search becomes more ruthless and destructive as he makes his way around the shelves in this room suggests to me that he arrived relatively calm and almost composed. I would further suggest that the victim either withheld information or in fact did not know the information that his attacker wanted.”

  “Well, Sir, without the hard drives I doubt if you will learn much information either,” said the sergeant.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Sergeant, in his anger and frustration our attacker failed to take with him the three back-up units on the floor there, alongside the CD stacks.”

  The sergeant glared at the constable who had just pointed out that the hard drives had been taken. “Come on, bright eyes, you had better leave the scene of crime to the more observant.”

  The specialist team from SIS arrived twenty minutes later to discover the intricate world of a code breaker of enormous talent with a research facility worthy of the man. Yakov Gorokhin was the name given to Mikhail Dostovalov, ex Russian KGB, shortly after he crossed the Berlin Wall and walked into the British Mission then at Building Leipziger Platz 12, leaving a wife and daughter behind who he would never see again. After his arrival in England, MI5 kept a protective watch on him, which over the years was scaled down and responsibility handed over to the Metropolitan Police who were required to inform the Intelligence Services should they be asked to attend anything involving the man or his property. Agent Adam Chilton, of ‘J’ section, responsible for communication with Russian defectors, returned to 85 Albert Embankment late that evening, handing over the three computer back-up units and two pages of code that had been carefully cut from a notebook and hidden between the pages of a volume of Evgeny Baratynsky’s poetry. After his delivery to ‘K’ section, he went down two floors to his desk to write a full report on what he had found at the house in Hampstead.

  ***

  Following his lunch Vaughan returned to the hotel and using the courtesy coach went into the centre of Funchal to hire a car. The SEAT Leon FR was impressive, the two litre turbo diesel engine taking the steep inclines easily in its stride. Vaughan found the house, set high above Cämaro de Lobos looking down over the town and its small harbour. Getting out of the car, Vaughan took in the view and the sun sparkling on the ocean beyond and wondered whether Amelia would ever want to leave Madeira. “Where the hell did that thought come from, don’t get involved out of sympathy, or is it sympathy. I have to think about this a lot more and that is assuming that she has any real feelings for me. She runs a business and has a son, she wouldn’t want to give up the business or uproot her son and leave this beautiful island. Why am I thinking like this, I went out of my way to avoid seeing her when I came to collect the boat, what has changed? I don’t have any responsibility for her being attacked or is it that subconsciously I know that things would have gone further between us had I not been wounded and returned to the UK. I am either in love with Amelia or I am not. Is it that I still have hopes of rekindling my relationship with Sarah, or is it SIS and the work I do that is creating this fog that is preventing me from seeing such things clearly.” Walking up the steep side driveway, Vaughan stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell, he heard voices followed by the clatter of feet and the door opened to reveal a young boy and a girl, surprised at first to see him and now rather shy at the sight of a complete stranger.

  “Mama,” the boy called, and immediately a young woman appeared from the kitchen.

  “Your husband, Bruno, suggested I call. Is Amelia de Lima here at the moment?”

  Alicia smiled, “You are Senhor Vaughan, yes?”

  “Yes, I am Ian Vaughan. Please call me Ian.”

  “I am Alicia, Bruno’s wife, Amelia is through here, please quiet, it will be good surprise for her,” Alicia said softly putting a finger over her lips.

  Vaughan followed Alicia to the door of the dining room where he saw Amelia sat at the table facing the window, beside her sat Zeferino, fidgeting in his chair, as he read very slowly from an English course book.

  Vaughan looked at the sling covering a plaster cast on her left arm from shoulder to wrist and the stitches along her jaw line. Some of her beautiful hair had been shaved off revealing another scar, but what was so alarming to Vaughan was the sallowness of her complexion and the dullness in her voice as she spoke to her son. She moved to turn the page of the book and Vaughan saw that her right arm was bandaged.

  Alicia pushed Vaughan back out of sight then said, “Amelia nós temos uma grande surpresa para ti.”

  As Amelia turned towards the door, Alicia pulled Vaughan into view, “Tad da!”

  Vaughan saw a flash of joy in Amelia’s eyes but it was only a flash. “Why did you return then sail away and not come and at least say hello?”

  “Because, Amelia, I had to leave in a hurry.”

  “Well, I thought it was very rude of you and I am very angry with you. I am even more angry now you come back,” she replied loudly.

  “I am sorry, Amelia, I will leave, it was a mistake my coming, really I am so sorry.”

  Vaughan got as far as the front door, having passed a very distressed Alicia on the way, when he heard Amelia shout out, “No, no, Ian, please don’t go, I need you to er, help me.”

  Vaughan was about to turn the front door knob and froze. “Do I carry on and walk away? If I stay, will I have to tell her what I really do? She has been through hell, will knowing what I do make it much worse for her than if I just walked away? It really comes down to what I actually feel for her, and at the moment, as I have been living a lie all the time I have spent with her, I do not know.” He turned the latch and heard Alicia gasp.

  Releasing the latch Vaughan turned and walked back to the dining room where he found Amelia standing now with tears streaming down her face. “I will do all I can to help you, Amelia, but I am here because on my way home to England, my yacht was attacked and sunk whilst I was at anchor on the north-west coast of Spain.

  “Oh my God, were you hurt? Oh how terrible for you, Ian, your beautiful boat sunk.”

  She took two steps towards him and raised her right hand and touched his face gently.

  “I managed to dive over the side just before the grenades went off, and swam ashore.”

  She gasped then frowned. “Did they know you were on board?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Do they know that you have survived?”

  “Unlikely, I saw them celebrating shortly after the attack, they seemed confident that they had completed the job.”

  “Who were these people?”

  “Amelia, this is frightening Zeferino,” said Vaughan, seeing fear in the young boy’s face, “Please, let him take a break from his studies and you and I go somewhere quiet, where we can talk.”

  “Where do you suggest?”

  “Let’s go for a drive up into the hills and find a good view to look at.”

  “I cannot go out looking like this.”

  “You did this morning when you went to work,” said Alicia, who was now standing in the doorway, “Go, you look fine. I will stay and keep an eye on Zef.”

  “Come on, you look all right to me,” said Vaughan, smiling at Amelia, who was now se
arching in the pocket of her skirt to find a handkerchief.

  “At least let me repair my make-up.”

  “I’ll give you five minutes,” said Vaughan, “Then we leave whether you are ready or not.”

  Amelia went to protest but Alicia stopped her. “Go, hurry.”

  Vaughan, smiling at Zeferino, went and sat down alongside the boy and pulled the school book towards him. “You are learning English, Zef, I am sure you are better at it than I am at learning Portuguese.”

  The boy smiled shyly and shook his head.

  “I don’t understand, tell me in English.”

  “I am no good learning.”

  “To learn a language you must listen carefully to each sound,” said Vaughan, slowly putting his hands behind his ears as if hard of hearing.

  Zeferino looked at Vaughan very seriously.

  “Okay, Zef, close your eyes and listen to me.” Zeferino closed his eyes and Vaughan selected the first sentence on the page and read it out slowly and clearly. “Now you say it back to me.”

  “Richard… lives in a house with his… father, mother and his two… sisters,” Zeferino said haltingly.

  “Now look at the book just here and say it again.”

  As Zeferino repeated the sentence Vaughan moved his finger along the page in time.

  “Now keep repeating that sentence moving your finger along the line.”

  Taking the book back, Zeferino repeated the sentence again.

  “Very good, now whilst your mama and I go out for a drive, you take some time off from homework, and maybe watch some television?” Vaughan said again, supporting his words with hand signals.

  The boy smiled and said quietly, “Sim, er, er yes.”

  Standing, Vaughan smiled down at the boy, “See you later, Zef.” He ruffled the boy’s hair.

  The plaster cast and sling on her left arm and the bandaged right arm made getting in and out of cars difficult for her. Vaughan had also noticed that she had a limp as she walked. Carefully he helped her in and fitted the seat belt.