The Ringer

by Greg Hunt

  It was not a rhetorical question and Emma continued to wait for a response. Archie just remained calm and attempted to mask his face. It had been such a wonderful evening. Everything had been perfect and now this. What was he to say? Did he compromise his position for the girl that he had fallen madly in love with? Was it love? Was that really what he felt? He had never had emotions like this about anybody before. Could he trust her?

  “I think we both need another hot chocolate, Emma,” Archie began hesitantly and then picked up his voice. “Or perhaps we should have something a little stronger. There’s been much that I’ve wanted to say to you and seeing that I’m away from it all and I trust you, Emma, let me share with you what I’ve been doing over the last nine months.”

  Chapter 67

  Archie tasted the warmth of the hot chocolate and began his tale. The effect of what he had said before, with the sound of obvious emotion in his voice, meant they both devoured the couple of extra gulps of brandy that Archie poured unsteadily into their drinks.

  Emma was rapt in attention. Archie began with his role in the armed forces as well as his PhD student studying. Emma was impressed that Archie had been identified as having exceptional qualities by the Royal Navy, but by no means surprised. A team player, a gregarious and intelligent character, his reports had read. He blushed with embarrassment for the regular updates had also stated: leadership potential, someone whom you respected for his wisdom and ability to see things through. This is what Archie was, what he stood for. It was all very clear to Emma.

  Archie had been given small leadership tasks at first and had built up a team of trusted individuals. Petty Officer Betts had always been on the edge of the trusted team, sometimes included, sometimes not.

  The shooting test seemed many months ago now, almost approaching three quarters of a year, but he had seen part of the man’s real character. Their mission to the Alps had been decided and they all set out to become familiar with the lay of the land, to increase their fitness, and develop their winter training skills. Kevin had been out in the field becoming adept at communications and Jackie and Jo had spent hours pouring over the reconnaissance pictures of the remote Alpine valley and its surrounds, complete with the planned landing site.

  Emma took a quick swig of her hot chocolate whilst gazing continuously at Archie. She needed to read his body language, to be sure that she could trust him. She did not want to miss a detail and she knew the important part was coming up.

  Archie re-told how the team had skydived to just below the Glacier de Bellecote and had been off target on the landing; so off target that they had ended up gathered to the side of the main bulk of the dome of the imposing rocky outcrop. In the growing light of dawn, it had been confusing to see what appeared to be a bright orange winter survival bag.

  Indeed, in checking the contents there had been the three young adults, Emma and two young men, all perishing cold. Archie told Emma of his anguish at the time; how he had eventually contacted the French rescue teams, ensured that they had enough food, water and an extra blanket and attempted to push Joseph back inside. Archie had been concerned that Joseph might have vague recollections of the incident.

  Emma confirmed to Archie that these were her brothers, how she had felt at the time and after having been rescued, that she could not work out why she had Archie Malcolm’s voice in her head.

  Archie pulled Emma back into his story with the deaths of Kevin, who had appeared to parachute off the mountain and, soon after, of James and Nick. He elaborated on the circumstances, confirming that the men had died whilst attempting to stop the Woodcutter from escaping in his micro-light from the discreet wooden chalet, and Betts from escaping in the team’s helicopter transport. His teammates’ deaths would not be in vain.

  Emma took in the unusual fiery emotion of this man to whom she was completely warming. It may have been four in the morning on this Sunday in the turn of spring, but that was the first time she had glanced at the clock since going to the ball with David the previous evening. Where was David now? She did not really care. She wanted to be here with Archie. Archie’s issues were hers. How could she help him? How could Archie avenge the deaths of his colleagues when he had been taken off the mission?

  Archie pulled himself out of his seat and walked over to the sliding doors leading onto the wooden balcony. He turned the black handle and the cool breeze rushed into the flat. It seemed to bring both of them into the immediate present and intimacy of their surroundings. Emma rose to join Archie and they stepped out onto the balcony into the pre-dawn.

  Emma was still in her beautiful purple dress and her purple neck band had loosened. Archie untied it and kissed Emma gently where, moments before, it had covered her skin. She reacted by drawing him close to her and she kissed him back lightly on the lips.

  Archie found Emma’s gentle kiss exquisite, so beautiful that this moment had to be treasured. It took all his will to lead Emma to his bed, to kiss her softly on the cheek and then return to his own sofa bed. The burning desire would have to wait.

  The address that Nick had found in the basement of the chalet in the Alps was heavy in Archie’s pocket, having lain there far too long. Emma had reignited his passions, both emotionally for her and for his former team mates. He was now more determined than ever to avenge the deaths of his colleagues.

  Chapter 68

  The Tower Captain had woken early as the house martins were noisy this morning. The birds were making their nest on this beautiful spring day just metres from where his head had been lying on the down filled pillows. Even with a single pane of glass set into this beautiful Tudor home, their cheeps and chirps cut through the envelope of the property into the bedroom.

  Their calls stirred the late middle aged man to life. Mavis was still sleeping next to him as he rolled out of bed. He reached for his dressing gown and padded downstairs, ducking under a couple of oak beams. Whilst a beautiful property, it had a number of impractical characteristics, one of which was the height under the sturdy oak beams at first floor level.

  The Tower Captain filled up the kettle and made sure it would soon be bubbling away. He checked on the home-made bread that his wife had prepared the previous evening. The smell of the bread was still in the air and he lingered before shuffling over to the downstairs closet.

  So as not to disturb his wife when he was back at home from his weekly consultancy role in the city, he had had the closet installed near the back of the house. In addition to holding his gun cabinet, always kept under lock and key, there were his basic outdoor clothes and a clean set of undergarments.

  The Tower Captain dressed and put on his Wellington boots and Barbour jacket. Closing the back door as quietly as possible, he walked along the gravel path to the small outhouses a hundred metres away from the main house. It really was a beautiful spring morning, he thought. It was going to be an exceptional day and this was just the start he needed. The bulbs were in full flower. He had seen the end of the crocuses and the snowdrops and it was now the turn of the mighty daffodils and tulips. His garden, though more realistically described as an estate, was starting to come into life.

  He was reminded of his conversation with a fellow consultant in the city earlier in the week.

  “Spring in the air,” the consultant had exclaimed, as the warmth and smells of spring had even pervaded the heart of the capital.

  The Tower Captain had responded, “Spring in the air yourself!” Once he had caught on, both of the city workers had chuckled for quite a while there after.

  Reaching the outhouses and their surrounding yard, he peered into the first enclosure. Pinkie and Perkie, his two six month old black Berkshire pigs shuffled back towards him. They were looking very well indeed. Having created a large mound of earth immediately outside of their sty, their noses, acting like very efficient shovels, were working the ground over, adjacent to the sty itself. A treat to watch, he could not believe the pigs were approaching six months. Their standar
d of living had allowed them to put on a good amount of weight and hoover up scraps, potatoes and everything else that they were given.

  The Tower Captain walked into the small outbuilding opposite, which contained his small flock. He checked that the feeders and the water containers were working properly and full and that his hens and cockerel were well. Most importantly, he went to the nesting areas where he removed half a dozen eggs and smiled at the beauty of it all.

  Lastly, he completed his round by walking over to the paddock fences. He reflected that he had erected these fences with his bare hands. What a feat that had been! Gazing over the Hampshire countryside had helped to make it all worthwhile. His alpacas and llamas stayed a respectful distance away. These animals enjoyed their own space and, still being fairly new to the Tower Captain, he was enjoying gaining an understanding of their ways.

  As this was a special day, the Tower Captain wanted to check on the space that he had created in the garaging next to the outhouses. With a spring in his step, he quickly opened up the triple doors and lovingly stared at his restored MGB with original metallic spokes and beautiful, dark brown interior trim. He had always been a fan of classic cars, but for his new addition it was not just going to be about the car now, was it?

  Turning towards his beautiful home with its higgledy piggledy exterior, he removed the Sunday paper from the jet black post box by the dark wooden entrance gates and proceeded back to the rear entrance.

  Checking the kettle had boiled, he poured the three mugs of tea, knocking on Monica’s door to let her know that Daddy had made her weekend early morning cuppa.

  The Tower Captain was proud of his daughter Monica. Not naturally into reading or writing, she had found school and studies difficult. As her father, the Tower Captain had been unsure where her future lay. When he had first moved into his alternative businesses he had soon realised the value of trust. His consultancy role in the city which he had developed over the years, had always been an excellent cover.

  Naturally a cautious person leaving nothing to chance, the Tower Captain was aware that these attributes had served him well. His own parents had always said “Leave no stone unturned,” or “Go the extra mile.” The Tower Captain also believed that if you wanted something badly enough, or cared about the quality of the output of your work, then it was always worth doing it to the best of your ability.

  The Tower Captain’s activities were particularly sensitive; he needed to share the details with as few people as practically possible. Monica was one of those people. Whilst perhaps appearing outwardly dippy, her father knew that he could trust her implicitly. The unassuming exterior was one of her strengths as this ensured that those around Monica relaxed in her company, trusted her, and more importantly, shared their thoughts and what was going on in their lives.

  The Tower Captain, his wife Mavis and their daughter Monica were all going into the centre of Portsmouth today. Each of them made their way through boiled eggs and dippers and a further piece of toast, with freshly made marmalade.

  “Wonderful fresh bread and marmalade,” the Tower Captain said to his wife. Mavis confirmed agreement and that she thought the brown worked much better with the seed mix added. Monica made it clear that they should all keep moving and grabbed her black leather jacket. The Tower Captain considered it too small as it rose up and showed her midriff, but that was all the rage apparently.

  The family party locked up the main house and headed over to the outbuildings. The Tower Captain revved up the large Audi and they were on their way, sweeping along the drive of the estate, the house screened by the extensive landscaping. Out into the rolling Hampshire countryside, the car passed along the narrow rural lanes which would meet up with the M27 to take them into the heart of the City of Portsmouth.

  The Tower Captain dropped Monica off discreetly at the top end of the pedestrianised high street. She had some weekend shopping to do and was required to undertake some overtime at the naval base in the afternoon. In view of her efficiency, Commander Edgar Bennett had ensured that Monica now fulfilled the role of his personal assistant. It was an invaluable role for Monica and for her family, to have someone on the inside, and of course outwardly for the Commander as he believed that she was efficiently fulfilling all of her duties and had no suspicions.

  The Tower Captain and Mavis continued onto the cobbled streets of Old Portsmouth and parked the large vehicle on one of the recently metered side streets. The Cathedral stood out brightly ahead, the twin towers of the western façade contrasting with the pale blue of the sky. The Tower Captain and Mavis walked round to the gated side entrance and up the wide, internal, stone steps. Walking past the organ, Mavis paused briefly to catch her breath and turned to look out over the main body of the Cathedral with all of the wooden chairs for the congregation below.

  The Tower Captain unlocked the small wooden door that led up to the ringing chamber and they both proceeded up the small flight of indented, stone steps that wound round to the right. This layout, the Tower Captain thought, had stemmed from the right handed defender coming down the stairs needing the sword arm advantage in the event of a siege.

  Opening up the ringing chamber door, the Tower Captain quickly carried out his initial duties. He took the clock chimes off. He wound the clock using the long metal handle for leverage. He lowered the pulley holding all of the ringing ropes and started to tie up all of the ropes individually so that their ends were not loose on the polished wooden floor.

  He checked that the necessary arrangements were in place next door to the ringing chamber, and then went up the oak ladder into the belfry. His tool kit lay to the side of the tenor bell and it only took him five minutes to complete his task.

  It was a shame that it had come to this. The lad had come too close to spoiling it all and he had to be removed. The Tower Captain’s assistants had requested help after the episode in the Alps. Lieutenant Archie Malcolm had to be dispatched, and the Tower Captain needed to play his part. If you are going to do something, do it well.

  Chapter 69

  Natalia was in a rush to escape from her hotel room. Yes, it was by far the best hotel she had ever stayed in. Yes, it had panoramic views of the Solent, a helpful concierge, and all her needs had been catered for. What it could not do, though, was reunite Natalia with her brothers or with her treasured cargo.

  She was attempting to squeeze the last of her expensive clothes into her case. It still would not close. She sat on it and then needed to put all of her weight above the opening clasps. At last, the case locks joined with the clasps and clicked into place.

  All she could think about was the contents of the classic car and the distribution of the other packages across the UK. Would it all go smoothly? Would there be any issues with the authorities? She was ready to do what she could to stamp her way, the Morales way, on the whole of the UK operation. She was sure that monies which were illegitimately the Morales’ were being siphoned off by the local dealers and the main controller overseeing this local network.

  She would skip breakfast and go for a walk across the Common, which she had spied from her seafront suite. She needed to clear her mind, and be ready for her meeting with the local operatives.

  The hotel concierge nodded at her as she skipped out of the main front door on this fresh spring morning. She smelt the salt in the breeze and was impressed by the real green of the Common; a far cry from the natural browns of her native Peru.

  It was a short walk that would take her to the embankment of the seafront itself, with the road and promenade lying in front of the Southsea War Memorial. This was just what she needed. Feeling properly revitalised, after a deeper than normal sleep, she was ready to do battle. She could work out who she could trust and who would help take their family fortune further, and who just needed to be removed and eliminated.

  It was an easy, looped walk back to the hotel where she was to meet Betts, who had refused to let her know where the meeting was being held. It wa
s a matter of the utmost secrecy even from her, and this ensured that there were no unnecessary leaks. Betts had reluctantly left her the previous evening, and had been sure to take in the whole aura of Natalia, prior to departing for his separate digs, located only a couple of streets away from the Common, close to Southsea Shopping Centre.

  Betts had arranged to meet Natalia at 9am. He was visibly disappointed to see her wearing a smart, practical, trouser suit and Betts himself was, unusually attired in good quality clothes. His ensemble consisted of a fresh pair of jeans, a smart shirt and a light fleece.

  Seeing Natalia in the hotel reception, Betts took Natalia’s arm and led her out into the sunlight. Neither of them were in the mood for conversation as they turned the corner to the heart of Old Portsmouth. Natalia still wondered where they were heading for. Betts indicated to the Cathedral which had risen up in front of them.

  “We’re in here,” he said, “the home of the UK operation.”

  So Portsmouth Cathedral was to be the venue for her meeting. Momentarily, she thought it strange that this historic property served as the location for what had to be undertaken. What a place to act as a disguise for the realities of their trade! The authorities would be reluctant to disturb any comings and goings within the Cathedral itself, and generally all connected with this building would be seen as pillars within their community.

  Betts and Natalia entered through the southern gate, arriving in the main body of the Cathedral with its lofty domed ceiling many metres above. They immediately turned right to follow the first flight of wide stone stairs which curved round to the landing, holding the body of the organ.

  Up through the small, wooden door situated adjacent to the organ pipes that led to the ringing chamber itself, Natalia peeped through the narrow glazed window slits and was rewarded with a dusty view of part of the naval docks. The ringing chamber door opened at Betts’s insistent push and both Natalia and the Petty Officer stepped down into the large, open room which appeared to have been built around the inner circle of levitating ringing ropes, tied in mid-air ready for the Sunday morning service.