Iceline

by Martyn Taylor

Mick Moor, Alan and Pete squeezed through the scrum of bodies crowding the bar of the Mishnish and found a corner. Above the bar a television regaled no one in particular with the tribulations of soap-world. Anything lower than a shout was lost in the general hubbub of laughter, debate and banter bouncing off the walls. Five minutes later, Alan gave up and drained his pint, tapping the side of his head to indicate he thought it was crazy in there, he made for the door. Outside, the cool night air washed over him and he breathed deeply and walked across to the iron railing on the harbour wall. The outgoing tide slapped with an oily sullenness at the foot of the stonework and reflected lights swirled slowly on the water. The noise inside the pub seemed miles away, but he still didn't hear the approaching figure until he spoke. "Hi," he said, the greeting casual, "nice night, looks good for tomorrow."

  Alan Smith recognised the lad from the compressor hut and forcing it slightly, matched his greeting. "Evenin', yeah, you're right there."

  "You're one of the guys who found the cylinder this morning aren't you?"

  "S'right, mate of mine pulled it up. He rang the Coastguard; felt he ought to let them know in case somebody was looking for it, he's talking about putting a card in the shop as well."

  "Not a bad idea, might turn something up, bit soon really, doesn't look a bad cylinder once the shit's cleaned off. Should pass a test without too much trouble."

  "Anybody interested yet then?" Alan asked.

  The lad shook his head. "Nah, not yet, give it a couple of days." And leaned on the railing beside Alan and rummaging through a Golden Virginia packet deftly rolled a cigarette, finishing it off with a flourish as he licked the paper and gave it a final spin. He tucked the twist of paper in his mouth and lit it with a throwaway lighter. "There's a couple of liveaboard’s out on the West Side, it could be from one of them, who knows,

  Alan Smith tucked his hands in his pockets. "What do you reckon it came from?"

  "Don’t know it could be a lazy shot that somebody had to leave. The weather blew up and before they could get back to it, something broke and it pissed off down the Sound. There were some guys doing deep stuff around Bo Fascadale a couple of weeks ago, come to think of it, there is a boat that works up there quite a bit. Can't remember its name though. Flash piece of kit, not your usual live-aboard. Name will come to me in a bit..."

  Smith said jokily. "About four in the morning, it'll wake you up."

  "Probably," he laughed and finished the roll-up, then flicked it over the rail and the glowing tab snuffed out as it hit the water. "Right, I'm off for a pint, want to join me?"

  "Nah, not tonight, bit of a thick-head coming on. I'll catch you later, the name's Alan...Smith."

  "Evening Alan, George Evans. See you around." He said and headed straight for the Mishnish. Smith watched him go, then turned and leaned on the rail again. He'd be heading for bed before long, the day had been good, but the rowdiness of the evening in the pub had been too much and the first couple of days were always tiring. The pint would help, so he should sleep like a log tonight. Alan Smith cleared his throat and spat it out across the water, fuck it, he thought and went back to the log cabin, tucked in behind the Western Isles Hotel at the top of the steps. Calling in at the Mishnish to get the key, he was told that Jenny had stayed behind. He called out in the darkness when he reached the cabin to let her know who was coming in and went to bed.

  Charlie dragged the old wooden box from under his bunk and carried it on deck, he opened the flare locker and lifted out a tray to reveal a pair of insulated terminals and opened the box. He unpacked an old transmitter with a Bakelite Morse key and unwound the connecting leads and clipped each one to a terminal. He had scribbled out a terse report for Ben, to pass it on to Jardine, or whoever had the overview for Steel. Ben would get the message, but the monitor at the Grange would have it sooner, or a version of it. Jardine would have to decipher it himself as the only other Granger who knew the key was on board with him. He turned up the signal strength and began tapping with a call-up sign. WESTHOME CALLING ANGEL and repeated it twice, then sat back to wait. ANGEL RECEIVING WESTHOME, came back five minutes later, the volume of the bleep turned down low in his headphones and Charlie settled down to transmit.

  Hannah Brown was out of it when the signal buzzed in her headphones, the hiss of white noise lulling her concentration and suddenly the beep had jolted her. He wasn't taking the mickey, somebody was still using it. The request had come through from Jardine. The frequency tweaked to the finest degree of tuning they could achieve and she still thought it mad. Nobody uses Morse any more, most official maritime organisations were permanently standing down the transmitting and receiving stations in favour of more advanced systems, even VHF was on the way out as GMDSS began to take over and yet here it was. A blast from the past, the distinctive beep, dot-dash, dash-dot, dash-dash-dot, dot, dot-dash-dot-dot and the first words appeared to be clear, then it changed and she took down a seemingly random collection of letters interspersed with numbers. Instinctively she stabbed her finger down on the record button and scribbled away with her pencil, the recording was too check against later. Jardine had demanded a copy immediately and he got it. Hannah's pencil danced across the pad, thankful that a fascination with radio and Morse had finally paid off. The fist signed off with a traditional GNOC and she whispered the words as she copied down the shorthand, Good Night Old Chap and the signal stopped and white noise filled her headphones once again. This was a blast from the past. She switched off her own key and tapped GNOC, WHOEVER YOU ARE, but the dumb machine sent nothing. She waited for five minutes after the receiving station confirmed receipt of the signal before she dragged off her headphones and took the signal up to Jardine's office. She went in and handed over the chit. "Westhome just sent this to Angel, no reply, just confirmed receipt. They're now both off the air."

  "They will be for some time now," he said, "thank you, it's good of you to bring this up so promptly."

  "You did say immediately Sir."

  "Thank you nonetheless."

  "That's all right I'll get back, just in case."

  Jardine nodded as she turned and let herself out. He settled down at his desk and pulled out a pad. It wasn't a complicated code, you just had to remember exactly how the numbers of today's date were added up and then divided, like a children's puzzle, then the number you were left with provided the shift for the day. Twenty minutes later he had the transcript on his pad and he was up to date on the situation in Scotland.

  Charlie sat silently by the key, the box still open and the headphones twisted on his head so only one ear was covered, wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't hear Steel pad quietly along the deck. He jumped, startled, when Steel stepped down into the cockpit, jerked around and let out a long sigh when he recognised whom it was. Steel sat down opposite, completely ignoring the transmitter. "Guilty conscience that, sure sign." He said.

  "We've all got one of those, how's yours these days?" Charlie chipped back.

  "Not too bad, I can live with it most of the time and you?"

  "'Bout the same, tolerable." He said and packed away the Morse set. He tidied the cockpit and snapped the latch on the seat locker. "I try not to lose too much sleep, not that you'll be losing much over what happened to-day. Want to talk about it?"

  Steel sat down, easing himself into a comfortable position in the corner. "Not really."

  Charlie looked at him, noting the tired lines around his eyes and the pallor to his skin. "You're going too though. Good God lad, you look bloody rough, the best place for you is a hospital bed," Charlie raised a hand, "I'm not going to argue with you, I think someone ought to give you the once over."

  "That's in hand; it's why I wanted to have a chat with you on your own. I need to be in Tobermory tomorrow, I've arranged to meet somebody, well two people actually."

  "You trust them?"

  "I hope I can, I have only met one of them and that wasn't under the best circumstances possible. I have to persuade them to trust m
e as much as I need to trust them."

  Charlie swatted a midge and scratched his head. "Why Tobermory?"

  "Couldn't think of anywhere else and this," He tapped his chest, "began there. I want to see if I can pick anything up, a hint of what I may have stumbled on."

  Steel shifted in his seat, wincing as he stretched the muscles of his chest carefully under the life-jacket sitting one way to ease the discomfort in his chest, pulled at the muscles of his back, so he played a game of one against the other, twisting and turning to find that happy medium which gave the minimum of discomfort. Charlie knocked on the cabin door and a second or so later Langhers appeared. "All on deck," he said, "get Josie."

  It took a couple of minutes to rouse Josie and get her back to the cockpit. "I think it's time for a confab," he said, "fill in the bits of the picture we have and flesh out the bones of what we know."

  Steel's face was grim and Josie looked from one to the other. Is this where he goes into all gory details? Steel read her look and laid his hand gently on hers. "It's OK; there are only bad dreams now." He lied and squeezed it gently. She tried to smile at his encouragement, but it came over twisted with worry. She really didn't feel ready for this, but steadied herself. For herself, Kurt and Charlie They could shut out what they didn't like, for Steel, it was there, even when he wasn't thinking about it.

  "I wasn't at my best, so don't expect too much," Steel began, "I may not remember everything, we could end up working by guesswork on what I leave out. I'll do my best to give you the bones of the tale and as you said Charlie, we can go on from there. I won't worry too much about timing it didn't matter after a while. I did think that the hammering might have been to break me, to open up about something they thought I was familiar with, I may be, I probably just don't realise the significance of it."

  "Can I make a suggestion," Langhers injected. "It's one of your ideas Don."

  Charlie had taken the chair. "Go on Kurt."

  Steel frowned, wondering what it might be.

  Kurt explained. "He likes Kipling," he said to Charlie then looked at Steel. "Six honest serving men, remember the six questions; you always said, ask them and get an answer and you've got all you need."

  "Who, what, where, how, why, when." Josie chanted softly, "it was on a card in your wallet. We found it when your belongings were brought back to the Grange."

  Reaching into the pocket of her jeans she slipped out a thin leather wallet and extracted a crumpled piece of laminated card. Steel reached out and took it from her fingers and Josie noticed the weals around his wrists. As he took the card she reached forward and laid her outstretched fingers against the livid red flesh. Somehow they had never stood out from the natural lines of his wrist until now. Her eyes locked with his and she saw the familiar crinkling when he smiled, so familiar in the past. He hasn't changed, I am right, she told herself: just get a grip girl, this is no time to go overboard. "It really is alright," he whispered. Charlie coughed, embarrassed to be a witness to such intimacy.

  "Can we...?" He asked.

  "OK Charlie." Said Josie, colouring at the throat. Steel turned the card and read the untidy script. "I remember, but which one do we start with."

  "Time frame, even a very general one, When?"

  Steel went quiet, trawling through the events of recent weeks, but unable to peg a specific date. "Let's say, three weeks plus a couple of days, three and a half."

  Langhers came in with. “What?"

  "Holiday, first one for a while except for a couple of days at Christmas, didn't get away last summer, had something planned, but it never came off. So I was really looking forward to a break, nothing too strenuous, but I fancied a bit of diving. Not have it as the main focus of the break, don't get me wrong, I enjoy it, especially round here, but there's as much above water to keep me interested as below it. Anyway, I picked Tobermory because I've dived here before and I had the numbers of a couple of the dive boat skippers and the idea was to drop in, see if there was a spare place on a day-boat and log a couple during the fortnight."

  "And did you?" Asked Josie, leaning forward to hear him better, his voice had softened as he spoke.

  "Yes, got three cracking dives in, three different wrecks. Oh yeah, I've done them before in the past..."

  "What wrecks?" Asked Charlie. "It might be important."

  "Hispania, Schuna and the Aurania. All toward the western end of the Sound of Mull which may, or may not be relevant." Said Steel.

  "Is there anything special about them?" Josie wondered.

  "No, nothing that I can think of, reasonable dives, fairly straightforward, the Schuna is silty. The Aurania's smashed up; Hispania is fairly intact, looks like a ship."

  "Go on please Don." She prompted.

  Steel shifted his seat, making himself comfortable again. "OK, the diving, if we're looking at that, it was the last thing I did, as far as I can remember. I had some sort of problem on the last dive, alright, I'll admit it, I'm a fairly heavy breather, I'm not the smallest bloke you're going to come across. I think you need something like half a litre of air per kilo per minute. That's a pretty good sum at the surface; add depth and time under water and the figure gets big. But even for me, I seemed to be flattening a tank at an alarming rate and had to cut the dive short, so later on I went back with a spare content's gauge to check it against my DV gauge. I'd had a word with the lad who works in the compressor shed earlier in the day and he said to use one of the cylinders with the masking tape over the pillar valve later on. So I went back after the shop had closed, picked one and checked my gauge, it didn't make sense, both gauges read the same, but the pressure was too low for a filled cylinder. I remember someone else being around at the time, I may have said something about a mix up. Then the lights went out and when I came to I was blindfolded and tied to a chair."

  Langhers stretched his legs to ease the cramp in his thigh and broke Steel's concentration; he paused, rubbing his face to ease the tiredness creeping over him. He looked at the marks on his wrist. "It wasn't wire to begin with; they used sisal and kept it wet. The pain was incredible, it eased slightly as the sisal dried out then they would wet it again. I don't know how long it went on, but the idea must have been just to grind me down physically."

  Charlie asked. "When did they strip you?"

  "At the beginning. They eventually removed the blindfold, but by that time they had given me such a hammering I couldn't open my eyes, they were so swollen.” Steel’s tone was becoming more objective, shifting his perspective so he spoke like an actor reading badly through a script, without engaging with the part. Josie stared at the deck. Charlie had reached into his past and was running a straightforward de-brief. Langhers just listened attentively, no stranger to the grimmer twists of life.

  "Why switch from rope to wire." Langhers queried.

  "No idea mate," Steel said, "maybe they were getting clever, the end result was that after they'd dropped me off as it turned out. I would die of exposure on the hills and lay there for a long time, so that by the time anyone found what was left of me there'd be no trace of any surface injuries."

  "How long did they expect you to be there?" Josie snapped.

  "No idea," Steel said calmly, "under the right conditions a body can be down to bones in a very short time, a couple of weeks, or it can last for decades."

  "So what went wrong?" Charlie probed.

  "Oh, a number of things, the weather turned, became changeable..."

  "Wouldn't that have worked in their favour, if they hadn't finished you off enough, then the weather would, I mean, dropping you on the hills, that's a reasonable guarantee that fairly soon you would be dead from exposure?"

  "It could, but the prevailing weather would have to hold and not change again. That was Steel's lucky break." Charlie said.

  "Dropping being the operative word, I keep having this nightmare about being dropped from a great height, how high I don't know, but I remember being dragged into a helicopter..."

&n
bsp; "You were airlifted off the hill." Kurt prompted.

  "No, before that, I think I was dropped, literally from a helicopter, fuck it, some bastard threw me out. God knows, they probably wanted me to break something."

  "So why didn't you?" Was Charlie's remark.

  "I passed out, maybe landing on a slope made a difference, I bounced. I don't know I didn't break anything which in the light of this morning's activity it was a bloody good job."

  "You probably wouldn't be here now and neither would I." Josie shuddered at the thought.

  "Well, we are," Steel said firmly, "and that's what matters."

  "Sorry." She murmured.

  "That's OK," Steel reassured her, "so, no blindfold; even with swollen eyes, the bastards didn't intend that I should survive. The papers would have reported finding what was left next spring and as for me, I guess people would have assumed that I had an accident."

  "Does that bring us on to how, or have we covered that enough already?" Remarked Josie.

  "I don't think there's any great need to dwell on how I got in this state, the physical evidence can speak for itself." Steel answered.

  "Where?" Charlie posed the next question.

  "No answers to the general area, but specifically, we're looking at a farming location, it's fairly evident that it must be a vacant location, definitely isolated and in an area where a helicopter wouldn't attract much attention." Steel offered.

  Josie added. "That could depend on the type of helicopter and the paint job its carrying."

  "Hell, we use them ourselves," chipped in Kurt, “it doesn't take a genius to work out that in this area slap an oil companies name on the side. Nobody's going to give a shit where or when you fly, except the military, who might get a bit pissed if you invade their private airspace. They stomp around these parts to their hearts content."

  "Have done for years." Muttered Charlie.

  "Exactly," said Kurt, "and if they went for a military drab, they could even encroach on that space, which would give them a wider choice of places to stash you for their entertainment."

  "Have you any idea how long you were in the air for, before your premature departure from the 'copter?" Charlie was thinking on his feet now, a rough estimate would give an approximate working area, but he knew that anything more than about twenty five minutes would encompass some of the most inhospitable terrain in Scotland, spreading the circle out from the hanging valley.

  Steel bit his lip and shook his head. "No, sorry Charlie, I can't guess, I was so out of it by then, it could be ten, or fifty minutes." The more he realised how little he knew, the more it chilled his blood. He couldn't stifle the shudder that rippled through his body, the six honest men were doing their best, but over halfway through the roll call Steel struggled to add anything beyond conjecture.

  "We've only got two left," Josie said, "why and who and they can offer us nothing."

  "Not quite, we do have something and it does mean Steel is right in wanting to go to Tobermory," Langhers pointed out, "fine, it is a very long shot, but I think we may get a result if we talk to the lad on the compressor shed."

  "Obviously I'm too close what did I miss?" Steel was bemused.

  "Look, we know you came back to the land of the living from where ever you were by helicopter, right, well you didn't depart by helicopter did you."

  Steel stood up and spread his hands. "That's fucking obvious Kurt, Tobermory's not a metropolis, I'm sure they would notice a bloody helicopter, I know they're not as rare as rocking horse shit in this part of the world, but they'd still notice one."

  "And it would be remembered by somebody!" Josie said

  "So how would they get you out of there without attracting attention?" Asked Charlie with an air of studied innocence.

  "A car is too risky, you might come to and raise a stink, or even try to escape" Josie leapt in, her eyes suddenly bright, "that leaves water and a boat can come and go without raising an eyebrow, boats must come and go all the time."

  "That's as bad, but the other way round. Who'd remember a boat? Unless it's unusual." Charlie commented.

  Steel outlined the plan for to-morrow, his arranged meeting with Jill and Robbie and Langhers agreed with the suggestion that he take the Range Rover, disarming Steel's intention to persuade him by asking for the vehicle immediately. "I want to follow up the helicopter angle, I'm not quite sure why, but I think it may be worth looking around where you were found and apart from anything else it would get the Range Rover out of the way for a while."

  "You'll be stranded on the island, or limited to travel by sea while he's off exploring." Charlie noted. Steel acknowledged the limitation.

  Josie offered her own verdict. "Frankly I feel safer on the boat. It's like having a big moat around me and I'm sure we can discourage any unwelcome visitors with the insurance we carry." Her words may have sounded defiant but they belied the feelings in her gut, she realised that hearing his explanation so far had brought her back to Steel's side, in a manner of speaking. There had never been much distance between them; the distortion of her feelings had more to do with her tiredness and the relief of Steel returning from the dead. The memory of her loss of hope stung her deeply; it was unforgivable.

  Charlie stood up, stretching the muscles in his legs. "Time to eat, Kurt, fire up the stove and give the stew a good boil. We'll eat outside tonight; the beasties aren't very hungry, unlike me. I'm starving." Kurt dropped down to the galley. Steel stood up and moved forward, calling over his shoulder. "I'll check the bow anchor." Josie went for the stern and tested the tension on the anchor rope running over the side. Westering Home was snug, both anchors were holding well in the sandy bottom of the anchorage and the lights of Salen spangled like a cluster of jewels on the shore. The sky had cleared and the Milky Way was a chalky band across the blackboard of the sky, far to the north the horizon glowed with the overspill from the Arctic day or it may have been the fluorescing of the aurora, Steel couldn't say. He didn't really care; simply glad he was still around to see it. He tested the chain with his foot, pressing down on it as it lay between the chain locker and the fair-lead where it dropped over the side. The chain resisted the push of his foot and he stepped back happy that all was well. They weren't going anywhere tonight unless Charlie decided to weigh anchor and sail in the early hours. He stood with his back to the foremast and let his body roll with the boat, a gentle motion that was only really noticeable when he tipped his head back and looked straight up the mast and watched the dark pole turn against the chalk dust of the stars. He knew he was putting Langhers at risk; the altered registration wouldn't fool the authorities forever. The best chance might be for Jardine to send a replacement vehicle. Steel was not keen on using the sat-phone too much because whoever the opposition were they were well equipped. A boat to remove him from Tobermory, then a helicopter to dispose of the evidence. All fell apart because the weather moderated and a shepherd went to tend his flock. He sighed and let his back slide down the mast until he sat at the bottom, crossed his legs and folded his arms tightly across his chest. There was an ache in his ribs, not pain, but a sullen reminder that all was not well. He worked the fingers of his hands, flexing the left more than the right, but feeling the movement under his skin. His breath shallowed and the acid taste of bile rose suddenly in his throat, "Fuck!" he gasped and threw himself for the rail as he vomited foul brown liquid on to the planking and watched it dribble over the side. He tried to hold himself up, pressing his hands into the deck, keeping himself there for ten or fifteen seconds before his left arm collapsed and he slumped, his face slapping his own vomit. He coughed, a hard ragged sound, tearing at the burning in his throat where the bile had passed. He lay still, collecting himself and eventually rolled on to his back, licking his lips and staring at the stars. "Oh God," he muttered and felt the bile rising again, "here we go." There was a tired resignation in his voice; it was going to get worse before it got better. His body spasmed and somehow, he managed to throw himself over
on to his chest, cursing as he threw up again. This time it all went over the side and he heard the dribbling splatter as it hit the water four feet below. He felt hands grab him by the shoulders and lift him. Steel let himself be pulled up, dragging his legs to kneel by the rail. Charlie and Josie were beside him. Charlie's voice quiet but firm. "Relax Steel, we've got you. Its fine, you're going to be OK. This is not a problem, its nervous tension, go with it." Steel felt his body lurch again and the remnants of his stomach contents dribbled down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his sleeve. He sucked and blew air around his lungs, dragging great draughts into his chest, praying that the next chuck wouldn't be dry. "Josie," Charlie said firmly, "get him some water. She left the pair by the rail and nipped aft to the galley. She returned quickly with a 2-litre bottle and unscrewed the cap. Charlie said. "Steel, drink this and don't worry if it comes straight back up, at least that will clear you out." Steel knelt by the rail and gulped greedily at the bottle, the cold fluid quenching the burning at the back of his throat. He'd taken in over a pint when he stopped for air, wiped his mouth again and, stared out into the darkness, his chest heaving with the exertion of breathing.

  Josie rested her arm on his shoulder, "It's OK you're OK." Steel laughed and the laughter choked him, wracking a cough from his lungs. He nodded. "Sorry Charlie, I made a bit of a mess on the deck."

  "Bollocks to that, it'll wash off," Charlie rinsed it away with some of the water from the bottle, "see, gone already."

  The next chuck was anything but dry; Steel lurched in Charlie's grip and voided the contents of his stomach. He settled back again and the air was cool, crisp and oh, so good. The water had cleared the nausea from his system and he felt better straight away. He took the bottle from Charlie and poured some over his head, rinsing his face as it ran down his beard. Shakily, he got to his feet, thankful for the moment that Josie and Charlie steadied him. "Sorry about that, oh dear, I don't know what happened there."

  "Don't worry about it, it happens, you just needed to give your system a good clear out. I don't know, maybe you've got a weak stomach."

  "That's not a weak intro to a crap joke about chucking it as far as I can, is it."

  "Well, it looks like your sense of humour is still alive, even if the rest of you feels like death."

  "Bollocks to you too." The humour in his voice drew the sting from the words. Charlie took the bottle from Steel and replaced the cap; Josie followed behind as they went aft to the cockpit. "It's probably the last thing you feel like doing at the moment, but I suggest you eat something. If nothing else it will give you something to throw over the side later." Steel recognised the wisdom and accepted it, Charlie's diagnosis of nervous tension had been pretty close to the mark and shock played its part too. By any stretch of the imagination and Steel thought he had a lively one, these were strange times.

  There was little said during the meal, practicality took over when Josie and Steel realised how hungry they had become. Steel cleared two bowls of stew, the purging of his stomach having created a whole he seemed determined to fill and Josie wasn't far behind, wiping her bowl clean with a crust of bread torn from the end of a cob. Nobody felt the need to say much, conversation was comfortable, but the silences were too and the meal was concluded and cleared away. Each one wrapped in the mental cloak of their thoughts. Finally, satisfied all was shipshape Charlie suggested that they turn in for the night.

  *****

  Chapter Seventeen