The Loophole

by Vera Morris

  ‘Tommy, have you got any rope on board?’ he asked.

  Tommy shipped the oars, letting the current carry the boat downstream. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. I think there’s some just behind you.’

  He understood.

  ‘What do we need rope for?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘To tie Hinney up when we overpower him.’

  ‘We should have thought of that,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll knock him unconscious, and then tie him up,’ Tommy said.

  Frank revalued his opinion of Tommy’s usefulness in a fight. ‘Are you volunteering?’

  ‘I’ll be right behind you!’ Tommy laughed, a strangled sound as though his vocal cords were rusty. He pulled at the oars again.

  ‘Tommy, I know you haven’t been to the pagodas, but do you know anything about them? Anything that could help us?’ he asked.

  ‘I have some idea what they’re like inside. Jim Lovell talked about them, along with everything else. He said they were built to test the explosive mechanisms of atomic bombs, the high explosive charge that detonates the atomic bomb.’

  ‘Why were the pagodas built with the roof on pillars?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘In case the worse happened and the charge exploded. The idea was if there was an explosion, the roof would collapse, and bury the chamber, stopping the debris spreading. The charges were enormous, an accident would have caused terrible damage to Orford as well as the Ness.’

  ‘Any idea what the inside is like?’ Frank asked.

  ‘I believe there’s a pit, the size and shape of an aircraft bomb bay, that’s where they tested the bomb. Everything inside, all the machinery, was removed after they stopped testing. There were hydraulic lifts to drop the bombs from different heights, things like that. I’m not sure of the details.’

  ‘Jim certainly knew a great deal about them,’ Laurel said.

  ‘Jim’s a local, lived in Orford all his life. He’s interested in the history of the area. I didn’t want to hear about the pagodas, but I must admit it was fascinating learning about what went on there in the 1950s.’

  The current speeded up, along with the wind. Beside him, Laurel was fiddling with her hair, tucking the end of her pony tail into an elastic band. Getting ready for action.

  ‘Here’s where we land. There’s Havergate island to the left,’ Tommy said.

  Frank could just make out low land through the fading light; the sound of the river had changed, its water slapping into the banks of the island and the Ness.

  ‘I’ll beach the boat. I’ve been here once before, years ago. I usually row to Shingle Street and back up the coast before I land. Hold tight, it may be bumpy.’ He pulled on the oars and they edged towards the bank.

  ‘Can you shine a torch? I’ll pick the best spot,’ Tommy said.

  Torch light showed branches of shrubs, and stunted trees leaning over the water. Tommy manoeuvred the boat nearer to the bank.

  ‘Look! A boat! Is it Hinney’s?’ Frank asked.

  A dark-coloured motor-boat, half-hidden by the overhanging branches, was moored to a tree.

  ‘He’s here,’ Tommy said. ‘If he can moor here, we should be able to as well.’ He skilfully manoeuvred the boat so it nudged Hinney’s. ‘Can you jump out, Frank and I’ll throw you the painter.’

  Frank passed his torch to Laurel who played the beam onto the bank. There was a clear patch of muddy sand and he placed one foot on the rim of the boat and hurled himself towards it. He landed with a thud, his feet sinking into mud. Phew! Not disgraced himself.

  Tommy threw him the rope and he clambered up a short, steep bank, found a stout tree and passed the rope twice round its trunk. Tommy could check it when he was on dry land. ‘Shall I bring whatever Mabel gave us?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘No, we haven’t time for a picnic.’

  Laurel jumped onto the bank, then offered Tommy a hand.

  ‘Take these.’ He passed her the torches, tools, and a length of rope. He jumped, missed the bank and splashed ashore. He laughed. The laugh came easily. ‘Well done,’ he said, ‘we’ve made it.’ He shone a torch into the trees and pointed to a pathway. ‘It looks as though Hinney regularly uses this spot.’

  Branches were chopped back, the cut ends shining white in the torch light. On each side of a two-foot-wide path debris had been pushed into the overhanging shrubs.

  ‘This is mainly Holm oak,’ Frank said, flashing a beam over stunted trees.

  ‘There’s a belt of them at Blackfriars School,’ Laurel said, frowning.

  ‘Don’t think about it, Laurel,’ Frank said.

  No reply.

  ‘Why’s this the only shrubby part of Orford Ness?’ he asked Tommy.

  ‘Another Jim lecture: in the 1930s, a family called the Ropes had a summer house here and they planted these trees for shelter.’

  Not a place he’d choose to sunbathe.

  ‘We’ll follow the path. We’ll use one torch, save on the batteries,’ Frank decided. ‘No more talking, we’re well away from the pagodas, but just in case.’ He turned to Tommy, ‘or laughing,’ he said, smiling at him.

  ‘Ay, ay, Captain,’ Tommy said.

  ‘Remember Hinney is a killer,’ Laurel said.

  He couldn’t see the disapproving expression, but he knew it was there. Tommy dug him in the ribs.

  Single-file they slowly advanced

  ‘Keep to clear ground, if you can. The sounds of breaking twigs will carry,’ Frank ordered.

  They were making good progress when he suddenly halted. Laurel bumped into him. ‘My God!’ He pointed into a small clearing.

  Nailed into the trunk of a sturdy Holm oak were metal frames, hung with chains, two at shoulder height, the others near the ground. At the end of each chain was a heavy metal handcuff. The area nearby was flattened, the earth scuffed and grooved, as if prisoners had kicked out, trying to free themselves.

  His stomach clenched as his imagination took over. Who had been held here? Stephen Salter? Lucy and Roberta? Images flashed through his mind. He thought of how they must have felt when they came round from their drugged sleep: fear, anger, then incomprehension. Why was this happening to them? Who had done this? The waiting for something to happen. The fear they had been left to die. The terror when they heard footsteps. Then dreadful understanding. He took a deep breath.

  They stood silently, looking at the handcuffs, and then each other. It was difficult to read Laurel’s and Tommy’s faces in the diffused light, but Laurel’s jaw was tight, and Tommy’s eyes wide with shock.

  ‘What’s this about?’ he asked. ‘People have been held here. Handcuffed. Why?’

  ‘I think it was a holding spot. Hinney brought a drugged girl over by boat at night. If you’re right, Tommy, and it is the pagoda he’s using, he’d have to carry her to it if she was still drugged. If he left her in handcuffs overnight, then the next night, when the drug had worn off, he could come back and make her walk to the pagoda,’ Laurel said, her voice icy.

  ‘Wouldn’t they shout out? Surely someone would hear them; there’s quite a lot of river traffic, especially in the summer,’ Tommy said.

  ‘Not if they’re gagged. It’s a good hypothesis, Laurel, I’d go along with it,’ Frank said.

  Tommy’s breathing was rapid. Was this bringing back his own terrible war-time experiences? They’d have to try and calm him down. They couldn’t risk him going off half-cocked tonight. Sometimes the best way is to confront your fears. He nudged Laurel and nodded towards Tommy. She was better at this than he was.

  ‘This must remind you of your sufferings in the prisoner of war camp, Tommy. Were you ever chained up like this?’ Laurel asked.

  Tommy’s body jerked, as though he’d been pulled back to the present. He stood in silence. Was he going to answer?

  He nodded. ‘Yes, they put me in a cage, a bamboo cage. It was so small I couldn’t stretch out my legs, I was perpetually hunched. Every day I expected them to take me out and behead me, or torture me. All that kept me go
ing was the thought of Audrey and John waiting for me when I got... if I got, home.’

  He turned and looked into Frank’s face. ‘The nights were worse than the days. Although the sun baked my body and brain, at night the mosquitos came, whining round my head, landing on my face and body, the bites itching and swelling. It drove me mad. I scratched where I could reach, but I was confined, like some creature in a mediaeval torture chamber.’

  Laurel tentatively put a hand on his arm. He placed his hand over it.

  He hung his head. ‘Nearby there were three pagodas. When they took me out of the cage to . question me, they dragged me into one of them. I knew what they would do to me in there. It seemed an abomination -a holy place being used for torture and murder. They made me watch other people being tortured: their fear, their pain.’ He stopped, his breathing rapid. ‘They executed my friends in front of me. It was terrible to see the terror and anguish on their faces, the moment they gave up hope, when light died in their eyes. Worse of all was my shame. I was glad it wasn’t me being tortured, glad it wasn’t me being beheaded. Although I knew my turn was coming soon, at that moment, I was thankful it was him and not me. It was sheer luck I wasn’t killed as well.’

  Frank was shocked. The awfulness of Tommy’s experiences, the raw pain and self-loathing in his voice, made a meaningful reply impossible.

  Laurel moved closer to Tommy. ‘I’m truly sorry, Tommy. This has brought all those terrible memories back. We didn’t want this.’

  He lifted his head and looked at her. ‘Yes. It has. The cruelty. The lack of human feeling. Thank you. I could have done with your comfort all those years ago.’ He stood silent for a few minutes. ‘I’ve never spoken of this before. I couldn’t bear to put it into words. I never sleep at night, I’m afraid of the nightmares sleep brings. I sleep during the day, always with the curtains open so when I wake it will be light.’

  He paused, straightened his shoulders and gave them a weak smile. ‘I think we’d better make a move.’ He pointed ahead. ‘The safest way is to follow the path Hinney’s made. When we get clear of these shrubs, we must go slowly and follow the man-made roads if possible, but there’ll be a stretch of shingle to navigate before we reach a road. That will be the most dangerous stretch. I suggest we keep well apart. Then, if the worst happens...’

  Frank’s chest tightened. ‘Good thinking, Tommy. Are you sure you want to go on? Laurel and I can manage.’

  ‘Yes. I want to help. It’s a relief to talk about what happened. I’m alright now.’

  ‘Good. I’ll take the lead. You go behind me, Tommy, and Laurel, you bring up the rear.’

  They followed the path Hinney had chopped through the trees and came into the open. The sound of the sea beating against the shingle beach was loud and steady, and the salt-laden wind straight off the North Sea stung his face.

  He shone the beam of the torch in a low semi-circle. There were shingle ridges, clumps of plants growing in the grooves. Ahead were the outlines of the pagodas, black against the night sky, with lighter gaps between the pillars supporting the roofs. They sat solid and menacing, and now he was nearer he realised their immenseness as they squatted on the horizon like medieval Japanese fortresses.

  ‘Look!’ Tommy gripped his arm and forced the beam onto the shingle. ‘There.’ Some of the stones had white spots. ‘He’s marked out a path so he can get safely to the pagoda.’

  Frank’s stomach sagged with relief. He didn’t have to be a hero leading the way through a minefield. They could get to Hinney without being blown up. The stones with their blobs of white paint were about a yard apart, leading to the farthest pagoda.

  There was a sigh of relief behind him. ‘Thank goodness for that. I didn’t fancy scraping you up off the shingle. Very messy,’ Laurel said.

  Was there a touch of hysteria in her voice? Understandable.

  ‘I’ll lead the way,’ Tommy said. ‘I’m used to walking on the shingle. I think we ought to each use a torch and shine them at our feet. Some of the stones are boulder-size, no good risking a sprained ankle. Keep the beams low. Let’s hope he’s too busy to see the lights.’

  Laurel moaned.

  ‘Sorry,’ Tommy apologised.

  Busy? Busy doing what? Frank hoped they weren’t too late. They couldn’t afford to rush and injure themselves. This must be where he’d taken Stephen. If Hinney ran true to form, then he wouldn’t give him or Sam a swift death. He’d want to linger, taking sadistic pleasure in their suffering. Was he right? Had Hinney kidnapped Stephen to lure Sam into his hands? What was there in Sam’s past they didn’t know about? When he was a young man, he’d mixed with East End gangsters. Where was he during the war?

  ‘Everyone ready?’ Tommy whispered. ‘Switch on your torches and follow me. I’ll go carefully, just in case Hinney’s laid a booby trap.’

  ‘Perhaps I should lead,’ Frank said.

  ‘No,’ Tommy said. ‘I want to do this.’ He readjusted the coil of rope over his shoulder and started to walk towards the pagoda.

  Tommy was acting as Frank imagined he had when he was in the RAF, before he was captured, when he was in charge of a group of men. He hoped the change would be permanent. It lifted his heart to see and hear him becoming confident, less tortured by his own demons. If they got out of this mess he’d try and help him. He deserved a better end to his life; he’d spent too many years guiltily mourning for his wife and child and reliving his imprisonment and torture in Java.

  It was hard work trudging through the shingle, the uneven stones making balancing difficult, and trying to walk silently was impossible. Plants hid dips and crevasses in the shingle. The spent flower heads of sea-thrift showed brown in the torch light, and clumps of sea-poppy, and tree-lupins masked hollows. Laurel slipped, sending stones clattering down a steep ridge. They froze, looking towards the pagoda, waiting for a sound they didn’t want to hear. There was only the cry of a startled gull, wind soughing through sea-cabbage and waves pounding the shore. They moved forwards.

  Tommy stopped and raised his hand. Frank edged towards him, Laurel’s body close to his. He looked up. The pagoda was before him. He’d been so intent on where he was placing his feet, he hadn’t realised how close they were to it. It rose, black and solid from the shingle beach, like something from another world. The castle of a black wizard, a place to be feared and avoided.

  ‘We need to get to the wall of the pagoda and then edge our way round until we find a door,’ Frank said.

  ‘Any plans?’ Laurel whispered.

  ‘No, we’ll make it up as usual.’

  Tommy shook his head.

  ‘We know Hinney favours a knife, or some sort of blade, and also probably a blackjack: Bert was hit with something like that. We’ll attack together to overcome him. There are three of us, so we should be able to manage.’

  ‘Unless he has a gun,’ Tommy said.

  Frank grimaced. ‘Haven’t got my cricket bat with me, unfortunately.’

  ‘What?’ Tommy said.

  Laurel pinched his arm. ‘Look!’ she hissed, pointing back across the Ness to Orford. There was activity on the quay. The lights of several cars criss-crossed the black sky. Then there was the sound of a motor boat engine revving up.

  ‘Sounds like Revie is on his way. Let’s hope Hinney doesn’t hear them,’ Frank said.

  ‘The pagoda walls are thick; they used tons of concrete to make them and reinforced it with shingle from the beach,’ Tommy said.

  Frank bit his lip. Supposing his deduction as to why Hinney had kidnapped Stephen was right? If it was, and this came out when they were inside the pagoda, how would Tommy react? It would be a terrible shock. He might go berserk. He couldn’t take the risk. It would be too dangerous, not only for Stephen and Salter, but for the three of them as well. He mustn’t let Tommy go into the pagoda. He should have thought of that before. He and Laurel would have to deal with Hinney.

  He gripped Laurel’s hand and squeezed it tightly, hoping she’d catch on and go
along with what he was going to say.

  She squeezed back.

  ‘Tommy, the police are on their way. Could you meet them at the quay? You must tell them what we think is happening and show them the way to the pagoda. Warn them to make as little noise as possible, but to get to us as soon as they can.’

  Tommy drew back. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think it would be better for Laurel to go,’ he said, his voice full of doubt.

  ‘Frank’s right, Tommy. You know the way, you’d be quicker. I’d be afraid of going off course and stepping on a bomb,’ Laurel said.

  ‘I don’t like to leave you two to tackle Hinney. It doesn’t seem right.’

  ‘I assure you, Tommy, Laurel has fought tougher men than Hinney. I don’t have any worries about her. We’ll be able to disarm him.’

  Tommy looked at Laurel and shook his head.

  ‘You must go now. We need to get to Stephen and Sam.’ Frank knew he sounded like some squadron major giving drill instructions.

  Tommy straightened up. He passed the coil of rope to him. ‘Right. I’ll cut across the ditch near the old headquarters, that’s the nearest way to the jetty. That’s where they’ll land. See you later. Take care.’ He turned and walked away, the disc of light from his torch gradually becoming smaller and dimmer.

  ‘Why did you want to get rid of him? He seemed well in control of himself,’ she whispered.

  ‘No time to tell you now. Let’s get to the wall and make our way round. Hopefully there’s an open door. If we can’t get in, we’re fucked!’

  The dank, cold walls of the pagoda were built of pale bricks, which time had patched with moss and lichen, their surfaces stained black where rivulets of water trickled down their sides. They crept round the perimeter, Frank wincing as their feet crunched on the uneven pebbles. The pagoda was intimidating, built like a mausoleum, or an Egyptian pyramid, impossible to get in or out of. A place to house the dead.

  They inched forward round abrupt corners, and an incline, angling down from the roof pillars like a ski-slope. They came to the end of a wall. As he edged round the comer he grabbed Laurel’s arm.

  ‘Turn off your torch,’ he whispered, as he switched off his and tucked it into his belt.