Murder at Canary Wharf (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 8)

by P. J. Thurbin

  “You must have noticed that I use the senior cadets to give orders,” he said as they checked the navigation plans for the approaches to the Thames Estuary. “The doctors tell me that I only have a few more years at most. Thyroid and throat cancer. I knew it would get me sooner or later.”

  Ralph had come across people before who had been told that they had a terminal illness, but it still came as a shock.

  “Is there nothing they can do?” It sounded a trite thing to say, and no doubt Vadim had heard it a hundred times.

  “No there is nothing. Not even the sea air will make it go way,” he laughed, as he tried to ease the awkwardness that such revelations engender. “My father was killed in the explosion at Chernobyl. Have you ever visited the site?”

  “Yes, Katie and I were there. We saw the devastation.”

  “My grandfather was in the control room and was killed instantly. My mother told me that my father was outside waiting for my grandfather to come out, or so they believe, and was hit by the blast. There was not much they could do for him. He was taken to Moscow and put in an isolation unit there as he had radiation burns and he must have breathed in the chemicals that it produced.”

  “Did his family get to see him?” Ralph just stopped himself from adding – ‘before he died’. Like most people, he found those sort of conversations difficult, especially as he had only known Vadim for a few days.

  “My grandmother and my mother managed to get there eventually. But the Russian authorities wanted to hush it all up so it took a long time. They evacuated everyone from Pripyat, where they had their family home.”

  “That must have made it doubly difficult for your mother and grandmother; first losing your father and grandfather, then being uprooted from their home. You were named after your father?”

  “Yes. My father died about a month before I was born. My mother and grandmother stayed with my father at the hospital until he died. I was told that it took nearly two weeks for the radiation to kill him. I understand that many of the victims had radiated metal buried in their skin from the blast.”

  “At least your family were evacuated. That’s probably what saved them.”

  Ralph was conscious that he was trying to find something positive to say about Vadim’s story.

  “My mother went back to Gdansk where they had a small apartment. I was born soon after. I never really knew her as she died of cancer when I was three and I was brought up by a Polish family. Eventually I managed to get into the Maritime Academy like my father. The rest of my family are all dead now. They died of cancer. Now me.”

  “It was an accident with tragic consequences for so many,” said Ralph. “When we visited Chernobyl the generator area was still radioactive and European funds were being used to build a shelter to stop the radiation escaping.”

  “You called it an accident. I can see how something like that could happen. But I will never forgive the Russians for trying to cover it all up so that they would not have to pay compensation to thousands who suffered from it. You have an expression – ‘sweeping it under the carpet’. That is what the Russian officials did about Chernobyl. They tried to sweep it under the carpet.”

  Ralph just nodded. “That’s how it would appear.”

  Vadim folded the charts as he continued.

  “People in Ukraine are still trying to get money to live on as they are now old and have not been able to work and save for their old age because of the effects of the radiation.”

  Ralph recalled what had been said at the Greenwich Conference. It seemed that there were people all around the world who failed to be protected by their governments.

  “There’s nothing I can say that would help, Vadim. Life, as the Americans would say, can be a ‘bummer’.

  Vadim laughed. “That’s a new one for me. I expect that your wife will teach similar expressions to the cadets.”

  “I expect so. And more.” Ralph laughed. He thought the tension had now been broken, but he was wrong.

  Vadim stood up from the chart table and punched the air, his face in a grimace.

  “One day I will get my revenge on the Russian authorities. It is something I have dreamt about all my life.” With that he strode out onto the deck to check the watch. Ralph could hear the shouts from his senior cadets as Vadim ordered sail changes.

  After the watch finished, Ralph went to the galley to make a hot drink and found Katie talking to one of the young female cadets. As he walked up the girl smiled and made her excuses.

  “A bit of late tutoring?” He asked. “Being on board the ship must make quite a change from your classes at UCL where your office doesn’t roll every two seconds and the rooms are air conditioned.”

  “I like this. These kids are really keen to learn and they seem to have a sense of humour that a lot of my regular students seem to have lost somewhere along the way.”

  “It’s probably because these kids are doing something they want to do and feel like they have some control over their destiny. Most of the students we teach at our Universities don’t have the slightest idea what they want to do when they graduate, and even if they did, either the degrees they get won’t really help them find a job or else there are no jobs out there for them to go to.”

  They sat down with mugs of cocoa and some cheese and biscuits that Katie had ferreted out of the pantry and he told her about his chat with Vadim.

  “It sounds awful, Ralph. I thought he looked a bit drawn. That rasp in his voice was getting on my nerves, but now I feel pretty bad about it. Tolerance is not my strong point, as you know. And don’t say anything or this cocoa will land in your lap,” she laughed.

  “I agree. I was a bit shaken by what he said, too. But I wonder what he meant when he said he would get his revenge on the authorities who were responsible. He looked pretty serious about it when he said it.”

  “People say a lot of things when they’re angry or upset. Or scared. God knows he has every right to feel all of those emotions, and more. It’s probably just his way of dealing with it.”

  “I hope you’re right, but somehow I don’t think so. He doesn’t strike me as the type who’d make those sort of idle gestures.”

  “You don’t think there’s any connection between Vadim’s threats and what Commander Renton told you, do you?”

  “I don’t think so. Renton said that they were tipped off that something would happen at Greenwich when the festival was in full swing. He thinks it’s all to do with the terrorists. The ISIS group. I can’t see how that could have anything to do with Vadim. And it doesn’t seem very likely that those people would have any contact with the Ukrainians. No. I think that Vadim is just a pretty bitter bloke and says these things out of frustration. Not that I can blame him. I’d probably feel the same way if I were in his shoes.”

  They sat and sipped their cocoa for a few minutes before Katie made a rather curious remark.

  “Some of the cadets reckon that the Captain is up to no good,” she said. “I don’t know if they just don’t like him very much or if there’s any truth to it. You know the old saying, ‘out of the mouths of babes’.

  “These young people may be cadets and have a job to do while they’re on board the ship. but at the end of the day they’re still kids. And they’re bound to gossip about the Skipper. After all, he’s the number one authority figure on board. It would probably be their parents or teachers if they were back at home. Kids always seem to have someone to hate. It makes it easier when you’re told to climb up into the rigging on a wet and windy night.”

  “I’m not sure. I think it might be more than just idle gossip,” Katie said. “They think that he’s either working as a spy for the Russians or else using his easy access into foreign countries for smuggling some sort of illegal goods.”

  “Nonsense. You know how kids are. They’ve probably just let their imaginations run away with them.”

  “You say that, but it would be pretty easy to bring drugs or some other sort of contraband into a
country on one of these boats. The customs authorities aren’t likely to suspect a training ship filled with cadets of smuggling.”

  “It’s possible,” Ralph agreed as he stifled a yawn. “But we’re not going to find out sitting here all night talking about it and I’m whacked. I need to be refreshed and ready to help navigate this ship up the Thames tomorrow, so I guess I’d better get myself off to my hammock.”

  “Just remember not to turn over in the night like I did,” said Katie. “It was a rude awakening when I hit the deck, I can tell you.” They both laughed and gave each other a hug before they headed off to the opposite sides of the ship.

  *****

  The next morning it was damp and cold. At sea the woodwork and railings are dry unless they get hit by waves or spray, but once within sight of land the decking and everything that you touch is wet. Ralph had no idea why, but he knew that was what happened. The Mlodziezy and the other boats in the Tall Ships flotilla had furled their sails. The Captain had given the order to start the engines as they joined the oil ships, container ships, bulk carriers and the myriad of other vessels entering the Thames Estuary. Even at nearly a mile wide it seemed as though there were ships everywhere. It was a ghostly procession in the early morning light. Ralph recalled some lines from Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend that he had been forced to recite when at school.

  The white face of the winter day came sluggishly on, veiled in a frosty mist; and the shadowy ships in the river slowly changed to black substances; and the sun, blood red on the eastern marshes behind dark masts and yards, seemed filled with the ruins of a forest it had set on fire.

  The imagery that those lines invoked had never left him. As he stood looking towards the rising sun it confirmed, at least in his mind, that memories are permanent. He hoped that Vadim had some good ones that would sustain him through his current feelings of angst.

  Ralph knew that the voyage up the Thames to Greenwich would take the whole day and that it was vital that they catch the tide before they reached the Thames Barrier if they were to berth before the light faded. The current would be around 8 knots in places, and to navigate the Barrier safely would be a close run thing. He and Vadim ticked off the buoys marking the channel.

  Finally they passed Holehaven and then the Thames Barrier. Ahead they could see the London skyline and Ralph recognized the Greenwich Maritime Museum and the Greenwich Observatory up on the hill. He imagined that Captains of sailing vessels through the ages had looked up at the comforting sight of the Octagon Room with its Time Ball that fell at precisely 13.00 hours. Greenwich, the basis of Longitude and the Prime Meridian; home safe.

  They anchored at Maritime Greenwich opposite the Maritime Museum.

  It was just after 20.00 hours when the Skipper announced ‘all hands to stand down’.

  Ralph and Katie were eager to go ashore. They looked forward to a nice tasty restaurant meal as a contrast to the bland food the ship’s galley served. Katie had heard from a friend that there was a restaurant called Mevali which served Lebanese and Middle Eastern food. It was over near the Cutty Sark and they had no trouble finding it. It looked inexpensive and welcoming.

  The hostess showed them to their table in an alcove at the side of the main seating area. The atmosphere was quite subdued with candlelit tables covered with white linen cloths. Katie said that her friend had assured her that the food was quite authentic. She didn’t know how authentic it was, but it smelled wonderful. Katie ordered the Shish Taouk and Ralph the Lamb Shawarma and they both had iced water.

  “What’s yours like?” Ralph asked as Katie tucked into her meal.

  “It’s really good. The chicken’s been marinated in yogurt and lemon and the rice and vegetables are perfect. How about yours?”

  “I like the way it’s wrapped in some sort of special bread, taboon I think the waiter called it, that’s baked with tomato and cucumber. And I think that he said that the Amba sauce was some sort of mango chutney.”

  As they sat and enjoyed their meal, the door opened and five turbaned youths came in and made a fuss about wanting to sit at the far end of the restaurant away from the other diners.

  “I thought I recognised two of those kids who just came in,” Ralph said. “I’d swear that they were in one of my classes a couple of years back.”

  “I’m afraid that I can never remember any of my overseas students. I guess that makes me a racist,” Katie said.

  “One of my students once told me that the Japanese think we smell of soured milk and they can’t tell us apart, either. But there’s something about those two. I’m tempted to go over and ask.”

  “Don’t do that, Ralph. You’ll look an idiot and they’ll think you are stark raving bonkers. Besides, what would you say? I think I taught you international business at Kingston University? I don’t think it sounds like a good chat up line,” she laughed.

  “I’m going over.” He got up and walked over to where the group were chatting as they looked at the menu. Two of them stood up. They looked confused and embarrassed.

  “Professor Chalmers,” said the taller of the two. “You taught us at Kingston.” He held out his hand and smiled. “I’m Amin Rahatul and my friend Nasser Kumar.” He did not introduce the others who looked distinctly unhappy to see Ralph standing there.

  “I thought I recognized you. But it must be a few years back,” said Ralph as he shook hands with his two former students.

  “We took a gap year,” they said by way of explanation.

  “So will you now get back and finish your degrees?”

  The students looked a bit awkward and glanced at each other as though seeking support. One of the others stood up and said something in what Ralph assumed was either Arabic or some other Middle Eastern language. The two students sat back down.

  “I am afraid that we must get on with our meal, Sir, as my colleague has just reminded me that we must hurry,” one of them apologised as he glanced down at the table to avoid Ralph’s gaze.

  “Well. enjoy your meal, chaps. It was good to see you.”

  Ralph had found himself in similar situations over the years. Students never seemed quite sure how to behave when they met their tutors outside the University lecture theatre. Some could handle it, but others just finished up mumbling and turning away. He would have expected that a student who had taken a gap year would be a bit more worldly and mature. Obviously whatever their pal had said had the desired effect. Ralph pretended that he hadn’t noticed the awkwardness and shook hands once more before he went back to his table.

  “I told you not to go. I can see by your face that it didn’t go well. Were they even your students?”

  “Yes. They were my students all right. But I knew they hadn’t graduated and they told me they had taken a gap year. It must have been more than one year, though, because I hadn’t seen them around the campus for a while.”

  “Then why the bum’s rush?” Katie asked.

  “My students seemed pleased enough to see me, but their pals didn’t looks so happy about it,” Ralph explained. “While I was there, one of them said something to them in Arabic and then they cut the chat short and said they were in a hurry. At least they apologized.”

  Just then Ralph looked up and saw his former students and their friends walk out of the restaurant. He was fairly sure they had not even had time to eat their meal. Glancing across at table that had now been vacated, Ralph noticed that the waiter had found a folder that someone had left on one of the seats. He picked it up and came across to their table.

  “Excuse me, sir, but one of your friends left this behind.” He handed Ralph the folder. Ralph thanked him and placed it on the table.

  “Ralph you don’t know what that is or who it belongs to. Just leave it with the waiter. Those boys are bound to come back for it.”

  Ralph ignored what Katie said and opened the folder. He could see that it was a plan of Canary Wharf. Some areas were shaded and had Arabic writing alongside various arrows. As they sat there
and drank their coffees, she tried to persuade Ralph to give the folder back to the waiter. Just as he was about to call the waiter over and explain, the door opened and Amin came in and walked directly across to their table. He glanced around nervously as Ralph introduced Katie and gestured for him to sit down.

  “I’m sorry about my friends, Sir.” He looked at the folder that Ralph handed to him. They’ve been fighting in Iraq and now Syria. We are all Sunni Muslims. They are from Exeter, Cardiff and Birmingham Universities. Nasser and I will go to Mogadishu as soon as we have finished our work here in Greenwich.” He grasped his hands together nervously and looked down to avoid Ralph’s quizzical expression.

  “So your gap year. That was just so you could go and join the Global Islamist Jihad?” Ralph asked. He knew the attraction that this held for young disaffected Muslims in Britain. No doubt Rupert Granger and the other VC’s would simply put Amin, Nasser and the others on their list and hand it to MI5, he mused.

  “It’s not what you read in the papers, Sir. As Muslims we can’t live in the country of the Kuffars. The disbelievers.” He glanced up at Ralph as though he was talking to someone who he knew would not understand him. “We believe in the Rule of Islam and must fight until the Khilafah is established, or die.”

  Ralph could see that Katie was just about to jump in and say something. He wanted to avoid a confrontation. He could tell that the young man believed unequivocally in what he said. Some might say he had been brainwashed, but hadn’t people through the ages felt just the same way? But more importantly, Ralph wanted to find out exactly what those plans he had seen in the folder involved. He had an uneasy feeling that they could be part of the terrorist intervention that Renton had hinted at.

  “So why are you here in Greenwich?” Ralph asked, in what he hoped was a friendly tone.

  “We want compensation for Muslim countries for the killings that the West has perpetrated in Iraq, Afghanistan and Syria. We are part of ISIS.”

  “I’ve heard about ISIS,” Katie said. “The Islamic State in Iraq and Syria, isn’t that what the acronym stands for?”