Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of her huge breasts overflowing their harness.
‘Are you a Treliske nurse?’
‘Used to be, hope to be going back there soon. I still do a bit of part-time when they’re stretched. So, what are you drinking?’
‘I’ll buy you a drink instead. Let’s go downstairs.’
Leading the way down the winding staircase he headed to the bar.
‘What would you like?’
‘Bacardi and coke, please.’
‘Why don’t I buy a bottle at the off licence and take it back to yours, where do you live?’
‘Strawberry Lane, do you know it?’
He nodded. It was the local council estate.
She hooked his arm as they headed off, her tottering on high heels, him staring at her cleavage.
As they neared the council estate he stopped outside an off licence, and purchased a couple of bottles of Bacardi, and cans of Coke.
‘Fancy the chippy? I’m starving.’ He had not eaten since lunch, and it was almost midnight.
‘I’m sort of on a diet,’ she giggled.
‘Oh, you don’t need to worry, got it in all the right places.’ He thrust his arm about her waist and squeezed her tight.
They ate the hot vinegary chips on the way home, passing small groups of youths eager for battle, and couples fornicating in the shadows.
The pubs had closed for the night, but that did not stop the drunks from hanging around outside.
Her house was tiny but clean. The beige wallpaper was torn in places and the room needed a lick of paint. A 1970s red and black settee filled most of the room. In one corner stood an armchair, in the other, a TV and a music centre. The speakers had sellotape holding them together. On the small coffee table was a party political leaflet, he peered down at the small print.
Redruth has a population of 6,800. It has the fourth worst antisocial behaviour rate in Cornwall. According to statistics from the Cornwall and Isles of Scilly Safety Partnership, which comprises local authorities and the police, it has the most poverty-stricken three per cent in the country. 45 per cent of the 1,800 people in this area of Redruth North are on some kind of benefits.
Jonathan had mentioned over lunch, that during the 18th and 19th centuries Redruth had been one of the wealthiest mining towns in the world.
‘I won’t ask if you’re a Labour supporter.’
‘I’m not particularly; none of them are any good,’ she said, her voice nervous.
Perhaps she was regretting his presence, if so, there was still time to get back to the Twilight Zone. Although, most of the nurses would be taken by now.
‘Oddly enough the Tories usually get in here, not certain why. Perhaps they don’t want to build more council estates in Redruth.’
He was not listening, his attention now fixed on the photographs that lined the tiled mantelpiece. Most were of a boy of around 3 years of age; a couple of the prints were of a man and a woman.
‘My son’s sleeping up the road with my neighbour for the night,’ she explained guiltily.
‘Cute looking boy,’ was all that he could think to say.
Through the gap in the curtain the full moon hovered in space, like a white witch casting spells on tides and minds. Rod Stewart sang in the background as they shared the bottle of Bacardi, chatting about menial topics. He quite liked the singer’s raspy voice.
Moving across to the sofa to sit next to her, he focussed on her breasts as he placed his arm around her shoulders. Pulling her close, he kissed her. By the time it came to the track, Waltzing Mathilda, Guthrie had finished the bottle and was Waltzing Mathilda into her bed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two miles away, a black Mercedes was reversing onto the abandoned terrain of South Crofty tin mine, that rested in the shadows of Carn Brae hill. A row of terraced houses were sited directly opposite the headgear. Beside it, stood the engine house and tall stack, cast in silver by the moon.
Three men stood near the car smoking.
‘You’re certain this is the right entrance, Mo, as there are other mine shafts in Pool?’ Aabid, the handsome 24 year old, asked the leader of the group.
‘South Crofty is an amalgamation of twelve mines,’ Mohammed replied.
‘I’ve told you before that I didn’t want this done in public for the whole world to witness.’
‘It’s not my fault, Aabid.’
‘Well, whose fucking fault is it?’ Aabid raged. ‘We were supposed to have done this before dawn this morning.’
‘Yes, but the tug didn’t pull into Falmouth until two hours ago. It couldn’t be helped. Anyway, don’t worry they don’t have any CCTV here.’
‘What about CCTV in the street itself, have you checked that? And anyone might see us from their window. We’ll never get away with this,’ Aabid warned. ‘Sheik Amir doesn’t have a clue that there are houses nearby.’
‘Yes, but the cage is right over the back there, behind the buildings.’ Mohammed pointed across the barren ground to the derelict constructions. ‘Nobody can see it from the road.’
‘It’s a fucking full moon, the whole fucking world can see us! Why not go for broke and do it outside the police station?’ Aabid threw his cigarette stub to the ground. ‘Even I can see the cage from here, it’s in full view.’
‘Not that cage, ours is in a derelict shower block that hasn’t been used for years!’ Mohammed barked, leading the way to the car boot.
Rashid, the youngest member of the trio, kept his head down, as he slunk across the rough gravel, following in the footsteps of his two co-conspirators.
Mohammed unlocked the boot. Inside was a small steel trunk.
‘How will the lift work if it hasn’t been in use for years?’ Rashid asked.
Mohammed was annoyed at their neurosis, his black moustache beginning to twitch. As the eldest of the trio they should respect him.
‘Show me some respect. And it’s not a lift, it’s a cage!’ he shouted, taking a large torch from the boot. ‘I’ve been informed that it’s been set up ready for us in good working order. I’m not totally stupid, you know.’
After several more mutterings the men grabbed the handles of the small trunk and tried to lift it.
‘It’s too heavy with all that gold,’ Rashid complained.
‘Look at the size of it,’ Mohammed said, switching on the torch. ‘It’s a miniature chest and only a third full.’
‘It doesn’t feel like a third full.’
‘Look, you’re not holding it right, idiot.’
‘Don’t call him an idiot!’ Aabid shouted. ‘He’s not an idiot. You’re the idiot for getting us into this crap.’
‘I only obey orders.’
’Why the fuck, as a grown man, don’t you think for yourself? Aabid demanded. ‘We’ve been set up here by Trembath, and you know it! They should have flown it directly back themselves rather than all this nonsense.’
Struggling beneath the weight of the trunk, gripping hard at the handles, they headed across the rugged terrain ignoring the warning sign:
DANGER — DO NOT TRESPASS
They could still see the stack and headgear in the distance, standing like redundant monarchs overseeing their realm that was disintegrating around them. Deserted by their subjects, only the abandoned buildings remained, along with a few broken locomotives trapped inside their cages.
More warning signs greeted them outside the fence guarding a concrete building. They placed the trunk down onto the dusty ground.
‘For goodness sake, I suppose now we’ve got to cut through this.’ Aabid brushed down his clothes.
‘No, don’t worry, we won’t have to cut anything,’ Rashid mocked. ‘Because Mo doesn’t have any wire cutters.’
Mohammed scanned the perimeter of the fence.
‘Look, it’s already been cut, see, you wasters!’ he raged. ‘What, you thought I was an imbecile?’
The main door of the shower block looked to b
e in a bad state of disrepair, under the glaring beam of the torch. The padlock was broken and rusty, the paint was peeling off the door. Inside, they were greeted by a row of broken showers filled with garbage. CAPTAIN’S OFFICE was painted on a side door in bold blue lettering. When they reached the cage at the far end of the shower block, they dropped the steel trunk to the floor, and climbed into the protective orange overalls they found hanging on pegs.
‘We should have parked the car in a side road,’ Aabid said breathlessly. ‘If someone looks over here they’ll know we’re here because of the car.’
‘Who’s going to walk all the way here?’ Mohammed asked, putting on a helmet with two lamps attached.
‘Police, clubbers, you name it,’ Aabid replied sarcastically. ‘Look, the notice on the cage says no more than 8 persons to ride in the cage, what does the chest weigh?’
‘What’s that paint for?’ Rashid interrupted, noticing the small pot of paint in Mohammed’s overall pocket.
‘Ready?’ Mohammed asked, ignoring the questions.
They grabbed the handles of the trunk and squeezed into the rusty, steel cage.
Mohammed opened up a map.
‘You’ll never be able to read that once we’re down there, it will be pitch black,’ Aabid scoffed.
‘That’s what torches are made for.’ Mohammed pulled the bell. ‘There should be some lighting on down in the mine. They charged the cage up just for us.’
‘I’m so pleased,’ Aabid said. ‘It’s my life’s quest to be trapped inside a mineshaft and no one to know I’m there.’
The cage began to move, squeaking and jolting as if about to break. Their hearts pounded. Their eyes desperately searching for a spark of light, but there none. There was only darkness, as the cage bumped its way down into the black abyss.
The cage shook and squeaked like a door off its hinges, as it descended into the depths of the earth, a world where most never ventured.
Then suddenly, it picked up speed, now racing down like a free fall drop ride at a funfair.
‘Allah, save me!’ Rashid screamed, as they plunged down into a bottomless pit.
It seemed as if they had descended miles before it eventually slowed down and then juddered to a halt. The men dropped to their knees, overwhelmed by their experience. Once they had caught their breath, they crawled out of the cage into the black void.
The damp stench overwhelmed them, as they found themselves in a narrow stope. The arced ceiling only inches above their heads, forced them to remain on their knees. With only the lights on their helmets to guide them, they crawled over the rocky ground, attempting to drag the steel trunk along with them.
‘This is just a large pipe, we’ll never get through it,’ Aabid said, sliding across the lumpy ground on his belly. ‘Why isn’t this mine like others where you can stand?’
‘Because, Aabid, this is a very old part of the mine, it has not been used for many, many years.’
After crawling a few metres they arrived at a ladder, it led down into another seam.
‘We can’t carry this chest down a ladder...oh!’ Rashid yelled.
‘What?’
‘There is a big hole right beside me!’
The three men beamed their lights down at the large cavity penetrating through the rock, a stope that was filling with water.
‘Okay, we’ll have to turn around and go back to the cage, and go down that way,’ Mohammed suggested, straining to read the map.
‘You’re lost, aren’t you?’ Rashid accused Mohammed. ‘I bet you sent the cage to the wrong floor.’
‘I bet you’re right,’ Aabid concurred. ‘Doubt we’ll ever escape from this fucking dungeon. Did you hear that, Mo? We’ve come the wrong fucking way!’
‘We’ll probably get silicosis,’ Rashid mumbled, as they headed back to the cage.
As they descended to the lower seams the temperature rose. The deeper they went underground, the hotter and wetter it became. As with every 100m deeper, the rock temperature increased by 1°C. By the time the cage rattled to a halt all three men were stripped down to their underpants.
Once again, they began the trek along the rough, rocky ground, but this stope was swathed in water. For the next hour they hobbled and crawled along the dark labyrinth of tunnels and stopes, the cavities where ore had once been extracted. Broken cables and wires hung precariously from the walls and ceilings. The beams on their helmets were unable to stop them from bashing their bodies against hidden protrusions, or entering blind alleys. Often they found themselves wading knee high in water, pushing and pulling the small trunk over the rough ground.
Mohammed occasionally stopped to paint a red cross on the damp walls along the way, as a guide for future treks.
Eventually they arrived at a man-made tunnel, a steel and aluminium construction. A large Clayton battery locomotive stood before them, attached to a tipping wagon.
‘The loco’s been charged up for us,’ Mohammed said, signalling to his companions to lift the trunk into the wagon.
‘Look, there’s another tunnel over there with its lights on. We came the wrong fucking way!’ Aabid ranted.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Rashid dropped to his knees with exhaustion. ‘We’ve just gone through all that for nothing; we got off at the wrong level again!’
After climbing onto the wagon, they travelled for about 3 miles in complete darkness. Then suddenly, in the distance, they saw a bright light at the end of what looked to be a cave, it was the moon.
‘The sea, it’s the sea!’ Mohammed shouted.
Exhausted, the men lifted the trunk out of the wagon.
‘Why couldn’t we have brought the chest in this way by boat, instead of half killing ourselves going the long way round?’ Aabid groaned, yet, pleasantly overcome by the salty fresh smells from the ocean, as he entered the cave flooded by moonlight.
‘Because we didn’t know which cave led from the sea to the tunnel until we walked the walk,’ Mohammed puffed.
‘What a load of shit!’ Aabid shouted. ‘If someone could set up the cage and charge the loco for us to get here, then they could have given us a map to sail here instead of this crap.’
‘We might have been seen if we came here by boat.’
‘Seen by whom?’ Aabid demanded.
‘Seen by the security at RAF Portreath, the base is right above us. There must be security cameras everywhere!’ Mohammed shouted, annoyed by Aabid’s whining.
‘They’re having a laugh at us,’ Aabid raged. ‘They just wanted to make fools of us! If they can drop their chemical waste from a plane, then they could also collect the gold.’
Mohammed scoffed, ‘we’re not supposed to know about the drops, that’s supposed to be top secret, Aabid.’
‘I don’t know how they get away with it.’
‘Forget that now, we’re in Portreath and that’s all that matters at the moment.’
‘So how do they get it out from here?’ Rashid asked, inspecting the cave.
‘Secret entrance,’ Mohammed pointed to a padlocked door in the cave wall. ‘It leads into one of those bunker type things on the base.’
‘Still don’t know why they couldn’t have picked it up in Belgium, and flown it directly here.’
‘How many times, Aabid? How do you propose they hide gold bullion in an RAF aircraft? It’s not easily hidden if anyone should want to inspect it.’
‘Well, they manage to smuggle RAF guns in the aircraft easily enough, when they fly them out to Sheik Amir.’
‘Good point, Aabid, I hadn’t thought of that,’ Rashid nodded. ‘If they are dropping off guns in Dubai, wouldn’t it make sense to pick up the gold then?’
Mohammed was fed up, exhausted. He just wanted to go home to his wife and family back in Dubai.
‘Here, help me lift the chest over there.’ He pointed to a small cemented area, in front of a small door. ‘That must be the other entrance out of the base. Behind the door are steps leading out onto the side of the cliff
, above Lighthouse Hill.’
‘Where’s Lighthouse Hill?’
‘It’s a residential road, Rashid. It terminates just below the airbase.’
‘Oh, this RAF base is very secure then, surrounded by lots of neighbours,’ Aabid gloated. ‘So, why couldn’t we have driven the chests up the cliff and brought it in that way, as the CCTV cameras would presume we lived there?’
‘The cliff’s too steep to carry them from the road, like the side of a mountain.’
‘Oh, and the mine was so fucking flat and easy to walk along,’ Aabid replied. ‘What’s the point of the RAF having a security system on their base, if you can just enter it by the back door?’
Mohammed fumed. ‘This cave is part of South Crofty tin mine, not a military base, remember? And the actual back door, as you say, is a bunker built into the side of the cliff, well-hidden and secured.’ He dipped into his pocket. ‘See I have the keys.’
‘How many more chests do you expect?’ Rashid tried to defuse the hostility.
‘At least five more, and that’s only this batch,’ Mohammed replied, unlocking the door.
‘Why can’t they wait, why does it have to be done now?’ Aabid snapped.
‘Because this mine only closed down last month in March.’ Mohammed wiped the sweat from his head. ‘That means the water hasn’t had time to flood all the lower seams.’
Aabid and Rashid sat down on the rocky ground and lit their Turkish cigarettes. Their tired eyes now focussed on the black ocean, that lapped up to the edge of the cave, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight.
‘The other chests will follow once Sheik Amir receives his payment.’ Mohammed joined them on the ground.
‘What in guns?’ Rashid sneered.
‘If only it were just guns,’ Aabid complained. ‘What glory it will bring to Allah, blessed be He. I always had ambitions of being involved in smuggling chemical weapons of mass destruction.’
‘You must never mention the contents of the case!’ Mohammed ignored his taunts. ‘You refer to it only as, Sweet Bee, is that clear?’
Aabid continued to snigger whilst blowing out rings of smoke. ‘It’s not going to be just one suitcase-load of bee serum, is it? And why were we chosen above all others, because of our great expertise, Mo?’ he looked to the older man grinning. ‘No, of course not, it was because we were the only idiots out of Sheik Amir’s workforce who spoke English, and didn’t have a criminal record.’
Catch The Stinger, Before It Stings You! Page 5