Now his attention had moved away from St. Ives and onto Godrevy lighthouse. Three and a half miles across the bay from St. Ives, it stood on Godrevy Island resembling a white goddess. Perhaps he should have been a lighthouse keeper, he considered. An easy life, living on a tiny piece of rock in the sea, with no neighbours to annoy you. It had to be better than a career where so many people want to kill you.
Once he had finished his soggy fag, he climbed back onto the bike and continued his journey along the cliff top.
Now that the fog was clearing he could see the white waves rolling towards the shore, exploding onto the cliffs below. It was not long before he came to the lethal precipice of Hell’s Mouth and Deadman’s Cove. In daylight, the jagged cliffside looked quite beautiful, covered in yellow gorse and purple heather. Here the sea was the deepest blue, laced with patches of white surf dancing around the craggy rocks where suicides jumped.
It was as he neared Portreath when he suddenly spotted the BMW. Turning off his headlight, he followed from a safe distance, as the car drove down the steep hill towards the beach and car park. But instead of stopping, the car continued round the bend in the road that led back up towards the airbase.
*****
‘This is a nice surprise, Professor Trevithick-Bray.’ Guthrie was perched on the bonnet of the BMW now parked in Tolticken Hill, pointing his Walther PPK pistol directly at the windscreen, as the wipers went back and forth. Sliding himself across the wet bonnet towards the driver’s door he shot off a wiper.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me into your car on a night like this, Professor Trevithick-Bray, or should I just call you Jonathan?’
Jonathan stared blankly. He went to turn on the ignition, but Guthrie was too fast, the gun now pressed hard against Jonathan’s temple. Jonathan put his hands up and got out of the car.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?’ Guthrie said, leading him towards the bushes out of sight. ‘You see, when we first met, I’d never heard of Duchy Hospital. And then, when I did learn about it, idiot that I am thought it was some posh place way out, like St. Mawes. Who would believe that it is merely a house or two, virtually backing onto Treliske like a garden shed? You even have your own isolated sleaze-bin in the grounds.’ Guthrie spat his gob a millimetre away from Jonathan’s foot.
‘So tell me, who was the mole in the MOD, because I know I was being set up in Belgium, it had to be an inside job?’
When there was no reply he shot a bullet at the gob, startling a small bird nearby.
‘Of course, the reason why you were so eager to help me get a job at Treliske was to keep tabs on me, feign you were a good guy. While all the time you were feeding back information to the puppet master.’ Guthrie shot another bullet, killing the bird.
Jonathan flinched. He was pale and clammy.
‘You don’t understand,’ he stuttered. ‘They offered to pay for a new laboratory and give me funding for my research, it would save millions of lives.’
‘And in exchange you’d help them kill millions.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Jonathan pleaded, his grey hair now drenched from the wet bushes. ‘It wasn’t just for my research. How do you think we got the money to build the new wing in Treliske? It was me who donated a big chunk of that money, me!’
The rain had started again with a vengeance, pelting down hard.
‘They did head hunt me after graduation, did you know that?’ Guthrie said almost casually, trying to light up a cigarette, as if they were having a pleasant chat over coffee. ‘MI6, it is SIS now, but a name change doesn’t really change anything, does it?’ he laughed, wiping the rain from his face. ‘And Interpol too, they wanted me to be a special agent - that’s a sophisticated name for an assassin. There really is no other name for it. That was my job. And even though I say so myself, I was very good at it.’
After 4 attempts the cigarette caught the flame, he inhaled slowly.
Jonathan watched him like a frightened rat caught in one of his laboratory cages.
‘Although, of course, they didn’t say to me, Mr Guthrie, you are going to be a contract killer.’ He made a funny face pretending to be downcast. ‘I’ve done some of the most amazing things, working mainly in the Gulf, the Congo, Argentina, Yugoslavia. Some of my exploits have even been on TV news bulletins, but you wouldn’t know it to meet me, would you? Plebby Guthrie, that’s me.’
‘I never thought you a fool, never!’
‘Of course you did. Although you knew from the start that I was an agent for the MOD, you never thought that a working class black boy would be so damn good at the job,’ Guthrie almost spat out the words. ‘You see, it would be so easy for me to kill you — except I won’t, only because you happen to be the father-in-law of my best friend. But I assure you, that is the only reason.’
‘Thank...thank you. I am ashamed...’ Jonathan dropped his rain savaged head.
‘Not interested,’ Guthrie sneered, exhaling the smoke in small foggy rings into Jonathan’s face, causing him to cough. ‘So who is the leader of this cock-up, RAF Wing Commander Paul Trembath?’
‘He just takes orders.’
‘So, is someone in the MOD behind all this then, do they want me dead?’
‘No, this has nothing to do with the MOD. Trembath just has access to sensitive information. I don’t know much about that side of things; in fact, I don’t know much about anything.’ Jonathan was breathless, visibly shaking. But Guthrie did not care, the only person on his list worthy of compassion was Stella.
‘So, you didn’t know anything about anything, yet you are so involved it beggars belief.’
‘I told you, I’m not involved, I just mixed up some chemicals, that is all.’
‘That’s all – you’re having a laugh. You administer them to, now what is it? Bees, violets, people. Even children.’
‘I was trying to help...’ Jonathan paused to sneeze, his expensive grey suit now soaking wet and grubby from sitting on the ground.
‘So murder doesn’t taint your middle class conscience.’
‘I had nothing to do...’
‘Who put the contract out on Stella?’
‘It wasn’t Trembath, and it definitely wasn’t me.’
Guthrie offered him a cigarette, but Jonathan shook his head.
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘Well, it might help if you start, it eases the time away in jail. I should know, I went through enough packets during my year inside.’
‘Please, don’t stop my work. Look, I think I may have found a cure for MRSA,’ Jonathan begged. ‘It’s in the honey you see. Scientists in the Emirates gave me the idea, in Dubai they are researching...’
Lightning bolted across the grey skies, highlighting Jonathan’s face. He was weeping. Guthrie pushed him out of the bushes.
‘Give me your mobile and get into the car, and I’ll follow you on the bike. Make one wrong move and I’ll blow your fucking brains out!’ Guthrie threatened.
‘I won’t, I give you my word. Where are we going?’
‘Camborne Police Station, I’ll leave you there until Detective Inspector Pendeen can come and question you.’
‘Does the Chief Super have to know?’
‘This is reality, Greg.’
As they neared the car, Guthrie said, ‘Don’t worry about your research, they let prisoners study for degrees nowadays, so I’m certain they’ll be able to accommodate you. Keys.’
Jonathan handed him the car keys and watched Guthrie unlock the door.
‘Life is usually about 10 to 20, so you’ll have ample time to complete your research. I mean, look what the Birdman of Alcatraz achieved,’ Guthrie mocked, as he pushed the doctor into the drivers’ seat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was gone three a.m. by the time Guthrie got back to St. Ives. Soaked to the skin, his long black curls dripping rainwater down his cheeks and neck; he was looking forward to a nice hot shower. Just as he put the key in the lock the kitchen doo
r opened. Katie stood before him dressed in a hooded, red plastic mac and wellington boots holding an umbrella.
‘Oh, I thought you were at Demelza’s, what a nice surprise to see you back.’ He leaned forward to kiss her, and then entered the kitchen dripping water everywhere.
‘You know Demelza wasn’t well, which was why I said I had to go over,’ she explained. ‘Well, the doctor was called and she’s been taken to hospital. It’s okay though, as her boyfriend’s gone with her.’
‘You should have phoned,’ he said, removing his helmet. ‘I could have picked you up.’
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ Katie said excitedly.
‘A walk? It’s a hurricane out there. I’m tired, Katie. Can’t we get into a nice warm bed?’ he suggested, removing his leather jacket almost flooding the kitchen.
‘No, Gut, my darling, oi’ve got a surprise to show you.’
‘What surprise?’
‘A shooting star and a possible eclipse, it only happens once every 500 years, didn’t you read about it in the papers?’
Guthrie shook his head, accidentally spraying water over the table.
‘Abigail’s sleeping so she won’t miss us. We must go, please say yes.’
‘No, sorry. I’m too exhausted, and I’m soaked to the skin.’
‘Dry off first, and put some waterproofs on.’
‘Look at the weather, Katie, we’ll get pneumonia.’
‘The forecast said the rain will stop, it’s only going to be like this for another 20 minutes.’
‘Oh God. Okay then, if we must,’ he groaned, too tired to argue. ‘But why would you be interested in astronomy; you’ve never mentioned it before?’
‘You know I read my star sign daily in the paper.’
Walking towards the bathroom, he wondered if Stella was turning in her grave, to know that she had been replaced by someone who did not even know the difference between astrology and astronomy.
After a pee he dried his hair and changed his coat and boots for a pair of Doc Martins and a thick MOD issue coat, and then searched about for a suitable hat to no avail. Grabbing hold of his bike helmet he decided that would have to do.
They walked arm in arm along the harbourside, as the lightning flashed across Smeaton’s Pier like novelty rides at a funfair. Fishing tugs and motor boats bounced manically in the water, as if they would rip from their moorings. The angry waves lashed up against the harbour wall with even greater force by the time they reached the Sloop, flooding the walkway. But still Katie insisted on continuing the journey.
Dustbins had fallen over in the wind, litter was blowing around, flying off in various directions. The umbrella blew inside out so often that Guthrie threw it into a nearby bin.
Splashing their way along The Digey’s cobbled lane, he wondered if there was anyone else awake in the town. There were no lights on in the cottages or café, not even a sighting of a cat or tourist.
‘So where’s this star?’
‘Ha-ha, just a bit further. Where have you been this evening, oi missed you, my Brian Boru?’ she shouted above the thunder.
‘I had a meeting. It would have bored you if you’d come along!’
‘You look like a Martian in that helmet,’ she laughed, snuggling her drenched body up against him. ‘Oi wish we could just run away and be together for always.’
‘Who said we can’t?’
‘Sometimes freewill and choices aren’t always available to all.’
‘I see my philosophy is rubbing off on you,’ he laughed, the rain targeting his mouth.
The Island and Porthmeor Beach were also empty of souls, windier here than on the harbour.
‘How beautiful the moon is, and look how clear the sky, you can see the stars,’ she smiled. ‘Look at the moon’s reflection in the sea.’ Then she began jumping over the puddles, stretching out her arms as if she were flying, dancing, twirling. He was unable to resist her, removing the helmet he pulled her close. He could smell her perfume wafting across his face, her smell. He wanted to have her now, right there, with the rain pelting on their naked bodies.
‘I’m tired now; can we go home?’ His lips touched her lips, hands reaching for her breasts.
‘Not here, not yet, first oi have to take you to see the star.’
‘I want you, now. Here, right here.’ Guthrie pushed his body against hers, the weight had gone. He was honed, strong, like in the old days.
‘No, wait until we get home and snuggle up in bed.’ She suddenly sneezed.
‘See, now you’ve got a cold. This is foolish, standing out here in this weather.’
‘Please...’
‘We won’t even be able to see a shooting star in this sky. Let’s go home.’ He started to turn back, but she tugged him by the hand.
‘No, Gut, please, this is a once in a lifetime event. Look, the sky is clear now, it’s just a bit of thunder,’ she went to kiss him on the lips. ‘Oi was t’inking, you and me can pay a visit to Eire soon, and oi can tell them that Brian Boru has come home to get the six counties back.’
‘Don’t think I look much like Brian Boru,’ he laughed.
Replacing his helmet, he conceded to continue the journey, it was easier than arguing.
Watching the breakers pound savagely onto Porthmeor Beach, he realised that they were heading towards the high, rugged cliffs of Clodgy.
Pitch black with only the moon and stars for company, they stood on Clodgy Point listening to the roar of the sea, as the wind whipped against their legs and stung their faces. In the daylight he could see right across to Lizard Point from here. But now, there was nothing, only darkness. Freezing, he pulled up the collar of his coat. But Katie did not seem to feel anything, as she led him by the hand, across the terrain to a bench near the cliffside.
‘Oi dream, you know. Oi have strange dreams, some are with you. We are together in a house with children running around. Like normal people. But we aren’t just normal people are we, Gut?’
They did not speak as they rested on the bench, just cuddled up close like two lovers getting soaked. The only light was from a distant trawler, it seemed to be the only vessel out in the storm.
‘So where is this shooting star and eclipse? I can’t see any other people here as mad as us looking for them, are you sure you got the date right?’
‘Oi t’ink we’re just early. The others must be sheltering somewhere.’
‘That sounds more sensible than us sitting here.’
‘The Tate might have opened up for the event.’
‘You said the forecast was the rain would stop.’ he responded, angry with her for dragging him there.
‘It will soon, oi promise. The BB...the BBC are covering it, they’ll be down soon, probably setting up their equipment.’
‘Oh, you’re crying. Why are you crying?’ he asked, wiping away her tears with his hand.
‘Oi wish we could...I wish...’ she failed to complete the sentence.
Over towards Godrevy lighthouse a Sea King was flying inland. Its light resembled a giant star flickering its way along the coast, until it came almost in line with the trawler. Perhaps there had been an accident out at sea. Guthrie peered out to see if there was a vessel in distress. But it was too dark to see anything. The helicopter was now flying away from the trawler towards the cliffs.
Katie moved away from him slightly, not far, but just a few inches too many.
‘I love you,’ he confessed, and then yanked her onto his lap and held her there so tight that she could not move. The bullets began to rain down from the Sea King, they were meant for him, but they only pierced his shield, Katie.
Overhead, the light from the helicopter was beaming down, illuminating the plateau. By the time the aircraft landed on the grass she was riddled with holes. Her beautiful face was lifeless, her skin waxen — like an angel. Guthrie hurriedly removed his helmet throwing it down on the wet ground. Bending forward he gently kissed her bloodstained head as the tears rolled down his cheeks.
/> ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women,’ he sobbed. ‘Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Forgive us our sins. Have mercy on her soul.’ He kissed his crucifix and then made the sign of the cross, avoiding looking down at her lifeless body weeping with blood.
Nearby, the blades of the Sea King started up, he knew his time was short. They would know by now that it was not him they had killed but her. They would be looking for him, wanting his blood.
Guthrie raced across the terrain towards the coastal footpath that trailed above the cliff top.
The mud along the footpath was thick and wet from the springs that flowed down the hillside, causing him to slip and slide. Suddenly he tripped over large invisible stepping stones, falling flat on his face. The blood trickled down his cheek. By now the Sea King was whizzing overhead, its bright searchlight sweeping across the plain like an apparition.
Wing Commander Paul Trembath wailed in the cockpit. There was no one else there with him to share his grief, except for the corpse perched on the seat beside him.
Switching onto automatic pilot, Trembath rose from his seat and went into the fuselage. The missiles were still there, originally meant for Sheik Amir, he would have no use for them now. He opened the side door. The winds were strong as the rain pelted down, causing turbulence to the aircraft. But he hardly noticed as he grabbed the machine gun.
By now Guthrie was crawling along the summit of Zawn Quoits, the two sided cleft of rock that rose above the roaring black ocean. The beam from the Sea King drew closer. The noise was worse here with the repetitive crashing of the breakers. His wet, sore hands grabbed hold of the jagged rocks to stop him flying off into oblivion. And then the lightning flashed, shadowed by a great blast of thunder echoing across the peninsular. There was nowhere to hide. The Sea King swayed dangerously overhead, its searchlight scanning the rock. Guthrie reached into his pocket to find the gun, but to his great dismay he realised that he had changed his coat back at Lobster Rock.
Catch The Stinger, Before It Stings You! Page 18