No Suspicious Circumstances

by The Mulgray Twins

  ‘DJS. Target Two heading south. Following.’

  By now Spinks was more than a hundred yards ahead. In the bright moonlight it wasn’t going to be easy to keep in contact without being seen. I started to run, ready to drop flat if he looked back.

  He didn’t look back. Speed seemed to be his overriding priority, and the noise he was making covered any I made. He was taking the upper track over high ground. When I was sure of his direction, I spoke into the mike. ‘DJS. Heading to Main Light.’

  The Main Light is quite distinctive, a square Victorian tower complete with gothic arched windows and battlements. You couldn’t mistake it even in the dark. Adjoining it, a rectangular building housed the modern version of the old light, in the shape of a radio mast poking a needle finger into the night sky. My eyes struggled to adjust as racing clouds obscured the moon. I stopped, wary of tumbling headlong on the rough ground or falling into the small pond grandiosely designated on the map as The Loch.

  Spinks’s shadowy figure had merged with the dark mass of the buildings. My eyes weren’t giving me any information, but my ears might. I closed my eyes to aid concentration. I tried to blank out the rustle of wind in the grass, the thump of my heart after that burst of running. Was that the sound of a door softly shutting? I opened my eyes and peered at the impenetrable blackness at the foot of the tower. Nothing. Had he gone to earth there till the Customs’ operation was over and he could slip away unseen? Time to summon reinforcements.

  Wheeep… From off to my right came the sharp startled cry of a sea bird. Had it been disturbed by Spinks as he made his escape down to the sea? Abruptly, like a light being switched on, moonlight flooded down once again. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of movement against the whitewashed walls of an old tower perched on the cliff edge. I tried to visualise what I’d seen on my previous visit as camera-toting tourist. Beside the tower was a mini ravine leading down to a small dam and power station, below that, a narrow finger of sea with a funny name…Mill Door. I’d marked it on my map as ‘Sighting of rare white-billed puffin’.

  ‘DJS. Mill Door,’ I said tersely into my mike. They’d know Target Two was attempting an escape by sea, and send a boat to cut him off. All I had to do was make sure that he didn’t backtrack before they got here.

  I headed down into the ravine. The walls rose up, cutting off the moonlight, but there was just enough reflected light from the sky to enable me to break into a swift trot. Noisier, yes, but I had to take another calculated risk. Spinks too would be concentrating on speed.

  Now that I was clear of the shadow of the ravine I had no cover. But it was unlikely that eyes were watching. He wouldn’t have gone to ground here. He’d be making for a boat tied up in the little inlet. Looming up in front of me was the concrete block of the power station. I hurried past and stopped abruptly.

  Below me a long concrete ramp sloped down to the sea. My quarry was clambering into a powered inflatable moored to an iron ring. And the distance between us was as bare and as brightly lit as a mortuary slab. The outboard motor spluttered and died. He heaved at the cord again. I tensed myself to run forward with some desperate idea of waving wildly and shouting to distract him and gain time, I suppose. For the RRF to respond to that last signal, all I needed was five minutes. I didn’t get them.

  There was a whisper of sound behind me. An arm clamped itself round my neck, forcing my head roughly backwards. A voice, cold and deadly, said, ‘Freeze!’

  My muscles did exactly that. You don’t argue when the sharp point of a knife is pressed against the side of your neck. Spinks hadn’t looked back. Neither had I. It had been a fatal mistake. Fatal as in Death. Death in the next few seconds…for me. The arm tightened.

  The instinct for self-preservation told me to struggle and scream. I did neither. Close proximity to death sharpens the mind wonderfully. I made myself go limp, closed my eyes, and sagged at the knees, letting my assailant’s arm take the whole weight of my body. He gave a grunt of surprise, and the arm lock round my neck loosened slightly. But before I had time to work out my next move, the supporting arm was whipped away and a violent punch between the shoulders sent me sprawling winded on the rocky ground. I was dazedly aware of being roughly turned onto my back. A foot stood on my stomach, the knife-point again nicked my throat, and the balaclava was torn from my head.

  The recognition was mutual. The Silent One, true to type, said nothing. Gasping for breath, and with a heavy boot pressing into my diaphragm, neither did I.

  Suddenly he waxed loquacious. ‘Seen you before.’ Another press of the boot.

  He stood up, keeping his foot in place, and half-turned his head, looking past me off to my left. He seemed to be waiting for something.

  I heard the scrape of a shoe, then Spinks’s nasal twang. ‘What is it, Al?’

  The Silent One jerked his head in my direction. ‘Spied on us coupla days ago.’

  I had a worm’s eye view of Spinks staring down at me. His eyes glinted as the moonlight caught his face. Despite the Silent One’s attention to my solar plexus, my breathing was now capable of coherent speech. Make it good! It may be the last thing you say. I took as deep a breath as possible under the circumstances. I mustn’t allow a tremble.

  ‘Revenue and Customs, Mr Spinkssss.’ The last word ended in a spluttered hiss as the Silent One transferred more weight to the foot on my diaphragm.

  I clutched at his leg, digging in my nails in a desperate attempt to pull him off balance. Futile. My lungs laboured frantically to drag in air, but oxygen starvation drained me of strength in seconds, and I sank back limp and semi-conscious. Just as blackness rushed towards me, the weight lifted, allowing me to breathe normally again – if drawing in air in great gulps could be called normal. As I tried to lever myself up on an elbow, the Silent One applied his foot to my upper arm, pinning me to the ground. Spinks stood on my other arm. They looked down on me, considering for some moments.

  ‘Kill her.’ Spinks’s voice was sharp, decisive, and unemotional. He could have been ordering a caddy to throw away a dud golf ball.

  The Silent One nodded, his face blank, showing no emotion. I stared up at him. How would he carry out Spinks’s orders? Funny thing, looking into the eyes of my murderer, I wasn’t paralysed with fear. My mental defence mechanism under stress had gone into overdrive. One part of my brain was coolly listing possible ways he could go about it. Knife. Foot on throat. Bullet. Skull bashed in… Another part of my brain was whining in querulous outrage, What gives them the right to kill me, wipe me out with no more compunction than swatting an irritating fly?

  In a surge of anger the words came. ‘I think you’re making a big mistake, Mr Spinks.’ My God, I sounded like a character in a bad B movie. All it needed was for him to say, ‘I think not’.

  Spinks smiled coldly. ‘I think not.’

  That did it. I couldn’t help myself. Tension, I suppose. I giggled.

  ‘You know what they say, guys. She who laughs last, laughs longest.’ I smiled brightly up at them.

  They looked at each other. Spinks removed his foot from my arm and at the same time snapped his fingers with a flicking gesture. The Silent One stepped off my other arm and hauled me roughly to my feet. As I staggered trying to regain my balance, he viciously twisted my right arm up behind my back and held me in a tight neck-lock. He turned me so that I faced Spinks.

  ‘You’ve got thirty seconds to explain yourself before Al breaks your neck.’ He sounded as if he couldn’t wait for Al to begin.

  Start with what they perceive to be the truth and the suckers will believe anything. It’s the art of the con artist the world over. I looked him in the eye as best I could with my chin pointing skyward.

  ‘I’ve got a throat mike. When I saw you leaving Altarstanes, I radioed in. It’s been picking up everything I’ve been saying.’ The pressure of Al’s arm on my neck muffled my voice and made it difficult to breathe. ‘Kept track gasp of your movements gasp. They know gasp you’re here at
gasp Mill Door gasp with an inflatable.’

  Back at base they knew now about the inflatable.

  Al’s arm tightened cutting off my air. A roaring in my ears, a red haze before my eyes, I fell into blackness. Then I could breathe again as his arm lowered and held me across the top of my chest. As I sagged, desperately sucking in air, I felt fingers pulling open my jacket. I heard a grunt of satisfaction or perhaps surprise. A sharp pain sawed at the back of my neck before the mike cord snapped as the mike was torn off. Bait taken. Now for the hook.

  ‘We’ve a cordon of Customs’ boats all round the island,’ I lied. ‘You’ll need me if you want to break through.’ If you’re going to tell a lie, it might as well be a quality one. ‘I’m Deputy Controller, Revenue and Customs, Scotland.’ It sounded impressive, anyway, and might buy me a little time. But I was under no illusions as to what Spinks had in mind for me. Even if he fell for this, once he’d made his escape, he’d get rid of me. He’d not even bother to stage one of his little ‘accidents’ to cover it up.

  He stared at me. In the silence we all heard the faint hum of a powerful engine approaching from the direction of Altarstanes. Al’s arm shifted back to a neck-lock as he awaited Spinks’s order. Was it to be life? Or death? The hum had increased to a muffled roar, perceptibly nearer.

  Spinks turned his head to listen. ‘Get her down to the boat.’ Without looking back, he hurried down the slope of the dam, confident in Al’s ability to carry out his orders.

  Al hustled me forward, taking silent pleasure in giving my arm an agonising jerk whenever I slowed or stumbled. Though I’d gained those precious minutes of life, I had to admit that the outlook didn’t look too promising. Deborah J Smith was definitely not a good risk on the books of a life insurance salesman.

  As we reached the inflatable, the engine spluttered once, twice, and caught. Al gave my arm a vicious upward twist. A searing pain arced through me so fiercely that I was barely aware that he had released his grip. My shoulder and upper arm were on fire, but from the elbow down I felt only a curious throbbing numbness. I became aware of the knife pricking again, this time between the vertebrae of my lower back.

  ‘Get in and lie down on the floor.’ The tone was expressionless, casual, the underlying message clear. Do what you are told, or this knife will sever your spinal cord. I did what I was told.

  The boat rocked as Al clambered in. A foot pressed on my kidneys, forcing my face hard against the damp, cold duckboard slats. This position as a floor mat severely limited my outlook. Even when I twisted my head round at an almost neck-dislocating angle, I could see very little, only a wedge of night sky above the bulging sides of the boat. Face down, and pinioned to the floor as I was by Al’s size 12s, it was hardly going to be a case of ‘in one bound I was free’.

  ‘Do something before it’s too late!’ screamed a panicky little voice inside me. If I could suddenly heave myself up to my knees…butt Spinks with my head, catch him off balance, knock him overboard…fling myself into the sea before Al could recover from his surprise…

  Slowly, slowly, I bent my elbows. Calculating. They would be looking ahead, watchful for the first sign of the forces of Law and Order. So if I avoided any rapid movement…levered myself up… I tensed my arm muscles. Now.

  ‘Quit that.’ Al delivered a sharp blow to my right elbow bone of such searing intensity that a wave of nausea welled up, leaving me gasping for breath. A warning kick to my ribs followed.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on quelling the pain-induced retching. Fantasising over plans of escape definitely took lower priority than the prospect of lying with my face in vomit. It’s a funny thing about the human brain. It can deal properly with only one set of incoming signals at a time. So while all my attention was focused on my heaving stomach, the pain in my elbow was little more than a background throb.

  Spthash! Half the ocean flung itself into my face. I hardly had time to blink my eyes clear, before more water splatted over the side of the boat. My brain forgot about the nausea and started analysing this new data. Bigger waves. That meant we had left the shelter of the land. Which way were we heading? Think. Whether he had believed me or not about the cordon of boats, Spinks wouldn’t have headed north towards Altarstanes and the approaching launch. And he hadn’t headed straight out to sea, because up till now we had been in sheltered waters. So he must have gone south. I had no idea how much time had passed since we had set off from Mill Door, but the rougher sea meant we were nearing the tip of the island – and Pilgrims’ Haven.

  For the first time since Al had hooked me round the neck, I felt a flicker of hope. If we were still close inshore, the inflatable would pass across the mouth of the Haven. And anchored in that small bay was The Maid of the Forth with its exuberantly partying RRF. I might be able to hear the blare of their music blasting out to ensure their presence was well and truly advertised.

  I strained to hear above the roar of the outboard. Nothing. I squinted upwards at the silhouette of Spinks. There was no tension, no indication of a sudden awareness of possible danger. A niggle of doubt threatened to snuff out that flicker of hope. Maybe we weren’t heading south. I stared up at him again with my one available eye. But the moon had set or gone behind a cloud. He was only an indistinct dark mass against the stars.

  We must be approaching Pilgrims’ Haven. Or even have passed it. The flicker of hope died. No music. There was definitely no music. I’d been clutching at straws. Once the RRF on The Maid of the Forth had heard the go-ahead for the raid at Altarstanes, they’d have packed up and headed back to port. They’d performed their function. Once Spinks was clear of the island and any sign of pursuit, he’d dump me overboard as casually as a litter lout throwing a cigarette pack out of a car window or a beer can into the harbour. So this was it, then.

  Th, th, th, th – th – th – It took several seconds to register the sudden silence as the outboard engine stuttered and cut out.

  ‘Holyssshit.’ Spinks flicked the starter switch impatiently. The engine roared for a couple of seconds – and died.

  Did I dare to let that little glimmer of hope rekindle? If our fuel tank was empty, there was a good chance that the RRF launch I’d heard approaching from Altarstanes would catch us up. And then…

  Click. A lighter’s flame flickered shadows over Spinks’s arm. Al’s voice said, ‘Half a tank of gas.’

  Off to the right, a burst of Scottish dance music erupted. A few seconds later, it was abruptly cut off as if by a closing door. I heard a woman’s high-pitched laugh, two voices raised in a raucous duet. The Maid of the Forth. It must be, but I couldn’t tell how close.

  ‘Goddamn electrics must be wet!’ The boat rocked as Spinks leant over and fumbled with something out of my field of vision. ‘For Chris’sake grab the oar while I dry them out. We’re drifting towards that goddamned ship.’

  If only I could see something other than boots and the side of the boat. Even the patch of sky had been blotted out as Spinks and Al shifted position. What were my chances of attracting The Maid of the Forth’s attention?

  Nil. Al anticipated me. As I filled my lungs in preparation for a good loud scream, my head was jerked back and a foul-tasting oily rag was stuffed into my mouth.

  ‘Move to take it out and I’ll break your arm.’ He performed a trial demonstration on my left arm, twisting it back and up.

  To scream you have to be able to take in a gulp of air. My scream of pain came out as a muffled whine that wouldn’t have been heard a couple of yards away. Pain, rage, fear and a grudging admiration for Al’s efficiency battled for ascendancy.

  ‘OK, that’s it.’ I heard the rattle of metal as the engine cover was replaced.

  Don’t let it start. Don’t let it start. The pursuing Customs cutter had a good chance of catching up if our engine wouldn’t fire.

  It fired.

  ‘Guess that’s fixed it.’

  The steady beat swelled to a roar as Spinks revved experimentally. The boat surged forward
.

  Without warning, the engine cut out again and we jerked violently to a halt. Whoomph. The breath was knocked out of my lungs, as Al landed on top of me.

  ‘In a spot of trouble, there? Want a hand?’ The words, slightly slurred, carried clearly on the night air from The Maid of the Forth. Tantalisingly close.

  I eased my neck round and squinted upwards. Clouds had obscured the moon and stars. Spinks loomed above me, a silent bulk. In the distance, we could all hear the steady hum of the approaching cutter.

  A woman’s voice giggled, ‘They’ve come to join the party, Jim. Letsh invite them aboard. Need some new talent.’ A shriek of laughter.

  Spinks stooped down, leant over the side for a long moment. ‘Some kind of plastic trash seems to have tangled with the shaft.’

  A coarse hiccup bounced across the water. ‘No need to be like that, Jim. Of coursh they want to come. Go on, ashk them,’ slurred the woman’s voice again, pouting, sulky.

  Al levered himself upright by jabbing his elbow into my kidneys. ‘Drunken assholes. I’ll—’

  ‘Can it, Al! Cut the prop free from all this garbage.’ Spinks’s voice was low, urgent.

  ‘Oh, ye’ll tak the high road and I’ll tak the low road,’ came warbling slightly off-key from The Maid of the Forth.

  A new voice broke in, ‘Hey there, guys! Great ceilidh here, don’t miss out on it. Lots of booze and women!’ Another few bars fortissimo of ‘The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond’ assaulted the eardrums. ‘Hold on! We’ll come and get you. Won’t be a jiff!’

  The cavalry were coming to the rescue. Elation. Euphoria. But were they overdoing it, laying it on a bit too thick?

  ‘For Chris’sake, hurry it up, Al. We’re in trouble if these drunken bastards get across here.’

  Al grunted a reply. They were leaning out over the back of the boat, neither of them paying attention to me. I’d never get a better opportunity. My left arm was still paralysed from Al’s attentions. My right arm was pinned against the side of the boat. I tried a cautious tilt sideways to free it. Yes, could do. Once I’d made my move, I’d only have seconds. It was the last chance I’d ever have.