Grave Island: a compelling mystery thriller

by Andrew Smyth

  Hence the tribunal. There wasn’t much I could do to prevent it. I could have told them that I had no idea how the files had found their way into my flat, but Ali told me not to. He was representing me as my “officer friend” and said that they’d find this so far-fetched that there was no chance they’d believe me. ‘Tell them it was an oversight,’ he said, adding that no less than a former Sea Lord and security minister had once been caught taking out classified papers. They only found out when he saw them plastered over the pages of The Mail on Sunday – apparently he’d dropped them while walking a friend’s dog. So I told them what Ali had suggested and it turned out that he was right. I had to admit that he’d done a good job and had shown a commanding presence in the court. He was classically tall, dark and handsome and this had obviously impressed the judges. There was something about Ali that seemed to show an inner certainty, though where it came from I had no idea.

  ‘It looks as though they bought it,’ he said after the judges had filed out and we gathered up our papers. “Resignation with honour” was the verdict – whatever honour is in these circumstances. The clowns who’d planted the files hadn’t shown any. Leaving the makeshift courtroom, we passed back through the gothic splendour of the priory’s entrance hall into the daylight and headed across the park towards our quarters in the accommodation block.

  ‘I thought it was going pear-shaped when they started to read out your previous history,’ Ali said. ‘Quite colourful, wasn’t it? Insubordination, fights, arguing with superior officers…. There was a particularly juicy case when you attacked a lance corporal…’

  ‘He withdrew his complaint,’ I said. ‘He dropped it when he realised how he’d look if it came to court.’

  ‘Not before you’d broken his arm, it seems.’

  ‘That was the way he fell, but I would have been happy to have done it myself. The villagers in Chorjah didn’t need corrupt soldiers looting what little they had. We were there to liberate them, not their belongings,’ I said it with some feeling – no one can remain unchanged after seeing the hardship that was part of their daily lives.

  ‘However it was, it didn’t sound good being read out like that. Attacking one of the investigating officers in your flat didn’t do you any favours either. Don’t forget I’ve seen you in action when you decided to take matters into your own hands. You can be very dangerous at times.’

  ‘Me? A pussycat. But there are some causes worth fighting for inside and outside the army.’

  ‘It’ll be outside from now on,’ Ali said tersely and followed me into the room I’d been allocated. ‘You’ve been lucky,’ he said. ‘It could easily have been a dishonourable discharge. In fact I’m surprised it wasn’t. I often saw files lying about in your flat.’

  ‘Files, perhaps, but not “Top Secret” ones. Anyone could break into my quarters.’

  ‘I still think you were lucky. I don’t think they wanted the publicity of a full hearing. Sweeping things under the carpet is their speciality and they’ve got a pretty big carpet. But you’ll have to resign your commission.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense. Someone had to have access to the files to take them out and that’s a pretty restricted number of people. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.’ I shrugged. ‘Not that there’s any point now. It’d be too late and I can’t see what good it would do.’ I hesitated. ‘Perhaps you could look into it for me?’

  ‘Me?’ Ali said in surprise. ‘How do you expect me to go about that?’

  ‘You could make some enquiries, look at the logs and things like that. Christ, Ali, you’re supposed to be an intelligence officer. You can find a way.’

  ‘That’s if someone really planted the files on you.’

  ‘What do you mean if? You still don’t believe me?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I only meant … well, never mind.’

  ‘But you’ll look into it?’

  ‘Alright, I’ll look into it, but right now I’ve got to sort out my papers. I’ll see you back in London.’

  ‘As a civilian?’

  Ali looked a bit embarrassed. ‘I suppose,’ he said rather weakly, but then added, ‘something will come up.’ It didn’t sound to me as though he was convinced.

  After he’d left, I walked to the window and looked across the park. After so many years in the army, it felt like an amputation. They say that when a limb is cut off you can still feel it and the army still felt a part of me and on balance they’d looked after me well. I suppose I had to admit that they’d even seen things in me that I was unaware of, for which I suppose I had to be grateful, but choices weren’t something they were strong on. Everything had been laid out for me and I followed, like a greyhound chasing a mechanical hare but now it was time to go offpiste. I was on my own.

  I’d been in the army since I was a teenager and although from time to time I’d had itchy feet, I hadn’t really thought of a life on the outside. I suppose that’s not quite true; I had thought about it, just as people dream of winning the lottery, but it’d only led to flights of daydreaming which left me with a smile on my face but no real idea of what else I might actually be suited for. I had been good at what I did.

  I walked out into the park and looked back at the priory where I’d undergone my initial training. I wondered that mine was nothing compared to some of the dramas it must have seen in its history. Perhaps this was the way it should be, the army just a preparation for the rest of my life. I could feel angry about it, that they’d thrown out someone who had served them well, but what was the point in looking backwards? I phoned for a taxi to take me to the station and packed my few things while waiting.

  It was a slow train back into London and to my small flat off the Strand. I changed out of my uniform and habit made me fold it in its creases before hanging it up. Creases! Perhaps the most useless thing ever invented although my life might now be measured in terms of life pre-creases and after creases – PC and AC.

  I looked around my cramped room which still didn’t look much like a home even after all these months. I’d have to find somewhere else to live. I had a bit of money put by, so I could survive for a time while I took stock. “Taking stock” – I wondered about that. I don’t think I’d ever taken stock in my life – I’d been single-minded in the army, working towards the next level with little interest in looking around me and I’d done pretty well. Would I be like the recidivist released from prison who promptly steals again in order to be sent back behind the familiar bars? A hermit crab scrambling into someone else’s shell? That was for later, in the meantime self-pity wasn’t my style.

  2

  I still had my security pass and hoping that they might not have cancelled it already, the next day I headed back to my office off Whitehall where I’d been working as a liaison officer for the past nine months.

  I slipped my card through the scanner but the door remained firmly shut. I pulled out my phone and called Joan, the office administrator. Typical of her to withdraw my pass so quickly – hastening the departing to prove a point. I was never sure where I was with Joan. She liked order; everything inside the box with no loose ends and no ambiguity and I didn’t fit anywhere in that. But I didn’t think she wanted me out.

  Joan buzzed me through and I went upstairs to the office where she kept guard behind a walnut desk that she’d probably inherited from Lord Palmerston – they’d both been there long enough. ‘James,’ she said mockingly, ‘the happy warrior is returning to the scene of his crime? I always thought you’d get caught one day.’

  I let that pass and sat down at her desk which started emitting growling noises. I’d forgotten Ruffles, her Scottie dog which guarded her rather ineffectually from somewhere underneath. My ankles had had run-ins with him before. ‘Oh come on, Joan,’ I said, ‘don’t pretend you’re not going to miss me.’

  ‘Just as I miss the flu after it’s gone,’ she said rather unkindly.

  ‘I suppose I should be flattered that you only think of me as a bout of flu.
It could have been worse – what about appendicitis or even botulism?’

  ‘Only because I didn’t think of them. You know I’ve always wondered whether you’d last.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘After such a rapid rise from the ranks, I wondered whether you could keep it up. It could be only up or down. People like you never stay still.’

  ‘So you think I’m like Icarus? Flying too close to the sun and falling to earth?’

  ‘Something like that. You were never bothered about fitting in, were you? Not interested in making alliances, you carried on your own sweet way without regard for anyone else.’

  ‘That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? It was a job and I did it. That’s all. What other people thought was up to them. What counted to me was whether the job was done well and I’ve been pretty successful so far.’

  ‘As you say – so far. And now it’s all over. If you’d tried harder to get people on your side this would never have happened. You’d still be with us.’

  I knew Joan was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it. Ali had often told me the same thing.

  I shook my head. ‘Too many people in the department regard someone like me who’s come up through the ranks as second class. Not out of the top drawer and no idea how to pass the port. The way some of them looked at me in the officers’ mess – thinking that a working-class officer didn’t belong.’

  ‘Only a few of them are like that. Anyway, you’re not alone. Ali’s family are immigrants. You can hardly call him upper class.’

  ‘His father’s a leading surgeon, he went to a minor public school and they live in a mansion in Kensington. Hardly working class.’

  Joan laughed. ‘That’s what I mean. You’ve got a chip on your shoulder but won’t admit it. You think of your colleagues as opponents.’

  ‘Some of them were. They thought they had a divine right to be here without having to work at it. I had to fight hard to get where I am.’

  ‘And where’s that? You’ve thrown it all away now.’

  ‘I didn’t throw it away – someone did it for me. And you talk as though my life is over. It’s only just beginning.’

  ‘I hope so, for your sake. Anyway, you’re right, I will miss you. You always managed to cheer the place up. Any idea of what you’re going to do?’

  ‘Security, I suppose. With the world as it is there’s always a demand for trained security specialists. What about that company that provided guards for ships going past Somalia? The pirates attacked and they all jumped overboard to escape? Interesting business model.’

  Joan hesitated. ‘I checked the file register. To make sure.’

  I was amazed, this was another new side to Joan. ‘Did you find anything? Anyone who took them out over that time?’

  ‘No, nothing. You didn’t sign it out and you didn’t sign it back in.’ Joan sniffed – she was quite a sniffer. ‘I don’t know how you managed to take it out without signing the register, but the last entry is a few days before you…’ She stopped as if she suddenly realised that she was about to launch herself into dangerous waters.

  ‘Before I what? You mean, before my flat was raided? After that I couldn’t sign them back in, could I? Because by then those goons had them.’

  ‘All I’m saying is that the file register doesn’t tell you anything and I can’t help thinking that if you’d taken them out, then you would have signed for them.’

  ‘I didn’t sign for them, because I didn’t take them out,’ I said. I even patted her dog before I stood up and went down the corridor to what I now had to call my old office. Before doing so I put my head into my colleague James’s office; he and I went way back – he’d even been to my wedding – so the least I could do was say goodbye and he might even want to thank me for opening the way for a possible promotion. It certainly gave him a motive.

  James looked up from his computer screen. ‘Philip. I know I’m in a minority around here but I’m really sorry about what’s happened.’ He even said it as though he meant it and knowing him, he probably did, potential promotion notwithstanding.

  ‘Think of it as a rebirth,’ I said. ‘A whole new future awaits. A blank canvas ready for me to daub on.’

  ‘I think you should consider yourself lucky that you got away with resignation. Not a stain on your character, as they say.’

  ‘A bit of a dirty mark, though.’

  ‘Nothing that won’t wash out. It could have been worse, they could have accused you of spying.’

  ‘On the strength of a single file? I don’t think so – with my background it’s not very likely – Ali would make a better suspect. Anyway, it didn’t contain information of any use to an enemy. It was only marked “Top Secret” to keep it away from Whitehall’s prying eyes. I sometimes wonder who the biggest enemy is: Isis, Al Qaeda or the government. I suppose I won’t have to worry about that sort of thing anymore. It’ll feel strange.’

  ‘The first thing you’ll have to do,’ said James, ‘is find somewhere to live and I’ve been making some enquiries and think I can help. A friend of mine might have somewhere you can stay on a temporary basis while he’s posted overseas. He can meet you this evening if you want.’

  ‘What sort of place is it? And where?’

  ‘It’s a bit special. Can we meet in Wapping this evening?’

  ‘Wapping? It’s not one of those yuppie flats, is it? That’s not quite my style.’

  ‘No, it’s suitably bohemian even for you.’

  I left him and went back to my office. There wasn’t much I needed to take – there wasn’t much I was allowed to take. I’d got an old bag and was putting my few personal possessions into it. It wasn’t something to be hurried because each had its own memories. I was zipping up my bag when I saw a note stuck onto my computer keyboard. It said simply “Phone Sayed.”

  ‘Why hasn’t anyone told me about this?’ I said out loud, but of course there was no one there. I started to go back to Joan’s office, but thought better of it. There wasn’t much point. I sat down and thought what I should do. It was some time since I’d last met him. A routine meeting to show him that I was still around. I’d had to hand in my service phone so he hadn’t been able to contact me through that and phoning the office was probably a last resort which might mean that he might finally have something for me. It was all too late – I’d have to hand this over to Ali and let him follow it up but then I realised I couldn’t let this go. I thought back to the village where I’d met Sayed’s mother and remembered Ali’s coldness. I could always pass this onto him afterwards but for the moment I had to find out what Sayed wanted. I took out my personal phone and sent him a message saying that I’d meet him in the usual place the following morning. I stood up and picked up my bag and left my office for the last time.

  I can’t say that Wapping, in London’s East End, is my normal stamping ground, although I’d sailed out of St Katharine Docks a couple of times, but James wouldn’t say anything more about it and I was intrigued by his secrecy. The Town of Ramsgate is a tiny riverside pub by the Thames downstream from Tower Bridge where you can leave behind the avaricious financiers in the City of London before reaching the even more avaricious financiers of Canary Wharf. It’s squeezed between the lovely Georgian buildings surrounding the Wapping Steps and old warehouses now converted into flats. The pub has been there for hundreds of years and it feels it as you sit on the balcony overlooking the muddy Thames below.

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’ James arrived rather flushed. ‘My friend couldn’t come so he’s asked me to let you in. He’s given me a set of keys.’

  We went out along Wapping High Street towards Tower Bridge and then turned into an alley heading towards the river. The alley stopped at the river’s edge and a wooden walkway spanned across the river to a rusty pontoon which had several barges moored alongside. James led me to a decrepit-looking boat at the end. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘The MV Salacia.’ It was low tide and the old boat was sitting in the mud at a slight ang
le.

  ‘Christ,’ I said. ‘Will it float when the tide comes back in or does it just sit in the mud with only its superstructure above the water?’ I started across the walkway gingerly. “Gangplank” I suppose it was. ‘Have many people been lost going over this?’

  ‘It has seen better days,’ James admitted, ‘but you can’t really beat the location and there’s lots of space.’ He pulled out the keys and unlocked the door into the saloon.

  I had to admit that it was a breathtaking view, with the old warehouses of Butler’s Wharf across the river and Tower Bridge and the Shard upstream to the west.

  ‘It’s very sought after,’ James added.

  ‘Sought after? Does that mean you have to send out a rescue party at high tide to see if there are any survivors?’

  I looked around at the mess. ‘Did he do a moonlight flit from the bailiffs? It doesn’t look as though anyone’s lived here for a while.’ I gave the barometer a statutory tap in passing and climbed down the companionway steps.

  Below was a narrow corridor opening up into a large cabin, with a huge bed in the corner, demonstrating no modesty in its owner. ‘How long has he owned it? Did he buy it or was he awarded it as salvage?’

  ‘He’s had it a few years and is always meaning to refurbish it, but he says something always gets in the way.’

  ‘Sloth, probably.’

  ‘The deal is that you can live here on a low rent if you agree to do the place up. His posting is due to last a year or two. It’s got a steel hull which is sound, so it’s only the fittings that need attention.’

  ‘Just the fittings. That’s all right then,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Shouldn’t take me longer than ten years.’ I looked around. The first thing it needed was a good clean up. In this state you could barely see the wood for the rubbish, but it had potential even if it needed a lot of work. It would take time but it seemed that I had a lot of that right now.