Grave Island: a compelling mystery thriller

by Andrew Smyth

  ‘It can be a dangerous place to do business, Nigeria.’

  ‘I think we’re up to it.’ I brought out the business card I’d cooked up with Orion to be as uninformative as possible. “International Pharmaceuticals” didn’t tell them much. I pushed the card over the table and he picked it up and studied it. ‘I represent a consortium of businessmen,’ I continued, ‘British and overseas – we’re looking for new opportunities. After Comar told me about your operation, they suggested I come here and see for myself.’

  ‘They did, did they? And what exactly did they want you to see?’

  He was clearly not going to make it easy for me. ‘As I said this morning, we’re interested in a wide range of pharmaceuticals, anything from anticoagulants to antiretrovirals.’

  ‘And you think we can supply them?’

  ‘As I told you, it was Comar’s suggestion.’

  ‘And you came alone?’

  ‘No. I left my colleague back at the hotel.’

  ‘This too can be a dangerous place to do business, especially for people who don’t know how things work here.’ He turned to his assistant. ‘Search him,’ he said tersely.

  I looked across to No-Fingers who gestured for me to stand. I held my arms above my head as he patted me down and seemed almost disappointed that he’d found nothing – perhaps if I’d been armed it would have made my visit more plausible. He pushed me roughly back down onto my chair. I started to protest, but then thought better of it. That could come later. I looked across the table where Ansaar was looking at me steadily, as though trying to make up his mind. Finally, he stood up. ‘Okay, this way.’

  I stood up and followed him through the door into the warehouse, No-Fingers following close behind. By this time, my eyes had adapted to the darkness and I could see the rows of boxes stacked up to the ceiling. Some were loose but most were on pallets. ‘Is this what you’re after,’ he said gesturing to the piles of boxes. I stopped and inspected one batch which appeared to be labelled in Swahili. Opposite, I could see the closed loading doors which had to be the ones opening onto the beach that we’d watched from Grave Island. I thought I recognised part of the consignment from Bakaar Pharmaceuticals stacked nearby. But I realised that they had stopped and were watching me. It was clear that no one was intending to show me any of their stock and with a dull feeling in my stomach I feared that my approach had failed.

  We stopped at the other end of the warehouse, outside what looked like an internal office and he stood aside, gesturing me to enter and I walked in past him but immediately realised that it wasn’t an office. The only furniture was a dusty table and two rickety chairs, otherwise it was bare, with no windows. There was a torn poster on the wall with what looked like Arabic script. This was starting to look dangerous.

  I looked back and saw that No-Fingers was coming in and I realised that this wasn’t going to be my day. I immediately tensed and moved my weight onto the balls of my feet ready for an attack. Ansaar followed No-Fingers into the room as though to watch the entertainment. I stepped back to give myself more space and looked around for any weapons within reach but there was nothing. But I could take them both and waited for them to get closer.

  ‘That’s enough.’ I looked across and saw a gun aimed at me. However much I’d trained in unarmed combat, I hadn’t yet found a way of beating a gun. I assumed it was loaded and held up my hands. ‘Sit.’ Ansaar was obviously someone of few words. I sat.

  It was then that I saw Ansaar was holding a box tape dispenser and was pulling out the brown plastic tape ready to start wrapping, and it looked as though I was going to be the parcel. I stiffened, but hoped they wouldn’t notice. Tape wasn’t elastic, and if I held my arms away from me then I might be able to get some kind of advantage. No-Fingers took the tape and started wrapping it around me and looked as though he was enjoying it. Meanwhile Ansaar took the other chair and sat opposite me.

  ‘You say it was Comar who told you to come here?’

  ‘Yes. Comar.’ At least they hadn’t put any tape over my mouth. Not yet at any rate.

  The man lit a cigarette and took his time about it, blowing the smoke towards me. ‘Would it surprise you to learn that I’ve never heard of Comar?’

  No-Fingers now had me trussed to his satisfaction but I held my arms tightly against the tape while I tried to figure out a response. It seemed that I had miscalculated badly. ‘But you must have heard of them. They’re the people who airfreighted you that container outside.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, tapping the ash of his cigarette on the floor. ‘A shipping company. I’m afraid I don’t take notice of details like that.’

  ‘So who did send it?’ I wasn’t going to let on that I knew it was Bakaar Pharmaceuticals.

  ‘You don’t seem to know very much. You come blundering in here with some story about representing mysterious backers. So who do you represent?’

  ‘I told you…’ A searing pain shot across my shoulder and I saw No-Fingers was holding a rubber cosh and was clearly looking forward to getting in some practice.

  ‘I can see that this might take some time,’ the man said, standing up. He looked across at No-Fingers. ‘Leave it till later. We’ll take him with us.’ He turned back to me. ‘We’re going to get you out of here – in case you’re not alone and there’s someone else out there. Take you somewhere where no one will find you.’

  From what I could tell, this came as a disappointment to No-Fingers who was clearly getting warmed up and he followed the man out, swinging his cosh as though practising for later. They closed the door behind them, but I hadn’t heard them lock it – I’d already established that the place was quite secure, so they probably didn’t think it necessary. I was finally able to relax my arms and saw the tape bend, giving me some movement in my arms and wrists.

  If they were taking me somewhere else – and I didn’t think they’d be leaving me here – then it would be impossible to track me. The word “track” suddenly hit me. If I could find the tracking unit from the boxes then it might give me a chance. There had to be some visible sign that it had been inserted after the boxes had been sealed. All I had to do was find it and I didn’t have much time – they’d be coming back for me soon. They hadn’t taped my legs, presumably to make it easier to move me when they left.

  I stood up and went to the door but the tape binding my wrists made it impossible to reach the latch. I turned back and pulled the chair over and, by steadying myself against the wall I managed to stand on it and lift the latch.

  I put my head around the door and looked cautiously out into the warehouse, but the place was empty. They must have gone back to the front office at the far end. I pushed the door closed behind me and ran over to the centre of the warehouse where I’d seen Bakaar’s Oxaban stored. Whoever had unloaded them hadn’t troubled to stack them properly – the piles were still on pallets and the top boxes were leaning over precariously. I looked around, there had to be some sort of knife here to cut open the boxes.

  The pallet mover was close by the loading doors and I risked moving it and pushing it under the pallet of the pile of Oxaban boxes. I turned them a bit so I could see the labels, but still couldn’t see if any had been tampered with. I moved to the first pile and managed to get my hands on one of the lower boxes and turn it around, but as I did so the top boxes toppled over and the entire stack scattered across the floor.

  Instinctively I ran across to the other side of the entrance doors and crouched behind another row of stores. The office door was flung open and I saw No-Fingers through a gap in the rows. He came across and stood looking at the boxes over the floor. He looked across to the office at the far end and I congratulated myself on closing the door. He then made a start of stacking the boxes, but after a few moments I saw him shrug and then walk back to the office. I guessed from the look of the way much of their stock had been arranged that it was something that happened quite frequently.

  When I heard the office door shut again, I came out and st
arted going through the cases on the floor until I saw a Stanley knife sticking out underneath one of the other boxes. Crouching, I managed to pick it up, but it took several attempts before I was able to cut through the packing tape on my wrists.

  Finally free, I was able to reach in and get my hands on the first batch. By this time, I was sweating heavily and my hands were getting slippery. I knelt down and got a finger under the corner of the box and turned it towards me. It toppled onto its side. I hoped that the side of the box I had opened was the right side. Using the Stanley knife, I managed to cut it open and take out a packet and stuff it into my pocket. If I hadn’t found the tracker at least I had a sample to analyse.

  I looked around frantically, aware that time was running out. I guessed that the fakes must already have been taken out so were probably near the loading doors leading out to the beach on the other side. I went over there and saw another pile of Oxaban boxes. These had to be the ones, although I still couldn’t see any signs of the tracker. Clutching the knife, I cut away a piece of the wrapping tape and managed to get a hand in.

  I froze at the sound of Ansaar’s voice and turned to face him. He was holding up the tracker unit and a look of triumph spread across his face. ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’

  It took me a moment to recover. ‘No, it was this.’ I held up the knife. I moved slowly towards him, balancing lightly on the balls of my feet, ready for any move. This time, the advantage was with me and I was going to take him down, but he stood his ground with the same triumphant look on his face. I suddenly realised I was too late and started to turn but No-Fingers was behind me. He finally got to use his cosh and I blacked out.

  18

  I regained consciousness slowly. I opened my eyes but everything was still black. I tried to run my hands over my eyes to make sure they were still functioning, but I couldn’t move. I tried again and then tried my legs until I realised that I was strapped down; my eyes were open, there was nothing to see.

  My head ached fiercely and my shoulder was still throbbing from No-Finger’s attentions but there was nothing I could do. I called out, but my voice simply echoed around the empty room. I thought I heard a rushing sound outside – perhaps the sea, but I couldn’t be sure – the way my head was feeling I could be in a washing machine on its spin cycle. After a while, I gave up struggling and waited.

  I might have blacked out again when the door was suddenly thrown open and a shaft of light hit my eyes. I blinked feebly and turned my head to see No-Fingers walk in, As far as I could see, he had a bucket with a towel over it, but I couldn’t be sure.

  ‘I think it’s about time we found out who you are and what you’re doing her.’ I recognised Ansaar’s voice but couldn’t see where he was. ‘It seems a bit foolish to come here on your own. This can be a dangerous place.’

  I shook my head to try to get some sensible thoughts. ‘I’m not alone,’ I managed to say. ‘A colleague is following me.’

  ‘And how is he going to find you here?’ Ansaar asked. ‘No one knows where you are. Now are you going to tell me who you’re from?’

  ‘International Pharmaceuticals. I told you, Comar sent me.’

  ‘International Pharmaceuticals,’ he repeated. ‘Not very informative, is it. And as for Comar, as I told you, I’ve never heard of them.’

  ‘This is a procedure made popular by our American friends, I think.’ I felt the table tilt with my head downwards, and Ansaar came and stood over me. ‘Are you going to save us a lot of trouble and mess? Tell us who you’re from and get it over with.’

  I started to speak, but my throat was too dry. Finally I managed to croak, ‘International Pharmaceuticals, I told you. Comar suggested I see you.’

  ‘Yes, I heard all that, but what we want is the truth.’ I could see him nod to No-Fingers and a wet towel was thrown over my face and I was in complete darkness – no light filtered through the thick cloth. I realised what was about to happen and tried to take a deep breath but the towel covered my face and I started gagging. I felt, as much as heard, water being poured over my face and I retched instinctively which only made it worse. I struggled for air but only got mouthfuls of water. I tried swallowing but instead I sucked the water into my lungs. My chest heaved in convulsions and I struggled against the shackles holding me down. My body’s reflexes took over leaving me with no control as my throat sucked in the water. Bright lights flashed inside my head like an explosion and I realised that in a few more moments I would drown. I tried to fight but there was nothing I could do, and then relief as the towel was taken away and I was able to gulp down some air. I gagged again and was racked with coughing.

  ‘That’s the beauty of waterboarding,’ Ansaar said, leering at me. ‘When you think you’re going to die, you remember that relief is in your hands. All you have to do is tell us who sent you and it will all be over. Who was it? Who are you?’

  ‘I told you, International Pharmaceuticals, Comar–’ I was cut off by the towel being thrown over my face and once again I was in darkness, which only added to the fear. And don’t let anyone tell you they don’t feel fear. I was shaking with terror. I tried to snatch a breath but it made little difference as I at first heard the water trickling down the towel from my forehead. They were taking it deliberately slowly so I could sense what was about to happen.

  At first it was just a drip, filling up my nose, but then it increased until once again I was gagging with my mouth and throat full of water. I waited to breathe in as long as I could, but I couldn’t hold out and sucked the water back down my throat. Was this to be my final ignominious moment? When the retching subsided I felt – almost relief. Let it wash into me, I thought and started to relax and as I looked down at my body from above, I didn’t recognise the shuddering and threshing. Now it was all over.

  The sudden light in my eyes woke me up and for a moment I’d forgotten where I was. I tried to turn my head, but could see nothing, although the door was still closed and there were voices outside. I tried to shout, but instead I was suddenly seized by coughing and vomited up a shower of water mixed with bloody bile which covered my face. I slowly realised that I was alive but felt so bad that I couldn’t help wondering whether the alternative might have been preferable.

  I tried moving my arms again but they were still bound firmly and then I heard the door open and turned to see someone walk in.

  I blinked hard to clear my eyes. ‘Dickson?’ I croaked weakly. ‘Is that you?’ I was incapacitated by another bout of vomiting and when it had finally subsided I felt that my arms had been unlocked and my legs were free. Dickson helped me sit up and I clung to him feebly. ‘What took you so long?’ was all I managed to say before spewing up my guts onto the floor.

  Dickson helped me stand up and led me gently out. The brightness struck my eyes and as I held up my hand, I could make out that we were in the living room of a house overlooking the beach on the far side. The blinds had now been raised and there was a clear view across the ocean. In the corner I could see Ansaar and No-Fingers strapped to chairs with cable ties. They looked across at me impassively, but said nothing.

  Another bout of coughing made me stop. ‘You see,’ I said to them when I’d recovered, ‘I told you I wasn’t bluffing. I wouldn’t come to a place like Zanzibar without backup and Dickson here is one of the best.’ Ansaar scowled at me but I thought it was still worth keeping up my cover. ‘Despite not getting off to the best start, I’m still interested in doing business, so keep my card.’ I looked across at Dickson. ‘Are we finished here?’ I asked and then turned back to Ansaar. ‘Now perhaps you’d like to give us back our tracker.’

  ‘Your tracker?’ he asked, confused.

  ‘Yes. I think you’ll find it in your pocket.’ It almost made it all worthwhile as the realisation slowly dawned upon him. Dickson walked over and reached inside his jacket and brought out the tracker unit. Shaking his head, he handed it to me.

  Back in the car, Dickson pulled out his phone. ‘I suppose w
e’d better get them picked up, though I’m not sure what they can be charged with. Even if I did, the Zanzibar authorities aren’t going to like it much – they try to look after their own. I think we’d get them released, though it’s tempting to leave them there.’ He spoke rapidly in Swahili and then hung up. ‘Aren’t you pleased to have someone clear up your mess for you?’

  ‘It’s better than the alternative,’ I said, although I was still finding it difficult to breathe properly. ‘I might have been that mess. I think he was moving onto a demonstration of how he lost his fingers.’

  Dickson drove us back to the Africa House. ‘We’ve still got a trace on the shipment heading to the mainland,’ he said as we got back to our room. He threw the car keys onto a nearby table.

  First I went into the bathroom to clean up and change. A sudden coughing fit paralysed me, but my guts were empty and I could bring up nothing more.

  Back in my room, I went to my bag and brought out my Truscan equipment. ‘It’s so frustrating. I was right on them, but I still only managed to get samples of one of the batches of Oxaban. The other one was close to the door leading out to the beach for loading so I suspect that was the fake. I hope this was what they’d separated out from the main consignment.’

  I set the equipment on the table, took the packet from my pocket and removed one of the tablets and put it in the scanner. After reading off the report on the first batch, it confirmed 100 percent purity. ‘If only I’d got a sample from the other batch that would have proved it. But I still think that this is where they’re separating out the genuine from the fake – it’s got to be a parallel operation.’

  ‘You think the fake drugs were sent out in the same consignment as the real ones and are being split up here in Zanzibar?’

  ‘That’s my theory. And the real ones are then sent onto Mombasa. If I could only work out where they’re made and I still feel that I’ve seen the answer – that it was right in front of me but somehow I missed it.’