Grave Island: a compelling mystery thriller

by Andrew Smyth

  The more I thought about it the more I realised I must have been right. There was a second van and Khazim was driving it. Why else would the boat still be here? They had enough time after unloading to pull themselves out of the mud and motor back out to sea. The way they’d arrived at precisely the right tide suggested that they’d checked this out before and would have known exactly how long they had before they got stuck.

  What was it Sayed had said? Decoy? Did they suddenly decide to use him as a decoy? It would explain why they hadn’t bothered to give him details of what he was supposed to be doing. As I thought about it, I became even more certain that they hadn’t finished here but the question also raised itself – did Sayed know about this? Had he been stringing me along all this time? Perhaps someone knew we were onto them and decided to switch drivers at the last moment. But all that would have to wait – if I was right I had to tell Ali to get Hathaway and his team back here. I looked at my watch – the light was already starting to fade and it would be dark shortly. I brought out my phone and texted him: “Sayed probably decoy. Real delivery later today. Send backup.” I looked across at the motorboat. They’d turned on the saloon lights and I could see silhouettes moving about the cabin, but there was nothing more I could do. I felt sure that Khazim would be here soon – perhaps they’d arranged it for darkness.

  22

  It must have been nearly an hour later that I saw the jetty lit up by someone opening the cabin door. I could make out the two men going back to the deck hatch and open it up again. This time they brought out some more cases and moved them across to the wooden walkway as before. As they closed the hatch, a beam of headlights travelled across the marshes behind me and I instinctively crouched down. Lights approached down the path as another white 15cwt van pulled up. A young man got out – it must have been Khazim – he reversed down to the jetty and got out and opened the rear doors. He shook hands with the crew and together they carried the boxes into the back of the van. By this time it was almost dark and there wasn’t much I could see outside of the cabin lights.

  It took them over an hour to load the van and they exchanged few words before Khazim returned to the van and drove off. I watched the red lights disappear up the path and they were finally lost in the darkness.

  Back at the boat, the men had gone inside and I could see a new light through a lower porthole. It seemed they might be getting some rest before setting off on the next tide. If they were really concerned that they had been watched then they knew that it would be dark when they left and no satellite could follow them out.

  At that moment my phone vibrated. I pulled it out and read the message from Ali: “There’s no point waiting. Come back to the main road, we’ll pick you up there.” Casting one last glance at the boat, I could see that nothing had changed so I stood up and stretched. Fortunately, there was enough moon for me to find my way back up the path. They’d obviously timed it for a spring tide and the more I thought about it the more I realised how carefully planned this operation had been. All we had to do now was follow Khazim, but I guessed they’d already lost him in the darkness.

  As I reached the junction with the main road, a car flashed its lights and I walked over and got in. It must have been nearly three hours since they’d left to follow Sayed. There were now two vans on the road and we still didn’t know what was in them.

  As we drove off, I tried phoning Sayed but it went to voicemail. I left a message asking him to phone me, which was a bit pointless since he’d know that I was trying to contact him but at least it made me feel a bit better. I told the driver to head back to London and tried Ali but that too wasn’t answered. I hoped they hadn’t lost Sayed – since they couldn’t spare one of their four cars they wouldn’t have much by way of excuse if they had.

  It was frustrating to think that we’d been following the wrong van and even more so that I couldn’t decide whether Sayed was in on it and had been deliberately misleading me, or whether someone else had been laying a false trail. If it had been Sayed, he’d done a pretty good job since it had never occurred to me to doubt him, but as I thought back there were numerous little things that might have told me someone had been trying to mislead us. My thoughts were interrupted by the phone – I checked and it was Hathaway’s number. At least he was keeping me informed even if I had sent him off following the wrong person.

  I answered the phone but it was Ali. ‘It’s all been unloaded. Hathaway’s watching from around the corner. It’s a small trading estate in east London – anonymous and like dozens of others. We’ll set up observation to see who comes and collects it.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone will. Didn’t you get my message? You’ve been following the wrong van.’

  ‘What! What are you talking about?’

  I explained that Khazim had arrived with a second van and loaded up with new crates. ‘That must be the real consignment. My guess is that the crates Sayed’s delivered are probably empty.’

  ‘No chance. They wouldn’t go to all this trouble if it wasn’t the real shipment. I think you’re wasting your time.’

  ‘We’ll see. Sayed doesn’t necessarily know that Khazim was given a second van nor that the crates he collected are empty – assuming they are, that is.’

  ‘So if he was the decoy, where’s Khazim with the real goods?’

  I took a deep breath. I hadn’t had much of a reputation before this but now I’d set up what looked as though it was going to be a fiasco, no one would be in the least interested in what I had to say. ‘I don’t know,’ I said finally. ‘By the time I caught up with the car you’d sent, Khazim was long gone.’

  ‘And could be anywhere?’

  ‘And could be anywhere,’ I agreed although I didn’t like the hint of triumph in Ali’s voice. ‘Where are you, anyway?’

  Ali gave me a postcode which I keyed into my phone. By now we weren’t that far away but there didn’t seem much point joining them. My phone buzzed with a second incoming call – it was Sayed. If he was phoning me after all that had gone on, he was either innocent or had the nerves of a fighter. Or both, I thought as Sayed told me where he was. I checked the postcode and it was the same place.

  ‘You’ve dropped off the cases?’

  ‘Yes. Were they still following? Have they found the place?’

  ‘You mean the industrial estate? Yes, they’ve found it.’

  ‘And they’re watching it?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think they’ll be much to see. I think those cases were empty and that you were called in as a decoy at the last moment. Either there was a leak or you knew about it from the beginning.’

  The silence was long enough for me to start to think that we’d been disconnected. ‘Was it Khazim?’ Sayed asked eventually. ‘If you say that I was the decoy then did Khazim make the real collection?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ I asked bitterly. ‘Weren’t you in on this all along? Didn’t you lead us into a cul de sac while Khazim took the real guns?’

  Sayed laughed, although I couldn’t see anything funny in the situation. ‘I wondered about that. I was a bit suspicious when they suddenly gave me the keys to another van, while Khazim still kept the one they’d bought him. I wondered why we needed two vans.’

  ‘That’s not much help. We’ve lost Khazim and he could be anywhere by now.’ Sayed laughed again, but before I could say anything he explained what he’d done, and this time I laughed as well. I should never have doubted him.

  I immediately redialled Hathaway and this time he answered. ‘Have you still got your tracking equipment with you?’ I asked. ‘If you have, I suggest you turn it on and locate the tracker you gave me. Sayed told me that before he left, he managed to fix it onto Khazim’s van. You can find out where he is by following that.’

  I woke up suddenly the following morning, convinced that I’d failed to stop a terrorist attack. But as I slowly gained consciousness, I remembered that despite my suspicions, Sayed had proved reliable – although there must have
been times when he doubted that the side he’d chosen was the right one. What I couldn’t work out was why they switched drivers at the last moment. But this was a distraction from the imminent vaccination programme and Sally had promised to get me more detailed information about the vaccines but more importantly the timetable for delivery. She’d be at her surgery that morning but I called and left a message asking her to contact me urgently. I wondered how many messages she received were seen as urgent.

  Sally returned my call and agreed to come over for a quick lunch on her way from the surgery in south London to the aid agency’s offices in Westminster.

  Sitting later on deck drinking a morning coffee, I considered my position. I’d been given the brush-off first by Ken Maxwell and then finally, last night, by Giles Hathaway who now seemed to be working closely with Ali. At least they’d managed to track the final destination of the second consignment to another industrial unit in north London and made sure their surveillance was as solid as it was inconspicuous. He told me that they’d also sent a team to track the boat when it finally left the jetty on the next tide.

  I’d prepared a selection of simple salads which I took up on deck to the cockpit table. Sally arrived, as usual in a rush, sat at the table and took out a package from her bag. ‘These are the details of the immunisation programme. The contract has already been let, but I’ll tell you about that later. I’m starving.’ I put a plate down in front of her and she reached out and helped herself to the salads. ‘Simple but delicious,’ she said. ‘I see you haven’t lost your touch.’

  ‘I wanted you to know what you’re missing,’ I said, admittedly a bit smugly.

  ‘So how are you and Greta making out?’ Sally asked between mouthfuls. ‘She told me she’s still seeing you.’

  ‘I think we’re getting on well.’ I said it warily. I still wasn’t sure of what Sally thought about my friendship with Greta but I was concerned at what she would think if it got any further than that.

  ‘She’s not right for you, you know. She wouldn’t put up with you the way I did.’

  ‘But you didn’t put up with me, did you? You always wanted too much and I couldn’t ever match up to your ideals.’

  Sally laughed. ‘For all your confidence, you don’t know yourself very well, do you? What are you spending so much time on this vaccination programme for if it’s not idealism?’

  ‘It’s not idealism, I want to see things through once I’ve started.’

  ‘Same thing – it’s still aiming for an ideal and Greta’s going to find that very wearing. I have warned her.’

  ‘Do I detect a note of jealousy?’ I noticed her blushing so added quickly, ‘But at least this time I’m doing something tangible. In the army I often felt as though I was continuing a job started centuries ago which wouldn’t be finished for centuries more. An endless treadmill where it was difficult to see what good you were doing.’

  ‘You didn’t say that when you were in the army. You seemed to enjoy most things about it.’

  ‘Most things, yes. But ultimately it’s no different from you – you want to make a difference and that’s difficult in such a large organisation.’

  ‘Being a doctor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s still more an art than a science and we can’t get everything right. But I try.’

  I laughed. ‘You can say that again. When we were married, you did little else but try. There wasn’t much room left for me. But Greta’s not like that. She’s not competitive like you, she takes things much as she finds them. You always wanted to change things.’

  ‘And you didn’t? I sometimes felt like looking out of the window to see if you’d arrived on a white charger. Anyway, don’t be fooled by Greta. She can be very tough when she needs to be. She’s not as easy-going as she appears. That’s why I don’t think the two of you are going to make it. I think you should pull out before you get too committed.’

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to look too sure of myself. ‘We’ll see. Shall we get on with this?’ I picked up the package and leafed through it. There were pages of technical specifications which I didn’t understand, along with a timetable that had to be met. Although I couldn’t really judge, the bulk of the documents themselves indicated the size and scope of the programme. The list of participating organisations alone ran to almost a page. I picked at my salad as I skimmed the documents. ‘It all looks very thorough.’

  ‘It should be.’ Sally helped herself to more salad. She’d always had a hearty appetite. ‘It’s supposed to be a flagship programme and they’ve got great hopes that it will become the model for future projects.’

  I flipped through the pages until I came to the name of the contractor. ‘I already knew it was Tau Pharmaceuticals – it’s where we first found the fake Oxaban.’ I thought about this for a moment. ‘But why would they give this contract to a business that’s already under suspicion?’

  ‘Probably because they put in the lowest tender. These are public organisations running the programme and they need pretty good reasons if they’re not going to accept the lowest tender. If they’re planning to send fakes instead then their costs are minimal and they can undercut everyone.’

  ‘But Tau doesn’t manufacture. They buy everything in from Bakaar and we still don’t know how the fakes are made. What would happen if vaccinations were counterfeits?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that ever since you told me about this.’ Sally hesitated and looked down at her plate before continuing. ‘I don’t like to admit this but looking at the way the programme is organised it’s quite possible we wouldn’t even know it was happening. We might only find out about it some years afterwards – when patients died – and by then it would be too late.’ She looked up at me and I thought I saw her eyes water. ‘I’m afraid that if the vaccines were fakes then whoever supplies them is likely to get away with it and make a fortune. This is one of the largest vaccination programmes ever organised. It simply doesn’t bear thinking about if it should go wrong. You have to do something.’

  ‘How much time do you think we have?’

  ‘It’s imminent.’ Sally put her fork down and took a sip at her water. ‘Whoever’s supplying the contract will probably have to work around the clock to meet that deadline. Have you any idea what you can do next?’

  ‘Do?’ I said it absently. The thought that had been nagging me for the past week was nearing the surface. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I asked how you were going to follow it up.’

  ‘No. No, before that. You said something about meeting deadlines.’

  Sally looked at me strangely. ‘I only said that they will have to work around the clock to meet the deadlines.’

  I stood up suddenly, knocking over her glass of water. ‘That’s it! I’ve got it! They work around the clock! It’s got to be the night shift!’

  ‘What is it? What’s the night shift?’ Sally was mopping up the water I’d spilled. ‘What’s got into you?’

  I pulled out my phone and dialled Ken Maxwell’s number. ‘Ken? It’s me. I’ve realised it’s the night shift. The counterfeits are made by the night shift. I’m coming over now.’

  23

  I grabbed the folder. ‘Sorry – I’ve got to go, can you leave the keys in the post box?’ I didn’t give Sally time to argue and ran down the pontoon. Luckily, a taxi was cruising by and I told him to go to River House at Vauxhall Cross, and jumped in.

  I was half way there when Ken rang back.

  ‘I got your message,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’

  ‘Never mind about that. I’ve worked out how they do it. I’m on my way to see you now.’

  ‘You say it’s the night shift? What’s the night shift?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I get there. Tell the desk to expect me. If you can get hold of Brent so much the better. Tell him it’s urgent.’ With that, I hung up before he could ask any more questions. I needed to get things clear in my mind before I told MI6 about it.
I looked back over my conversations in India, and became even more convinced that I had to be right.

  The journey to Vauxhall Cross was across London and I resigned myself to the inevitable traffic. By the time I got there, I had my theories all worked out.

  ‘What’s the rush?’ Ken Maxwell said, as he led me up to his office. ‘I was in the middle of a meeting when you phoned. I don’t know why you should expect me to drop everything just for you.’

  ‘It’s not for me, it’s for what I’ve got to tell you. I’ve finally worked out how they do it.’ Ken opened the door and I followed him into the office and sat down. ‘Is Brent coming?’

  ‘He told me he was on his way. He’s not convinced it will be worth it, but at least he’s giving you the benefit of the doubt. Me? I’ll reserve judgement.’

  ‘It’s the night shift. In the Mumbai factory, they have a separate night shift. The manager, Ahmed Bashara, told me that they only run a night shift when there’s something urgent but that it’s a separate operation. I remember thinking at the time that sounded a bit odd. They have a different night manager and different staff. It’s the perfect cover: where can you hide the illegal manufacture of fake pharmaceuticals if not in a pharmaceutical factory?’

  Just then the phone rang. ‘It’s Brent,’ Ken said. ‘Let’s wait until he gets here.’