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The Case of  Henry’s Blackmail

 

Michael Ringrose

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Sebastian Donahoe Crime Mystery Thriller

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Copyright 2003 Michael Ringrose

 

The rights of Michael Ringrose to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

 

All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.

 

Originally published by Cromwell Publishers (an imprint of First Century Ltd) - both firms have now ceased trading.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ISBN 1-903930-27-8

 

 

 

This is the last part of our serialisation - the exciting, nail-biting climax!

 

 

 

 

Chapter 25

 

Tuesday 27thAugust

Sebastian awoke slowly and stretched his body out straight under the warm duvet. He had slept amazingly well considering he was sleeping in a strange bed, but that was probably due to the long car journey the day before. Daylight was flooding into the room around the edges of the curtains and Sebastian could hear the birds singing their chorus outside the open window. He blinked his eyes several times clearing his vision before picking up his watch from the top of the bedside cabinet.

Eight-forty – he had slept well!

The man behind the bar last night had said the dining room finished serving breakfast at nine-thirty. He jumped out of bed and hurriedly washed, shaved and got dressed before leaving his room and tapping on the next bedroom door down the corridor. Lucy opened the door almost before Sebastian's finger had touched the surface. She had been about to come and wake Sebastian.

‘Ready for breakfast then?’ Lucy enquired brightly, also having enjoyed a good night's rest.

‘You bet, I'm starving,’ Sebastian replied cheerfully.

They made their way along the thickly carpeted corridor towards the main staircase, pushing open the statutory fire door to access the main landing. After descending the wide ornate oak staircase, they arrived at the glazed double doors that were the entrance to the residents' dining room. Lucy pushed one open and held it for Sebastian. They made their way across to the table they had occupied the night before when dinner had been served shortly after their arrival.

Several tables were still occupied, mainly by highly respectable middle-aged commercial travellers about to get back on the road for the day's business. Sebastian thought their life was a strange and lonely one, unless you happened to be a really good mixer and liked living out of a suitcase all week.

They ordered full English breakfasts with coffee and settled down to plan their day.

Lucy and Sebastian had travelled up to Castleton on Monday and had taken rooms at the Black Bull Hotel for a couple of days. Henry Patterson had raised no objections to the detective's plan to visit the Peak District, except to give a word or two of caution.

Sebastian, following a long telephone conversation with the Prime Minister, Alexander Golding, seeking his consent for the expedition, wanted to see the place where Millburn Excavators were made and assess whether he thought it would be suitable for the police to raid on the 16th of September with any reasonable chance of success.

As Henry pointed had out to him only yesterday, the detective didn't really have any experience in such matters. However, Henry had considered the trip was a diversion to fill the investigator's time before the final raids took place. Henry, of course, was unaware that the Prime Minister was relying on his Alpha Group member to assess the probability of a successful outcome. Sebastian didn't mention to Henry that he had the names and addresses of the Millburn directors in his pocket as he waved farewell and drove off from Penvarrick Manor in his trusty old MG Midget.

During breakfast that morning in Castleton, Sebastian and Lucy planned their day. Firstly, they wanted to take a good look around the area and visit the nearby village of Felldale – hopefully, that would lead them on to Millburn's site. Secondly, if they had time, Sebastian wanted to go and visit George Millburn at his house in nearby Bradwell. However, before they could start their excursions they needed to walk up the road to the village post office and purchase the Ordnance Survey map for the area.

While Sebastian drove in the general direction required, Lucy studied the map and gave him instructions to find the turning to Felldale. They headed east after leaving Castleton, in the direction of Sheffield, until they came to the village of Hopton where they turned onto the road leading to Felldale. This country road formed a big loop along the Felldale Valley before returning to the main road many miles farther west. The MG dawdled along the road in the late August sunshine while Lucy kept a sharp look out for the entrance to Millburn's manufacturing site. They came to a junction in the centre of Felldale where a small lane went off to the right, but it was clearly marked with a No Through Road sign. There was to indicate that Millburn Excavators was situated up that particular lane.

‘Which way now, Seb? Shall I see if anyone can direct us to the site? There's a woman in the garden over there who might know.’

‘No, I don't think that would be very wise. She might know someone who works up at the site.’ Sebastian looked at the map for a few moments and then across at the lane. ‘I don't know but I wouldn't want to take large plant-carrying lorries up and down that little lane. Anyway, the trees overhanging the road are far too low. Let's press on and see what we find.’

‘All right.’

They continued for about five minutes, leaving the small village of Felldale far behind, when they found a well-used private road leading off through some woodland into a shallow valley on the right hand side. The roadway soon went out of sight as the valley followed round the fold of the hills. Sebastian stopped the car in the road for a moment.

‘Look, in the trees over there, Lu, there's an old sign for Millburn Excavators,’ Sebastian commented gleefully. Over the years the sign had become partially obscured by the vegetation growing up all around it.

‘The sign could do with repainting – I can hardly read it. But look, Seb, you can read Private Property – Keep Out at the bottom. That's been repainted quite recently and those metal gates look fairly new too!’

‘Visitors don't appear to be very welcome at Millburn's site, do they, Lu. I wonder why not?’ Sebastian said, with a wry smile.

‘We can't stay here; somebody might want to use the gates. Drive on up the road and see if we can find somewhere to park, preferably somewhere off the road.’

Sebastian continued up the road for about one hundred and fifty metres before passing over a small stone bridge. While the wire fencing continued along the edge of the road on the right hand side, the left hand side opened up into a wooded area. Sebastian stopped the car in the road again, looking to see whether the place might be suitable. The wood went back some fifty metres or so before spreading up the hillside and out of sight. Judging by the number of places you could park amongst the trees, and the abundance of   tracks trampled into the thick carpet of pine needles on the floor of the wood, this was a popular place to take a walk or exercise the family dog. Sebastian turned the steering wheel and guided the car to a suitable spot, parking under one of the tall pine trees by the side of a bubbling stream. The whole place was deserted.

While Sebastian erected the hood Lucy spread the OS map out across the bonnet. ‘We're just about here,’ Sebastian said looking down at the map, pointing with his finger ‘and there's the road leading to Millburn's premises. Good grief, the map even shows the buildings at the other end. It's going to be a fair uphill walk by the look of it.’ He slid his finger across the map and stopped on the entrance to Millburn's site. ‘Damn, there aren't any public rights-of-way off this road anywhere near Millburn's premises.’

‘We'll have to make our own then. Eh!’ Lucy suggested, sensing an air of adventure. ‘If we go back to the entrance, when the coast is clear we can nip over the gates into the woods. From there we should be able to find enough cover to get to the site without being seen.’

‘Okay, it's worth a try. There doesn't seem to be any real alternative if we're going to check out the site for Prime Minister Golding.’

‘No – not if we're going to do it properly,’ Lucy said, justifying her suggestion.

Sebastian locked the car and they set off through the woods to rejoin the road leading back towards the village, retracing the one hundred and fifty metres to Millburn's site entrance. Twenty metres away Sebastian stopped Lucy and they moved off the roadway onto the grass verge and stood concealed behind a clump of evergreens. For almost ten minutes they watched Millburn's driveway but there was no sign of any activity.

‘We'll have to be extremely careful. They may have posted lookouts to warn of any unauthorised person approaching the site, although I can't see any from here,’ Sebastian said quietly. ‘Better keep your eyes peeled!’

They ambled down the road before studying the old Millburn sign, partly hidden by the rampant vegetation, all the while listening for approaching traffic. The only sounds they heard were the birds gaily singing in the branches over their heads, and the wind gently sighing through the tall trees. Sebastian vaulted athletically over the gate and disappeared into the woods, closely followed by Lucy. It was pleasantly cool beneath the dense canopy of trees. Progress was rather slow as they picked their meandering way around overgrown bushes, fallen trees trunks and large patches of spiky brambles. All the time Millburn's roadway was only a few metres away.

Just when they thought they were all alone and it was safe to proceed with a little less caution, they heard a rumbling noise and dived behind a large leafy bush while they discovered what it was. Seconds later, a red Toyota Hi-Lux pickup came hurtling down the roadway from the site. They watched through the undergrowth as the vehicle screeched to a halt and the driver got out to open the gates. The driver was a slim, thuggish young man, no more than twenty-five, with a cleanly shaven head and a gold earring dangling from one lobe, his face and hands were smeared with black oily grime. In the centre of the floor in the back of the truck a large oil-covered engine stood strapped to the sides to keep it upright. The explorers waited until the gates were closed again and the vehicle had disappeared towards Felldale before moving on.

‘Have you noticed how the branches have all been cut back to keep them away from the road. They almost form a square tunnel along the road. Surely, that's a good sign tall vehicles must use it,’ Lucy pointed out.

‘Good point, but some of Millburn's machines would be fairly tall as well,’ Sebastian quickly replied. He got up and started going deeper into the woodland.

The woods on this side of the roadway began to widen out as the road went round a gentle bend away from them, hugging the other side of the hill, slowly climbing up through the densely wooded valley. After about twenty minutes of steady uphill walking, they stood at the top edge of the woodland, their cover now terminated. From here on it was open ground – desolate moorland – mainly covered with heather and clumps of bracken. Over to their right, they could see the roadway continuing to wind its way up to the head of the valley. The hills all round the area seemed to spread out forming a flat plateau cutting the area off from outside inspection.

‘If we want to see what's going on at the site we can't simply walk up the road because someone's bound to see.’

‘That's fairly obvious, Seb,’ Lucy said mockingly.

‘You know what I mean. We'll have to detour along the top edge of these woods and climb over to the other side of the hill.’ Sebastian pointed across to his left. ‘Hopefully, we can make our way along the far side of the slope, just below the crest, without anyone spotting us. If we gauge it right, we can crawl up to the ridge and look straight down into the site,’ Sebastian said, recommending a course of action.

Lucy nodded her agreement. ‘We don't seem to have any other option. If a vehicle uses the roadway while we're climbing the hillside they're bound to see us, so be ready to run like a devil possessed.’

Their progress to the upper end of the wood was fairly easy going. They clambered over the wire fence in the top corner and started to climb the hillside as fast as possible to get out of sight of the roadway. They soon found themselves in difficulty as they waded through dense heather that was over two foot high. At least they could hide in it if the need arose. As they struggled to make the summit they kept looking back over their shoulders in case a vehicle came into view and spotted them. Finally, almost exhausted, they moved out of sight of the roadway and dropped down on a patch of fine grass growing between the clumps of heather.

‘I need to rest for a few minutes before going on,’ Lucy moaned, puffing to regain her breath. ‘I wish we'd thought to bring something to drink – I'm parched.’

‘Me too!’

Sebastian rolled over and lay on his back, placing his hands under his head. He stared up at the azure sky while he recovered, not so much from the climb but from the effort involved in wading through the thick clumps of heather. After ten minutes they both sat up and took in their surroundings. The hillside dropped gently down some sixty feet before rising up again in the distance. All they could see was desolate moorland stretching away for mile after mile.

‘Ready to continue?’ Sebastian asked. Lucy indicated she was.

They worked their way along the outside of the hill, keeping just below the ridge, until they estimated they were above the site. It was rather a wild guess because, rather than carry it, Sebastian had left the OS map in the car since there were no rights-of-way to follow. Maybe that had been a mistake although there was little about the area's topography which might have helped them. They crawled through the gaps between the dry clumps of heather until they could just see over the crest … and down into the site. Their rough estimate had been spot on. There, spread out around the edges of the plateau below, were a collection of huge warehouse-type buildings, eight in all, surrounded by a high security perimeter fence. Fronting all the buildings was a large area of concrete. One end of the open area was lined with excavators in various states of construction; a few were finished ready for delivery, and others were awaiting parts to complete. Some machines were in grey primer and others were painted bright orange. Quite near to the buildings at the opposite end of the concreted area, and dead in the centre of it, there was a large white circle painted on the surface.

As they watched, eagerly studying the detailed layout of the site, a small mobile crane was lifting a huge metal dozer blade from a storage compound on the far side. The compound was filled with castings and other large components used in assembling these giant machines. Parts of the same type were all neatly grouped together leaving enough room for the crane to move among them. Sebastian and Lucy watched as the crane took the huge blade into one the buildings directly below them.

‘Sir John was quite right about several things to do with this site. Firstly, it is very remote and would be incredibly difficult to keep round-the-clock surveillance on, although he could monitor what goes in and out fairly easily. Secondly, he was right about all the warehouses being in good repair. In fact, the ones at the back of the site look like a considerable amount of money has been spent on them quite recently. They seem to have had their roofs redone but there are no clear roof lights fitted; not like the buildings that Millburn is still using,’ Sebastian commented, surveying the site.

‘Perhaps most of the work goes on at night and they don't want the lights being seen from the air. But then, why would anyone take any notice – unless they weren't supposed to be here in the first place?’ Lucy questioned, placing her arm over Sebastian's waist.

A forklift truck carrying a large red drum on a wooden pallet ambled slowly across the yard to one of the refurbished warehouse buildings at the back of the site, the warehouse farthest away from where Sebastian and Lucy lay on the hilltop. The driver stopped the truck in front of the building and got down to open one of the giant pair of sliding doors. When the door was fully open, from their position on the crest of the hill, the observers could see straight into a large part of the building.

‘Can you see it, Seb? It's a Safeway lorry,’ Lucy said, the excitement of the find showing in her voice.

‘It sure is; but what are those men doing to it?’ Sebastian queried. ‘It looks like they are spraying it black!’

‘Maybe they've bought an old one and are repainting it for Millburn to use,’ Lucy said rather doubtfully.

‘No, Millburn would need large flatbed trucks and low-loaders to move their products. More likely they're preparing it for the next munitions raid. It rather looks like we guessed correctly when we said that was the way to move the arms around the country without raising any suspicions.’

‘It does, doesn't it, but I don't think Sir John thought much of our theory,’ Lucy added.

‘Well, he'll have to believe us now, although he possibly knows already if his men are watching the site.’

‘I'm still curious though – why are they painting it black? It won't look like a normal delivery vehicle when it's out on the road, will it? Not one you would accept without question,’ Lucy argued, questioning what she was seeing.

‘Okay, I agree with you … but let's consider what we're seeing. Why are they changing the colour? There could be several reasons. It could be a change in colour for a change of ownership. Or, it could be a disguise to get somewhere without the real livery of the vehicle being spotted,’ Sebastian deduced out aloud.

‘Ah yes, that's more like it! You could be right – a disguise,’ Lucy agreed. ‘The brigadier said the amount of munitions stolen during each raid would fit into a lorry of that size.’

‘And Sir John was almost certain the stolen munitions landed up here at Felldale,’ Sebastian added. ‘But why? He must have had more than the word of a nosy old farmer to go on. I think the Chief Constable knows something that he isn't passing on to us – just like the Prime Minister said he would.’

‘If you remember, Seb, Sir John was very loath to tell us anything about Felldale until you forced his hand.’

‘He wasn't too pleased about that. Well, I think he’s right – I think we're looking at the actual lorry used in the raids! The munitions' raids have always taken place at night. It looks like they paint the lorry black so that it blends in with the night and is less likely to be noticed while the raid is being carried out. However, for the return journey it needs to be easily recognisable so that its passing raises no suspicions. Very clever indeed! But where does it change colour, and how?’

‘Surely, Seb, they wouldn't have time during a raid to repaint it and replace all the logos? That would take them hours! There has to be a simpler way. Oh, I wish you had Simon's camera with you.’

‘So do I, and it's a great shame I didn't bring my binoculars with me too – I left them at the Manor.’

‘We're not very organised, are we? Just a minute, Sunshine! Earlier you said, by returning here with the lorry painted in a well-known livery, they wouldn't arouse any suspicions. Surely, bringing that lorry up this lane through Felldale would arouse suspicion – where could it be going?’

‘There are only a handful of houses back there in the village so probably no one has taken any notice. It's not like the lorry is thundering through the village every single night of the week, is it? The residents would probably accept that it was diverting round the break in the main road. Remember, I told you the main road has been closed for many years because of land subsidence. Quite a lot of traffic must have discovered they can get round the blockage by coming along the Felldale valley. Also, the truck would be returning here during the early morning when it's unlikely to be seen and, depending on where the raid was staged, it could avoid passing through Felldale all together by coming in from the other end.’

‘You may be right. Sir John didn't say whether any of the residents had complained about the delivery lorries – just that a local farmer had complained about the noise at Millburn's site during the night.’

Sebastian looked at the horizon all round the area and could see nothing but open countryside. There wasn't even a farm or farm building to be seen anywhere. ‘The farmer must have been complaining about the noise the helicopter made visiting the site, because there isn't a farmhouse anywhere in sight that could be disturbed by traffic noise.’

While they had been discussing the problem, the forklift truck had driven into the warehouse and the sliding door had been closed again.

‘It's almost as if the black paint can be removed after the raid's completed and the lorry returns to its normal livery for the journey home. But how could they do that?’

Sebastian was perplexed but thought it would be worth mentioning at the next police meeting if the Prime Minister agreed. Meanwhile, Lucy's attention had been deflected from the closed door and attracted to the top of the hillside above the warehouse they had just been watching. Almost on the ridge, probably about ten metres below the crest, there was a lone stunted tree. It was the only tree on that part of the hillside and was more like an overgrown bush held up by a very short trunk. Lucy was sure she had seen a movement under it – in its shadow.

‘I think we should be making tracks back to the car – there doesn't seem to be much more to see up here,’ Lucy casually suggested. ‘Keep your head down low, Seb; I think we're being watched.’

Sebastian dropped down close to the ground alongside Lucy. ‘Watched? From where?’ Sebastian questioned, turning round and looking at the moorland behind.

‘From under that tree on other side of the site.’

He turned and crawled back to look over the ridge again. Sebastian directed his gaze at the spot Lucy had just identified but he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

‘I think you're imagining it. You're beginning to see things that don't exist. You're right though – we should be making a move back to the car.’

They made their way back along the far side of the ridge and down the hillside to the edge of the woods without incident. Retracing their steps through the woods alongside the roadway was easier going and finally they approached the gates by the road.

Sebastian suddenly dropped to the ground and signalled Lucy to do the same. There was a car parked at the bottom of the roadway and the driver had left the vehicle with the engine running and had gone back to close the gates. Sebastian crawled over to his left and crouched behind a bush, gradually parting the stems until he could obtain a clearer view of the vehicle. There was something strangely familiar about the car and the driver.

‘Christ … it's that bloody brown Marina again.’

Frank was closing the gates – Harry was sitting in the front passenger seat, head back, eyes closed and his arm hanging limply out the open window!

*  *  *  *

The man, who opened the heavy oak front door of the large, picturesque mellow stone cottage set at the end of a long winding drive, was about fifty. The grounds surrounding the building were heavily screened with a tall mature beech hedge, meticulously clipped, making the cottage invisible from anywhere outside the property, except perhaps the nearby church tower. The man was a rather bulky rotund person of average height with an extremely large beer paunch. His shirt buttons appeared to be under immense pressure as they tried to constrain the mass of wobbling flesh, and the waistband of his pale blue cotton trousers looked like it would slide majestically down the under-slope of his paunch given the slightest chance. He was an untidy man who had been going steadily downhill since the death of his wife some twelve months earlier.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded in an unpleasantly abrupt manner, still holding the door, annoyed that anybody had dared to interrupt one of his few days off work.

‘Mr Millburn?’ Sebastian asked cautiously.

‘Yes. Who are you?’ Millburn replied cursorily.

‘I am sorry to arrive unannounced but we need to talk to you,’ Sebastian said in a slightly faltering voice. ‘I know you don't know us from Adam but you need to talk to us too. But not out here on the doorstep – inside would be far safer.’

‘Maybe for you, young man, but I wasn't born yesterday. What makes you think I would invite two complete strangers into my home when I don't even know who you are? If you have come here to rob me, you're wasting your time; there's nothing left worth stealing.’ Millburn's manner was definitely hostile and he started to close the front door in Sebastian's face.

‘I can tell you why you should talk to us with one word – Drugs.’

The door stopped closing. George Millburn's face changed at the very mention of ‘drugs’, his eyes darting round the garden seeking any other invaders of his privacy.

‘Are you two alone?’

‘Yes, we only want a quick word with you, then we'll be gone … I promise,’ Lucy answered. ‘It’ll only take a few minutes.’

The front door re-opened. ‘Come in, if you must,’ George growled ungraciously, and showed them through to the sitting room. The room was a complete mess. All the cushions of the three-piece suite, with the exception of one armchair, were covered in an assortment of newspapers and magazines, or strewn with un-ironed clothes. George went round scooping them up and then dumped them in a big pile behind what had been the only useable armchair.

‘Sit … please,’ he ordered curtly, but his tone had softened considerably.

Sebastian and Lucy did as he suggested and then looked around the untidy room. The curtains were half closed making the room rather gloomy. The pictures hung on the walls at crazy angles and several large cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Strangely, the room was devoid of dust; however the carpet was in need of a good Hoover.

George noticed their interest and was quick to explain its messy state. ‘My cleaner's gone on holiday and I haven't got round to tidying up,’ he said, dismissing the mess from his mind. Possibly, Sebastian thought, but somehow he doubted it. ‘Well, what do you know about the drugs?’ George Millburn said bluntly, looking directly at Sebastian.

‘You may find this a little difficult to believe, but we know all about the problems you are having at your excavator production site in Felldale,’ Sebastian replied, pausing for Millburn to deny anything was happening at the site.

George Millburn plonked himself down in the armchair and then, with much effort, heaved himself upright again. ‘Want a drink? Scotch or gin, it's all I've got.’

The visitors politely declined his offer. A can of lager would have been most acceptable on such a warm evening, but neither Sebastian nor Lucy drank spirits. Fortunately, they had stopped at the village shop in Hopton to buy a drink after they returned from their outing to Millburn's site so they weren't exactly desperate for another drink now.

‘Well, I need a Bells.’ Millburn went over to the sideboard and poured himself a generous measure in an already used cut-glass tumbler. He downed half the contents before returning to his chair. ‘Drugs you said. I don't know anything about drugs. You must have got it all wrong,’ Millburn protested, having taken time to consider his reply.

‘Are you sure? If what you say is true, why did you let us in?’ Sebastian asked quietly.

‘I don't know. I'm very muddled at the moment.’

Muddled my foot, thought Sebastian. ‘No, Mr Millburn, I don't think you're muddled at all; but you are being blackmailed; blackmailed into allowing the Organisation to use your excavator site for their nefarious purposes. You don't need to deny it – we know it's true. Why else, just a few moments ago, would you have asked us what we knew about the drugs!’

The director looked at Sebastian, staring deep into his eyes before replying. ‘How did you find out? What do you want from me? Money?’

‘No – we want to help you.’

‘Help?’ George scoffed.

‘Yes, I know that sounds rather strange as we have only just met, but in reality we have known about you for several weeks now,’ Sebastian replied, suitably embroidering the available facts.

‘Help – how can you possibly help me? These drugs will be the death of me,’ George retorted rather dubiously.

‘I suggest, before we tell you what we can do for you, you should tell us exactly how these people got you involved in the first place. That way, we can check we have all our facts correct before informing you of what may happen in the near future,’ Sebastian answered, suddenly wondering whether he had gone slightly too far again. He had said may happen – not will happen.

They waited while George Millburn took another gulp from his glass and watched as he replaced it on the coffee table. He leaned back against the cushion of the armchair, his shirt almost bursting open, as he resigned himself to discuss his blackmail problem for the first time outside his own office with two complete strangers.

‘I don't suppose telling you will make my position any worse. Too bad if it does – I'm well past caring now. The blackmailing started about two years ago but I understand my plant has been used for smuggling drugs into this country for the last four years,’ he said sadly.

‘Have they always put the drugs into the hydraulic ram casings?’ Lucy asked, remembering how Sebastian had cleverly shown Lewis that they really did know what was going on.

‘Yes. Except for several years, we – my fellow directors and I – had no knowledge they were there.’ Millburn paused for a moment and scratched the back of his head. ‘Since you know where the drugs are concealed, I'll acknowledge that you must know something about this predicament of mine. Anyway, to cut a long story short, a little over two years ago several men turned up at the plant demanding a meeting with all the directors. At the hastily convened meeting they told us what was going on, and explained how we had been responsible for importing the illegal drugs from the Far East. Of course we knew nothing about it and told them they were talking a load of rubbish.’

Millburn reached for his glass again and took another gulp of the amber liquid.

‘They marched us up to one of the production sheds where they ordered a member of our staff to strip down one of a pair of hydraulic rams that had recently arrived. We stood there in horror as the ram came apart and the drugs were recovered from the casing. Cannabis – they said. The police would be very interested – they said. They had the proof it had been going on for years – they said. The business would be doomed if the news ever got out – they said. Kaput – unless we did exactly as they demanded,’ George recounted gravely.

‘So the squeeze began?’

‘Yes, and it's still happening. Years later we discovered they had had two of their staff working with us all the time. Their main job was to remove the drugs before we found them.’

‘How did they manage that?’ Sebastian asked, interrupting George's flow.

‘They made sure the deliveries were received just before work stopped for the day. Security was always a bit lax at the site, not a bit like it is today. Their men used to go back about midnight with some of their mates and remove the drugs – we never realised the casings had been tampered with. I believe they took the drugs to a small cottage a little further up the valley, from where they used to distribute the stuff. They don't bother any more.’

‘So what happened after they had shown you the drugs?’

‘Basically … they took over our lives. From then on, we've had to provide them with the buildings we weren't using and they put them back into good order. We were ordered to stop work at four-thirty every afternoon and not to start again before eight-thirty in the morning. The men haven't been allowed to do any weekend work, yet we are expected to maintain our normal production schedules. Eighteen extra people had to be employed just to maintain our output, otherwise the reduction in the supply of rams would have reduced the amount of drugs being smuggled into the country. The traffickers said that could not be allowed to happen. However, lately, there's been a lot more activity than usual.’

‘What sort of activity?’

‘We're not meant to know but there's a large lorry parked in one of the buildings. The vehicle used to go out about once a month, however, it now goes out much more frequently. Then there's the helicopter that frequently visits the site. That usually happens in the late evening and, recently, again in the early morning the following day. I'm told it removes the cargo brought in by the lorry, but I don't know what the cargo is.’

‘How do you know all this if you are banned from the site for much of the day?’ Sebastian enquired.

‘A couple of my lads hid on-site after work was finished for the day and watched what was going on.’

‘Would they talk to the police if somewhere discreet was found for the meeting? Would they help you to clear your name?’ Sebastian asked hopefully.

‘Yes, I'm sure they would. I've employed them for many years and have been very good to them – yes, I'm sure they'll help me.’

‘Good. Write down their names and addresses and we'll see what helpful information they can give the police. Obviously, it's in your interest if they can help to explain your part in this sordid business,’ Sebastian advised.

After heaving himself out of the armchair George Millburn walked over to the writing desk and lowered the front flap. He selected a piece of paper from one of the pigeonholes in the centre and scribbled down the names and addresses. Sebastian looked at the paper for a few moments and then put it in his pocket.

‘Thank you, Mr Millburn. Are we right in assuming the lorry goes out painted black and comes back in normal Safeway livery?’

‘Yes; that’s correct. Bert, one of my older staff, overheard two of their men talking one day. It seems the paint they use can be washed off with pressure-jet cleaners in about fifteen minutes. They carry two on the lorry, complete with a large tank of water. Bert says they also keep an electric forklift truck in the lorry too,’ George explained, finding it was becoming easier to talk to these two strangers. The burden seemed to be lifting from his shoulders the more he told them. Or was it just the effects of the Scotch?

‘Have you come across a couple of characters called Frank and Harry?’ Sebastian asked tentatively.

‘Yes. Frank Tomkins and Harry Easton come to the site at regular intervals, usually when the lorry is being prepared to go out again. I think they must bring the driver his orders. I understand from my foreman that they were at the site again today,’ George replied.

‘Yes, we know, we saw them.’

‘The lorry is never absent from the site for more than twenty-four hours. Usually, it's a lot less than that, and there's always a lot of activity immediately after it returns.’

‘What sort of activity?’ Lucy asked.

‘Nocturnal activity. The helicopter comes to collect some of the cargo the evening after the lorry returns. Bert reckons it can only take about a third of the load, so it comes back quite regularly for the rest. It was here last night.’

‘Was it really! I must have missed several airborne deliveries which would explain how the stocks at our end increased so rapidly. Anyway, there's no need for you to know about that, George.’ Sebastian said.

‘You really don't know what the lorry contains?’ Lucy queried.

‘No; I already told you I don't know what they're bringing in. Do you?’

‘Yes.’

‘What?’

‘I think, for your own sake, it might be better for you to stay in the dark – for the time being, anyway,’ Lucy suggested. ‘How many directors are there in the business?’ Lucy had forgotten to consult with Sebastian about the details supplied by Simon Parsons concerning the Millburn directorship.

‘There are just two now. Poor old Percy Sedgwick died last year, driven to an early grave by these wretched people. If it doesn't end soon, we'll all be joining him shortly.’

‘I hope not. However, it might be best if you keep what we're about to tell you to yourself. Don't even share it with your fellow director.’

‘I can't at the moment. David Littleton is away on holiday with his family in Tunisia,’ Millburn replied somewhat jealously.

‘When's he due back?’

‘On the 24th of September. Why?’

‘Good, we needn't worry about him; it'll all be over by the time he returns to this country.’

‘What do you mean – Over?’ George Millburn asked, rather taken-aback.

‘I believe you have another consignment of rams due on the 13th of September, no doubt to finish off some of those excavators standing in the yard at the plant,’ Sebastian informed George, ignoring his question for the moment.

‘Yes, that's the date for the next delivery from the docks. Why?’

‘We understand the rams will be unpacked over the weekend and the contents removed to a different location before the lorry arrives back with its next consignment.’

‘I'm not sure about that! I know they always work over the weekend after the delivery arrives from the docks. Perhaps they are removing the drugs – I can't be sure; we're not allowed on to the site. Come to think about it though, a Transit van does visit their storage sheds regularly during the week after the ram consignment has been received. So that's what it's come for! To distribute the drugs.’ George seemed pleased to have solved something for himself, something that had been troubling him for months.

‘Thank you for giving us some of your time, Mr Millburn,’ Sebastian said, shifting in his seat. ‘I'll be meeting with the police again on Thursday and I shall make sure they know just how you became involved in this business. The police will be raiding your site sometime after midnight on the 16th of September but don't tell anyone. The fewer people who know, the less chance of the Organisation getting to hear about it. We want to nail everyone concerned with this racket, not just a few insignificant workers. We want to get the brains behind the traffickers – and we will.’

‘I should be thanking you. I'm sorry I was so rude when you came to the door – I nearly didn't see you at all,’ George said in an apologetic tone. ‘However, I still don't know who you are?’

‘I'm Sebastian Donahoe and this glamorous lady is Lucy Dorrell.’

‘You're right about that, young man. She's the most beautiful woman I've had the pleasure of meeting in the last twenty-five years – with the exception of my late wife, of course.’ Sebastian could have sworn that Lucy had begun to blush. ‘You look after her, you hear.’

Sebastian nodded. ‘You're not the only person to be blackmailed by this evil outfit. An uncle of a friend of mine brought this to my attention, and since then, I have discovered several other people are similarly affected. That's how we became involved. Lucy and I are determined to stop it happening and clear my friend's uncle's name. The whole problem is much larger than we first thought – much larger.’

George took their hands and shook them heartily.

‘Thanks. Thanks for helping me.’

‘You're most welcome,’ Sebastian replied, ‘but mum's the word. Remember.’

They left George Millburn standing in the front door while they walked back down the drive to their car which was parked by the village church some two hundred metres away.

*  *  *  *

Sebastian and Lucy had chatted with George Millburn until almost eight o'clock. The time had simply flown by. They had to hurry back to the Black Bull for dinner before the chef went off-duty. Tomorrow, they would return to Penvarrick with the feeling they had accomplished a great deal. Slowly the pieces of the jigsaw were falling into place. Firm answers were now beginning to replace their original wild theories. Over dinner they were careful not to discuss the events of the day, but afterwards, sitting on the bed in the seclusion of Lucy's bedroom, Sebastian broke the silence.

‘So Frank and Harry were at the site to give instructions for the next raid. Sir John's informant should be able to verify the date for us.’

‘It looks like the brigadier may have been right all along. It's going to be the 16th of September,’ Lucy agreed. ‘Roll on the big day!’

Sebastian put his arm around Lucy and drew her towards him. He was about to kiss her when she pushed him backwards onto the bed. Before he had time to recover his poise, Lucy fell on him and smothered him with kisses. The events of the day were soon forgotten as the couple became lost in each other's arms. Time passed very quickly and when Lucy looked at her little travelling alarm clock it was showing midnight.

‘Why did we book two rooms, Seb?’

 

26

Thursday 5thSeptember

As the days quietly slipped into September Sebastian continued to enjoy his working holiday, but that was mainly due to the fact that he saw Lucy almost every day. Despite visiting Alfreton the week before on the pretext of seeing an old Aunt (at least that was the story as far as the manor staff were concerned) Sebastian had continued to keep up his cover story. Whilst he was now feeling a lot better than when he arrived, he advised the staff that the company he worked had generously given him another couple of weeks to make sure he had completely recovered. There was no point going back to work too early and risking it happening all over again.

The weather had been reasonably good on the days they weren't investigating Henry Patterson's problems and Sebastian and Lucy had been able to get out and spend a great deal of the time on the beach, swimming or sunbathing. Frank was occasionally noticed keeping an eye on them but that only helped to reinforce Sebastian's story of needing to complete his recovery. But two months complete rest! Sebastian felt he was beginning to push the boundaries of credibility; nonetheless, what else was he supposed to do in this situation.

Sebastian was steadily growing closer and closer to Lucy until hardly a day went by without her being by his side for at least some part of it. Their attraction was mutual and Lucy was not about to complain; she enjoyed his company as well. She spent many hours imagining what life would be like if they got married – not that they were anywhere near that point in their blossoming relationship yet. She remembered what Sebastian had said about only being in Cornwall while he solved Henry Patterson's problem. But things had surely changed since he'd first arrived. He had resigned from the police force and was now a free agent. He didn't have to go back to Cleobury Mortimer. Perhaps, if things worked out satisfactorily, he would opt to stay with her and find another job locally. Sir John Naylor might be prepared to help him – he might even offer to take him on if the case was successful!

However, Lucy realised she was only dreaming. She was jumping too many fences and making too many assumptions. Up to now, Sebastian had been the perfect gentlemen – even when they went to Castleton he had insisted on having separate rooms. The last night at the hotel she had hoped he was going to share her bed, but she had been wrong; Sebastian had returned to his own room at half past twelve. It had been a big disappointment … although not totally unexpected.

 

*  *  *  *

 

It was rather late when Sebastian went down to breakfast that morning, only Paula was left sitting at the table finishing a second cup of coffee. Mrs Masters was in the utility room with Daisy dealing with the mass of laundry which had accumulated. Surprisingly, Paula got up and started to cook Sebastian his usual English breakfast. While she stood in front of the Aga, the detective asked her a question.

‘Do you know whether Frank and Harry have been in to breakfast?’

‘Sorry, I don't. I haven't seen either of them today. Why?’

‘I just wondered whether Frank would be following us to Truro today. That's all. It's getting increasingly difficult to lose him these days,’ Sebastian moaned, ‘and we have to go to see the Chief Constable again.’

‘What you need is a helping hand. I have an idea!’

After serving up his breakfast, Paula left the room. She went down the passage past the utility room, where Veronica and Daisy were chatting busily while sorting out their loads for washing, and down to the side door.

Here she paused, taking a quick look outside to see if anybody was about. Frank was just leaving the estate office, his back turned. She watched him disappear round the building apparently heading in the direction of the barns – or at least, he was going in that general direction. She walked over to the side of the garage block, quietly opening the door and climbing the stairs to the spacious accommodation above. At the top of the wooden staircase there was a small landing with three doors leading off it. The one to her left led to the estate workers' accommodation, the one to her right led to Thomas's room, but the door straight in front of her was the door to the estate office. She knocked, and on hearing no reply, opened the door. The door was usually kept locked when the estate workers were off the estate. Since Frank was here today she was lucky and quickly entered the room, knowing he could return at any moment.

Paula moved to the desk and picked up the telephone. She ignored all the radio communications equipment laid out on shelves to her left and the computer equipment on a desk over on the far side of the room. She punched the keypad with the number and waited for the line to be answered. The conversation was short and the arrangements were quickly made; Paula wanted to get out of the office before one of the estate workers came in and caught her. She had come here to make the call because the estate office had its own telephone line and it was unlikely to have a tap maintained on it. Nonetheless, she was very guarded in what she said – just in case.

Just as Paula was about to leave she glanced at the scribbling pad next to the phone. It was covered in doodles. In the centre of all the artwork Paula could just make out what she thought might be a telephone number. She studied it for a several seconds but did not recognise whose it was. Without thinking she tore the sheet of paper off the pad and left the office, slipping back to the side door of the manor just as Harry and Frank walked back round the corner of the garage block deep in conversation. She heaved a sigh of relief and returned to the kitchen.

Sebastian was just finishing his breakfast when Paula sat down at the table slightly out of breath. ‘Right, now listen carefully – it's all arranged. If Frank decides to follow you today, take your normal route to the main A39 and proceed down towards Truro. About three miles out, on the left-hand side, there's a turning to Sheddon. You must take this road – you're going sightseeing! It's a narrow bye-road which will take you down by the Fal estuary and along to the village of Sheddon, before it curves round and comes back into the centre of Truro.’

‘It's much more difficult to lose Frank on narrow roads,’ Sebastian commented, unsure what Paula was planning.

‘Not on this one. I've just arranged for a local farmer I know to block the lane as soon as you have passed his farm. Unfortunately, the tractor will become immobilised and poor old Frank will have to go all the way back to the main road to get to Truro; there are no other turnings off the lane. Meanwhile, you will have arrived and parked your car out of sight behind the police station. Okay?’ Paula said beaming, looking very pleased with herself. It made a change to be able to do something constructive to help Henry.

‘Nice one, Paula, thanks very much,’ Sebastian said. He then leaned over and whispered softly in her ear. ‘By the way, how are you getting on with Henry now?’

Her face flushed and Sebastian had his answer without needing a reply.

‘What have you got in your hand?’

In the excitement of becoming involved, Paula had forgotten all about the sheet she had torn from the pad in the office. She opened her hand to reveal the piece of paper covered in doodles.

‘I nicked this from the estate office after I'd made the call. It's got a number on – I thought it might be the phone number of their contact with the Organisation.’

‘Let's see,’ Sebastian asked, holding out his hand.

She passed the paper to him and Sebastian studied it, finally agreeing it resembled a telephone number on the Exeter exchange. But that was all he could deduce from it.

‘It may not be important but I think we should try and find out whose number this is, don't you.’

‘What, you mean, ring it?’

‘Hell, no, I was thinking of asking Simon Parsons to find out. He seems quite good at that sort of thing,’ Sebastian replied, putting the paper in his pocket. ‘Let's just hope the estate workers don't miss it. Paula, you really should have taken the blank sheet from beneath the top sheet. We could have shaded it with a pencil to see what the impression of the number was – too late now though,’ Sebastian said with a sigh of resignation.

He left the manor shortly after breakfast, driving round to collect Lucy from the cottage, before setting off to Truro for the police conference. It wasn't very long before the couple noticed they were being followed. Sebastian turned off to Sheddon just as Paula had advised and Frank dutifully followed, ambling slowly along some two hundred metres behind.

‘Frank doesn't seem to care if we know he's there, does he,’ Sebastian remarked, watching the Marina’s progress in the rear-view mirror.

They travelled five miles down the lane before they passed through the small village of Sheddon. The village was made up of six small cottages scattered around a village green. Shortly after leaving the village Sebastian drove round a bend passing a farmyard where a tractor and trailer was waiting to come out into the lane. The trailer was loaded with bales of straw and, as the Midget cruised past, the tractor sent up a plume of black smoke and moved out into the road. When Sebastian looked back in the rear-view mirror the tractor had stalled leaving the whole outfit blocking the full width of the lane.

Sebastian kept driving, the couple laughing their heads off.

Frank could be seen telling the farmer in no uncertain terms to move the bloody tractor out of his way. But the roadblock remained in place as the farmer tried to find out what was wrong. As the chaos was just disappearing from their view, Frank was seen running back towards his car. No doubt the estate worker would still come to Truro by the main road and conduct a search for them, but hopefully, he wouldn't find the Midget parked behind the police building. However, that was a risk they could avoid.

Sebastian looked at his watch as they entered the outskirts of Truro. They had plenty of time before the meeting was due to start. He drove straight into town and parked in the pay and display car park; the same one they had used before when they had visited Simon Parsons.

Lucy was puzzled.

‘We'll leave the car here and walk to the police station. That way, Frank's bound to find the car but he'll never guess which direction we went after we parked. It'll keep him well away from the police station.’

On the way to their conference, they popped in to see the journalist about the phone number. He said he would try to find out whose number it was but he couldn't promise it would be successful…

*  *  *  *

‘What did you think you were doing?’ Sir John demanded angrily, looking directly at Sebastian and Lucy in turn. Lucy was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Sir John seemed rather bad-tempered and not his normal ebullient self. His onslaught had started the moment the conference had convened, but up to that moment he had seemed quite amiable, and there was no hint of what was to come as they drank their coffee and chatted before the start of the meeting.

No, Lucy thought, he's not really angry: He's bleeding furious. That was a better way to describe it. Yes, he was bleeding furious almost to the point of insane rage, even the blood vessels in his face were standing out. Sebastian and Lucy looked at each other, their faces blank and unsure – uncertain to what the Chief Constable was referring. Again he angrily demanded a reply totally ignoring the other people seated at the table. The Chief Constable was now very red in the face. His blood pressure was clearly rising as he waited for their reply. But no reply came; at least, not in the time-scale Sir John was allowing for it.

‘I asked you what you thought you were doing.’ As he repeated his demand he removed two photographs from a folder in front of him and pushed them forcibly across the table in their direction. ‘Don't say you weren't there – just look at the photos,’ he demanded again.

Lucy thought he was going to burst – she had never seen anyone's face go so red. The Chief Constable was certainly extremely furious over something which they were supposed to have done.

Sebastian casually picked up one of the photographs and looked at it. There was no denying it. The picture was greatly enlarged and slightly grainy but it showed him lying amongst the grass and heather on top of a desolate hillside. Lucy was lying by his side, her arm around his waist. The penny finally dropped when he looked at the other photograph. Equally enlarged and grainy it showed two rapidly moving figures, ploughing through the dense heather, going down a steep hillside towards a wood. Sebastian recognised the hillside as being near Felldale.

Sebastian passed the photos to Lucy.

‘Well, what have you got to say for yourselves,’ Sir John demanded again.

The other members of the team looked a little embarrassed by Sir John's unexpectedly high-handed approach. They couldn't see the photographs and, in consequence, didn't have the slightest idea what the policeman was talking about.

Lucy answered him first – quietly.

‘I assume it was your men hiding under the tree on the hillside above Millburn's site at Felldale, then!’

‘Yes, they are,’ the police chief conceded angrily. ‘But what were you doing there against all my instructions to keep out of this investigation?’

‘Our enquiries took us to Felldale and while we were there we decided to visit the site. We gained some very valuable information and, as far as I know, we were not spotted while we were there … except by your men.’

‘Your enquiries … Your enquiries …’ the policeman sneered. ‘What enquiries were you making? The police make all the enquiries – not you two rank amateurs. The fact you weren't spotted was more by luck than by good judgement. My operatives confirmed you left the site unobserved – but they saw you. One of them even moved to a suitable position to photograph you – he didn't know you were working with us.’

‘It shows they were doing their job then,’ Lucy said rather flippantly.

‘Instead of my operatives under that tree it could have been the Organisation's lookouts,’ Sir John Naylor ranted on, ignoring Lucy's remark.

‘In that case, we wouldn't have shown ourselves. We spotted your surveillance people long before we left the cover of the woods alongside the roadway,’ Lucy said, hoping the bluff would work and Sir John would calm down.

‘What do you mean? You spotted my men before they saw you?’ His voice was a little calmer, a little more concerned.

‘Oh, yes, we saw the glint coming off their binoculars, or maybe it was the camera's lens when the red Toyota pickup came down the roadway from the site,’ Lucy said, continuing to lie quite convincingly. Even Sebastian was starting to believe her story. ‘I expect you have some photos of the pickup? The one with the engine strapped in the back,’ Lucy asked.

‘Yes, I do,’ the policeman had to admit.

‘Your surveillance people were easy to spot. They had the only position on the hillside with a good view into the site. It was such an obvious place – the Organisation would have watched that tree if they had been looking for any covert surveillance of their operation. It's a good thing for you, they weren't.’

Sir John looked utterly astonished but Lucy went on before he could speak.

‘We kept to the far side of the ridge, well away from the site, until we were level with the warehouse buildings below. Then, as you've seen, we lay on our stomachs in the heather until we could just see over the crest of the hill. I doubt whether anyone in the yard below would have noticed us unless we had stood up. And we didn't. Can I assume, Sir John, your surveillance team spend most of their time under that tree watching the site?’

‘Yes. The tree is their base for the operation. From there they have a good view into the site and can record all the movements on film. We know everything that's going on at Felldale and, at present, that's not very much.’

The Chief Constable was calming down slowly so what Lucy said next caught him completely off balance. Her next question appeared to address another area of the investigation.

‘Have you got any pictures of the lorry yet?’ Lucy asked innocently.

‘What lorry? Don't change the subject, young lady. We're discussing the site at Felldale and your interference in my operation there,’ the policeman answered, his face covered with a slight frown.

‘Are you telling me your men have been on that hillside for nearly a month and you haven't obtained any pictures of the lorry these people use for the arms raids?’ Lucy said rubbing-in her advantage.

‘No … No one's reported a lorry at the site, other than the ones used by Millburn in the course of their business. At least, they have not sent in any details yet. What lorry are you referring to?’

Lucy paused for a few moments while she slowly looked round at the other faces across the table, her own face showing the bewilderment she felt inside. Only Sebastian knew to what she was referring, and he wasn't going to inform Sir John and spoil it for Lucy.

Lucy sighed deeply.

‘I am very seriously concerned by this state of affairs, Sir John. I'm going to ask you a few simple questions and I would appreciate some truthful and direct replies. We have brought you every scrap of information we've uncovered but you have kept your police information to yourself. I realise, in your eyes, we are just meddling amateurs when it comes to this sort of investigation, but it does seem to me that the information flow is all one way – from us to you!’

The Chief Constable simply stared at her but made no comment.

Lucy continued. ‘At the last meeting you kept silent – you supplied no update on the police's activities at all. Now, I feel it's time that you levelled with us and told us what you know,’ Lucy said rather boldly, trying to charge the bull down before he roared again.

Around the table there seemed to be a general consensus with what Lucy said but before the Chief Constable could regain his composure and reply, Lucy waded straight on, asking the first of a series of searching questions.

‘What information have you gathered on the transportation used to remove the munitions from the army depots?’

Sir John seemed a little deflated and was somewhat hesitant as he opened a buff folder on the table in front of him, looking down at several sheets of typewritten paper. He glanced across at the brigadier but no help was forthcoming from that quarter. He looked back at his papers and started to speak, slowly raising his eyes to look at Lucy.

‘We have discovered tyre tracks in the vicinity of the security fence breaches at several of the army sites. These tyre imprints are consistent with the same vehicle being used at each of those sites. The raiders have tried to obliterate the tracks before they left the crime scene. We know, therefore, that we are only looking for one vehicle in connection with these crimes.’

‘Well, that's something, I suppose. What is the vehicle being used?’ Lucy enquired, suspecting the Chief Constable hadn't got a clue.

‘So far, we haven't been able to categorically establish the vehicle's identity … our enquiries are on-going,’ the policeman blustered fairly convincingly. ‘We know it's a long articulated vehicle – we have established that from the indentations left by the tyres while it's parked for loading the munitions. From those measurements it seems that Sebastian could be correct with his earlier suggestion that it's delivery wagon about the same size as those used by the larger supermarket groups.’

Sebastian was enjoying watching Sir John's face all the time Lucy was questioning him. It seemed to aggrieve the Chief Constable every time he gave out the smallest morsel of information. But Lucy hadn't finished with him yet.

‘Where's this vehicle now, Sir John?’

‘We're not sure. As I said earlier, enquiries are still continuing. Priority's being given to discovering its whereabouts … and we should know that very soon,’ Sir John answered, brushing the question aside without ceremony.

‘Let me check if I have understood you correctly. Are you telling us, that after almost four weeks, you cannot say what the vehicle is, or where it is, or anything else about it?’ Lucy stressed each part of the question as she put it to Sir John.

‘No – not at this time,’ Sir John Naylor answered rather quietly. He would have preferred not to have made the admission at all.

‘Well … I find that totally incredible, Sir John, when all the information is right under your nose.’

Sir John glared across the table at Lucy. Who the hell did this woman think she was?

‘Now look here, young lady …’ the policeman started saying but Lucy interrupted him before he could finish.

‘Don't you ‘Young Lady’ me. You have just had the audacity to complain when Sebastian and I choose to visit the site at Felldale and yet, you have had your surveillance officers staked out there for several weeks, at vast public expense, without achieving any tangible results whatsoever. That is what you told us, isn't it?’ Lucy carefully enunciated her words.

‘Surveillance can take a long time before any concrete results are obtained. I'm sure these officers will find the information if it's there to be found. We may be totally wrong about Felldale – have you considered that,’ the policeman countered, justifying his actions.

‘Oh, I doubt it. I doubt very much if your men will discover anything. Not before the 16th of September – and by when it will be too late! You should have this information right now at this meeting.’ Lucy said firmly, scoffing at policeman's lack of information.

‘Perhaps you think you could do my job better than I can,’ the Chief Constable retaliated immediately, trying not to let the amount that Lucy was irritating him show too much.

‘Well, at least, I could give this meeting the answers to all the simple questions I have been putting to you.’ Lucy replied positively.

Commander Alton coughed loudly and managed to speak before Sir John had recovered.

‘Do I understand you correctly: You know the answers to the questions you are asking Sir John?’

‘Yes, Andrew, I know which vehicle is involved. I know where it is at this precise moment. I know what the registration number is. What's more, I know other valuable information about the vehicle that will be of use on the 16th of September. I trust, Brigadier, there's no change to that date?’ Lucy asked, turning to stare across the table.

‘No. My man tells me it's a firm date now.’

‘Good. That's agrees the information we have received from a different source,’ Lucy added with a dash.

Sir John was still fuming at the way Lucy had shown up the inadequacies of his own enquiry. Heads would roll when he found out how Lucy had done it. He was bursting to ask some direct questions before anyone else did. In the end, he opted to ask a very general one.

‘Miss Dorrell, perhaps you would like to inform us about this vehicle?’

Lucy was unsure whether there was a slight hint of a sneer in the way the question was put. If there was, she decided to ignore it.

‘Certainly, Sir John, anything to help the investigation – you know that,’ Lucy said politely, smiling. ‘The vehicle is a replica of a Safeway delivery wagon and it's currently stored at the Felldale site. I have written down the registration number so you can check it with the computerised vehicle registration index, but I fear the index mark may prove to be false.’

Sir John gave a little scoffing laugh. ‘If this vehicle is stored at Felldale, why haven't my officers seen it? Answer me that, young lady?’

‘Because they're watching from the wrong place; we could see it because we were on the other side of the site and could see directly into the warehouse when they opened the door. Your surveillance officers could only see the back of that particular warehouse. If they had been in the right position, they would have seen the vehicle being repainted ready for the next raid.’

‘Repainted! What do you mean?’ the brigadier asked, puzzled.

‘Apparently the lorry goes out to the raid one colour … and comes back to the site another!’

‘What colour's it being painted now?’

‘Black. I've been told the black paint is water soluble, however, I doubt that very much unless ordinary rain doesn't affect it. I think the surface of the lorry is probably coated with a substance that allows the paint to adhere sufficiently until it is blasted off again by high-powered cleaning lances. The lorry is said to carry two such pressure-jet washers. The black paint is removed after each raid's completed, possibly after the vehicle has left the immediate area of the incursion. The transformation then reveals the Safeway livery underneath the black paint.’ Lucy expounded.

‘So that's how they're doing it,’ the brigadier murmured in admiration.

‘Assuming our theory's correct, I think if you were to check all the large lay-bys on the main routes back to Felldale, which lie within ten miles or so of each army site raided, you may find traces of the black paint on the ground. I imagine they could only use a lay-by where the lorry would be hidden from the road while the transformation is taking place, so that should narrow down your search.’

‘I realise it's very early in the morning when these raids take place but how could they be sure they won't be disturbed while they are cleaning the paint off,’ Commander Alton asked, addressing the logistics of the problem.

Sebastian, who had remained silent for the whole meeting, broke that silence. ‘We've been thinking long and hard about that particular point and I think Lucy has come up with a plausible explanation.’

Lucy accepted her cue. ‘After each raid has been completed, we think the lorry must travel to a predetermined lay-by, one that will hide it from view as I just said a moment ago. Having got there, as you rightly say, Andrew, they must be assured there's no other vehicle in the lay-by otherwise their antics will be reported. As far as we can see the only way to accomplish that would be to take the lay-by out of use - block it off with official-looking roadwork barriers at each end. We think they probably install them on the way to the depot, maybe some hours earlier, and remove the barriers again after cleaning the lorry on their trip home.’

‘Simple and quite feasible, young lady; quite feasible! If we all agree, we should start looking for just such a lay-by before the night of the next raid. However, I think we should let them get back to Felldale before any challenge is made,’ Sir John suggested.

‘So do I,’ Lucy said adamantly. ‘The hills around the site make it easy to contain the action to the site itself. Anybody trying to escape across the moors can soon be stopped by a cordon of men around the top of the surrounding hills. And with only the one roadway into Millburn's site, we can block it anywhere in the wooded section and render escape impossible by vehicle.’

Without any warning, the meeting was interrupted by Sarah entering the conference room and serving another round of refreshments. Unnoticed by the others, Sir John had summoned her by pressing the button on the intercom standing on the table. The Chief Constable felt very bruised by Lucy's earlier onslaught and thought that a break in the proceedings might redress the balance. He conceded to himself that his officers had failed him dismally if two young people, with no experience, could collect valuable information without wasting precious days getting it.

Beginner's luck – possibly, but they had got the results and that was what mattered.

*  *  *  *

‘South America – the wretched Nicaraguan rebels,’ the Commander said in answer to a question. Yes, he added, they had traced where the ships where going and, no, there wasn't much they could do about it.

‘Commander: How do you propose to catch our modern-day smugglers,’ Sir John enquired, wanting to get on with the meeting.

‘We have devised a plan in conjunction with the Navy and, fortunately, we also have the full co-operation of the skipper of Sea Wanderer as well. There hardly seems to be much point in going into the finer details of the plan since you will all be tied up with your own phases of the overall master plan.’

‘Just a brief outline will suffice, Commander,’ the policeman said, not wishing to be left totally in the dark.

‘If you insist, Sir John. Briefly, the plan is to make sure that Sea Wanderer is skippered by the boat's other partner, Dave Shannon, for the return voyage from Guernsey. Lewis, the unfortunate owner, will become violently ill during the afternoon before they sail, sufficiently so for the crew to summons the Island's paramedics. They will remove Lewis to hospital for a complete check-up, but express the opinion that they don't think it's anything serious and Lewis should be back before the boat has to sail. Shannon will be told at the last moment that the paramedics were wrong and that Lewis is too ill to go to sea. Shannon and his crew will have to do the run on their own. A naval cutter will intercept Sea Wanderer after it has made the pickup, boarding the vessel and arresting everybody found on board.’

‘That will account for all the sea-borne smugglers very neatly,’ Sir John speculated, nodding his head in agreement, pleased with what he had heard.

‘All but one,’ the Commander corrected. ‘There's still the person who brings the inflatable out from the cove. We think we may be able to trick him if we transfer all the smugglers to the naval cutter and put a small navy crew aboard Sea Wanderer instead. It will still be dark at that time of the morning and two members of the Navy's crew will attempt to complete the transfer of the containers. However, our crew will make out that something has gone wrong with the towline and ask the other smuggler to come aboard to help free it, promptly arresting him.’

‘Good luck, Commander, I hope your plan goes as smoothly as you have indicated to us.’ Sir John seemed perfectly satisfied with the arrangements and turned his attention to another matter. ‘What about the helicopter, Martin, any suggestions how we could stop it flying.’

‘Well, that's going to be difficult. The main question is where our trap should be sprung. If we strike in the wrong place, and at the wrong time, it could jeopardise all the other parts of the operation. The helicopter will be able to contact Felldale and Penvarrick by radio. Likewise, those places must be able to contact the pilot. Any pre-emptive ground strike at Felldale or Penvarrick could alert the helicopter, and vice versa. What timings are we all working to?’ Martin Fuller asked, seeking more information on which to base his decision.

‘Good point, Martin. We need to decide the timing of the entire operation before we can decide the methods to be used,’ Sir John stated, back-pedalling fast. ‘Commander?’

‘Sea Wanderer normally transfers its cargo to the inflatable around four in the morning but Lewis says there is some leeway allowed. Let us say four-thirty should be the very latest time. However, our capture of Sea Wanderer shouldn't affect your timings on land because the radio and the radar will have been put out of action by the skipper before he leaves the boat. According to Lewis, none of them carries a mobile phone so there's no danger of them raising the alarm. As I see it, the timing of your raid on the Felldale site will be dependant on when the lorry arrives there,’ the Commander answered, indicating that his operation need not affect the others.

‘Yes; that's true, Andrew, but surely the people in the caves below Penvarrick Manor will become concerned when their cargo doesn't appear on time?’ the brigadier pointed out.

Sebastian thought he could see a straight-forward solution to the problem.

‘Couldn't you place a couple of SBS personnel in the inflatable and send it back to the cove roughly on time. That way, our men could block all escape attempts from the caves using the sea. At the same time, the police must move in from the barn and the boiler house sealing any escape via the tunnels. Don't forget, Sir John, the smugglers have their radio equipment in the estate office and that will need putting out of action before it can be used to alert the helicopter, or the men at Felldale.’

‘I'll make sure it is,’ Sir John confirmed affably.

‘SBS – that is a good idea, Sebastian. I'll arrange for it to be included in the sea-borne operation. We should have considered that point much earlier.’ The Commander made some notes in the file he had just opened.

Martin Fuller took his cue from Andrew's silence to resume his plans for capturing the helicopter. ‘As far as I can see, the helicopter isn't used on the night of the raid. It comes into its own for transporting the arms after they have arrived at Felldale. Therefore, at a predetermined time, we, and the local police force, can seize the machine, and its operating staff, at the storage site when they're least expecting it. The local police investigation has discovered the farm these people operate from has only been rented until the end of the year. This rather infers the Organisation is prepared to move fairly often to keep their tracks covered. Hopefully, we shall move against them before they get a chance to move on. At present, the pilot and co-pilot live in the farmhouse with the two mechanics who keep the helicopter serviceable.’

Sir John spoke. ‘I think, as far as our timings are concerned, it would be sensible to move against the operations under Penvarrick Manor at the time the smugglers would normally expect to receive their delivery of contraband from Sea Wanderer. That will probably be between four and five o'clock, depending on how well Andrew's operation goes. At that time of the morning nothing will be happening at Felldale.’

‘Not until the lorry arrives. If the next raid is in Hampshire, then surely the lorry couldn't arrive back at Felldale much before eight or nine o'clock in the morning,’ Sebastian said, interrupting the Chief Constable's flow.

‘Precisely, young fella. Until the lorry arrives I can’t think of any reason why the Felldale staff would need to contact Penvarrick. Felldale is waiting for the munitions … not the drugs from Sea Wanderer,’ the policeman stressed.

‘Therefore, if that's the case, the helicopter and its crew will be resting since they won't be needed again until Monday night,’ Martin Fuller calculated. ‘I'd like to strike early in the morning when the pilots and, hopefully the crew, are still sleeping. So far, there's no report of a guard being maintained on the aircraft. We've got a fair amount of open ground to cross before getting anywhere near the chopper and that's best done under the cover of darkness.’

‘Sounds reasonable to me – anyone object?’ Sir John waited for a few moments before proceeding. ‘Martin, if you go in that early you must concentrate on disabling any radio equipment immediately. We can't afford warning messages to get out to Felldale or Penvarrick. We know the helicopter will have a radio but there must be another one in the house as well.’

‘We'll find it - I'll guarantee that.’

‘Good man. While Martin's dealing with the helicopter, the industrious workers at Penvarrick should be working flat out to assemble their next consignment of heroin for the helicopter to take back to Felldale. As Martin said, the helicopter will not be required until a fresh consignment of arms has been unloaded from the lorry, therefore it's reasonably safe to assume the aircraft will remain in Wales on Sunday night,’ Sir John concluded, making what Sebastian thought was his longest speech yet.

The Commander spoke again, smiling. ‘Let's just recap for a moment. Martin's going to set the ball rolling at three o'clock on Monday morning when he takes out the helicopter. Sea Wanderer will actually set her own time for capture when they complete the pickup from the Channel. I like that. Poetic justice you could say. Next comes the capture of the person in the inflatable, followed by the SBS landing on the beach below the manor. Then what?’

Sir John came to his aid. ‘The police will seal off the whole of Penvarrick Manor at four-thirty and disable the radio equipment in the estate office soon after that. With all entrances to the caves sealed off, everybody will be rounded-up and held in the main cavern pending their arrest and subsequent removal. The schedule at Felldale is a little harder to predict. It will depend on when the lorry arrives – but I think we should strike as soon as the driver parks the vehicle in the yard. The Derbyshire police have agreed to throw a cordon around the hilltops surrounding the site, just in case anyone escapes capture by the brigadier's SAS force.’

‘Okay. That's clear enough,’ Martin Fuller said, ‘but I noticed the brigadier's shaking his head. Is there something we've missed out?’

‘I think Felldale and the lorry are a little more difficult to accomplish than the other three parts of this operation. But firstly, we have to decide whether we allow the raid to take place in its entirety, or whether we stop it while it's in progress. If we allow the raid to take its course, then obviously we can make all the arrests at Felldale as Sir John has said. However, if we do, we shall be condoning the deaths of several more soldiers. I hasten to add – corrupt soldiers, who deserve their fate because of their treachery to the Crown. However – are we prepared to put their lives before the complete success of our operation? I think not.’ the brigadier expounded.

‘Would it be possible to turn the soldiers back to our side if we informed them what was going to happen during the raid?’ Martin Fuller asked in an uncertain manner.

‘Very risky, assuming we could identify which soldiers they are,’ the brigadier replied. ‘Just one careless word from them to the Organisation and the operation would be over. Totally finished. You have to remember they have already been bought by the Organisation and therefore might feel they could make a handsome bonus by passing on such information. It's far too risky in my opinion.’

‘I'm inclined to agree with you, Terrance,’ Sir John said rather quietly. ‘I think we should let the conspirators carry out the entire raid while we keep careful surveillance and try to record who kills who – for future use in court, you understand. We can't stop it happening without jeopardising the whole operation. There's too much at stake.’

Lucy had been listening very carefully but now she felt she had to state her own viewpoint on the matter. ‘What you're saying, gentlemen, is that you are prepared to condemn those poor soldiers to death. I can't condone that. I realise the soldiers had a choice in the first place, but once the Organisation got their claws into them they lost any say in their own futures. If they had tried to back out after being recruited, the Organisation would have disposed of them anyway.’

‘It rather seems they are completely expendable – whichever way you look at it, Lucy,’ the brigadier commented sourly. ‘Unfortunate for them – but necessary for the greater good of our cause.’

‘Surely, we could try to save them, Brigadier.’

‘How?’

‘Well, we know what their fate will be, which is more than they do. Couldn't you secrete a few handpicked army personnel around the munitions depot and after the munitions have been removed to the lorry, grab the soldiers and take them to safety? After all, the raiders will have got the arms they wanted; they couldn't afford the time to search the depot to see where the traitors went. With any luck they'd leave without delay and we would have the co-conspirators to incriminate them when they are brought to justice,’ Lucy entreated.

‘Your idea might just be credible … but only if we could conceal staff in the right places?’ the brigadier replied, still doubtful the idea would really work.

Sebastian came to Lucy's assistance.

‘The army must know what's expected to be stolen during the raid – and where it's currently stored. Surely a quick check on the previous raids will confirm just what the raiders are after. There are still eleven days before the raid is due to take place and I suspect the raiders must be in constant contact with their helpers to pinpoint where the arms will be located. If the munitions are not in a suitable place for us to snatch the army personnel, why not move them so they are?’

‘By Jove, Sebastian has hit the nail on the head,’ the brigadier said brightly, lying through his back teeth. ‘The reason the raiders require the help of army staff is to enable them to quickly implement their raid. It's possible of course, that the conspirators do not know the exact location of the munitions until they arrive at the site. If so, it wouldn't matter one iota if we moved them. If it did, the raiders have still got at least a week to adjust their plans.’

‘Exactly. And you can place the staff to grab the treacherous army personnel before they meet their Maker,’ Lucy added gleefully.

‘If the munitions are moved to new locations, perhaps a little farther from the security fence where we believe the raiders will enter the site, it would only look like the army is taking some additional security measures. These measures could be leaked to the press to give them added weight,’ Sebastian suggested.

‘Brigadier, I think you should look into these proposals and assess whether such a plan would be feasible at this late stage. Just looking at this problem from a very selfish viewpoint, the death of more army personnel during what could be termed as a controlled raid would give the national press a field day if it ever got out. This needs to be avoided at all costs,’ the Chief Constable advised intransigently.

‘Right. I agree with you, Sir John – wholeheartedly,’ the brigadier said just for the record. But what he really meant was damn the soldiers' lives, the operation was not going to be jeopardised in any way. ‘Leave the arrangements to me and I'll see whether it's going to be possible. At least, we shall be seen to be trying.’

The Chief Constable took the lead again. Satisfied that everything was going to be done to save lives at the depot during the raid, he returned to events following the raid's completion. Lucy noted that Sir John, as Andrew Alton had predicted, was informing the meeting of his intended actions – at last!

‘Hampshire police will check all lay-bys in the area of the next raid and identify those that will be most appropriate for the transformation of the vehicle. Each lay-by will be double-checked on the night of the raid to discover which one has been taken out of service. A surveillance team will be assembled to cover that lay-by and a photographic record of the events that happen there will be obtained. The next major trouble spot will be at Felldale.’

‘In what way, Sir John?’ Sebastian asked.

‘We have made the wild assumption that the arms from previous raids will have been despatched to Penvarrick by helicopter. Whether or not this is the case, our raiders will be returning to Felldale with a further thirty tons of armaments, including machine pistols and an almost endless supply of ammunition. There could be a hell of a shoot-out if those arms can be used against our men!’ Sir John explained, the safety of his officers of paramount importance.

‘That's assuming the raiders aren't already armed?’ Lucy said pessimistically. ‘However, it would take time for them to break open the crates and distribute the guns if they needed the extra firepower. Anyway, don't the guns need cleaning first? We should close-in on the lorry the moment it stops in the yard.’

Sebastian suddenly had an idea and without thinking it through, leaped in. ‘Why not change all the ammunition stolen in the raid to blanks – practice rounds, or whatever you call them?’

‘We don't have much time to accomplish that, and it might seem a little odd to the suspect personnel if all the ammunition was changed without any notice,’ the brigadier commented, thinking Sebastian's suggestion could protect his own men.

‘Surely, the depots must take part in various activities with the other army barracks. Training exercises, mock battles, etc. Couldn't something be arranged which takes all our suspects off the depot for a suitable period while the ammunition is swopped,’ Commander Alton interposed.

‘Naturally, the marking on boxes must be the same as the real thing. The deception would have to be carried out by the factory supplying the munitions, not at another depot where more suspect staff could lurk,’ Sebastian suggested.

The brigadier, rather ungraciously, conceded defeat.

‘I'll organise the exchange straight after this meeting ends. We can't be certain that the raiders won't be armed, but this change will certainly reduce the amount of arms at their disposal in our favour.’

‘Right, that brings us neatly back to Felldale,’ Sir John said. ‘As I've already stated earlier, the hilltops around the site will be ringed with police personnel. The Derbyshire force will supply sufficient manpower to bring this about. After the lorry has entered the roadway to the site, we shall block the access to stop any escape by vehicle. We shall also mount road blocks at both ends of the Felldale Road where it meets the main road just in case anyone else tries to visit the site during the operation.’

‘What about the actual site itself – how are you proposing to capture the people there?’ Sebastian asked realising the question had not been addressed.

‘The army will be dealing with that. The SAS will mount the attack and take the prisoners. They have the weapons, the methods and the training techniques to bring this operation to a successful conclusion, hopefully avoiding any loss of life. Hereford is being kept on full alert. The exercise will give our boys the chance to use their practice training under real conditions,’ Sir John said, looking across at the brigadier

‘The team are looking forward to the experience!’

‘We have covered most points in some detail, but I'd like a little more clarification about the operation at Penvarrick,’ Lucy commented. ‘I assume some form of surveillance operation will be underway there before the final assault is mounted?’

‘Yes. My force will surround the estate just after midnight but will keep out of sight. When the command is given they will take up positions at the barn and all the other cave entrances. At the same time officers will be visiting the homes of all the villagers on your list, Lucy, and ascertaining whether the people are at home, or at work in the caves. If they are at home, they will be taken in for questioning, if not, they'll be rounded up in the caves.’

Lucy could see that they might get excluded from the Chief Constable's plans. So far he hadn't mentioned them at all. ‘Sebastian and I wish to be involved in the arrests at the manor. We can be of use to you because we know the tunnel system and can show you which can, and which can't, be used safely. Also, I think you should cover the cove more effectively. Some workers are bound to try and escape to seaward. The two SBS men from the inflatable might need a bit of back up. If something goes wrong on the beach, the inflatable might well provide a means of escape, or some workers may even try to escape by swimming along the coast,’ Lucy said, trying to close any remaining gaps in the overall strategy.

‘Good point, Lucy. We had better have a couple of boats standing by offshore to pick up any escapees. They would have a long swim to find somewhere they could get shore easily. The nearest beach is one and half miles to the east; much farther if they decided to swim west!’ the Excise man explained.

The Chief Constable assumed command of the meeting again and asked if anyone had anything further to add to the proceedings. The general consensus was that the subject had been fully covered and it would be best to get back to work and get the final elements organised.

As the room began to clear, Sir John spoke, his manner rather uncertain.

‘Just a minute, Lucy, I would like a word with you.’

Lucy left Sebastian standing by the door and walked over to the policeman who had left his chair and was now positioned by the open window. Sir John cleared his throat before speaking.

‘I would like to apologise for having-a-go at you at the start of the meeting. I now realised you did what you did for the benefit of the operation and that you took sufficient precautions to make sure the opposition didn't spot you. If you hadn't gone to Felldale, we would still be short of much valuable information so please accept my most sincere apology.’

‘Apology accepted, Sir John,’ Lucy said gracefully. ‘I'm sorry if we caused you some concern when we were spotted by your watchers. Obviously, our visit to Bradwell went unobserved.’

‘Bradwell? Why did you go there?’

‘To see George Millburn. We wanted to find out how he became involved in this racket and to see what information he might be able to provide to make an operation at Felldale more feasible.’

‘You didn't mention any of this during the meeting,’ Sir John said, slightly alarmed by Lucy's statement.

‘No. What we obtained wasn't really relevant to the meeting but we were going to tell you afterwards. Sebastian …’ Lucy called over to Sebastian, ‘… have you got those names?’

Sebastian came over to the window and handed the Chief Constable the sheet of notepaper on which George Millburn had written his employees names.

‘These two men have spied on the Felldale operation and may have some important information to pass on. They can also tell you how the Millburn directors became caught up in this racket. I suggest you talk to them somewhere very private because they are still working at the site,’ Lucy advised Sir John.

‘Yes, of course, I'll arrange it immediately. Thank you, Lucy.’

*  *  *  *

Back out in the sunshine Sebastian and Lucy wandered a strange and meandering route back to the car park, finally approaching it from entirely the wrong direction. There, sitting in his Marina on the left-hand side of the car park, was Frank reading a newspaper. Sebastian was sorely tempted to walk over and say hello, but decided against it when he couldn't think of a good reason for the length of time their car had been in the car park. What could they have been doing all this time? Shopping? No, they weren't carrying any purchases. Watching a film? Frank might know the cinema was closed until late afternoon. Sebastian let the idea drop. The end was in sight, he couldn't jeopardise that for a bit of fun.

Frank followed them back to Penvarrick but disappeared when they drove down the lane towards Lucy's cottage…

27

Monday 9thSeptember

Frank had been sitting at the breakfast table when Sebastian planned his day, or at least, the first part of it. He wanted to see what Frank would do if one of them remained behind in Penvarrick. So after breakfast Sebastian drove the Midget up to his favourite call-box on the A39 while Lucy remained behind at the cottage.

As events turned out, Frank stayed at the manor and disappeared into the estate office over the garages. So it appeared the estate worker was only prepared to follow them when they were both out together. Curious! Or had Harry decided the couple offered no real threat to their Organisation? If that was the case the information might come in very useful someday.

Unknown to the ex-detective, Frank had far more important things to do and there was no time to keep up his surveillance of the malingering visitor to the manor.

When Sebastian arrived in the lay-by he had to park towards the far end – away from the call-box. A car, with its bonnet wide open and clouds of steam gushing forth, blocked his normal parking position. In front of the troublesome car stood a bright yellow relay truck with AA plastered all over it. The yellow lights were still flashing on the roof advertising to the general public the assistance their member was receiving. Sebastian walked by to reach the phone box. As he passed he looked at the dejected faces of the family standing around the front of the useless vehicle.

Sebastian dialled Simon's office number but was told the reporter would not be in until eleven o'clock. Sebastian asked the receptionist if Simon had left any messages for him, but there were none. He thanked the stern voice at the other end of the line and replaced the receiver.

There was a sudden loud bang and Sebastian almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled round unsure what was happening; his mind had been intent on reaching Simon. The bonnet of the car had been dropped back into place and the AA man was preparing to winch the broken-down vehicle onto the back of his truck. Water pump failure, Sebastian heard the patrolman say to the dejected family – he could take them to a garage in Truro to have it fixed, or take them straight home. The family opted to have the repairs done in Truro so they could continue with their holiday.

Sebastian turned back to the phone and inserted another coin and dialled a second number. A few moments later Lucy's voice came on the line, bright and breezy and full of the joys of the morning.

‘Hello.’ Lucy answered brightly.

‘Lucy. Listen. Remember what was said about phones being useless. Well, they are. I have to go to the cream room – probably see you about lunch time.’ Before Lucy had a chance to say anything, Sebastian rang off. He hoped Lucy would work out the meaning of his message.

Sebastian drove into Truro and parked in the usual place. During the journey along the main road he had automatically watched for the brown Marina. However, to his delight, there was no sign of it but there was an elderly blue BMW which caught his eye, and it was keeping pace with him. To be on the safe side, just in case Frank had changed vehicles, Sebastian pulled into the next lay-by and parked. He watched the BMW carefully as it passed him. It proved to be just another family on a day out. Sebastian felt a wave of relief pass through his body as he slipped the Midget back into gear and continued with his journey, still keeping a good eye on his mirrors.

As he walked up the stairs to Simon's office and knocked on the door, he noticed some of the smell from the new cream paint had disappeared.

‘Come in.’

Sebastian opened the door and entered. ‘Thank goodness you're back,’ he said, relieved to find Simon in his office.

Simon looked up from the computer terminal where he was composing his latest article. He appeared rather surprised to see Sebastian.

‘Hello, Sebastian, it's nice to see you. Did you phone earlier? Brenda said someone had called.’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry – I had an interview to do on the way in this morning so I'm running a little bit late.’

‘The receptionist told me you would be here by eleven so I decided to risk it and drive down.’

‘I'm glad you did. I hear Lucy gave Sir John quite a pasting at your last meeting,’ Simon said, his face smiling.

‘She sure did – really laid into him until she had him eating out of her hand. It was great to watch.’ Sebastian immediately changed the subject and came straight to the point of his visit. ‘Any joy with that telephone number I gave you?’

Simon shrugged his shoulders.

‘You certainly come up with some strange requests, Sebastian. Luckily, I know a couple of people down at Telecom House and they were able to provide me with the details for that number.’ He put his hand into his inside jacket pocket and removed a piece of paper. ‘It belongs to a company called Enterprise International and they're located just outside Exeter, at Eckford End; that's somewhere near a little hamlet called Marsh Green. Why are you interested in this firm, Sebastian? Is there some connection to this case?’

‘I don't know yet. It may not have any connection with Penvarrick Manor but the number was doodled on Harry's scribbling pad in the estate office. Look.’

Sebastian reached into his pocket and removed the original piece of paper Paula had taken from the office. He passed it over to Simon. The journalist stared at it for several minutes before speaking again.

‘The number is clear enough, but there's something else written under all these doodles … I just can't quite make it out.’ He held the paper up to his desk light. ‘Oh, yes I can …’ he said, ‘… Hell 17.’

‘Hell 17, are you sure?’

‘Yes. Look for yourself.’

Sebastian took the paper and held it up to the light. Sure enough, Simon was right. Concealed in the doodling were one word and a number.

‘It's not ‘Hell’, Simon; it is ‘Heli’ – ‘Heli 17’. It's the date for the helicopter's next visit to Penvarrick. It rather looks like someone tried to scribble out the writing by doodling over it. This means that somebody in the Organisation must have rung the office to tell them the date of the helicopter's next visit.’

‘Or, maybe, Frank or Harry gave out the information. You said there is a computer and other communications equipment in the estate office, so it may not necessarily have been sent or received over the phone.’

‘Why write it down if you were informing another person? You already know it. No, I think it's more likely the information came into the office and that's why it was written on the pad – it's the natural thing to do. And the pad was next to the telephone so it's most likely the date was received over the phone. However, what's the connection between ‘Heli 17’ and the telephone number?’ Sebastian posed.

‘Maybe there isn't one. I could always ring the number and see who answers the call.’ Simon immediately reached for the phone and started to dial.

‘But what are you going to …’ Sebastian started to say but Simon held up his hand for quiet as the number begun to ring.

‘Hello. Is that Enterprise International?’ he enquired eagerly. He listened to the voice coming through the earpiece for a few moments before saying, ‘I'll call back then. Thank you for your help.’ He replaced the handset on its cradle. ‘That's interesting. Very interesting. Enterprise International is closed for the summer holidays.’

‘How do mean – interesting?’

‘The company's closed for their summer holiday … yet the receptionist's there to personally answer telephone calls. I regard that as very strange. I would have expected a recorded message if the business was closed. Furthermore, I could hear several other voices in the background so, quite plainly, there must be some staff working there.’ Simon's face took on a puzzled look.

‘Could be they're having some work done to the building. Firms often do while they are closed.’

‘It's possible I suppose.’

‘If they're supposed to be on holiday then perhaps I'll go over there and take a look around – you never know what might turn up. It would be interesting to know why their number's scribbled on Harry's pad.’ Sebastian copied the name and address on to Simon's desk pad and tore the sheet off. ‘Thanks for the information, Simon – it's useful having you on our side. I'll let you know what I find – if anything.’

Sebastian grinned and got up, turning towards the door.

‘Just a minute, Sebastian, I'm free this afternoon – we could go together. Do you realise it's over eighty miles to Exeter and they are out the far side? We'll go in my car. I get expenses – remember.’

‘Okay… if you insist,’ Sebastian replied, glad to have some company for the trip.

Simon opened a desk drawer and took out a number of folders. ‘I've got several things I must do before we can go,’ he said looking at his watch. ‘It's just before twelve now; go and get something to eat and meet me back here just after one o'clock. I'll grab a swift sandwich while I'm working.’

Sebastian left the office and went in search of a Big Mac.

*  *  *  *

Simon hadn't been joking about the distance to Exeter. However the time passed quickly enough as they chatted about various aspects of the newspaper business, and later, how Simon had first met Lucy in Penzance.

Sebastian discovered the reporter was already composing his article on the smugglers and their Organisation – his scoop, as he liked to call it. He had stored the report on his word processor at home, and diligently updated the file every time he heard some new snippet of information. The reporter liked to think he had a nose for a good story and there was something about this latest piece of information he just couldn't dismiss. Although the outing to Exeter would probably prove to be a red herring, a total waste of  time, when you're a journalist you can never afford to dismiss any opportunity that presents itself – hence the reporter's trip with Sebastian today.

They were rather later leaving Truro than they had hoped due to Simon's editor wanting clarification on a couple of the stories that Simon had just lodged with him. It was well after two when the blue Rover left Truro for Exeter. The traffic was heavy and the journey took almost two and a half hours. Late on in the journey Simon admitted he hadn't had any lunch, no sandwich as he put it, and as a result he pulled into the Little Chef on the outskirts of the city.

‘Best if we eat here. We can't be sure what time we'll get back home.’ Simon said, picking up the menu card and studying it.

Sebastian selected the Chef's Special and, while the food was cooking, went to the telephone in the lobby to ring Lucy to inform her about the change of plan. His mobile was on the shelf in the MG back in Truro. The detective was unable to tell Lucy what he was actually doing, or where he was about to go, or for that matter, who he was with. Someone might be listening-in on Lucy's line. Sebastian just said that he had met up with an old friend, the one with the strange camera, and was spending the day with him and wouldn't be back for dinner. Could she please tell Mrs Masters not to expect him? Lucy said she would and didn't ask any embarrassing questions much to Sebastian's relief. Lucy understood exactly what Sebastian had meant.

‘Enjoy your day out – I'll see you when I see you.’

Just over an hour later, the Rover was on the outskirts of a small hamlet called Marsh Green. Simon pulled up in a gateway and reached across for the map.

‘Just as I suspected,’ he said, as he searched the page, ‘there's no blessed mention of Eckford End on this map.’

He put the atlas down and drove into the village. At the far end, Simon spotted a white haired old lady cutting sweet peas in her small front garden. He drew up alongside the low stone wall which fronted her terraced property and wound down the window.

‘Excuse me, my dear. Could you direct us to Eckford End?’ he called out politely.

The lady looked at the car and gently sniffed the perfume from flowers in her hand.

‘Such lovely colours aren't they. And such a glorious scent too. Eckford End … you say? There's not much at Eckford End, my dears; not that I've been anywhere near it in recent years. It's a large marshy area.’

Well, at least, she knows where it is, Simon thought gratefully, opening the car door and getting out. He moved closer to the wall. He didn't want to shout out his business for everyone to hear.

‘I'm looking for a firm called Enterprise International – maybe you've heard of them. I'm told they have a place at Eckford End.’

‘No, can't say I have. I didn't know there were any businesses down there. Enterprise International, you say.’ She thought about the name for a moment or two, the cogs slowly turning in her head while shaking it from side to side. ‘No – never heard of them but Davy Fergall might have.’

The lady with the sweet peas pointed to a wizened old man crossing the road and coming towards her gate.

‘Have you ever heard of Enterprise International, Davy? It's supposed to be down at Eckford End?’ she asked the scruffy-looking old villager with a stoop as he shuffled up to the front gate. The man was plainly very puzzled and looked blankly at the two strangers; Sebastian having joined Simon by the wall.

‘There's nothing down at Eckford End except an old wooden building that the folk of Marsh Green used to use for a village hall, until our new one was built here about five years ago. Eckford End's derelict now; hasn't been used for years. The marsh has been made a conservation area … or some such rubbish. No-one goes there any more.’ Davy coughed up some phlegm and spat it in the gutter.

‘That's very odd. I'm supposed to be meeting someone there to discuss some advertising in the County magazine. Oh, well … I suppose the girl in the office has got it all wrong again,’ Simon said with a long sigh, using the cover story they had concocted on the trip from Truro.

‘Where's … Eckford End anyway?’ Sebastian asked, looking at Davy.

The wizened old man pointed a finger up the road.

‘About two miles, then take the first right and follow it to the end. Mind you, don't go too far or you'll land in the bog.’

‘Bog?’ Sebastian queried.

‘Yes. Eckford End's where Painter's Bog starts. It's a large marshy area best avoided unless you know the safe routes to cross it. Many an unwary walker has landed in the mire and once you're in, you don't come out without help. Two hikers lost their lives there last spring when they couldn't be rescued in time.’

‘Thanks. We'll be careful,’ Sebastian assured the old man. He turned to get back into the car but Simon asked the villagers another question. ‘Does a helicopter ever come here – possibly at night?’

‘No, well, I've never heard one. Noisy things, helicopters; have you heard one, Mrs Dykes?’

The white haired woman shook her head. ‘No. What would a helicopter want with coming here?’ she asked looking across at Simon who was about to get into the car again.

Simon shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, I only wondered. It's not important.’ The journalist quickly resumed his seat in the car. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he called through the open window as he started the engine.

The Rover headed off in the direction Davy Fergall had indicated. The Devon lane was just about wide enough for two normal vehicles to pass with care, but they didn't meet a solitary vehicle before finding the junction the old man had mentioned. The right turn led into a very narrow lane running between two dry stone walls. Grass grew in small bright green clumps through the exposed tar down the centre of the stone-chipped lane, the tips brushed with black grimy oil from placing vehicles. After negotiating a second tight bend, the lane ran almost straight before it entered into the centre of a wooded area. On one side of the road a huge plantation of dark green conifers stretched as far as the eye could see. On the other side, the trees were mainly hardwoods, mature trees standing high above the general canopy of foliage where seedlings had infilled the ground between their massive trunks.

‘Do you think we should pull off the lane somewhere and walk the rest of the way? It can't be very far now.’ Sebastian questioned, rather unsure what they would find at the end of the road.

Obviously Simon agreed. He turned into a small clearing on the right-hand side and reversed the car back between the deciduous trees – out of sight of the lane.

‘You're right – we need to be careful. We're probably on a wild goose chase but we can't be sure. If Davy Fergall's right, we still have about a quarter of a mile to walk … and we had better keep off the lane just in case somebody uses it.’

‘It's going to be easier to walk down through the fir plantation, much less hassle than threading our way through this overgrown woodland,’ Sebastian suggested, once again eager to find out what lay at the end of the lane.

They walked about thirty feet into the darkening, almost silent, forest before starting to walk down one of the avenues created by the straight rows of trunks. As they walked over the springy brown-coloured surface of long dead foliage, twigs snapped noisily as they were crushed beneath their feet. Over to their right the sound of a car's wheels traversing the loose piles of gravel pushed to the edges of the lane alerted them to a vehicle's presence. They stopped, obscured behind the tall tree trunks, and watched a large Daimler limousine cruise by. It appeared the driver was the only occupant.

‘Well, we're not the only people around here,’ Sebastian commented. ‘I wonder where that car's going – Enterprise International by any chance!’

‘I thought Davy Fergall said the place at Eckford End was derelict. Perhaps he's wrong. Perhaps, the driver's also wishes to visit the company. We'll soon see – it can't be far now.’

It took another ten minutes to walk to the point where the wooden building came into view. It was a large hall, the type of building many villages have for their local functions and fetes. The structure was constructed entirely from timber frames and covered externally with green-painted shiplap boarding; the corrugated sheet roof was painted black. The doors and window frames were white. Inside the building the lights were burning – the place was definitely not derelict.

Outside the front of the building, the Daimler was parked close to the open entrance and a short fat man was removing something from the car's boot. He carried the large the cardboard box into the hall, a very heavy box to judge by the expression of exertion on his face. They watched as he returned to the car some minutes later, closed the open boot, and then retreated inside the building pulling the door shut as he went.

‘I can't see any sign to indicate Enterprise International is using the building. Perhaps it's round the other side – stay here while I take a look. Keep your eyes firmly on the front door.’ Before Simon had a chance to object, Sebastian disappeared.

Keeping in the cover provided by the trees that almost encircled the building, Sebastian walked round to the other side. Other than a wide-open space where presumably visitors to the hall parked their cars, Sebastian found nothing to show Enterprise International was using the property. Two cars were parked nose-in to the building but there was no-one with them. The first was a large red Volvo 740 estate but the second, smaller car was tucked out of sight behind it.

Sebastian looked across at the building. He could see a number of people moving about inside and decided, for safety's sake, to move a little deeper into the trees. He walked on until he came to the end of the circle of trees. A wide strip of rabbit-mown grass ran from the building through the last of the forest and out to join the flat marshland – a swathe of land about forty feet wide. Sebastian knew he couldn't cross it without incurring the risk of being seen from the hall. A broken post and rail fence crossed the expanse of grass; a large dilapidated notice nailed to one of the posts warning of the dangers which lay beyond.

Sebastian turned and looked back towards the hall. At one end of the building he could see the Daimler parked. Then he looked back at the other cars. His heart suddenly increased its beat, thumping wildly in his chest. He could now see the second vehicle. A brown Marina!

‘Oh, God, no. Not again! That's why Frank didn't follow me this morning,’ Sebastian said quietly to himself. He hastily retreated through the trees the way he had come to where Simon was waiting.

‘Anything?’ Simon asked.

‘There's nothing to indicate who's using the building but Frank's brown Marina is parked on the other side – you know, the car that keeps following us,’ Sebastian informed the reporter.

‘Well, there's a surprise,’ Simon said, raising his eyebrows.

‘If Frank's here, this place must have some connection with what's going on at Penvarrick,’ Sebastian surmised.

‘Looks like it. Perhaps we're not on a wild goose chase after all!’

‘When I left the manor this morning, Frank was still there. I was watching for him to follow me up to the telephone box. Now I know why he didn't. We'd better be very careful, Harry might be here as well.’

‘Quite possibly, Sebastian, but if we want to know what's going on in there we're going to have to risk approaching the building.’

‘Hang on, that means leaving the cover of the trees. If Frank or Harry comes out they'll recognise me instantly,’ Sebastian said with some concern. ‘Just one glimpse and the game's up, but if they see you, you could revert to your selling advertising space gimmick. Even if they follow it up they would only find you work for a newspaper. Nothing more.’

‘That's true. Did you see any other doors when you went round the building?’

‘There's a single door at the back and a pair of doors on the far side into the car park. Why?’

‘I just wondered whether anybody might be able to come out of the building another way. We don't want anyone creeping up behind us, do we?’ Simon explained.

‘It's not very likely. The door at the back doesn’t look like it has been opened for years. There's a large patch of willow herb growing just in front of it; it would have been flattened if the door had been used.’

Simon thought for a minute. ‘You say there are two doors on the other side?’

‘Yes, there are. A pair of outward-opening doors, probably a fire exit, but we needn't concern ourselves with those. The two cars are parked directly in front of them.’

‘Good. So we only have to worry about the front door – well, that's something in our favour at least.’

Simon was pleased to find he wasn't on some wild goose chase. Instead, he was actually where the action was so he would be able to write some of his article from first-hand experience.

‘They've certainly chosen a remote location. I take it the police haven't mentioned Eckford End at all?’

‘No, not a word.’

‘When we get back home, I'll ring Sir John and let him know. He may want to visit the site or send a surveillance team. I've been thinking about what you said earlier, you know, about Frank or Harry knowing you instantly if they clock you. As you rightly say, they don't know me. If we get caught, I'll attempt to block any attempt they might make to catch you while you flee back into the woods. If I make enough noise they're bound to come after me, giving you a few vital seconds start.’ Simon dug deep in his trouser pocket and handed Sebastian a set of keys.

‘What are these?’

‘The keys to the Rover: If I get caught, you must leg it. Don't wait for me – get the hell out of here and back to Truro. Leave the car locked in the car park where yours is now. Put the keys in the glove box, I've got another set back at the office.’

‘But how will you get back?’ Sebastian queried.

‘I don't know but I'll think of something. If the worst comes to the worst and I get caught, phone Sir John when you get back to the main road and tell him what has happened. Now let's take a look into this building.’

Sebastian took the keys and shoved them deep in his pocket. The lights seemed to be shining brighter through the windows but Sebastian quickly realised the sky had darkened. Heavy clouds were building up and it looked like it might be a very wet night. He looked at his watch; half past eight. The time had flown since they'd left the Little Chef.

All round the hall the woods were growing dark, offering instant sanctuary to any fleeing escapee. Sebastian studied his surroundings again. He wanted to remember exactly where he should flee if the time came – there wouldn't be time to consider when the pressure was on. Keep to the woods, a mental voice kept telling him – avoid the road at all cost.

Simon and Sebastian stealthily crossed the open ground to the back corner of the building, near the kitchen entrance. They slowly made their way along the side of the building until the first window into the main hall. Simon ducked beneath the frame and stood up on the far side, keeping out of the light shed through the glass. Gradually they both peered round the sides of the frame.

Inside the hall, set out on various tables, computer screens glowed displaying all sorts of information but from outside they were too far away to be able to read the screens clearly. The screen nearest the window seemed to hold a list of armaments; a fair-haired man of about forty was entering data with fluid strokes on the keyboard. Sebastian felt a tug on his arm. Simon was trying to attract his attention and motioned for him to crouch.

‘It looks like we've found the headquarters for the whole operation,’ the reporter whispered excitedly. ‘You've really come up trumps this time, young man. I'm going farther along to see what I can through the windows nearer the front. Have you seen Harry or Frank yet?’

‘Yes. Frank's standing over the far side talking to a very thin woman with platinum-blonde hair. Harry's talking to the fat little man we saw unloading the car. You should get a good look from the far window,’ Sebastian added.

Simon stood up and peered back through the window to identify Frank. Sure enough, Frank was talking to an extremely thin woman. They seemed to be having quite a heated debate about something or other, but about what Simon didn't have a clue. He ducked down again and moved to the window nearest the front end of the building. From there, the journalist studied Harry and the fat man. As soon as he had seen Harry and Frank he had recognised them both. They had featured heavily in many of the photographs which Sebastian had taken at Penvarrick Manor, and which he had kept a complete set. It was a shame he didn't have the camera with him now, he thought, these shots would have produced some serious interest at the police station.

Behind Harry, on the far side of the hall, an elderly man was sitting in front of a large console of radio equipment and seemed to be speaking into a desktop microphone. Strange, Simon thought, I haven't seen any aerials or telephone lines. He looked round to check but the natural light had almost disappeared. The heavily overcast sky had brought the night darkness rather early.

A moment just under the window inside the building caught Simon's eye. He strained up as high as he could at the side of the window frame but he couldn't quite get enough height to see down inside. He needed something higher to stand on and remembered the two bricks he had seen earlier just outside the front door of the building. They were probably used to prop the door open. Simon worked his way to the entrance and picked up the bricks. Returning to his window he placed the bricks on top of each other before placing one foot on them. Balancing himself against the building he pushed up to gain maximum height. His foot slipped from under him as the bricks toppled over and Simon smashed against the windowpane, cracking it with the force of the blow.

A multitude of heads spun round inside the building, eager to see what the noise was. Horror crossed their faces as they saw a face pressed against the broken glass, sliding downwards. The face disappeared as Simon landed in a heap on the ground, his ankle twisted in the fall.

Sebastian saw the disaster happening and could see Frank speeding down the hall towards the entrance.

‘Watch out, Simon, Frank's coming,’ Sebastian shouted out in warning.

‘Get out of here,’ Simon shouted back. ‘Go.’

Sebastian glanced through the window again … and fled. Frank wasn't the only person heading for the door. Simon was going to have to fend for himself…

*  *  *  *

Sebastian fled into the wood, entering roughly where he had earlier decided the best entry point would be. By now it was almost totally dark and the lack of light made the task much more difficult. Pausing for a brief moment, he looked back to see a group of people surrounding Simon as he lay on the ground in the light shed from the building.

Continuing to work his way through the dense woodland towards the lane, Sebastian tripped over some thick cables lying on top of the ground partially covered by leaves. These cables were buried underground where they passed through the open space between the wood and the hall, which is why Simon and Sebastian had not noticed them. Even now, Sebastian didn't realise they were part of the Organisation's communications network. They ran to several tall poles supporting various aerials and satellite dishes buried deep in the heart of the wood.

As Sebastian fell, he landed across a dead branch which snapped off the tree with a sound like a gun being fired. Behind him, heads turned in the direction of the noise.

‘Who's with you?’ the fat man demanded of Simon. When Simon didn't answer immediately, the man kicked him viciously in the stomach. Simon coughed and gasped and played for time.

‘Nobody,’ he finally yelled.

‘I don't believe you,’ the fat man said and kicked him again. ‘Harry, get out there and find them. Take Frank and Jake with you. Hurry man, they're getting away. Bring them all back here. We'll deal with this one later.’

The three men ran into the woods in the general direction the noise had come from. Sebastian meanwhile had recovered his feet and was running parallel to the edge of the wood trying to locate the lane. At last, he did. Disobeying his earlier thoughts, he crossed over quickly and headed deep into the pine forest before turning down an avenue between the rows of trunks. To his left he could see torch beams stabbing wildly through the darkness searching for some signs of the fleeing quarry. Their progress was severely hampered by the dense undergrowth which had grown up between the mature trees.

Sebastian roughly estimated how far he needed to run back up the avenue and then cut back to the lane. It was a very eerie feeling running through the trees in total darkness, knowing one mistake might bring his pursuers down on him. His capture would ruin any chance Henry Patterson had to be free of the Organisation, even if the police continued their investigation. The Organisation would simply disappear for a while, allow the dust to settle, and reappear in another remote location. They probably had a contingency plan to cover just such an eventuality.

Sebastian found the lane again but he wasn't far enough up to see the car. He could hear his pursuers smashing their way through the woods, swearing each time an unseen branch slapped them across the face or they fell into an invisible rabbit hole. Sebastian's eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and he could just make out where the car had turned off the lane into the wood. It was about twenty yards away. He ran as fast as he could, not wanting to stay on the lane for any longer than was necessary. At any second the Daimler might come roaring up from the hall carrying extra men to join the hunt.

As Sebastian approached the Rover he pulled the keys out of his pocket and fumbled for the correct one to unlock the door. In his haste, the keys slipped from his fingers onto the long grass and Sebastian had to spend precious seconds scrabbling around looking for them. Finally, his fingers located them.

Harry and his men were closing in on him fast. The crashing sounds of broken branches were least than ten metres away.

How far would Harry and Frank come before they eventually gave up the chase? Sebastian wasn't going to wait to find out. He opened the car door and jumped into the relative sanctuary the vehicle offered.

The engine started just as the torch beams came to rest on the parked vehicle. Sebastian dropped the clutch and the car roared back into the lane, heading away to safety…

*  *  *  *

Simon sat forlornly on the floor in the hall massaging his aching foot. He had hobbled from where he had lain outside the building and put on a good show of pain as he slowly made his way inside. His foot, while slightly painful, was a lot better than he was making out. He would certainly be able to use it to escape – if the opportunity presented itself.

‘What were you doing out there? There's a sign at the top of the lane to show this is private property. Why are you here?’ the fat man demanded.

Simon looked up. ‘I never saw any sign, Squire. Sorry. This is all a big mistake!’

‘Big mistake my arse – Why are you here?’ the fat man demanded again.

‘To try and sell you some advertising.’

‘Advertising: What the bloody hell do you mean – advertising? I don't require any fucking advertising.’

Simon slowly pulled himself up from the floor and indicated he was going to sit on the adjacent chair. A pained expression covered his face throughout the whole manoeuvre. The fat man nodded consent.

‘What fucking advertising?’ he repeated loudly, his patience wearing thin.

‘In the Devon County Magazine – I represent the magazine on a freelance basis, trying to get new accounts from companies in the area. Your company was mentioned to me the other day and I thought I would pay you a visit. You'll find it could be a good investment; you will reach local readers all over the West Country and greatly increase your sales.’

The fat man looked at his watch. ‘You see the fucking time! It's well after nine o'clock.’

‘Ah, you were rather difficult to find tucked away down here – that's why I'm so late arriving. I hate to think what the wife's going to say when I get back.’

‘Bullshit! That's a load of fucking bollocks. I don't believe a word you're saying,’ the fat man retorted, turning to the thin woman standing beside him. ‘He's got others with him, I'm sure of it. We'll wait until Harry gets back with the other nosy-parkers and deal with them together.’ The slim woman nodded her agreement.

Almost as the fat man said the words, Harry, Frank and Jake walked back into the hall and he went over to talk to them out of earshot of Simon.

‘Well, where are they? Did you catch them?’

‘No, boss. We were about to give up when we found the car this bloke must have come in but as we approached it, it drove off at high speed. There was only one person inside as far as we could tell.’

‘So there was someone else – I knew this bastard wasn't on his own; I just knew it. Did you get a good look at the other person?’

‘No, boss. It was too dark to see – couldn't even tell if it was male or female.’

‘Well, we'll have to dispose of this one then, can't have him telling the whole world what he's seen here – can we?’

‘What about the other person – we don't know what they may have seen?’ Harry asked pensively. As far as Harry was concerned, the fat man made all the decisions and he could make this one. Harry waited patiently for a reply.

‘Go and see Mrs Carpenter, see what she wants to do about the one who got away.’

‘You serious, boss?’

‘Yes, of course I am - she won't fucking eat you.’ When Harry walked off, he added, ‘well, not all at once.’

‘What about this advertising chap then?’ Jake asked.

‘Take him out to the mire and make sure he doesn't come back. I don't want any traces of his presence here to remain, okay!’

‘Yes, boss,’ Jake replied with considerable pleasure.

It wasn't the first time Jake had taken unfortunate snoopers out to the mire. He could still hear the previous victims' screams as they begged to be pulled from the sucking quagmire, and clearly remembered the serene silence that followed after the mire had closed over their heads. He would enjoy dispatching another mortal to the depths of Painter's Bog.

Jake walked back over to Simon. ‘Come along, mate – we're going for a little walk to find your friend.’ He roughly pulled Simon up from the chair.

‘I keep telling you – I was on my own. Why don't you bloody-well listen?’ Simon retorted in frustration. ‘Can't you understand the Queen’s English … I was on my own.’

It made no difference; Jake grabbed hold of Simon's arm very securely and walked him towards the door and out into the night. Mr Carpenter, the fat man, watched as they disappeared from view. ‘Serves him right for snooping.’

‘What's that, dearest,’ the thin woman asked as she joined her husband.

‘He's never an advertising man. He avoided any reference to what's going on in here? As nobody's meant to know we're here, it's very unlikely he will have learnt about us from a stranger. Anyone who's discovered us is out there in the mire – soon they'll be all be together – how nice.’ He smiled with sadistic pleasure as he made the observation.

‘Harry,’ Mrs Carpenter said sharply, still annoyed that he had lost the other snooper, ‘I think we might have to move out of here a little sooner than we anticipated. The new place is ready I understand?’

‘Yes, it's ready and they'll never find it however hard they look.’

‘Good. One person got away tonight and that person could seriously jeopardise all our future plans. I want all this gear moved to the new site … tonight. Call up the helicopter – we don't have time to arrange for road transport to come. Make sure nothing's left to give a clue to what we've been doing here. Get on with it straight away.’ The fat man just stood there nodding his approval.

‘Yes, Mrs Carpenter.’

*  *  *  *

Outside, Simon hobbled slowly down to the wooden railings protecting the public from the mire, pushed and cajoled all the way by his captor. Jake slid out the centre rail from the barrier and pushed Simon forwards towards the bog. The moon had found a hole in the thick cloud and Simon looked out across the flat grey expanse of desolate marshland. It didn't take much mental calculation to work out where Jake was taking him.

Simon spent as much time as possible trying to convince Jake that he could hardly walk another step – the pain in his foot was so intense. Finally Jake conceded and allowed the advertising man to rest for a few minutes, but all too soon he was being pushed out towards his watery grave again. Jake kept giving instructions where he should walk while, all the time, prodding him in the back to make sure he kept up a steady pace.

‘Don't try anything stupid, my lad, or you'll be at the bottom of the mire in no time at all,’ Jake warned menacingly.

Together, but in single file, they went deep across the marshland; Jake behind Simon. Was Jake going to abandon him in the middle of the mire and leave him to find his own way out? Or was he going to push him in and have done with it?

The reporter decided the latter was more likely.

Simon waited nervously for the sudden shove that would spell his demise. He couldn't make a dash for freedom because he didn't know which parts of the surrounding landscape would swallow a person up, and which wouldn't. All the time Simon watched for the large tussocks of coarse grass that stood higher than the surrounding ground. These, if he could leap from one to the next, he hoped would give him time to run back to dry land before he was swallowed up by the underlying bog.

‘Keep going,’ Jake muttered, prodding him onwards.

Simon looked round again. Over to his right there was a large area with no grass growing on it at all. The surface looked like bare earth but it had an evil-looking sheen to it as the moonlight shone down. Another ten metres and Simon was convinced the shove would come. He checked the land to his left. It appeared to be the same as they were walking on now but he was unsure what secrets it held just below its grassy surface.

Simon hobbled slowly on until the evil mire was right beside them. As he went, he turned his head backwards as if to start making conversation with his captor over his shoulder. He just caught a fleeting glimpse of the sudden movement his captor made, the thrust of his unseen hands about to shove him sideways off the safe path and into the sinking quagmire. Simon spun his body violently round in the opposite direction; his arms fully extended from his body. His swinging arms were rigidly braced together with his fingers securely inter-twined and they smashed into Jake's side with great force.

Jake was already partially off balance through his ill-timed thrust at the advertising man, and Simon's lunge provided the extra momentum needed to cause Jake to plunge sideways off the path. Jake landed face down spread-eagled across the oozing brown slime, his arms and legs already being sucked down beneath its deceptive surface and preventing his body escaping.

With great effort, Jake managed to raise his head from the slime and tried to look back across at Simon. ‘Help me … for Christ's sake, help me,’ the desperate figure yelled, trying to keep his face out of the stinking mire. ‘I'll let you go if you do. I'll take you back to safety.’

‘I can't help you, you're out of reach. There's no point in both of us drowning.’

‘Please, I haven't got long …’

However, the more Jake struggled to free himself, the deeper his body sank. Simon stood there watching in horror as the other man struggled for life, but there was no way Simon was going to risk his own life to save the evil criminal. The reporter couldn't reach any part of Jake without entering the mire himself. Jake was going to die, and die in a most awful way. All Simon could do was to stand and watch the gruesome death that Jake had planned for him.

As the end approached, Simon turned away rather than watch the frantic gurgling as the body disappeared below the thick liquid surface at an alarming rate. When he plucked up courage to turn round again the guttural sounds had stopped.

There was no sign of Jake. No sign at all. The mire's surface was tranquil and unbroken.

His legs were shaking and he decided he would be better to retrace his steps to dry land, rather than wait for them to recover. He carefully picked his way back to the old fence by following the line of broken grass stems they had made with their feet on the way out. He thanked God for the break in the clouds that allowed the moonlight to shine down and help him find the way.

Simon crossed to the nearby forest and walked up between the trees. The lights were still burning in the hall and there seemed to be a frenzy of activity. No doubt they were waiting for Jake to return and report their secret was safe again. He moved on quickly to put as much distance between the people in the hall and himself as possible, before they found out that Jake wasn't going to return. He just hoped that Sebastian had got away safely and would raise the alarm.

The reporter's leg was still painful but he made good progress back to Marsh Green where he risked using the public phone-box to call a colleague for help.

 

28

Wednesday 11thSeptember

‘It's all beginning to get rather exciting, isn't it,’ Paula said gleefully, as she cleared the lunch table and piled everything back on the large tray that Mrs Masters had brought to the room earlier. ‘Let's adjourn to the sitting room and have our coffee in there, shall we?’

It had been several weeks since Sebastian had been invited to the west wing to have a meal with Henry Patterson. Yesterday, when Paula asked him, she enquired if he would like to bring Lucy along as well. The idea seemed to take Sebastian by surprise however Paula quickly explained the reason for the suggestion.

‘Henry would like to discuss the 16th with you and feels that your lady friend should be included. I think he wants to thank her in person for the help she's given you and, he's also got something which you may find very helpful,’ Paula explained. Sebastian soon discovered no amount of badgering was going to get Paula to reveal what that helpful something was.

The lunch party reassembled in the sitting room. Lucy sat next to Sebastian on one settee while Henry sat in his usual armchair near the Adam-style fireplace. Paula poured the coffee at a side table and brought the small cups to the seated guests. She passed Henry a cup and finally sat on the arm of his chair holding her own.

‘Well, this is nice,’ Henry ventured, at a loss for something more positive to say. ‘I always find the Manor so relaxing when I can get away from the business side of things for a short while. Since I employed young Sandra a few days ago, to take charge of the day-to-day office work, I'm looking forward to having much more time to relax and enjoy Cornish life. However, it's the business I want to talk to you about shortly.’

Henry looked up at Paula and smiled; she bent down to give him an affectionate peck on his cheek.

‘It's not very long now, Henry, before these blasted criminals will be put behind bars. Then you'll be free to continue a normal life with Paula. Have you decided to work on your wedding plans yet?’ Sebastian asked rather impertinently.

‘No, Sebastian, we haven't. I want to see this blackmailing stop first. But we are talking about it, between ourselves, aren't we, my darling.’ Henry was smiling but he wasn't about to give out any details of their wedding yet.

‘Yes, love,’ Paula agreed a little too vaguely, while trying to keep a straight face.

Henry looked over at Lucy sitting beside Sebastian. She looked so pretty in her pale green dress with its low neckline and short hem. He could help but notice her attractive figure and shapely legs as soon as she came into the dining room. It was no wonder Sebastian was attracted to her.

‘Anyway, it's time to discuss business if you have no objections. Firstly, I would like to thank Lucy for so willingly assisting Sebastian in uncovering the extent of the smuggling operations here at the manor. I wish none of this had ever happened – but wishing won't change a thing, will it! I would also like to thank you for the work you have done identifying and naming those involved from the village.’

‘Oh, but we haven't finalised the list yet, Mr Patterson,’ Lucy quickly replied. ‘I'm so pleased to be able to help you and have really enjoyed assisting Sebastian with some of the mundane legwork. Just being with Sebastian is thanks enough.’

‘I asked you to call me Henry. Mr Patterson sounds so old-fashioned and stuffy.’

‘I'll try to remember. My list of village helpers is almost complete, however, I'm having a little difficulty in distinguishing the last few in the dark, and it's not always possible to follow them back to their houses to find out who they are,’ Lucy said, her frustration clearly showing.

‘Yes, my dear, so I understand. Fortunately Sebastian mentioned the problem to me and, while I was on my last business trip, I saw something in a shop in Berlin that might just help you,’ Henry said tantalisingly.

Henry looked up at Paula as if giving her a prearranged signal. Paula left the arm of the chair and went to the Queen Anne desk and opened a drawer. She removed a cylindrical object about nine or ten inches long and brought it back to Henry. He unzipped the padded black fabric carrying case and took out an optical instrument that resembled half a pair of binoculars.

‘You're going to love this little toy. With it, Lucy, you can see in the dark – just as if it was daytime. It's called a night-time intensifier. This one was made by the Russians for use by the Soviet military forces, but with the lowering of the Iron Curtain they are selling them to anyone who wants to buy one. There’re not cheap though – I suppose the Russians are desperate for the hard currency it generates. Here, have a look,’ Henry said, passing the viewer to Lucy.

Lucy held it up to her eye but couldn't see a thing.

‘It comes into its own at night – when it's turned on. It’s powered by a battery which will give you about three nights use before it needs replacing.’ Henry continued, quoting from the translated instructions he had read earlier in the day. ‘Take it with you and give it a try.’

‘Thanks. We'll try it out tonight,’ Sebastian said eagerly, taking the precision-made optical viewer from Lucy and studying it industriously.

Quite naturally, as they sat drinking their second cups of coffee, the conversation was predominantly concerned with the culmination of the operation against the smugglers. However, Henry seemed to have something else on his mind and finally he decided the time was right to mention it.

‘I have small problem,’ Henry admitted, coming to the main reason for inviting them to the west wing.

‘Perhaps we can help?’ Sebastian suggested cheerfully.

‘Possibly,’ Henry replied. ‘I'll tell you what the problem is and then you can offer me your advice. I have been asked to attend a meeting in Taiwan at the factory of Chenko-Astral Heavy Castings. In all probability it's a normal meeting to renew the contract I placed with them to supply rams for Millburn's excavators. It's due for renewal very shortly and I suspect they want to renegotiate the contract price. After it's agreed, I have been asked to go to Shirasko Global Shipping Lines to renew their shipping contract. Both these contracts run hand-in-hand. However, the dilemma is, should I be away from the manor at the time when the smuggling racket is coming to an end. How would that appear to the police?’

‘When's the meeting scheduled for, Henry?’ Sebastian asked.

‘That's the odd part in all of this. Chenko-Astral has asked for the meeting to take place on the morning of the 14th of September, allowing me time to see Shirasko Global the same afternoon. They have arranged that second meeting too. However, the 14th is a Saturday! I've never had any meetings with them on a Saturday before. In fact, I have just found out that Chenko-Astral had already arranged the meeting with Shirasko before they even approached me. That has made me a little suspicious, Sebastian. Am I being railroaded into these meetings just to ensure they retain their contracts, or is there a more sinister reason?’ Henry asked, advancing the question to all those assembled in the room.

‘Have you booked a flight yet?’ Lucy asked.

‘Yes, Sandra did that on Monday, while Sebastian was involved in all that excitement up near Exeter. From what I heard, Simon Parsons was very lucky to escape with his life … and all to help me out of this mess. I'm very grateful to him. But I digress; the flight leaves Heathrow tomorrow and arrives out there on Friday morning. It gives me plenty of time to acclimatise before Saturday's meetings.’

Sebastian remained silent, deep in thought, searching for possible reasons why Henry should be whisked away to the other side of the world just when the big event was happening at home. Whichever way he looked at it, he couldn't see anything sinister about it, unless …

Sebastian spoke. ‘The existing contracts, Henry – when do the present ones terminate?’

‘The last delivery's already at the docks in Hull – it arrived on Tuesday. It's not only hydraulic rams; there are many other castings that Millburn sources from Chenko-Astral. I spoke to George Millburn last week about these contracts and he wants me to negotiate a new three-year deal with Chenko. He's looking for more favourable terms this time round and that may take some while to negotiate. Therefore, I sent a fax to Taiwan to indicate this to Chenko,’ Henry informed Sebastian.

‘In that case, I think their request is entirely genuine. Chenko has the utmost concern to retain the business from Millburn and are making sure they do everything possible to keep it by arranging your meeting with them, and with the shipping line. I think you are suspecting problems where none exist, Henry,’ Sebastian advised.

‘You're probably right. I was a little concerned I might get caught up in the simultaneous police raids out there and land up in some squalid Far Eastern prison and left to rot.’

‘What flight are you coming back on?’ Sebastian enquired.

‘Saturday night's British Airways flight.’

‘Well, there you are then. You'll be well clear of Taiwan before any action is taken over there. It's best to get your new contracts signed prior to the police swoop on the companies. Chenko-Astral will have to fight their own battles, as will the shipping line, but they should be able to prove they have no knowledge of the drugs hidden in their products, or in the shipments. I think you should go out there and do your business and when you return, everything here should be getting back to normal.’

‘You make it sound so simple.’

Henry decided to accept Sebastian's advice and go to Taiwan as planned.

29

Thursday 12thSeptember

Lucy was perched rather precariously along the slender branch of a large beech tree near the main entrance to Penvarrick Manor. A short while earlier, about ten minutes after she had got into position in the tree, the yellow minibus had driven past on its way from the manor back to the village.

She had used Henry's special night intensifier to study the passing vehicle. For the first time Lucy was able to see the faces inside the minibus as the vehicle slowed to leave the estate and turn into the lane. Lucy removed a small wire-bound notepad from her breast pocket along with a stubby blue ball point-pen (nicked from Argos by mistake, some months earlier). She jotted down the names of the new faces she had just witnessed while holding a small torch in her mouth, with the light directed at the notepad. Two of the faces belonged to people from the next village of Little Acton.

She looked down through the viewer at Sebastian lying on a lower branch to her left, almost directly above the estate wall. It was his second period of surveillance that night – he had been in the same tree when the workers had gone into the manor just before midnight. Now he was just there to protect Lucy; at least, that was his excuse.

‘That explains a lot,’ Lucy started saying excitedly, but in a whisper. ‘Those faces we saw earlier in the minibus, the ones you couldn't recognise, they're from Little Acton. I've just seen Daniel Norbury and Sid Jones in the minibus … and that's where they live!’

‘I suppose that shouldn't really surprise us – Penvarrick, as a village, hasn't got enough essential workers for their requirements now they're expanding their operation. Harry and Frank must have to go much farther afield to get the workers they need. Not everybody in Penvarrick is going to be involved, of course. We already know for sure that Edgar Campbell's family isn't. But it explains the sudden appearance of a second minibus – to spread the collection net much wider. What I still want to know is how they persuade all these villagers to take part in their clandestine work?’

‘By the promise of lots of tax-free cash, I reckon. With the way prices are escalating every day most families are running short of cash; credit cards still need paying off each month. The rent, or the mortgage, still needs paying to keep a roof over their heads. You can't really blame anyone for trying to earn a bit on the side – can you?’ Lucy sympathised.

In the distance, the watchers could hear footsteps scrunching along the estate drive in the direction of the main gate. The two positions in the beech tree had been carefully selected to give them a good view across the drive, the gateway and down the lane in both directions.

Lucy raised the night viewer. A small group of villagers were walking fairly briskly through the darkness towards their position in the tree; the villagers' four hours of night work satisfactorily completed. It was a dark night for walking back home, yet none of the moonlighters carried a torch, their eyes having to adapt to the darkness. Normally these workers would have been taken back to the village in one of the two minibuses, but one wouldn't start tonight. Since they lived much closer to the manor than the people from Little Acton, they were the ones told to walk. The sound of their voices gossiping away light-heartedly floated up through the branches of the large tree. There was no real need for silence as the group were well away from any houses which might be disturbed by their talking at this early hour of the morning.

‘I wonder where all the powder goes?’ one female voice asked. The manner in which it was said gave the two listeners in the tree the impression that the woman didn't know what the white powder was. Surely, nobody could be that naïve!

‘I don't know and I don't bloody care as long as we get the extra money. Thirty pounds in cash for a few hours work certainly helps our meagre budget along. Long may it last, I say,’ a second female voice replied.

‘Cut that out, Nancy. Never discuss what you're doing at the manor with anyone; not even your fellow workers,’ a male voice ordered sharply.

‘Sorry, Colin, but Mavis and I go back a long way and we always talk to each other about everything – the length of men's dicks included.’

‘Especially men's …’ Mavis added with a laugh before Colin cut her short.

‘You do, do you! Well, you'd better stop right now if you know what's good for you, otherwise, Harry may get to hear about it and you know what he'll do to that family of yours, don't you,’ Colin replied brusquely.

‘I can guess … I know what he did to Helen's little girl. The poor girl's only twelve … it was quite disgusting – criminal, the man's totally insane – certifiable.’

‘Don’t let him hear you say that, Mavis; he'll eat you for breakfast and come back for Nancy,’ Colin advised quietly.

‘He can bloody try; my man may have something different to say about it though. I know Frank has a pretty evil and sadistic mind, but Harry's ten times worse. He must be bordering on the insane to do the things he's does …’

‘Shut your mouth, Nancy, before I shut it for you. It's going to get you into trouble before long,’ Colin, the policeman, said forcefully.

The group of villagers continued walking along the lane away from the two recumbent onlookers. Their voices continued to float up into the trees down the lane but were slowly lost to the straining ears in the beech tree near the gate.

‘That must be the lot for tonight if Colin's gone home with them. Come on, Seb; let's get back to our beds.’

They climbed down from the beech tree and made their way back to Rose Cottage along the outside of the estate wall. It was safer than using the road – and nearer. The task was made much easier with the night viewer. Sebastian led the way with Lucy following close behind. They came out into the little lane a few yards from Lucy's cottage.

‘I think we've got all the names we're likely to get balanced in that tree, so tomorrow I suggest we go over to Little Acton to see who gets on and off the minibus there. I'm sure that one of the minibuses takes the villagers directly to the barn through the western estate entrance. If so, we're missing some out. Judy Hollingbury lives in the centre of Little Acton; she's sure to let us use her front room to keep watch.’

‘Judy Hollingbury?’

‘One of the teachers at the primary school – we work together.’

‘Are you absolutely sure she's not involved?’

‘I haven't seen her or her husband in either of the mini-buses, and anyway they went to Greece on holiday soon after term broke up and they've only came back last week,’ Lucy stated.

‘All right, if you're absolutely certain, Lu, but we can't tell them what's going on. Let's just say I am doing some surveillance work for the DSS identifying people who are working but also claiming unemployment benefit.’

‘Okay. Hopefully, we'll get a few more names to complete the list.’ Lucy yawned deeply.

‘Let's hope so,’ Sebastian agreed vaguely, his mind really thinking about another problem. ‘That local policeman worries me – that Colin … what's-his-name.’

‘Marsh,’ Lucy prompted.

‘Yes, that's it. Colin Marsh.’

‘Why? He's a nice bloke. I might have fancied him if he was a bit younger.’

Sebastian ignored the comment. ‘I can't believe he can work here every night of the week, organising the labour in the caves and earning himself a load of extra money, while he also carries out his policing duties during the day. He must have to go into Truro police station regularly to make his reports – why don't they notice how tired he is? He must sleep some of the time when he's supposed to be on duty!’

‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ Lucy replied. ‘I hadn't thought about that.’

‘It's also very strange that the Chief Constable hasn't thought it wise to remove the local copper from Penvarrick. I told him about Colin's connection with the smugglers at the first meeting. They could easily transfer him elsewhere in the county without raising too many eyebrows!’

Lucy thought for a moment. ‘You don't suppose Colin Marsh is a police plant within the Organisation and the police have known about the smuggling all the time, do you, Seb?’

‘Anything's possible where Sir John Naylor's concerned.’

‘The more I think about it, the more conceivable it seems,’ Lucy said opening the front gate. ‘Coming in…’

 

 

 

 

 

 

30

 

 

Friday 13thSeptember

Sebastian had been exemplary in his conduct, not only in the way he was treating Lucy, but also in the way he was handling the criminal investigation at the manor. He had obeyed the police chief's instructions to stay away from the caves and the barn right from the first meeting with Sir John. But tonight, following a long conversation earlier in the day with Prime Minister Alexander Golding, it was decided that Sebastian should have one last look at the subterranean world below the manor before it was all broken up and deserted. There were only a few days to go before the police would sweep through the caves and the Prime Minister wanted to know exactly what was going on there before the police raids took place. He wanted know whether they still had munitions to send out, or whether the criminals were waiting for the next arms raid to replenish their stocks. The answer to that question would tell the PM how much risk was being taken, not only at Penvarrick, but also when the SAS raided Felldale.

Sebastian tried his bedroom door. It opened easily.

‘No helicopter tonight!’ he commented to himself as he prepared to go out into the passage. When Sebastian was fully dressed he picked up the torch lying on his bed, checked it still worked, and set off towards the back door of the manor. He glanced at his watch and saw it was just coming up to the time he had agreed with Lucy to be there. When he opened it, Lucy stepped straight out of the darkness but said nothing. They crept quietly down the passageway to the cellar entrance.

‘That's very odd, Sebastian,’ Lucy whispered, when she arrived at the cellar door.

‘What is?’

‘The door's open – I thought you always closed it.’

‘I do – in case it bangs shut and wakes up the whole household. I've never seen or heard mention of anyone else using it, except when Mrs Masters came to find us that night. It's probably nothing to worry about; it may have just become unlatched but we had better be extra careful. The stairway light isn't on, though,’ Sebastian commented, slightly comforted by the fact.

‘No. But that doesn't mean someone isn't down here, does it!’

Lucy led the way down the steps in the dark, using just the light from her torch for guidance. The door at the bottom of the stairs was also open. She peered inside the darkened room and, seeing nothing but blackness, risked shining the torch's beam through the doorway. She played it around the cellar walls. The room was empty, however, the secret wall stood wide open.

‘Somebody's gone down the tunnel,’ Sebastian remarked over her shoulder.

‘Or have they been allowed to come up,’ Lucy whispered, posing a conundrum.

Sebastian turned on his torch and studied the floor in front of the open wall. There were several fresh-looking footprints in the sand but nothing clear enough to suggest which way the last person, or persons, had gone.

‘It may be a little foolhardy going down the tunnel not knowing if we're about to meet someone coming up. Worse still, someone might return to the caves cutting off our escape!’ Sebastian cautioned.

‘Alexander Golding did say we weren't to take any unwarranted risks – and definitely not to jeopardise Monday's operation in any way.’

While they stood there deciding what to do, the decision was made for them. A soft scrapping sound was inexorably advancing up the tunnel until an unsteady flickering light began to illuminate the walls of the passage.

‘Someone's coming! Quick, Sebastian, over here, let's see who it is!’

They moved to the far wall and crouched down, partially concealed by a large pile of tea-chests and waited, hardly daring to breathe, hoping the approaching figure would pass straight through the cellar and up the stairs without looking round. As time seemed to stand still, the scuffing noise was almost on them. The darkness in the room gradually lightened as the torch light neared the open cellar wall.

A dark figure finally emerged from the tunnel and went over to press the stone to close the wall. Sebastian and Lucy still couldn't make out who it was; the stranger's torch didn't illuminate the figure holding it. As the wall swung slowly closed a sudden blast of cool air came from the tunnel and caused the door to the cellar steps to bang shut. The stranger spun round, the beam of his torch racing around the walls of the room until it came to rest on the closed door. Sebastian blinked from the momentary flash of brightness that had travelled across his eyes. The stranger moved to the exit and opened the door, shining his torch up the stairs before he was satisfied no one was there. The door closed and the torch went out.

Surrounded by total darkness, Sebastian heard Lucy's sudden intake of breath. He could also hear his heart pounding within his chest. It seemed so loud; like a clenched fist banging out a pulsing rhythm on a wooden tabletop. But if he could hear it, surely the stranger could too! The powerful torch snapped back on and the beam travelled round the room until it came to rest on the crouching figures.

‘Shit, that's torn it!’ Sebastian muttered.

The stranger spoke very softly. ‘Well, this is a strange place for you to be hiding. Surely you should be tucked up in bed in each other's arms, nice and warm, and not hiding down here trying to frighten the life out of me.’

Lucy didn't recognise the voice but Sebastian did. He no longer needed a light to see the figure's face.

‘Just you stay exactly where you are,’ the voice ordered.

The stranger opened the door and ascended the stairs, checking the passage door was firmly closed before turning on the light switch at the top. Sebastian looked across as the footsteps returned and, as he already had guessed, Thomas re-entered the room, turning the lights on as he closed the door. The chauffeur walked across to a pile of empty tea chests and grabbed hold of one, turning it upside-down and placing it on the floor. He sat on top of it facing the still crouching figures. Slowly Sebastian and Lucy stood up allowing the circulation to return to their legs.

‘You might as well get yourselves a seat each because you're not going anywhere until I know what you are up too!’ Thomas told them quite emphatically. The captured pair did as they were told. ‘I don't propose to beat about the bush, I've no time for silly games – what are you doing down here?’ interrogated the man with the limp.

‘We could ask you the same question,’ Lucy countered bravely. ‘What's that drawing in your hand?’

Thomas rapidly moved the drawing behind his body trying to shield the detail from their view. He continued to stare at Lucy waiting for a reply to his demand, but Lucy kept silent.

‘All right, it really doesn't matter whether you're going to tell me or not. I know why you are down here – you want to see what's happening in the caves, don't you? Well, I'll tell you if you like, it'll save you going down there and risking your innocent young lives,’ Thomas said, surprising them with the accuracy of his statement.

‘No, we want to know what you are doing in the caves in the middle of the night?’ Lucy countered immediately.

‘Oh, do you, Miss Dorrell!’ Thomas said, with an element of sarcasm in his voice. ‘Do you now. And what makes you think I might tell you that?’ His question was again met with total silence.

Lucy was trying to think what they should do next. They had been caught red-handed and there was no denying their presence in the cellar. They could try pretending they didn't know about the caves … but would Thomas believe them? She thought not. While Lucy was still deciding what to do, Thomas spoke, almost echoing her thoughts.

‘You could deny any knowledge of the caves – but then that would be untrue because you have been there several times already. You could say you were following me – but it would also be untrue as I was down there and you weren't,’ Thomas taunted.

‘We could simply want to know what you were doing in the caves,’ Lucy answered before adding, ‘anyway, how do you know we've been there already?’

‘Are you aware that Henry Patterson's secretary Paula and Veronica Masters are bosom pals? They confide in each other all the time,’ Thomas said, with a smile on his face.

‘Yes, we know that.’

‘Well, about ten days ago I had gone into the utility room to collect some washing and they were talking in the kitchen. They obviously hadn't heard me coming along the passage from the side door. Anyway, I stood in the utility room doorway listening to their conversation, and they were talking about you and what you had discovered since you arrived at the manor – the smuggling, the blackmail and the helicopter flights. From what they were saying, I deduced you were trying to find a way to get Henry Patterson off the hook. Am I right?’ Thomas asked patiently.

‘Yes, you're right,’ Sebastian replied sadly with a long sigh. ‘But it looks like we have fouled-up now!’

‘Why?’

‘Because the game's up now; you've caught us red-handed. I expect you'll go straight to Harry and tell him what you have found. It might save your bacon and repay your debt to the Organisation. God only knows what you'll do?’

‘Hang on, Sebastian. Just wait a minute. You've got me all wrong. I'm on your side – not theirs!’

‘Honestly? Why should we believe that?’ Sebastian interrupted sceptical.

‘Possibly … because of this.’ Thomas produced the drawing from behind his back and put it where they could both see it.

‘What's this then?’ Sebastian asked dubiously, seeing a mass of lines with squiggles and marks all over them.

‘It's an up-to-the-minute diagram of the tunnel system below Penvarrick Manor. I've spent several nights exploring every tunnel and cave down here. It has been very tricky at times, dodging the workers using the main tunnels, but the plan's complete now,’ Thomas said with an element of satisfaction.

‘And you expect us to believe that you are on our side when you come and lock me in my bedroom every time the helicopter arrives at Penvarrick Manor,’ Sebastian argued.

‘That's done on Harry's orders – I have to lock you in. If I were on their side I would have locked the next bedroom door as well, instead of letting you get out through it. Oh, yes, I know you have escaped that way.’

‘What else do you know?’ Sebastian asked apprehensively.

‘Okay, I'll tell you. I know you have been in the caves and know what goes on there. I know you have left your room at night and taken photographs of the helicopter and the barns, as well as in the caves. I know Frank spends far too much time chasing you around the countryside and that you still manage to lose him when you need to – like when you went to the police station last week. Paula helped you then, didn't she! Shall I go on?’ Thomas asked, a smirk briefly crossing his face.

‘No. It appears you know quite enough. So why haven't you told Harry?’ Sebastian demanded.

‘Loyalty. My loyalty to Mr Patterson comes before anything these criminals are demanding, Sebastian. Henry gave me a job when no one else would. He even changed his cars to automatic gearboxes so I could drive them easily. Henry's taken me off the scrap heap of unemployment and given me back my self-respect. In return, he has my undying loyalty,’ Thomas said with absolute sincerity.

‘Does Henry know he can trust you?’

‘Not exactly, but Mrs Masters does, although there are times when I think she feels unsure and tries to keep information from me … like what you two are doing. But Henry's got more than you two on his side.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well, he knows he can trust Paula and Mrs Masters, as well as you two. Although he doesn't know it, he also has me and Colin Marsh, the local bobby, on his side too.’

‘Colin … is on … our side – I find that hard to swallow; very hard indeed. I've seen him in the caves organising the extra labour for the drugs operation. He was discussing it with Mr Bevan one tonight when we were down there,’ Sebastian said, doubting Thomas's previous statement.

‘I can assure you Colin's on our side, and the police in Truro are fully behind him. I expect, because Colin would be killed by the criminals if his cover was blown, the police haven't mentioned him to you, in case you happened to meet him somewhere and blow that cover.’

‘Right, I can understand that but the Chief Constable was taking a huge risk,’ Sebastian acknowledged, feeling very much more at ease now. He had been convinced that Colin was a bent copper and was looking forward to Colin getting his just reward. Now he knew the truth it showed just how careful he needed to be before jumping to any wild conclusions. With regard to Thomas's affiliations, Sebastian considered some of the details Thomas had just disclosed gave a strong indication that he must be on Henry's side, otherwise, he would have told Harry about them so positive action could have been taken to limit – or totally remove – any threat against their operation.

‘Does Colin keep you informed about police progress?’ Sebastian asked.

‘No. He doesn't know what progress they're making. He plays his role by ear, totally remote from their help, gathering any information he can and gradually obtaining the trust of Harry and Frank and no doubt of many others. That way, if Harry ever finds out Colin's a plant, Colin couldn't tell them anything about the police operation. Harry has some very nasty ways of extracting information from people. But you both know, don't you, what the police are planning,’ Thomas said, staring deeply into their eyes. ‘Please – don't tell me then I can't let it slip by accident.’

‘I wasn't going to … even if I knew what their planning,’ Sebastian replied. ‘Now, what about this diagram you're holding?’

Thomas spread out the paper and began to explain the system of lines and marks. They, combined with a number, indicated which tunnels were in general use by the smugglers, which tunnels could be used if necessary in an emergency, which tunnels were highly dangerous but still passable in an extreme emergency and those which were totally blocked.

‘I never realised there were so many tunnels down there!’ Lucy exclaimed in surprise.

‘I've shown the system in this way in case I got caught inspecting the tunnels. By using numbers and letters I know the state of each tunnel but Harry wouldn't without going there and checking for himself. Paula has offered to draw the map up properly for me. Perhaps you could give it to her after breakfast, Sebastian?’ Thomas asked.

‘I will if that's what you want.’ Sebastian took hold of the diagram and began to carefully refold it.

It seemed that Paula had been right all along – Thomas was on their side after all, although he was rather shy about anyone knowing it!

But was he right about Colin Marsh…

*  *  *  *

For the ninth time the dark blue helicopter hovered majestically against the backdrop of the reddish-purple heather covering the surrounding hills. After almost ten minutes it dropped unhurriedly on to the landing circle again. The unseen eyewitnesses stationed at the Davis's farm on the other side of the valley had been watching the aerial antics of the pilot for more than ninety minutes. It was fairly obvious the whirlybird had some form of   mechanical problem, but exactly what that problem was the distant spectators could not determine. During each period on the ground between test-flights, remedial work was carried-out by two rain-soaked mechanics in white overalls. Unfortunately for the watchers they were doing their work on the far side of the helicopter's fuselage. The surveillance team cursed the pilot for not turning the aircraft round so they could see what was happening.

It was five-thirty in the morning, and the steady drizzle which had descended on the valley over night was finally abating, as full daylight was returning to the remote Welsh farm site. The two weary mechanics, their overalls and clothes completely soaked through to their skins, had been working all night on the machine to correct a fault deep inside one of the fuel metering pumps. The unit's failure had forced the cancellation of last night's flight to Felldale and the bosses there were very displeased.

The pilot had been up all night, pacing up and down the kitchen floor, drinking endless cups of hot coffee and making frequent visits to the aircraft to see how Steve and Josh were getting on. The pilot was becoming increasingly impatient to get back into the air. This unscheduled delay did nothing to help him earn the sizeable bonus he'd been promised if he could keep all his flight deliveries on schedule. Finally, the chief mechanic signalled the pump repairs were completed and test-flight calibrations should commence.

The big metal bird made the last of its nine, fifty foot ascents and hovered again while the co-pilot checked and rechecked all the flight indicators – the visual displays, the gauges, the pressures, the temperature readings and the warning lights, but most of all the fuel monitoring equipment. To his experienced eye all the indicators were now showing the correct operation of the helicopter's systems. The pilot gently put the aircraft back down on the helipad for the last time and proceeded with engine shutdown.

Peace returned to the Mid-Wales valley. Oh yes, there would be renewed complaints about the noise, especially from the Davis's opposite, but they would be able to smooth them over. Money would be offered in compensation for the disturbance – and money was always an acceptable commodity to a hill farmer. As the pilot left the aircraft to return to the farmhouse, the chief mechanic walked up to him.

‘Okay, now, Richard?’

‘Yes, Josh. Don't seem so surprised; everything appears to be normal again. Why couldn't this problem have come to light as we returned from the last trip instead of waiting until tonight to show itself?’ Captain Richard Sanwell complained bitterly, upset by the loss of flight time the delay had caused. And possibly, the loss of part of his sizable bonus too!

‘The fault must have been developing during your last flight but not to the point where the instrumentation showed it up. You couldn't have risked flying again without correcting the fault. It would have forced you into an emergency landing somewhere en-route and that would have been very bad for the Organisation, and yourselves. Anyway, it's as good as new now,’ Josh assured the worried Captain.

‘Good. I'd better contact Felldale and see what they want to do now. You'd better refuel the old girl, just in case.’

The captain walked off towards the old farmhouse; the co-pilot running after him, catching Sanwell up as he arrived at the kitchen door. He pushed it open and was met with the mouth-watering smell of bacon frying. Steve had started preparing an early breakfast after coming in from his night's work and changing into dry clothes.

Captain Sanwell went straight through to the small study next to the dining room and spoke to Felldale on the telephone. Using the open telephone line was dangerous and prone to eavesdropping or worse still – bugging. Although they were reasonably sure their activities were not arousing more than casual local interest, they could never be too sure. The words spoken by the persons' at each end of the line were skilfully chosen, but Sanwell was left in no doubt of the full significance of what he was being told by the man at Felldale. The flight had to go ahead during daylight – just this once. The message was to get to Felldale as soon as possible. The pilot put down the phone and returned to the kitchen.

‘As soon as we've had breakfast, we're off to Felldale,’ he said sternly, sitting down ready to enjoy a much-needed meal.

*  *  *  *

Captain Sanwell brought the aircraft to an airborne halt, hovering noisily above the landing circle while the co-pilot checked the area below was clear, before gently descending on to the painted circle almost ten hours late.

As the rotors stopped turning a group of weary men appeared and started to load the aircraft, anxious to get the job completed as quickly as possible and get home to their beds. The crew had been waiting impatiently all night, being unsure when the aircraft was going to arrive since all communications were being kept to the barest minimum in case they were logged elsewhere. According to Bruce, Penvarrick was desperate for the remaining munitions stored at Felldale and once this batch had gone the warehouse would be empty. But not for long – just over the weekend. While the men had been waiting they had stacked the remaining wooden crates onto pallets and positioned them just inside the warehouse. The forklift truck brought the first loaded pallet as close as possible to the aircraft, manoeuvring skilfully to avoid hitting the sagging rotor blades.

Meanwhile the pilot left them and the co-pilot to complete the loading and went over to the warehouse adjacent to the one that garaged the bogus Safeway lorry. As he entered he viewed the emptiness of the vast building. Bruce Edwards walked over to join him.

‘Ah, here you are at last!’ he said with a tone of utter desperation showing in his voice. ‘This delivery's desperately needed at Penvarrick for Sunday night's drop. Do you realise they are shipping the munitions out three times a week and almost as fast as we're delivering them? This delay is costing us all money.’

‘Don't blame me, old fruit, they should have got a newer aircraft; that one's shaking itself to pieces. The mechanics have repaired the old bird as quickly as they could but I don't know how long it'll last,’ the pilot retorted.

‘Another six weeks are all we need this year. The Organisation will get a better machine for next year … now we've proved the system works.’

‘I certainly hope so – but it'll be touch-and-go whether we make it to the end of October without more serious problems developing: Spares aren't easily obtained for these old birds, Bruce.’

‘I know it wasn't your fault but that didn't stop us blaming you when we heard about the delay,’ the Organisation's site manager said. ‘Look! When you've taken this lot away the warehouse will actually be empty for the first time in six months.’

‘Not for long, eh, Bruce. At least, I hope not,’ the Captain said casually, more as an enquiry than a statement of fact. Captain Richard Sanwell was still anxious about his bonus. His lavish lifestyle meant he had run up monstrous debts and those debts were now being called in. If he wanted to keep his good looks, he needed the bonus to be able to pay them off.

‘No, just the weekend; the new consignment will be delivered on Monday morning, but you and your machine won't be needed again until Monday night,’ Bruce instructed the pilot, who nodded his head.

‘After taking this consignment down to Penvarrick, is there a return load or shall I go straight back to Wales?’ the Captain asked. Back home early would suit him very nicely – home and straight to bed.

‘There can't be a return load – not when it's daylight. We can't risk that; Harry will have to make other arrangements. So there's no need to come back here, not on this trip.’

The sound of a heavy lorry driving into the yard caused them to turn and look out through the open warehouse door. The lorry parked by the site office and the driver opened his flask and poured himself a cup of tea. He was going to have a few moments rest before unloading the delivery.

A few minutes later the last of the wooden crates were brought out of the warehouse and loaded into the cargo hold of the helicopter. A few more minutes crept by before the co-pilot indicated he was happy with the way the cargo had been secured and the doors could be closed. The forklift truck trundled back into the warehouse, the driver dumping the machine in the entrance and walking off towards the small works canteen. Bruce and Captain Sanwell watched him go, waiting until he was out of earshot.

‘Shit! I thought the deliveries from the docks were due to start at eleven. I hope the driver hasn't see anything he shouldn't have,’ Bruce exclaimed, annoyed by the haulier's early arrival. He walked over to the forklift truck and moved it out of the way of the doors.

‘I doubt it. When the driver stopped at the site office the last of the crates were being put in the hold. He's on the wrong side to see what they were. Besides, it doesn't look like anything illegal is going on, does it? Not in broad daylight!’ As he spoke, the lorry driver climbed out of his cab and went into the office. ‘He couldn't have noticed a thing,’ the pilot reassured Bruce.

‘I wonder … oh, you're probably right. At least, I fucking-well hope you are. You had better get airborne immediately – Penvarrick have had to make some special arrangements for the daytime delivery and they won't want people hanging about all day. Get unloaded as fast as possible and then head for your base in Wales. However, I suggest you don't take the direct route. Cut across Cornwall to the top of the north coast and then straight over to the southern coastline of Wales, near Pembrey. Follow the coast round to Aberystwyth and on up to the Dovey Estuary before heading back inland. Have you got that?’

‘Yes, Bruce, that's quite clear. If you go over to the site office and hold the driver there, I'll get airborne without further delay,’ the pilot confirmed, eager to get home as soon as possible. Captain Sanwell headed back to his aircraft and rejoined his bearded co-pilot, Fergus Donovan, who had remained with the aircraft throughout the loading.

‘Let's go, Fergus – Harry's waiting for this lot!’ he said quietly, climbing into the aircraft.

As Bruce entered the site office, the blades of the huge rotor started to turn and, after a short time, the helicopter lifted off and disappeared southwards.

Mr Woodall, Ken to his many friends, stood leaning against the plastic-topped counter talking to Bert, Millburn's oldest employee.

‘Where do you want this load put then, Bert?’ the middle-aged lorry driver asked pleasantly.

‘The castings can go in the open compound but the rams need to go in the top warehouse … can't have them getting rusty,’ Bert replied knowing perfectly well that wasn't the reason the rams needed to be under cover.

‘You've rather earlier than we expected. I’ll have to go and organise some help to unload you,’ Bruce said, turning towards the office door.

‘Thanks.’ Ken watched Bruce walk out into the yard and head for the staff canteen. ‘Bert, I'd like to get away as soon as possible. It's my little girl's birthday today and I want to surprise her and her mother and take them out for the afternoon,’ Ken said, before walking back out into the bright sunlight and starting to unsheet his load.

Each individual casting had to be lifted off by mobile crane and then taken into the storage compound, a job that took almost an hour and a half to complete. Ken climbed back into the cab and moved his lorry up to the top warehouse. Bruce guided the vehicle back until it was well inside the building. Ken turned off the engine and climbed down from his cab and surveyed the vast empty space.

‘This is a big space for storing a few hydraulic rams!’ Ken commented dryly, really just for the want of something to say.

‘Not that it's any business of yours but there are several other deliveries on the way. The warehouse will soon be full again,’ Bruce replied rather shortly, while indicating to Ken where the rams were going to be stored.

One of the younger workers, wearing a bright red cowboy shirt, ambled into the warehouse and climbed onto the forklift. He slowly brought it up to the side of the lorry and Bruce and Ken manhandled the first rams on to the raised forks. When the forks were loaded with three pairs of rams, the forklift took them up to the far end of the building and deposited them across some baulks of timber lying ready on the floor.

‘You can say that I'm a nosy old bugger,’ Ken admitted laughing, filling in the time while the forklift was gone, ‘but what's packed in those wooden crates being put on the helicopter when I arrived in the yard?’

Bruce felt a little shiver pass down his spine.

‘Oh, you saw the crates, did you,’ Bruce replied, with a rather nasty edge to his voice. ‘They're nothing important.’

The driver looked at Bruce in amazement.

‘Come off it, Bruce. They must have been very important to warrant delivery by helicopter – it's about the most expensive way of delivering anything. I should know! Desperately needed spare parts for these diggers, I'll be bound?’

‘That's right, Ken, just some urgently needed spare parts for a contractor on the south coast,’ Bruce said, using the excuse Ken had so neatly offered him. They loaded three more pairs of rams on to the waiting forks and watched as the forklift made its second journey to the other end of the warehouse.

‘It's strange though! Them wooden boxes are just like some I saw on an army base about a week ago, when I was there training with the TA's.’ Ken continued, while waiting for the forklift to return again. ‘Come to think of it – they looked exactly the same. What would crates of arms be doing here at a plant making excavators, Bruce?’ Ken asked, with a puzzled look on his face.

‘Don't be so ridiculous, Ken.’ Bruce said laughing, but it sounded a rather hollow laugh. ‘They were just crated spare parts. That's all.’

They continued to unload the rams until all thirty-eight pairs were on the other side of the warehouse. The driver drove the forklift truck back out of the warehouse and disappeared into an adjacent one.

Ken Woodall pulled the heavy canvas sheet off the back of his lorry and spread it out on the smooth concrete floor to fold it up neatly. Bruce decided to give Ken a hand. They folded it in half and then in half again, over and over until it lay in one long strip about a metre wide. The driver folded the ends of the strip into the middle and bent down to roll the canvas up.

Bruce slipped his hand behind his back and removed something from the small of his back. He moved up quietly behind the lorry driver and placed the barrel of the gun against the back of Ken's head.

He pulled the trigger before the driver could react.

The front of Ken's head exploded, spraying blood and brains all over the unrolled canvas. His body fell heavily forwards onto the sheet covering the concrete floor and rolled slowly on to its side while the sound of the single gunshot was still reverberating around the warehouse. The driver's body twitched several times before it lay still in a large puddle of bright red blood. Bruce put the gun back in his waistband and walked over to the sliding doors, closing them to contain the carnage from outside view.

Several men were standing at the far end of the concrete yard looking in the direction of the warehouse, their attention being drawn there by the single shot – at least, it had sounded like a shot to them, but possibly something had been dropped making a similar noise.

‘Hey, you lot … get on with your work – there's nothing to worry about here!’ Bruce shouted, as he approached the group of gawking workers. The workers returned to their tasks as a car drove into the yard and pulled up at the office. Bruce was rather relieved to see that it was the brown Marina. The front passenger door opened and Harry climbed out.

‘Thank God you've arrived, Harry. We've a small problem up in the top warehouse,’ Bruce informed him, almost before Harry's feet had touched the ground.

‘What do you mean – what sort of small problem, Bruce?’ Harry asked in a very surly tone. He had been travelling since early morning and the last thing he required were small problems to sort out.

‘Frank – follow me,’ Harry ordered, as he slammed the car door and started in the direction Bruce had gone.

Bruce opened one sliding door just enough to gain access and Harry and Frank followed him into the warehouse. The large door crashed solidly shut behind them.

‘Fucking hell! What have you done now, Bruce! Who was he?’ Harry demanded, looking down at the bloody remains spread out on the canvas sheet and lit by the cold glare of the mercury vapour lights overhead.

‘It's Ken Woodall, the lorry driver who brought the rams this morning. He knew what was in the wooden crates. He's seen them before. What’s more, he saw them being loaded into the chopper. He had to die or he would have talked – Ken was a great talker,’ Bruce said justifying his actions, the words falling out of his mouth almost quicker than he could say them.

‘All right, slow down,’ Harry shouted, anticipating Bruce was very close to panic. Harry was right. ‘It's a bit late now to tell you that we had other ways of gaining his silence. We'll have to get rid of him, and fast, but not around here. Frank, help Bruce to wrap the body in the tarpaulin then put it back on the lorry and rope it down securely while I think for a minute,’ Harry said callously.

Harry strode up and down the warehouse while he thought of a suitable plan to dispose of the body. It was going to be difficult to disguise the fact the body had been shot, even if it was burnt in a faked vehicle fire. Another problem was the fact that the haulier’s office would have a record of where the driver had taken his last load before Ken Woodall went missing.

‘You're a complete and utter wanker, Bruce. You're too fond of killing.’

‘But I didn't have a choice …’

‘Of course you fucking did. When his body is found, or he's reported missing, this is the first place the police will come looking. That lorry must leave here very openly … and without delay.’

‘Shit! There're several other deliveries due from the docks after eleven … Ken came early so that he could take his kid out for a birthday treat – otherwise he wouldn't have seen the chopper here,’ Bruce explained, trying to show it wasn't his fault.

‘Well, we haven't got long then. The workers must see Ken's lorry leave and never suspect anything's wrong,’ Harry ordered, still finalising the plan in his head.

‘Who's going to drive it,’ Bruce asked worriedly, knowing he couldn't.

‘Frank will have to; he's the only one of us with an HGV licence and thankfully he also provides a passing resemblance to Ken. I can't spare anyone else; I need all our workers here to unload the drugs from the rams over the weekend. There's more than two hundred to dismantle. And now on top of that, there's a strong likelihood of the police crawling all over the place while we're unpacking the fucking drugs. Christ, we could do without this problem.’

‘Sorry, Harry.’

‘Sorry doesn't cut much ice – you're going to have to work your bollocks off this weekend, Bruce. We'll have to post an additional watch at the bottom of the roadway so we get plenty of warning of any visits by the filth.’

‘Okay, Harry, I'll drive the friggin' lorry. Where do you want me to go?’ Frank enquired, knowing he was going to be landed with the responsibility of losing the lorry and its human cargo.

‘Take it to the Welsh farm. I trust you can remember how to find it again; it's a long time since we were there last.’

‘I think so. It was left off the A458 at Clan-er-vill – or some such Welsh sounding place – anyway I can remember how to find it. What then … when I get there?’ Frank asked, not wishing to be left in Wales any longer than necessary.

‘Hide the damned lorry in one of the barns – later we'll respray it and give it some false plates and dump it somewhere – the main thing is to get it out of sight,’ Harry explained.

‘What about the body … shall I dump it on route?’

‘Not fucking likely,’ Harry shouted, horrified at Frank's stupidity. ‘When you get to the farm cut a large square from the tarpaulin and wrap the body in it with plenty of weights. Anything from around the farm will do as long as the damned body can't float back to the surface again. The mechanics will find something suitable. Rope the whole lot together to make sure the contents stay within the canvas,’ Harry ordered with just a hint of sadistic pleasure.

‘Then what?’

‘Put the body in the helicopter and tell the pilot to take it well out into the Irish Sea and dump it. With luck it will sink to the bottom and never be seen again. What a shame!’ Harry said cold-heartedly, almost pleased with the idea.

‘And just how am I going to get back here again?’ Frank enquired. ‘I should be here helping unload the drugs!’

‘Get one of the mechanics to bring you back, for Christ's sake. Neither of them will have much to do for the next couple of days until the new crates arrive here on Monday morning. Now get going, Frank, and get back here as soon as you can – and make sure you don't get stopped by the law for any traffic violation,’ Harry said, urging his fellow estate worker into action.

As Frank went across to the lorry, Harry was telling Bruce what he wanted him to do.

‘Go down the yard and make sure any workers who might see the lorry leave are as far away from it as possible. We don't want anyone noticing that Frank's driving it, do we! Get going.’

Bruce hurried out of the warehouse leaving the door partly open.

A few moments later Frank climbed up into the cab and started the engine, filling the warehouse with a pall of thick black-blue smoke and the stink of sickly diesel. Harry opened the doors and the lorry disappeared down the roadway towards Felldale without stopping, Bruce waving it through as it passed the site office.

*  *  *  *

Under the lone tree on the hillside behind Milburn's site, Constables Nick Burton and Keith Wellings, both in plain clothes, were watching the haulier's lorry driving out of the yard. Burton picked up the flask and poured out two cups of lukewarm coffee, passing one across to his colleague who placed it on the ground.

‘It certainly sounded a bit like a shot to me, but I suppose it could have been something dropping off the lorry while they were loading. Anyway, the lorry has left again, empty, except for the tarpaulin roped on the back,’ Wellings said, reconsidering the events of the last quarter of an hour.

Unfortunately, from the surveillance team's position under the lone tree, they were unable to identify whether it was the same driver leaving the yard. In fact, such a thought never crossed the policemen's minds otherwise Frank might have got into big trouble on his journey to Mid Wales.

Wellings idly picked up the camera with a telephoto lens and took a shot of the lorry leaving the yard – just for the record.

‘Well, now the first consignment of rams has arrived we can expect a weekend of frenzied activity. Tomorrow, we'll split up and I'll go to the hill on the other side where we spotted those two people last month. I'll bring another camera – we might both need one. Maybe I'll get a few shots inside the warehouses.’

‘You'd better wear something that'll blend in with the heather, just in case the helicopter returns while you're over there.’ Burton said, disappointed to be left under the tree with little hope of anything interesting to watch.

‘I just hope they get lazy and leave the doors open because, being Saturday, no Millburn workers will be around,’ Constable Wellings commented, completely bored with his surveillance stint. There were still five hours to go before another pair of officers would worm their way over the hilltop and slither down through the deep clumps of heather to the base of the tree.

‘I think we'd better make a note of that shot-like noise – just in case it was something important; we don't want to be caught out again. What time did we hear it, Nick?’ Wellings asked, still worried by the event.

‘About ten minutes ago,’

Keith Wellings looked at his watch and entered the time of the incident into his notebook. He also noted down the arrival and departure time of the lorry bringing the rams, and the arrival time of the brown Marina carrying Harry and Frank, and made a note of the strange way they had been greeted by the person they only knew as Bruce.

Burton raised the binoculars to his eyes and studied the activities in the yard below. He could see the police officer by the name of Garfield, who was posing as a production worker, on the far side going about his work. His temporary employment had been arranged by the Devon and Cornwall police in consultation with the Millburn Board of Management.

*  *  *  *

During his short time at Millburn's plant Garfield had managed to identify most of the workers employed by conspirators. He knew most of these people were already caught on camera by the surveillance team from the surrounding hilltops.

During a visit to the local police station the previous evening, Garfield had labelled all the photographs, taking out a couple which showed Millburn workers and who Garfield knew were not involved with the drugs.  

Garfield, along with other Millburn employees, was not allowed to be on the site at the weekend and so today was his last day undercover. Because of this he was being especially cautious not to alert anyone's suspicions, but something strange had just gone on up in the top warehouse and he was determined to find out what it was…

*  *  *  *

Lewis sat in the lounge aboard Sea Wanderer sipping a cup of coffee as he watched the retreating figure of Dave Shannon striding along the wooden-planked pontoons in the direction of town. Little did Shannon know, thought Lewis, that he was making the walk for the penultimate time. Next week, Dave should be behind bars. That thought made Lewis smile with pleasure.

The skipper was exceedingly weary since Dave had further stepped-up their voyages to every night of the week. No more Saturdays in harbour with Louisa tending to his every need, at least, not for a while.

With three weeks to go to their capture, Dave had said the Organisation needed to go flat out with Sea Wanderer to maintain delivery and supply levels, and because Lewis knew the end of the smuggling operation was nigh, he had agreed – although, not too readily – with the change in plans. The extra money would leave him well in profit when the end came.

Yesterday, while they were moored in Penhallen, Lewis had removed all the bonus money that he had kept secreted in the engine compartment and took it to the cottage where he had hidden it while Louisa was out shopping. What she didn't know about, she couldn't talk about. There would be one more bonus payment for tonight's return run and then the money would dry up. A shame really, Lewis thought, seeing he was earning good money but it couldn't be helped – at least, he would have the boat back to use properly.

Commander Alton had told him his boat would not be impounded after being boarded by the naval crew and the prisoners removed. In fact, the Navy would deliver it back to Penhallen when they had finished with it; his only problem was getting back to the Mainland himself.

Lewis decided he would have to fly back and had already arranged for Louisa to collect him from the airfield – at least, that was the plan. After the smuggling had been stopped, he realised it would take a considerable amount of time before he could get his charter business going properly again; although the notoriety the boat might attract after the arrests might see a sudden increase in business because of it. If not, during that period, the bonus money would give him and Louisa something to fall back on without the bank account returning into the red.

With Dave out of the way, Lewis proceeded to make some small modifications to the wiring on the radar set – just the small addition of a simple toggle switch which he could flick on and off at random intervals on the return leg – to simulate a developing problem. The radio wasn't quite as easy, but then, they seldom used the radio while they were at sea so with any luck a disconnected aerial would have to suffice. Hopefully, when push came to shove and the Navy were on the scene, Dave wouldn't have time to discover why the radio didn't work. Lewis carefully reconnected the aerial again after his practice disconnection. He wasn't going to sea without the radio fully functional and would uncouple it again on Sunday afternoon after Dave had gone ashore for his final visit to No. 8 Harbour View. That poor woman was in for a bit of a shock next week!

On the trip over to the Channel Islands on Saturday night, Lewis was going to cause several temporary failures of the radar, but only after memorising the shipping all around Sea Wanderer's position first. Before he left the boat for the hospital on Sunday afternoon he would remove the switch and sabotage the unit completely. Dave wouldn't suspect a thing; it would just appear the previous malfunction had returned again.

In a way, Lewis was sad he would not be on the last trip when the Navy intercepted and boarded Sea Wanderer but, as he had agreed with the Commander, it was far too risky – Dave might well turn on him with fatal consequences - and Louisa didn't deserve that.

With just over two and a half days to go, all Lewis could do was to sit back and wait patiently.

In just sixty more hours … he would be free!

*  *  *  *

Martin Fuller travelled to Mid Wales very early on Friday morning, well ahead of the entrapment planned for the following Monday. He arrived under the cover of darkness at the Davis's farm while the mechanics were trying to sort out the fuelling problems with the helicopter on the other side of the valley. David Board, one of the CAA staff, met Martin about half a mile down the road towards Talerddig and guided him to the farm without using the vehicle's lights. Martin had rung his mobile, having just arrived in Carno, giving David time to walk to the meeting point through the pouring rain.

Since arriving, Martin had spent most of his time watching the work being done on the helicopter through a pair of night-sight binoculars, but unfortunately the work was mostly being done on the far side of the aircraft so he couldn't tell exactly what the problem was.

Just as daylight started to return to the valley, the helicopter commenced making a series of nine short test flights. Fifty-five minutes later the flight crew appeared to agree the aircraft was repaired and went inside the farmhouse. The mechanics followed when they had cleared up and refuelled the machine.

When the helicopter left Wales a short time later, Martin's team tracked it to Felldale. After barely half-an-hour on the ground it travelled on to Penvarrick. Obviously the problem had delayed the normal flight routine because Martin knew of no other occasion when the chopper had flown during daylight. He spent the rest of Friday morning getting to know the lie of the land around the farm while receiving constant updates on the helicopter's position.

Later, his surveillance team informed him that the helicopter had taken off from Penvarrick again but it was not retracing its normal flight path to Felldale. Instead the aircraft had disappeared from their screens over the North Cornish coast.

‘Looks like we'll have to wait to see if it reappears here again,’ Martin concluded somewhat worriedly, ‘meanwhile, David, get on the phone to Cathy at Southampton Flight Control and see whether she's managed to keep tabs on it. You never know, she might have been lucky.’

David Board left the room to use the Davis's house phone. Five minutes later he was back updating Martin on the call.

‘It appears they've flown over to South Wales and are coming back round the coast. They're flying very low as if they don't want us to know where they are. Cathy says they've flown up past Aberystwyth and have turned inland at the Dovey estuary. They'll be here very shortly.’

‘That will be a great relief,’ Martin muttered thankfully.

At two-thirty on Friday afternoon, the distant throb of rotors could be heard in the valley drowning out the general bleating of the grazing sheep. Martin stood well back from the bedroom window but his ordinary binoculars were focused on the descending helicopter over on the other side of the valley. He watched as it settled on the concrete pad and the rotors began to slow until they finally stopped.

The pilot and co-pilot left the aircraft and walked over to the farmhouse. As they approached the door, the mechanics came out to meet them and the four held a brief conversation before the pilot pointed at the aircraft and the mechanics went over to it to commence refuelling. The others went into the house.

‘I've noticed they always refuel the machine as soon as it returns,’ David commented, laying his binoculars on the bed.

‘Ready to leave at a moment's notice, I shouldn't wonder,’ Martin replied as he kept watching.

For forty minutes nothing noteworthy happened. The refuelling operation had been completed quickly. Martin used his glasses to look up and down the valley searching for any signs of country life to observe. There was none, except for a solitary lorry wending its way down the lane from the direction of Llanerfyl. With nothing else to watch, Martin studied the lorry. The driver was obviously looking for a particular farm as his head kept turning and looking up various tracks as the lorry passed them. He stopped several times before deciding a particular track wasn't the one he wanted. The lorry finally halted at the lane to the farm opposite and then turned slowly into the drive leading up to it. Martin could see the lorry was empty – its canvas sheet bundled up behind the cab and tied firmly to the deck.

‘I wonder why the lorry has come to the farm,’ David queried, as he watched the vehicle passing up the farm drive.

‘Possibly they brought the cargo here today instead of returning to Felldale with it. We'll know soon enough – it's only a matter of watching,’ Martin advised, refocusing his lenses.

The driver parked the lorry to one side of the helicopter and then went straight into the farmhouse.

‘That's strange – he didn't even knock on the door. They must be expecting him.’

Before Martin had time to comment, the pilots, the mechanics and the lorry driver were back out of the farmhouse walking towards the aircraft. Through his glasses Martin could see the pilot was not very happy. The way he was acting indicated that something out of the ordinary was taking place. How right the CAA man was!

‘David. Where's the camera?’

‘On the side table.’

‘Get it – and use it. Something very odd is happening over there – I can sense it.’

David put down the binoculars and picked up the camera with its Nikkor telephoto lens. The image he could see was even better than with the binoculars. The driver had climbed up on to the lorry's deck and was starting to release the canvas from its bonds. He carefully unwrapped some of the canvas and then hacked it off with a knife.

‘Did you see that, David, he's just cut off a large square of canvas?’ Martin heard the camera's shutter operating several times. ‘Hang on – I've seen that man before.’

‘Can you remember where?’

‘Give me a minute to think. Oh, yes, I remember – in some of Sebastian Donahoe's photographs. That man's one of the estate workers at Penvarrick Manor. Frank, I think his name's Frank – or was it Harry?  No, I'm pretty sure it was Frank. What the devil's he doing over here?’

‘This Frank bloke certainly seems to get about a bit, doesn't he?’

‘Yes. He's a general hatchet man for the Organisation, that's for sure.’ Martin redirected his gaze back to the farm opposite.

The mechanics meanwhile had walked off towards the nearby barn and were now returning carrying some lengths of heavy chain. The observers looked on in amazement. The driver had spread the cut piece of canvas out on the lorry's platform and was now beginning to unroll the remaining canvas. As the material finished unrolling, a body rolled out onto the decking. The camera's shutter clicked several more times as the body was manhandled onto the canvas square and then wrapped up – complete with the heavy chains. A rope was bound round the canvas parcel before it was lifted off the lorry and placed into the cargo bay of the helicopter.

The camera continued making a visual record.

‘My God! That person was dead – part of the head was missing,’ Martin said shakily, feeling sick from what he had just seen. ‘Someone must have crossed the Organisation!’

‘Quite possibly, Martin. And now it looks like the chopper's going to dispose of the corpse, probably out at sea, if the addition of the chains is anything to go by. Our local coppers will be very interested in this, I'm sure. I think I'd better take a few shots of the lorry as it leaves.’

‘Yes, do.’

David continued to watch through the powerful lens while taking several photographs as the pilots got back into the helicopter and prepared to take off. The driver went over to the lorry, but instead of leaving, drove the vehicle into the nearby barn. The camera's lens captured the vehicle on film as it disappeared deep within the building.

‘David, go and phone Cathy – get her to monitor exactly where the helicopter goes. Hurry or she may lose it,’ Martin ordered, annoyed for not planning it earlier.

David put the camera down and ran from the bedroom as the chopper slowly rose from the ground on the other side of the valley.

‘Damn, we might be too late!’

The aircraft was gone for exactly one hundred and twenty-five minutes.

31

Monday 16thSeptember

Dave Shannon and Dougie stood on the bridge as Sea Wanderer ploughed through a moderate swell in the English Channel heading steadily towards the designated pickup point. Shannon was in a very unhappy frame of mind. His psyche was full of growing doubts and uncertainties because recent events had caused it to become that way. The uncertainties, coupled with the real doubts of his ability to skipper the boat on his own, played heavily on Dave's mind. However, it was the only course of action he could take since Lewis had been taken violently ill and stretchered off Sea Wanderer. The ambulance had taken Lewis to hospital in St. Peter Port.

Dave was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea! The pickup had to be made on time; his bosses were desperately awaiting the cargo. With no one else available to take the helm at such short notice Dave knew he would have to buckle-down and take control. He realised he couldn't hire any old skipper from St. Peter Port to take command of the boat. If he did, he would have to dispose of the replacement skipper before entering Penhallen. That would leave a trail and he did not want to get involved in cold-blooded murder. He was not a murderer, unlike some of the other people employed by the Organisation. Anyway, there would be far too many people in the port, the harbour master, his staff and owners of boats moored nearby, who would know he had hired another skipper while Sea Wanderer's skipper was in hospital. When the replacement didn't return to St. Peter Port the police would soon be visiting the boat, wherever it was moored.

No, Shannon thought, it was a totally unacceptable risk to take. Fate had dealt Dave a bitter blow, something he had not taken into account or even planned for. There was no alternative possible at such short notice – he would have to skipper the craft himself.

On the trip out to Guernsey the previous night, Lewis had experienced some intermittent trouble with the boat's radar system. The system kept failing and each of the breakdowns seemed to last a little longer than the previous one. However, as Lewis pointed out to Dave as they entered harbour later, the set appeared to be functioning perfectly normally again. It must have been one of those trivial faults which could put itself right again. Lewis hoped Dave would forget all about the problem while he was ashore with his sex kitten, Maureen. In Maureen's tender hands any man would have forgotten all his immediate problems but Lewis didn't know that.

It was after Dave left Maureen's warm bed that his problems started. When he returned to the boat early on Sunday evening, the events caused by Lewis’s sudden absence took precedence and the fault with the radar set was forgotten until well after they had left harbour and noticed the blank screen. It was too late to turn back; the pickup had to be made on schedule.

The time was now approaching one in the morning. It was a dark night on the high seas under a heavily overcast sky, but at least the weather was dry. Following Lewis's example from the earlier trip when the radar failed, Dave posted lookouts on deck, but unlike the first incident, tonight there was no fog or mist to contend with. Dave was very grateful about that.

The Customs and Excise appeared to have lost all interest in their activities once the bona-fides of the computer retraining course had been established. He knew the Excise had checked out their cover-story, the people running the courses had reported their interest back to him.

‘Dougie, go below and check our passengers are all in their cabins. If I'm not mistaken several of them will be hard at it by now; some of those girls were just asking for it. Anyway, we don't want any of them roaming up on deck to cool off while we're making the pickup. Lock the lounge door when you come back to make sure they stay below,’ Dave instructed before adding, ‘and bring me up a hot drink, please.’

‘Okay, skipper,’ Dougie replied. ‘I hope we'll be able to locate the pickup reasonable quickly. Hell, I've got so used to having Lewis at the helm it doesn't seem real for us to be doing it ourselves. He did it almost automatically. Have you remembered to allowed for the drift, wind and tides?’ Dougie questioned quietly, as he started to climb down from the bridge to the aft deck, uneasy about the current situation.

‘I've done the best I can, Dougie, but Lewis has far more experienced with this type of calculation than I have. We'll just have to be prepared for it to take somewhat longer than usual, but at least we should be able to see the strobe light flashing from quite a distance as it rides up over these blasted waves.’

Dougie went below and left Dave to his navigation and his thoughts. This was the first time since the 20th of July that Lewis hadn't been at the helm. Dave had come to take his partner's presence totally for granted and, although he had watched Lewis carefully during the early trips, as time went by, he tended to leave Lewis to get on with his job while he concentrated on keeping Dougie and Ian busy. Having ten passengers aboard during each trip was not making the job any easier but Dave knew they were essential to the smooth running of the operation. In fact, if he was perfectly truthful, he was as jealous as hell. All the passengers seemed to be aged between twenty-five and forty and almost every trip seemed to have an equal number of males and females. Dave wondered whether this was a coincidence or whether the Organisation hand-picked each set knowing which person was attracted to the other. The benefit seemed to be the passengers usually paired-up during the evening and spent the night together. While they were busy making love, sometimes rather noisily, Sea Wanderer’s crew was free to get on with the real work of the voyage.

Thinking about the passengers below, and what they were doing, caused Dave's mind to recall various events from the previous evening before he had returned to Sea Wanderer from his enjoyable assignation. He had stayed rather later at Maureen's than normal before making his way back to the boat, but then there was very little to do before they needed to cast-off, and anyway, Lewis would have done it all – he always did. Dave knew the crew would settle the passengers in their cabins if they arrived before he did. His girl friend had her sister, Julie, staying with her for a few days and the good-looking sister had joined Maureen in giving the sailor a really good time. So good in fact that Dave was looking forward to another threesome on Tuesday afternoon, but this time he would make sure that one of the girls was tied to the bed – not him again. Whilst he was happy with what they'd done to him, the ropes curtailed him giving them any enjoyment in return … except when they helped themselves. The sisters were incestuous and didn't seem to might that he was watching. Maybe by tying him to the bed, to watch but not interfere unless they choose, it heightened the pleasure of their sex.

Shannon could hardly wait to get back for more next week!

As Dave sauntered back towards the harbour he was feeling on top of the world as he approached Sea Wanderer's berth. He didn't have a care in the world – Maureen and Julie had seen to that – but all that was about to end.

He walked nonchalantly past the beautifully clean ambulance parked outside the Harbour Master's office, its blue lights still flashing, the rear doors wide open displaying the empty interior. Curiosity made him glance into the ambulance as he passed but didn't slow his pace. Along the pontoon Dave could see two paramedics bringing their wheeled stretcher towards him. One paramedic was holding a bag of clear fluid in the air with one hand, while pushing the trolley with the other, the plastic tubing snaking downwards and disappearing under the red blankets which were wrapped closely around the patient's body. The body was well covered and the face, which also partially covered, was facing away from Dave as he stepped to one side to allow the paramedics to pass.

Dave casually glanced at the outstretched form and then continued on his way to Sea Wanderer's berth, which this visit, was almost at the end of the run of pontoons. As he arrived at the gangplank, he turned and looked back, a strange uneasy feeling passing through him. Outside the Harbour Master's office, the stretcher was being loaded into the ambulance. Dave stood at the bottom of the gangplank leaning against the metal stanchion while he watched the rear doors close and the vehicle drive off towards the hospital, the blue lights flashing out their message of emergency.

Dougie and Ian had been getting the cabins ready for their nightly occupation and had just returned to the lounge when they were very relieved to see Dave had returned aboard. They explained what had happened and how they had decided to go to the Harbour Master's office to call for the ambulance when Lewis appeared to be losing consciousness. One of the paramedic had commented that they had only just got there in time to save the skipper's life and, after stabilising his condition, they would have to get Lewis to hospital immediately. The paramedics had been most helpful – one even offered to come back to the boat at the end of his shift to tell them how Lewis was progressing. Dougie had thanked him for his concern and accepted the kind offer.

Lewis first complained about the acute stomach pains an hour after they departed Penhallen yesterday evening, sometimes doubling himself up in agony as he held the wheel tightly – his face contorted with pain. He made out the bouts passed almost as quickly as they came – it was nothing serious.

‘A good crap should soon sort me out,’ he said, laughing the problem off.

After collecting the tow from the inflatable off Penvarrick Sands, Dave took the helm while Lewis went below to perform the bodily functions he had alluded to. Actually, Lewis did no such thing. He just sat on the loo reading a book for fifteen minutes before returning to the bridge and commenting there was no real improvement yet. As the journey progressed across the English Channel, he made out the pain was subsiding a little and said he would be fine again if he rested in his cabin while they were in port.

As Lewis's condition seemed to have improved, Dave decided he could go ashore after all and see Maureen. His double pleasure of the afternoon had led on into the early evening before he realised he must get back to the boat. If only he had noticed the time earlier he might have been able to make other arrangements for tonight's journey, but when he rang his controller from the harbour office pay phone he was curtly told to handle the trip himself.

Dave decided he must make this trip a singular success because it would further his ultimate objective of climbing higher within the Organisation.

Dougie reappeared from the lounge carrying a mug of coffee and climbed up to the bridge. ‘Everything's fine down below, except it's a bit like a high-class floating brothel, boss … er … Skipper. Here's your drink.’

‘Ta.’

As Sea Wanderer ploughed on through a medium swell, Dave concentrated on navigating to the pickup point and Ian, in the bows, kept a lookout for other vessels.

*  *  *  *

The black-painted lorry reversed close to the security fence unseen, having worked its way across the sandy heath where the army trained its personnel and acted out warfare scenarios with tanks and military hardware. Tonight the vast expanse of desolate sandy heath was peaceful; the army had no night exercises in progress. But then the men in the lorry already knew that. However, if you had been out on the heath walking alone in the darkness, there was an imaginable presence hiding in every rustling tree or under every swaying bush. A feeling that a sinister presence was watching you as you passed and that feeling was further enhanced by the ghostly clouds that filled the sky.

But at this time of the early morning nobody was out on the heath except a few handpicked men and the men they had come to arrest.

Once the lorry came to rest by the wire, a group of black-clad figures left the vehicle and went swiftly to work. The well-oiled plan went smoothly into action again, no man needing to confer with any other member of the team to complete his assignment correctly.

The eerie stillness of the night was broken only by the sharp snipping of the wire strands of the security fence, and the soft jingling noise the wire mesh made as it was rolled back to the next fence post in the row. The aluminium ramp was deployed from the rear of the lorry, the base of the ramp resting on the ground a couple of feet inside the army compound. Within minutes of their arrival the electric forklift was whirring its way down the ramp.

Three regular soldiers materialised out of the clinging darkness, from behind a low building on the right hand side of the compound, and came over to meet the leader of the raiding party. If anyone had been watching the proceedings, they would have noticed that one particular soldier seemed to dominate the others but who would be watching at this time of night.

A few whispered words and some hand gestures instructed the raiders to follow the soldiers to the place where the arms were stored. These soldiers wanted to get the raid over and done with so they could start enjoying their lucrative bonuses.

The next munitions raid had begun…

*  *  *  *

Out across the darkened heath, some fifty yards away from the stationary lorry, a couple of army surveillance officers watched the action at the edge of the depot compound through their night sights. They were hidden in the young silver birches that grew in small clumps between the rough tracks left by the warfaring tanks. One of the officers had something solid held in front of his mouth.

‘I've counted six hostiles, including the driver. They've completed cutting the perimeter fence and have just rolled the netting back. Four raiders are proceeding into the compound … with three of our soldiers who have just appeared from behind a building. The forklift truck is following them into the compound – Over.’ Surveillance “One” spoke quietly into the microphone of his hand-held transceiver; his voice being broadcast over a secure waveband to the police control van four miles away.

The police had been persuaded, or rather pressurised by Brigadier Dixon, that it was best to leave the army to keep an eye on the raid at its depot. In return, the army would help the civil police by taking photographs of the events has they occurred to provide visual evidence for any subsequent trial. One of their officers was detailed to give the police a running commentary as the raid progressed, and this was the job of Surveillance “One”. The police would take over when the vehicle arrived for its transformation in a lay-by, which the police had now identified, near Kingsclere – on the way to Newbury, Oxford and the North.

While the raid was taking place, Surveillance “One” continued to report the events he observed into his transceiver. He relayed an almost continuous commentary on what the raiders were doing but, after about five minutes, he started editing the events he was watching through his tripod-mounted night-vision binoculars, leaving large chunks of the action totally unreported. The brigadier had been crystal clear what Surveillance “One” was allowed to tell the police over the radio – and what to leave out. As far as the police were concerned the raid was proceeding to plan.

Meanwhile the lorry driver waited patiently by his vehicle ready to help the forklift driver position the load. Two black-clad figures slowly emerged from their cover amongst the heather just yards from where the lorry was parked. They worked their way round to the far side of the articulated vehicle, stealthily coming up behind the waiting driver. One of the two figures moved forward silently, raising an arm in the air as he moved before bringing it down with great force, in a swift chopping movement, on the back of the driver's neck. The driver's knees buckled from under him and he crashed to the ground at the SAS soldier's feet. The assailant quickly removed the inert body while the second SAS soldier replaced the driver.

Surveillance “One” omitted to report this occurrence over the transceiver, saying only that he was still awaiting the raiders' return to the vehicle. Out.

The unconscious driver was carried over to another clump of trees about fifty yards to the left of the vehicle where a second group of black-clad SAS soldiers were waiting to join the action. When the other soldiers had left the shelter of the trees, only two remained behind in the protection afforded by the foliage. They quickly bound and gagged the driver to prevent him taking any further part in the raid. The men had orders to remain hidden in the silver birches until the other soldiers returned – unless something went seriously wrong.

Drifting out from the darkness of the depot compound came the whirring sound of the returning forklift truck carrying its first load. Seconds later it was rolling up the heavy aluminium ramp into the body of the lorry, its forks laden with boxes of munitions. The similarly dressed SAS figure who had replaced the driver stood by the side of the ramp like a sentry on guard duty, the forklift operator entirely unaware of the substitution.

Two more SAS soldiers came out from their cover near the lorry and raced to the side of the vehicle's body, quickly and silently making their way to the rear. They paused for a brief moment before vaulting up on to the loading ramp behind the forklift and crouching down to check whether the operator had spotted them. The raider continued taking the load to the front of the cargo space and, as the forklift stopped, the first SAS soldier sprung at the driver like a coiled spring, knocking him sideways from the driving seat. The other soldier slipped up the other side of the forklift and rendered the driver unconscious before his body touched the decking: The forklift operator didn't know what had hit him it had all happened so fast.

The body was quickly carted-off to join the driver, while the other SAS soldier took over the operator's job and took the forklift back to be reloaded.

Meanwhile, four of his SAS colleagues were slowly working their way across the compound, keeping to the darkest areas, and moving silently round the various buildings, until they approached the warehouse in which the munitions were stored. At this juncture in the carefully rehearsed operation, the meticulous plan had to be suspended. It was now just a matter of grabbing each raider as the opportunity presented itself. The SAS had no way of influencing what the raiders, or their three helpful soldiers, would do.

The forklift rumbled back across the warehouse floor towards the next consignment of arms awaiting removal. Meanwhile, the four SAS soldiers slipped silently round the edge of the open door into the warehouse unobserved and took cover behind the piles of stores on the left-hand side of the long building. They had practised these moves many times during the last couple of days while the three treacherous army soldiers had been off-duty.

The raiders worked on in almost total silence, the renegade soldiers helping them move the crates off the stacks and onto pallets ready for the forklift to take away. The piles of arms had been strategically placed by the brigadier to allow his men to get as close as possible to the raiders without having to break their concealment.

The long rows of naked light-bulbs which hung from large circular green and white enamelled shades suspended from the roof, had been changed to lower wattages, and with only the row of lights directly above the required arms switched on, the inside of the warehouse was distinctly gloomy. But that was exactly what the SAS had planned. Mounted discreetly in the roof, two specialised video cameras were recording everything the raiders did. The brigadier wanted the world to see how he had captured the raiders in the act of removing the munitions.

The SAS operation was going well. Now it was just a matter of substituting each raider with members of their own team; a task that was swiftly accomplished as each opportunity presented itself. The changeovers were accomplished without the traitorous soldiers even noticing it happening. Each raider was taken out from behind with a swift chop to the neck; the noise of the forklift leaving, or entering, the building masking any sound it made. As each body buckled and fell towards the floor, it was caught and carried behind the piles of stores opposite where the raider had been working. Another SAS colleague stepped forward immediately to take the raider's place and continue the job he was doing.

After ten minutes, only the leader of the raiding party was left, and now it was his turn to meet the same fate. Two of the SAS replacement raiders walked slowly up towards the open doorway and stood beside it chatting quietly. The leader of the raiders looked up, furious with this deviation from their normally meticulous plan, and was about to order them back to work when the forklift returned to the building. It drove straight in the doorway still loaded with the wooden crates it had taken away some minutes earlier.

‘What the hell's going on? Get back to wor …’

The leader never finished what he was saying. He was chopped to the ground by another SAS replacement worker who had moved round behind the munitions stacks and approached him from the rear. The trio of soldiers were unsure what to do as the SAS soldiers advanced towards them rather menacingly.

‘Hold your arms out straight out in front if you traitors wish to live to see another day,’ the SAS group leader ordered sternly. ‘Place your hands side by side, come on – hurry it up.’

The sergeant quickly bound each pair of hands with a large plastic cable tie, taking care to pull them just tight enough to securely hold the hands together but not tight enough to cut off the blood supply completely.

‘George. Radio the depot duty officer to come for these renegades, and tell him to get the army detail in here to replace these crates and unload the lorry again,’ the SAS leader commanded, as he studied his watch. The operation had gone very smoothly and they were almost exactly on schedule. The brigadier would appreciate that.

A few minutes later the duty officer, together with five military policemen, arrived at the warehouse door in a large olive-green panel van. One Red Cap opened the rear doors while the others collected up the soldiers, and the four still-dazed raiders, and took them all into custody. They then drove off to collect the other two raiders from the soldiers on the heath.

All six raiders were to be held in close confinement by the military for detailed questioning, and when the brigadier had finished with them, they would be passed over to the civil police. Not only had Brigadier Dixon decided to deviate well and truly from the agreed police plan worked out in Truro with Sir John Naylor, he needed to keep the police in the dark for at least another eight hours for his own plan to succeed.

During the last police conference, when the overall plan was devised, the brigadier had agreed the ammunition would be substituted for blank rounds, but no such order was ever issued. Terrance Dixon considered it was far more feasible to capture the raiders during the incursion, and then to use the raiders' own transport to convey his own elite forces straight into the heart of Millburn's site at Felldale without causing any alarm. Sir John Naylor was going to be extremely angry when he found out. But by then, the operation should have been successfully concluded – and hopefully without any loss of life.

The army detail arrived at the warehouse to replace the stolen arms and the forklift was pressed back into action to unload the lorry. While all this was going on, the pressure washers were deployed. Another detail of army personnel washed down the lorry, removing every trace of black paint with high-pressure water-jet lances to reveal the smartly painted Safeway livery beneath. Because of the brigadier's change of plan the lorry would be using a different route back to Derbyshire, bypassing the police lying-in-wait at the lay-by near Kingsclere.

Dixon had calculated how long it would take the raiders to fully load the lorry and had added the clean-down time to that total to give him the actual time the lorry should leave the depot for the return journey. He didn't want the lorry to appear at Felldale too early. Or too late!

The brigadier walked into the dimly lit warehouse.

‘Well done, Daniel, a beautifully executed operation; you can be proud of your lads – pass on my congratulations to all of them, will you. The raiders still don't know what hit them,’ the brigadier said beaming from ear to ear, delighted by the way his plan had been executed. ‘I'll interview them all separately later this morning to see what information we can wring out of them before we hand them over to Naylor's boys.’

‘Right, sir, I'll tell the lads what you said. In fact, I think they really enjoyed themselves and I just hope we can carry out the second part of the exercise at Felldale with a similar ease,’ the SAS leader commented, looking forward to the next encounter. There was nothing like actual experience to prove their training techniques worked.

The brigadier started to give the leader his final orders.

‘We'll radio you en-route with the number of people on the Felldale site; you should hear well before you arrive there. I've been told that Millburn's employees are not allowed into the plant until the lorry has returned and been shut into the warehouse. That makes things easier for us. I don't think Sir John Naylor knows that my lads are surrounding the site instead of the Derbyshire force. They will get an accurate count of the people working there and contain anyone who tries to escape across the moorland.’

‘Good. Some are bound to try it – and I don't like shooting people in the back,’ Daniel said jokingly.

‘The police are setting up roadblocks all over the county just in case anybody escapes the net. They'll be wasting their time but it's better to be safe than sorry, eh,’ the brigadier said, with a smirk covering his face.

The Chief Constable of Derbyshire had been delighted to accept the help of the SAS and the military police in apprehending the criminals. Setting up a few roadblocks would save his County's budget a huge amount of money, compared to mounting a full containment exercise for the site itself. Additionally, he had agreed to delay their enquiry into the disappearance of a lorry driver, who had made a delivery to the site the previous Friday, and who had not been seen since. This delay would allow the drugs to be recovered from the latest shipments of hydraulic rams over the weekend unhindered, ready to be seized by police on Monday after the arrests were made. The criminals would be handed over to Derbyshire police once the raid was finished. But the main reason Derbyshire's police chief had let the brigadier's men take over, was that he considered the whole operation rather risky and fraught with potential dangers, and if it did go wrong he could place all the blame squarely on the brigadier's insistence to run the show.

The brigadier, on the other hand, was determined that nothing could or would go wrong, and he would get full credit for the successful end to the series of munitions raids. He hoped he might even get his picture on the front page of The Times on Tuesday morning and, in due course, perhaps another medal to fix on his tunic!

An SAS soldier called George came over to the brigadier and saluted.

‘I've checked out the lorry, sir. There's no communications' equipment fitted anywhere, so it looks like they just drive straight back to their base. At least, we'll have to hope that's what they normally do, sir.’

‘Thank you, George – is the vehicle ready to leave?’

‘Yes, sir, we're just putting the lads aboard now.’

‘Good. Carry on – and have a good trip. I'll see you later at Felldale,’ the brigadier commented, not wishing to miss out on the remaining action. He had several important things to do before he could leave, but had arranged for an army helicopter to be waiting on the parade ground close-by to whisk him up to the Peak District just before the lorry arrived.

A party of twenty-five SAS soldiers were concealed inside the lorry with just the driver up front in the cab. The brigadier wasn't expecting more than ten persons to be at the site when the lorry arrived. Twenty-five soldiers were overkill to deal with that small number, but Dixon wasn't going all that way to find out that circumstances at the site had suddenly changed and he was short on manpower because he had sent too few.

Brigadier Terrance Dixon walked out of the warehouse leaving the regular soldiers to replace the last crates of munitions onto their original stacks. He walked past the now defunct electric forklift standing deserted in the compound, outside the building. After a couple of minutes he reached the wire security fence where a group of Sappers were already repairing the damaged section. The engine of the large delivery lorry started up, filling the night air with clouds of diesel fumes, and after a few moments the lorry pulled away on its last journey to Derbyshire. The Sappers turned to watch it go, a little unsure as to what was really going on. Was it just another night-time exercise – or something more sinister? They could only guess.

The brigadier, his face still beaming with satisfaction, watched as the vehicle disappeared across the heath to be swallowed up by the clinging darkness – only the red tail lights visible as it crossed the open ground to reach the nearby road. Finally, even the red lights were gone.

He turned and walked back across the compound.

‘So far, so good,’ he muttered contentedly.

*  *  *  *

Dave Shannon's gloomy and sombre mood had vastly improved in the last few minutes; in fact, he was now feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. He had managed to locate the drifting canisters only fifteen minutes after the time he was supposed to pluck them from the water. But what was more miraculous, they were very close to the position where he had thought they might lie, even though that position was mainly guesswork. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to admit his astonishing good luck to his crew. At the same time he was content to give full credit to Lewis knowing his partner would have found them a lot quicker – but at least, with his limited skills, he had located their precious cargo and his promotion prospects hadn't taken a turn for the worst.

‘Okay, Dave, the line's secure – let's go,’ Dougie called quietly up to the bridge.

Dave moved the throttle levers gently forwards and the boat began to surge through the moderate swell. Lewis was not going to be too pleased when he found out that the crew had dispensed with the inflatable boat, but that wasn't their fault. As far as Dave was concerned he had done the best job he could in light of the current situation, and in the end, he might even be able to make up some of the lost time searching for the pick-up point by the time he got over to the English mainland. The towline was now securely fastened to a cleat on the stern of the boat and Dave continually reminded himself that he had to keep Sea Wanderer moving forwards until the towline was passed to the inflatable from the cove. However, some strange events had dictated Dave's change in the towing procedure.

When the crew had come to deploy the inflatable earlier that morning they had found all the inside air tanks had been slashed with a sharp knife. The cuts were almost two feet long rendering the tanks useless and, although the outer compartments were still inflated, there was no way the inflatable would support the weight of forty-five containers.

‘I still can't see how the inflatable got damaged like that,’ Dougie said, as he returned to the bridge, ‘not unless one of our passengers slashed it for a laugh.’

‘Some fucking laugh, I don't think! Whoever did this stupid deed has compromised their own safety, as well as all the other people on board.’ Dave said dryly. ‘I just hope they can all swim if they have to.’

The deed had been done on Commander Alton's instructions – even Lewis didn't know about it. A member of the SBS had boarded the craft shortly before it sailed and had hidden under the up-turned inflatable. After Sea Wanderer was well clear of the harbour and Dave was the only person left on deck, the inner tanks had been slashed. The sound of the escaping air did not reach Dave's ears on the bridge – it was lost in the noise of the waves striking against the hull and the sound of the two diesel engines pushing the craft steadily out to sea. Anyway, Dave had too many other things on his mind to start worrying about a saboteur attacking the boat. The SBS man left only the outer tanks inflated so that the inflatable still looked like it was serviceable. He put the razor-sharp knife through the bottom of the boat several times to make sure the craft was completely unseaworthy. The saboteur rolled off Sea Wanderer into the sea just before Dave Shannon remembered to turn the radar set on; otherwise Ian, as the designated lookout, might have spotted him leaving.

‘Well, there's nothing we can do about it at present, we'll just have to replace it before we sail again tonight,’ Dave continued, resigned to the situation.

‘Skipper … Eh, Skipper,’ Ian said excitedly, running up from the bow. ‘I can see some sort of light flashing in front of us.’

‘Where?’ Dave asked impatiently, staring straight ahead of the boat and seeing nothing.

‘Over there.’ Ian pointed with his extended arm. Dave could just see which way Ian was pointing through the darkness. ‘Slightly to port, boss.’

Dave and Dougie stared out into the blackness for some moments before spotting a light blinking some distance away. As they watched it, it seemed to be flashing a series of long and short flashes.

‘That's Morse Code!’ Dougie said. ‘Someone's in trouble.’

‘Hell, that's all we need! Can you read what it's saying, Dougie?’ Dave almost screamed, ignorant of the code's significance. ‘Get back to the bow, Ian, I'll deal with this.’

Dougie picked up the binoculars and focused them on the distant light.

‘Dave, write this down. I'll read the letters out.’

‘Okay.’

‘… E-L-P-W-E-A-R-E-S-I-N-K-I-N-G … Have you got that!’

‘Yes, it says Help we are sinking. What the hell are we going to do now?’ Dave cursed, wondering whether to steer to starboard and leave the other vessel to its own fate or alter course to intercept it. Then he remembered the towline. ‘Bugger them, Dougie! Let's get out of here. We can't get involved – we've got the tow to consider.’

‘We have to assist, Dave, you don't know how many people might drown if we don't. It's the rule of the sea. If we slow down gradually and keep the bow pointing towards the other vessel, we should be able to keep the towline out of sight,’ Dougie suggested, as he continued to look through the binoculars trying to see the vessel in distress.

‘I'm more worried about keeping the towline out of the screws …’ Dave retorted, before he was cut short by Dougie.

‘Hey … I think their boat's on fire. There's a lot of smoke shrouding the light now. Yes, it's on fire all right.’

‘Damn! Damn … Damn … Damn it,’ Dave cursed aloud. ‘Why does everything have to happen tonight when I'm in charge? Bugger Lewis and his fucking stomach.’

‘It's not his fault he's ill,’ Dougie said coming to Lewis's defence.

‘I suppose not. All right, go and tell Ian we're going to offer our help but to keep any passengers we take off away from Sea Wanderer's stern; take them straight into the lounge and keep the buggers there.’

Dougie worked his way forward, standing in the bow with Ian as Dave inched the craft towards the other boat. As they got nearer, dense smoke started drifting across the water towards Sea Wanderer masking out the appearance of the boat in distress.

‘They must have suffered a serious fire if the boat's in danger of sinking,’ Ian commented to Dougie. ‘I don't hear any screaming though?’

‘That's odd! Perhaps … there are no women on aboard.’

Dave could see the guiding light again through the billowing smoke and he judged they had about forty yards to close. He closed the throttle levers and allowed Sea Wanderer to drift forward under her own momentum, hoping the towline would stay out behind them. He glanced round to see the tow cutting a line through the water about fifteen metres behind the stern.

It was hard to judge exactly where the other boat was when it was hidden in clouds of smoke. Ian slung several fenders over the bow to protect Sea Wanderer from damage when they touched. The minutes slipped by as the distance between the two crafts narrowed down to nothing and Dave felt a slight bump as the two vessels made contact, the front of Sea Wanderer now being invisible to him due to the thick smoke rolling down   their deck.

‘Hurry up, men. Get those people on board as quickly as possible,’ Shannon shouted to his invisible crew in the bow.

‘Back off, Dave. Back off – quickly; it's a fucking trap. It's a naval patrol boat and they're about to board us,’ Ian screamed out at the top of his voice, as sounds of fighting broke out on the bow.

Dave knew he couldn't go into reverse without fouling the towline under the boat so he spun the helm to starboard and pushed the throttle levers fully forward. Fortunately for Dave, Sea Wanderer was at an oblique angle to the naval patrol boat's side and their bow skated slowly down the other boat's hull gathering speed all the time. As Sea Wanderer became free, the view cleared and Dave could see Ian and Dougie struggling with three sailors who had managed to board under the cover of the heavy smoke.

Thankfully it was only three. Ian and Dougie were quite able to look after themselves – even when it was three against two. Ian smashed his fist into the stomach of one of the sailors causing him to fall backwards until he came to rest against the wire railing, a further blow to the sailor's chin sent him reeling back over the rail and into the Channel with a loud splash. As Ian turned to help Dougie repel the remaining sailors, one of them got up off the deck and jumped onto Dougie's back while he was fighting the third uninvited boarder. Even though the sailor grabbed Dougie roughly around the neck, Dougie still managed to lunge at the other man, causing him the step back. Dougie spun his body around violently, flinging the sailor off his back with some considerable force and over the side. With Ian and Dougie both pitted against the remaining naval intruder, the advantage was rather unfair and within half a minute the last sailor was repelled from the speeding craft into the English Channel.

Sea Wanderer gathered speed quickly and rapidly moved away from the naval vessel, disappearing back into the darkness, as Ian and Dougie clambered back onto the bridge.

‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers, Dave – we must've been rumbled. That was no vessel in distress; they were out to board us. I heard one of them say the Excise man wanted to interrogate Sea Wanderer's captain as soon as he was collared. It was a fucking set-up … the Customs and Excise people were aboard that cutter. What the bloody hell are we going to do now?’ Ian asked, still panting heavily from the fight.

‘Run for it … what else can we do? Perhaps we'll be able to lose them in the dark. I'll make straight for the meeting point and let's hope the inflatable's still there! As soon as the line is transferred, we'll double back and head for France. Dougie, go and make sure all our passengers remain below.’ Dave replied calmly. Shannon was hoping Sea Wanderer had more power than the Navy's patrol boat and he could outrun it.

He would soon see…

*  *  *  *

Commander Alton was none to pleased. He was seething inside as he contemplated the bungling performance of his so-called crack naval crew. Only a few moments earlier he had been on the bridge of the patrol boat, waiting for the boarding party to seize control of Sea Wanderer, when he had sensed things were going dreadfully wrong. The smugglers had somehow smelt a rat despite the realistic smoke-cover enveloping the naval craft. Maybe it was the lack of orange-red flames leaping into the night air which had warned them? Instead of his crew seizing the smugglers' boat, as the smoke cleared and the bow of Sea Wanderer became visible, he could see the sleek craft sliding rapidly down their hull escaping his elaborate trap.

Andrew heard the frantic warning yelled by Sea Wanderer's crewmember in the bow as his party of twelve SBS assembled ready to leap from one boat to the other. The warning had lost them the advantage of surprise, at least, for the time being. He watched as the charter boat cleared their stern, the twin screws of her powerful engines thrashing the water into a raging firmament that left a creamy wake behind the fleeing vessel. As he watched the boat escape back into the surrounding darkness, he thought he could see a towline still trailing from the stern. The patrol boat lost valuable time before the captain could consider giving chase. First he had to manoeuvre to collect up the three SBS sailors from the water.

‘Get after them … we have to stop them, Captain … and this time the gloves are off – even if it means firing on them. If they get close to shore they may alert the person in the inflatable that something's wrong, who in turn, will alert those working in the caves. Then we'll have a real disaster on our hands,’ the Commander shouted in rather an acid tone.

The young, ginger-haired naval captain looked at Andrew curiously but decided not to try and explain what had gone wrong. The SBS should have been able to take the boat with one hand tied behind each of their backs, but obviously the smugglers suspected something was wrong from the start and had been prepared to abort at a moment's notice.

Andrew's clever plan had failed dismally.

‘We have two things in our favour which could still win the day for us providing Lewis has done his job properly, Commander. Firstly, they have no operational radio communications equipment working, and secondly, we can see them on our radar while they can't see us,’ the patrol boat's captain replied brusquely as a way of mitigating the fiasco that had just occurred.

‘That's assuming Lewis got the chance to put the equipment out of action before the ambulance arrived – we'll soon know if he did. How far's the coast?’ the Excise man asked with an air of urgency.

‘Seventeen miles – but we should catch up with them in about eight. You'd better hang on, Commander, we're in for a bumpy trip,’ the captain replied, relishing the chance to use the full potential of his vessel.

‘Bumpy trip – I don't care how bumpy it gets just as long as you catch the buggers!’

The bridge deck under their feet began to tremble and tilt, the fittings started to vibrate and rattle as the powerful engines increased their output to maximum. The bow of the craft rose out of the water as the vessel surged forwards in pursuit.

‘Let's hope they don't think of cutting the towline to give themselves more speed otherwise we shall lose most of our evidence that Sea Wanderer’s involved,’ the Commander commented worriedly, picturing a container bobbing in the water but attached to nothing. ‘Better make sure we've no lights showing otherwise they'll spot how close we're getting.’

The captain relayed the blackout message to one of the seaman on the bridge who promptly disappeared to make sure everybody carried out the order.

‘How do you propose to board Sea Wanderer now, Commander? The smugglers certainly aren't going to invite you onboard for tea?’ the captain pointed out, trying to lighten the situation slightly.

‘I'm really not sure how we're going to do it now. We've blown our real advantage – next time they'll be ready for us. Have you got a marksman aboard, someone who can actually hit a moving target at sea?’ Commander Alton enquired a little circumspectly.

‘Yes. At least two of the crew are classified as marksmen. Why, surely your SBS boys can hit a target?’

‘Nothing's certain, as we've just seen; anyway they'll be needed for the boarding party. As a last resort, we may have to incapacitate the smugglers if it's the only way to gain control of Sea Wanderer. Naturally, I would prefer it if we had someone who could put the smugglers out of action with a bullet in some non-critical part of their body while we take control. How far ahead are they now, Captain?’

The captain studied the screen for a moment. ‘Three miles – but we're closing fast. They haven't the power to out-run us. At this rate we should catch up with them in about twelve minutes.’

‘Ask your marksmen to come to the bridge please. Make sure each one is equipped with a personal radio,’ the Commander ordered politely, but firmly. The captain sent the officer of the watch below to find the men concerned.

Several minutes later two seamen, armed with automatic rifles fitted with telescopic night sights, arrived on the bridge and the Commander took them aside into the small chart room for a quick briefing.

‘I'm told by your captain that you are both good marksmen. Be that as it may, the time has come for you to prove it. When we get close enough to Sea Wanderer, I want you to incapacitate all three smugglers – but you're not to kill them, I need them alive. Just put them out of action. Have you got that?’

‘Yes, sir,’ came the combined reply.

‘Are you sure you can you do it?’ the Commander queried for the second time.

‘Yes, sir, but in this swell we'll have to be rather careful with our aim. We'll go for their legs to avoid hitting any vital organs, and it'll make it difficult for them to repel any boarders,’ the taller seaman replied positively.

‘Right – Good luck. Get your weapons loaded and take up stations in the bow. Make sure you have a clear field of fire. I'll use the loud hailer to order them to stop but there's little likelihood of them obeying the order. Open fire in your own time as soon as I give you the command.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The two sailors saluted and left the bridge.

The patrol boat continued at high speed through the dark waters of the English Channel with spray streaming out on each side of the hull as the bow cut through the waves. Thankfully, the gap between the two vessels was narrowing rapidly every minute. As the Excise man looked around the bridge he could see the lookouts scanning the forward horizon with their night glasses eager to make the first sighting of Sea Wanderer.

‘Got her, sir! She's dead ahead, about three hundred yards,’ the lookout on the starboard side of the bridge reported.

‘Helmsman, steer straight for her and bring us alongside. Commander Alton, are you ready with the loud hailer?’ the captain asked.

The Excise man reached up and unhooked the microphone from its stowage position above the bridge screen, stretching the curly black cable until he had the equipment in front of his mouth.

The patrol boat covered the remaining distance quickly and was now beginning to pull alongside Sea Wanderer, about fifteen metres off her starboard beam, before reducing engine revolutions to match her speed. As the naval vessel's searchlight cut out across the water illuminating the charter boat, Commander Alton could make out the dark shapes of the three smugglers; one up on the bridge, the others on the aft deck watching the advancing patrol boat.

‘Heave-to, Sea Wanderer, and allow a boarding party to come across.’ The loud speaker boomed the Commander's voice out clearly across the water. The smugglers took no notice and continued on without check.

‘For the last time, Sea Wanderer, heave-to immediately or we shall open fire. This is your last warning. Heave-to or be fired on.’

It was obvious the smugglers had heard the warnings because the two figures on the aft deck dived to the boards for protection. Commander Alton picked up his radio and ordered the marksmen to take out the person at the helm first. He watched as the sailors took careful aim and almost simultaneously the single shots rang out across the deck.

The smuggler at the helm sagged down a little as one bullet shattered his left knee cap, but he still gripped the wheel for support until it finally slipped through his fingers and the smuggler crumpled to the bridge floor in agony – Dave's tirade of obscenities unheard on the naval cutter. Another figure dashed from the aft deck to the bridge, spinning the helm hard to starboard in an attempt to shake off their pursuers.

The loud hailer boomed out again.

‘Heave-to or we will open fire again.’

But the smugglers continued weaving a crazy random course through the open sea, each alteration matched by the naval cutter. The Commander spoke softly into the radio again and another volley of shots rang out a few moments later. The man at the helm continued to steer the boat apparently unharmed, the shots had gone wide of their marks as the patrol boat dropped into a deep trough.

However, one of the bullets had hit Sea Wanderer and had passed straight through the transom into the engine room where it had pierced a gas cylinder, one of three stored there strapped against the bulkhead. The almost full gas cylinder exploded with the force of a small bomb, blowing out part of the bulkhead directly into the lounge and vigorously setting fire to everything around it. As the temperature in the engine room soared the other gas cylinders exploded and Sea Wanderer's aft deck was blown high into the night air, enveloped in a large ball of smoke and flame. The replacement helmsman was blown clean off the shattered bridge by the force of the explosion, his body cart-wheeling through space and landing some twenty metres away with a splash that wouldn't have impressed the Olympic diving judges. Sea Wanderer gradually began to lose way because her engines had been put out of commission by the force of the blast.

The patrol boat circled round and came up to Sea Wanderer, bow to bow. Ten sailors leapt over the rails and boarded the smuggler's vessel. The stern of the boat was blazing furiously, the ruptured diesel tanks adding fuel to the fire. Two members of the boarding party moved swiftly to the bridge and managed to rescue the smuggler who had been shot in the leg, and who still lay injured on the floor. The heat of the blaze coming from the stern almost drove them back in their rescue attempt. The shot smuggler was carried to the bow and passed over to the sailors on the patrol boat.

A rescue party in a dingy lowered from the patrol boat's davits pulled the inert form of the smuggler blown off the bridge from the sea. The smuggler was unconscious and barely alive and taken straight to the naval cutter. A brief search was instigated for the third smuggler, last seen crouching by the side rail on the aft deck before the explosion had occurred, but no trace of him was ever found. The searchers were forced back by the ferocity of the fire that was now consuming the lounge and most of the bridge. Soon Sea Wanderer would start to sink and be lost forever.

As the search party returned to the bow to re-board their own vessel, a front hatch was forced open from beneath. The passengers, who had been asleep until the explosion happened, started scrambling out in an attempt to escape from the conflagration spreading through the cabins below deck. Many of the rescued travellers were in deep shock and a few were dressed in their night attire; the rest having grabbed a blanket or sheet to cover their nakedness had lost it as they struggled through the narrow hatchway. Most were too frightened to care; the embarrassment would come later after they had recovered. Blankets were quickly wrapped around their shoulders as they were hurriedly guided aboard the other boat.

The naval cutter pulled back from the blazing hulk and kept station for a quarter of an hour until Sea Wanderer finally disappeared below the waves, leaving only flotsam floating on the surface of the ocean to mark its sudden demise. Commander Alton watched sadly as the end of Sea Wanderer came; she had been a beautiful craft. He suddenly remembered the cargo it had been towing.

‘Christ, the cargo! What's happened to the drugs?’

‘They may have cut it adrift while we were pursuing them?’ the captain commented dryly.

‘No. It's far too valuable for them to do that; anyway I saw the towline as we came alongside them. It must be out there somewhere unless the boat has taken it to the sea-bed. Get someone to check the smuggler's pockets. Lewis said they had a transmitter to locate the leading container.’

Five minutes later a sailor arrived in the captain's cabin doorway holding a small black box in his hand.

‘I think this is what you're looking for, Commander,’ the sailor said, passing the transmitter to Commander Alton.

‘Thank you, sailor.’

The captain and Commander Alton returned to the bridge and the Excise man pressed the top button, just as Lewis had told him Dave Shannon did each time they wanted to locate the pickup in the Channel.

Bobbing among the flotsam a bright white light blinked, its presence asking to be rescued. The vessel manoeuvred towards the light until a sailor holding a long pole with a boat hook at the end brought the container safely to the side of the hull. A new cable was attached to enable the catch to be winched aboard. In all forty-six containers were placed on deck and lashed down to prevent their loss overboard again.

‘Bring the prisoners to the wardroom,’ the captain ordered, as he left the bridge with Commander Alton to interview the captive smugglers.

‘What are we going to do about the cove's inflatable boat? When the rendezvous is missed it will return to the cave and raise the alarm,’ Commander Alton said disconsolately.

‘We know approximately where the smuggler's rendezvous will take place. I suggest we proceed a little farther south and come back on the shoreward side of the inflatable and cut off any retreat to the cove,’ Captain Haynes suggested.

‘You'd better hurry then, otherwise the inflatable may return to the cove before we can get there.’

‘At the briefing you said the rendezvous is seldom before four o'clock so we've enough time to make the trip.’

The captain picked up the intercom and gave his orders to the helm. Commander Alton felt the bow of the vessel rise as the engines' output mounted, pushing the vessel through the water at high speed again. Captain Haynes left the Commander in his cabin while he went to the wardroom to view the state of the prisoners. However, they were not considered to be in any fit state to be interrogated. The boat's medical officer was still doing what he could for the two remaining smugglers to relieve any suffering, and he requested that all interviews were left until later in the day.

Some time later, the intercom buzzed in the captain's cabin and he was informed they had arrived off Penvarrick Sands and the inflatable had been spotted. Hurriedly, he and the Commander made their way to the bridge. It was four twenty-two and there was just a hint of light showing on the eastern horizon but not enough to illuminate the occupant of the inflatable.

‘Turn the searchlight on the boat and let's see what we've got,’ the captain ordered sharply.

The powerful beam cut across the water and illuminated one very surprised person sitting in the dingy waiting for the rendezvous with Sea Wanderer. The occupant moved to the outboard motor and was about to pull the starting cord when the loud hailer boomed out across the water.

‘You will be shot if you start the engine. Put your hands in the air and come aboard when we come alongside.’ The patrol boat gently nudged against the inflatable and the sailors helped pull the smuggler aboard.

‘At least, one of them has some sense to know when he's beaten,’ the Commander commented dryly. The captain ordered the smuggler to be taken below and placed under armed guard in the wardroom until he had time to go below and see what information he could extract from him.

Andrew Alton watched from the bridge as the last part of the plan was put into motion. A group of six SBS personnel, all heavily armed with automatic weapons, boarded the inflatable dingy and as soon as one of the men had started the outboard motor, the little boat headed away up the coast towards the sandy beach just over a mile and a half away. Andrew looked at Captain Ivor Haynes and shook his head sadly. The majority of his carefully conceived plan had been a total disaster. You can't win them all, he thought to himself, as he gazed after the receding inflatable, but this was one case where he would have liked everything to have gone to plan.

‘What an utter balls up,’ he said disappointedly. ‘What a total catastrophe; a complete cock-up!’

‘Oh, it isn't that bad, Andrew. We've caught all the smugglers, bar one – and we've managed to rescue their passengers,’ the captain replied, pointing out the good aspects of the operation.

‘But we lost Lewis's boat. The poor chap comes over to our side and helps us apprehend the smugglers and we reward him by sinking his boat – who's going to pay for that then?’

‘His insurance company should since it was taken by Dave Shannon without Lewis's consent. Don't forget Lewis was still on Guernsey at the time the boat was stolen, and he was working in conjunction with the authorities to apprehend these criminals. He could come out of this all right – with our help, of course.’ The captain smiled knowingly at Andrew.

‘I suppose we could give him our support, couldn't we! It's the least we can do in the circumstances.’

‘That's settled then! Now, let's make for Falmouth and hand these smugglers over to the police.’

‘Pass the order, Captain,’ Andrew said quietly, ‘I'm going below to interview Dave Shannon – well, I think he must be one of the two smugglers saved from Sea Wanderer. Yes, of course, he must – we got the transmitter from him a little earlier.’

Dave Shannon was still suffering from delayed shock and Andrew realised that his questioning would have to be kept short. To his total surprise Dave answered his questions without the slightest prevarication. Once the short interview was completed, the Commander used the captain's cabin to write his report.

*  *  *  *

The bogus Safeway lorry made good time on its trip to Felldale. Since leaving the army depot in Hampshire the lorry headed straight for the M3 and up to the M25 before travelling north on the M1. The early morning traffic round the M25 was very sparse, mainly commercial travelling through the night to avoid the daytime hold-ups that plague London's orbital car park; the M1 was much the same. As the lorry approached the Sheffield junction, it left the motorway and headed for the A625 to Chapel-en-le-Frith.

After several miles the lorry pulled into a quiet lay-by set back off the road that had been identified some days earlier when the team were scouting for the best route back to Felldale. The driver checked it was safe to open the back of the body and the soldiers tumbled out to exercise their weary limbs before the final assault. A last check was made on their equipment and the operational plan was run through one last time while the soldiers enjoyed a cup of hot coffee and some sandwiches.

The leader of the group addressed his men.

‘We all did an excellent job back at the depot and I'd like to accomplish similar results at Felldale. Avoid using your weapons if at all possible – it'll only lead to a blood-bath and we'll probably land up killing all the criminals instead of letting them stand trial. You must wait in the lorry until you hear my signal to start the operation. Once you have the signal, you'll move to your specific targets and await the final command for the assault to commence. With any luck, we'll lay them out before they know what hit them. Good luck, lads.’

‘Good luck, sir,’ the soldiers murmured in reply.

After a quarter of an hour's break the SAS soldiers climbed back inside the empty trailer body and made themselves as comfortable as possible. The driver, who was now wearing the Safeway-issued clothing he had found in the cab before starting the journey, closed and fastened the rear shutter and fixed the tail-lift. He walked back to the cab and commenced the last stage of the journey.

During the long journey from Hampshire the soldiers had been busy doing some modifications to the floor inside the trailer's body. The aluminium loading ramp had been left behind at the army depot, together with the forklift. A large hole had been cut through the centre of the false floor. Directly below this first hole another hole had been partial cut in the body's real floor which, when removed, would allow the occupants to drop on the ground a little ahead of the rear axles. As the lorry neared Felldale, the final cuts were made and the centre of the hole was lifted out and passed to the front of the body for storage as the road flashed past beneath.

The SAS leader sat on the floor with his back leaning against the side of the body as the lorry bumped along the Felldale road. He was looking at the small radio he held in his hand, waiting for it to crackle into life. It did moments later. A tinny-sounding voice emanated from the tiny speaker, the transmission coming over a secure wavelength.

‘Team Leader, you're just approaching the site entrance now and our surveillance people have established the whereabouts of nine conspirators within the target area. Whether any more will come after your arrival we'll have to wait and see, but somehow I doubt it. Over,’ the brigadier reported as he had promised before the lorry left the army depot, although the team leader had expected the report much earlier in the journey.

‘Message received and understood – Over and out.’ The leader stood up and put the radio back into his pocket.

‘You all heard. We've arrived so complete silence from now on. Okay?’

The soldiers raised their thumbs in acknowledgement as the lorry halted at the entrance to Millburn's roadway, the driver having to open and close the gates before proceeding to drive up to the site. Now came the only dodgy part of Brigadier Dixon's plan. Would the person in the site office accept the new driver without raising the alarm?

They would soon know.

The lorry made slow, laborious progress up to the site in the fold of the hills, just as it would if it had been heavily laden with munitions. The overhanging branches occasionally brushed against the roof of the body and when the branches stopped touching the vehicle, the soldiers knew they were on the final approach to the site compound. After a couple more minutes they could feel the lorry levelling out as it came off the gradient and into the large concrete yard, finally stopping outside the site office with a hiss of air brakes. Hopefully, everything would appear normal to the men based at Millburn's plant. Through the sides of the body voices could be clearly heard. The soldiers were ready for the word of command to come in their ear-pieces, signalling the assault to start. That command might come in the next few, all-important seconds.

‘You're not our usual driver?’ the first voice said accusingly, sounding a little alarmed.

‘No, he got injured at the depot during the raid. The bloody forklift ran over his foot. Damn stupid accident – should never have happened. They told me to bring the load instead. Haven't they contacted you - that's bloody typical, that is,’ the driver explained convincingly, leaning out of his window and reciting the script he had learned by heart.

‘Not a bleeding word, mate. Poor old Phil, I bet he was hopping mad,’ the first voice said, laughing at his own joke.

‘Hopping mad! He was bloody livid. Christ, can that man swear when he wants to.’

‘Phil's a great one for swearing. He uses more F's and C's than any man I know. Do you know where to go?’ the voice asked, clearly accepting the change of driver.

‘No, not really, Phil just said the warehouse at the top.’

‘That's right. Drive straight up to the end of the yard and you'll see a warehouse with the doors wide open. There's room to turn your rig in the yard there and then back it right inside the building; we like to keep it ready to leave at any moment. Phil did tell you to fill the tanks before you arrived – didn't he?’

‘Oh, yes, the tanks are full,’ the driver replied hoping the man wouldn't check the accuracy of his answer.

‘Good. When you've done that, close the doors and come back down here to the office. I'll organise some labour to start the unloading but you can have a rest and some food – I'll show you where when you come back down.’

‘Okay mate, I’ll get moving,’ the lorry driver replied happily with a big yawn.

The driver restarted the engine and the lorry brakes were released with another great hiss of air. The driver watched the man with whom he'd been talking return to the site office and, through the office window, observed him pick up the telephone.

Dozens of wide-wake eyes were watching the action from the surrounding hilltops as the lorry reversed into the top warehouse. The driver came out and closed the sliding doors. If all went to plan, the men on the hills would not be needed – but only time would tell. For the time being, luck was on the side of the soldiers. They had considered several different scenarios to cover what might happen when they reached the site, but they hadn't thought they would be left on their own, parked in the closed warehouse, as soon as they arrived. They had expected the vehicle's rear doors to be opened and for the conspirators to find the truck was actually empty. A pile of empty pallets was strapped in the centre of the body near the back but these were only there to block the sight line to the hole in the floor while the SAS escaped. But now even these weren't needed.

On the leader's command, the soldiers dropped through the holes in the floors onto the smooth warehouse concrete and started searching the building for another way out. They soon found one. There was a small door set in the far end wall of the building but on inspection they found it to be locked.

‘Jim. Deal with the lock, please,’ the leader requested quietly.

The soldier called Jim moved across to the door and studied the lock before rummaging in the knapsack he had been carrying and coming out with a bundle of skeleton keys. In just a few seconds, the lock was released.

Cautiously, the leader opened the door and peered outside. Satisfied, he closed it again. ‘It's ideal. The perimeter fence is a couple of metres behind the building. We'll be able to move to left and right around the edge of the site using the buildings for cover. Get into your designated groups and make your way to your specific target areas. Use the site plans you've been given to verify your exact locations. I don't want any cock-ups. Now go!’

He opened the door again and, at random intervals, small groups of SAS soldiers left the partial safety of the warehouse and disappeared in each direction along the back of the adjacent buildings.

‘Relock the door, Jim,’ the leader said, as they stood outside the back of the building.

Jim did as he was ordered while the leader picked up a two metre length of rusting steel girder that was lying on the ground close to the fence. As Jim stepped back from relocking the door, the leader propped the girder against the outside of the door.

‘That should keep the buggers in!’

Jim and the leader moved along the back of the building and round past several other buildings until they came to a central position at the side of the site. Once there, they made their way up between the sides of two buildings, bringing them out where the finished excavators were lined-up in the yard.

On the far side of the huge concrete yard, where the site office was situated, there were several smaller buildings. The green painted door to the left-hand building opened and a group of labourers came out into the yard chatting noisily and started walking towards the warehouse at the end of the site.

‘There are only eight of them,’ the leader whispered to Jim.

‘The other one's still in the office talking on the phone. He may be calling up more labour now the consignment has arrived.’

‘Maybe?’ The leader continued to watch the figure in the distant office. 'Doesn't matter if that's what he's doing, they won't get into the site.’ At that moment the person put the receiver down and, seeing the other workers out in the yard, came out to join them.

‘That accounts for the nine we were told about when we reached the site entrance. However, we'd better watch out for others, they could be anywhere in these buildings,’ the leader said cautiously.

‘I don't believe it,’ Jim said in utter amazement. ‘They're all going into the warehouse to unload the lorry. It's totally incredible – lucky for us though; they're playing straight into our hands!’

‘It would appear that way. It's fairly obvious they aren't expecting us to call today so we've maintained the element of surprise.’

Little did the leader know but Commander Alton had said the very same thing before the aborted boarding of Sea Wanderer. The leader pulled the radio out of his pocket and spoke quietly into it.

‘Did anyone notice whether any of those workers were armed? Over.’

‘Three Group: The bloke who came out of the site office has something quite bulky in his right-hand trouser pocket. It might be a gun – can't be sure. Over.’

‘Okay. All groups take notice and proceed with caution. Over and out.’

The leader replaced the radio in his pocket and looked at his watch. ‘It's strange how no Millburn management or workers are on site yet. It's almost eight-thirty and only the conspirators are here. They won't get in now the roadblocks are in place,’ he commented idly.

‘I expect the Organisation has total control over Millburn's working patterns, as well as everything else. Shall we observe for a little longer before moving in?’ Jim asked.

‘No, we'll move now before they open the lorry.’

The SAS leader took the radio out again and switched channels. ‘Andy, we're going in. Get out of the canteen and take up your position.’

‘Yes sir.’ The tinny reply came from the soldier who had driven the lorry up from Hampshire.

With the radio returned to the original channel the command was given for three groups of soldiers to close in around the warehouse. A fourth group was despatched to cover the warehouse's rear door even though they knew it was locked and held closed by the steel girder. On the hilltops overlooking the yard, the observers watched as the soldiers took up fresh positions near the warehouse. One small group continued working its way towards the building where the lorry was parked. Farther away from the warehouse building, other soldiers took up secondary positions between the remaining buildings, and behind machinery parked in the yard.

Dodging behind whatever cover he could find, Andy exited the canteen building and crossed the side of the concrete yard to enter the site office, closing the door behind him. He knew exactly what he was looking for. Bert had left the keys just where the soldier had been told they would be. Andy snatched them up and moved back out of the building, running over to a freshly painted orange excavator standing at the head of a line of completed machines. He climbed up into the cab of the giant machine and surveyed the myriad of controls while inserting the key into the ignition switch.

The assault started as the first group of soldiers slipped into the warehouse and moved silently down the side of the bogus Safeway lorry, between it and the warehouse wall. A second group entered the building and waited beside the tractor unit, just inside the doors.

The band of conspirators were about to open up the trailer's rear shutter and, as they did so, they looked into the gloomy void of the body with total incredulity. It was completely empty except for a pile of pallets. Before they had time to recover from the shock, three SAS soldiers sprung from the side of the lorry and grabbed the nearest three conspirators, swiftly despatching them unconscious to the floor. The second group of soldiers rushed down the other side of the vehicle and collared three more conspirators. The remaining three labourers had time to recover slightly and, realising what was happening, they ran for the door at the far end of the warehouse. When they got there they found it to be locked and turned to face their aggressors.

The sight of six heavily-armed soldiers blocking their escape, as they stood menacingly between the conspirators and the exit to the yard, their automatic weapons aiming straight at the cornered labourers, proved to be too much and they gave themselves up without a fight.

Behind them, at the other end of the building, one of the bodies on the floor watched as the soldiers chased after his three colleagues. Slowly he slithered his body along the floor and out of sight behind the vehicle, where he stood up and ran forward to the cab drawing a gun from his pocket as he went. Opening the cab door, Bruce could see the keys were still hanging in the ignition and he climbed up into the driver's seat and started the still warm engine. He had never driven a lorry in his life before but he was certainly going to try now.

The soldiers were caught off guard as the empty lorry slipped into gear and accelerated rapidly out of the warehouse, gathering speed as it started across the concrete yard, straight into the blinding glare of the morning sun. The soldiers raised their rifles but the trailer body was protecting the cab.

A soldier quickly spoke into his radio.

‘Andy? One of the targets is escaping in the lorry – deal with it! Over.’

‘I see him. Out.’

The reply over the radio had come from the cab of the orange excavator. A plume of black smoke shot up from the vertical exhaust stack of the monster machine, the force of the exiting fumes holding the counterbalanced flap at the top of the pipe wide open. The lorry driver didn't notice the column of diesel fumes rising steadily into the air because he was partly blinded by the glare of the sun, and partly because he was watching in the cab's external mirrors for any signs of a chase. Bruce continued accelerating down the yard towards freedom.

The soldier smoothly operated the control levers in the excavator's cab to lift the dozer blade a metre off the ground and then moved the machine forward into the path of the accelerating lorry. Andy spun the digger round on its metal tracks to face the rampaging vehicle head on. The excavator stood stationary like a lone giant in the path of the rushing juggernaut.

It was too late to stop the lorry now and the lorry driver knew it. Bruce fired his gun wildly out of the driver's window as he glimpsed the soldier leaping from the excavator's cab a split second before the articulated rig crashed into the partly raised dozer blade.

The front of the lorry collapsed inwards as if it was made from aluminium foil. The huge glass windscreen shattered, spraying broken glass fragments everywhere and the driver's body was squashed to a bloody pulp that squirted large quantities of blood and gore all over the mangled remains of the cab. The force of the vehicle's rapid deceleration caused the articulated trailer to break away from the mounting on the tractor unit, and it ploughed its way through the back of the cab while the latent forces were being dissipated.

The horrendous noise of tearing metal seemed to hang in the air for several minutes after the tractor unit had come to rest. The separated trailer rocketed high into the air before crashing down and hitting the corner of one of the buildings near the site office. The large fuel-oil storage tank standing next to the building was knocked off its stand fracturing the sheet steel sides, allowing the contents to flow out across the yard.

The soldier who had driven the excavator looked at the carnage lying in the yard and noticed the fuel-oil spilling across the concrete apron from the ruptured tank. The fuel tanks on the lorry's tractor unit were also losing their contents too. Andy ran forward to the excavator and reversed it away from the remains of the lorry, tearing the metal apart as he did so. As the two vehicles parted company, the lorry's wiring shorted out and orange flames started to lick out across the lake of spilt fuel. The flames quickly grew in ferocity until the whole vehicle was engulfed in thick black smoke punctuated with bright orange tongues. A few moments later the flames had spread to the wooden canteen building and the whole of that side of the site was under threat of total incineration.

The soldier continued to reverse away from the conflagration, the excavator's cab protecting him from the intense heat. Millburn might not be too happy though – they would have to repaint most of the front half of the excavator.

*  *  *  *

By half past four daylight was returning to Penvarrick Sands as the inflatable craft gradually negotiated the difficult cove entrance, its outboard motor stowed so that the sound wouldn't be heard by anyone waiting on the beach. The six SBS men were forced to use their hands to propel the unwieldy craft through the water having found there were no oars or paddles stowed onboard.

Once through into the relative shelter of the horseshoe-shaped bay where paddling was much easier, four men slipped over the sides and a pair swam to opposite ends of the beach where they would lie in wait for any escape attempts from the caves.

The remaining two men paddled the craft to a point just in front of the waterfall where they pulled the inflatable up on the sand, clear of the water. The steel hawser wire was lying on the beach ready for the winch to pull the boat up across the sand, through the lake and the curtain of falling water, into the cave. It seemed strange that there was no-one about to come and help unload the consignment which they should have brought. The two men moved to the cave's entrance and peered in. The cave was deserted but the lights were burning.

‘Someone's bound to come down here in a minute, we can't have very long. Let's deal with the inflatable and join our mates,’ one of the SBS said quietly to the other.

In the middle of the strand of silver sand, just twenty metres from the base of the waterfall, the SBS men attacked the inflatable with their sharp knives, slashing through the material that enveloped each air tank until the boat lay on the sand useless and discarded, the outboard motor still attached to the nautical skeleton but incapable of taking the craft anywhere.

With the deed completed, the two men shook hands and headed in opposite directions to join their colleagues at the far ends of the beach to await developments…

*  *  *  *

A soft knock on the bedroom door brought a fully clothed Sebastian from his bed to open the door. Tonight, for a change, Thomas entered the room instead of locking the door and creeping away.

‘Good morning, Sebastian. Ready to start work?’

‘Oh yes, as ready as I'll ever be,’ Sebastian replied a little apprehensively. ‘Have you heard how any of the other operations are going? They should have captured Sea Wanderer by now – and dealt with the helicopter.’

‘Nobody saying anything to me. Maybe you'll find out when you get over to the cottage,’ Thomas answered.

‘Does Harry ever check up on you, Thomas, to make sure you have locked everybody in,’ Sebastian asked.

‘It has happened, but not for quite a long time. Why do you ask?’

‘I just wondered,’ Sebastian said vaguely, not wanting to be caught out by the opposition on such a vital night. ‘It might be a good idea to lock the door when we leave and take the key with us.’

‘That's a good idea, Sebastian, even though the helicopter's not due tonight. If you're ready, shall we go?’

‘Yes. Let's get this show on the road.’

They moved out into the deeply carpeted corridor and Thomas locked the door and handed Sebastian the key.

‘Mind you don't lose it.’

Sebastian nodded. ‘Now you go and find Paula. She should be waiting for you in the office in the west wing with several copies of the finished drawing of your plan of the tunnel system. Bring the copies down to the cellar in about half an hour's time but make sure Paula stays upstairs; I don't want her getting involved while Henry's out of the country. Meanwhile, I'll go and unlock the estate gate and come back with the special police squad,’ Sebastian said.

Sebastian started off down the staff staircase while Thomas walked towards the front landing dragging his foot slightly as he went.

*  *  *  *

As far as life in the smuggling Organisation was concerned, tonight was just the same as any other night when the villagers were employed to weigh out and pack the illegal substance, although some of them were also used to pack the containers ready for Sea Wanderer to take out to sea. Tonight, however, there were no munitions to pack, the barn and the caves were completely empty. The delivery received the previous Friday morning from Felldale was already out on the high seas somewhere between Cornwall and South America. Harry was extremely pleased with the way work on loading the containers had gone, and of because it, he could use all his workers on weighing out and packing the drugs tonight.

For several weeks Harry had been trying to pack more drugs than the delivery schedules required, and he was finally getting ahead of the actual orders required for immediate delivery. He was desperately trying to build up a sizeable buffer stock on which he could call when demand exceeded supply, or there were unforeseen problems with workers being ill.

The long trestle table in the main cavern was in full production; a second set of electronic scales had been brought in together with another printer. All along the sides of the table people were measuring out the dope and filling the small plastic envelopes before placing them in trays for others to collect and take to the scales. As soon as the large stainless steel trays became low on white powder, other workers would come along and empty the large kilo packets of heroin into the tray to top them up. As the long table was in full use, the cylindrical plastic containers packed with the large packets of heroin were being emptied out on to the floor and the packets stacked on pallets close to where they would be needed.

The work was not hard … but it was totally monotonous. Night after night in four-hour shifts, these same workers weighed out the addictive powder under Harry, Frank or Colin's watchful gaze, correcting the weight on the scales and placing the printed labels on the plastic envelopes. After the first hour, the work became totally automatic.

*  *  *  *

During the late afternoon and early evening of the previous day, the Penvarrick estate had been surrounded by a substantial number of police who were ready to scale the estate walls if the necessity arose. The officers hid themselves behind bushes and under trees where these were available; otherwise they crouched down behind stone walls in the fields on the far side of the lane running past the estate, and waited.

Sebastian's first task was to unlock the small gate by Lucy's cottage, Lucy claiming she had mislaid her key, to admit the special team of police officers to the grounds. This was the police team that Sebastian was scheduled to stay with during the whole operation, when he would show the officers the way into the caves from below the manor. Sir John had banned Lucy from taking any part in the arrests, much to her disgust.

As the workers were continuing their endless task in the caves, out in the grounds of the estate Sebastian was approaching the small gate in the perimeter wall. He reached into the box to remove a key to open the gate but neither of the two spare keys were there.

‘Something odd's going on,’ Sebastian whispered to himself.

The ex. detective removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the gate and strolled across to the cottage. The key he used was the one Lucy should have had. For some strange reason, Lucy had suggested that he it just in case something like this happened. She didn't trust Sir John to keep his word. As Sebastian approached the cottage's back door, the kitchen light shone out through the window casting its yellowish illumination across the rear lawn. Sebastian tapped on the door and Lucy opened it.

Inside the kitchen, sitting at the table, were four senior police officers drinking cups of tea. The one at the far end looked at his watch as Sebastian entered.

‘Excellent – spot on time.’

‘I try to oblige. Where's the rest of your squad?’ Sebastian enquired, expressing some concern.

‘Hidden in the trees just down the lane. If we're ready to go, I'll let them know,’ the police officer said as he picked up his radio from the table and passed the order to his men. Then he drained his cup.

‘Thank you, Lucy, that was most refreshing,’ the policeman said politely.

‘You're welcome.’

‘It's just possible the smugglers may suspect something. There were no gate keys in the metal box, which, in itself is something strange,’ Sebastian told the senior policeman with some concern.

‘I was told there were normally two kept there!’

‘There usually are.’

‘In that case, we'd better be on our guard,’ the policeman advised and also warned his men over the radio.

As the officers left the room Lucy was smiling. She had removed the keys knowing Sebastian had hers. That way, if any of the workers managed to escape into the grounds, they wouldn't be able to use the gate and break into her cottage to seek refuge from the police.

When Sebastian returned to the lane, a squad of around thirty armed policemen were already standing by the gate.

‘Right, Sebastian, lead on. Everybody's to remain silent from now on,’ the senior policeman ordered.

As Sebastian set off back across the parkland, he suddenly realised he was not alone. Lucy was walking alongside him, and although he couldn't see it, a broad smile was covering her face. She slipped her warm hand into Sebastian's and continued walking. At the last moment Sir John Naylor had decreed that Lucy was to stay at home, her work had already been completed. But Lucy was having none of it.

Monday night was one of the darkest nights they had experienced for a long time, mainly due to the thick layers of cloud above their heads. If there was a moon, it wasn't shining down on the Penvarrick Manor estate tonight. Thank goodness!

Sebastian looked round to make sure they were still being followed by the police group as he hadn't heard any sounds coming from behind. But the policemen were still there, following the exact path he and Lucy were taking. They entered the kitchen garden and went straight to the back door of the manor. The police lined up against the rear wall waiting for the command to proceed.

Sebastian opened the back door and advanced to the cellar door. The kitchen was in darkness; this part of the house was asleep. He flashed his torch briefly and the police filed through the door and went straight down to the cellar. Sebastian and Lucy followed last, after closing and locking the back door. He shut the cellar staircase door and, with Lucy just in front of him, went down to be met by Thomas at the bottom. Thomas closed the bottom door, the memory of the door banging still clearly in his mind. The wall to the tunnel entrance was already open. Sebastian had asked Thomas to open it so the police didn't know where the switch was. Whether it really mattered, he wasn't sure.

‘As far as I can discover, everybody who matters is down in the main cavern. Paula is up in the west wing ready to sit out the long night ahead. Dora, Daisy and Mrs Masters are all asleep in their rooms,’ Thomas recounted, having been asked by Sebastian to try and establish everybody's whereabouts before the police squad entered the tunnel system.

Superintendent Brackley looked at his watch. ‘The main force is moving into position now and should have surrounded the barns and the boiler house. We have five minutes to wait before we enter the tunnel,’ Brackley instructed the assembly.

‘Then you'd better use that time to study these diagrams of the tunnel system,’ Thomas suggested, passing out Paula's photocopies.

‘Are your men going to enter the barn if they can?’ Sebastian asked the policeman in charge, not sure what the final police plan was since it appeared to change every few minutes.

‘They will if the barn's doors are open and it's deserted. If they do, they'll seal off any escape through the building. The same thing will happen at the boiler house. Anyone trying to escape from the caves should find they're trapped in the tunnels with no way out,’ Superintendent Brackley gloated boastfully.

‘Do we know how many are in the caves tonight?’ Sebastian asked.

‘Yes,’ the superintendent replied knowledgeably. ‘Twelve villagers came in the minibuses tonight, and Harry and Frank will be down there as well. That means there should be fourteen people plus Colin Marsh, unless the inflatable dingy has escaped naval arrest.’ Brackley looked at his watch again and indicated to his men to start going down the tunnel. He turned to face Sebastian.

‘You're not coming, and that's an order,’ the superintendent said rather rudely to the Sebastian and Lucy.

‘Hey! Wait a minute. The Chief Constable said we'd be allowed to join in the fun,’ Sebastian said in his most offended tone.

‘Tough. I'm in charge of this operation and I say you stay here unless you want to be placed under arrest. Got it?’

‘Well, that's not fair. I'm going to speak to the Chief Constable about your attitude,’ Lucy carped, her mouth pouting, hoping the superintendent didn't know that Sir John had already banned her from taking part.

‘I can't help that – you're not coming down this tunnel and that's all there is to it. And that's an official police order.’ Superintendent Brackley turned his back on them and started walking off down the tunnel.

‘Well! Are we going to stand for that?’ Sebastian asked indignantly, as the superintendent disappeared from view.

‘We don't have much choice, do we,’ Lucy replied, rather crestfallen.

‘You bet your life we do.’

Sebastian crossed the room and pressed the stone to close the secret entrance. The three persons left in the cellar watched as it swung almost silently back into place.

‘Are you sure you should have done that, Sebastian?’ Thomas queried with a wry smile.

‘The police don't need to come back through the house – they might have sand on their boots. Mrs Masters wouldn't like them tramping it all through the manor … would she,’ Sebastian said, resenting Brackley's cavalier attitude. ‘And we certainly don't want any one escaping this way since Brackley hasn't left an officer to guard the entrance. I suggest we head for the barn and see whether we can get to the caves down that tunnel, but remember, there'll be police hiding everywhere.’

‘Did you notice how Brackley kept checking his watch before his men moved into the tunnel? Perhaps the police at the barn, and the boiler house, have also entered the tunnel system at a pre-arranged time,’ Lucy concluded, heading for the cellar steps.

‘Where are you going, Lucy?’ Sebastian asked.

‘To the barn! Coming?’

‘Of course I am, sweetheart.’

Much as Thomas would have liked to have accompanied them, he felt his leg might prove a major hindrance to them and he decided to return to his flat instead. If they needed him, they knew where they could find him.

*  *  *  *

Following their usual route around the fields, taking additional care as they passed the boiler house, they arrived behind the wall which allowed the couple to look into the concrete yard between the barns. The front of the right hand barn was wide open, the light from inside spilling out and illuminating some the yard outside.

‘Try to spot where the police are hiding, Lu. The most obvious place is up on the bales in the end barn, but it's too damned dark to see if anyone's there,’ Sebastian suggested.

‘I can't see anyone … and the smugglers' barn seems deserted too. Let's make a dash for it and hope no-one catches us. The quicker we get into the caves, the better.’

‘Not so fast. If we're caught we'll miss Brackley's round-up. However, if we move along the wall to right and cross the road farther up, we can come back round the side of the barn keeping in the area of darkness.’

‘We'll be seen entering the building though … if the police are out there,’ Lucy commented.

‘Too bad - but by that time, we'll be in the barn and heading for the tunnel entrance. They'll be too late to stop us if we run. Let's go!’ Sebastian said energetically, working his way along the wall to his right.

They moved twenty yards along before they were well out of the light reflected from the yard, and then hopped over the stonework through a convenient gap in the hedge and ran across to the back corner of the barn. They waited for shouts to come from the surrounding shadows … but none did. The night was silent except for their heavy breathing and owl hooting merrily somewhere up towards the manor. Sebastian led the way along the end wall of the barn until he could peer back into the yard again.

He turned to Lucy. ‘We'll have to risk it. There's nobody in the yard at the moment but that doesn't mean there's nobody in the barn. We'll just have to take that risk. Ready?’

The reply was affirmative.

The two figures slipped quickly round the front of the barn and disappeared inside the building. It was empty except for two hand-operated pallet trucks and the white Ford Transit van. They had seen the other yellow Transit parked up by the garages on their way down here. At the back of the building a long ramp led down through the concrete floor. It went deep into the ground and connected with a man-made concrete tunnel which was illuminated as far as the eye could see.

Sebastian walked back towards the front of the barn, looking round the interior and finally finding the switch that controlled the barn doors. He pressed it. The electric motors hummed immediately and the large hay-filled barn doors swung closed to prevent anyone outside gaining access.

‘Right, now we only have to worry about what's coming up the tunnel … and not what might creep down behind us,’ Sebastian explained with a smug grin.

They walked down the smooth concrete ramp until they were about fifteen feet below ground level. From this point the tunnel's descent was far more gradual. It travelled fairly straight until it joined in with the old mine workings and then the tunnel began to descend steadily towards the caves, twisting and turning as it went. Numerous unlit side passages kept disappearing off the main tunnel as they descended towards the caves. Most of those conduits were small in size, probably left after the tin lode was removed as seam was followed deeper into the rock. They were now derelict and unused. After a while they came to the end of the tunnel which led to the boiler house and, when they stopped to listen, they could hear voices talking in the distance – a police reception committee was waiting in the boiler house!

Sebastian continued down the main tunnel as the first sounds from the large cavern started to reach their ears. Unknown to the two intrepid investigators, the police had advanced down each of the tunnels leading into the caverns and had sealed them all off at a predetermined time earlier that night. That was happening as Sebastian and Lucy were traversing the fields to the barns.

Sebastian walked from the tunnel through the open doorway into the main cavern just as the police were lining up their criminal catch against the far side of the cave. A line of police officers stood in front of the startled captives preventing anyone escaping. Two armed officers guarded the entrance of the tunnel leading to the lower cave. No one was guarding the tunnels that led to the manor cellar, or the barn, and that Sebastian considered was an oversight. Surely, the police didn't know he had closed the cellar wall.

Superintendent Brackley looked round the cave and spotted Sebastian and Lucy as they walked into the harsh light in the centre of the cave.

‘I told you …’ a very irate Brackley started to say, but was cut short by Sebastian.

‘You said we couldn't come down the tunnel from the cellar. You never mentioned we couldn't use another route,’ Sebastian said cheekily, taking enjoyment from riling the pompous superintendent who reminded him a little of Inspector Brice.

‘You've deliberately disobeyed my order. I could have you arrested for that,’ Brackley protested angrily.

‘To use your own word – TOUGH,’ Sebastian countered firmly but pleasantly, as another small group of workers was brought up from the lower cave by several armed policemen, their escape having being thwarted by the SBS men stationed on the beach.

‘That's the lot, sir,’ reported one of the armed coppers.

Sebastian suddenly interrupted him, an unexpected chill running down his spine.

‘Where are Harry and Frank? Surely, they were down here when you raided the cave?’

Superintendent Brackley looked round at the people lined up against the far wall. ‘Yes, they're over there … at least, they were a minute ago – where the hell have they gone?’ he shouted in anger.

‘You bloody idiot, Brackley; didn't you study the map Thomas gave you.’

‘There wasn't time – I had a schedule to follow.’

‘Well, there's only one other way out of this cavern. Since I've closed the cellar entrance into the manor, and we didn't pass them in the main tunnel coming down from the barn, they must have gone that way,’ Sebastian informed the troubled policeman.

‘How: Quickly man, we must get after them.’

‘Perhaps you should have thought about that a bit earlier. They must have gone out through that small cave over there.’ Sebastian finally pointed to Harry's only escape route; the small rock-strewn cave that he and Lucy had used to spy on the workers in the main cavern.

‘At last. Right, I'll send some men to flush them out,’ the superintendent said trying to re-assert his authority, desperate to recapture the ringleaders.

‘Be careful. The tunnel's in a very perilous condition; the roof's in imminent danger of collapsing – you'd better advise your men to be very cautious, very cautious indeed,’ Sebastian counselled, remembering their trip up the treacherous tunnel.

‘They can't have got very far since they were here until you arrived,’ the policeman said accusingly. ‘Your untimely arrival gave them the chance they needed to slip away.’

‘Don't try and blame us for your mistakes. You're the incompetent one around here. You lost them, not us,’ Lucy answered defiantly, incensed at the policeman's unwarranted accusation.

Three constables were detailed to climb over the rocks and flush the escapees out from the tunnel. They had a slight advantage over Harry and Frank – the constables had torches and could see where they were going, and could make as much noise as the liked scrabbling over the rocks; Harry and Frank couldn't.

‘Where does the tunnel come out?’ the superintendent snapped impatiently, forgetting all about the tunnel map in his pocket. He was more concerned Harry and Frank might evade his men and then he would be for the high-jump.

Sebastian shook his head in despair. ‘Come on, we'll show you! I don't know why we should considering the way you've just treated us,’ Sebastian replied magnanimously, rubbing salt into the wound, but glad to be doing something constructive at last.

‘You three officers come with me, the rest of you guard the prisoners until we return,’ the superintendent ordered, as he chased after the amateur investigators.

Sebastian ran up the main tunnel trying to recognise the side tunnel they had come out of when they had used it to escape. No, he thought as he run, it's much farther up yet. He ran on with the others following close on his heels. With nearly fifteen metres to go to the side tunnel exit, two shots were heard, the bullets whining as they ricocheted off the tunnel walls. The explosions reverberated throughout the underground network making everyone stop and dive for cover. The only cover was the floor and Sebastian flung himself down on it. The others did the same.

Two more gun shots boomed out through the confined space and then, as the noise subsided, the sound of running feet could be heard going up the tunnel they were lying in. At least, Sebastian hoped they were going up it and not bringing danger their way. Yes, he was right; the footsteps were receding.

A deep rumbling noise flooded their ears as a long section of the side tunnel's roof collapsed, totally blocking the passageway just an instant before the three pursuing policemen would have passed under it. Their only way out was back through the chocking dust the way they had come.

Harry and Frank had escaped.

Sebastian got up and sprinted round the corner to the side tunnel's exit, where a big cloud of dust was billowing out into the main tunnel. ‘I hope nobody's buried alive down there, Superintendent, you'd better get some men to check if those officers managed to escape the fall – and quickly,’ Sebastian called back over his shoulder as he continued on up the main tunnel after Harry and Frank.

‘Hey, Sebastian, be careful. Remember – they’re armed,’ Lucy called up the tunnel in alarm, concerned for his safety but Sebastian was already out of sight around the next bend.

By the time she caught up with Sebastian, he was standing where the new concrete tunnel joined the old mine workings. He was getting his breath back ready for the final chase up into the barn. Ahead, up the concrete tunnel, the hum of the electric motors could be heard as the barn doors began to open and an instant later the engine of the van started up. The engine roared while the driver waited impatiently for the doors to open sufficiently to escape between them.

‘Blast – they're escaping in the Transit; we should have sabotaged the bleeding thing before going down the tunnel. Radio your men up top to stop them. Hurry, Superintendent! And activate the road blocks!’ Sebastian ordered, spitting the words at the panting policeman.

‘I can't. The radio doesn't work down here – I'll have to go up top as soon as they've gone,’ Brackley said, thinking he didn't want to be shot at. ‘We haven't set up any road blocks because the Chief Constable devised a plan that contained everybody within the Penvarrick Estate: Road blocks were unnecessary.’

‘Brilliant! That's bloody brilliant,’ Sebastian said sarcastically. ‘Tell your men they'll be driving a white Transit van – maybe they can stop it before it leaves the estate. You radio as soon as you can, we'll follow them,’ Sebastian said, rushing back down the tunnel towards the caves, closely followed by Lucy, before the superintendent knew what was happening. Brackley thought they were going the wrong way.

The four policemen in the boiler house were extremely surprised when Sebastian and Lucy made a hurried exit past them heading for the garage block. However, they knew from their earlier briefing that the couple were on the same side as the police and so they didn't impede their progress.

The pair raced down to the garages and Sebastian got the Midget out. It wasn't very fast, the unladen Transit probably had a higher top speed, but hopefully, he could corner faster than the van. All Sebastian wanted to do was to keep up with Harry and Frank until the police cars could take over the chase. His main concern was not to lose them.

Sebastian looked across towards the barn. The red lights of the Transit were disappearing down the roadway to the western end of the estate. Dawn was beginning to break but Frank still needed the headlights to see where he was going.

‘Looks like we've lost them already,’ Sebastian said dejectedly, as Lucy jumped into the car and seized hold of grab-handle on the dashboard.

‘No, we haven't,’ she said gleefully, ‘that road goes out to the west and then comes back round to join the road from Penvarrick to Truro. They're pretty sure to be heading for the main road – where else could they go? If you hurry, Sebastian, we might be able to cut them off,’ Lucy explained, excited by the thought of giving chase.

Sebastian let out the clutch violently, kicking the loose gravel from under the car's rear wire wheels, and roared off down the drive as fast as he could go. Fortunately, the large wrought iron entrance gates were wide open saving them valuable time in taking up the chase. Two police officers standing by the stone columns looked puzzled as the car sped past them without slowing.

Lucy instructed Sebastian to turn right outside the gates and then to take the first lane on the left, which would avoid them having to go round via Penvarrick. The lane was very narrow with nasty jagged stone walls on each side but, thankfully, it was reasonably straight. With only gentle curves to negotiate, the car sped along with gay abandon. At four fifty-five in the morning there was no other traffic to worry about. Sebastian kept the revs up, using the close-ratio gearbox with great enjoyment, gunning the car along the freshly-metalled surface at what seemed like breakneck speed, barely slowing at road junctions until he finally came out on to the Penvarrick to Truro Road.

Daylight was returning quite quickly now, the form of the countryside around them becoming more discernible as the minutes ticked by.

‘Better keep your eyes skinned, there could be a few police cars in hot pursuit,’ Lucy warned, still hanging on to the passenger grab-handle as Sebastian threw the car round another bend, squealing the tyres as the car fought for grip on the road's Tarmacadam surface.

‘Look - over there, across to the left – there're headlights cutting across towards this road. It must be the Transit,’ Lucy said excitedly.

While Lucy kept her eyes on the Transit, Sebastian was looking straight ahead. In the distance, about two miles down the road on which they were travelling, headlights were coming directly towards them as a car swept down from the higher ground into the shallow valley. All three vehicles continued to race along at alarming speeds, towards the road junction where the Transit would have to turn if it wanted to use the main road.

‘Faster, Seb, or they'll get there first,’ Lucy urged. ‘Come on … Faster!’

‘I'm flat out now but I think we may just get there first,’ Sebastian replied, concentrating on staying on the road as he steered the car round another sweeping bend.

As the Midget breasted the last little rise before the short straight to the junction, the driver could see he wouldn't make it in time. The Transit was going to win the race – but only just.

While Sebastian kept his eyes firmly on the road he urged every last drop of speed he could from the willing little 1098cc overhead valve engine. But it wasn't quite enough. Lucy and Sebastian watched the progress of the white van as it careered towards the T-junction.

‘Surely, it's going too fast to make the corner without braking.’

Sebastian was right. The van was going far too fast as the junction approached. There seemed no way the driver could take the corner safely and, at the last movement, the vehicle appeared to brake violently as Frank wrenched the steering wheel round. The Transit began to slide into the corner, and across the full width of the road, just as the other car was approaching the junction from the Truro direction. The car's dazzling headlights blinded Frank for a split second and he totally lost control, as the back of the van spun round across the junction on the loose chippings, and clipped the grass verge on the far side of the road.

The men in the speeding police car were worried, as the van started sliding across the junction towards the verge, and braked hard to avoid an imminent collision. The force of the Transit's impact against the grass verge buckled the rear wheel under the van and it flipped over, spinning wildly through the air, clipping the corner of the bonnet on the rapidly decelerating police car as it went. The spinning van smashed into the front corner of the car's roof on the passenger's side, redirecting the Transit upwards and out over the adjacent moorland. The police officer in the passenger seat ducked backwards in his locked seat belt as the roof folded inwards and the windscreen shattered glass fragments all over the two occupants. The Transit continued spinning through the air for some distance before finally hitting the ground, upside-down, in a drainage gully cut across the heath.

‘Jesus!’ Sebastian screeched to a halt and leapt out of the Midget.

The police driver was already out of his battered vehicle, blood dripping from the glass cuts on his face, the other policeman climbing across the driver's seat to join him as his door refused to open. He seemed to be unscathed.

‘Watch out, they're both armed,’ Sebastian shouted, warning the policemen, but he need not have worried. Harry and Frank were in no state to resist arrest. They both tumbled out of their upturned vehicle, blood streaming down their faces from gashes in their heads caused when the Transit's windscreen shattered in on them. They stood momentarily reeling on the heath until their legs finally collapsed from under them.

‘I can smell petrol; pull the buggers away from the van,’ Sebastian yelled, as smoke started billowing from the crumpled vehicle. The policemen quickly pulled the two motionless forms towards the road as flames appeared under the van. The petrol tank exploded after a few minutes, the sudden whoomph sending a huge fireball up into the cool, early morning air and nearly knocking Sebastian off his feet.

One of the policemen slipped a pair of cuffs on one hand of each criminal, joining them together, even though they were in no state to escape. The other radioed for an ambulance and reported the fire and their arrest. The ex. detective thought Superintendent Brackley was going to be very relieved when he heard, although he doubted whether any of them would get any credit for stopping the two criminals.

Sebastian walked over to the prostrate forms of lying on the sandy ground. They turned their dazed heads to look up at him standing there.

‘You deserve everything they can throw at you. Your racket's finished.’ Sebastian said in a surly tone, almost spitting the words at them.

‘No, it's not. It's only a minor setback. This is only a small part of our empire,’ Harry sneered gloatingly, an evil smile cracking the drying blood on his face. He was still very dazed and not thinking clearly.

‘Well, I disagree, Harry,’ Sebastian said slowly, his face like granite. ‘Felldale was raided this morning, the arms raiders were arrested during tonight's abortive foray into the Hampshire army depot, Sea Wanderer has been arrested by the Customs and Excise after making the early morning pickup in the Channel, and all operations at Penvarrick Manor and the caves below have now been terminated, as you well know. The police in Taiwan will be making arrests at the foundry as well as at the agent's offices. What empire have you got left now, Harry?’ Sebastian gambled that the whole police plan had worked in its entirety.

‘You haven't got it all yet,’ Harry replied sourly, goading Sebastian to think they had missed more important parts of the Organisation's operation.

‘Haven't got what yet, Harry? We know all about Eckford End. I was there last week. The police are there now.’

‘Eckford End! We abandoned that place when a journalist found us there. That was the last thing that journalist did. Bloody nosy friggin' reporter.’ Harry started coughing as the smoke from the fire billowed across him. The breeze had suddenly changed in direction.

‘You think Simon Parson went into the mire?’ Sebastian asked sourly.

‘Oh, yes, Jake saw to that. He's at the bottom now … and you’ll never find him. Serves him bloody well right.’

‘Sorry, old bean. It's your man at the bottom of the mire, not the reporter. Simon's safely back at home; I spoke to him only yesterday. Admit it, you bastard – you're finished – what have you got left.’

‘The Organisation and the whole transport system, that's what.’

‘Do you mean the shipping line … or the helicopter?’ Sebastian asked quietly.

‘The Organisation, the helicopter – you haven't found their base and you probably never will.’

‘Shut up, Harry,’ Frank said menacingly, suddenly becoming alert enough to realise what Harry was saying, his own head still swimming round in circles. ‘Shut up and leave well alone.’

‘You can't talk to me like that, Frank. I'm a big cog within the Organisation, you don't even rate with them,’ Harry needled.

‘You may think you're a big cog but one thing's for certain - you've got a fucking big mouth, Harry!’

Harry tried to get to his feet but the policeman standing behind him restrained him.

‘We know, Harry. We know all about the Mid-Wales farm where you keep the helicopter and about …’ Sebastian was interrupted by Frank.

‘The Organisation! Christ, Harry, they do know where the Organisation's now based.’

Harry screamed out as if he was in severe pain, suddenly realising his world had fallen apart and there was nobody left to come to his rescue. He would have to face up to all the terrible things he had done to persuade the villagers to do his evil work.

‘I told you to shut up, Harry. If they know about the farm and the helicopter … it didn't mean they knew the Organisation was based there as well,’ Frank said, chiding him.

In the distance blue flashing lights were speeding their way towards them, guided to the spot by the blazing vehicle on the heath. A tall plume of black smoke was rising steadily higher into the early morning air.

‘Who heads the Organisation, Harry?’ Sebastian asked cautiously. ‘Come on, you can tell us now? Now that it's all over.’

Harry stubbornly refused to answer Sebastian's question.

But – was it all over?

Was Frank telling the truth? Was the Organisation based in Wales?

Had Martin Fuller's raid on the helicopter site found more than they had bargained for?

*  *  *  *

From early Monday morning the police swarmed all over Penvarrick Manor and throughout the estate grounds. Henry Patterson, before leaving for the Far East, had given the police permission for a special team of investigators to go through all his business records and take away any evidence they needed. The police also swarmed through several Cornish villages surrounding Penvarrick, but their investigation was mainly concentrated on Penvarrick, Little Acton and Bebbington. By employing the exhaustive work done by Sebastian Donahoe with Simon Parson's camera, coupled with the long list of names supplied by Lucy Dorrell, the police managed to identify every one of the casual workers employed by Harry and Frank in the caves. The simultaneous police sweep through the tunnel entrances had trapped many of the village workers underground, where they were placed under immediate arrest. Nobody had tried to escape via the cove and attempt to swim his or her way to freedom. Harry and Frank were the only two that successfully escaped from the caves, but they were now in hospital under armed guard.

Elsewhere, teams of officers were calling at selected addresses and taking the previously identified persons into custody. Sir John Naylor was dubious whether the photographic evidence would be sufficient to convict many of the villagers, who had been bribed and cajoled into assisting in the caves, although Colin Marsh's eyewitness evidence might weigh heavily in the police's favour. Careful questioning would be required and, if they were lucky, some of the workers might be persuaded to make confessions detailing their involvement. However, Sir John reckoned that most would get let off with a stern caution or a small fine. After all, they were only the small fry; it was the organisers the police wanted to convict and place behind bars.

The number of arrests steadily grew throughout the day to become one of Cornwall's biggest police cases. Later in the week, Derbyshire, Hampshire and Dyfed-Powys forces would transfer their prisoners to Truro to swell the numbers even further.

Sebastian wandered out through the main entrance of the manor and stood on the front steps under the vast stone portico. It was early Monday afternoon. The last police vehicle was just leaving the front of the building and disappearing down the long drive, and by that very event, allowing peace to return to the manor again. At least, for a short while there would be peace, but he was sure, they and many others would return during the next few days.

It had been a long and very exciting morning and Sebastian had greatly enjoyed the early morning chase after the Transit. Being on hand to witness the police officers arresting Harry and Frank had given Sebastian immense satisfaction. From what the now informative, and greatly transformed, Superintendent Brackley had told him on his return to the manor following Harry and Frank's arrest, the whole operation seemed to have been a total success - with only a few minor hiccups.

The army had foiled the latest munitions raid and no additional soldiers had got themselves killed. Superintendent Brackley said it appeared that Brigadier Dixon had deviated from the agreed overall plan and done it his way. Sebastian wasn't surprised at all. When he had been speaking to Prime Minister Golding just a few minutes ago, the PM didn't seem too perturbed by the brigadier's cavalier actions because Dixon had got the results the Prime Minister was seeking. Dixon's soldiers had also secured the site at Felldale and apprehended all the workers bar one, whom he understood, had been killed rather spectacularly trying to effect an escape. The Customs had successfully seized the sea-borne smugglers and recovered the latest drugs consignment during the early hours of the morning, but there were unconfirmed reports of Sea Wanderer being sunk in the process. Sebastian hoped the information was wrong for Lewis's sake. The helicopter had been captured and grounded and its crew were in custody in Mid-Wales.

All in all, the operation appeared to be a total success, but Sebastian was still worrying about what Harry had said about the Organisation's headquarters. Superintendent Brackley had informed him earlier that morning that the village hall at Eckford End had been burnt to the ground before the police could get here. If the place had been used to control the various operations for the Organisation, it certainly wasn't being used now – which made Harry's recent comments all the more disconcerting.

Sebastian sat on the stone steps in the warm September sunshine meditating on the events of the last few hours. He would like to have been at Felldale when the SAS took control of Millburn's site. He would like to have been at the army base in Hampshire when the munitions raid was foiled. He would like to have been with the Commander when Lewis's boat was captured in the English Channel. However, he knew he couldn't be everywhere at the same time. He could only sit on the top step and imagine what it must have been like for all those who had taken part.

Sebastian was expecting Henry Patterson to arrive back home at any moment. He was on his way from the airport after returning from the Far East. Lucy was still upstairs sleeping after Paula had insisted she should get some rest and had taken her to the guest room, next to Sebastian's. He wondered whether Paula had done that on purpose so that the two of them could meet without anyone knowing. It hadn't happened because they were both far too tired.

Sebastian had dozed for several hours but was wide-awake again by one o'clock. With just under three and a half hour's sleep he felt reasonably refreshed, ready for the remainder of an already eventful day. As he walked down the passage from his bedroom he stopped at Lucy's door and tapped lightly on it. He quietly opened the door when there was no reply. Lucy was still fast asleep – dressed in one of Paula's glamorous nighties, and only partially covered by the duvet. Sebastian stood looking at her for several minutes, smiling contentedly, before silently closing the door and continuing down to the kitchen. The rest of the day was going to seem like something of an anticlimax, following the chase after Harry and Frank earlier that morning. The Discovery had almost parked at the portico steps before Sebastian realised that Henry's car had driven up the drive. He got up and went over to the vehicle as it came to a halt at the base of the steps. Unusually, Henry had taken and parked the car at the airport – instead of being driven there by his private chauffeur. Thomas had been deliberately left at the manor in case he could help the police in the final assault on the smugglers.

‘It's all over, Henry. It's over,’ Sebastian said excitedly, beaming from ear to ear, hardly waiting for Mr Patterson to alight from the car.

‘Thank God for that – well done, Sebastian,’ Henry replied with genuine relief, looking up at the sky as he said it. ‘David said you would sort it out. Did they catch all the smugglers, especially Harry and Frank? What's happening now – where is everybody? I thought the Press would have invaded the manor by the time I returned! There's just two policemen standing at the gate, looking incredibly bored, and they simply waved me through.’

‘They knew you were coming. The police haven't agreed to Simon releasing the story yet. Lucy's still sleeping – well, she was.’ Sebastian corrected himself as Lucy appeared through the front door. ‘The others are in the kitchen preparing something special for your return – I think they want to celebrate your freedom from the blackmailers.’

‘Well, let's go straight to the kitchen then, I'm dying for a cuppa and you can tell me all about the police operation,’ Henry said with an air of relief, striding up the stone steps two at a time, giving Lucy an unexpected embrace, and abandoning his luggage in the car until later.

*  *  *  *

Pandemonium broke out in the kitchen when Henry entered. The relief that the affair, especially the blackmail, was over, was plainly evident. Paula burst into tears of joy when she saw Henry come through the door. She ran over to embrace him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him tightly, her legs raised completely off the floor behind her.

Sebastian noted the engagement ring was back on her finger. Dora and Doris were still a little bewildered by all the excitement. They knew nothing of the previous goings-on and had only just been told by Mrs Masters what had been happening.

The front door bell indicator rang on the service call panel mounted high on the kitchen wall and Mrs Masters left the room to answer it, returning a short while later to say that Sebastian had two visitors waiting for him in the hall.

Sebastian and Lucy hurried out to see who had arrived, half expecting to find Simon Parson's waiting to finish off his story. However, they found Louisa and Lewis instead.

‘Thank God we've found you,’ Lewis said with an audible sigh of relief. ‘We weren't sure where you would be today, and we wanted to know what the outcome was against the smugglers?’

Sebastian took the visitors through the dining room to the small lounge where they would be more comfortable and could talk in private. Lucy went back to the kitchen to get some refreshments.

‘How much do you know already, Lewis?’ Sebastian asked eagerly.

‘Nothing yet, that's the trouble. I thought it would have been on the radio by now. I've just flown back from Guernsey with a friend. It was lucky for me that I ran into Robert Berman at the airport, just before I bought a seat on a commercial flight, otherwise I'd still be on my way back. Robert has his own small twin-engine plane for business and he flew me back to Exeter. Louisa came straight to the airfield to meet me. So what's happened then?’ Lewis asked again.

‘Well, Lewis, I've only had a few details from Superintendent Brackley who commanded the raid on the caves below the manor, but it appears the Excise operation didn't go too smoothly,’ Sebastian said, preparing the ground for the shock which was still to come.

‘What do you mean – they didn't get away, did they?’ Lewis asked, his growing concern, apparent.

‘No, they were captured … in the end. It appears the naval patrol boat monitored the pickup and then trapped Sea Wanderer into coming to their rescue by creating a bogus fire with a series of smoke flares. As the first SBS men jumped aboard to seize control of your vessel under the cover of the smoke, Shannon's crew rumbled them. Dave and his crew escaped down the English Channel. It appears the Navy's men all landed up in the water after a fight on the bow.’

‘Didn't the Navy go after them?’

‘Oh yes, of course they did. Fortunately, you had put Sea Wanderer’s radar and radio out of action so the smugglers didn't know whether the Navy was in pursuit or not. From the account the superintendent told us, the smugglers were in no mood to be caught a second time and ignored all requests to stop.’

‘Did they manage to stop them?’ Louisa asked, rather concerned that the smugglers may have got clean away after all.

‘I understand a couple of marksmen shot the man at the helm in the leg in an attempt to make them stop. It didn't work straight way because another one of the other smugglers simple took over the helm. I'm afraid that's when it all started to go wrong!’ Sebastian said quietly.

‘How do you mean – go wrong?’ Lewis demanded, his face covered with a perplexed frown.

‘The next shot missed its target. The Navy believe the bullet pierced the engine room compartment and something in there exploded causing a very severe fire. I'm sorry, Lewis … but Sea Wanderer was burnt out and sunk.’

‘It what …’ Lewis fell silent for a moment, the impact of what Sebastian had just told him still sinking in. Suddenly he spoke again. ‘Sunk – I don't believe it. What happened to the drugs – and the passengers who would have been aboard; are they safe?’ Lewis asked with genuine concern.

‘Yes, don't worry, Lewis. The Navy recovered the drugs and rescued everyone on board. That is … except for one of the smugglers of whom they could find no trace after the explosion. He was last seen on the aft deck before it erupted into a fireball. I understand Commander Alton wants to see you personally about the incident before you do anything regarding replacing the boat, or contacting your insurers,’ Sebastian informed a very puzzled Lewis.

‘Well, that will have to wait for a while. I have some important news for you,’ Lewis replied, with a large grin on his face that surprised everybody after the news he had just received. ‘Do you remember when we were talking aboard Sea Wanderer in Penhallen harbour, when you persuaded me to see the Commander and come clean about this business, you said you had located various sites in the country where these smuggling and drugs operations were being undertaken but you didn't know where the Organisation was based – well, I think I've discovered where it is quite by chance!’

Lewis had completely brushed aside the disturbing news about his beautiful craft and was concentrating on getting even with the people behind the disaster.

‘Oh, but we did find it, Lewis. It was up near Exeter, at Eckford End. I went there and saw it, but Superintendent Brackley said the cupboard was bare when the police arrived some hours later. Actually, the village hall was just a smouldering mass of charred remains. The Organisation had obviously pulled out immediately after Simon and I had discovered them. I don't know where they went after that.’

‘But I do, Sebastian. Last night, after Sea Wanderer had sailed, I left the hospital and went into town to get myself a meal. I found this posh little restaurant where you sit in individual booths that have curtains above the banquette seating to cut you off from the next booth … to make it more private and intimate, I suppose. Anyway, to cut a long story short, after I had been shown to my table and was waiting for the meal to appear, I overheard the conversation in the booth behind me. At first I didn't take much notice of what the couple were saying, I was too wrapped up in what was happening to me. But my ears homed in on their conversation at the mention of Sea Wanderer.’

‘Complete strangers, sitting in a Guernsey restaurant, talking about your boat – how odd,’ Lucy said rather intrigued.

‘Yes, and about Dave Shannon having to take my place for the trip! In fact, it was quite evident they knew all about the smuggling operation and were quite concerned by the changes that had to be made because of my illness. They said, and this is the part that may interest you most, they said they must get back to the new headquarters and go over and check with the helicopter crew that all was well. I suppose that meant they could check if Dave Shannon had completed the pickup correctly.’

‘Did they now!’ Sebastian replied, his brain logging the information. ‘That's extremely interesting, Lewis. You're sure they said go over to the helicopter crew.’

‘Absolutely sure – that's what the woman said.’

‘In that case, it must mean the headquarters and the helicopter site are very near to each other. Well, we know the police didn't find their headquarters when they went to the farmhouse where the chopper's kept. So it has to be close by. Did you see who these people were; what they looked like?’

‘Yes. They finished their meal and got up to leave the restaurant. As they went out I could see exactly who they were.’

‘Well, who were they? Come on, don't keep us in suspense any long, Lewis,’ Lucy pleaded.

‘Carpenter. Big Mr Carpenter … and thin as a rake, blonde haired, Mrs Carpenter – there was no mistaking them. I transported them across to Guernsey on Sea Wanderer some weeks ago. What's more, I overheard that they are booked on this evening's flight from Guernsey to Cardiff.’

‘Did they see you?’ asked Sebastian with some anxiety.

‘No, they didn't. They just walked straight out of the restaurant.’

‘This means the police may have caught most of the criminals involved, but they haven't caught the organisers at all. The Carpenters are the real brains behind this deadly Organisation and if we're not very careful they are going to escape the net. Unless something is done, and done very quickly, they will disappear … only to continue their operations another day. I suggest we enlist some help and go after them ourselves – there's no time to involve the police.’

‘Sir John wouldn't like that, Sebastian,’ Lucy interrupted.

‘Fuck the bloody Chief Constable – Sorry, but he's had most of the action up to now. If Thomas is right, Sir John knew something about the smuggling before we told him. Remember, he allowed Colin Marsh to infiltrate the smuggling operation under the premise of being a bent copper,’ Sebastian said excitedly, animated by the thought the affair was not finished yet.

Lewis was all for immediate action after what Sea Wanderer had suffered. ‘Count me in. I for one want to see those two people behind bars.’

Louisa was not so keen – not on them taking direct action themselves – it could be very dangerous thing to do.

‘What help can we call on? The police haven't been over-efficient in matters relating to this affair,’ Lucy commented, looking across at Sebastian.

Sebastian knew Lucy was referring to the methods used by the Chief Constable and his lack of communication during the investigation into the blackmail, but there was one police officer who had been on the inside of this operation and who might help them if he was approached.

‘Let's ask Colin Marsh – Paula will know where we can contact him. Lucy, go and ask her but don't say why we want to talk to him.’

‘Okay.’ Lucy said cheerfully and got up and left the room.

‘While Lucy's gone, we'd better decide the best way of getting to Mid-Wales in the quickest possible time. We could drive there in Midget but it'll take hours, or perhaps it would be quicker by train?’ Sebastian posed the questions, hoping for the views of the other two.

‘You can only get two people in your car, Sebastian – so that's a non-starter; you're not leaving us behind. It would be quickest by air. If I could use the phone I'll give Roger a call and ask if he would fly us up there. There must be an airfield somewhere in Mid-Wales?’ Lewis suggested.

‘That's an excellent idea. You can use the phone over there,’ Sebastian said, pointing to the phone on a small table by the dining room door.

While Lewis chatted to Roger, Lucy returned to the room and said that Paula had just contacted Colin March from the office and he was coming over to the manor straightaway. Lewis replaced the receiver and informed them that Roger would be pleased to help and he could fly them all to Welshpool airport, but after that, they would have to hire a car for the last 25 miles or so.

Henry and Paula walked through the hall as Colin Marsh rang the doorbell and they let him in. All three joined the others in the small lounge.

‘Right, Sebastian, what are you up to now?’ Henry demanded pleasantly, ‘You're planning something and I think I should know about it.’

Sebastian explained what Lewis had said about the Carpenters and the fact the organisers were going to get away unless they did something extremely quickly.

‘Get the local police to alert the Dyfed - Powys force. Let them go and catch the Carpenters – it's not your responsibility any longer,’ Henry said, reacting rather strangely to Sebastian's suggestion.

Colin interrupted and asked if he might make a comment before they decided. Henry nodded his head. ‘From what I've heard, Sebastian and Lucy have supplied most the information the police acted on during the clean-up operation. The Carpenters may be the brains behind the Organisation, but many others have carried out their dastardly plans. I don't think the Carpenters will represent any serious threat when apprehended, and it would be a feather in our caps if we can pull it off together. If we get into trouble we can always call for local back-up.’

‘Well, I suppose you know what you're doing, Colin, and I'd like to see these young people finish what they've started, so what help can I give?’ Henry enquired eagerly.

‘Take us to the airfield, Henry. Please. We'll do the rest,’ Sebastian replied with gusto.

During the next fifteen minutes the phone lines were very busy while arrangements were made for the flight and the hire car. It was decided that Louisa should stay with Paula at the manor until they all returned from Wales.

*  *  *  *

Just outside Welshpool, the twin-engine plane landed smoothly on the airstrip alongside the River Severn. A prearranged taxi was waiting to take them straight to the garage where they were to collect the hire car. The policeman, who had slept on the aircraft almost from the moment they took off until the landing, quickly completed the hire contract formalities and took charge of the keys to the almost new Ford Focus. A few minutes later, after placing his large canvas holdall on the rear seat between Lucy and Sebastian, he was driving in a south-westerly direction towards Newtown and the heart of Mid-Wales.

‘Colin, there's still one thing I don't understand,’ Sebastian admitted, thinking about what Colin had said about working in the caves.

‘Only one! What's that then, Sebastian?’

‘Why, if you were working in the caves and organising the workers from the villages, did the Chief Constable want us to find out the names of all those workers? He only needed to ask you!’

‘The answer's pretty obvious, Seb, when you think about it,’ Colin replied over his shoulder.

‘Not to me, it isn't.’

‘Think of it this way. What would have happened if I'd been caught by the estate workers?’

‘I don't know - what would have happened?’

‘I wouldn't be here now talking to you,’ the policeman said in a rather matter of fact way. ‘I'd be pushing up the daisies somewhere remote … or deep in that mire you mentioned at Painter's Bog. The Chief Constable was keeping all his options open just in case I didn't make it.’

‘He knew you were on the inside, then?’ Lewis queried. A lot of what was being said was totally new to Lewis.

‘Yes, of course he did. But before any of you ask, there was no contact between the police and myself – not once I'd gone undercover. There couldn't be – it would have been far too risky. To start with I was watched all the time; trust had to be earned before anyone was accepted at face value. Remember, they knew I was the village copper and Harry probably thought he was taking a huge risk recruiting me. It was the recruitment which made me suspicious and I played for time while I tried to find out what was going on.’

‘And did you?’ Lucy asked.

‘No, but Sergeant Pennington consulted with the Station Commander and the Chief Constable. They thought it might have something to do with last year's unsolved Art raids and, now that the heat seemed to have gone out of the police search, the people responsible might use a quiet cove, like the one below the manor, to take the stolen paintings out to a waiting boat and off to the new owners.’

‘When was this?’ Sebastian asked.

‘Back in the autumn of last year, the Chief Constable asked if I was prepared to play the long game and ingratiate myself with Harry, and the other people involved, in an attempt to see whether we could recover some of the stolen paintings. I think Sir John thought a successful outcome might greatly enhance his aspiration to command the Met.’

‘So you've been undercover for almost a year,’ Lucy said with some surprise.

‘Yes, infiltration is a dreadfully slow business. Another officer was moved into a cottage in Little Acton and he covered most of my day-to-day duties. I led Harry to believe police life was a bed of roses, and when you were stationed out in the sticks, no-one bother much what you did if things ran smoothly. My colleague saw to that. Meanwhile I became one of them, making suggestions who Harry should recruit and setting-up the caves below the manor, although I wasn't sure why we were doing it; only that Harry was prepared to bribe the local copper with promises of a lot of extra money. At that time, there was no connection between Penvarrick Manor and any other criminal activity – you discovered that, Sebastian.’

‘Sir John never even hinted you were on our side, even when we mentioned your activities at the meetings. We were convinced you were as bent as a nine pound note,’ Sebastian admitted rather sheepishly.

‘The ruse worked well then – if even you were fooled. If I hadn't come out of this in one piece, Sir John still had his names. As it happens I have confirmed all the names you discovered … and you didn't miss any.’

‘Credit where credit's due, Colin, Lucy obtained most of them.’ Sebastian went silent as the car continued travelling southwest. He was thinking how devious the chief constable had been and how he would get those names whichever way things turned out.

‘Well, I … think … that clears that up,’ Lucy said without much conviction. ‘Now, Colin, please explain how we're going to find the Organisation's headquarters without alerting the people there to our presence?’

‘Well, normally I'd visit at the pubs and post offices in the area and make surreptitiously enquiries about my quarry. But, judging by the map, I don't think we'll find many pubs in this part of Mid-Wales and the nearest post office may be miles from the location. Anyway, they'll be closed by now.’

‘That’s not much help then,’ Lewis muttered in the front seat.

‘When all else fails we'll have to rely on local people pinpointing the property being used by the Carpenters. Can't be too many Carpenters living in the area. Lewis, you said they were catching the evening flight to Cardiff. There's only one and it lands there at eight o'clock. What we don't know is whether the helicopter normally goes to collect them from the airport, or whether they drive up by car. My bet is they use a car so as not to draw extra attention to the helicopter's night-time flights.’

‘We'll be up the creek without a paddle if the helicopter should have flown down to collect them,’ Lewis commented. ‘Hasn't it been impounded?’

‘Yes, early this morning by the CAA. The police have arrested all the people at the farm … including a couple of naked lovers – or so I hear. Hang on; the Carpenters must be travelling home by road because the chopper would have been needed at Felldale to start moving munitions down to Penvarrick this evening. I just hope they haven't tried to contact anyone at the farm before journeying home.’

‘How long will it take them, Colin?’ Lucy asked, as Colin drove through the outskirts of Newtown.

‘The road up from Cardiff is not particularly good, but at that time of night there won't be much traffic above. It'll still take them three hours, if not a bit longer. That gives us plenty of time to have a decent meal, before going to find their base and getting into position for their arrival. It looks like being another long night, lady and gentlemen.’

Colin pulled up at a roadside phone box in the village of Caersws and left the car without saying a word. The others watched as he made a call and, after a short conversation, he returned to the car.

‘That's good. The plane's landed on time, so we now know roughly how long we've got to get ready!’ Colin started the engine and drove on to the village of Carno where he pulled into the pub car park. He said he would stand them all dinner, over which, they could plan the Carpenters' entrapment.

*  *  *  *

The fat man replaced the receiver on the hook of the pay phone. He was standing in the arrival's hall of the airport terminal building and turned to the thin woman standing by a metre away.

‘That's very odd – there's no answer from Felldale or White Rock Farm. I wonder what's going on – there's normally somebody about at this time of night,’ the fat man moaned, a hint of uneasiness in his voice. He looked at his watch again. ‘I suppose they could have gone for a meal …’

‘Ring Sidney at Hafren House – he can go over to the farm and see that all's well – or he could send Dawn instead,’ suggested Mrs Carpenter.

‘I can't. Remember, we sent him to Taiwan to keep an eye on Henry Patterson. He's not coming home until tomorrow after he's checked-up on all our contacts out there.’

‘Dawn will have to go then. She does little enough as it is,’ Mrs Carpenter said sourly, envious of the young woman's shapely bust. Every time she saw it, it reminded her of the deficiency of her own.

‘Deaf people can't hear when the telephone's ringing; anyway Dawn's probably out shagging the helicopter mechanic somewhere. You know what she's like.

‘I just hope she's on the pill or …’

The fat man interrupted his wife. ‘There's probably a very simple explanation for nobody answering – we'll try again later. Let's collect the car and get on our way home.’

Mr Carpenter decided it wasn't worth worrying – not yet. If something had gone wrong they would have heard about it, if not from their own people, it would have been on the news broadcasts before they left Guernsey.

The silver-grey Daimler Sovereign cruised out of the car park and headed for Mid-Wales. Mr Carpenter asked his wife to turn on the compact disc player and they settled back to listen to Mozart's Magic Flute as they drove home. They became so engrossed in their favourite opera that they forgot about phoning the site and the farm again. When the fat man did finally remember the car was approaching Talerddig, where he signalled their right turn up into the hills.

No point in stopping now, he thought, they were nearly home…

*  *  *  *

While the Carpenters were listening to the opera on their long journey back up to Mid-Wales, the Ford Focus had turned off the main road at Talerddig and was heading up the narrow road into their remote valley. Half way up the second part of the hill Colin spotted just what he needed.

‘Leave this to me – you all stay here,’ Colin dictated, as he stopped the car against the verge and got out, walking over to the farmer leaning on a field gate surveying the surrounding land in the evening light.

‘Evening – are you lost?’ the farmer enquired politely with a very strong Welsh accent.

‘Sort of, I suppose. We're looking for some friends of ours. They live somewhere around here, but, like a fool, I left their new address and phone number back at home. Going on what they told me, I’m pretty sure this is the road to their house!’ Colin said, hoping the farmer would offer his assistance.

‘What's their name – I might know them?’ the farmer replied, still leaning heavily on the gate but shifting his weight to the other leg.

‘Carpenter. Mr and Mrs Carpenter.’

The farmer thought for a while before replying. ‘No, can't say I've heard that name before. Not about here anyway.’

Colin suddenly realised that the Carpenters might be using another name, so he tried a different tack.

‘They're a couple of Americans – does that help. There can't be very many of those around here.’

The farmer looked at Colin rather curiously. ‘Ah – Americans! You say these people are friends of yours. Well, I might know them if you tell me what they're like.’

Colin was sure the farmer already knew who the Carpenters were, but he went along with his request.

‘They're an odd-looking couple really. He's short and fat while she's tall and thin,’ Colin said, repeating the way in which Lewis had described them earlier. He watched the farmer's eyes intently and could see the farmer knew exactly whom he was talking about. ‘Does that ring any bells?’ Colin prompted.

‘Yes, I know who you mean but they don't call themselves Carpenter. I was introduced to them some while ago and I could have sworn they said their name was … FitzPatrick.’ The farmer stared at Colin and then looked across at the car. ‘Who are they?’ he said abruptly, nodding his head towards the car, ‘There's something funny going on, if I'm not mistaken.’

Colin thought for a moment. Trust him to pick the one person who could see that things weren't what they seemed.

‘They're just friends of mine who have come up for a ride in the helicopter, you know, the one at White Rock farm. Mr Carpenter said he would arrange it.’

‘Yes, I know it – bloody noisy thing taking off at all times of the day and night,’ the farmer complained bitterly.

‘Can you tell me where the FitzPatrick's live please, it's getting rather late and they will be worrying where we've got to!’ Colin pleaded.

The farmer turned and pointed up the road.

‘Carry on up the lane until you come to a very sharp corner to the left – it's just after a cattle grid. There's a narrow track going straight on at that point; that's the drive to Hafren House. Mind you, it's a very long drive and it takes you over the hills into the next valley. You'll find the house at the far end.’

Colin thanked the farmer and climbed back into the car and drove up the road until he came to the cattle grid. He pulled up on the verge and studied the ordinance survey map taken from his holdall. The track to the house was clearly shown leading into the next small valley, and the position of the house was also clearly marked. He could see it was on the back of the hill behind White Rock farm. Colin pointed this out to Sebastian and his rear seat passengers.

‘That explains why the surveillance team at the Davis's farm opposite White Rock Farm haven't reported the presence of the Carpenter's in the area. The entrance drive to Hafren House is too far down the road. It must be completely out of their field of vision,’ Sebastian said thoughtfully.

‘Anyway, no one knew the Organisation was based up here, did they, although preparations must have been going on for some time,’ Lucy added by way of justification.

*  *  *  *

Colin returned to the hire car which was parked across the Davis's farm gateway. He had decided to go and talk to the farmer since he had been most co-operative with the police and the CAA when mounting the surveillance operation on the farm. Again, Mr Davis was helpful, however Colin had to disclose who he was before the farmer would discuss anything with him. The moment he produced his warrant card, the farmer co-operated to the full.

Back in the car Colin turned to address the other occupants. ‘It appears the police have left two officers at the farm in case anybody else turns up here in the next few days. That could be very useful for us. Mr Davis suggested we leave our car in the barn here and climb over the hill to Hafren House. That way we won't alert anyone at the house to our presence.’ Colin started the car and drove through the open gate and parked in an empty barn.

‘We'll walk over to White Rock Farm and I'll have a quick word with the officers there before going on to Hafren House. They're bound to have seen us arrive here and will be wondering what's going on.’

Colin opened his holdall and took out several items that he stuffed into his pockets and then passed Sebastian and Lucy their torches.

‘You'll need those, it's getting dark. Now, we'd better get a move on. The Carpenters could be here in a little over an hour's time unless they stop for something to eat on the way,’ Colin explained, as he walked off towards the farm on the other side of the valley. The light was beginning to fade quite rapidly as they approached the elevated farmhouse, the impounded helicopter still standing on the landing circle near the front of the building awaiting a crew to come and remove it.

Sebastian suggested they should carry straight on to the top of the hill above Hafren House while there was still enough light to see where they were going. Colin agreed but said he would catch them up in a few minutes.

The Cornish policeman veered off through the farmyard and knocked on the farmhouse door. It opened slightly but not enough to expose the person standing just inside the building. Colin could be seen talking to the crack in the door when it suddenly opened and he disappeared inside.

*  *  *  *

Poised on the top, Hafren House was directly below Sebastian, Lucy and Lewis, but some three hundred metres away down the other side of the hillside. It was a large sprawling grey stone house with a blue-grey slate roof, with several outbuildings dotted around behind it. Bolted to the end wall of one of these outbuildings was a large white satellite communications dish, pointing out into the heavens above Mid-Wales. The house appeared to be in total darkness as they slowly advanced their way down the steep grassy slope to the rear wall of the property. They climbed over into a large backyard, Sebastian offering Lucy a hand to pull her up onto the top of the wall, before approaching the rear of the building and peering cautiously through the ground floor windows.

The house appeared to be deserted.

A sudden noise behind them made them jump back into the shadows, as the final seconds of daylight faded, but the cause