Fog blanketed the island. It was so dense you could hardly see your hand in front of you. Dan had no idea Wellington got fog, he thought it was supposed to be blowing gales all the time. The searchlights around the perimeter penetrated scarcely a few yards, the opaque glare more a target than a way of spotting one. The distant lowing of cattle and bleating of sheep seemed to increase the edginess of the soldiers. Dan had asked Sergeant McCollum to assemble his men at the mess table along with Penny. He explained that a dangerous foreign agent was thought to be heading for the island.
‘Huh,’ Penny said. ‘He’ll have to find it first.’
‘If he does,’ Sergeant McCollum said, ‘he has to get past us.’
‘We know that can happen, don’t we?’ Penny retorted.
Dan had seated the five soldiers on the form facing him and Penny. The soldiers were giving each other shifty glances, except for McCollum, who was staring at Penny with what seemed to Dan pure hatred. Penny had made a fool of him, but the sergeant’s malevolent look was surely an absurd overreaction.
Coughing to clear his throat, Dan said he was sure they were all capable of doing their duty. In the morning, with presumably the fog lifted, there would be reinforcements. Tonight, in the unlikely event of an intruder, they had their instructions.
McCollum transferred his baleful glare to Dan. ‘I understand our duty, detective. You can leave that to us.’
‘Sir?’
Dan nodded at Price.
‘I’m familiar with fog. You know, from the Sandspit swamps.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
Price swallowed, glanced warily at his sergeant. ‘I could do a recce. Around the wharf area. I’m used to creeping about.’
‘We know that,’ Bell jeered.
‘For sure there’re plenty of places you can land around the island,’ Mutton said. ‘I’ve seen them often enough.’
Dan agreed. He told them it was a local yachtsman involved, he would know where was possible, possibly even in this kind of weather.
‘Out of the question,’ the sergeant said, surprising Dan, until he saw Price twitch and realised the sergeant was not addressing him. ‘I decide,’ McCollum said, ‘who if anybody is patrolling.’
Dan was aware he had no authority to issue orders. He asked by way of mollifying a man he would much rather arrest what he suggested.
‘I know the island better than any of you,’ McCollum said. ‘For now, Price will guard Mr Smith. Keep the door locked and be prepared to use your weapon. Mutton, Bell, you patrol the perimeter. Flett, you can keep your billy boiling. Dismissed.’
‘Hold your horses,’ Penny said, a hand raised, palm out. ‘I have the utmost confidence in our young detective. I prefer him with me.’
Dan said he had no objection. McCollum shrugged, said so long as his soldier was on guard, Mr Smith was welcome to his detective.
‘Another thing, sergeant,’ Penny insisted. ‘Before you disperse your troops, they should know what they’re up against. This German fellow Haas or one of his henchmen put me in hospital. A potshot from a pistol was taken at one of my guards. These Germans are a nasty lot, and resourceful. A woman got past hospital security and attempted to rob me of my blueprints. If not for Detective Delaney, she might have been successful.’
The soldiers had begun to stand. They were looking at McCollum.
‘You stay put, Mr Smith,’ the sergeant said irritably, ‘and you’ll be safe. We know how to deal with intruders. Proceed to your quarters, we’ll handle security. Soldiers, carry on. Move it!’
The soldiers obeyed as one, which was too much for the wooden form they were sitting on, which crashed to the floor. McCollum barked at them to leave it, get to their posts on the double. As they filed out, Penny shook his head, muttered to Dan they were a callow lot, he wished he shared their sergeant’s confidence. Dan agreed, but didn’t say so.
Penny enjoyed officer accommodation, and was happy for Dan to look around. There was a kitchenette with a small califont above the sink, a bathroom, a wardrobe and chest of drawers in the bedroom, another small room with a standard public service oak desk with drawers down both sides. What looked most useful were the two bentwood chairs. He asked and Penny was happy to position the chairs in the interior porch next to a coat stand. The bedroom had two solid single beds, one presumably for Spears. Penny said he was welcome to use the other bed. Dan thanked him, said for now he would join Price in the porch. Penny offered them the new drink Milo, said it was the best thing to come out of Australia, almost as good as Horlicks. Dan accepted, vaguely aware both drinks were like cocoa.
The violent thumping on the door almost caused Dan to fall off his chair. He grabbed the scuffed side to steady himself, catching a splinter in the fleshy part of his middle finger. Price’s chair was clattering to the floor as he hoarsely shouted ‘Identify yourself.’
‘It’s me, you idiot,’ Bell called out.
‘I can’t let you in,’ Price said, his rifle retrieved and pointing at the door.
‘Jesus, get the detective, will ya?’
Dan gave up on removing the splinter in the dim overhead light and said he was here, and why had Bell left his post?
‘Sarge ain’t come back, that’s why. Took off down the wharf with the kero lamp, must’ve been an hour ago. Reckon he’d seen a light.’
Dan told Price to lower the rifle. It didn’t make sense. How could the sergeant possibly see any light that far away in this fog? Dan tried to think what to do. He couldn’t believe he and Price had both nodded off, quite an achievement with the chairs wobbly and not exactly comfortable. It must have been something in this Milo stuff.
‘Move aside,’ he said to Price, who was blocking the door.
‘Sir,’ Price objected. ‘The sergeant ordered me not to open it.’
‘For Pete’s sake, just get out of my way. And that is an order.’
He pushed Price out of the way and slid back the dead bolt. Bell had his rifle at the ready, pointing at him. Dan pushed the barrel aside, asked him when exactly the sergeant left. Bell shrugged.
‘Somethink must’ve happened. Want me to go see?’
As Dan declined his offer, Penny appeared, still in his brown tweed suit, but he had taken off his tie. Blinking, he asked what the racket was all about, had something happened, was this damn German sighted?
Dan said he intended to find out, he’d welcome a torch, if he had one. Penny said wait a mo and returned with a small black torch, told him to be careful. Dan thanked him, said he was sure there was a simple explanation, told Price to lock up. Price offered to come with him, reminded Dan he had experience in these conditions. Dan declined his offer and that of Bell’s 303, which he had limited experience of.
At the gate he told Mutton he was going to find out if the sergeant had had a fall, he doubted it was any worse than that, but Mutton was to lock up after him. He felt guilty for not being clearer with the soldiers about reporting any change in the situation. It was up to him to find out what was going on. His suspicion was that the sergeant was the worm in the apple and had gone down to the wharf to use the lamp as some kind of a beacon for the Germans. He doubted it would be much use, given the thickness of the fog, but he had to do something. If McCollum was betraying them, he’d double back and prepare their defences.
Despite the thickness of the greatcoat, Dan felt the chill penetrating his bones. It was eerie edging down the slope he had run a few days ago, chasing Rebecca. Could she really be part of Haas’ operation? Dan was sure she loathed and feared him. Concentrate, he reminded himself as he stumbled in one of the track cavities created by the torrential rain. He peered at the weak light he had directed on to the gravel.
An appalling shrieking caused him to stumble again and almost drop the torch. He could feel his heart pounding. Buck up, he told himself. It wasn’t human, obviously one of the night creatures. He didn’t want to think what, but it was not a bull, too falsetto. He had heard there were sometimes strange animals quarantined, perhaps for a zoo. He didn’t want to think about lions and tigers. Surely they would have been warned about such creatures being on the island? No, it was not a cat sound, at least not anything like any tomcat he knew. It must be some sort of bird.
He forced himself to press on, reassuring himself he knew the path, if not as well as the sergeant. Kultur Bay was down here too, where that wretched man had Price at his mercy. He didn’t want to think what he had inflicted on the poor private. No wonder Price was a bundle of nerves.
So was he. This swirling fog made him jumpy. He thought he saw shapes appearing, but they disappeared just as quickly. He prepared himself for an encounter with a cow or sheep that had got through those fences, which were not exactly up to scratch.
He paused. He could hear a dog barking, but it was far away. One of Weir’s sheep dogs. Nothing to worry about there.
He pressed on, stumbling every little while, but as he descended the fog was thinner, unless that was his imagination. There was the faintest of breezes, he could smell the sea.
He did not imagine the voices. He froze, switching off the torch. He strained to see and could make out a faint light ahead. He edged closer, careful not to disturb any loose stones.
‘Over here,’ McCollum called. ‘Took your friggin time.’
‘Ya, ya. You understand what we do?’ It was Haas.
‘The money first. Let’s see the colour of it.’
‘Look here, fella,’ the other man said. ‘You claim to be a supporter of the New Germany.’
‘Give him the money,’ Haas ordered. ‘It is all present. You count later. Now we leave, ya?’
McCollum gasped. ‘Take it easy with that ruddy pistol,’ he complained. ‘That could go off.’
‘It will, if you do not move.’
Dan moved, back up the track, as fast as he could. He had a matter of minutes.
Dan hissed to open the gate. Bell called out for him to identify himself. Dan swore and repeated as loudly as he dared. Bell undid the padlock and slipped the chain. He told him the Germans were on their way, with the sergeant.
‘’What’re you saying? Sarge is with them too?’
Dan paused. What did he mean by ‘too’?
‘Just secure the gate and come with me. Now!’
Bell was not moving. Dan pulled the chain through and clipped the padlock, told him to get inside the barracks and be ready to shoot. He shoved him, Bell bristled, but he ignored him and moved across the compound to tell Mutton they were retreating inside, and make sure Bell went with him. The Germans were approaching and they must defend themselves.
‘But sarge said,’ Mutton started to protest.
‘He’s with them, man,’ Dan interrupted. ‘Do what you are trained for.’
Dan could not stay arguing with slow-witted soldiers who were not really trained at all, at least not for active engagement. He rushed into the office and turned the phone handle. It was dead.
He heard McCollum calling out to Bell to open up, or they were going to shoot him.
‘Bell!’ he yelled. ‘Get away from the gate. It’s a trick.’
There was no time to repeat himself. Dan ran over to the officers’ quarters, banged on the door.
‘Price!’ he shouted. ‘We are under attack. Do not open the door under any circumstances. Is that clear?’
‘Sir,’ Price pleaded. ‘What’s going on? Where is Sergeant McCollum? He said it would be all right. He promised.’
His promises were null and void. Dan turned to where Mutton, Bell and the sergeant were stumbling towards him.
‘I was told by the sarge to open the gate,’ Mutton said in a strained voice.
‘Shut up or you will be shot,’ Haas warned him. ‘Detective, tell your comrade inside to bring out the scientist, or we do what is necessary.’
‘Tell him yourself,’ Dan snarled. Haas slashed his pistol across Dan’s cheek and pushed him aside. Blood gushed down his neck, the pain coming a second or so later.
Haas rapped on the door. ‘Open, or I shoot your comrades. Starting I think with the detective.’
Through the stinging pain Dan thought that it did put Penny in the clear. And where was the cook? He had to do something. Instinctively he tackled Haas, causing his pistol to go off, but also a gun to fire through the door where Haas had been standing, blasting splinters everywhere. Dan was too busy wrestling Haas to think straight, but another pistol shot going off next to his ear got his attention.
‘The next one is through your head,’ Jurgens snarled, stepping back and waving the pistol at the three soldiers. ‘Or anybody else who makes a move.’ Dan considered swinging his feet at Jurgens to knock him over, but he had moved out of range. He was a tall, slim man, dapper in his sailor’s cap and duffel coat, and a traitor calmly prepared to shoot them.
Haas got to his feet, braced himself to kick Dan, changed his mind.
‘I thank you,’ he laughed. ‘I think you are saving my life. I am sorry that I cannot return the compliment. Peter, keep away from the door. You inside?’
‘I’ll shoot again,’ Price said in a trembling voice.
‘Really,’ Haas said, staying back from the line of fire. ‘And now, we start shooting your friends, yes?’
There was a protest and the door opened. Penny looked around. ‘Pity my guard missed,’ he said. ‘You want the plans for the death ray, I take it? Be my guest.’
‘No,’ Dan objected. ‘You can’t.’
‘No, no,’ Jurgens said. ‘He is being sensible. You could take a leaf out of his book, you young fool.’
Haas waved the pistol. Dan recognised it from weapons training identification, it was the Luger Germans used in the last war. His instructor had the highest regard for them, without explaining why the British didn’t adopt the same pistol. Jurgens had, no doubt also supplying Haas.
‘Watch them,’ Haas said. ‘Better, put them in their own jail, the one you told me is here. We can deal with them later.’
The so-called jail was the size of an outdoor dunny, and smelled as if it had also filled that role. They were packed in, the door slammed shut and the bolt slid across. There was no light. One of them kicked over a metal bucket. Dan caught a glimpse inside before the door closed, the bucket was the only item to sit on. There was not room for five grown men to do anything but stand face to face, even if they couldn’t see each other. With the door bolted, Dan could only think of one way out, the ceiling, which was wooden match lining.
‘Listen,’ he hissed. ‘We might be able to boot in the ceiling.’
It was not required. The bolt was drawn. Dan felt the collective tension. Were they about to be executed?
Flett was standing there, smiling and nodding. The sergeant elbowed his way out, motioned to his men to follow him. Dan tried to leave but the sergeant punched him in the stomach and shut the door on him. The bolt was engaged.
Dan sank to his knees, trying to catch his breath. It felt like he had been rammed in the solar plexus with a concrete post. The pain was excruciating. He had been winded a few times in rugby, he had been on the receiving end of king hits, but never a combination like this. Bell would no doubt call it a sucker punch.
As he began to manage short breaths, he felt nauseous and his stomach began to heave of its own accord. McCollum must have heard him either running ahead or warning the soldiers. It was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was escaping. Dan had already proposed the ceiling boards. He had a belt with a metal clip on the buckle. He couldn’t just sit and await his fate. He felt around for the bucket, upended it, removed his belt and climbed on the bucket. He was able to reach the ceiling. He started prodding.
Dan gave up after a prolonged effort making no progress jabbing at the ceiling, his fingers numb and split and probably bleeding. He sat down on the bucket. He was trapped, a prisoner at the mercy of Haas and/or McCollum. He rubbed his sore stomach, put a hand against his throbbing cheek, where thankfully the blood was crusting. He should have lashed out at Jurgens, it might have prompted the soldiers to attack him. Excepting McCollum.
What was McCollum planning to do with him? Come back later and finish the job? What did the soldiers make of it? Bell had asked if the sergeant was with them too, did that mean he was already with somebody else? Rebecca? Had she bribed McCollum to get into the lab?
The implications of McCollum selling out to Rebecca, and now her half-brother, created another puzzling layer. Dan had not thought the semi-siblings in league with each other, but perhaps they were, if both were working for the Reich. Was it all subterfuge on her part? It didn’t make sense, unless she had in some way been coerced into this mission and had pre-existing issues with Haas. He imagined most would, the man was a vicious thug. Clearly she was trained in the art of infiltration and it was as valid for Germany as it was for the British to have spies. God, his silly old grandfather probably supported the Germans, and obviously so did other people around the country, like Jurgens. But had her failure twice to acquire Penny’s plans meant that Haas had taken over and resorted to bully boy tactics? And what for that matter was Penny up to, inviting Haas to follow him in order to receive the plans? Had Penny too sold out? He complained continuously about underfunding. Did his precious invention mean more to him than who got hold of it?
As Biggart would no doubt remind him, if he survived to face him, all this was idle speculation. The evidence Biggart wanted was now apparent, but so was Dan’s complete inability to do anything about it. The Commissioner’s Rules did not cover a detective being imprisoned by those he was supposed to arrest.
His ineffectual musings were interrupted by heavy rifle fire and the rapid crack of pistol shots, followed by screaming of panic-stricken voices, too muffled for Dan to make out what they were saying. The voices were getting nearer, somebody indignant, another calling his name. It was Jono. He scrambled to his feet.
The bolt was released and the door opened.
‘In the wars again, young Daniel,’ Jono said in his amused drawl.
Flett said something, it might have been he told him so, it was difficult to tell with an accent as thick as the fog. Mutton, Price and Bell were there too.
‘What’s happening? Where’s Sergeant McCollum?’
‘Come on,’ Jono encouraged, reaching for his arm. ‘I’ll explain after you get cleaned up.’
Flett deposited a massive plate of bacon and scrambled eggs in front of Dan. His stomach was in no condition to eat anything, let alone this gargantuan pile. He said the tea was fine for now, if he could just have some more sugar in it?
Jono Smith sat opposite him at the mess table, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He was idly cracking knuckles. Dan suspected he was hardly aware he was doing it, wondered if it was perhaps a sign of nerves. On the surface he looked as cool as the proverbial cucumber, sporting a fancy fawn duffel coat with the boar’s tooth clasps not unlike the one Jurgens had.
‘You like it?’ Jono asked. ‘I borrowed it from our local sailor. I was feeling a bit nippy. All that rowing works up a sweat. I didn’t want to catch cold.’
‘You rowed here?’
‘I am no sailor, let alone in these conditions, but I did a bit of rowing at Cambridge. I knew where Haas and his helpmate were headed. I borrowed a dinghy. Hard yakker, as you Kiwis say, rowing blind. That’s what held me up.’
Dan took a swallow of the wonderfully hot, sweet tea. ‘I don’t understand how.’
‘Magnus,’ he said, ‘was magnificent. Banged heads, apparently. Haas and Jurgens, I think that’s what the local Nazi chappie is called.’
Dan understood even less. ‘Flett works for us?’
Jono beamed. ‘Always have options. Yes, if he had not alerted us to the dire situation, it might have been all over, red rover.’
‘Inspector Biggart is here?’
‘Fraid not. How about I fill you in, then you ask questions.’
Dan sipped tea as Jono explained that when he got here, the action was over. They had been able to learn of the local Nazi sympathiser Jurgens from the Fiedlers, the Hutt Valley couple he located, Dan might have heard about them from Biggart. Dan said he did. Jono flicked his head, eliciting a horrible crack somewhere in the back of his neck. Again, he seemed oblivious to his knuckle-cracking, brushed his blond lock off his lazy eye, drawled that he only got to Lowry Bay in time to see the Brandenburg disappearing into the harbour mists. One follows, he said.
As he approached the barracks, he heard the heavy arms fire and the pistol responses. Naturally he had approached cautiously. The firing ceased, he heard the distinct thud of heads, and it was all over. The only fatality was the sergeant.
Dan gasped. ‘How did he die?’
Jono stroked his chin. ‘Not from gunfire. Looked like a heart attack, all the excitement too much, I expect. He was not exactly in the pink.’
‘And Haas and Jurgens?’
‘Flett will have them sharing the quarters you recently vacated. With very sore heads. Flett is not to be underestimated.’
‘And the soldiers?’
Jono shrugged. ‘Where I suggested they should be, on duty. Unfortunately, as you may be aware, the phone line is cut to Fort Dorset. Best you get some shut-eye. Biggart and his team will be here in the morning.’
Dan asked if he could see the sergeant. Jono eyed him dubiously, said the men had carried him to the hospital, put him in the laundry. What was Dan planning to do, check his pulse?
The Commissioner’s Rule about being slow to accept positive theories was in his mind, but he was not going to confide that to Jono. He was still absorbing the role played by Flett, wondering if he in fact could speak clear English as well as the impenetrable Shetland dialect. Who exactly was Flett working for? And indeed Jono? He and the sergeant came from the same place, Londonderry. Well, originally Jono came from Germany. Was this mere coincidence? The Commissioner’s Rules did not deal with coincidence, only with the need to follow every channel which may possibly lead to the discovery of the truth. Dan intended to do that, wherever it led. His spell alone in the jail hut had given him time to ponder more than his own dilemma.
‘One of the soldiers wanted to see him too,’ Jono said. ‘Some sort of loyalty thing, I expect. I’ll leave you to your tryst. Magnus and I need to have a word with our prisoners, if they are conscious.’
Dan expected Bell was keeping his boxing coach company, perhaps also harvesting the money the sergeant had accepted. To his surprise it was Price who was there, and kneeling next to the table where the sergeant’s body was covered by a sheet. He swung around as Dan entered. In the feeble light provided by the much-abused island generator Dan could see how distressed he was.
Price swiped a hand across his face, stood awkwardly. He looked piteously at Dan.
‘He didn’t deserve this.’
‘Sorry, I don’t get it. I thought you would be the last person mourning him.’
Price started crying. ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he choked.
He was right, Dan did not have a clue.
‘Somebody hit him,’ Price said. ‘He tried to tell me, but he couldn’t. He was murdered.’
Dan took a deep breath. He told Price if it was true, the post-mortem would reveal that.
‘It is true,’ he blubbered.
Dan was torn between saying something sympathetic to this odd young man and ordering him to get back on duty. He settled for saying it was a tragic business, but they would have to wait for the authorities to confirm what he alleged. ‘Meantime,’ he said more sharply. ‘It is best if you relieve one of the other soldiers. They need to be alert. None of us want any further problems, do we?
‘No,’ Price sniffed. ‘Good to see you are, um, freed, sir.’
Dan had his duty to attend to. The moment the door was closed he pulled back the sheet. The sergeant’s body was rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, probably done by Price. He forced himself to lift the arms clear of the tunic pockets. They felt heavy and cold as marble. He went through the pockets, his tummy protesting, his tea threatening to come up. He took deep breaths. Nothing in the pockets. He glanced at the face. It was at peace, all anger leached away. Dan went through the pockets of his trousers, only a grubby handkerchief. The money was gone. He couldn’t see how the sergeant would have had time to hide it. Somebody else had removed it. This had to mean somebody else knew about the money exchange at the wharf. Everybody else was alive and accounted for, and one of them was a thief. Could it be Price? Surely he was not that good an actor? Or was he? The cook had fooled him. Just about everybody had. He was sick and tired of being duped. Time to turn the tide, blow away the fog clouding his perceptions. Before Biggart arrived and took over, and quite likely dismissed him, he was going to have a talk to the soldiers, as a group and one-on-one.