Chapter 33

I looked at the OS map but I wasn’t really looking at it, I was miles away watching images of my youth on the big screen in my mind. Three of the ley lines intersected at the point where Holy Island climbs from the sea to become Holyhead Mountain. At the base of the mountain is an abandoned quarry, which supplied the rocks to build the breakwater. The breakwater stretches a mile and half into the sea and is wide enough to drive two articulated lorries side by side. In the 1800s a grand hotel called Soldiers Point was built overlooking the breakwater. Soldiers Point was now a derelict hotel, castle-like in its appearance and it was the building which haunted my dreams. It couldn’t be a coincidence, something in my mind had been telling me not to go there, no matter what happened. Once a Victorian edifice used by only the rich seafaring merchants and wealthy visitors to the port, it was now a crumbling shell. It had been plagued by misfortune, tragedy, suicide and even murder. Maybe the perilous region of the sea highlighted by the ley lines had tendrils of bad energy which encompassed that part of the island too. It could certainly be considered ‘sinister’.

The ruins would make the ideal place to hold a Satanic ceremony in a movie but as ever, I was not in a movie and the last time I had explored the remains, I was amazed by how fragile the entire structure had become. A few determined niners could penetrate the shabby mesh fences which formed a flimsy perimeter around the hotel, but if they were in numbers, then I doubted the rotting floors would support them. The hotel had plagued my sleeping hours for months and now I knew why. It would have something to do with the climax of my journey, of that I was certain.

It was the building next to it which drew my attention and made the skin on the back of my neck crawl. “I think I’ve had an epiphany,” I said reaching for a menthol. “I don’t know why it hasn’t dawned on me before.”

Joseph was in the kitchen making more coffee. Anyone who liked coffee and cigarettes as much as I did had to be okay. He put his cig between his lips so that he could carry both mugs. The smoke drifted into his eyes making him squint. “I think I met her in a pub in Plymouth once.”

“Who?”

“Epiphany,” he plonked the cups down avoiding the map and ever growing bits of notepaper. “I was joking.”

“I know.”

“What have you found?”

“More coincidences.”

“You don’t do coincidences.”

“I don’t.”

“What is it then? Spit it out.”

“When I was a boy I lived here, number 9 Porth-y-felin,” I pointed to it on the map. “It’s right near the sea and my bedroom was at the back of the house overlooking here.”

“The marina, the breakwater, the mountain,” Joseph studied the area. “Must have been some view.”

“It was but look,” I followed one of the ley lines with my finger.

“It does run very close to your old street.”

“Here,” I said pointing to the old hotel and the building next to it. “Soldier’s Point is a possibility, although I think it’s way too dangerous for more than a handful of people. It’s a death trap but the building next door would be perfect.”

“What is it?”

“Porth-y-felin House,” I answered. “Coincidence or not, that’s what it is called.”

“Same name as the street you lived in.”

“And I lived at number nine, niners, Order of Nine Angels, maybe this has always been on the cards?”

“You’re stretching again,” Joseph shook his head. “Get your feet back on the ground and think straight. Drink your coffee and tell me what you know about the place.”

“It’s a huge building, the size of big hotel. It was built by the foreman who built the breakwater. He must have been minted, it’s massive. The main gate is off this track here. The grounds run right down to the marina here.”

“What’s this?”

“It’s a jetty,” I replied looking at the map.

“How come?”

“It was commandeered by the RAF and used to operate a marine rescue unit called the Marine Craft Unit,” I explained. “I was friendly with some of the lads from there and they had a bar in the cellar called the Bilges. I used to go there all the time.”

“What was the jetty used for?”

“That’s where they moored their launches.”

“What is it now?”

“Abandoned,” I gulped my brew, “it was closed in 1986, been empty and boarded up ever since.”

“When did you last see this building?”

“A year ago.”

“Was the jetty intact?”

“Yes,” I thought back. “I was staying here in my brother’s place.” I pointed to a new apartment block, which had been built overlooking the marina. An armada of white yachts of varying size appeared in my mind; the sound of rigging clanking against their metal masts rang in my mind. The noises carried at night keeping me awake and driving me to distraction. “I could see the jetty from his balcony. It looked pretty solid to me.”

“What about the ladders?”

“Yes they’re still there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I remember watching a couple of old blokes emptying their crab pots when the tide went out. They used the ladders to climb up the jetty and then walked down this path here into this cove here.” I pointed to the area on the map. “Do you know someone with a boat?” I asked guessing as to why he was interested in the jetty.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Me. I’ve got a 16ft rigid in the garage.”

“Under the covers?”

“Yes.”

“Will it get us to Anglesey?”

“It would get us to France if the weather permitted.” Joseph pointed to a picture on the wall. He was standing with a group of men all dressed in orange waterproofs. The rigid was behind them. There were more boats in the background. “We taxi boat owners out to their yachts in the summer. Along with the shop and my pension I do alright.”

“Where will we sail from?” I looked out of the patio windows. “There are police all over the town.”

Joseph stood and walked to the window. “The ramp I launch from is beyond the fairground to the left of the station there. Can you see the rollercoaster?”

“I see it.”

“I’ll put you in the rib under the boards before we go,” Joseph shrugged. “No one will stop me on the way to the ramp. Once we’re out of the bay, you can get up.”

“Okay,” I liked the idea. It sounded too simple but it beat trying to get to Anglesey by road. “Then what?”

“We blow the fuckers to hell.”

“What are we going to blow them up with?”

“You made pipe bombs before didn’t you?” he smiled, “before you went to the farm.”

“I did,” I replied proudly. “Fireworks and lead pipe. They worked a treat.”

“We’re going to do the same but no fireworks.”

“No fireworks?”

“No.”

“What are we going to use?”

“Tovex.”

“Fucking hell,” I remember being very surprised.

“You know what it is?”

“I’ve used it a few times,” I smiled, “in a book though. It’s the terrorists’ explosive of choice nowadays. That stuff is the reason why we can’t take liquids through an airport.”

“Well then, you know how explosive it is then.”

“I know what I’ve read.”

“We’re going to use the same principle as you used for your pipe bombs, except we’ll be using Tovex in plastic bottles,” he demonstrated with his hands. “It becomes unstable next to metal. I’ve got enough Tovex to make three or four bombs which will level that building and the hotel. If that doesn’t take them all out then we’re fucked anyway.”

“Where the hell did you get Tovex from?”

“The builders used it to blast the rock from the back of the house when we started building,” he laughed dryly. “I ordered a bit too much just in case. You never know when you’ll need it.”

“We had better get busy then.” Suddenly I wasn’t happy at all. “A boat, explosives, I feel like I’ve bumped into Rambo. This is all too good to be true.”

“Like you said,” Joseph frowned, “you got lucky.”

“Funny but I don’t even know your surname yet you’re willing to put your liberty and life on the line for a stranger.”

“Walcott,” he walked away towards the kitchen as he spoke. He picked up a piece of crumpled white card and brought it back, thrusting it into my hands. “I took this out of you trousers when I washed them. My surname is Walcott. It is on the business card, which I gave to you and you’re a cheeky bastard.”

“Cheeky bastard is better than dead bastard.” I blushed.

“One can lead very quickly to the other,” he picked up the laptop and walked back to me. He handed me the computer and then went over to the kitchen cupboards. He pulled a blue photo album and dropped it onto the worktops. “Here are my photos and you can check out my record on there. Ask me anything.”

“What year was your unit sent to Bosnia?” I couldn’t work out if he was a warrior who couldn’t hang up his sword or if he was a plant. My gut feeling told me that he was a warrior but I decided that I had to be sure.

“1995,” a thin lipped smile parted his lips. “97 to 98, Commandos went to the Congo and then in 2000 I was part of Operation Agricola in Kosovo.”

Although I felt awkward, I put the laptop down on the coffee table and stepped over to the kitchen. I flicked through the first three pages of the album, which were made up of Joseph’s training and passing out parade. The face was fresher and much less lived in but it was Joseph. They were genuine, not photo-shopped. “Look at the state of that moustache,” I joked.

“They were fashionable then,” he countered.

“You look like an extra in a YMCA video.”

“Fuck you!”

“See,” I raised my eyebrows. “Definitely gay.”

“Are we going to do this or not?” he stopped laughing. “I’m coming along because I happen to think this is worth fighting for. One less paedophile and I’ll be happy but if we can frazzle a bus load of them together ,then I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Yes,” I held out my hand as I spoke. Joseph shook it, “what’s first?” I relaxed, happy that Joseph was trustworthy.

“Okay,” Joseph clapped his hands together. “We think that we know where she is. As soon as we get the ping on the mobile to confirm your theory about the venue then we’ll sail. We need to get ready to move. We’ll sail as soon as it’s dark and hit them first thing in the morning before the sun comes up.”