Chapter 40

I felt a pang of guilt as I stood over Joseph’s body. He’d taken a bullet in the chest near the armpit. The vest had stopped it penetrating but his right arm hung limply at an angle. Blood trickled from a glancing wound to his temple. I couldn’t see any bullet holes anywhere. This was yet another example of what happened to those who tried to help me. I knelt by him and pressed a pad to the head wound. His skin was still warm to the touch and his pulse was strong. I strapped a thick pad to the bleeding on his abdomen and taped it to the skin. He’d given me a chance to end the nightmare and I wasn’t going to let him down.

“You look worse than me,” he whispered. His eyes opened and the pupils looked dilated.

“Are you okay?”

“Stupid question.”

“Stupid answer.”

“I’m okay.” He shifted his weight and looked me up and down. “You’re a mess. Go and sort yourself out. Get a shower and then we need to get out of here.”

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere except hospital,” I shook my head. He was immobilised by his injuries and he would be a liability to me.

“You can’t go alone.”

“I got this far remember.”

“Yes, but fuck knows how!” Joseph tried to get up but his broken ribs would barely allow him to breathe. “I’m fucked,” he sighed and lay back down. “Sort out those cuts. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you sure you can hang on?” I took a few moments to think things through.

“First and foremost, you need to treat those injuries. You’ll need every ounce of energy that you can muster, so bleeding to death will defeat the object. I’m broken up but I’ll live.”

Walking back up the stairs to the bedroom was surreal. Like a journey through a haunted house. In stark contrast to the gore on the stairs, the bedroom was like a haven of normality. I peeled off the waterproofs and dumped them on the floor of the bathroom. Emptying the kitbag onto the sink, I found tweezers and antiseptic cream. The hot water from the shower soothed my body and my soul. At first, the water ran red but it soon ran clear. Most of the wounds were superficial and didn’t need dressing but the bite was nasty. In the real world it should have been stitched and treated with antibiotics to fend off infection but I didn’t have that luxury. I plastered cream on it and applied a gauze pad. It wasn’t ideal but the best that I could do. The wound behind my ear had started to scab already so I covered it with antiseptic and a plaster.

I dressed in Joseph’s room and the black combats kept the dressing packed against the bite wound. It was painful but would help to stem the bleeding. I glanced in the mirror and prayed silently that I wouldn’t encounter a policeman or an observant member of the public. I looked like I’d been in a battle and without the beard and hair around the sides of my head, I looked like me. The original plan of getting to the launching ramp hidden in the rigid was out of the window. I’d have to drive and pray I didn’t pass anyone. I’d need some luck.

‘You have to make your own luck’. I heard my own voice talking in my head. I had told Joseph those exact words. I would have to make my own luck and I had an idea how to do that. Everything that I needed was in the boat. I selected a clean set of waterproofs and took the remote from the jag. I opened the garage door and walked back to Joseph. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve felt better.”

“I need you to phone an ambulance and then the police,” I handed him the telephone as I spoke.

“The police?”

“Yes.”

“What am I going to say to them?” He nodded towards flattop’s body. “My house is trashed and there’s two dead bodies belonging to marines I served with.”

“Normally I would use my vivid imagination to come up with a blindingly believable lie but on this occasion, tell them the truth.”

“Have you had a bang on the head?”

“No,” I was adamant. “Tell them everything including the fact that these two wankers contacted someone called Lord Penrith and that he’s with a large number of niners on Anglesey.”

“That doesn’t make sense. It’ll tip them off. They’ll scarper.”

“If the police think that there is a peer involved in this and they can check out your story from his mobile phone records, then they’ll descend on the island like a plague of locusts. The niners will be spread all over the place in bed and breakfasts, camp-sites, caravan parks and hotels. They won’t be together. If this hits the news then the hangers on will run for hills long before I get there,” I explained my plan. “Only Jennifer and her hardcore will risk staying. With most of them gone, I’ll have more chance of getting to her. I need you to do this.”

“What about the Jeep and the rib?”

“Tell them that I stole the Jeep,” I winked. “Don’t mention the boat, eh.”

“They’ll concentrate on the roads out of town?”

“That’s the plan,” I thought out loud. “You can put your selective memory down to the head wound. I’m taking your Glock and ammunition and all the Tovex is gone so there’s nothing here that you can be done for. Tell the police that I killed both of them.”

“No. I’ll tell them that I don’t know what happened.”

“Whatever works for you,” I agreed.

“You see the black toolbox over there?” he pointed to a shelf beneath the workbenches. “Take it with you in the boat. They’re night vision glasses. Put them on as you approach the jetty and give it at least ten minutes to adjust to them. There’s a camo-stick in there too, so black up before you land.” He looked very concerned as he spoke. “Take this vest too. I don’t need it any more. Remember that you have the element of surprise. Make sure you take your time to reccy the place. Don’t rush straight into a trap.”

“I need to go.” I nodded that I understood. I could tell that he thought that I was going to my death. It was in his eyes and written all over his face. “Give me ten minutes before you call them. You take care.”

“Good luck,” he smiled but it turned to a grimace as his broken ribs reminded him that they were there. “Kill the bitch.”

“Joseph,” I said as an afterthought. “Upstairs is a bit of a mess. I think it might mess with your karma.”

“Just fuck off, will you, or I’ll tell them there’s a nutcase in my boat,” he grinned.

“And thanks,” I shouted over the top of the Jeep as I climbed in.

***

Ten minutes later, when the sirens started wailing, I was navigating the one way system through Barmouth. Three police cars and an ambulance screamed past me heading in the other direction. I knew it would be a matter of minutes before they were joined by every uniformed unit near the coast. The roads around the funfair had been reopened and I made it to the promenade without incident. Five minutes further on, I parked the Jeep at the top of the launch ramp. I saw why Joseph had said we needed to leave when it went dark. The tide was high and the water was lapping at the sea wall just metres from the road. The wall ran for a mile in both directions and was designed as both seating and a barrier against the winter storms. A scruffy toilet block was the only building for half a mile and even from a distance it exuded the aroma of stale urine. A couple of winos occupied the bench in front of it, oblivious to the stink, cans of special brew in hand. The road was dead when I reversed onto the ramp and the Jeep purred as I lowered the trailer into the water. When the boat floated off it, I jumped out and tied it up. The two men eyed me intensely.

“Are you going fishing mate?” A pair of bleary red eyes tried hard to focus on me. His friend looked a little more sober.

“Mackerel are biting this time of year.”

“No this is a one way trip. I’m emigrating,” I said. They looked at me as if I was mad.

“Where to?”

“I’m not sure, I’m just sailing that way and see wherever I end up.”

“He’s taking the piss.”

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Nope,” I held up the keys. “Here do you want to borrow my Jeep for a while?”

They looked at each other in confusion. Neither of them moved.

“What do you mean for a while?”

“The police will stop you sooner or later but you could go for a spin in the meantime.”

“He is taking the piss.”

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Look,” I tossed the keys and the soberish guy caught them. “I’m off so why don’t you take her for a spin along the coast road. There’s plenty of diesel in it.”

“He’s taking the piss.”

“Are you taking the piss?”

They stared from the keys to the Jeep and then at each other. I untied the rigid and jumped into it. The outboard fired up on the second ask. I steered it forward between the guide buoys for a few minutes. The further out I went, the better I felt. As I turned the boat around and headed out to sea, I saw the Jeep trundling along the promenade. They were heading out of town, which meant they wouldn’t be picked up for a while. The further out of the bay I sailed, the deeper the swell was and the darker the night became. I hugged the coastline using the lights of the coast roads and the seaside towns as my guides. As long as I kept them parallel to my right, I was heading in the right direction. The wind was biting and the spray felt like tiny pinpricks of ice where it hit the skin. I was cold and alone but I wasn’t down; in fact the opposite was true. The freedom that the boat gave me felt liberating and exhilarating. I felt invisible to the rest of the world and invisible was good. My eyes adjusted to the darkness so the cliffs and headlands were dark silhouettes against a darker backdrop and the ever present yellow globes of light gave me the comfort that I wasn’t lost in a black void.

When the lights and the land veered away sharply to the right, I knew I was level with the Menai Straits. In the distance, I could see the bridges illuminated between the landmasses, their structures made even more fabulous by the lights. From my position, the passage between the mainland and the island looked like a wondrous grotto, lights like diamonds twinkled on both banks but they belied the truth. The Straits are treacherous. There are powerful rip-tides and undercurrents as the sea is funnelled into a narrow channel and then squeezed out at the other end. Many an experienced sailor has come unstuck on the reefs and rocks which lurk just below the surface. I was a novice chancing my luck in the dark. My voyage was to be in the alternative direction along the south coast of the island, which is less inhabited and therefore was less illuminated.

The rigid seemed almost indestructible as it ploughed through the swell relentlessly. Although it was a daunting trip in the darkness, it was also a nostalgic one as I passed the time identifying the villages and tiny harbours. The waters around South Stack were kind to me, although looking up at the lighthouse from the sea was alien to me. I’d only ever seen it from hundreds of metres above. Its white tower glowed eerily against the massive cliffs behind it and the mountain loomed above like a giant black colossus blotting out the night sky. There were white horses on the tips of the swell and salty foam floated on the wind like bubbles. It was cold and wet but the most dangerous leg of the journey was pretty straightforward. As I sailed around North Stack, the lights of Holyhead twinkled like yellow jewels and the lighthouse at the end of the Breakwater shone like a beacon of hope for me. I used its beam to guide me along the rocky coast until the turrets and fortifications on the roof of Soldier’s Point were silhouetted by the lights of the marina. It was the building, which had haunted my sleeping hours for months. Although I had made it against all the odds, there was no glee in my arrival. I thought about turning around and sailing into the night but I couldn’t. This was where the final scene would be acted out. There would be no applause and no encores. When the curtain came down, it would be the end.