Chapter 2

Archie Malcolm climbed the spiral stone staircase to the ringing chamber. There were fifty five steps but it always felt like there were more.

He was in good shape and bounded up the narrow, dark space, past the small vertical slit openings, which gave a tantalising framed view onto the naval port below. The heavy set ringing chamber door creaked open at his insistent push and he dropped down the couple of internal steps onto its floor.

“Grab hold for a touch of Grandsire Caters,” bellowed the Tower Captain. “Morning Archie. How about you take the fourth?” Archie felt honoured to be part of this Cathedral group. Over the next ten minutes all of his troubles went away. He thought about nothing else except for the ringing, remembering his place, ensuring that he was striking the bell as well as he could and once again proving himself a reliable member of the band.

The ringers finished their touch. The Tower Captain put the clock chimes on and the tenor rang out like a deep base drum announcing the eleventh hour of the day. Over four thousand towers across the United Kingdom had bells that were being rung that morning.

The bells remained in the up position, balanced against their wooden stays like upturned mushrooms. Any would be liable to fall, given a pull of the dangling ropes in the ringing chamber, heavy passing traffic, or an earthquake type event. The Tower Captain motioned to Archie that he had to attend to the flag on the roof for the Queen’s Birthday and he needed to climb up through the bell chamber.

Both Archie and the Tower Captain scrambled up the faded silver metal ladder leading from the ringing chamber, through the musty bell chamber to the roof access hatch. Breathing heavily, the Tower Captain prised open the locking pin of the heavy hatch and hauled himself onto the lead lined roof sheet.

As the much younger man, Archie manoeuvred himself more gracefully, and helped to unfurl the tower’s flag. A cool breeze ran through the stone masonry and caught the cotton material holding the Queen’s colours.

Whilst the Tower Captain was hoisting the flag, Archie quickly scanned the edge of the dockyard with his keen eyes. There was not a better view or a higher perch in the whole of historic Southsea. As he had guessed, the colourful fishing boat, the Alana Princess, was just pulling off beyond the dockyard and she was clearly heavily laden. She ploughed through the water, heading across to Ryde on the Isle of Wight.

Archie raced down the ladder, excusing himself in a throaty shout to the Tower Captain for PhD studying, and slipped down the spiral staircase, past the organ, and out into the hustle and bustle of Old Portsmouth.

Ten minutes later a young, athletic man strode purposefully through the main gate of HMS Dolphin, where the sentry on duty saluted to his superior. He crammed the documents, that were attempting to escape, back into his dark leather holdall. He swiped his pass card against the door entry system on the side-wall, marched through the door into an open-plan seating area and hung his coat on the wall.

Monica glanced at him dismissively. The young man glared back.

“Please go through,” she said.

The double doors opened electronically. The soft padded floor and red leather armchairs were shaded away from the grey, tinted, half-shuttered blinds. The long mahogany boardroom table was surrounded by a number of occupied chairs. A gravelly voice rose up from the man at the head of the assembled party, “Ah, Lieutenant Malcolm, you have decided to join us.”