Chapter 55

On leaving the naval base, Archie headed straight for his flat at Gunwharf Quays on the seafront. Letting himself in, he put on some soothing music, a Jack Johnson CD that he always listened to when he wanted to relax. His upbeat eighties pop music classics were for when he was in a doing mood. This music was calm and allowed him to reflect.

He grabbed a towel and enjoyed a hot shower with the music still floating through to his cleanly rinsed ears. He always remembered to wash behind the ears otherwise his mother would not have been happy, before changing into smart casual clothes. These were clothes in which he could try and forget the events of the day.

The flat had a small balcony and Archie pulled up the black side handle, which allowed him to open fully the sliding doors. He stepped out onto the wooden decking that, suspended at this height, gave a wonderful view onto the happenings of the Portsmouth Harbour entrance below.

Standing with the first glass of lager in his hand, Archie took in the view; the small sailing dinghies bobbing up and down on the large ocean waves with their strong tidal pull, the more substantial yachts mainly returning from their day’s outings and the continual hubbub of ferries taking cars and passengers both to the Isle of Wight and the Continent.

Try as he might, the images of the torn parachute down below the sheer cliff edge belonging to Kevin, his communications specialist, the grimacing figure of James clutching his stomach; and the thud of Nick’s body crashing to the ground from the helicopter above were preoccupying his thoughts.

These negative images were pervading his senses, consuming his mind and eating away at his sanity. His pint glass was still over half full but his soul was concentrating on the element that was empty. Archie knew that he was in trouble. He recognised that he needed to be in the companionship of his friends and groups that lifted his spirits. He just could not dwell on the events of the last few days. It would send him mad.

Yet again he wondered as to why Emma had been on the mountainside in the bright orange survival bag. What had she been doing there in the first place? She must never know that he and his team had been out on a mission. He was truly scared that something in her subconscious may pinpoint Archie and his band as having been by her side in the night. He needed to approach this one carefully. He had to ensure that Emma had no memory of that awful period.

What would raise his spirits? Well, certainly a walk out and about. He could not mull on all that had slipped from their grasp. Where was Petty Officer Betts now? What had happened to the cross country skier who escaped from his secret alpine chalet in a micro-light?

Anyone would have thought it ridiculous. Quite a story you have there, Archie, they’d laugh. It wasn’t a laugh, though, was it? It had cost the lives of three of his close team. The perpetrators were still out there, somewhere, and yet he, Lieutenant Archie Malcolm, had achieved nothing. Furthermore, he had been taken off the mission, which had been his only chance of redeeming himself, of fighting on and proving the Commander wrong and ensuring that all the culprits were brought to justice.

He finished off the cool lager, closed up the sliding door and picked up his wallet, mobile and keys from the round wooden bowl on the side table by the front door of his flat. He could not help himself from slamming the door on his way out as he was so annoyed. He could not stop the ideas, the conflicting thoughts, from swimming around his confused and aching head. He needed the fresh air, the effects of the endless sea horizon and the interaction with friends to distract his mind and wholly absorb him in something, anything, else.