Last Out From Roaring Water Bay (39 page)

“Subtle sarcasm isn’t called for, Shamus. If you don’t mind, that’s my speciality. Something you’re not very good at.”

“Well, look at it seriously, Shacks sir. It could relate to a number of people scattered around Ireland.”

“Perhaps your house calls isn’t far wrong, Shamus. If we can trace the ring to a family of McCraken’s then there might be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow with a leprechaun to greet us after all.”

Shamus scoffed my hopes hastily. “Who’d be that lucky, Shacks sir?”

“There’s no luck involved, my distrusting Irishman. I might just know the person who can help us on the matter. He’s quite an expert on bad people, especially the Irish breed before WWII started.”

Deveron had come to my mind but I didn’t fancy another trip across Ireland.

Something else was bothering me too. Something I’d struggle to avoid. The longer I continued this campaign for revenge, the more I’d need a pair of waders to wear because the shit piling beneath me was getting deeper and deeper and deeper and soon I would be up to my neck in the putrid game of dodging death.

As for the dead divers I’d left behind inside the cavern, if the situation should arise and I was dragged before a court, I was concerned how I would prove that I had acted in self defence, as no court in the land would believe my story. In truth I probably would never have to defend myself. Dead men can’t talk.

I looked across at Shamus. I guessed he must see me as a pretty hard and ruthless character. That didn’t really bother me either. Yet hiding behind my show of contempt I knew that I’d sunk low in the credibility status as I reflected on my achievements to commit enough crimes to warrant a lengthy stretch in an Irish prison. I still had one chance of reparation if I could pluck from obscurity the mastermind behind all this mess, then a stint behind bars would be worth the trouble.

We sailed into North harbour on Cape Clear just as the ferry was departing back to Baltimore.

While Shamus docked the
Muff
, I gathered a few necessities into a rucksack, climbing ropes and pulleys, hammer, hung a pair of binoculars around my neck and went up on deck. After Shamus had locked the galley door we set off up the hill and followed the road, mingling with other bird spotting, sight-seeing tourists and mixing with the local islanders.

We walked briskly along making good ground. I’d no worries about any sudden attacks from behind because Shamus was constantly glancing over both his shoulders like a man possessed, highly suspicious of everyone that we passed. He must have made himself dizzy by the time he gave up his security precautions.

We’d reached the heritage centre now. It wasn’t hard to imagine the simplicity for the hijackers to conduct activities on the Island in 1944 without interference. Before tourism the island would have been practically deserted apart from the residential Islanders minding their own business. Overall it presented the hijacker’s with the opportunity and freedom to organize to perfection a successful high sea robbery and with all the time they needed to ensure its success. I wondered what kind of man came up with this intriguing crime.

We left the normal pathways and crossed the foot flattened grassland path that guided us to the cliff edges which were protected by a battered wire fence and a stone wall to the right and nothing else to prevent danger. One look over the cliff edge and the sight of the rugged sea inlet below should have been sufficient to scare off anybody who wanted to attempt a crossing over to the ruins of Dun an Oir. And at high tide it was impossible to cross over on foot. That meant when the fort was built there must have been some form of bridge to cross. My guess would have been a rope and wood panelled design but it would have been suspect to swaying in high winds. At low tide I imagined the builders would have created a stone bridge because down the side of the cliff was a narrow ledge descending to the raging sea below.

I wondered how the hijackers had negotiated the problem of crossing over to the fort, though I suppose in the forties the fort wouldn’t have been in as worst state than it was now. Looking at the fort, it was hardly a spectacular piece of engineering to admire. Not a huge construction. Stone built although the battlements had almost gone. And two of the outer walls were half demolished, but strangely the fort’s upper floor was still intact and now covered with a mixture of vegetation.

Shamus decided to breach the damaged wire fencing and climbed through. He risked a peek over the edge cliff. “I don’t think I’d be venturing down there, Shacks sir. Not even with all the mountaineering gear in the world.”

I joined him and had a shufti myself. Frightening was the verdict “I wouldn’t dream of sending you down there, it’s far too dangerous.”

“Yer be thinking of sending me down there would yer now, Shacks sir? Now there’s a surprise. But I was right about the fort. There’s nothing to see but ruins and rocks and more rocks and a sheer drop into the jaws of death. This is a dangerous place.”

I had to agree with him on that. I pressed the binoculars to my eyes and made a quick assessment of the ruins. It was difficult to tell if there had ever been a hidden entrance inside the fort I wondered if the rock fall had perhaps sealed the tunnel forever therefore it would be pointless for me and Shamus to waste time climbing across only to find nothing. At least I’d satisfied my curiosity and I could tick it off my list.

I swung the binoculars away from the fort and in the far in the distance I could see the
Flying Fish
still anchored. I nudged Shamus in the arm.

“There,” I pointed out to sea. “Didn’t I say they’d be too dumb to up anchor without first establishing the safe return of their divers. We’d plenty of time to conclude our business before returning to Baltimore.”

“That maybe so, Shacks, sir. But have yer yet decided how we explain to the Garda about those dead men back there?”

“We won’t have to, Shamus.”

“They’ll have a warrant out on us.”

“Who’s going to tell the Garda about us, the crew on the
Flying Fish
maybe? I don’t think so, Shamus. If I’m right they won’t be reporting anything untoward. The questions the authorities would ask would be far too incriminating for them to explain away.”

Shamus had agleam in his eyes. “So I’ll not to be standing trial as an accomplice then, Shacks sir?”

“Not a chance. They’ll cut and run just as we’ve done.”

“We should be doing ourselves right now, back to Baltimore, Shacks sir. Forget these crazy ideas of hidden passages.”

“It’s not as crazy as you think, Shamus. I’m willing to wager all your money there’s a secret entrance in close proximity of the fort.”

“Yer really convinced, Shacks, Sir?”

“Frigging hell, think about it, Shamus. No sane warrior, man or beast, even in the fifteenth century, builds a fort on a splinter of rock without having a secret means of escape in-case the unthinkable happens and the fort is attacked and taken. This fort was probably built as a bank to hold their worldly treasures from marauding Vikings plundering their lands. I think the hijackers discovered the cavern or at least knew of its existence for a long time and cleverly used it to their advantage.”

“Well we’re not going to find it today, Shacks sir. And yer’re forgetting that the
Flying Fish
has more horsepower than the
Muff
, so we’d better get away before they catch up with us.”

“I shrugged. “Perhaps we should get back, Shamus. Maybe I’m being too over ambitious in my presumption of an entrance. I have to be honest though, and what I thought was an entrance would be impassable for even a trained mouse.”

“Does it really matter, Shacks, Sir? Yer said the gold wasn’t there to be found.”

“I detest incomplete theories of events. And not just that-,” I broke off, my eyes flicking in all directions. I could have sworn something had whizzed past my cheek bone and fragmented a piece of the rock wall at the side of me. Unsure of what had just occurred I grabbed Shamus by the arm in panic, dragged him down to the ground and we both scrambled behind the stone wall like two scared rabbits.

I scanned the terrain in all directions. I was sure it had been a bullet ricochet that had been too close for comfort.

“Hell, Shacks Sir, what’s wrong now, yer’re turning me into a right jittery old bugger.”

I gave him the bad news as softly as I could. “We’re being shot at.”

“What the devil are yer’re talking about, Shacks Sir?”

He got his answer straight away as another bullet ricochet spat from the rock wall just in front of Shamus. He was flat down to the ground eating daisies quicker than a magician’s turn of hand.

“What the hell’s going on, Shacks sir?”

Not trying to be funny, I said, “It might just be possible someone wants us dead!”

“O’ Mother Theresa, protect my miserable life.” He was too flat to the floor to cross his chest but he still tried.

“Keep your eyes peeled for the gunman.”

“I don’t wish to sound disrespectful, Shacks sir. But for an Englishman yer can attract some unscrupulous shit. Trouble follows yer quicker than sticking yer finger in a hornet’s nest.”

I was still focusing hard on the rocks above. “Shamus, shut up! Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, try finding where the shots came from.”

He looked at me horrified. “Not on yer life, Shacks sir. Have me head blown off the moment I lift it?”

I gave him a disapproving look. “Coward,” I teased.

“Coward I am, Shacks sir? And I’m willing to accept the white feather that goes with cowardice. Or would yer prefer if I was to dive from my cover and pretend I’d been shot? Yer never know it might just flush the blighter from his vantage point.”

“Thanks for the offer of heroism, Shamus, but ill advised because the shooter will only put another bullet in you to make doubly sure.”

“Jesus, be Jesus! I’d be joking, Shacks sir. Do I have suicidal idiot stamped across me forehead?”

I gave the pretence of looking. “You’re so right, Shamus; there is something stamped there in big letters.”

Shamus went cross-eyed trying to look and instinctively touched his forehead.

I shook my head in disbelief and then concentrated on finding an escape route back to the boat. I soon realized the options were limited. There was too much open ground and nothing solid enough around to use a suitable cover if we were to make a mad dash for safety. That’s when I heard excitable voices approaching. I risked a look over the wall. Tourists! Lots of them! Taking pictures of the fort. Our rescuing cavalry had arrived. The gunman had obviously seen this and realized the opportunity had gone. But was the gunman still watching; waiting for the right moment?

When the tourists were closer I stood up from behind the wall and began searching the terrain through the binoculars. I saw nothing. Either the gunman was well concealed or he had made a hasty retreat, perhaps to find another firing position. And since I’d no intention of overstaying my welcome on the island, I dragged Shamus to his feet and we mingled with the group of unsuspecting tourists until they decided to move on back up the hill. We kept close, using them as a protective screen. Naughty I know, but I was confident the gunman wouldn’t take the chance of a full scale security alert by shooting everyone in sight just to get to us.

Back on the pathway we had a clear sight of the surrounding area. No one approached us with any threat. No weapons shoved into our backs. After a few seconds I was confident the gunman had disappeared faster than a whippet with its tail on fire. We stayed with the group no longer than necessary, and once I verified there was no longer a danger to us, we legged-it back to the
Muff
.

I blew a huge sigh of relief when we clambered back aboard. I was probably more in a hurry than Shamus as I quickly unleashed the mooring rope while he started the engine. I happened to glance across to a small motor launch moored close by because I didn’t recall it being there when we first arrived. And when I saw
Flying Fish
in black stencil on the boats bow I knew how wrong I had been in assuming their inability to react quickly. They had obviously followed us immediately when we’d raised anchor.

I also made another serious error when we boarded. Neither of us had bothered to check the
Muff
for intruders, notably, failing to notice the galley door had been forced and then closed. I went down the galley steps unsuspectingly and was stopped in my stride by the gun shoved into my face. I back tracked into the wheelhouse. Shamus cursed as I resurfaced from the galley with my hands in the air.

The gunman, a scruffily dressed, well built man with dark hair, ordered me to stand next to Shamus so he had both of us in sight and we were both staring down the barrel of a silenced hand gun. I wondered if he’d been the same gunman on the cliffs taking pop-shots at us. If so, he must have sprinted back to the harbour to have gained such an advantage over us, but he appeared to me as if he hadn’t broke into a sweat and had probably been left behind to watch the
Muff
. It meant that there were others.

Shamus broke the silence and told me off. “I thought yer said there’d be no reaction? No one would bother us. Hell, Shacks Sir, yer’ve got me in bloody war!”

The gunman angered, threatening wildly with the gun. “Be quiet you babbling buffoon!”

Shamus was a little upset at being compared to the animal kingdom, but I was more interested as to why the gunman’s eyes kept shifting beyond us as if he was looking back up the hill where we’d just come from. It was obvious he was waiting for someone else to join us. I managed to flick my eyes in the direction the gunman was looking. Yes I was right. I could just make out the two figures hurriedly in descent and heading for the harbour. Though difficult to tell from this distance there was a similarity about the two approaching runners, but my brain was already in overdrive arranging a get-out clause and how I should deal with the gunman in front of me. By sheer luck I got my chance to make amends for my flaw in concentration when we’d boarded the
Muff
.