Laura Marlin Mysteries 2: Kidnap in the Caribbean (17 page)

‘We talked to a waitress wearing a Marine Concern T-shirt when we were in Antigua,’ Laura said. ‘They save dolphins or something, don’t they?’

‘Not exactly. They research rare marine species and look into ways of saving them. Their offices and laboratories are at the foot of the cliffs a couple of kilometres away. The Montserrat Volcano Observatory staff tried to talk them out of building their offices in the path of the volcano, but they were adamant that that specific location was essential for their research. It has the safest harbour on the island or some such thing. I attempted to interest them in signing up to Project V, the eruption early warning system I’m developing, but they were hostile to say the least. They said they had their own state-of-the-art monitoring system in place.’

Laura said nothing. The more she heard about Marine Concern, the more she was convinced they had something to hide.

It turned out that the caravan slept four. Tariq and Laura chose the foldout bunk beds in the living room area. Skye settled on the mat by the door. He’d been cooped up since mid-afternoon in a motorised bird and a ratty old Land Rover, and he was dying to go out exploring.

‘After dinner,’ Laura promised him in a whisper, hoping that there was food somewhere in the caravan.

Rupert flung open the fridge. ‘Guava juice okay?’ he said, pouring them two big glasses before they had time to answer. ‘Hungry? Of course you are. You must be starving. Well, I can offer you fried Mountain Chicken, a local speciality, which is not chicken but frogs’ legs, absolutely delicious. What, you don’t fancy it? Or I have Goat Water – a Montserratian goat meat stew.’

Laura spluttered: ‘Umm, thanks very much but I’m not hungry.’

‘We just ate,’ Tariq agreed.

‘Just ate when?’ Rupert said. ‘Back in Antigua about eight hours ago?’ He grinned. ‘Oh, I get it. You’re vegetarian but too polite to tell me. Don’t worry, I’ll rustle something up. You’re going to need your strength if we’re going to start going door to door in Montserrat hunting for your uncle.’

Laura, who really was starving, could have wept with relief, especially since Rupert prepared a pot of peas (black-eyed beans) and rice in no time at all on his little gas stove. He served it up with buttered spinach, hot sauce, and more guava juice.

When the meal was ready, the trio dined by candlelight beneath the dark mass of the volcano and a ceiling winking stars. Had her uncle not been missing, Laura would have found the experience nothing short of magical. Silence enveloped them like a balm. The only sound was Skye licking his chops under the wooden table. He was decidedly not a vegetarian and had gobbled the Goat Water stew with relish.

‘Have you always been interested in volcanoes?’ Tariq asked Rupert.

The volcanologist laughed. ‘Always. My mum claims that when I was a toddler she could keep me quiet for hours by showing me the volcano section in
Encyclopedia Britannica
. But I’m obsessed by this volcano in particular.’

Laura tipped more hot sauce onto her beans. ‘Why?’

‘Because it’s unique. No other volcano has had such a devastating effect on the community around it. You see, before it erupted in July 1995 it had been dormant for 400 years. The Montserratians had come to love their volcano; had believed that it would always be this beautiful, but benign feature of their Emerald Isle. The first sign that they were very much mistaken was a phreatic explosion.’

‘Free what?’ asked Tariq between mouthfuls.

‘Phrea-a-tic. It might be easier for you to remember it as free-a-tick. Most people think of volcanoes as spewing molten streams of lava. Some do, but others spit out terrifying streams of rocks and steam, which reach temperatures of over 1,000 degrees and barrel down the outer walls of the volcano like fiery express trains. You might have seen the consequences on your helicopter trip – Montserrat’s capital city and its old airport buried under forty feet of mud.’

He paused to pour them each a cup of milky coffee from a flask. Laura took a sip. It had a smoky flavour.

‘Go on,’ encouraged Tariq.

‘Next, a dome formed. That’s when magma – molten rock – pushes upwards and causes the land to balloon with the pressure. You’d imagine that would cause an explosion, but it does the opposite. A couple of years later, the collapse of the dome triggered the first of many pyroclastic flows. Pyroclastic means “fire rock”. An easy way to remember it is to think of it as a “glowing cloud”. It’s a lethal mix of lava, hot rocks and gas. It’s impossible to outrun it, as those who’d stayed found to their cost.’

‘Joshua told us about that,’ Tariq said.

‘Yes,’ added Laura. ‘He also mentioned something about dancing skeletons.’

Rupert’s mouth twisted. ‘I’m aware that Joshua’s wife and several other people have seen what they thought were dancing skeletons on the slopes of the volcano, but my caravan has been parked in this spot for eighteen months now and I never have. I’m not saying they’re making things up, but …’

‘But what?’ pressed Laura.

‘Put it this way. I’m a scientist. I believe that everything – including ghostly apparitions – has a scientific explanation. As far as I’m concerned, there is no such thing as supernatural.’

He covered his mouth to hide a yawn. ‘Now I don’t know about you, but I’m tuckered out after all the excitement. How about we hit the hay?’

One legacy of his former existence as a quarry slave was that Tariq slept as lightly as a cat. At 1.16am Skye made a soft ‘gruff’ sound in his throat. The Bengali boy was on his feet and fully alert almost before the sound had faded.

He dressed silently, clipped on the husky’s lead and slipped out into the night. He and Laura had planned to exercise Skye after dinner, but in the end had been too exhausted. They’d barely had the energy to fall into their bunk beds. Tariq felt guilty. The dog did so love to run.

For that reason, he had no objection as Skye pulled him along the hill path. The track was uneven and covered in loose shale, and several times Tariq nearly lost his footing as he hurried to keep up.

‘Slow down, Skye,’ he pleaded, but still the husky strained forward. His ears were pricked and he was focused and intent. Something was driving him on.

They rounded a bend and a powerful gust of wind nearly blew Tariq off balance. Only Skye’s sudden stop anchored him. He looked down. Directly beneath him was the observation deck Rupert and the other scientists used to monitor the volcano. On the edge of the distant cliffs, lights spelled out the initials of Marine Concern. Beyond was the shifting dark sea, streaked metallic blue by the moonlight. Three fishing boats were moving in a line towards the horizon.

‘Grrrr,’ went Skye.

Tariq just about leapt out of his skin. On the rocky face of the volcano, barely fifty yards from him, six ghostly skeletons danced. Their bones gave off an unearthly white glow. As they bumped and jived to silent music, their skulls wobbled on their knobbly spines and they bared their teeth in grim grins.

Most children would have run screaming for home, but Tariq was no ordinary boy. In his eleven years on the planet, he’d seen and experienced things that would have reduced a grown man to tears, and he’d learned that courage, calmness and meditation could get him through most things. Unlike the volcanologist, Tariq did believe in a spirit world. Unlike Joshua’s wife, he was not afraid of it.

Once he’d recovered from the initial shock, he stood with his hand on Skye’s collar watching the skeletons’ surreal dance. When their bony frames faded from view, he walked back to the caravan deep in thought. It was 2am when he finally crawled into his bunk. Not even ghosts could keep him from sleep.

‘A 3D HOLOGRAM?’
Laura said the next morning. They were sitting at the wooden table under an ominous grey sky, eating French toast dripping with maple syrup. ‘You mean to say that there are no ghosts? That someone with a computer and a projector is beaming dancing skeletons onto the volcano for fun.’

‘I’m willing to believe it,’ Rupert said. ‘I told you that the explanation would be a scientific one.’

Tariq stirred sugar into his coffee, wrapping his hands around his cup for extra warmth. ‘Not for fun, for a reason. To frighten people away.’

Rupert laughed. ‘Who would they be trying to frighten? There are only 5,000 people left on Montserrat and 99 per cent of those live in the north of the island around Little Bay, many miles from here. The rest work at Marine Concern. Apart from myself, the occasional scientist and tour groups photographing the volcano – and they’re only around during the day, there
is
nobody to frighten. Who would want to frighten people with skeletons anyway? That’s silly.’

‘Not if you want to distract them,’ Laura pointed out, recalling a Matt Walker case where a murderous magician had used a projected image of a couple at an upstairs window to fool neighbours into thinking there were two people in an apartment at a time when one was already dead. ‘Not if there’s something you want to hide.’

‘That’s what I think,’ Tariq said. ‘At the exact time that the skeletons started dancing, I saw three fishing boats leaving the harbour at Marine Concern.’

Rupert ran his hand over the blond stubble on his jaw. Laura could see that he wanted to believe them, but didn’t. ‘Marine Concern? What do they have to do with anything? And the bay is full of fishing boats – hundreds of them.’ He pushed his plate away. ‘Hold on – you know something, don’t you? You were asking questions about Marine Concern last night. Is this about your missing uncle? What’s going on?’

They were forced to tell him then. Forced to admit that they’d come to Montserrat on a wing and a prayer, on the off chance that Calvin Redfern was being held captive at Marine Concern.

Rupert was incredulous. ‘That’s the wildest thing I’ve ever heard. Why would an institute devoted to saving rare sea life kidnap your uncle?’

‘Maybe they’re not as devoted as they make out,’ Tariq said. ‘Maybe saving sea life is a front for something else.’

‘It still doesn’t explain why they’d be projecting ghostly skeletons onto the mountain when there’s no one around to see them,’ Rupert responded. ‘Guys, I think you’re making a big mistake. And, as you rightly point out, every minute lost is a minute cost in terms of searching for Mr Redfern. I don’t know what you’ve got against the police.’

‘The police bungle everything,’ Laura said, using a phrase she’d borrowed from Matt Walker. ‘Not all detectives are as dedicated as my uncle. Besides, we don’t have time for that. This is an emergency situation. We have to find a way to at least check out Marine Concern.’

‘Good luck with that. That place has more guards than a maximum security prison. They have an area for the general public, which you can visit with no problem, but you have absolutely no chance of seeing behind the scenes. I know because I went there to try to talk to them about my Volcano Early Warning System. They treated me like an escaped lunatic.’

He hesitated. ‘There is another way …’

Tariq learned forward eagerly. ‘What other way?’

‘An old lava tunnel that runs under their offices. There might be a way to at least spy on things from there. No, scratch that. Bad idea. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not aiding and abetting you in any criminal activities and you can forget about talking me into it.’ He stopped. ‘Is that an engine I hear?’

A postal van came bumping up the rough track. The driver handed Rupert a package postmarked Antigua. ‘Hey mate. Dis da information you be waiting for?’