Medusa (35 page)

I think I knew by then there was nobody there. I called, but there was no answer, the only sound a sort of scratching as though a net curtain was flapping in the breeze from an open window. It came from above and as I climbed the stairs I had an unpleasant feeling there was something in the house, something alive.

I reached the landing and stopped. The scratching sound
came from the bedroom, and suddenly I knew. The dog! ‘All right, Benjie.' The poor little beast couldn't bark and as I pushed open the door I could smell it, a mixture of urine and excreta. He flung himself at me, making that extraordinary singing noise in the head. I switched on the light. He was shivering uncontrollably. Apart from the messes and the smell, the bedroom looked much as usual. I got a bowl of water from the kitchen and he drank it straight off, lapping with desperate urgency. Clearly he had been shut in that room for some considerable time and Soo would never have done that. She doted on the animal.

I went through into the front room then, and as soon as I switched on the light my heart sank – a chair tipped over, Soo's typewriter on the floor, its cable ripped out as though somebody had tripped over it, a jug of flowers lying in a litter of papers, a damp patch on the Bokhara rug and an occasional table on its side with one leg smashed. There had been a struggle and I stood, staring helplessly at the evidence of it, asking myself why – why for God's sake should anybody want to attack Soo, and what had they done with her?

Anger, a feeling of desperation, of inadequacy almost, came over me, not knowing where she was or what to do. I got some food for the dog. He was hungry as well as thirsty. The fact that he hadn't been able to contain himself might be partly nerves, but clearly he'd been shut up for some time, so whatever had happened to Soo had happened quite a few hours back. I cleared up the mess in the bedroom, moving about in a daze, wondering all the time where she was, what had happened. I found myself back in the front room, in the office, staring out at the dark glimmer of the water. The dog was pawing at my trousers.

I took it down the stairs and out into the road, where it did what it had to while I stared across the water to the lit outline of the frigate. A bell sounded above the cliffs in
Villa Carlos. I glanced at my watch, scooped up the dog and ran back up the stairs. The news was already being read as I switched on the radio, the announcer in the middle of saying that the self-styled President of Menorca had called upon Moscow to recognise the new island republic and provide immediate assistance in dealing with dissident elements endeavouring to impose what was described as ‘a reactionary fascist regime centred on the old capital, Ciudadela'.

I switched to the World Service where it was now the lead story, the announcer listing a whole series of countries who had been asked to recognise the island republic. So far only Libya and Albania had complied. Madrid had still not taken any positive action, but there was clearly intense activity on the political front. The Spanish ambassador had been to the Kremlin and it was reported that the Government had called upon all EEC countries to assist in maintaining Spanish sovereignty over the Balearic Islands. More practically, Spanish Navy ships in Barcelona had been put on alert and parachutists were standing by.

But, listening to that news, it was clear everybody was waiting upon Moscow, and Moscow was saying nothing, for the moment. Towards the end there was a reference to a British frigate being on a courtesy visit to the island, and the Foreign Secretary, in answer to a question in the House, had made a statement to the effect that if the ship was molested in any way the Captain would be fully entitled to take any action he felt appropriate. In other words, the responsibility for anything which might happen was Gareth's. No wonder the poor devil had asked us to pray for him!

Comments followed from BBC reporters in various capitals, but by then I was on the phone, enquiring about Soo. The Renatos first, but they were out and the others I contacted knew nothing. In desperation I tried the hospital, but the line was either engaged or out of order. I went down the stairs again. The store was locked and no sign
of Ramón. But he had been there that morning for he had signed out paint, varnish and anti-fouling to Rodriguez who was the only one left working on the boats. Life went on, it seemed.

I returned to the office, put the typewriter back on the desk and sat there staring out of the window to the lit frigate, wondering what the hell had happened here, where they had taken her, and why – why, for God's sake? Until I knew that… A door slammed, feet on the stairs, and before she burst in I knew who it was. ‘Thank God you're here,' she cried. ‘I've been searching everywhere. Have you found her?'

‘No. When did you discover she had gone?'

‘This afternoon. Some time around four.' And she added, speaking breathlessly, ‘Soo was all right this morning. We had breakfast together.' She had come straight here, she said, after leaving Lennie and myself at the pontoon and had phoned, first the Military HQ, then the Naval Base. ‘I don't think it did any good. It took so long to get hold of anybody in authority.' She sank into the armchair by the window. ‘God! I'm tired now. What do you think happened? The typewriter was on the floor, that chair broken, everything a mess. She'd put up a fight before they could drag her away. Who were they? Have you any idea?' Her eyes bulged as she stared at me. ‘No, of course you haven't.'

‘Did you go into the bedroom?' I asked.

‘Yes, of course. I searched the whole house.'

‘You didn't see the dog?'

‘No.'

So the poor little beast had been so scared at what had happened it must have hidden itself under the bed. ‘And there was no mess?' She shook her head. ‘Then it looks as though they came for her late morning, around lunchtime.'

‘Yes, but who?' She was slumped there, staring miserably at the water below, her big capable hands folded in her lap. One of the side zippers of her jeans had slipped to
show a little bulge of brown flesh. She was as swarthy as an Indian. ‘The police or these new people? Do they know you're back, here in Mahon? There must be a reason. There's always a reason.'

‘We'll know in due course.' A note of resignation had crept into my voice.

‘I'll make some tea.' She bounced to her feet, her face suddenly alive again, the relief of something positive revitalising her. ‘Or would you prefer a drink?'

‘No,' I said. ‘Tea will do fine.' I didn't care what I had.

When she came back I was still sitting there. ‘Noon,' I said.

‘You think that's when it happened?' She poured a cup and passed it to me.

‘No, he was given till noon.' I told her about the new harbour master, his visit to
Medusa
and how, after the deadline was up, Fuxá himself had gone out to see Gareth. ‘But he hasn't moved. He's still there and lit up like a Christmas tree.'

‘What are those ships doing there?' She had poured herself a cup and was sitting down again, lying half back in the chair.

‘Waiting to tow him out,' I said.

‘Well, why don't they?' She was staring out of the window towards the fairy outline of the frigate bright against the dark bulk of the peninsula behind. ‘Oh, I see. They're anchored.' She turned and looked at me. ‘Why?'

‘Because he's threatened to blow them out of the water if they come any nearer.' And as I told her what I thought the purpose of his presence here in Mahon was I could see the same thought was in both our minds.

‘What are you suggesting? That they've taken Soo because … Oh no, surely not. How would they know?' She was leaning forward now, staring at me, her eyes wide and appalled. We both knew what she meant.

‘There was gossip,' I said. ‘There must have been gossip.'

‘Oh yes, there was plenty of that – after she lost the
baby. In a place like this, a tight little circle, tongues wag all the time. Gareth here, a British naval officer – they would have had their eyes on him anyway, but after what happened … And there was you and me. Our friends made a meal of it.' And she added, frowning, ‘But are you really suggesting Soo could be used as a hostage in that way, to force Gareth to take his ship out of Mahon?'

‘I don't know. They might think it a possibility.' I shook my head, the warmth of the tea comforting. ‘Anyway, it's the only motive that occurs to me.'

‘So who do we contact?'

There was only one person I could think of. ‘Evans.' But how to reach him? ‘Where's Fuxá established himself, do you know?'

‘Esmerelda said he'd taken over the Military Government Headquarters block on Isabel II.'

‘That makes sense. I'll phone there.' I drank the rest of my tea and was just getting to my feet when Petra leaned forward, peering intently through the window.

‘Wait a minute. There's a boat coming in.'

As it came alongside our quay I saw it was
Medusa's
launch. A young midshipman jumped ashore. It was a boy named Masterton. He glanced quickly left and right as though to make certain he wasn't going to be challenged, then scuttled quickly across the road. The bell sounded and I went down. ‘Good evening, sir. Captain's compliments and would you be good enough to join him on board. He says it's important.' And he handed me a note.

It was very short and had clearly been dashed off in a hurry:
I am sending the launch for you. Something has occurred that you should know about. It concerns Soo. Hurry, it's urgent. Gareth
.

Petra was at my elbow and I passed it on to her. ‘It's what we feared.' I grabbed my anorak. ‘Look after the dog, will you? Take it round to the restaurant if you're not spending the night here. They look after it sometimes.' I found a key for her, checked that I had my own, and
then I was across the road and into the launch. ‘Is there somebody with the Captain?' I asked the youngster as we swung away from the quay and headed for the lit outline of the frigate.

‘Not at the moment, sir. But I think he's expecting someone.'

‘Who? Do you know?'

But he couldn't tell me that. ‘There's been quite a bit of coming and going. First of all it was the President's personal aide in a speedboat out of Cala Llonga, then it was the President himself. That was just after midday.' There had apparently been other visitors, but they had come out from Cala Llonga, which was why I had not seen them. None of them, except Fuxa, had been allowed on board. ‘The Captain says that's because we don't recognise the new government here.'

‘What about the three launches that came out from Port Mahon just as it was getting dark?' I asked him. ‘One man was allowed on board. Do you know who he was?'

‘No, sir. A seaman of some sort.'

‘Is he still there?'

‘No. He went off towards Cala Llonga in the harbour launch. I heard him say he was going to fetch somebody. The other boats have gone, but we've still got three ships anchored near. They wanted to tow us out, but our Captain wasn't having that.' And he added, ‘What's it like ashore, sir? It all looks very normal from where we're anchored, though we can hear firing sometimes away to the south, towards the airport.'

Excited to be caught up in an event that was world news, he chatted on like that all the way out to the green-flashing beacon on the south side of Bloody Island. It slid past us very close, the bulk of the hospital a solid backdrop, the tower outlined against the stars, and I was wondering what Gareth intended to do, how I could persuade him that Soo's life was more important than his career. I was leaning against the canopy, the beat of the engine pulsing through
my body and the launch already swinging in a wide arc to come alongside, the lit outline of the frigate growing larger.

There was no other reason that I could see for what had happened. If somebody had told them the commander of the British frigate was in love with my wife … But did they really believe the man would take his ship to sea without specific orders? Thinking it over, it seemed barely possible, but then men who live by violence often find it difficult to accept that others are governed by a code of social behaviour and operate within the framework of a disciplined order. I had seen something of that myself. The idea that every man has his price is mirrored in the belief that violence is totally effective in changing people's minds. Why else use torture?

It was that thought that was in my mind as we slid alongside the frigate's accommodation ladder and I stepped out on to the wooden grating. The sudden rush to leave Malta, the way Gareth had dropped his anchor in about the most conspicuous position in the whole long inlet, the blazing lights above my head – the ship was there for a purpose, and that purpose could only be to act as a block to any power thinking of supporting a rebel regime unopposed. If I was right, then Soo's life was of total unimportance as compared with the job Lieutenant Commander Lloyd Jones RN had been sent here to do. Her death, even her torture, could make no difference, and knowing that, I felt sick with fear as I climbed the gangway.

I was met at the top by one of the officers, I can't remember who. He took me to the Captain's day cabin where we had breakfasted – was it only that morning? I barely heard him tell me the Captain would be with me shortly as I tried to marshal my arguments, my mind perversely concentrated on all the forms of torture I had heard and read about, a picture there as vivid as the day I had seen it – on a beach in Mali, a palm-frond hut, and lying there in his own excreta with the flies crawling, the only man I have ever seen tortured to death. His face – I
could see his face still, the lips chewed to ribbons, the teeth protruding white and the eyes starting from his head. And then I was thinking of Soo as I had last seen her, laughing as she had left me on the quay at Addaia.

I went over to the settee and sat down, suddenly tired, the two images merging, so that in my mind's eye I saw them as one, the Arab's tortured features superimposed on Soo's. I don't remember how long I sat there, numbed at the vision of what might happen to her if Gareth didn't take his ship out of Mahon. This wasn't just a matter of Ismail Fuxá and his personal ambitions. It was bigger than that, much bigger, Fuxá just a pawn in a game being played far away from Menorca behind closed doors. Political figures with hot lines and satellites at their disposal. A young woman, held as a hostage – that was nothing. A unit of flesh. Disposable. Just as this ship was disposable, the men I had lived with on the hurried run from Malta …