Silent Running Read online

  ‘Try and forget him, I guess, although that’s going to be hard.’

  ‘I don’t see what else you can do.’ And he’d do the same. ‘You’ve kept the promise you made to yourself for Paul. Blackerman has to come to his own decisions about his son. Put it behind you, Charlotte, and move on.’

  ‘Like you have.’ She eyed him closely.

  ‘Yes,’ he said with a stab of unease.

  ‘This doesn’t look like it.’

  She was right but he wasn’t going to tell her that. ‘I’ll make the boat ready.’ He shrugged into his sailing jacket and picked up his binoculars. He told himself there was no one following Charlotte but no harm in checking. He stopped and examined a couple of plants as he made his way around the cottage but his studies had nothing to do with the flora and fauna. He was checking for signs of unusual activity, human, not animal. He found none.

  He jumped on board and rolled back the canvas cover so that the cockpit was fully exposed. Instead of turning to the helm though he faced back on to the harbour and, raising the binoculars, panned them across the wide expanse of the flat countryside, taking in his cottage and the grounds beyond, the shore close to it, the river, the reeds and then the land opposite before swinging the glasses back in the direction of his cottage. He caught a glimpse of movement in the reeds. It was only a heron. There was a tiny flash of light just for a second, then it was gone. Had he imagined it? No, but it was probably the weak early morning sun striking something in the grass, a piece of glass perhaps.

  Returning to the cottage he found Charlotte ready to leave. He set the alarm and locked up. She admired the boat, asked how long he’d had it – since October, when he had taken on the cottage, he answered – and an easy silence fell between them as they headed out to the Solent. With each mile across it she grew more relaxed. The anxious frown and haunted look in her eyes evaporated. The sea was weaving its magic on her, but not on him. Strathen’s request yesterday to help find Ashley Palmer had stirred up Marvik’s latent feelings of restlessness and Charlotte’s arrival and her question about moving on had fuelled them. He felt out of sorts with the world. The Marines had been his life for so long. He missed the comradeship, the danger, the adrenalin-fuelled operations, the routine, the discipline, the sense of purpose. He missed being valued. Drayle’s job hadn’t and could never replicate any of that and it was the answer he decided he’d give Drayle shortly, albeit couched in a different language. He wondered if anything could ever replace what he’d had and knew it couldn’t.

  Irritated by his maudlin thoughts he turned his mind to the other matter that disturbed him: how Charlotte had managed to track him down. He’d thought she might say but she made no mention of it and, as Marvik moored up at the Town Quay, he thought it was about time he asked her. He walked with her up to the busy boardwalk, which was packed with commuters arriving off the Red Jet ferry from the Isle of Wight and those making for the small Hythe ferry coming into dock. She said she’d take a taxi to the station. Marvik could see them lined up along the side of the boardwalk. Making sure to keep his voice light he said, ‘How did you know where to find me, Charlotte?’

  She looked confused for a moment then smiled. ‘You told me.’

  ‘I did? When?’ he asked, disguising his surprise.

  ‘You sent me a text.’

  Now he was really puzzled. ‘What did it say, remind me?’

  ‘That you were living on the Isle of Wight and if I was over, to drop in and see you.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘You must be getting senile,’ she laughed. ‘It was two weeks ago. I replied to say that I was hoping to be over soon. Then yesterday I sent you another text to confirm I was coming to the island and you said to make sure I came to see you. You gave me your address.’

  ‘You don’t still have the text, do you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She reached for her mobile phone and within seconds was showing it to him.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t receive it,’ he said with a smile, handing the phone back to her. ‘Must have got lost in the ether.’

  But a shadow crossed her face. ‘Will I see you again?’ she asked.

  ‘You know where I am.’

  ‘Yes but do you want to see me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  But she eyed him dubiously before adding with a resigned and sorrowful expression, ‘It’s OK, Art, I know the drill. It’s a pity. I’ll miss you.’

  He hugged her tightly as though to compensate for his lack of enthusiasm and watched her walk away with a pang of regret. He was genuinely fond of Charlotte, and they were good together, but he didn’t want any ties. So what the hell did he want?

  He turned back towards his boat, withdrew his mobile phone from his jacket and punched in the number he’d memorized from her text. There was no answer. In fact there was no line.

  Replacing his phone he climbed on board and headed into the Solent. So who had sent those texts? Why would someone pretend to be him? What if Charlotte had decided to reply by phone instead of text? Would the impostor have faked his voice? Would Charlotte have been fooled? Possibly if it was a bad line or the impostor had claimed to have a cold. If the purpose had been to confront them then why not do so at the cottage, especially if Charlotte’s claim that she was being followed had been true. There had been ample time and opportunity. It didn’t make any sense. The trilling of his phone broke through his thoughts and he answered it to find it was Strathen.

  ‘Where the hell have you been, outer bloody Mongolia? Don’t you ever answer your phone?’ Strathen said with exasperation.

  ‘I called you twice last night and you didn’t answer,’ Marvik replied irritably. ‘Besides, you know that Ashley Palmer didn’t show because the police were there so I didn’t think you needed my report. Did you call them in?’

  ‘No. Professor Shelley did. I had no idea Shelley had contacted the police until he told me this morning. Apparently Palmer sent him a text late yesterday afternoon to say where he was going and that he wasn’t coming back to work. He’d had a better job offer. Shelley suspected him of selling out to a competitor; he called the police. I said it would have been nice to have been kept informed as I’m your security expert. You can imagine what he said about that. Some security expert who loses a key employee a month after being engaged.’

  ‘Neither of us seem to have a good track record in civvy street. Is the text genuine?’

  ‘It came from Palmer’s mobile phone, which is now disabled, but I don’t think he sent it. Did the police see you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I had to tell Shelley about finding the indentation of that address on the note pad on Palmer’s desk and asking you to check it out for me. I gave Shelley some brief background about you, said you were completely trustworthy, and that you lived on the island.’

  ‘But you don’t know where I live, do you, Shaun?’ Marvik wondered if Strathen had sent Charlotte to him. Strathen knew Charlotte from his time spent in the critical care unit at Birmingham. But why should he, and why do it in such a covert way? Marvik couldn’t see Strathen acting as matchmaker.

  ‘The island is hardly Australia. Wherever you lived it wouldn’t take you long to reach that coastguard cottage, especially by boat.’

  Strathen had a point. The island was roughly 150 square miles. And it sounded as though he was telling the truth. But for Strathen, who had been a Special Forces Communicator in the Marines, a highly intelligent and resourceful man, tracing him would have been child’s play.

  ‘Shelley’s informed the police about you, they’re here now going through Palmer’s office and they want access to his work PC and everyone else’s in the company, which I’ve already checked with nil result. Not that they’d trust me, of course. I’m just a security guy with no brains,’ he added scathingly. ‘They’ll probably come knocking on your door.’

  ‘Why? I can’t tell them anything.’

  ‘I’m walking around the car park taking this call so the buggers
can’t hear me. Did you find anything in that cottage?’

  ‘Only dirt and dust. There was no evidence that he had been there. Did he catch the ferry to the island?’

  ‘The police say he was on the three forty-five Red Jet from Southampton to West Cowes yesterday afternoon. He bought the ticket by cash; one of the terminal staff recognized him from a photograph the police got from his house.’

  Marvik thought they had been very busy in such a short space of time.

  Strathen said, ‘The police have searched his house and say there’s no evidence in it of who he was meeting. I could have told them that but thought it best not to. I asked Feeney, the fat DI in charge, if they’d found a computer but he said they hadn’t. I already knew they wouldn’t but if everyone thinks I’m dumb then I might as well play along. You never know where it will get you. I think the poor bugger might be dead.’

  ‘Maybe he went willingly and is of greater value alive to whoever has persuaded him to go with them.’

  Strathen grunted doubtfully before adding, ‘Professor Shelley and his sister Beatrice are in conference with Rodney Dearman, Chief Executive of DRTI, the Defence Research and Technology Institute, the body that is funding Ashley’s project. I expect Shelley’s wetting his pants that the money will stop and that Ashley’s research will show up at one of his competitors.’

  ‘Would it be that disastrous?’

  ‘It’s a highly competitive field. Ashley’s involved in the development of intelligent software, more commonly known as artificial intelligence. His remit is in relation to the medical field, Chiron’s specialist area. Artificial intelligence has the ability to revolutionize medicine; it can more accurately diagnose, carry out intricate invasive surgery and screen patients for faulty medical implants without ever having to insert intrusive instruments down the throat or in any other orifice. Robotic applications never get tired or need copious amounts of caffeine like doctors do. Ashley’s been working on developing artificial intelligence systems that can advance the development and use of prosthetic limbs, predicting movement, sensation, and muscle-locking which could also have implications for those suffering from neurological illnesses. It’s big business, Art, and growing rapidly. But his work can and does cross over into other applications, especially those associated with defence.’

  ‘Hence the police’s rapid response to Shelley’s summons.’

  ‘Yes. It could be used for object detection and manipulation, navigation, mapping, path planning, and systems that make for faster collection and analysis of critical information for improving reaction time and decision-making in military actions.’

  ‘So if the wrong people got hold of it—’

  ‘Or him. Then he won’t be around long enough to spend the money he’s being paid, if he went willingly,’ Strathen said, worried.

  ‘Where was he between Monday when he didn’t show for work and catching the Red Jet ferry yesterday?’

  ‘Good question. That’s what I’d like to know. He wasn’t answering his mobile phone and he doesn’t have a landline. And he certainly wasn’t hiding in that house yesterday. He could have been with a mate or a girlfriend but my bet is he was holed up somewhere having been told that it was essential he lay low until the pick-up time. He must have written down that address on Friday before leaving work although there’s no trace of him taking a telephone call on the office phone but he might have done so on his mobile. I didn’t check his desk until yesterday afternoon when it became clear there was a problem and that’s when I found the address.’

  And just as that text message Charlotte had received bothered Marvik, so too did that note, or rather the indentation of it. ‘Would a clever man betray himself so easily?’

  ‘Perhaps he scribbled it down in a moment of distraction and hadn’t realized he’d pressed too hard on the pad. But he did go to the island.’

  ‘It would have been a hell of a long and awkward journey though, from Cowes to just beyond Rocken End beach and that cottage. There are no trains to that part of the island and only a limited number of buses involving at least one change.’

  ‘He could have taken a taxi.’

  ‘Perhaps he was met at Cowes.’

  ‘Well the police are dealing with it now. It’s out of my hands and Shelley will probably dispense with my services and hire someone he thinks more capable. Especially if I have overlooked something, but I’ve been monitoring everyone’s emails, calls and browsing history and I swear nothing has been going on of a dubious nature. Look, I’d better go back in otherwise they’ll think I’m phoning the Kremlin.’

  ‘Let me know what happens.’ Marvik rang off without mentioning Charlotte. Strathen had enough worries of his own. And so did he without puzzling over the disappearance of a computer research scientist.

  As he headed towards Thorn Beach and Drayle’s extensive grounds on the coast bordering the New Forest, Marvik reconsidered the text messages that had been sent to Charlotte. The first had been two weeks ago. The timing corresponded with Paul Williamson’s funeral. The second had been sent yesterday, as she was on her way to visit Paul’s father in prison. Someone had known that was where she was going and had drawn her to him after it. So, if whoever had sent the messages knew her movements, why follow her – if they had? And why had they wanted her to visit him?

  The deep throb of a helicopter caught his attention and he squinted up at it, knowing before he saw it that it was a Chinook. He and Strathen had flown in them countless times on exercises and missions. But that was another life.

  The sky was darkening with heavy clouds rolling up from the west and he felt the first spits of rain. He turned his thoughts to his meeting with Drayle. Ahead, just beyond the Beaulieu River, he could see the pontoon that stretched out from Drayle’s estate. It was a good location for his business, isolated from any neighbouring properties but with easy access to the Solent. Drayle’s extensive staff and consultants included Marvik’s former colleagues from the UK’s Special Forces Unit and other veterans. Drayle was ex-service himself. Maybe they’d all adjusted to civilian life better than he had.

  As he eased his boat on to the pontoon he looked up to see Drayle emerge from the brick and flint building across the landscaped grounds. Drayle was accompanied by a dark-haired stocky man, in an expensive, well-cut suit, about early fifties. Spotting Marvik, Drayle raised his right hand in acknowledgement. The man beside him glanced over but the sound of a boat approaching caught Marvik’s attention and he turned to see a modern motor cruiser heading towards the pontoon. He recognized both the boat – it was Drayle’s – and the man on board it, Lee Addington. Despite his tension at seeing Addington and the memories that he conjured up, Marvik smiled and stretched out his hand to the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man in his late twenties as he jumped off the boat. It wasn’t Addington that he had anything against, it was his own failure to control the situation that infuriated him. But more than that it was the uncharacteristic lack of confidence that the incident had resulted in him feeling and he acknowledged that part of him resented Addington for making him feel that way.

  ‘How’s the shoulder?’ Addington asked.

  ‘Healed thanks.’

  ‘And the head injury?’

  ‘Fine.’ Marvik saw that Drayle was finishing his conversation with his guest, a new client perhaps. The man climbed into a top-of-the-range BMW and Drayle headed purposefully towards them. Addington nodded a greeting at the smart but casually dressed sixty-two year old before leaping back on to the boat and Drayle drew Marvik further away from the pontoon.

  ‘Well, Art, have you come to a decision?’ he asked in the quiet calm voice that Marvik knew well.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nick, but I don’t think being a private maritime security operative is for me.’

  ‘Lee’s said the same. He’s off to pastures new at the end of March. Crewing for a millionaire in Monaco.’

  Marvik raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t said, but then Marvik hadn’t given him the opportuni
ty to.

  Drayle continued. ‘So how about returning as a consultant? I need someone with your expertise. The client list keeps growing. There’d be opportunities for travel, variety, challenges.’

  ‘Consultancy on what?’

  ‘Maritime security, of course. Your service in the marines, your background, and your experience first-hand with pirates and, tragically, Salcombe’s death. Yes, Art,’ Drayle quickly added, obviously seeing his dubious look, ‘what you went through means you’re ideally placed to advise our clients. You might even get to spend time in your native Finland, advising the coastal authorities there.’

  Marvik didn’t correct him. It was his mother’s native Finland not his. He hadn’t been back for years and then only on a joint exercise with the Finnish Coastal Jaegers. Maybe he should return. But that might be construed as running away, again.

  ‘So when can you start? I’ve got shipping clients, ports and offshore exploration companies lining up for the valuable advice you can give them.’

  Clearly Drayle expected an instant decision and Marvik was sick of prevaricating. Charlotte had asked him if he’d moved on – well he had. Taking refuge in the sanctuary of Newtown Harbour was at an end. It was time. ‘Give me a fortnight.’

  Drayle smiled. ‘Perfect. Great to have you back, Art.’

  Marvik took the firm grasp and returned to his boat. He nodded a farewell to Addington and cast off. But as he crossed the Solent he felt no eager anticipation at the prospect of his new role with Drayles. Perhaps that would come later, once he knew more about it and once his thoughts were clear of Charlotte and that phoney text message. Perhaps it was some nutter who knew about their past relationship and was jealously stalking her. He didn’t like that thought. He should have told her he hadn’t sent them but that would only have added to her worries. Maybe he’d call her later. But the more he considered it the more uneasy he became. It was the timing of those two messages that bothered him.