‘Soldiers know these things,’ the captain said in a superior fashion.‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he added, glancing at Stratton in a way that suggested it was a mystery to everyone at the table but himself. ‘This man had seen war. That was why I got him to calm down. I talked to him as only a soldier can to another.’
‘Yes, and our brave lawyer ran away from the island yet again,’ the restaurant owner added.
‘But this time only for a week,’ the mayor said, raising his glass. ‘Good to see you back.’
‘But remember, don’t stay too long, the Russian is back in a few days,’ the restaurant owner added, setting everyone off laughing again.
Thoughts began to stir in Stratton’s head.The words Russian and soldier jingled some bells. He looked over at Gabriel who was grinning at the customs officer mimicking the lawyer being strangled.
‘Oh, look out,’ the mayor said as he stood up, pointing along the quay.
Everyone looked. The restaurant owner uttered some Greek expletive as he threw down his napkin.
At the far end of the quay, near the customs office where the ferry was tied alongside, a small four-wheeled dumper truck was put-putting towards them.
‘Why does Dimitri always have to drive home along the quay when we are having dinner?’ the restaurant owner said. ‘I think he does it deliberately. Come on. Grab the table,’ he ordered.
Everyone, including the cook and waiters, except Stratton, Gabriel and the mayor’s wife, grabbed an edge of the table on the restaurant side - no one on the water side.
‘Up,’ the restaurant owner said and they all lifted at once. ‘Go,’ he then commanded, and they shuffled to the edge of the quay and held the table out over the water, carefully balancing the candles and bottles of wine.
The noisy dumper truck chugged by without so much as a nod or look from the old man at the wheel.
As the vehicle passed, the customs officer lost his balance and let his end slip a little, enough to send a bottle of wine rolling to the edge, which the priest made a grab for, missed, and the bottle dropped into the water closely followed by the wailing priest.
The priest surfaced immediately, spluttering and grasping for the edge of a small rowing boat tied alongside.The others quickly put the table down and the customs officer and restaurant owner scrambled over the edge of the quay and into the boat to help the panicked priest. They unceremoniously hauled him in and then all three sat down to recover from their efforts while the mayor and lawyer stood above them giggling like children.
The captain shook his head as he placed a fresh cigarette into his holder and lit it. Stratton joined him to watch the restaurant owner and customs officer help the priest back on to the quay while the mayor graciously lent a hand.
‘Have you been here long?’ Stratton asked the captain.
The captain looked to see who was talking to him. ‘Nine months with one more to go. A year for some, but ten for me, thank God,’ he said.‘They’re nice people, but, well, I’m from Athens, if you see what I mean.’
Stratton smiled as if he agreed. ‘I should think island fever sets in pretty quick around here.’
‘Yes. For sure.’
‘Gets lively in the summer, this place, I suppose,’ Stratton said.
‘Sometimes. The tourists can fill up the handful of apartments, and the boats that arrive can help fill the restaurants too. Occasionally an interesting person turns up, but not often.’
‘So no one comes here in the winter then?’
‘No.’
‘Except crazy Russians,’ Stratton said, forcing a chuckle.
‘Yes,’ the captain said, puffing on his cigarette and forcing a polite smile of his own. Stratton obviously did not fall into his category of interesting people.
‘What was he doing here?’ Stratton asked matter-of-factly.
‘Diving.’
Stratton pondered the comment. ‘I do a bit of that when I can,’ he said.‘Where’s the good diving around here?’
‘I understand there are some exceptional caves on the south side of the island. I’ve never seen them. I don’t dive.’
‘Is that what the lawyer is frightened of, the Russian being back soon because he’s on the south side of the island?’
‘I don’t know where the Russian went. He rented a boat from a fisherman.’
‘I think I’d like to do that while I’m here . . . Who can I rent diving equipment from?’
‘I have no idea. As I said, I know nothing about diving.’
Stratton was digging too quickly with the Russian but felt justified in taking advantage of the opportunity. ‘So, why did they call him crazy?’ he asked.
‘He was big, like a Frankenstein. That scares some people. He also kept to himself.’ The captain then smirked. ‘He carried a large piece of wood in a bag everywhere he went. He never left it in his room when he went out. That perhaps was a little crazy.’
‘A piece of wood?’
‘Yes. A small log. Why does someone carry a log everywhere with them if they are not a little crazy?’ the captain asked.
Stratton nodded. Something about the story niggled him but he couldn’t put his finger on what precisely. ‘When did he leave to go diving?’ Stratton asked.
The captain looked at him, at last wondering why Stratton was so interested in the Russian. ‘Must be a week now.’
‘I’m curious to know what the diving was like. I hope I’m here when he returns.’
The priest was finally hauled back on to dry land and he stumbled away with the help of the customs officer.
‘Captain,’ the restaurant owner called out, drying his hands with a dishcloth. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ the captain said. ‘Excuse me, please,’ he said to Stratton before starting to walk away.
‘Captain . . . How do you know he was Russian?’
The officer paused and looked back at him. ‘His passport. He was Latvian, actually. From Riga. It was needed for the hiring of the fishing boat. I helped with the paperwork.’
‘I thought you were going to say you spoke Russian. I wouldn’t have been surprised,’ he said, turning away to look out over the harbour and cringing at his pathetic efforts to disguise his interest.
The captain’s eyes lingered on Stratton a moment before he headed into the restaurant.
Stratton felt the officer watching him before he moved away. One too many questions, but then he did not particularly care what the captain thought. He was unlikely to have anything to do with whatever the hell it was Stratton was chasing. He reflected again on how absurd this assignment was and imagined handing it over to a fellow operative and explaining, or attempting to, what exactly they were doing and what they had to go on. It was a joke.
Despite all the negatives though, he had to admit it held an element of intrigue. He wondered if the Russian, or Latvian, played any part in all of this. Was he Gabriel’s vision, the fearful demon on a mission? Was he the man in Thetford Forest? If so, where was he going in the fishing boat? And what about the log? Maybe the man was crazy. Maybe that’s all Gabriel had picked up on: a crazy Russian.
Stratton’s peripheral vision caught movement to his side and he looked over to see Gabriel standing on the edge of the quay staring down at the water. The first thought that flashed into his head was accommodation, and then, as if he had read his mind, the mayor called out to Stratton.
‘Where are you staying?’
‘Ah. Glad you asked. We don’t have anywhere booked. Could you suggest a place?’
‘My wife will take care of you. Your friend looks tired. Perhaps you would like to get him to an apartment. ’
‘Thank you,’ Stratton said.
The mayor called out to his wife, explaining what he wanted, and she came over to Stratton, beaming a smile, and invited him to follow her.
‘Gabriel,’ Stratton called out. ‘We have an apartment for the night.’
