stepped inside. He swung the handles up to secure the door and took his Maglite torch out of his pocket.
Marcus knew he wouldn’t be able to break open any crates inside the holds without attracting attention and letting the crew know there was someone in the cargo hold causing damage. And Cavendish had been quite specific as to what he expected Marcus to do, and that was to learn as much as possible and then get out.
After about thirty minutes, Marcus had seen as much as he was likely to. All of the crates that he could actually examine closely were identified by labels and serial numbers, which were painted on the sides of the crates. It meant nothing to Marcus but he dutifully made a note of what information there was in a small notebook.
Marcus was getting to the end of the hold when suddenly the door at the far end opened and all the lights came on. He spun round and immediately dropped into a crouch, keeping well behind the stack of crates.
He heard two men talking to each other and risked taking a look, but such was the way that the crates were stacked that he was unable to see who they were. As the two men walked along the stacks, their voices dropped to a murmur, but as they came closer to where Marcus was hiding their voices grew louder.
Marcus inched his way along the crate wall and peered carefully round the edge. He could now see the Customs officer who had gone on deck the moment the gangway had been put in place. He assumed the seaman with him was the ship’s captain, although he had no way of knowing. He was wearing a seaman’s cap with gold braid round the peak, and on his shoulder epaulettes were four gold stripes.
The Customs officer tapped a crate with his knuckle.
‘This one,’ he asked, ‘with the X in the serial number?’
The captain nodded and said something which Marcus presumed meant ‘yes’.
‘How many?’
‘Four.’
The Customs officer seemed satisfied. ‘Tomorrow afternoon, on the quayside, I’ll sign them off.’ He tapped a clipboard he was carrying with the tip of his pen. ‘It all seems in order.’ He then tucked the clipboard under his arm and turned on his heel. It seemed to catch the captain unawares and he was left standing there for a moment. A minute later and the hold was in darkness once again.
Marcus knew he had just seen a crooked Customs officer verify the crates containing the drugs were on board and had identified those he would attend to the following day. He had a vague notion that ships’ cargoes had to be cleared officially by the Customs and Excise people before they were allowed to be offloaded on to the quayside. And he had no doubt that they did a thorough and excellent job in the main. But here was a classic case of smuggling with the collusion of the authorities; in this case the bent officer. All Marcus had to do now was to get off the ship, notify Cavendish and get himself back to the Duke’s Head hotel for a good night’s sleep.
Marcus made his way carefully along the crate wall to the door at the far end. He turned off his Maglite and put it in his pocket, then opened the door handles one by one until the door swung freely on its hinges.
He stepped out into the alleyway and turned to close the door when a crewman came through an open door a few feet away. He saw Marcus and stopped for a moment. Then he called out something in a language Marcus didn’t understand. The crewman had shouted back through the door from which he had appeared, obviously calling for some help.
Marcus didn’t wait to think of any consequences; he simply ran at the man and drove his fist into his face. It sent the crewman crashing to the deck and Marcus leapt over him. There was a shout from behind as two men came through the doorway. They saw their friend lying on the floor and immediately went after Marcus.
Marcus ran as fast as he could until he came to a closed door. In the few seconds he took to open it, one of the two men chasing him threw something at him. It caught Marcus on his injured shoulder. Although Marcus hadn’t suffered any real ill effects from his wounds, when the heavy weight that had been thrown struck him, it seemed like a thousand fragments of steel had cut into him. He gasped out loud and fell up against the edge of the open door.
This gave the two men an advantage and within seconds they were on him. Marcus felt their hands pulling him away from the bulkhead, cursing at him. The look on their faces left him in no doubt what they were about to do.
But as hurt as Marcus was, he felt the anger rising up in his chest and he swung his elbow out, catching one of the men full in the face. The man yelled out and fell away clutching his jaw. Then Marcus lifted the heel of his shoe and dragged it down the shin of the second man. It was enough and Marcus was free for a moment.
He ran as fast as he could until he reached a ladder and sprinted up two steps at a time, pulling himself clear on the upper deck. Another crewman happened to be at the top and wasn’t aware of the fracas going on below. Marcus drove his fist into the man’s face without stopping and kept up his dash for the gangway.
Suddenly a shot rang out and he felt the bullet zip past his head and clang into the bulkhead. He almost stopped him in his tracks, but he turned away from the shooter and ran to the far side of the ship.
Without giving thought to what the consequences might be, Marcus hurled himself over the side and plummeted into the water below.
ELEVEN
Susan hadn’t been home from work more than a couple of minutes when the doorbell rang. She put the milk back in the fridge and went through to the front door. When she opened it she saw a uniformed policeman standing there holding his warrant card out. He looked impossibly young to be a policeman.
‘Susan Ellis?’ he asked brightly.
‘Yes,’ Susan answered with the long, drawn out reply that suggests caution.
‘Constable Evans,’ he told her. ‘I wonder if you would be good enough to call in at the local nick.’ He corrected himself. ‘I’m sorry; the local police station. Just routine,’ he assured her. ‘Whenever is convenient. Well,’ he added, ‘if you could make it this evening, that would be really helpful.’
‘What’s it about?’ she asked the young copper.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t say. You’re not under arrest; nothing like that.’ He looked quite concerned as he said it.
Susan smiled. ‘I’m sure I’m not. Very well; give me five minutes and I’ll walk down to the station with you. Is it far?’
He pointed over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got the car here. I’ll bring you back as well.’
‘Five minutes, then,’ she said and closed the door.
About fifteen minutes later, Susan walked into the police station with the young constable. He took her up to the station desk. The young, female police officer looked up at them.
‘Susan Ellis,’ the constable told her, pointing over his shoulder at Susan. ‘Chief wants a word with her.’
The young woman reached across to a box with an array of buttons and held one down. ‘Chief, desk here. Susan Ellis to see you.’
She looked up. ‘Take Miss Ellis through John,’ she told him, and looked back down at whatever she had been doing when they walked in.
Evans took Susan through a small maze of people working at their desks, on the phones, checking data on computer screens and busy chatting away as though they were anywhere but in a working nick.
Evans knocked on a closed door marked ‘Detective Chief Inspector Rendell.’ He didn’t wait for a response but opened the door and stepped into the office.
‘Evening, Chief. Got Miss Ellis for you.’
Rendell looked across the top of his half-moon glasses and signalled with a crooked forefinger to bring her in.
Susan followed Evans into the office as Rendell stood up. ‘Thank you, Evans. I’ll call you when we’re finished.’
Evans left the office as Rendell shook Susan’s hand and asked her to take a seat.
‘Can I get you a coffee, glass of water?’ he asked Susan. ‘Anything?’
Susan shook her head. ‘No thank you, Chief Inspector. So long as you don’t intend keeping me here too long, I think I’ll manage.’
