Bethan hurried along a narrow bridge suspended between the two main engines, one silent, the other rumbling away, its camshaft spinning rhythmically as the piston arms pushed it around. She went through a door at the end, into the steerage locker, but there was nowhere else to go.
She stepped back into the engine room as Jedson entered from the other side, hammer in hand. She looked around for a weapon. There were bits and pieces everywhere. A bin of rags, cans of various oils and lubricants, tools and an iron bar. She went for the bar, gripping it with both hands like a baseball bat as she faced him.
He stepped onto the bridge, smirking with confidence. ‘I should be on my way. But I just can’t leave you. It’s true. I’m obsessed with you. I always have been. From the first time I ever laid eyes on you I wanted you. Strange how I’m just as eager to break you into pieces. What kind of love is that, do you think?’
‘It’s called a mental disorder.’
He came at her, swinging the hammer wildly. She managed to block it with the bar but the blow was painful. She sidestepped his next awkward swing, the blow striking the engine with a heavy clang. He swung again and missed. Growing frustrated, he changed tack, swinging across his front. She blocked it but the bar was slammed out of her hands. Seeing her defenceless, he came at her for the death blow. She grabbed up the lid to the rag bin and held it like a shield. He swung at her head. The hammer glanced off the lid and went into the spinning camshaft where it was ripped from his grasp, almost breaking his wrist, and thrown back at him with double the force, hitting him in the chest. He lost balance and fell against the engine, inches from the spinning camshaft.
She seized her chance and lunged at him with the bin lid in an effort to push him into the cams. He held on. She slammed the lid into his face. He weakened. Again she hit him. Another blow and his grip loosened. Another and he fell back, his head dropping between the cams where it was instantly crushed. Blood and brains spurted over her as she looked away, horrified.
She sensed someone nearby and spun round, bin lid at the ready. Gunnymede, out of breath, was looking at her from the doorway.
She dropped the bin lid, went over to him and hugged him desperately. The emotion flowed out of her.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’
She looked at his battered face and scorched clothing. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I feel worse than I look.’
She smiled for a second before growing serious again. ‘Krilov?’
‘Gone. Come on.’
They climbed through the ship and onto the main deck where the crew had the fire under control. The vehicles were still burning, the air thick with smoke. Gunnymede climbed over the side and helped her down onto the landing.
‘How did you know to come here?’ she asked.
‘They tried to kidnap me too.’
She looked around at the bodies. ‘Why are you alone?’
‘You’re not very popular. I couldn’t get anyone else to join me. You would’ve done the same for me.’
She looked down at a box of heroin, the broken packets strewn around. ‘This was about something more than just drugs wasn’t it?’
He didn’t answer.
‘There were Arabs on board,’ she said. ‘Were they illegals or something more?’
‘Something more.’
A distant thud of rotors grew louder. A pair of helicopters were coming along the estuary, low above the water. At the same time, a line of blue flashing lights could be seen moving through the terminal towards the pipe jetty.
Gunnymede watched the helicopters describe a wide arc over the water to line up for an approach to the landing stage. ‘I’d rather not be here when they arrive,’ he said, picking up his pistol. ‘It will only complicate things for me.’
‘How do I explain all of this?’
He tossed the pistol into the estuary. ‘Just say you slept through the whole thing.’
He went to the rail, found a ladder and climbed onto it. ‘You going to be okay?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said with a slight smile and climbed down out of sight.
A fierce wind thrashed at her as the first of the large helicopters came into a hover, its searchlight finding her. As it touched down a dozen armed police in black leapt from the open door and spread out in teams.
Dillon climbed out and hurried over to her.
‘My dear girl,’ he said, examining her, her bruised and bloody face. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Krilov kidnapped me.’
'I don't understand,' he said, looking around at the dead bodies, burning vehicles, heroin. ‘What happened? Who did all of this? Who killed all these people?’
‘Southampton was a decoy. Jedson was working for Krilov.’
‘Jedson?’
‘He’s dead?’
‘Jedson’s dead?’
Her emotions started to get a hold of her.
Dillon put his arms around her as he continued to take in the mayhem that surrounded him. 'I really don't understand what happened here.'
Chapter 25
Jack Henderson walked briskly along the path that ran along the top of the ridge towards Pen Y Fan. He was feeling the pace. Breathing hard. It’d been much easier in the old days, even with a rifle and pack. A large cloud scraped over the peak but otherwise he could see for miles in all directions. Hardly a breeze. Most importantly, there was not another human in sight.
He took advantage of the privacy, pulled his old SAS beret from a deep pocket of his camouflaged windproof jacket, reverently touched the famed cap badge, the gently embossed wings of the dagger, and placed it on
