At the military hospital at Akrotiri, Jacques Daffaut was sitting next to the bed of Sami Ahmed.
Since learning that his leader was still alive, the Frenchman had grown more determined to get out of the hospital. Ahmed’s throat wound had been superficial and he was making a speedy recovery.
Daffaut had already finalised the plan to escape. All he needed was to wait for the rescue party. This was to come in the shape of two crew members from the Jasmine Star, which was still in port at Limassol. The plan was for the crew members to be disguised as laundry workers. On a daily basis, the hospital’s laundry was taken away in big wicker baskets to a depot in Limassol. With enough bribe money, the captain had managed to ‘borrow’ one of the trucks and it was now en route to the hospital.
The previous evening, Daffaut had gone to see Ahmed and while the little Moroccan had pretended to be sleeping, had slipped a note to him detailing the plan for their escape. This time, the Frenchman had come to collect his friend.
Half an hour later, Ahmed had another visitor, a third member from the ship. He had come to inform the two mercenaries that the laundry van was waiting downstairs.
Ahmed climbed out of bed, and assisted by Daffaut and the crew member. The three men apparently made their way to the bathroom, only they didn’t reach the bathroom. Instead they descended the staircase to the basement, where stacks of dirty laundry lay in piles, ready to be placed in the baskets.
Daffaut opened one and helped Ahmed inside. It was the hottest part of the day, meaning that there would be few staff around, the perfect opportunity to do this. Then, taking the next one, Daffault placed himself into it.
The third Jasmine Star crew member helped his white-uniformed colleagues to lift the baskets onto the truck. To maintain the charade, they lifted enough to make the truck look full.
As they drove up to the main gate, they showed their pass to a guard who holding a clipboard, walked to the back of the truck and viewed the baskets. He checked the time and ticked off the schedule. Walking back to the barrier, he lifted it and gave a casual wave. He hadn’t seen these two men before, but then, Cypriot laundry staff turnover was quite high. He had seen many different faces doing this job over the period of time he had manned this gate. Forty minutes later, the truck entered the port of Limassol and parked next to the Jasmine Star. Five men climbed out and made their way up the gangplank.
As he stepped onto the ship, Daffaut looked at the island. Suddenly, thoughts of his dead colleagues haunted him. There was the firefight following the explosion. He could see and hear it all.
Then he smiled, remembering the last time he had seen Reynolds. He knew unless he had already left the island, the big blond soldier would be still out there, somewhere, eating his beloved peanuts. He looked forward to the day he would see him again.
The next morning, the Jasmine Star set sail for Malta. Once the crew had finished their duties, they would have time to relax.
But when the cards came out for another extensive and expensive poker game, there was one person who declined.
Remembering his winnings on the inbound voyage, Daffaut did not feel like playing again, deciding instead to share these memories with absent friends.
Epilogue
Swan walked into the arrivals hall of Heathrow to a confused atmosphere. He picked out his colleague, standing amongst the chaos. Arthur Gable raised his hand in recognition, walked over to him and shook hands.
‘Good morning, Arthur.’
‘Morning, Alex. Pleasant flight?
Swan sighed. ‘As pleasant as is possible on a red-eye 707 from Washington, old chap.’ He then surveyed the mayhem around the lounge. ‘I say, this all looks a bit of a pandemonium.’
Gable also observed it. ‘Of course, Alex, you wouldn’t have heard, being several thousand miles above the Atlantic, would you?’
‘What’s that old boy?’
‘More Turkish forces have invaded Cyprus in the early hours. They’ve hit the old walled city of Famagusta, this time. There’s a telly in the café upstairs and while I was waiting for you, I had a bacon roll and a cup of coffee and watched what was going on. Planes have bombed the big tower block hotels at the beach resort. It’s chaos, Alex. As you can see, flights not only to Cyprus, but also to the Middle East, Turkey and Greece, have all been cancelled.’
Swan paused to light a cigarette. ‘Good Lord. We better get back to Whitehall, pretty damn sharpish.’
Gable drove the Cambridge along the Westway. ‘Alex, before we get back, there’s something that I would like to talk to you about.’
Swan shuffled in the passenger seat, sensing this was not good news. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, I’ve been seriously thinking about what happened at Dover. In fact, I can think of little else. The thing is Alex, is that I scared myself that day, and realised that I wasn’t getting any younger. Also, had I managed to not let Allenby get the better of me, the chap would still not be in a coma, but more than likely in the Scrubs awaiting trial.’
‘Don’t blame yourself for Allenby, Arthur, there’s more to him we don’t know. Stratton and I think he could even be a traitor.’
Gable turned to his colleague in surprise. ‘Bloody hell! What gives you two that idea?’
‘The mystery submarine that I assumed had fired torpedoes at Murphy’s sub. Waring, the captain of the destroyer, HMS Amersham, thought that from the speed it was heading away, it could have been an Alfa, the new hunter-killer, which has not yet been seen by the West. If it was an Alfa, why would it carry out an attack, while surrounded by Royal Navy ships? The only explanation is that it was sent there deliberately, to stop Murphy from completing his task. Therefore, Allenby had been working for both sides. He led Tremaine to use him, but betrayed him when things had gone too far, and must have informed his contact in London.’
Gable gasped. ‘Blimey, what a theory. I bet now he hopes that he doesn’t wake from that coma. Which brings me to my second point. And that is, when I collapsed that day, I thought that was my lot. I thought my old ticker had had it, and I was a goner. And to be honest, I don’t think I can carry on like this, every time we have a bad boy to chase. I’m sure there’ll be plenty more yet to come in this job of ours, and, if next time, it is the old ticker, I don’t think that would be very fair on Annie, if I should cark it in the line of duty, at my age.’
Gable braced himself for what he was about to say, then taking a deep breath, he decided it was now or never. ‘So Alex, I think it’s time I called it a day with SID.’
Swan was stunned. ‘Arthur, I really don’t know what to say. You’ve obviously been thinking about this a lot in my absence, so the only thing I can say, is I’m going to miss you my friend. We’ve certainly been through a lot together. I spoke to Stratton yesterday on the phone and he praised you with your work on the Tower of London bombing investigation while I was in Cyprus. SID has always been a partnership, our partnership, right from the start. But I understand old boy, so I guess you have my blessing. We will always be friends, Arthur, more than anything, so I’m sure this will continue, so that Janet and I can come and experience your lovely garden.’
The two men spoke more of the upcoming plan and reminisced about previous cases, then noticing that it was midday, Swan asked Gable to switch on the radio for the news.
As they listened, the main story was of course the crisis unfolding in Cyprus. But it was the next story that had both men staring at the speaker in astonishment, as the announcer informed the audience of the recently-discovered suicide of the senator for South Carolina, Donovan Tremaine.