TREACHERY – Sunday 26th July – 1 AM
Tossed. Tumbling through turbulent water toward treacherous rocks. Thunder in my head. Eyes seared by the explosion. Nothing, not even stars.
Dead. That was their intent. Arms around me, tugging me. Kama towing me.
“Don’t thrash.” A shout penetrates the storm that tramples my mind. “I can see. I’ll get us ashore.”
“Where? A cove? I remember only rocks and cliffs.”
“There has to be one nearby. I glimpsed Bardsey Island from the yacht.”
Doubt. Before we sailed to the dive site. Then cliffs. Cold and tired.
“Relax, cariad. We’re a team – survivors.”
“If you can see, I’ll swim behind. I can hear – sense you ahead. Swimming will keep me warm – alert. Please, thozhi.“
Kama fastens a tether strap around my wrist. “I’ll attach the other end to my ankle. Safety 101.”
Tremble and smile. Warmth. Her ankle with a rose tattoo that matches mine. Our eternal love.
We swim together. Trust.
A sound. Waves slapping on a clinker-hull. A voice – robust. Welsh.
“There. Alive and swimming.” Guto Thomas, and he shouts at us. “Genethod, we heard the explosion – muffled but definite. What happened?”
“Rescue us and we’ll tell,” Kama says. “But officially we are dead. In reality wounded. Sparkle was blinded – still is.”
Arms pull us aboard. A second voice says, “Back to Port Meudwy then.”
“Padrig. We must vanish,” I say. Smiling in the total darkness.
“Your new secret is safe with me,” he says. “Just as your earlier ones were – cousin. Us Pughs are a smart family.”
Even if I feared his kinship, he’s true. Not every Pugh is as prejudiced as my thaid, my grandfather Hywel Pugh.
Plan. Move ahead of the Swedish smugglers – and the traitor in NWP. Lure them out.
In front of the fire in Guto and Padrig’s cottage, we eat bowls of Cawl – lamb and vegetable stew. Warmth, and with my eyesight returning, we devise tactics.
“First, messages to our DI, Ffion Baines and to Inspector Uthyr Varley to activate tracking of our concealed transponders.” Kama writes the coded message. “Officially, we have to be missing or dead.”
“We can retrieve some of the wrecked boat,” says Guto. “Evidence – your people will know what sort of bomb.”
“Forensics will come.” Kama anticipates what I suspect. “Then some detectives – perhaps even the one that betrayed us.”
“Kama and I can’t stay here. We have to get to Tyn-y-llyn.”
“Ivor Pugh’s farm,” Padrig says. “I’ve been there a few years ago. I’ll take you. Covert?”
We all laugh.
“My family are used to my weird ways. So, if we turn up at the Pugh farm hidden in some trailer – no surprise.”
N for Nightmare and Nemesis. K for Killed and Kinship. P for Pugh and Protection. U for Unseen and Uncle. I for Ivor and Intent. C for Covert and Code.
UNPICK. Unscramble the tangled threads hiding our traitor.
When we make sense of Pia’s parting words.
UNDERMINE – Sunday 26th July – Midday
Unarmed, unaware and useless. My decisions. Why come here? Unsound understanding of my tattoos.
Kama’s tongue traces the heart where only she goes. Licks her way inside. Inviting me inside her.
I’ve betrayed her. Making love is impossible now. Even if my brain wasn’t scrambled.
“You’re distracted, cariad. Why? Sunday guilt? Your grandparents’ disapproval? They don’t know. Adjoining rooms don’t mean we’re lovers – even if we are.”
Peaceful sounds. Sheep. A tractor.
But nothing is normal now.
“My grandparents suspect – but don’t want to know. But I’m doubting myself. Stupidly blaming my tattoos–”
” -which have always led to the right conclusion.”
Shake my head. Crush her pillows.
“Only when I unscramble their weirdness.”
Each tattoo is a watershed moment in my life – becoming a goth, my first girlfriend, that first heartbreak. Culminating in our secret hearts. But upheavals – always.
Passion postponed, I dress in black – jeans, T-shirt and Doc Martens. Focus on positives. Ignore the pounding in my head.
Undetected. We can still thwart the Swedes and their NWP informer.
Outside, an ultramarine Land Rover Discovery draws up. We go downstairs and greet Uthyr Varley.
“Glad you got the coded message, sir.”
“Uthyr, please. Especially as this is unofficial – and you two are presumed dead. ‘Unacceptable fatalities’, the Chief Constable stated to the media.”
“Best if Sparkle and I remain dead until we’ve outwitted the suspects. Undercover and unseen beyond here. How much has the Marine unit uncovered so far?”
Without the involvement of the North West Police Underwater Search and Marine Unit, I know that NWP is in an unwinnable situation.
We sit on the wooden bench outside, overlooking a view I will always love. Mountains speckled with sheep.
“Forensics identified the explosive used from the wreckage recovered by Messrs. Thomas and Pugh as untagged Semtex – used primarily in blasting.”
“Traceable?” I suspect not, even if the Chief Constable is alerted.
“No resources, I’m afraid. We’re tracking the cargo you raised and tagged. The four containers are still on the yacht Njörðr Hämnaren in a marina between Llandudno and Conwy. No attempt has been made to unload them. What do you suspect is in them?”
Our dilemma. My unease. “Unsure at present.”
A white Peugeot 308 pulls into the farmyard and parks by the new farmhouse built for my grandparents and mother.
Uthyr looks at his watch. “Ffion Baines on time as usual.”
Our DI points down to the llyn – the lake that gives the farm its name: Tyn-y-llyn. The lake where I learnt to swim – and we still do.
“Coffee, tea and gossip can wait. Today it’s urgent that we unmask whoever betrayed my officers. Ugly prejudice taken to unacceptable lengths. But why?”
“Money,” says Uthyr. “usually the ulterior motive.”
M for Money. P for Prejudice. Unlikely. We are missing the reason.
“Anyone behaving unexpectedly?” asks Kama. “The team must be devastated – or should be.”
“When officers die, everyone pulls together. United – as we are in Porthmadog. Wiley Yates and Vivian Utkin volunteered to investigate your murders. I gave them access to some – but not all – of your files.”
Who do we trust? Wiley knows our secret and understands. Vivian is an unknown.
U for Understands and Unknown.
Her surname Utkin is familiar. From where? Another case? A chill. My stomach seethes. Like my mind. Shredded, ever since the explosion.
“Pia Pilkvist said something in Swedish before attempting to kill us. Kama?”
“It sounded like ‘larger victory’ as if they had accomplices elsewhere acting underhand–”
“–like in other police forces,” says Uthyr.
Silence. Even the sheep are unvoiced.
“Or it was another attempt to undermine us – sow doubt.” I shake my head. “But it makes no sense killing us then.”
K for Kill. V for Victory and Volunteers. A for Accomplices and Anxious. T for Traitor and Threats.
KVAT means nothing. My tattoos are failing us.
“We have grounds to arrest the Pilkvists,” says Ffion, tensing her shoulders. “I’m desperate as they intended to kill you both. But I can’t until we’ve uncovered their informer and other accomplices.”
Our safety requires uncertainty. Remaining hidden. Blood from chewing my lips. Gritted teeth instead. Not inactive if we want to lure them out. Think. Untangle my mess.
“Thwarted.” Uthyr clasps his hands behind his head. “I’ve asked HMRC if they have grounds to seize the canisters, but they were inside UK waters when raised. Nothing to point conclusively to their overseas origin. Too circumstantial. But we’re primed to respond.”
“And if they contain drugs or worse?” My skull vibrates. Just tight. Weak. “Time was imperative, they said. Why?”
T for Time. V for Victims.
Head spinning. Brain swamped. As my knees fail, I remember. “Väktare. Pia said Lagens väktare.”
Falling. Where’s Kama?
VENDETTA – Sunday 26th July – 1 p.m.
Vague visions vex me as they vanish. Memories return as Kama kisses me.
“You fainted, cariad. You need more time to recover.”
She’s kneeling on the grass with my head in her lap. She caresses my face.
“No. We haven’t got time. I fear what Lagens väktare means.” I look up at Ffion and Uthyr, their brows creased. “I need to go online. On my sister Gwawr’s computer.”
We sprint to the house and I sign to my deaf sister.
Upstairs in her room, the four of us squeeze behind Gwawr as she types Lagens väktare into Google Translate.
“Guardians of the Law”
“Above the law. Vigilantes. That’s their motivation. And my hyper-active tattoos are screaming Arms.”
“Explosives?” asks Ffion. “Like they used on your boat? Or guns?”
“The canisters were not tall enough for long weapons,” says Kama. “But disassembled ones, handguns, or components would be a viable guess.”
Uthyr waves me to the doorway. I trust my sister, but guessing she can lip read, Uthyr asks, “Should we talk outside?”
“Gwawr’s my trusted researcher – and my late tad knew that – as does Ffion. She knows more than mam-“
“-About you and Kama as well?” His smile eases my racing pulse. “Yes, I suspected when I arrived. You make a great couple and my unit would validate that.”
As they look over at us, we call the others over and suggest grabbing tea or coffee and sitting outside.
Drinking as we sit on the wooden bench overlooking the farm, I attempt to relax. This is almost home – this working farm. The sound of sheep. The glistening water where Kama and I swam before not making love. Better to dive in again to banish the nightmare.
Utkin. Xander Utkin.
“Ffion, does Vivian’s personnel file show any relationship to Xander Utkin, the guy Kama and I put away for arson, earlier this year?”
Our DI closes her eyes. A long pause when I wonder if this thread is coincidence.
“Vivian admitted Xander was her brother when she applied to join CID, three months ago. However, she was estranged from him and said he deserved to be locked up.”
“Any sign that she feels that we are too soft on crime?”
“None. Like all of us she sympathizes with the victims. Works tirelessly to resolve cases. I suspect that’s one of the reasons that Wiley-“
“-Obsesses about her,” says Kama. “Those two are inseparable. Perhaps another team.”
Perhaps vigilantes. Or are they virtuous?
“Their follow-up on your deaths,” says Ffion, “has been exacting and sensitive.”
V for Vigilantes or Virtuous. E for Exacting and Explosives.
A mobile phone rings. Uthyr’s.
“Varley.” He listens, one hand rubbing his neck. “On the move? Which direction?” He nods then glances at his watch. “I’m forty minutes away at least. Follow them and keep me informed.” He snaps his phone closed.
“ Njörðr Hämnaren has cast off?” I ask. “Heading where?”
“East. Possibly towards Liverpool so outside the NWP’s operational area. But not my Marine Unit’s. If necessary, I’ll contact our colleagues at Merseyside Police. We’ll continue monitoring the transponder signals. Ffion, your team must find the vermin that think they are above the law.”
M for Merseyside and Monitor.
Uthyr leaves us strategizing beside the llyn.
“If we’re to draw them out,” says Kama. “Sparkle and I are the prime bait and-“
“-Your usual jeopardy approach,” says Ffion. “Last time nearly got you both killed.”
“Nearly is not stopping me. Fainting was just a memory recall device – that worked.”
Like my tingling tattoos.
W for Weapons. A for Arms. E for Explosives. S for Strategy.
V for Vendetta. Ours.
WAVES. Staggering ashore having survived the watery nightmare. Where?
“Sparkle and I must return to Aberdaron Bay and drown again.”
WHIPLASH – Monday 27th July – Dawn
Wounds washed by waves, we lie waiting. Bodies wrapped around each other in what remains of our splinter-lacerated wetsuits. The wind carries the sound of an outboard motor approaching.
A boat draws near to the rock island in Aberdaron Bay. Seabird residents watch our rescuers – the two detectives investigating our deaths.
“Thank God,” says Wiley in English as he rushes forward. “We were on the Llŷn when control alerted us.”
“Some locals reported glimpsing bodies out here on Ynys Gwylan-bach.” Vivian stares at us, eyes wide. The rips and gashes? “Actually, the two guys that found your wrecked boat. Helpful.”
I wriggle from Kama’s embrace. Wiley lifts me and Vivian assists.
“If you can walk, we’ll get you to the boat. Then we’ll return for you, Kama.”
I stagger. Feign weakness but drag myself upright. Wary, but there’s a witness. Padrig watches from the boat and hoists me as I struggle aboard.
“Welcome back. I feared my lessons had been wasted when we found your wrecked boat.”
While Wiley and Vivian retrace their steps to Kama, Padrig continues in Welsh.
“They show concern, but I’d watch out. They’ve been asking strange questions.”
Subtle tingling. A for Alert. W for Warning.
“For one, how we found the boat and where? That was okay until today. They asked about this rock island – Ynys Gwylan-bach. Why here so far from the wreckage? Currents should have carried you and the wood from the hull in the same direction.”
“We swam towards the bay.”
He nods as our detective allies return. A for Allies. W for Weasel.
“We need to get those wounds treated,” says Wiley. “Splinter slashes might get infected.”
Once aboard, Vivian sits beside Wiley, knees touching as Padrig heads to Aberdaron.
“We have your belongings from the B&B in our squad car,” she says. “We went to Penrhos yesterday – in case you had both returned there.”
I shiver, apprehensive but not from the cooler air. E for Evidence.
Ashore, Padrig says, “I’ll be in the bar if you need me, genethod. Dywed yn dda am dy gyfaill, am dy elyn dywed ddim.”
Do our English colleagues understand? ‘Speak well of your friend; of your enemy say nothing.’ It doesn’t matter. He verifies the tremors – our quarry is near.
In the National Trust car park, Wiley opens the white Ford Focus’s tailgate, and nods at two suitcases with stickers promoting Patagonia.
“Apologies.” He palms his forehead. “We should have collected more suitable gear at your home. But nobody knows the codes –”
“–for our weird security doors,” says Kama. Not exactly true as Ffion does have them. “I’m okay with these colours – for a few hours.”
We change in the pub’s washroom. Wearing pastels instead of black is an acceptable price if we expose the vigilante. I repeat Padrig’s warning on the island to Kama – in Tamil. Public toilets have ears.
Outside, Wiley leads us back to the car park. “DI Baines wanted us to get you checked by a doctor. So were going to Tremadog – as it’s near the station.”
But with minimal facilities. Why are no paramedics here? No A&E arrangements? Ffion knows our injuries are superficial. But who cancelled routine medical response?
O for Orders. M for Misdirection.
Wiley hands Vivian the keys to the Focus, then climbs into the backseat beside Kama.
Are we being separated? I’m motioned to the front passenger seat by an unsteady Wiley.
“All this messing around in boats is exhausting,” he says.
Vivian laughs and fastens her seatbelt. Then drives off along the B4413 towards Pwllheli.
“How long were you swimming before you reached the island? All night?”
Suspicious of our story. Both? Or just Vivian?
S for Suspect and Swimming.
I smile back. “Most of Tuesday night. We tried to land but there were rocks and cliffs. Hard to find anywhere at night.”
“Ynys Gwylan-bach was the first place we saw where we could land. By then it was light,” says Kama. “We slept for hours. Until you found us.”
“Keeping each other warm seems – strangely sensible.”
Our secret relationship is illicit in her eyes. AMOURS or ARMS?
Time this right. Wrangle it out. Wary.
“Basic survival. Our wetsuits were useless in the cold air.”
Silence. Vivian seems satisfied. Wiley is dozing.
Sweat on her forehead. She’s thinking. Plotting? Remembering?
The case that convicted her brother for arson?
“Have you seen your brother recently?”
She grits her teeth. Blinks but stares at the road. “He took me to the races at Chepstow on a recent day-off. Backed a few winners. He’s taking me to Ffos Las for Ladies Day later this month.”
Intentional evasion. She’s talking about her brother Quincy the goading polo player.
“Deservedly locked up – unlike the women that put him there.”
Her fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, turning white. Hate. Kama and me? Xander’s ex-wife and her queer partner? All of us?
“He set fire to the stables and poisoned their horses. Unprovoked and the jury found him guilty.”
“And ignored what drove him to breaking the law. You and your partner were the arresting officers. You ignored the provocation. Failed to report all the facts. Scorned divine law. I can’t forget, but enough said – for now.”
Impassive but sweating.
So, divine law makes me guilty. I’ve been a sinner for years – in chapel eyes. Even if I attend – when crime allows. Guilty. Vigilantes against Gay Pride? Unreal and yet too possible.
West of Mynytho, Vivian throws a left onto the smaller B4415. We’re thrown to off-balance as she weaves to straighten up down the lane between two stone walls.
Wiley is sound asleep. Trees close in.
“Where are we going?”
“Bangor – the A&E. Or aren’t you really injured?” She smirks as she accelerates. “You two are such fakes – except for your disgusting perversion.”
I try to grab the steering wheel, but she just wrenches it to the side again, scraping the stone wall.
“This time, I’ll dispose of you properly – and Wiley.”
A belt whips around her neck and I wrest the wheel from her, steering us onto the rain-soft verge where the wall ends.
“Never let an officer sit behind you with a whip for a belt. Wisdom 101.”
I blow a kiss at my colleague as I cuff Vivian, then drag her onto my side of the squad car.
“What did you give Wiley? A sleeping draught?”
Another sick laugh. “Nothing so inept. Diluted weever fish toxin sweetened with xylitol – no known antidote. But he knew the risks of not punishing criminals. Death.”
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Why? Pric pwdin.”
“I don’t have to say anything. Not to you two dikes. To our DI, Ffion Baines – perhaps. Then, I will mention everything that I will rely on – if this ever gets to court. If anyone survives to witness this.”
A warped version of our police caution. Do we need to warn her officially? Yes.
Kama does as she secures Vivian inside the squad car.
X for Xylitol and Xenial. A for Amours, Arms and Alert. N for Nervous and Names. D for Directions and Deception. E for Envenom and Embittered. R for Retaliation and Revenge.
XANDER. How is he connected to murder? Is he the real threat?
XANTHIPPE – Monday 27th July – Mid-morning
Xylitol, xerostomia, x-rays, xerosis? I’m confused by the medical jargon. Wiley’s unconscious, and his skin is yellow and dry. Xanthic xerosis?
“Doctor, without the medical jargon, how is our colleague?”
He glances at his watch. It’s an hour since we brought Wiley into the A&E at Ysbyty Gwynedd, Bangor – and another squad car took Vivian, restrained, to Porthmadog.
“He is unconscious but breathing. All his vital signs are acceptable. The x-rays show nothing is fractured. I cannot detect the supposed toxin – yet. There are more tests I need to run.”
I try to breathe steadily. Hope Wiley’s okay. He has to be.
“So, his pallor? His skin. What’s that from?” asks Kama.
“Xerosis or abnormal dryness can occur in the eyes – xerophthalmia – on the skin – xeroderma – and in the mouth – xerostomia. Of these, he exhibits the latter two. So, we will test for asialism, ichthyosis and other causes. Also-“
“Keep us updated via our PCSO,” I say, smiling as the same female officer who helped before.
Protection for one of our own? In a coma? But not with a gaff. An unknown toxin? Is that what’s in the canisters? A biological or chemical weapon?
Shivers set off my tattoos.
A for Abnormal and Avenger. B for Breathing and Biological. C for Coma and Chemical. D for Dryness and Death. V for Victim and Vigilante. I for Intent and Identify.
Vivian or Pia? We need answers.
Monday 27th July – Midday
“ Njörðr Hämnaren is moored at Liverpool Marina?”
Uthyr answers on speakerphone in Ffion’s office.
“Yes, within a short walk of the city. But we are ready to stop them unloading.”
“If the canisters are biological or chemical hazards,” says Ffion. “The Swedes can release them from the boat – into the air or the harbour. I’ve alerted NaCTSO, but we need more evidence.”
The National Counter Terrorism Security Office will rely on us to keep them informed so they can co-ordinate the appropriate units. But we are acting on suspicions. My gut feelings.
“Has your rogue officer said anything helpful?” asks Uthyr.
“She’s evasive and shrewd. Playing with us. But she’ll talk.”
“I pray it’s in time to stop whatever the Swedes have schemed.”
“It will be, Uthyr. You know my dynamic-duo and rate them suitable for your unit.”
I wonder who leaked that. Have they discussed our future?
Ffion rings off and motions for us to follow to an interview suite – our only one with a two-way mirror. CPS approved.
“Suggested questions? I’ve tried the vigilante angle and DC Utkin wanting to dispense her own justice.”
Utkin. Xander. That triggered her reactions.
“Ask what drove her brother Xander to commit arson. And what divine law guides her.”
Ffion motions to the viewing room as she steps into the main interview suite along with the police sergeant who was inside guarding the door.
Vivian is sitting with the defence lawyer she has requested. Ffion switches the recorder on.
The lawyer plays his hand. “My client will only answer questions that relate to her arrest.”
“The attempted murder of two officers. The canisters on the yacht. Why she’s put another officer in hospital. So – everything.”
“Circumstantial associations,” says Vivian. “Evidence massaged by two officers that resent me and my colleagues.”
“Officers that arrested your brother Xander for arson. Valid? Or tampered evidence?”
Vivian stares hard at the mirror. Eyes burning into ours. Accusing.
” I know this room and that ridiculous mirror. They’re listening – your pet officers who arrested him. Yes, he deserved to be put away for his crimes. But they drove him over the edge.”
Ffion opens a file. Xander’s case?
“By ‘they’ you mean his ex-wife Dinah Quinlan and her partner Aerona Ogilvy? What did they do to pervert the law?”
Vivienne hesitates. Her lawyer shakes his head, then whispers to her. Does he suspect what she might admit? Vivian glares at him, at Ffion, at us. Anger triggered.
“The Lord’s Law. 1 Corinthians 6:9 – ‘Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who have sex with men’. This is a Christian country and I respect that.”
“So, your fellow officers become legitimate targets – even if they attend chapel like Sparkle. Or Wiley Yates who is as heterosexual as you.”
Vivian shakes her head. “He agrees with your dike pets and does nothing to correct their delusion. Unlike my friends. Their belief is firm.”
Ffion pauses and flicks through the file. Page by page. Vivian shuffles and sweats.
“Who is next? Me, another Christian who believes in her officers? This vendetta won’t end with two or three dead colleagues. What’s in the canisters, DC Utkin? Or are you as immoral as your brother? A criminal and not one of my officers?”
Fists on the table, Vivian shakes her head.
“And if I help, what do I get? I only did this to correct what our system failed to do – protect people. Without the police presence, vigilantes are dangerous. I can stop that. With me involved, they will help us.”
“Help us do what? Do we need the containers? Do we want them?”
“Xanthippe, they called me – confrontational. The Swedes thought I wasn’t to be trusted. I challenged their aims too much. But I know the best way to deal with misfits not them. This was my chance.”
“Now I’m offering you the chance to stop this – earn respect.”
My mobile rings. The PCSO at the hospital.
“DS Yates is recovering. The doctor says there was no venom. Just a heavy sleeping draught. When he is well enough to talk, I’ll get Wiley to call.”
A bluff. Vivian is the fraud spinning a yarn.
R for Respect and Revenge. Y for Yacht and Yarn. A for Abnormal and Avenge. D for Death and Duplicity.
YARD. A railway goods yard?
I message Ffion. “Wiley okay. Say he died. Not her intention. So will break her.”
Ffion sits back, shakes her head and cries.
“Wiley. Why him? Didn’t he love you enough?”
Vivian claws her head, body shuddering.
Another red herring.
C for Casualties and Cons. K for Kisses and Kudos. O for Opportunists and Objectives.
DOCKYARD. My tattoos convulse me.
Knees buckling. Mind churning letters and clues.
Kama’s arms around me. “Cariad. Not again?”
YOKE – Wednesday Mid-Evening
Yachting yarns yearn to be clues but they’re not. Njörðr Hämnaren is the decoy along with the containers. Vivian has been wasting our time. Under orders.
We are parked in the shadows at Holyhead Docks. My hunch must be correct.
“Trust me, Ffion. Three mnemonics told me to come here.”
“That mental Scrabble board is very accurate. If it wasn’t, we’d still be at Porthmadog – assessing our minimal leads.”
What happens if I’m wrong?
“And the mnemonics were?” asks Wiley. “I always trust you.”
Another voice of confidence. Fired up on his release from Ysbyty Gwynedd in Bangor.
“If it helps – DESPATCH, LARCENY, and GEMS. Our contact here in the port confirmed that the shipment of gemstones is due from Eire on the next boat. The handling agents are also taking action.”
Will that satisfy their insurers if we fail?
“G for Gnomes and Gaff. E for Elaborate and Evasive. M for Manifest and Mirrors. S for Smoke and Sailing,” says Kama, interpreting my thinking process.
“And the yacht with the containers,” asks Wiley, catching up after missing the briefing. “Are they coming here? Did Vivian know?”
I shake my head. “She was totally confused. Thought the containers were contraband. The Pilkvists promised her a cut if she helped. Part of their extensive ploy to keep our other divisions distracted –”
“– Even counter-terrorism,” says Ffion. “Vivian folded and called the Swedes manipulative zealots. Their yacht left Liverpool heading West, but Marine are following. Armed response is alerted, but they need justification to attend.”
Will our Swedish victims show? Is my intuition valid? Are the wrong resources being diverted?
The penny counters will make me pay – with my career.
Can we afford not to respond?
“Exposing me and Sparkle was personal revenge for Vivian – a fringe benefit.”
Kama squeezes my shoulder – reassurance.
Ffion glances at her watch, then checks that uniform are hidden across the arrival area.
Stefan Mikaelsson and Ivan Tjäder stroll by us, oblivious to our squad car in the darkness.
As I surmised. Deceivers not victims.
Dressed as customs officers, they wait for the courier with two colleagues. They check some cars but stay clear of the main customs area.
“Courier’s yellow Toyota Yaris approaching now,” says a uniform officer over the radio.
The four thieves spot the vehicle and obstruct its path. Stefan accosts the driver as Ivan approaches the passenger side. They draw pistols from their jackets and throw the doors open.
They pull the courier out and force him into the back seat between the two sidekicks.
“Don’t tackle them yet,” says Ffion. “We don’t want innocent bystanders shot. Or the courier killed. Tail at a distance.”
As Ffion orders uniform to follow, I keep two car lengths behind the Yaris. Stefan turns out of the port into the town centre.
My tattoos thrum. M for Marina and Y for Yacht.
“I’m contacting Uthyr,” says Kama. “If the yacht left Liverpool heading west, where is it now?”
“Good call, Kama,” says Ffion. “Wiley, see if the local force has other support they can spare. I’m advising armed response again. This is escalating. With £10 million in gems plus guns, we’re at PIP three level.”
Ffion is an experienced Senior Investigating Officer – and respected. But NWP are spread thin and these crooks know that. No thanks to Vivian. Ffyc.
The Yaris drives along the opposite side of the harbour, past the railway station, then left towards the Marina.
W for Water. S for Swim.
The marine unit updates us.
“ Njörðr Hämnaren has just dropped anchor west of The Skerries, due north of Holyhead. We will await orders to board her and we have a customs officer with us.”
“That may be necessary, Uthyr,” says Ffion. “You are our only marine unit if these thieves escape us.”
Moonlight glistens of waves and boats. The Yaris slows and I drop back.
Imminent confrontation. Adrenaline. Jeopardy.
“Local cannot spare more uniformed officers. We’ll have to depend on the two behind us.”
Ffion expels her breath hard. “And armed response is still too far away.”
Only the guns outnumber us – except in the water. Who swims best?
As the thieves park the Yaris near a sailing club slipway, I ease onto the embankment, cutting the lights.
“They’ve brought their Aberdaron boat for their escape,” says Kama. “We need to borrow a boat or –”
“– Swim, if we need to. If we drop in off the quay there, they won’t see us. Head to the breakwater.”
Ffion nods and turns to Wiley. “Two of them seem to be staying with our courier. Arrest them. The armed guys must be taking the gems to Njörðr Hämnaren.”
I sidle out of the car with Kama.
As Stefan and Ivan launch the clinker boat, we slip into the water. Fully-clothed is a routine swim – some mornings.
Night hides our smooth passage out into the Marina harbour.
Headlights stab at the Yaris. Flashing blue lights add to the distraction.
Stefan and Ivan hesitate.
They fire warning shots into the blinding beams. Officers are diving for cover as we head for a channel marker buoy.
Our fleeing thieves raise their sails – at the third attempt – then tack towards the channel.
“They’d make better progress with oars,” says Kama. “Or an outboard. We’d better intervene before they hit another boat.”
We approach underwater, pulling ourselves aboard over either side. The boat rocks and the crooks come alert. Both go for their guns.
We time our tackles to avoid capsizing.
The Swedes are strong.
My choke hold slips in the wet. Stefan’s knee jabs my stomach. Gasp for air.
But one arm slips around his neck. He squirms, yet the hold tightens. Without hesitation, I slam his head up against the boom.
“I used my fist,” says Kama. “More satisfying but painful. Next time, I’ll whip them into shape.”
Stefan and Ivan are cuffed while unconscious, and Kama retrieves the gem pouches.
We row the boat beyond the other craft and yachts, then sail out to the Breakwater Lighthouse.
Ffion and Wiley are waiting as planned.
“Guessed you’d stop them. Uniform took the other guys to the local station,” says Ffion. “Seems the courier conned these guys – risked his life.”
Kama opens the pouches – cut glass fakes. Costume jewels.
“The handler’s security agent sent a second courier. Ours is the decoy.”
“These rocks will do for the Pilkvists. We’d be remiss not delivering them.”
Ffion hands me our radios. “And arrest the zealots. We’ll ensure Uthyr knows to expect your boat off The Skerries. And take these as they’re no doubt armed – but you’ve been trained in their use.”
Tasers. Z for Zealots. A for Assault. P for Police.
ZAP. Our response must be realistic.
ZOO – Monday 27th July – Five Minutes to Midnight
“Zakuski, zucchini, zwieback, zereshk, zrazy, ziti, zander, zerde, zabaglione –”
“With Zinfandel wine,” adds Kama. “You planning a Zenith Party? Dancing? Zamacueca, zambra, zapateado and zydeco?”
“Distracting myself from mnemonic overload. A party sounds great when we’re done with this case. And a Polish inspired zebra –”
“Wait and see, thozhi. Ship ahead.”
Will our disguises work? The customs uniforms from Stefan and Ivan are a loose fit in places but adequate.
As we heave closer, Pia hails us – in Swedish.
“ Har du ädelstenarna?”
‘Adeltsarna’ must be the stones, so we give a thumbs-up.
Peder throws a line from the stern and we haul ourselves in. The ladder is familiar, and we climb aboard, heads lowered.
Pia is waiting in the cockpit as Peder punches buttons to raise the sails.
I toss over the three jewel pouches.
She stares at us, eyes flicking between the two zombies.
“Your colleague was meant to finish what we started.”
“As ineffective as your explosives. So, we’re here with the gems instead of your inept divers.”
She hesitates then picks up the pouches.
“Well, seems you have a price as well. We thought DC Utkin was a rare find. Three in one force is somewhat – American.”
We let her open the pouches as I arm my Taser X26, and Kama unfastens her Savuku belt.
Pia tips out the costume jewellery as I step beside Peder.
“Fakes – like you two bitches. Where are the real gems?”
“On their way to the lawful client in Bangor with another courier. Too many decoys these days.”
I zap Peder and he slumps to the deck. Kama’s whip curls around Pia’s wrist before she can draw her hidden pistol. Then she restrains the Swede with an arm lock.
We handcuff them and read them their rights.
“Uthyr, one pirate vessel secured,” I say on my radio. “The canisters are exactly where we left them. My guess is – gnome trinkets.”
More deceptions – like Lagens väktare, the illusionary Guardians of the Law.
Friday 31st July – Evening
The glass of White Zinfandel compliments the zany cosmopolitan spread. I savour the strange blend of raspberry, coconut, spices and fish. But I miss my velvet favourite – and the heat of Kama’s Ennai Kathirikai Kulambu.
As the sun sets with reds and oranges over the Bae Ceredigion and the Llŷn Peninsula, I turn to Ffion, who is balancing her glass on her plate of select morsels.
“One more case resolved – 10 more to tackle.”
Paperwork alone never ends – especially all the justification demanded for every penny spent
“As your tad always reminded us, ‘crime never sleeps – even during Chapel.’ Did you get the email?”
My mind scrolls through the questions, comments and helpful spam messages.
“The security company handling the shipping of the gems – from France.”
“Yes. They thanked us for ensuring the safety of the Azure Stones. The message said we came recommended. But not by whom. Just that Zoo Sécurité would be in touch. Do you know more?”
A new mystery. The name meant nothing to me or Kama. Who suggested us?
Ffion shakes her head and frowns. “Can’t bear to have you two leaving my team. Being head-hunted by a security outfit is serious.”
“Thought you were thinking of joining my unit,” says Uthyr, bringing over a bottle. He tops up our glasses.
Kama takes my arm. “Sparkle and I are committed to helping CID for a good few years. Dawn swimming from the nearby beach is all we need.”
Our future draws other concerned friends.
“You acquired that Aberdaron boat,” says Wiley, arm around the PCSO from Bangor hospital. “That’s more than swimming.”
“It cost us – the accounts department wanted blood for it,” Our friends laugh, but it’s almost true. I lift my glass to my cousin and his partner. “Now, we’ve a regatta to practice for – when Guto and Padrig have repaired her. And next year – watch out.”
The strutting of our jackdaw, Negesydd announces the start of the serious dancing at our Zenith celebration.
Zithers, drums and flutes echo into the Welsh night.
Midnight approaches and disappears. Nobody leaves. Is crime asleep, or just lurking in the shadows? Dancing to its own rhythm.
Kama pulls me closer, and her scent of vanilla and bergamot embraces me.
“Must I wait to discover about this Polish-inspired zebra? Or can we sneak away?”
“Ti eisiau dawnsio noeth?”