Under the Rock: The Island Connection, #1

By Graham Hamer

When Sean Legg, the government's Chief Minister is kidnapped, only a select few are aware. And then a policewoman stumbles over the hideaway and things begin to unravel for the kidnappers. Meanwhile, down at the Chinese restaurant, Clem and Eli, a pair of inquisitive young teenagers, discover ancient passages and caves in the granite foundations of the island. It's all going to end in tears - but for whom?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Graham Hamer
• Release date: Dec 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540133526

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Sean Legg was not used to being told what to do. Normally, it was the big Irishman who did the telling. Sean was built on a grand scale, like a Russian war memorial, with a personality that equalled his stature and, ten years ago, he might have been tempted to have a go. But at the age of fifty-five Sean knew his limits and knew he was no match for four armed thugs. Discretion being the better part of valour, he allowed himself to be blindfolded and manhandled into the back of the Transit delivery van.

The foreign-looking man who had been holding the gun watched as one of the others bound Sean's wrists with plastic ties. He said, You keep quiet and speak when I tell you.

Sean had no plans to speak; he was busy listening and sensing as the engine came to life. On an island that was just 35 miles long and 12 miles wide, he was pretty sure he could pick out their route using the vehicle's movements, speed, braking and gear changes. It helped, of course, that he had lived on The Isle of Man for the best part of thirty years and knew its roads and lanes as well as anyone else, and better than most.

He concentrated hard as the van left the government building service bay and took a right and a left, accessing one of the main roads in the capital, Douglas. Another right, another left and then a long sweep down to the traffic lights. Easy enough, so far. Bending right at the lights, the road suddenly became smoother. Peel Road had just been resurfaced, so that was a no-brainer. A while later, the double roundabouts at Quarter Bridge, then they were heading west on the road from Douglas to Peel.

Sean relaxed. Now it was easy to follow every twist, turn and movement of the road, like he was reading a map in his head. They were, after all, taking the road he took home every evening.

Twenty minutes later, the van stopped and, in one swift movement, somebody cut off the plastic ties that had been holding his wrists. The side door opened and Sean was helped out. Despite the blindfold, he knew exactly where he was and the strong smell of seaweed helped confirm it. There had been a storm the day before and Fenella Beach was always a seaweed trap during westerly gales. Sean also had a pretty good idea why he was captive, though he couldn't puzzle out why he'd been brought to this particular place late on a windy evening.

With a man holding each elbow, he was led down the stone ramp from the small car park onto the pebbles and sea shells. Then they crossed the beach until they reached the cliff face less than one hundred metres away. The man who had been waving the gun earlier muttered as he stumbled over a rocky protrusion. I swear by Allah that accursed rock gets me every time.

They moved forward a few paces and Sean had the feeling that he was in an enclosed space. He stretched his arms as if relieving the discomfort of having had his wrists bound. There was rough granite on each side and he sensed the same just above his head. If it was the shallow cave in the cliffs where kids played in the summer, it was a strange place to be taken unless, of course, these guys intended to dispose of him there.

But Sean didn't think that they intended him any permanent harm. After all, he was of much more use to them alive than dead. Anyway, it was his birthday and you don't go killing the government's Chief Minister on his birthday - it's just not sporting.

CHAPTER TWO

Sandy pushed a stray strand of raven hair behind her ear and rested her glass on the coffee table. I don't know what's happened to him. It's not like Sean to be this late, and it's not like him to have his mobile turned off either.

Ian Gidman refilled her glass. It's no problem, Sandy. Dinner will keep a little while yet. Claire's just turning the oven down so nothing gets spoiled. It's not an issue.

But you know how punctual Sean is. If he was held up at Tynwald, he would have called to let us know. And anyway, Thursdays are usually pretty slack, he reckons.

Ian's French wife, Claire came into the room. I bet he'll pull up outside any minute, swearing like a trooper about some government meeting that went on and on. Don't fret, Sandy, the evening is still ... she stalled as Sandy's phone rang. That'll be him, she said.

Sandy checked the number, flipped open her phone and said, Hi Sean. then stopped and listened, her face changing from a smile to deathly pale in just seconds. You can't be serious. she gasped after a few moments. Who the hell are you anyway? She listened again as the voice at the other end spoke with authority. Then she examined the call log and closed down her phone.

Claire raised her eyebrows in question.

It was Sean's phone, Sandy said, but it wasn't Sean. It was a man telling me that they have taken Sean prisoner.

Whaaat?

Sean has been kidnapped by someone and it seems he is not co-operating with their demands.

Sean's not the sort to accept demands from anyone, Claire said, folding her arms across her chest, much less if he is being held against his will. A pause. Where is he? Why is he being held? Why did they ring you, Sandy? What do they want? Money?

Sandy was tight-lipped and jiggled with her necklace. Slow down, Claire. For the moment, Sean's okay. The guy said they are not going to hurt him if I go talk to him tomorrow and convince him to do what they want.

And if he ignores them? Ian asked.

Sandy wasn't the crying sort but she looked as though a powerful vacuum cleaner had sucked out her soul. He said I'll never see him again. He said I should take the time to think about it overnight and someone would come and pick me up early tomorrow morning and take me to see him. Then he warned me, at the risk of Sean's life, not to talk to anyone about it, particularly not the police.

Jeez. So what are you going to do?

Sandy's nostrils flared. I don't think I have much choice. she said, anger now replacing her apprehension. I don't want Sean harmed, so I'll do what he bloody well tells me. Then we'll damn well sort it out afterwards. I'm certain I know what's going on and I'm also certain I recognised the voice on the phone. Sean was half expecting something unpleasant would happen, but I don't think he foresaw anything as drastic as this, and nor did I.

You going to share with us?

Sandy paused and allowed a resounding sigh to escape her lips. Just give me a minute to catch my breath. Let me think. After several seconds silence her mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. Okay, how about you put dinner on the table and fill my wine glass again. I need a little time to collect my thoughts, then I'll tell you all I know and bounce a few ideas off you while we eat. I have to come down to earth a bit, and a moment of normality might counteract the abnormality of the situation.

You want to be eating right now after a phone call like that? Claire asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

Sandy nodded, though her face was still pale. I know it seems a bit weird but I need to get my head round this. I'm shocked and I'm bloody angry but I have to calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen to Sean tonight and anyway I'm starving hungry. I'll tell you everything while we eat.

CHAPTER THREE

Ann Patterson, landlady of The Pilgrims Reach, was happy to ring up the cash register and, though she smiled at the two customers she had just served, the smile never reached her eyes. She was glad when they took their drinks to a far corner of the bar and left her to chat with her regulars.

To Ann, government elections were like putting Dracula in charge of the blood bank so, with a few notable exceptions, she was always wary of the island's politicians, and one of these two was certainly not on her Christmas card list. Henry Stapleton was a cartoonists dream, with an elongated, bald head and ears that stuck out like a car with its doors half open. The impression wasn't helped by a nose that would have made Pinocchio jealous. But that well suited his character because, as most people who came across him discovered, Henry Stapleton had never considered the truth to be a constraint if his purposes were better served with a lie.

The Pilgrims Reach was not, as the name suggested, a stopping place for pilgrims on their way to some holy shrine or other. The name was pure marketing and one that Ann Patterson had dreamed up to complement the more authentic olde worlde charm of the bar and dining room. The low ceiling was supported by crooked floor joists and on the walls, brass lamps, long-handled bed warmers, and original horse brasses shimmered with the distorted reflection of the open log fire, which was lit even in summer, to add 'atmosphere' to the popular watering hole. This May evening, the flames also reflected from Henry Stapleton's polished dome. Cheers! he said, raising his glass to the shorter man.

Charlie Willis responded and took a deep pull on his pint of locally brewed Bushey's. So what gives? he asked, leaning back into the comfort of the padded seat. I don't often get invited for a pint by a member of the opposition.

Not opposition. Stapleton said. We all stand as independents in Tynwald. I know our political views don't always meet in the middle, Charlie, but we're all batting on the same side in the end.

Charlie Willis raised his eyebrows. And to what end would that be?

Prosperity for the island.

For the island, or for the few, Henry?

Ah, well you've got a good point there. Stapleton said, smiling. "Our positions as Members of the House of Keys do give us some, er... useful opportunities to prosper, and there would be little point in wasting such chances, now would there?"

If you are trying to talk me into one of your underhand schemes, you can forget it, Charlie said. I'm not interested in joining your little club, and I would have thought that was obvious by now.

Henry Stapleton smiled again. It was a sardonic, unsettling smile like a crocodile holding the leg of a wildebeest knowing that, no matter how much the animal struggled, the end result was now inevitable. There's no need to soil your hands. We just need you to cast your vote in the right direction when the position of Chief Minister becomes vacant.

Charlie Willis almost choked on his beer. When he'd contained his coughing fit and mopped up the beer from the front of his shirt with his handkerchief, he said, Sean is Chief Minister and I see no sign of him letting go. Anyway, he has the support of the majority of Members of the House of Keys, so why would he resign?

Oh, just a little rumour I heard. My source tells me that Sean Legg has been diagnosed with a brain tumour and is now unreliable and delusional. It seems he recognises this fact and now wants to spend more time with his family so will step down as MHK and Chief Minister. And that will leave the door open for a more progressive Council of Ministers.

That's utter nonsense. Sean looked and sounded healthy as a horse when I spoke to him earlier today. And anyway, what's not progressive about his leadership? He's committed to ensuring that the Isle of Man remains economically competitive. You know yourself that it's imperative that the Island's financial and economic position is sustainable in the long term.

Oh bravo! Stapleton said, clapping his hands. Corporate-speak has become your speciality, Charlie. But the island is capable of far greater things than Sean Legg's so-called 'Agenda for Change'. That does nothing more than give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. And I don't need to remind you that Mr Legg and his Council of Ministers decide everything that happens on this island. The rest of us elected members are only there to rubber stamp whatever they decide.

C'mon, that's not fair. The ministerial system of government means that the Council of Ministers decides overall policy which is then debated in The House.

You think so? The debates are no more than outbursts of hot air as MHKs ratify what the Council of Ministers has already decided. The Council of Ministers can issue directions to Departments and Statutory Boards on any matter that they claim affects the public interest. In other words, they can, and do, tell everybody else what to do because they deem everything as 'affecting the public interest'.

Again, that's not true. Those powers are rarely used, Henry. The whole decision process is fair and democratic.

A lot of us don't think so, Charlie. A lot of us think it's time for change at the top.

And you think Sean will retire?

For certain. He's taking a few days off at the moment but I think his announcement will come in the next few days. And that leaves the question of who should be appointed to take his place. I shall be putting my name forward and would like to think I could rely on your support.

Charlie drained his glass and stood up. Thanks for the drink, Henry, but I don't feel you have the right qualifications to run this island. We need people of integrity like Sean Legg, and not people who just want to feather their own nests.

Sit back down a moment. Stapleton said. You'll want to hear my offer.

No, I don't think so.

I do. Stapleton said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. Gone was the smooth political veneer as he spoke with a sharp edge. Now sit down, for your own good.

Charlie Willis remained standing, taking in the moist gloating face of the other man.

Suit yourself, Stapleton said, but listen very carefully because, as the lady on TV said, I shall say this only once. I've politely asked you to support my nomination for Chief Minister when Sean resigns. I understand there are political differences between us...

And moral differences. Charlie added.

Ah, well now you've put your finger right on the nub of the problem, my friend. It seems that your morals are a little more suspect than mine.

What do you mean by that?

I mean that, if you vote for me, what happened last night between you and a certain young bimbo called Danni in room 207 of the Majestic Hotel will remain your business. If you choose not to support my nomination, I doubt that your wife and kids will be as understanding as me.

The blood drained from Charlie's face and he sat back down with a bump.

Pointless denying it, Stapleton continued, the young lady is quite happy to confirm everything, including the two other times you have er... enjoyed each other's company. I have dates, times and places. I think, as our American cousins are inclined to say, you are now my bitch.

CHAPTER FOUR

At thirty-one, Sandy Ferris was a beautiful lady and, in the normal course of events, was known for being gregarious and great company. Dinner, however, was a muted affair and Ian and Claire regarded Sandy with concern as she summarized the issue facing the government of the island. Put simply, Sandy said, this guy Henry Stapleton, and I'm sure it was him on the phone, wants to be Chief Minister so he controls the Council of Ministers and issues directions to the various government departments citing 'public interest' to remove any chance of discussion.

But there must be some checks and balances to prevent misuse of this ministerial system of government? Claire asked as she placed a starter of a trio of scallops in front of Sandy.

In theory, yes. Sandy replied, her face brightening as she eyed the succulent scallops. The House of Keys is like the UK House of Commons but Tynwald - that's the whole overall government - has another part, the Legislative Council, which reviews laws passed by the MHKs - the Members of the House of Keys. It's a bit similar to the UK's House of Lords except there are only 11 people involved, so it wouldn't be too difficult to gain control if you wanted to.

And what about the Governor? Claire said, sitting down to eat.

Today the role of Lieutenant Governor is more or less ceremonial. Anyway, old Jameson is daft as a brush, so he wouldn't know what the hell was going on.

And what, exactly, is going on? asked Ian. A certain amount of plotting and skulduggery is par for the course when it comes to politics, isn't it?

But not kidnap. said Claire.

True. So what's so important that someone is prepared to take Sean, the Chief Minister, prisoner to force him to resign?

Sandy finished chewing the first mouthful from her fork and allowed a gentle sigh to pass her lips. The trio of king scallops was delicious, one being served with wine-cooked leeks, another with shallots and crême fraîche, and the third with fresh foie gras, seared in the pan - typical of the beautiful French cuisine that Claire was famed for. First of all, she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin, before I tell you what's going on, I need to ask you just how much you know about me, and about Sean. There is a good reason for me asking, I promise you.

Claire looked towards Ian, who rested his knife and fork on his plate. He took a moment to look out of the windows of the wide floor-to-ceiling bay of their beautiful Georgian home. The early evening gloom did not yet hide the trimmed lawns that sloped down to the River Neb - not much more than a gushing stream here. The large oaks at the bottom had shed leaves and small twigs during yesterday's storm and he made a mental note to go and rake them up tomorrow. Things were settled now, life was comfortable, and he wasn't anxious to relive the past. On the other hand, Sandy deserved an honest answer. He chose to answer the easier part of the question first.

As far as Sean is concerned, Sandy, I reckon I know as much as anyone. Fifty-five years old today. Born and raised in Ireland, he was a cattle man before he got into heavy machinery. Milked the Common Agricultural Policy for all it was worth, then took the sensible option and got out and into engineering. Built up Three Leggs Engineering into the largest business on the island. At the age of fifty, went for a six-month scuba diving sabbatical, was well and truly robbed while he was away, got everything back to normal again then handed day-to-day control over to you two years ago so he could take up the Chief Minister position.

Good enough. said Sandy, covering what appeared to be a moment of distraction by inspecting her two remaining king scallops. And how much do you know about me?

This time Ian took even longer to answer. He chewed and swallowed what he had just popped into his mouth then paused again and looked towards Claire. Sandy watched the dance of the eyes between the two and understood just how close the pair were, always making sure that both of them were comfortable before continuing. It was something that she and Sean also found themselves doing and it tightened the knot in her stomach knowing that Sean was currently held prisoner.

Claire nodded, so Ian knew it was okay to continue. He made sure he had the makings of a smile on his face as he spoke. This wasn't the time for reprimands or recriminations, and in any case, if Sean could forgive Sandy her past, who was he to judge her.

For everybody else, Sandy, your past history is a closely guarded secret, he said. But Sean and I have been close for a long time and know quite a lot about each other. We've been scuba diving together for years and Sean helped me out of a bad situation a few years ago. We don't discuss this sort of thing outside of ourselves but I am well aware that you and your father were the ones who robbed Sean. Though somehow the money all landed back in his account, and I don't think even you know how that happened. I also know you took a second swipe at his bank accounts a year later, which is when Sean went hunting for you... and brought you back to the island in a different relationship.

Sandy nodded but said nothing, keeping her eyes cast down onto the table. When neither Ian nor Claire said more, she murmured. It makes unpleasant bedtime reading, doesn't it. Sometimes, being sorry isn't enough, but I can't change the past, Ian. I can only be grateful for the new future that Sean has given me. I think you've summed things up quite accurately.

Ian's thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like atoms under a microscope. He decided to take the bull by the horns and get everything out into the open. It was better that way and it was time. I also think I know quite a lot more of your past. he said, spearing a morsel of scallop with shallots and crême fraîche. Do you want me to continue?

Sandy looked up, and raised her eyebrows. She hesitated. There's not much more to know.

Ian looked thoughtful but a little anxious then glanced at Claire who nodded again, so he continued, Actually Sandy, as I'm sure you are aware, there's a lot more to know about you and your father. Apart from ripping off Sean twice, I know that you killed my half-brother and his obnoxious sidekick.

Sandy's knife clattered to the plate. You... that's outrageous, Ian. I don't even know your brother.

Ian smiled - a genuine smile that fell onto his face as naturally as brushing his teeth in the morning. In a generous way, he was enjoying Sandy's confusion. Half-brother, he corrected. You seemed to know him well enough when you took that gun off me to stop me from killing him.

Sandy looked puzzled. Then the memory hit her right between the eyes. Tweedle? she gasped, sitting back in her chair.

Yes, Sandy, Richard Tweedle was my half-brother. Old Jack Tweedle fathered both of us from two different women. I asked Sean when he came back to the island with you from the Netherlands. He told Claire and me what details he knew of your involvement in Tweedle's death. You know Sean, always honest and open, and he felt we should know the inside story, particularly considering my own close involvement with the victim. It was far better like that than to keep secrets and discover the truth at some later date.

Sandy sat open-mouthed while old recollections jumped her like muggers in the darkness. It was a part of her past that she had locked up in a very private place when she chose a new future with Sean, and now it was like her memories were being ransacked.

Claire chuckled out loud. First time I've seen you lost for words, Sandy. You might want to close your mouth some time soon, it looks like a wind tunnel.

How long have you known? Sandy asked, taking a larger than normal sip of wine to steady her thoughts. I was unaware.

That you killed Tweedle or that he was my half-brother?

Sandy seemed lost for words, and just nodded.

"Before he