Sky High

By Sim Moy

Shrinking back into the thick Central America Jungle in an effort to obscure himself from the incoming gunfire, Christian Simpkins desperately tried to recall the details of his job description at the Foreign Office.

His errand to Belize was to simply liaise with a man acting as a mediator in discussions with neighbouring Guatemala, as there was a bit of a to-do regarding some recent border skirmishes. The events that soon unfolded, encompassed huge wealth to grinding poverty and orderly civility to outright anarchy. Traffickers, smugglers and bandits vied with overly enthusiastic security services. Jungle greens were the dress of the day, and among this chaos stood one nervous young man in a white linen suit, looking up to the sky above. A grand design was up there, and therein lay hope. A conceptual novel woven around a novel concept. A sequel to Simpkins previous' adventures in the Sahara.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528945134

Sim Moy

Sim Moy is a London-born man with a well-travelled and diverse background. He has been writing for almost a decade. Sky High is Moy's third book. It is a sequel to his previously published book Waters' Edge. Its genre is not specific, although it has been described as a humorous adventure thriller. Sky High is set in present-day Belize and concerns the events of a hapless British Foreign Office employee, Christian Simpkins, who struggles hard to avoid an international embarrassment to Her Majesty's Government. Murder, intrigue and more murder hinder his reluctant efforts. Hopelessness abounds until a fluke of circumstances creates an opening for Christian Simpkins' strangely tuned mind.

Book preview

January

About the Author

Sim Moy is a London-born man with a well-travelled and diverse background. He has been writing for almost a decade. Sky High is Moy’s third book. It is a sequel to his previously published book Waters’ Edge. Its genre is not specific, although it has been described as a humorous adventure thriller. Sky High is set in present-day Belize and concerns the events of a hapless British Foreign Office employee, Christian Simpkins, who struggles hard to avoid an international embarrassment to Her Majesty’s Government. Murder, intrigue and more murder hinder his reluctant efforts. Hopelessness abounds until a fluke of circumstances creates an opening for Christian Simpkins’ strangely tuned mind.

Copyright Information

Copyright © Sim Moy (2019)

The right of Sim Moy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781788783095 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781788783101 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781528945134 (E-Book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

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Procurement and Ancillaries

Christian Simpkins eyed the wall clock above the receptionist’s desk. It was already a quarter of an hour past his appointment time, he had been here before and Sir Jeffery Pollock was prone to making his subordinates wait. Christian, though, was not really perturbed, for, despite his lack of years, he was well acquainted with the hierarchy game and knew that in all probability he would have to wait for fifteen minutes more. He envisaged the very same scenario being played out in countless other Whitehall departments. He smiled to himself and sat back on the little sofa, his movement caused the receptionist to glance up from her screen, she caught his eye for a second, but he, like her, registered no emotion. He knew of her, Ms Frost, she was called, although the array of rings on her left hand suggested that she was a Mrs. She was middle-aged and cursed with an overly sincere outlook, however, she was also known to be coldly efficient to the extreme. Something pinged on her desk phone, again she looked up, but this time she emitted a little cough to attract his attention.

Sir Jeffery will see you now! Go straight in. He nodded and flicked a glance back at the clock, twenty-five past the hour, his guess was five minutes out.

On entering the large bright woody office, he looked across to the back of a tall grey-haired figure, hands behind his back, gazing out of the window.

Morning, sir, said Christian, in an effort to start the proceedings, whatever they were.

Ah, Simpkins. At last, good of you to come. Christian slightly shook his head, he had been waiting for twenty-five minutes, but the man still seemed to infer that he was late. Sir Jeffery Pollock turned and indicated that he should sit on the far side of a ludicrously large leather-topped desk. Without a word, Christian sat and listened as the man paced back and forth from desk to window.

Right, Simpkins, listen up, I and others believe that you have now finished your stint in Western Sahara, it’s all been a bit of a breeze for you since you have been on loan to the Foreign Office. Your position there as special envoy, has, as you know, been re-allocated to one of their own people, therefore you are back in the fold, here, in Ancillaries and Procurement, where the real work is done. You have been away for nearly two years, Simpkins; would you like to remind me of what this department actually does?

Yes, sir, he said lazily, we sort out other people’s cock-ups. The pacing suddenly stopped and the silver-haired man turned to look at the younger man seated in front of him.

Correct, Simpkins, I couldn’t have phrased it better myself. Cock-ups, and now we have another, and this one we think, is right up your street. Christian looked back up to the man, distinguished, classically educated and quite charming by appearance, but he knew his ways, he knew his conniving methods and if the truth be known, he couldn’t stand him. However, he also knew from experience that he shouldn’t be under-estimated. The man sat and opened up a heavy ribbon bound file, he glanced back at Christian and chanced a smile.

Look, Simpkins, I understand your reticence, sitting where you are, Manzania was a bit hairy, it was our first venture into the region, Western Sahara, but to be honest, it all ended splendidly well, did it not?

I nearly died out there, sir, several times.

Yes, I am aware of that, risky stuff what?

Risky! Huh, it was bloody lethal, replied Christian laconically.

Yes, I suppose I must agree, you were sort of thrust in at the deep end.

Deep end… His voice regained some of its emotion. Deep end! You said I would be part of a team, I was alone, a one-man team with a thick file of misinformation, ill-funded misinformation, I may bloody well add.

That is in the past, no point in dwelling on it, you are alive and here, and Her Majesty’s Government was saved from a most embarrassing upset. Now, enough of what has passed, there is an irritating little conundrum in Central America about to unfold. Coffee…? Christian took a deep breath, he hadn’t finished bemoaning the Sahara, he had so much more to say, but it was all in his final report. He gave up, sat back in his seat and nodded affirmably for the coffee. Sir Jeffery took this as a starter for him to continue.

Belize, Simpkins, Central America, I won’t go too deeply into the history, nevertheless it was, as you probably know, a British colony, the British Honduras to be more precise. It is now a protectorate, one of our very few left, and it is, as you may be aware, the home of a permanent military contingent. Our problem there is Guatemala, quite an old problem really, they don’t seem to like us very much, but that’s beside the point. The issue in question is the border that we share with them, it is just one long continuous argument of contrition. Christian cocked an eyebrow, his years in the diplomatic service gave him a good knowledge of border protocol.

Mmm…I’m surprised, sir, that border will be long established, well over a hundred years I should imagine. I don’t see how it could possibly be contested after all that time?

Quite so, and normally that would be the case. When it was first drawn up by our surveyors, British that is, the region was sparsely populated, and so they didn’t really give much thought to it. Normal stuff, using natural barriers, rivers and plateaus to define it.

Yes, that’s quite normal and any other bits would have been sorted out by precedence, decades ago.

Correct, Simpkins, you are clearly well acquainted with the generally accepted view, something in your training paid off.

Christian ignored the suggested slight and took the piece of paper now being offered to him.

That, Simpkins, is a copy of the original frontier drawn up in 1893, can you spot the cock-up? Christian cast his eye over it and handed it back.

Yes, the border is drawn with an overly thick line, quite common really, but on that scale, it would be about 10 miles wide. One would normally accept the centre of it as the border.

Exactly, except about fifty years ago when that was implemented, it clipped a few communities in half and divided a fair amount of privately owned land on both sides. This new border line was heavily contested and consequently never ratified to this day. So now, the internationally accepted land-sat frontier with its nice neat fine digital line is literally miles away from what was originally drawn and consequently contested. The river Gonzo, for example, meanders in and out of both territories, it is navigable and therefore rivercraft are re-entering each other’s territory every time they go around a bend. The aforementioned should by rights be an easily surmountable agreement especially if one’s diplomatic cordial is healthy and ours is not. In short the big fat pencil line still unfortunately adheres. It is nine miles wide and one hundred and fourteen long. People…rather unsavoury types.

Presumably, you mean bandits?

Bandits, yes, drug smugglers, people traffickers, and worse, now infest this, this, I think ‘corridor’ would be the most appropriate term. Nobody really knows where to draw the line. If, Simpkins, our security forces confront some armed gang, for example, they just claim to be Guatemalans in Guatemalan territory and vice-versa with Belize, of course. It’s a bit of a nightmare all around, we had some success at control with the use of helicopters and light aircraft and then a few, on both sides, were lost to missiles, shoulder-borne weapons and suchlike. Now, I’m afraid, it’s back to armed patrols. We have even tried border markers, lots of orange poles, but these were pulled up before we even completed the task. And there you have it Simpkins, our dilemma, tricky stuff, what?

Yes, sir, but this is a classic diplomatic conundrum, both sides just have to thrash it out around a table, they have the land-sat line, they have to work from there. It shouldn’t really be that difficult, for, from what you have said, both sides want to fix it. You should pass it on to my old department in the diplomatic service, they’ll sort something out.

Not so, Simpkins, they’ve tried and have pretty much exhausted every known diplomatic angle. The Land-Sat by pure chance seems to favour us regarding the rivers and the topography, we would also get a couple of small towns up north, near Mexico, they were in Guatemala, but now they’re not, and those that live there seem to prefer it this way. Although we have a governor general in Belize, his authority is limited, they are self-governing, and being a tiny country they loathe to cede any of their territory. The thick nine-mile-wide pencil line is the frontier and also a corridor, quite lawless and frankly diplomatically embarrassing.

Yes, I hear what you are saying, sir, but as you said, they are self-governing, it is just a protectorate isn’t it, surely all this is a problem for Belize and Guatemala.

Yes, you would think so, but we drew up the bloody border and we have to protect Belize from a belligerent state. And there is one more thing, the reason this garbage has landed on my desk… Christian looked up, he had already decided that he would have nothing to do with this unfolding fiasco. Sir Jeffery Pollock continued in a rather more sincere and personal tone.

This damn corridor is beginning to have international repercussions, after all, the Belizean side of it is under our protection, our administration. Several times the United States has brought it up in official communiqué’s. The Mexicans are fed up with it as it empties out into their country and the Guatemalans have drawn up plans to extend their territory to our side of the pencil line in an effort to close it down, which from my own personal point of view would be just fine as it would put an end to the problem. The Americans, of course, wouldn’t really object, if it cut off one of the principal trafficking routes from South America, plus, consequently, it wouldn’t cause too much international outrage. The Belizeans for their part, will not concede an inch, they are protected and our queen is their head of state, do you understand what I am saying? Christian clicked his teeth.

A war then, you are suggesting that there could be a war?

No, Christian, we don’t have the resources or the political will, we have less than a battalion at our disposal, therefore, we would have to concede umpteen hundred square miles of territory, Her Majesty’s Government would be ridiculed, and our international standing battered. This is our problem. He sat back in his chair and appraised the young man sitting opposite. Christian just shook his head negatively.

Sorry, sir, this is not for me, I am just a junior in diplomatic circles, the whole thing is a mess. The British army is there, they can’t do anything, the weight of the foreign office and the diplomatic service with all their expertise haven’t come to much, so what on earth could I possibly do?

You could go and see Alejandro for me.

Alejandro…well, who is he?

Alejandro Cruz; He is a Mexican, a good man, he has business concerns in both Guatemala and Belize, he lives on the Mexican side of the Hondo River, not too far from our troublesome corridor. He is well known and respected by both sides. If there was any chance of a deal being brokered then I think it would be by him, last chance as it were. You, Christian, you speak Spanish and your reputation in some circles is, for some reason, well respected. Alejandro can be trusted, he was educated here, I met him at Oxford, splendid chap.

Sir, I really don’t think this is for me…

Think about it, Simpkins, the man has a large luxurious ranch, you would be more than comfortable, believe me, you just have to talk to him. Try and get him to mediate between the two countries, that’s all. If he refuses, then at least we would have tried, if there is a chance of some success, we have to take it. Señor Cruz` is all we have.

Have you spoken to him, sir?

Not really, no, but we have been in regular contact via e-mail. I met up with him here a couple of years back. Anyway, you won’t be alone Nigel Caruthers is there already, you may have met him?

Not really, no, I know of him though, Diplomatic use him as a financial adviser on and off, I think.

That’s right, spot on, now where were we, yes, coffee, here it comes, then we shall have a go at sorting out an agenda.

Erm…sorry, sir, but I haven’t actually said I’d do it yet.

Don’t be ridiculous, Simpkins, you are in my department, you will do as you are told.

I could quit.

Of course you could, course you could, but I would damn well make sure that you won’t get hired anywhere else…Biscuit? Christian sighed loudly, he began to think that maybe, just maybe, that it may well be sort of okay to be a guest in a posh ranch in Southern Mexico, maybe.

Thank you, he mumbled weakly, picking all the chocolate biscuits off the proffered plate in an act of pathetic defiance.

Oh yes, Simpkins, changing the subject a bit. Before I forget, what happened to that girlfriend of yours in Manzania. Er…Begonia?

Petunia, sir, her name is Petunia.

Yes, yes, of course, it is. She quit our employ a few months back, any reason I should know about?

Not really, she just got bored, she changed religion and headed off to Bhutan.

Right, Islamic convert then.

No, she is a Buddhist, hence Bhutan.

Oh, Africa then.

No, sir, sorry to keep correcting you, Bhutan is in the Himalayas, northern India, and up a bit.

I see, whatever next.

Hotel Paradiso

London could be quite a pleasant place in the autumn if it wasn’t raining. November was fast approaching and the nights were getting darker and damper. Christian had by now ingested most of the content of the big red official file. It did not read too well. Politically, Belize was considered quite stable for the region, but there was clearly a problem with their frontiers, the longest border, the one shared with Guatemala, was virtually lawless as it now stood. His computer gave him a nice overview of the geography, toward the north, adjacent to Mexico it looked like a page from a travel brochure, warm, palm-fringed and with a long barrier reef running off the coast. He didn’t have to go, he could just resign, and despite Sir Jeffrey’s threats, he was sure that he could get another job elsewhere. Looking down from the second floor of his little-rented attic flat in North London, dark-clad anoraked throngs of folk went about their business. He had been away too often and too long, his list of friends and acquaintances was getting worryingly small. Despite his fretting and the indignant suppositions of Sir Jeffery, he knew that he would end up opting for Belize and its Caribbean allure. Belize would have to be his first port of call, prior to his trip to the ranch. He would need some local input, something first hand, he knew better than to rely on what was supposed as fact, by some distant clerk somewhere.

A couple of months, he reckoned a short tour, and on his return, he would put in for a transfer to the foreign office or even back to his old department in Diplomatic, anywhere away from the Ancillaries and Procurement Department of Sir Jeffery Pollock. Christian was happier now, he had a plan, he liked a good plan.

Mid-November, the plane touched down at Belize City, a bit of an arduous flight requiring a stop off in Jamaica for a flight connection in a smaller plane. The hurricane season, he thought, should have finished, but when he stepped out of the little and much-buffeted aircraft it was raining both heavily and sideways, the dash from plane to terminal was enough to soak his fashionable pale linen suit. Once through a very rudimentary passport check, he found himself staring aimlessly about. Someone was supposed to meet him, he pulled his agenda out from his wet jacket pocket and sat down heavily upon his wet-wheeled suitcase. The first hour dragged on and the second even longer. Eventually, a young man entered the little terminal and headed straight for him, Christian, by this time was not best pleased.

Hello, Mr Simpkins, he said brightly, Christian looked up at him with some disdain. Welcome to Belize, I hope you are well?

I could be better, I have been very wet, and up to now, waiting.

Ahh yes, I had some trouble with Arnold causing lots of problems. My name is Martine, I drive for the Hotel Paradiso, it is where you will be staying. Mr Caruthers is there. Christian shrugged off his sour mood and stood.

Okay, Martine, glad you are here anyway, who is Arnold? the young man laughed loudly and slapped his thighs through his bright green trousers.

Arnold, Mr Simpkins? Arnold is no man, it is the hurricane, we have its tail here in Belize City at the moment, he makes you wet and he makes me late, but that is all, he is a gentle giant, this one. Christian laughed too, Belize was a lot more Caribbean than he had anticipated.

The Hotel Paradiso proved to be a few grades up from what he could normally expect from his departments stingy budget. He was glad to be there, well, alive anyway. Martine the driver, although quite knowledgeable, was clearly a lunatic when he got behind the wheel of his car. There was a welcoming looking bar at the hotel, and this is where Christian immediately headed upon entering, he needed something to calm his nerves, it was the first time that he had experienced a half hour adrenalin rush. It was early and there was only one other there, a scruffy European individual who leant against the far end of the bar studying him through red bleary eyes. Christian ignored him and concentrated on the calming effects of the stiff gin and tonic now in his hand, but before he could fully collect his wits the man approached and ventured a slurry conversation.

You are Christian Simpkins, aren’t you? He recoiled slightly at the man’s stale breath, but with such an opening statement, he had to respond.

Er…yes, that’s me.

I knew it, it was you that got the water out of the sea, you know, in Manzania.

Yes, I was just a part of a team really, it wasn’t so hard.

I know that chum, I know that, but fresh water, that was some trick.

I’m sorry, but do I know you?

Yes, it’s me, we’ve met, it’s me, remember. Christian looked carefully at him, rakishly thin, unshaven and with a slight tilt to his head as if one ear was better than the other. His skin was pasty and he looked quite ill.

Nope sorry, I can’t remember you, look I’ve got to go and check in, maybe later sometime we can have a chat huh? He made to pick up his luggage and retreat to reception.

No, it’s me, chum, me, Nigel Caruthers. Christian momentarily froze, he let go of his bag and took a second look at the shabby character. He was standing upright now without the support of the bar, tall straggly hair combed to one side, his brow was heavily furrowed, it was the latter that nudged Christian’s memory, it was indeed Nigel Caruthers.

Oooh, he slowly exclaimed as recognition hit him. Nigel, yes sorry, I didn’t recognise you, you have, er, well sort of changed. Erm…how are you?

Not so good actually, I’ve been here for the best part of four months, I was part of the negotiation team, the others went back and I, well, sort of remained, er…I suppose. Christian sensed something in the faltering reply, and to him, that ‘something’ was very wrong’

What do you mean ‘sort of’, Nigel?

Well, Christian, um, is it alright if I call you that?

Of course, now what’s bothering you, what’s up?

Huh, ‘what’s up’, gangs, that’s what’s up, lots of gangs, big gangs everywhere, you don’t want to leave the hotel, Christian, it’s not safe out there, know what I’m saying don’t go out, stay here…

Out where, Nigel?

Out there, out on the streets, I did, just once by myself, that’s why I missed the plane. Now they say that I must stay here as a liaison officer. You are the first person I have spoken to for weeks. There is nobody to liaise with. Christian said no more, he just nodded very slowly and reached back for his suitcase. Edging back out of the door, he said as an aside;

Look, Nigel, we will speak tonight, over dinner, okay? Without waiting for a response, he went on his way and checked in.

Hotel Paradiso was nice, it was clean, the staff were polite and his room at the very top was bright and airy, outside, from the balcony the sea shimmered above the array of the lesser buildings below. He tried hard to put the disturbed ramblings of Nigel Caruthers behind him, something had spooked him and presumably, he would get to the bottom of it over dinner.

His agenda did not really start until the following day, Ms Frost, Sir Jeffery’s secretary had been very thorough, and quite early on, he would introduce himself to one Commander Teddington, the head of the British military contingent, after that, 4 pm sharp he had a conference call booked with Sir Jeffery’s old university buddy, Señor Alejandro Cruz in Mexico. Excellent stuff, he thought, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow. It had been a tiresome journey, a light snack from room service and a decent siesta took him through to dinner time. Showered, cleaned and fresh he entered the dining room, quite grand and reasonably full. A waiter led him over to a small corner table away from the windows, Nigel was already there looking furtive and nervous, he hoped that he too had freshened himself up.

Hello, Nigel, may I join you? He had made a small effort, a change of clothes.

Yes, yes please. Christian sat and waited for him to speak.

Look, Christian, sorry about that earlier, I was a little worse for wear. In Christian’s eyes, he still looked a shattered mess.

Nigel, don’t be sorry, just tell me what happened, something obviously has, you mentioned gangs?

Yes…yes, gangs, you see I’m not too good with flying, so I stopped off for a drink on the way to the airport.

Let me guess, got carried away and missed your flight?

Far more than that, I had a couple of stiff ones, 20 minutes maybe, then I hailed a taxi, bad move in retrospect. He took me a completely different way to the airport, saying something about a special route. He drove me into the jungle, Christian, or rather a run-down house next to it. I complained lots, I really did, then another man got in, he had a gun, and that was it.

Whoa, a tricky situation, did they hurt you?

No, not at all, but they took all my stuff, my luggage, money, passport, everything, even the clothes I was wearing. After that, they drove me to the airport and dumped me on the verge in my underpants. I had already missed my flight by then, it was horrific.

What then, Nigel, that was months ago?

Well, luckily, Martine the driver found me, and brought me back here, the people in my department seemed to think it was funny or something. Somebody though decided that it was best that I stay here, to liaise apparently, but with whom, I have no idea. I don’t know what they expect you to do, Christian. You are with Ancillary’s now, aren’t you?

Yes, for my sins, but I’ve been on loan to the foreign office, special envoy. Listen, Nigel, you have to get out of here, you know, go home.

God, yes, if only. I keep asking, but they can’t find anyone to replace me.

"Okay, I’ll make some calls, see what I can do.