Chapter 5 - What Happened to Ginger

Once Ginger had laid his mat down on the floor of the guest hut and rigged up his mosquito net, he moved outside again. The man he had noted had gone but Patrick was present to offer the inevitable coconut and give advice about the meeting with the village in the morning. Thereafter he was left to his own devices and wandered irresolutely along the shore, avoiding the area designated for women. Far away he could see restless waves spending themselves against the reef, while within the lagoon was placid and still. Brightly coloured fish played beneath its clear surface but any desire he might have to join them dissolved with the view of a shark's fin breaking the water further out. Evidently there was an entrance to the sea somewhere. One or two canoes were out and it was hard to believe that anything evil could exist in such a peaceful setting. Perhaps the shark he had seen symbolised that all was never exactly as it seemed and he had just had a reminder that not every Solomon Islander was friendly.

Otherwise it was an idyllic scene, especially with the mosquitos absent; their time was mainly around sunrise and sunset here, he had learned. And to top it off, one of the canoes was being paddled by a beautiful young lady, about to pass his way. In common with other women on the island, she wore a yellow lap-lap, which covered her legs but left her shoulders bare, dark and glistening under the warm sun. She looked up and smiled at him as she passed. Ginger smiled back and gazed after her, admiring not only her figure but also the effortless way she manoeuvred the tiny craft through the water, by no means as easy as it seemed. Then she had gone and he returned to the village.

He saw her soon after, one of four women engaged in preparing and serving the evening meal, a simple affair of sweet potatoes and fish. She smiled at him again as she handed him his plate, giving an extra boost to the plain fare, which, in truth, was tasty enough.

The meal over, the women collected the plates and withdrew. A kerosene lamp gave some light to the proceedings, though it cast strange shadows across the ground. Some of the men sat with him but he found any sustained conversation difficult and any attempts quickly petered out.

After a while he adjourned to his room but the face he had seen on his arrival, though not since, haunted his thoughts. Vividly remembering the man in Raymond's bedroom, who would have stabbed him had it not been for Frecks' intervention, he concluded that if any of that ilk were about the place it would pay to be wary. A second visitation by night could not be ruled out and he lay down with no great expectations of sleep.

Nevertheless he nodded off at last but awoke, suddenly alert, some time later. What had awakened him? The sound of water, lapping at the end of his hut continued unabated; that wouldn't have disturbed him. There was hardly any moon and the hut was in darkness but his eyes were adapting quickly and he was almost certain there had been a movement just inside the door. Quietly he reached below the cushion that served as a pillow and brought out his torch and his gun. Mindful of that previous occasion, he planned to be at an advantage this time. Now there was a definite movement and the outline of a figure coming towards him. Ginger eased himself up from the other side of the mat. Once on his feet he felt more in control but, quiet as he had been, the visitor had clearly heard him.

With his nerves on edge and prepared for any sudden violent movement, Ginger snapped on the torch and his finger tightened on the trigger. But no violent snarling face and upraised bush knife met his eye; instead it was the startled features of the girl and her hands were empty.

'You come quick time,' she said at once, and, pointing to the torch, 'killem light.'

'What do you want?' Ginger asked suspiciously.

'You come quick time,' she repeated urgently. 'Bad men, him talkie talkie close up.'

Since she was clearly unarmed, Ginger switched off the torch.

'What name belong you?' he asked, feeling that he ought to call her something.

'Anna,' she replied.

Named after a European lady, he concluded. He allowed her to take his hand and lead him to the water's edge. He could vaguely make out the outlines of her canoe and, with her guidance, was able to get in. Then she was sitting in front of him and paddling away. How she knew where to go in the dark was beyond him and, mindful of that menacing fin he had seen earlier, Ginger hoped fervently that the craft would stay afloat.

They travelled for about fifteen minutes before they stepped ashore again, Anna, in a whisper, stressing the need for silence. Easier said than done, thought Ginger, ruefully, treading with care and acutely conscious of how difficult a task this would be, moving through bushes at night. No twigs broke beneath his feet, though, and he felt he was making tolerable progress behind his silent companion, when suddenly he stopped rigid at the sound of an English voice

'He's late,' it said.

'Boss's prerogative,' said another. 'Don't try being late for him.'

Ginger made out a leaf hut in front of him. Cigarette smoke wafted out through an open window. There was a desultory sort of conversation with only two voices involved but soon there was a soft pad of footsteps and an Islander arrived.

'Mistah Sidlington, he come,' he announced.

'Forget the name if you want to stay healthy,' growled the first man.

Ginger felt Anna's hand tug at his sleeve and he moved carefully back a few yards. It was as well that he did, for a torch beam appeared soon after, approaching the hut and partly illuminating the place where he had been.

'Check the place, Sam,' said a cultured English voice. Ginger, aware of his white face, turned away but Sam, for whom this was clearly a routine task, made a very perfunctory survey and failed to penetrate the thick bush behind which Ginger and Anna were hiding. He reported all clear.

'Right,' said the man called Sidlington. 'It's safe to have some light.'

A kerosene lamp flared.

Ginger caught a brief glimpse of Sam, confirming his suspicions that this was the menacing islander he had seen earlier and been ready to repel from his hut. Sam was sent to watch the path where it joined the road – something of a relief to Ginger, who wouldn't have wanted his sharp ears any closer. He was also able to catch a quick glimpse of the others, paying particular attention to the newcomer. His first thought was that there was nothing startling about him in height (medium), build (slight) or face (thin with a trim grey beard and large-rimmed glasses perched on his nose) – he had the appearance, in short, of an earnest pharmacist, anxious to fulfil a prescription. The other men were tall and swarthy but before Ginger could take any further note, Mr Sidlington had drawn a ragged curtain across the opening and the view was lost.

'Well,' came Sidlington's voice.

'Two British Police doing the rounds,' the first man informed.

'Why should that worry us? They can't know anything.'

'We think one of them is Bigglesworth.'

'Bigglesworth! I thought you eliminated him.'

'So did we. Would have done given even luck.'

'Luck shouldn't come into it. And now we've liberated Caliban, we find that Bigglesworth's chief is still active. Two dangerous men against us and, because of a series of blunders, on their guard.'

'We can soon amend that,' the second man said, significantly.

'Not here you won't,' Sidlington said, severely. 'The last thing we want is to draw attention to this area. Even if the main operations will be going on elsewhere.'

'Do you really think you'll be able to incite students to that degree?'

'Students are naïve idealists. If one side is wrong, the other must be right. There are already signs of unrest on some United States campuses. With the right degree of subversive encouragement, there should soon be protests on a grand scale. And, if one or two of the student leaders are shot soon after, who would believe it wasn't the government's doing?'

'I thought the main idea of assassination was to go for political targets – presidents and things.'

'Too difficult, and, besides, nothing comes of it in the west – nothing major. Students are easy targets – no secret service men to protect them. And what an uproar that will cause within the democracies: blood in the streets, the army called out. Really, the cities of the west are going to become most unpleasant places to be. And their banks,' he added with apparent irrelevance, 'will become very vulnerable.'

'So what do you get out of all this?' said the first man, joining in again.

'The two gods of our age,' said Sidlington, 'money and power. I plan on acquiring both. So will you if you stay in line.'

'And how about the Soviets?' came the second voice.

'Some interest – more if we are successful. We have opened up some discreet avenues of communication with interested elements behind the Iron Curtain. But that is Hamlet's territory. I shall know more later. First things first.'

'Bigglesworth,' said the first voice.

'And his ginger-haired assistant,' came the second. 'He's the one that stopped Crazy Jim finishing off that Assistant Commissioner – him and some screaming female.'

'I repeat, there's nothing much they could have found out yet. Only if it becomes necessary to silence them do we take drastic measures. There's been a spate of hasty, ill-judged actions in England and it may cause problems. We don't want that to happen here.'

'Any messages to send?' asked the first voice.

'Just these,' Sidlington replied, evidently handing them over. 'We shall deal with the reports during our conference and set the timing then. There may be events planned for other areas but that needn't concern us. Now it is extremely late and starting to rain and I must be getting back.'

'And if Bigglesworth moves on to your village?'

'That'll be my concern. Meantime, remember. No hasty action. But, if he finds anything out, then there are plenty of rivers to drown in, especially now with rain coming.'

Ginger's emotions on hearing all this can be imagined but he was also becoming wet as rain, indeed, was descending in generous quantities. He was relieved that the meeting had broken up. The light went out and Sam was summoned to hoist an umbrella over his master and lead him back to his home. The other men, also with torches, followed. Ginger stood up, wondering if there was anything else he could do.

'Go back now,' whispered Anna beside him. So engrossed had Ginger been in the conversation that he had almost forgotten her.

'House belong one fella Sidlington – you savvy?'

'Me savvy.'

'Then we don't need to follow them. One fella Sam, him belong village belong you?'

Her reply revealed that Sam had only been visiting, curious to see the two policemen. Crazy Jim and Sam were brothers, she added, confirming Ginger's suspicions.

The rain was heavy now and the wind had come up. This would not be a pleasant return, Ginger mused. He was eager to consult with Biggles. Perhaps he could go over first thing in the morning before the meeting. In the midst of his thoughts, he realised that Anna had gone on ahead and he had lost touch with her. There was a violent gust of wind from the sea.

'Anna,' he said softly and took a step forward. Next moment something hard cracked against his head and, as he stumbled, the ground seemed to open at his feet.

Algy had spoken to Biggles again.

'What news, old boy?' said Bertie, as he squelched in.

'Stay put till morning. Biggles thinks conditions are too hazardous for us to move now, especially with night not so far away. We seem to have caught the edge of a cyclone.'

'You fella wet for good,' John smiled. 'Come with me.'

They followed him off the lofty dryness of the house into a deep puddle and over to a large barn-like structure at the edge of the clearing. Algy had never imagined that closeness to a fire would be welcome in the tropics but the rain and wind had doused the temperature by several degrees and he embraced its warmth gratefully. This, he learnt, was the copra shed where the coconuts and, by the look of it, the washing dried. John's wife, Effie, had followed them down and waited dutifully at the door, keeping guard it transpired as John reached into a hidden recess and brought out a radio.

'A little different from the one in the house,' he explained. 'Nearly my time to listen in.'

'There are others then,' said Bertie.

'Yes, we take it in turns. They change the frequency from time to time but between us we usually track it down again before long.'

They listened with him, Algy standing near the fire to dry. For a long while there was nothing but static but finally a message was sent. In the heated gloom of the copra shed, the crackled words seemed like a mystic communication from another world. Their import was cryptic too: the education project was to go ahead with full vigour and the signal for its commencement would follow soon. Ginger could have enlightened them on that topic – had he been available.