Chapter 3
John Freeman reclined his lumpish body. The wooden swivel chair practically splintered under the weight. He sipped at his mug of black coffee.
From the panoramic control tower he had watched Pieter's not very elegant touch down. He muttered in his red-copper moustache that it had been a good idea to provide Pieter with a sea plane so that he would not damage the runway with his artistic interpretation of a landing. But being a lover of antique planes, his heart broke each time when he witnessed Pieter's ill treatment of the craft.
“Wow, Pieter, that was a great landing. I hope you did not just rescue those good people to let them die in your soapbox.”
“Hi, you're welcome. It is getting better by the day. And no, they are still alive. A bit startled and stiff, but that is because of the cold,” answered Pieter smartly.
John grinned. With an average day temperature of thirty eight degrees Celsius cold still had to be invented in this part of the world. With his square stature and hundred thirty kilo it was for John a torture to even leave the air conditioned control tower and cross the few streets to his quarters. Something he did as little as possible so that his colleagues suspected that he preferred to sleep in the control tower.
“You know where to moor. I am sending someone to pick up your cargo and then we'll meet in the bar. Does that sound like a plan to you?”
“Sprouted from a brilliant mind,” replied Pieter.
John had his reasons to be worried. Exactly today he expected five passenger jets, loaded with high ranked officials and military brass. For years, the naval base had been downgraded from a bustling strategic military centre in the middle of the Indian Ocean, to an almost abandoned outpost of which everyone questioned the purpose and benefit. At the beginning of the twenty first century, the British government had finally decided to declare the area as the largest maritime park in the world. Not too early, as it had turned out, since the over-fishing of the oceans had taken on disastrous dimensions. Diego Garcia remained a military base of the United States. But at the concrete quays where warships, frigates, minesweepers and the occasional aircraft carrier used to moor, there now lied maritime research vessels from around the world.
The arrival of these vessels with their civic crews attracted the siblings from the original population of the island, the Chagosians. Although not officially supported by the British government, a small group went back to the island from which their grandparents were deported by that same government in the nineteen seventies. They settled around the coast and their small dwellings and businesses were condoned by the few American military personnel whose only wish was to finally be released from their boring duty.
But a few months ago the situation was abruptly reversed. The island turned into a hundred percent military naval basis and the civic ships were kindly but firmly sent away to the surrounding atolls. The Chagosians who had finally been able to build a simple but rewarding small business were removed and just like their ancestors without pardon deported to Mauritius. The only difference is that this time they were stowed into large transportation aircraft rather than a filthy cotter. The colourful stalls and small cosy bars which they had built were closed or pulled down.
First the big cargo planes landed. Then arrived jet-loads of engineers, followed by soldiers, special forces and more soldiers. The relaxed life of the base had to make place for the strict regime of a military operation. Parts of the atoll were closed and declared off limits unless you had special permissions. Ultra modern communication equipment replaced the old parabolic antennas and prefab barracks were built in rapid succession. Freeman was particularly disturbed by the secretiveness. He was now for more than ten years the leader of the control tower and together with the other habitués they formed a close little group. A group where everyone trusted each other and where there was no place for secrets. He did not like it that his world had been turned upside down just like that.
And just as if this was not enough, the new base commander had issued a general curfew.
That decision had not been well received. Especially since the only social activity on the island was the comfort of the bar.
It was in that bar that Peter drank gluttonously from his cold bottle of beer. Jane entered with a brand new kit bag which she threw carelessly next to him on the ground. She mounted one of the barstools. She still looked rather dirty and unhappy.
“My dream comes true. I can now dress out with the fashionable local attire. Khaki seems to be the must have colour this summer. Can I also get a beer while I am waiting? Till Jackie finally leaves the only shower where civilians are allowed. What is going on here?”
At that moment also De la Fayette and Castellini entered the bar and upon noticing Pieter, made their way enthusiastically to him. They both still looked a bit grey from the past night. None of them had taken any sleep so far.
“Well well, who is here?” Oona laughed. “A high visit of our most esteemed and beloved hermit. What brings you here? Weren't you here a week ago? Did you already miss me?”
Pieter let the questions flow and answered them all at the same time. “Yes, that too. But I had to rescue two female sailors from a terrible death by drowning. She is one of them.”
Oona studied Jane's appearance.
“Oh poor thing. A woman can have bad luck in her life. What would be the worst? Stay on the ship and go down or be rescued by someone like Pieter?”
She held out her hand: “My name is Oona De la Fayette. And this is Bruno Castellini.”
Pieter looked at her and Bruno attentively: “tell me, you both look a bit worn out. Did you both spend a rough night together or is there still nothing going on between the two of you?”
“Pfff, you know very well that you are the only one for me. But I guess I shall have to keep on dreaming,” Oona feigned. She continued with an unusually sincere tone.
“No. You know that they have introduced again standing watches. And unfortunately precisely last night, during our shift, we have found a dead man. Washed up. Together with an old barge. You cannot image the heap of paperwork this has created. Not to speak about the effect this all has on Stratford's mood. Next time I pass the honour to someone else. Guaranteed.”
Castellini nodded in agreement. “And everyone is already nervously tip-toeing. The dead body will only lead to an increase of watches and even stricter security.”
“And you already identified the deceased and how he died?” Pieter asked.
“When we left, no, not yet. But of course these days they are not telling us everything. The commander of the base is as closed as an oyster. Doc Fowler is now doing the autopsy. And Stratford runs around like a grumpy old man because he needs to lead and conclude the investigation. And you know how he is with this kind of things.
“Oh yes” it sounded all of a sudden, “and how is he with those kind of things?”
Oona turned and stared right in the eyes of an angry Stratford. They kept glazing at each other and then burst out in laughter.
Jane, startled because of the appearance and outburst of Stratford, did not understand the situation and looked at Pieter for a clarification.
“Jane ... may I introduce you to the anciens of this god forgotten atoll? The years have calcified their brains so they became one with the reef. Believe me, they have been here so long that their moral borders have become vague and that their behaviour resembles that of those Japanese soldiers who were found after forty years in the jungle. But they firmly believed that the war was still going on. However you also look at a group of friends who, regardless of rank or other differences, make up the dixie club of the island,” Pieter explained.
Oona finally replied. “Jonathan Stratford, despite your higher rank you are very well aware of the fact that you are disorganised, that you misplace everything and that you have the ability never to arrive twice at the same outcome in a spreadsheet. Not to mention the e-mails you can never trace back. Or more precisely,” she imitated h
im: “I assure you that I have never received that message. And I am on top of my mail-box. I have no unread messages. Something must be wrong with the server.”
Jonathan looked glum and defended himself: “what do you expect? This base has been an oasis of peace and quiet for the past ten years and now we are stuck with a dead body. And in addition we are being overwhelmed by new troops who are running this place like crazy. I can expect endless audits and questioning. I am really not looking forward to all of this.”
Although Pieter had only arrived in the area about three years ago, he had felt at home with this small group. At that time they were pretty much the central staff on the island, together with John Freeman and a couple of other officers. Three years ago all of them were convinced that the base had seen its best times. That the final plans were approved to dismantle the installations, to demolish the buildings and return the island back to the original population. Finally allowed to return after decades of exile.
Pieter recalled very well his first encounter with Jonathan and how surprised he had looked at him when he reported as the only civilian in the office of the commander-in-chief.
“No, I have not received any mail about this, Mister Van Dyck. I am very certain about that because I am on top of my mailbox. At that moment Pieter believed him without any doubt and assumed that indeed the tightly groomed captain had not been informed. After a couple of months he started to realize that Oona's remark was founded on reality. Technology and order did not go together with Jonathan. And a lot of people were puzzled how he could keep up with his job or keep this talent hidden from his superiors. But he did it and got away with it. Of course it helped that his superior was stationed around six thousand kilometres away. Till recently.
A week later than planned, Pieter had with the help of John Freeman finally reached his destination. The old and abandoned plantation on the Egmont Islands, some hundred fifty kilometres to the north west of Diego Garcia.
At that moment Jonathan dragged Pieter out of his thoughts.
“Are you not interested in trying to figure out what has happened? As a former journalist shouldn't this kindle your curiosity?”
Pieter had to admit that indeed he had become just a little curious. Even as a semi outsider, he also had noticed the revolution of the sleeping atoll into a busy ants' nest. And that exactly now someone was found dead under suspicious circumstances could be a coincidence. But just like the others, he did not very much believe in coincidence.
“Do you already have a better insight into the circumstances the person died?” he asked Jonathan.
“Actually we don't know that much. Maybe there is not a lot to know. The deceased is, at least according to his badge and the documents he had on him, a corporal Votilio. Sergio Votilio. At the end of his twenties. He arrived here about eight weeks ago as one of the first of the new draft. A computer programmer. I realize that doc Fowler is still occupied with the autopsy, but from what I have seen last night it was to me quite obvious that very few people can survive with that kind of a hole in the middle of their chest. The boat that was found in the vicinity is currently being investigated in the dry dock. His personal belongings were dropped at the good Doctor's and I need to take a close look at them. You are more than welcome to join. Finally something may happen in your boring little life.”
“Sure, that is fine for me. But remember that I have guests. And they still need to find a place to stay with you.”
Jonathan shook his head thoughtfully.
“I am afraid that will not work out, Pieter. Since yesterday this base has received the highest security status. I am even surprised that they let you land. Probably Freeman did not read the latest instructions, as usual. I really need to talk to him about that. No, I am afraid that you will need to take the young lady with you to your place. No more civilians allowed on Diego.”
“Wowow,” Pieter protested, “that is out of the question. You know very well that I don't have the accommodation for that. And by the way it is two ladies and not one. Sure you can't do that to me.”
“Why not?” Jonathan soothed, “many men would fight to be in your shoes right now. All alone on a deserted island with two charming girls? We'll make sure that you get sufficient provisions and stuff to make it cosy and romantic. I promise you that I will do everything to bump them up the list for a return flight. But it can take a couple of days before there are free seats. To me it looks not too bad for you. But for them, on the contrary, it must feel like a nightmare not coming to an end.
He placed his bottle on the table with a bang. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowed a burp after he crossed the warning angry look of Oona and continued: “let's go Pieter. Oona will take care of the ladies. You need to leave here before six. I don't want you to fly in the dark or I can set up a rescue search for you.”
While the door closed behind Pieter and Jonathan, Oona turned herself to Jane: “so, Jane isn't it?”
“Indeed, Jane Hutton. I am here with my little sister Jackie who managed to monopolize the shower for the last half hour.”
Oona smiled when she answered: “I cannot blame her. And my advice to you would be to do the same. Pieter's bed and breakfast can be rather Spartan. A man alone, you know. But first you need to tell us what has happened. This for the records. Each rescue operation needs to be filed. If you like to leave this island this year than it will be best to work with me. Most likely Jonathan has already forgotten that he is required to fill out a bunch of documents to even get you on a flight. Bruno will type everything. He is the fastest on a type writer.”
With a wink Bruno opened a rugged laptop. “Ok, why don't you start from the moment that you departed?
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