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By Dennis Rookard For a brief second the lightning flash reflected from the small mullioned windows of the cliff top whitewashed cottage, huddled against the might of the midnight thunderstorm, lashing this part of the North Cornish coastline. Below storm force eight winds smashed waves against the cliff face, sending foam and water high into the air before crashing down again on the rocks, there to flood up the wide beach, across a narrow road to eventually pool in the car park of the pub, whitewashed like the cottage a couple of hundred foot above that seemed to huddle against the Cliffside. In summer this steep narrow road winding down the cliff face brought day-trippers by their hundreds to laze summer holidays away by the beachside, whilst children built sandcastles or paddled it's rocky pools. Others however came to this beach to spend long hours moodily staring out to sea. They were the hoards of young bronzed twenty something's, their camper vans laden down with piles of multi coloured surfboards, eagerly waiting the right conditions to wind surf this secluded cove But those hazy days of summer were now but a memory. Both tourists and surfers had long gone. Now in the chilly depths of winter, with storm force winds howling around the rain lashed locked and boarded up tea bar, beach store and toilets. The cove had taken on an almost primordial feel, with each of the single story sheds still standing strong against all that the weather could throw at them. The pub however was still occupied. Huddled around a table, close by the small window overlooking the beach in the buildings single bar sat seven men, their pints of beer slowly warming in the heat from the roaring fire that offered the only form of light in the semi darkness alongside them. They too were waiting. "How long now" called the landlord, wondering how long it would be before he would be rid of his uninvited guests. "Not long now Jack," muttered their leader a lean lank haired individual wearing a balaclava like hood with just four holes for eyes, nose and mouth, and known to the others only as the 'Governor.' "Your sure nobody knows we're here," moaned the landlord, nervously polishing a glass. "I told you Jack, not long now, and no, nobody knows we're here and provided you keep your mouth shut nobody will. And need I remind you," he went on menacingly "you took the money, so your in it just as deep as we are. Got it." As Landlord of the pub, Jack reflected that he could not get much deeper if he tried. A Thousand pounds up front, with another Thousand to come when this was all over, was he thought, an offer to good to miss. Especially after last summers disaster when a combination of lousy weather, economic downturn and foot and mouth ravishing the countryside kept the cove empty of visitors. By the flickering fames of the fire, Jack wondered again where these men had come from. Two of them were local, of that he was in no doubt; he had seen them himself around the beach store last summer. But the others, considering the condition of their dripping clothing, must have cut across country from the fishing village just around the headland. At least, thought Jack, they would not be so wet on the way back, as the storm outside was fast abating leaving the waves gently lapping the beach. As for their leader, the mysterious Governor, Jack had his suspicions. By his accent he appeared to be from the London area. But then again he could be one of those incomers who were buying up the Villages hereabouts, turning them into ghost towns in the winter months. The ringing of a mobile phone startled him from these thoughts, and brought all murmured conversation in the bar to an abrupt end. All eyes turned to the Governor as he flicked on the phone, before lifting it to his balaclavaed ear, "Yeah Governor here." There was silence for a few seconds, then "Right. Got that. Stand by," he said, turning to a figure lurking in the darkness by the pubs door cried, "OK, tell the watcher to flash the signal." From the darkness, came the sounds of another mobile phone, its owner giving muttered orders. High above them in the cottage, his call was answered, and within seconds from a seaward facing window of the cliff top cottage a signal lamp began to flash it's beam into the darkness. "Have you got the signal?" questioned The Governor. "Good well take your bearings on that. We're waiting on you," he concluded, slipping his mobile back in his pocket. "Right you lot. Action time," he cried to the assembled gang. "If you want your cut, we move fast," he continued. The truck's on it's way down now, and the dinghy is on its way in. I want them both away within three minutes. Les and Paul. You ride with the truck and make sure you dump our guests at least fifty miles from here, then get the rest of the stuff up to London," There were nods from the two "You others remember, once the truck is away, you split. Payment in the usual way and I'll contact you again when I need you. OK?" The remaining four grinned. This was not the first time the helmeted Governor had called on their services, and two grand would go a long way though the winter months. They still had no idea who this helmeted leader of theirs was. But so long as he was able to ladle out the cash, who were they to care. As the six stumbled outside to meet their dinghy and truck, their leader was left alone with the landlord. "Here you are Jack," he said handing over a thick envelope. "Till the next time" he smiled. "Yeah," said Jack, "as you say Gov, till the next time. Funny as you was giving out your orders there, I had this thought." "Go on then, what was it?," asked the Governor. "Well, just like in the old days isn't, it" laughed Jack, "Brandy for the parson, letter for a spy." "Not quite like the old days though Jack" Interrupted the Governor, his hand holding the pubs door open... " Now it's Asylum seekers for the Country, Drugs for the Gentry and Tobacco for the rest of us. Still you got one thing right Jack." "What's that?" said Jack. This pub. Its name. At least that's still the same. The Smugglers Arms" He was still laughing as he vanished into the darkness. Ends. |
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