Page 87 of Savage Reckoning

He tries again, this time using the radio. “Gabriel, come in, please.”

No response.

“Gabriel? What the fuck are you up to? Come in. Now.”

Still nothing. The next request is to the entire island. “Does anyone have eyes on Gabe Sawyer? Report location, please.”

The feedback establishes that Gabe was last seen leaving the harbour on foot, presumably to inspect the coastal defences. A team is mobilised to retrace his route.

I have a bad feeling. I perch on the front steps, imagining all the dreadful mishaps that could befall a man on his own on that treacherous shoreline, even without the added complication of an enemy attack.

“I don’t even know if he can swim,” I whimper to no one in particular.

Ethan emerges from the castle to confer with his lieutenants and the rest of the men who are starting to congregate. It’s soon established that it’s been over forty minutes since anyone saw Gabriel. He’s disappeared without trace.

“We don’t really know him,” Ethan asserts. “Could it be he just decided this isn’t his fight?”

I’m on my feet. “No! He’d never do that.”

Ethan shrugs. “He’s no team player. He said so himself. Maybe…”

“Why would you think that?” I demand.

Jack interrupts whatever Ethan might have said in response. “I don’t think he’d do a runner, boss. He wants Sokolov, and I reckon he’d stick around to see that bastard ended.” At last, someone is talking sense.

“He wouldn’t just leave,” I insist. “At least not without saying goodbye. Something must have happened.”

“No one managed to get onto the island, we’re sure of that,” Tony adds. “If he’s had an accident of some sort… I’ll organise a search.”

Ethan nods. He still doesn’t seem convinced but for now he’s going along with the general view. “Fine. Get that done. Casey, can you track his phone?”

“Sure.” She heads off back inside.

A few minutes later, the phone, at least, has been located. In a rock pool at the foot of the cliffs. The men searching the bay retrieve it and bring it back up to the castle, along with Gabe’s gun.

“There were traces of what could be blood on the rocks close by, and footprints in the shingle. Two men, by the looks of it.” The report is delivered by Nico. “We did a scout round but couldn’t see anything else. Definitely no trace of a boat having landed.”

“We’ve had constant surveillance on the waters around Caraksay, and visibility is good. We’d have seen any boat approaching.”

“What about divers?” Tony wonders. “Or some sort of submersible?”

Ethan’s eyes harden. “Fuck! Casey!”

There’s no camera surveillance down on the beach, so we’re relying on probability. A submersible seems somewhat far-fetched to me, but once all other options are eliminated, what you’re left with has to be the answer. I think Sherlock Holmes deduced that, so who am I to argue? Casey is tasked with identifying what, if any, submersibles are available on the market and if any of them could conceivably pull this off.

More to the point, has Olaf Sokolov commissioned one from anywhere?

She’s been doing her homework and recites her findings to us when we assemble around the table in the great hall.

“Most of the commercially available underwater vehicles are tiny, capable of carrying two or three men at best. They’re not designed for warfare, more exploration and scientific discovery. And they cost a fortune.”

“Fair enough. But is it feasible?” Ethan demands to know.

“If money was no object, then yes. Submersibles aren’t like submarines. They need to operate from another vessel, and they have a limited range. They can be hired from commercial companies, mostly those involved with marine archaeology, repair and maintenance of things like oil rigs, or maybe adventurous exploration. High-end tourism. Some people will pay half a million pounds for a dive.”

“More money than sense,” Ethan mutters. “But what would have been the point, assuming they did use a submersible of some sort?”

“Maybe to land one or two people, or, and this is what it’s looking like, to snatch a hostage.”

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