Sitting at the front of the boat whilst Arthur took the steering, Tracy's mother told them what she knew.
"Your father was working freelance two months ago." she explained. "He was booked to check through a computer system for a certain firm, Zimmerman Enterprises, who were having trouble with the file handling package.
"Well, in sorting out the problem he had made several backup copies of those files currently in the computer's memory. In doing this he somehow managed to access and duplicate on his own discs one or two files that they really didn't want anyone to see. He did not realise what he had until we were sorting out some discs at home. The information contained in those files concerned shipping timetables and destinations but oddly enough there were no major ports listed. It was not long before we suspected the cargoes listed were not the sort you would go declaring to customs!
"Dad made some discrete enquiries to try and confirm our suspicions and was due to meet someone fairly high up in the yard."
"The Yard? You mean Scotland Yard?" Arthur asked. His voice was raised over the sound of the engine.
"Yes." Tracy’s mum replied. "But it seems that those enquiries were not as discrete as we thought. The Yard phoned to say it was dropping the case for lack of evidence and our contact had been put on a new assignment. I went up to London that night to check on the listings of our own system to see if I could find out more about the firm. My department could not be linked to your fathers work and so I might be able to find something out without raising too much attention. I couldn't tell him I was going, he would have tried to stop me."
"That was the night you left?" Tracy asked.
"Yes. Anyway, once there I discovered that the firm had very strong links with a number of eastern European countries. In fact I believe they were acting as a cover for some very dubious activities. It took some time, a few days, to sort this all out. I tried phoning home but when I kept getting no reply I phoned Mike's agency. They said he had been asked to do another job for Zimmerman’s."
"So that's what he meant in his note!" Tracy exclaimed. "He had a chance to go and find out more."
"He can't have realised that they knew he was on to something, and when I realised he wasn't at home I started worrying about you, Tracy. So I came back to find the house locked and the locks changed. The new locks made me think that Mike had come back, it didn't occur to me that an intruder would do that, so I went to the boathouse to see if you were out on the boat."
"But Mum. I still don't see what Harry's got to do with this."
"No. Nor do I." Tracy's mother frowned to herself. "It just doesn't make sense."
"Er.. Excuse me?" Reuben asked tentatively. "If these Zimmerman people have got your Dad, er.. Mike, then don't you think it's time we involved the police. We should be trying to find him."
"There's no way of knowing where he is being held," Phil reasoned, "and contacting the police didn't exactly help last time!" He looked at Tracy's mum. "But I don't see why you wanted to come back to the island just yet."
"How are we going to find him?" Tracy asked earnestly.
"We're not!" Tracy's mum said simply and firmly.
"What?" said a chorus of confused voices.
"They're going to bring him here to us!"
As the boat reached the island Tracy turned the bows towards the cliffs and soon they passed into the darkness of the cave. It had been a relatively simple task to use the mobile phone to ring the house. Harry had answered and sounded overjoyed to have at last made contact with his old friends. He still seemed totally unaware that anything was amiss. Before they could warn him, however, Gregory had taken the phone from him. Tracy's mother had heard Harry protest loudly, and then fall silent, as if someone had flicked the off switch. Then Gregory's voice spoke again.
"Yes, I have them on the island." Tracy's mother replied.
"On the island?!" The surprise in Gregory's voice made it audible all round the table in the dim underground room in which they were sitting.
"That's right, and if you are really interested in retrieving them I suggest you bring the 'Rooster' with you. Oh yes, and by the way I know who you are, so don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." She finished her sentence with a few words in a language unknown to anyone else around the table.
There was a long silence. Reuben began to think the phone had been put down at the other end. Then he heard a few words that he couldn't make out.
"O.K. The cottage at twenty-two hundred." Tracy's mum pushed a button and placed the mobile phone carefully on the table.
As the last rays of the setting sun faded, narrowing the smudge of red and gold that clung to the distant horizon, Reuben found himself a little up the hill from the cottage, a few feet from the well doors. From here there was a clear view of the sea, and any boat arriving would not escape his attention.
From the windows of the cottage came the soft glow of a hurricane lamp and the sounds of Tracy and her Mother as they busied themselves, stacking broken tiles and generally tidying up to pass the time. Phil and Arthur had decided to bring their canoes to the beach in case the tunnel access to the cave was cut off. They had hidden them close to the beach and were strategically placed to observe the path to the cottage without being observed themselves.
They hadn't long to wait. Reuben listened to the sounds of the onset of night. The call of the sea birds had receded to the occasional muttering and the humming of a cricket was accompanied by the waves breaking on the sand. A distant hum became audible and steadily increased in volume. As the sound got nearer it seemed to Reuben that the whole county must be able to hear it, although later Arthur had sworn they had not heard the boat arrive.
As the launch rounded the headland his heart was in his mouth. He used his torch to signal to his friends below and was reassured to see the signal returned. Noises in the cottage ceased.
The launch had a searchlight, which it was now using to sweep the beach, pushing through the darkening shadows; presumably looking for the place they had made land prior to their last destructive visit to the cottage. When the boat did stop its engines it was further along the beach than they had expected. Three men were first to come ashore, in a small inflatable dinghy.
As the dinghy reached the shore Reuben lost sight of its passengers in the vegetation close to the beach. He kept watching the cottage, his mind on the entrance to that leafy tunnel. Thus it was that he was taken almost completely by surprise when the three men suddenly appeared on the path, not three metres from where he was sitting. He froze, and it must only have been by this lack of movement in the increasing darkness that he evaded certain discovery.
The man in the middle of the three appeared to be struggling and had been bound at the wrists and gagged. Reuben was unable to make out their faces, but the voices of the two that could speak were brash and foreign. They seemed to be arguing, whilst keeping hold of their victim and trying not to make too much noise. They stopped by the well. One of the captors seemed to be pleading, his voice agitated, and his words seemed to have some effect on his colleague as he reached into his coat and pulled out a knife.
For one horrible second Reuben felt his heart sink from his mouth into his boots. The knife hovered dangerously close to the captive's terrified face before descending to the ropes that bound his wrists. The rope was swiftly severed and he heard a click as the well doors were opened. The prisoner was then bundled, still gagged, through the doors into the icy water beneath. The muffled protests, amplified by the strange acoustics of the well, were muted as the well doors were slammed shut.
The men turned and left in the direction of the beach.
Phil and Arthur, seeing Reuben's signal, had been hidden in the undergrowth by the path. When nothing appeared to happen they quietly made their way towards the beach to get a better look. Seeing the launch further down the beach they had been too late to see the first landing party, but instead saw two figures coming towards them. The first was walking steadily; hands on head, followed by a man whose height was a great give away to his identity. It was Gregory. The man in front then must be Tracy's father.
Arthur held up a hand. He motioned to Phil, arranging his fingers in the shape of a gun. They slipped silently into the shadows.
"I've had an idea!" Arthur whispered. "You follow them. I don't think he'd dare use the gun, but be careful."