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147 pages

English

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In his first undercover investigation for the UK's National Intelligence Marine Squad, former Royal Marine Commando, Art Marvik finds himself on the hunt for the truth behind a fifteen year old murder of which an innocent man was convicted.Adrift after leaving the marines and smarting from his first failed civilian mission, Marvik seeks refuge in a remote cottage on the Isle of Wight. When a former girlfriend shows up with a disturbing story about the murder of a young woman fifteen years ago and her growing belief that the man convicted of it is innocent, Marvik doesn't think much of it. When she goes missing after leaving his home everything changes. Suspected by the police of not only her abduction and possible murder, but also the disappearance of a computer research scientist, it's clear Marvik is being framed - but by whom and why. In a race against time, Marvik is sucked into a dangerous assignment and a web of deceit that will need all his skills, and those of his friend, former Royal Marine Special Forces Communicator, Shaun Strathen, to get to the truth. Their mission, to stop a ruthless killer before he kills again.

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Thriller

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Publié par	Rowmark
Date de parution	14 septembre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781916392298
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0340€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

SILENT RUNNING

An Art Marvik Mystery Thriller

Pauline Rowson

Silent Running
First world edition published 2015 in Great Britain and the USA by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD

This edition published by Fathom ISBN 978-1-9163922-8-1 (paperback) ISBN 978 1-9163922-9-8 (ebook)

Copyright © 2015 by Pauline Rowson

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. The right of Pauline Rowson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form (including photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic means and whether or not transiently or incidentally to some other use of publication) without the written permission of the copyright owner except in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd. 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, England W1P 9HE. Applications for the copyright owner's written permission to reproduce any part of this publication should be addressed to the publisher.

Warning: The doing of an unauthorised act in relation to a copyright work may result in both a civil claim for damages and criminal prosecution.

Fathom is an imprint of Rowmark, Hampshire, England PO11 0PL

Pauline Rowson
Adventure, mystery and heroes have always fascinated and thrilled Pauline. That and her love of the sea have led her to create her critically acclaimed gripping range of crime novels set against the backdrop of the sea on the south coast of England.

The Inspector Andy Horton Series
Tide of Death Deadly Waters The Suffocating Sea Dead Man's Wharf Blood on the Sand Footsteps on the Shore A Killing Coast Death Lies Beneath Undercurrent Death Surge Shroud of Evil Fatal Catch Lethal Waves Deadly Passage A Deadly Wake

Art Marvik Mystery/Thrillers
Silent Running Dangerous Cargo Lost Voyage

Inspector Ryga 1950 set mysteries
Death in the Cove Death in the Harbour

Mystery/Thrillers
In Cold Daylight In For the Kill

For more information on Pauline Rowson and her books visit www.rowmark.co.uk

Dedicated to all those who serve and have served their country to protect and keep us safe.
CONTENTS

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE
ONE

Wednesday

M arvik knew they were cops. In the gathering gloom of the late February day, from behind the sparse cover of winter foliage, he watched the two men peer through the grimy windows of the semi-derelict coastguard's cottage on the cliff top of the Isle of Wight. The larger and older of them stood back and eyed up the crumbling, ivy-clad house, then with a wave of his hand he indicated for his colleague – a thinner, younger, balding man – to check out the rear. They were going to affect an entry. It was Marvik's cue to leave.
Keeping low, swiftly and stealthily he ran southwards through the shrubs and into the dense cover of nearby woods. After a few yards he swung east and darted through the jagged undergrowth of countless landslides over the years until he was just above a sharp cliff edge before the rock and grass-strewn land sloped more gently to the narrow isolated sandy bay. Beyond, in the English Channel, he caught the pinpricks of lights on a ship sailing to France before turning and climbing expertly down the cliff. It was probably where Ashley Palmer was heading, or Spain, his escape route already planned, long before he and the cops had shown up here.
The daylight was fading fast but Marvik didn't need it as he sprinted across the shale and sand to the powerful motor cruiser anchored in the shallow water. The wind had sprung up, bringing with it the taste of salt and a chill dampness. Leaping on board, he glanced up at the cliff edge. There was no one there.
Quickly, letting up the anchor, he pressed the starter. The engine gave a satisfying deep throb and sprang to life, sounding exceptionally loud. He thought it would be heard twenty-three miles across the other side of the island, which was where he was heading, never mind just beyond that cliff top. But still no one appeared. He throttled back and chugged slowly away, hoping that if either of the two cops heard the sound of a boat they'd think it was a night fisherman. He looked back. All was quiet.
Slowly he headed north, keeping the rugged coast on his left. It was a sea he knew well so he wasn't concerned about running aground, and the ships and ferries didn't come this close. When he reached the Solent there would be more vessels crossing to and from the mainland and heading out to the English Channel, but even then there wouldn't be many on a late winter's day. His thoughts returned to what he'd discovered in the derelict cottage – nothing. It was as he had expected and probably what Shaun Strathen had anticipated. Marvik recalled their telephone conversation earlier that afternoon. The call had taken him by surprise because it had been so soon after they had renewed their acquaintance after a gap of a year. Twelve days ago they'd met accidentally in East Cowes Marina and had exchanged phone numbers but not reminiscences; their days in the marines together were over and probably seemed as distant a memory to Strathen as they did to Marvik, even though it had been just over a year for both of them.
'I need you to do something for me,' Strathen had said urgently and without preamble. Marvik thought he'd caught an edge of desperation in the words but perhaps that had been his imagination: Strathen had never sounded desperate in his life, even when he'd lost his left leg in combat in Afghanistan. If Strathen considered something to be urgent then it was.
'A computer research scientist at Chiron, one of my clients – all right my only bloody client – has gone missing. He didn't show up for work on Monday and Professor Shelley, the managing director, has tried his mobile number without success. So have I. Sod all. And Palmer's not at home. I went there this morning. No sign of any disturbance or of him.'
'You had a key?' Marvik had foolishly asked, anticipating the answer which Strathen gave.
'Of course I didn't. The house couldn't have been easier to enter if he'd left the ruddy door on the latch.'
Strathen was an expert at getting into difficult places, much like Marvik had been, once.
'But I found the indentation of an Isle of Wight address on a Post-it notepad in his office with today's date on it and a time: five p.m. I think he's meeting someone and that he's heading for trouble.'
'Why should he be?'
'It's complicated. I haven't got time to go into detail but the projects Palmer works on are potentially very valuable to Chiron's competitors. He could be selling highly sensitive information and to the wrong sort of people. This is not the kind of stuff you give to a man in a mac up a dark alley or hand over in a brown envelope under a table in a café or pub. What Ashley Palmer knows is in his head and that means he could be in danger. He's very clever but also very naive and has no idea of the nasty things that nasty people get up to in this world, like you and I do, Art. Call it a hunch, intuition, whatever you like, but I need someone at that address in case he shows up, and don't say call the police because I want to be sure first. If he's not there then I'll get Professor Shelley to call in the cops. If he's there, ask him what the hell he's playing at and persuade him to return with you.'
'And if I can't?'
'You can't. But at least I'll have tried. Or rather you will have tried. I can't get over there in time; you're on the spot so to speak.'
Marvik had agreed to go. Now as he peered into the darkness he wondered why Strathen couldn't have come himself. His boat was just as powerful. Admittedly it was moored on the mainland but it wouldn't have taken him long to reach here. Perhaps he had trouble with the boat's engine and didn't want to chance breaking down in the Solent. Perhaps it would have taken him too long to fuel up and cross, or perhaps it was that hint of desperation that Marvik had caught in Strathen's voice that had made him accept without further questioning. He recognized that his reasons for accepting were coloured by pity and guilt. Both were wasted emotions: Strathen had made that clear when they'd met up again. Strathen didn't want his or anyone else's sympathy. 'A prosthetic leg doesn't stop you from having a life,' he'd said twelve days ago. And it didn't seem to have done. While Strathen had adjusted to civilian life, without his left leg from just above the knee, Marvik was still struggling to come to terms with it. Maybe that was why he had promised to go. He needed to prove he was still up to the job. But was he? Maybe Strathen had reconsidered and thought he wasn't, judging by the presence of the police. And Marvik's more recent record bore that out.
As the lights of Portsmouth on the mainland came into view Marvik thought that by now Ashley Palmer might be experiencing some of those nasty ways of those nasty people, if Strathen was right. But perhaps Palmer had just taken off for a few days and had forgotten to tell anyone.
He reached for his phone, preparing to break the bad news to Strathen, but got his voicemail. He rang off with a frown of annoyance and without leaving a message. Why wasn't Strathen answering after insisting this was so urgent? Maybe the police had already reported back to him and Strathen didn't think it necessary now to wait