The Purple Contract (24 page)

He dropped the slim bundle of papers onto the desk, sitting back in his chair with his hands steepled under his chin. He hated to ask the insufferable son-of-a-bitch for help, but he had run out of options. There were only two weeks left to the Royal visit and––when was it that Tony Blair intended to walk the streets of Aberdeen? He ruffled through the papers on his desk, finding the right one at last. ‘Oh shit,’ he mumbled.
It was the same day
. That was guaranteed to give everyone involved with security a headache.

Wedderman could not have said when or how he formed the conclusion, but he
knew
that one of these two was Hollis' true target. The other possibilities he regarded as being irrelevant––they simply weren't important enough to make it worth someone's while paying the sort of fee Hollis would want.

No. Tony or Charles. It was one or the other.

God help them, because I'm not sure I can.

He picked up the phone, punched for an outside line and dialled Greenside's private number...

In the depths of winter, the mountains bordering much of the A9 route through the highlands of Scotland can resemble an Arctic wilderness. Where vicious winds can whip snow from the ground and cause blizzards to blow for hours without a single new flake falling from the sky. A place where people die every year, many of them because they underestimated or ignored the drastic climate changes found on the upper slopes. Where wind-chill alone can plummet the effective temperature to 20 below, even with the sun splitting the sky.

On a pleasant summer day, though, the landscape is transformed. There are few places in Europe, and some would say the world, that can surpass the sheer majesty of these same mountains and glens. Alison Basker had never seen anything like it. Even the children were awed into silence by the towering mass of Carn nam Bain-tighearn as they passed the sign procliaming:
Slochd Summit
.

Shortly afterwards they emerged from the mountain pass on the last leg of the A9 to Inverness. Breasting the final hill they were presented with a breathtaking view down over the town and the Moray Firth.

'That's where we're going.' Alison looked up from the large road atlas on her knees and pointed through the windscreen. 'Just across the bridge. North Kessock is on the Black Isle.'

'Where?' Ken couldn't see any bridge, and he couldn't see an island either.

'There, look!' His wife's finger jabbed in front of his nose.

Ken finally spotted the Kessock Bridge, looking like a toy from this distance. 'Oh.'

Alison went back to the map. 'The Black Isle isn't actually an island at all,' she said. 'It's just a promontory jutting out from the mainland. I wonder why it's called that?'

'God knows!'

Alison grinned. It had been a long journey, with an early start, and she really had not been looking forward to it at all. However, the truth was that it had been a marvellous day. Full of sights and experiences she had never encountered before. Why had they never thought of coming here in the past? She couldn't understand it. But she knew what had become her over-riding impression, reinforced with every hour that had passed.

She had never before realized that Scotland was so
big
.

Mike Hollis had spent over two hours exploring the A82 down Loch Ness-side almost to the village of Drumnadrochit. He was well pleased with what he found. The road was wide enough for only a single lane in each direction for most of its length. A few wider stretches had been carved from the living rock of the hillside, solely to provide passing opportunities. The frustration of more than a few impatient drivers had resulted in death on this undulating highway. Hopefully late at night other traffic wouldn't be an inconvenience.

Satisfied, Hollis turned in a parking space alongside the dark, swirling waters of the loch and drove back towards Inverness. It was going to delay his trip north by a few hours, but this thing had to end here. Tonight. He simply couldn't spend the next week looking over his shoulder all the time. Searching for Germans under every bush. Seeing enemies and disaster in every shadow. No way. Completing the mission and getting clear afterwards was going to take his full attention. That was all that mattered at this point.

Nothing was going to be allowed to interfere.

Nothing.

Klaus Ditmar and Helga Wrasse watched their reflections brightening in the windows as the deepening twilight outside turned the glass into mirrors. Klaus drained the last of the lager, his third of the evening, and set the pint glass down on the table. The chairs in the hotel lounge bar were comfortable and he was loath to move. But it would be closing time soon anyway. Uwe was out on the town somewhere, trying to get laid. He probably wouldn't be back before morning. With this thought in his mind, Klaus started toying with the idea of taking Helga upstairs for an early night.

'Do you really think it's going to be as easy as this to find the bastard?' Helga asked. As always, when in public, they spoke in German. The typical British disregard for any language but their own had proved useful on several previous occasions. The odds against a casual acquaintance or eavesdropper understanding German were high. Just the same, it didn't pay to be too explicit.

Klaus shook his head. 'I doubt it. Finding the dealer who sold him the Range Rover was one thing. The problem is he paid in cash so you can be pretty sure the address he gave them was false.'

'Yes, it obviously made quite an impression,' Helga's voice was sour. 'Not every day he gets handed eightteen thousand pounds in banknotes!' She recalled the salesman's face as he had recounted the story of the nondescript American who had walked in off the street and purchased the second-hand Range Rover without so much as a trial run.

The Germans had given the dealer a tale about a hit-and-run accident which had left a piece of number plate with their logo on it at the scene. Could they recall selling a steel-blue Range Rover ... ?

'Well, we checked the address here in town and there was no-one at home. No Range Rover outside either.'

'Yes, we can look again tomorrow but I think it's a false trail.' Helga agreed with an irritated edge to her voice.

'We can keep on looking for a while yet.' Klaus watched the passing traffic for a time. 'If we can't find the bastard, then we can't find him. But it's got to be worth trying.'

'Of
course
it’s worth it!' Helga was for abandoning the task ahead and keeping after Hollis, but she knew Klaus would never agree to that. Still, they could always come back ...

The bar door burst open and Uwe came through, almost at a run. Heads began to turn as other patrons looked round at the disturbance. Even before he reached their table he was spluttering: 'Here ... he's
here!'

'Sit down!' Klaus Ditmar's voice was hard. People were taking notice: the last thing he needed. Fortunately Uwe too had used German automatically.

'But––'

'Sit down!
'

He must have learned that tone of command, Helga thought admiringly. It certainly brought Uwe up short. Subdued, he sat.

'Keep your voice down. What is it?'

'He's
here
, I'm telling you! Outside!'

'What are you talking about, boy?' Klaus snapped, unsettled with the sudden disorder of his quiet evening.

'That bloody Range Rover, that's what! It's outside.' Uwe tapped the tabletop for emphasis. 'Hollis is
here!
'

Helga couldn't help it, she glanced around the lounge bar as if expecting a grinning face at the next table.

'Are you sure?' Klaus was definitely not in the mood for jokes. Uwe would need hospital treatment if this was some bloody game.

'Of course I'm sure!' Uwe was stung. How much lager had the stupid sod had tonight? 'I passed it on the way in. The rear number plate is still broken!' He jerked a thumb in the direction of the rear entrance to the hotel.

Helga looked at Klaus. 'What's going on?'

'I don't know. Maybe just a coincidence. He lives hereabouts, and this is a big hotel. There are any amount of reasons why he might park here.'

'Was he in the car?' Helga asked her brother.

'No, it was empty.'

'Klaus thought about that. 'Could he have just left it in the car park while he is elsewhere in the town?'

'I suppose so. But if we watch the car ...' Uwe was actually fidgeting with impatience, his face a picture of frustration. Christ, what a chance, and they were going to lose it if these two didn't––

Klaus made up his mind. They couldn't afford to miss an opportunity like this. Coincidence or not. 'Come on.' He led the way out of the bar and down the steps to the rear entrance. 'We'll watch the Range Rover until he comes back to it. We can't do anything to him here––too many witnesses. If nothing else, we can follow him back to wherever he lives.'

Hollis had been wondering how best to stir up the Germans, two of whom he had noted in the hotel bar. He had been sitting in the hotel's reception area, practically deserted at this time of night, having moved one of the easy chairs so that its high back was facing the door, screening him from casual view. The glass framing an impressive aerial photograph of Inverness provided adequate reflective means of keeping an eye on what was happening in the room behind him.

Apparently absorbed in a tourist brochure, he had heard Uwe's rapid footsteps on the stairs even before the young man's blond head came into view. Hollis spoke no German, but the urgency clearly audible in Uwe's voice as he entered the bar spoke volumes. Tossing the booklet aside, he moved rapidly across the room and downstairs to the car park.

The timing was almost perfect.

As the three Germans came out the door they saw the Range Rover pulling out into the sparse traffic. By the time they had piled into the gray Volvo estate Hollis was disappearing down Bank Street, his headlights reflecting oddly in the black, fast moving waters of the river.

Uwe had 'acquired' the Volvo 440 in Wales to replace the faltering Bedford van. The number plates had been changed of course, and Volvos were commonplace in the UK. Routine tradecraft for people who lived their lives on the edge, in a world outside society and civilization.

The Range Rover led them through alien streets. Even if they had possessed a street map they couldn't have followed their path in the darkness. Klaus Ditmar was glad to see the streetlights thin out ahead. A few seconds later they bumped over the Tomnahurich Bridge, a swing bridge across the Caledonian Canal. Klaus had his bearings now, confirmed by the appearance of a large expanse of water gleaming in the occasional moonlight between scudding clouds. This must be the road south alongside Loch Ness to Fort William. He put the Volvo into top gear and began to close the distance, consciously trying to relax. Perfect, he thought, just perfect.

The last of the streetlights were behind them now. Hollis glanced at the speedo: fifty five. The road was dry and empty of traffic, bounded by fields on both sides, although in a very short time they would be running right alongside the loch. The Range Rover wasn’t the ideal tool for this kind of thing, large and unwieldy. But it was all that was available.

Mirror: lights.

That was all right, hadn't lost them then. Hollis had driven this road countless times and knew it well.
But did he know it well enough
? He had only done this sort of thing once before, in the States, and there was the inevitable sense of life finely balanced
. Russian Roulette
, he thought grimly. Poetic justice and no mistake.

The thing was, the chances of getting out of this situation in one piece were not overly optimistic. There were an uncomfortably large number of uncertainty factors in play. Not least of which was just how badly the Germans wanted to lay hands on Mike Hollis. How far would they go? What were they thinking right now? They would have little alternative but to believe that he was going somewhere specific on this road close to midnight.

A massive rock wall looming now on the right. Hollis had been driving on dipped headlights, not going to full-beam even when clouds obscured the moon. That was going to be a problem: the moon. Just one more complication to be dealt with when the time came.

The headlights were bright in the mirror now. Throwing shadows around the cab and degrading Hollis' night vision. The road ahead suddenly seemed darker than it really was. He distinctly felt the heat from the beams as the other car came close astern.

So that's their game
.

Hollis started jabbing the brakes, seeing the vehicle behind him looming close each time. Big thing, Volvo or something equally heavy. They started to get used to the rhythm and he abruptly changed to a wide swing across the full width of the road. Vegetation flashing past now, nothing but darkness to the left. A low wall bordering the water appeared in the lights for a second as they charged past a picnic area, taking a double bend as straight as possible to avoid setting up an oscillation that could put both vehicles into the loch.

In the 440, Uwe sat wedged into corner in the wide rear seat, between the heavily padded back of the seat and the door, supporting himself with one arm along the top and the other braced against Helga's seat immediately in front. The car jerked across a pothole swinging through the Z-bend, thumping his head hard against the window.
Christ
he thought I'm glad we buried that bloody SAM in a hide yesterday, I wouldn't want it banging around in here right now!

Another bend and Hollis knew this one was a killer, literally
. Accident Black Spot
. Yes, quite. He deliberately misjudged it, seeing the serrated rock wall leap at them out of the dark.

'Watch out!' Helga screamed, grabbing for support.

Klaus snatched his foot from the gas pedal, feeling the wheels scrunching and bouncing on the grass verge under him
. For Christ's sake don't touch the brakes
! The steering wheel jerked spasmodically under his hands and then they hit something: glass shattered and a screech of metal sprayed sparks into the blackness. But the jolt had thrown them back onto the roadway, the vehicle rocking violently on its suspension and swinging erratically. Klaus concentrated on keeping the thing straight and let the speed wind down of its own accord.