Dreams to Die For (37 page)

Alan sat, once more head in hands, thinking.

“Oh my God, Jack. What do I have to do then?”

“Give me the fifty in cash tomorrow. I'll meet you at the Italian place in Covent Garden. Get me off your payroll from last month with a year's salary and, if anyone says they have seen us this month tell them I took the dismissal badly and you were trying to help me out a bit. I will give you an account into which the money for the hit can go. It's not traceable but make sure all your money isn't either. After tomorrow, you and I must not meet for a very long time; you understand that, don't you? If you want me to do your dirty work, I'll do it as you've been good to me but it means the end for us.” Donaldson's sweet compliment to his boss carried the sickly odour of blood money.

“Do you really mean that Jack? Can you find someone to do it? What about you? You must have something for doing all this; say twenty-five for yourself with the upfront cash. You would be entitled to the salary in lieu anyway, as it was part of the deal we made when I hired you. Just make sure it gets done, and done very soon, before the police get to her.”

Donaldson could not stop laughing as he walked towards his hotel. He would not only fuck that prick-tease bitch before he killed her, but he had also screwed her ex-husband out of £125,000 plus a year's salary. He deserved a night in Soho. The next morning, Donaldson carefully packed the boot of his car with all the gear he would need, including his camouflage jacket and trousers plus his trusted army weapons and hunting knives. In the afternoon he met Crossland, banked the cash in an offshore account under another name and headed up the M6 motorway. By late evening, he was only a few miles from Loch Quoich.

Sandy and Margaret MacLean were up and about very early on the Tuesday morning to buy fresh vegetables and stock up on other consumable supplies in Fort Augustus. Margaret had insisted these should not be purchased until the last minute, and she and her husband had taken one of the boats across the loch shortly after dawn. The noise of the outboard awakened Cindy from her slumbering thoughts of the arrival of the US Secretary of State and his wife, imagined images which had scarcely left her mind as she dozed fitfully through the night. As Cindy and Gordon settled down to their breakfast in the kitchen, there was a loud knock on the rear door and the CIA Agent Atkins came in.

“Sorry to disturb you folks but the MacLeans left a while back without putting details on the white board at Ruraich. I know this is a real pain folks, but we must know when you plan to go out, and get back, and where you are going. Can you remind them, please?”

Gordon rested his cup back on the table and spoke quietly, “Sorry officer, they would have simply forgotten but I will remind them. Put on your board that they expect to return at 10am from Fort Augustus. Reason – shopping.”

“That's mighty decent of you, Sir. Thanks,” and with that Atkins left.

Cindy turned to Gordon.

“My word, they take it seriously don't they? Dean hasn't even arrived yet!”

“True, but their duty has started so they would take some flak if anything happened, even now.”

The MacLeans returned slightly later than Gordon had estimated but had unloaded all their goods well before Assiter was due to fly into Mealag. After a gentle prompt from Gordon, Sandy wrote up the time of their arrival on the board at Ruraich.

At exactly 11:30am the Merlin touched down on the helipad. Two CIA protection officers leaped out of the helicopter whilst the rotors were still running and, crouching to avoid the down blast, ran to meet Chuck Drew who was waiting at the edge of the clearing with Cindy and Gordon. A few inaudible words were spoken into the ear of Drew who nodded his head. The protection officers returned to the helicopter and instructed the pilot to cut the engine. A minute later out walked Dean Assiter and his wife Paulette Brazeau, to be welcomed by Gordon and Cindy. The initial introductions were soon over and the four sat at the large kitchen table talking excitedly and drinking a cup of steaming fresh coffee that Cindy poured for them from the newly installed and very expensive machine she had recently persuaded Gordon they needed.

Assiter looked younger than how Cindy remembered him from his appearances on the television, but Gordon thought he had aged quite considerably since they last met. Aged now fifty-one, he reached high office after a long and distinguished career in both Washington and Capitol Hill. His receding, naturally waved, dark hair showed only a few signs of greyness, but it would not be many years before his loss of hair would become quite marked, especially if the pressures of the job he had held for the past three years did not diminish. He stood at only five feet ten and had a small oval face with pale grey eyes which were sharp and bright. He spoke in a slow, measured, deliberate manner – the mark of a man who knew the worth of being careful and precise in what he said, but it was without a heavy American drawl, his accent being almost lost amid carefully constructed phrases. Yet, for all the caution he took over his words he certainly did not lack charisma, nor humour. He quickly had everyone at the table laughing heartily as he told very funny anecdotes of political events and the people who featured in them. Cindy could appreciate why he and Gordon had become solid friends. They shared the same values and the same outlook on life, albeit in quite different circumstances.

Paulette was stunningly beautiful in the way of most top models. Tall and elegant with the slim firm body and long legs that Cindy had always wished for, she moved with an effortless grace and poise that others could only envy. Aged thirty, there were no lines on her oval face and her dark brown eyes contrasted with her flawless pale complexion. Cindy could tell that Paulette had applied very little make-up, certainly less than her, and it was not hard to imagine just how fantastic Paulette must look when professionally modelling.

“I do less now, of course, since marrying Dean,” Paulette explained to Cindy whilst the two men were engrossed in a discussion about fishing, “and of course I am getting older. The trend these days is for younger and younger models with slimmer bodies and I cannot compete with that!” Paulette spoke flawless English but with an unmistakeably French accent.

“But you too, Cindy, look so wonderful. Gordon is very lucky to have found you. I never did hear how that came about, do tell me, please. It has to be an interesting story as Dean tells me that Gordon has never been serious on anyone before and certainly that is true for as long as I have known him. It was a wonderful surprise to us when he told us about you.”

The two women chatted and laughed over the story of Cindy and Gordon's romance rising from the despairing depths of the tragic events on the train to the soaring delights of Mealag, Greece and Rome. Gordon and Dean could not stop talking about fishing and deer stalking. The two women separated from their respective partners after lunch, going for a swim and a sauna, whilst the men inspected the fishing tackle and boats. Dean tested out several rods by making a few casts with each from the bank of the loch until he had chosen three to his liking. It was clear from that very first afternoon together that whilst occasionally all four of them would agree to undertake a common activity, the likelihood would be that Dean and Gordon would do their own thing leaving Paulette and Cindy to do whatever suited them. It was natural and obvious this would happen, but it added to the concerns of the protection team. Whilst principally employed to ensure the safety of the Secretary of State, they could not simply ignore that of his high-profile wife. To the CIA men there was a lot to be said for the maxim of ‘safety in numbers'. Had their charges adhered to it, they would not have exposed themselves to the imminent danger that would engulf them when the protecting forces were too thinly deployed.

The terrorists' cell met up at Corach at 9:30am. Fadyar and Khan had breakfasted at the cottage, before driving to the hotel where the others had eaten. As the four assembled in the car park, Fadyar noticed that a few of the guests were gathered on the lawn and inspecting a number of shotguns.

“What's that all about?” she asked Bagheri.

“They have a small clay pigeon shoot and guests can use it any time, for a fee of course, plus no doubt a good tip to the instructor. Pity we have other things to do, we could show them how to do it!”

Fadyar smiled, but made a careful mental note to listen out for the shots when she returned to the dam as she would be interested to learn just how far the sound carried around the hills. She informed the others that she and Khan had not stopped at the dam on the way to the hotel, merely driven slowly past, but she had not seen any sign of security people even though she had been looking through her telescope. They put their kit in the back of the Land Rover and once they were all seated, Mattar pulled out of the forecourt onto the highway heading, once more, for the dam.

Fadyar started to brief them. “We need to find out how many security people there are and where they are deployed. That is our first task. I am certain that one will be stationed at that walkway across the dam, if not today as soon as Assiter arrives. The dam provides the easiest and most accessible route by foot to Mealag Lodge; it just has to be guarded. They will also protect the rear gate, the Arkaig entrance, though the four metre high perimeter deer fence may be generally patrolled rather than place a single person at the gate itself. Assiter will have some people with him 24/7 wherever he goes; I don't know how many but let's presume four – how many more will they have? We must find that out.” She spoke clearly and calmly as their Land Rover neared the dam.

“Park it sideways on to the loch. If anyone is on the dam wall opposite they will not be able to read the number and we will appear to be tourists.”

Mattar did as he was instructed, driving slowly past the dam wall and parking on the wasteland next to the building that housed the switchgear and shaft intake controls. They had an excellent view of the far side of the dam wall and it was obvious that no guard had yet been posted there, so Fadyar ordered them to drive on and pull over by the track leading to the garages where they parked out of sight. Fadyar asked Khan to check if any boats were tied up at the small jetty and to take some field glasses and report back with what he could see going on at Mealag.

“Be careful, Nasra. Don't make it too obvious. You're a tourist just looking at the hills and the loch, remember.”

Khan returned ten minutes later.

“I couldn't see any people. There is one boat here, small outboard. Two are tied up at the lodge. One is another clinker built boat with outboard for fishing the loch, and the second boat is a larger inboard cabin cruiser, probably for water-skiing or just travelling around in a bit more style.”

Fadyar nodded, deep in thought, her gaze fixed upon the large expanse of water before them.

“Nasra. You and Sharid put on your gear and take the fishing stuff. Remember the polaroids so you not only look the part, but also to stop you being dazzled by the reflections off the water. There's a reasonable breeze coming over the hill behind us so you can cast easily and at least it will appear you know something about fishing. Walk up and down the shoreline, separately, between here and the dam, fishing as you go. Have a rest now and then tie on a new fly and all that. Look convincing, but all the time observe what is happening at the dam wall and the lodge. Note anything of interest, especially numbers of people over there if you see any. We will pick you up here in about two hours, maybe a bit more. I need to go to the cottage and change into some camouflage gear. After that Mawdud and I will be going to Arkaig.”

They left Khan and Bagheri, changed at the cottage and drove back to the dam, stopping briefly once more on the rough ground. As Mattar switched off the engine a helicopter suddenly appeared, flying only a matter of feet above the loch. It seemed to be coming straight towards them, the downdraught from the blades creating a cloud of fine spray trailing like mist on the calm loch. As it roared over their heads, the spray mixed with an upsurge of dust and sand, like mini whirlwinds, causing the Land Rover to became covered in a dirty, sticky brown film such that it was impossible to see out of the windows or front screen until Mattar put the washers on and depressed the switches to lower the electronically operated windows. The helicopter turned sharply and throttled back. The roar became little more than a gentle throbbing hum as it hovered briefly above Mealag Lodge before disappearing behind the trees.

“Phew,” said Mattar. “That's what I would call low flying.”

“Assiter,” said Fadyar curtly. “Our target has arrived. Good of his pilot to add some more muck to the jeep. I don't think Nasra and Sharid will be too happy, though.”

Mattar smiled at the image of his two friends having to take cover as the helicopter flew over them. On the way to Loch Arkaig, Mattar asked Fadyar how she expected to get close to the gated fence entrance without arousing suspicion.

“We can't risk going to the gate but we can travel part way. If they have people on the track, we will have to bluff it out saying we are just out for a walk, but it's a small risk. Why would security people be outside a perimeter fence?”

“So why go, then Fadyar? You're losing me on this one.”

“Firstly, two are less suspicious in a car than four. The same logic applies to fishing the shore. This is not a busy place, ever. Two people, fishing a distance apart from each other around the loch-shore, is reasonably normal, four is not. So we have to disappear and we might as well take a look at Arkaig and see what's about. You never know what we might see. Maybe they have a tank in the forest!”

“Surely not,” said a very worried sounding Mattar.

“Oh, silly. Of course they won't, just a joke!” Fadyar threw her head back, giggling with nervous excitement. “Come on, start the engine. Let's go.”

Fadyar and Mattar drove slowly around the twisting, narrow road that hugged the southern shore of Loch Lochy. A large bird, startled by the noise of the engine, took off from the water's edge and almost flew into the vehicle. They watched it fly up to a nearby tree and rest on a high branch. Fadyar paid it particular interest.

“A heron, Mattar. Did you notice its distinctive bill and the way it trails its feet behind itself as it flies.”

“I didn't know you were interested in nature and all that stuff, Fadyar.” Mattar was curious and invited Fadyar to say more.

“Life is strange, my brother. We are about to fulfil our destiny and when we came earlier in the year I initially took very little notice of the mountains and the wildlife and so on, but as we spent some time here I began to appreciate just what a beautiful place this is. Not just at the dam, but all around us. So, when I went home I got out a couple of books and read up about it and also the wildlife and birds. That is why I say life is strange. We came to do our work, our struggle against the infidel, our Jihad, yet that seems out of place here, which has remained like this for centuries. It is almost timeless, peaceful and full of wonderful, natural things. When we have succeeded, this place will never be the same again and some will regard it with horror and revulsion – just as we abhor the crimes and desecration committed in our homeland.”

They remained in silence for several minutes until Mattar turned the 4x4 sharply left and drove along the Loch Arkaig road, stopping a few yards short of the Mealag estate track.

“So what now?” Mattar asked.

“Drive on the track for two miles, then stop and park. Try not to rev the engine too much. My notes say the track is two and three quarter miles long, so we should be ok.”

A little while later, they had driven deep into the forest, parked and were walking slowly and very quietly towards the perimeter fence. Stopping every few yards, they listened for noises or voices but heard none. Eventually they reached the final bend before the fence and gate would come into view. Fadyar beckoned Mattar to stay down whilst she slowly made her way further forwards, crouching low and seeking to make the best use of the trees to conceal her approach. A small cleared area had been cut into the forest around the fenced enclosure and she lay down behind a tree and began rubbing the dark, damp earth across her brown face giving her a blotched appearance. Her dull green camouflage trousers and jacket perfectly blended into the scrubland beneath the trees, and in the half light of the forest she was almost impossible to detect. She peeped out from behind the tall trunk. No one! She lay motionless for several minutes trying to pick up sounds or make out any movement, but she saw and heard nothing. She inched her way forward on her stomach, staying on the grass but she was very aware indeed that if anyone now came to the gate she would be visible, but she desperately wanted more information on what was happening at the lodge. Surely there must be some security people somewhere? She looked around her. Still there was no sign of anyone. In mild panic she thought that perhaps they had after all been deployed outside the fence, and would soon come by on their patrol. Her heart beat more rapidly and she knew she should not linger much longer when suddenly she heard some voices. They were not close, but she heard them clearly enough. American voices!

“Those mother fuckers better not forget to use that board again, Chuck.”

“I've told Truscott and he will tell the MacLeans. For Christ's sake Josh, give ‘em a break, no harm's been done and it's just that they ain't used to doing things our way yet. Anyhow, suggest we get our stuff and have another short briefing with the Brits now our man's arrived, then get our own asses out where they should be.”

Fadyar listened intently and having heard all she needed to, withdrew slowly and silently. She signalled to Mattar to go back to the Land Rover and minutes later they were travelling back along the Arkaig road whilst Fadyar cleaned her face with some tissues. She looked again at her notes, hastily scribbled the moment she got back into the vehicle lest she forget anything. Making their way slowly back to collect Khan and Bagheri, Fadyar looked out of the passenger window. She still could not see anyone guarding the dam but some security tape had now been attached to the north gate. When all four were reunited and the fishing rods dismantled and stowed, it was obvious that Khan was really excited and keen to show them what was in the plastic bag he was carrying.

“I got two fish! Look Fadyar – our dinner!!”

They all congratulated Khan and looked at the two trout, both reasonable loch fish weighing in at about twelve ounces each.

“Well done, Nasra. Let us pray our mission is as successful” said Fadyar, then more seriously remarked, “I suggest we don't say anything about what we have found out until we reach the cottage where we can relax and have some good, strong coffee.”

An hour later, the four were sat around a square pine table beneath a small ground floor window, from which, in the distance, it was just possible to make out the western most point of Loch Quoich.

“Ok, Sharid. You first,” Bagheri was being asked to begin the debriefing. He sipped at his sweet drink and then spoke, “We were very fortunate this morning we were not discovered at the garages. Two persons, middle-aged probably around fifty, male and female returned by car at 10:15am and unloaded shopping at the roadside by the jetty before parking in the garages. Literally only a minute or so after you left for the cottage, otherwise we would have been discovered on the track. They took themselves and the shopping across the loch by the boat moored at the jetty, so all three boats are now at Mealag Lodge.”

Fadyar remained impassive. There was no merit in wasting nervous energy on what might have been; just as supposition should never be confused with fact.

“That would be the MacLeans. Makes sense and it fits with what I heard at the gate. Carry on, Sharid, anymore?”

“Better that Nasra tell you, as he was first to notice it.”

Khan started to address them.

“I was fishing reasonably near the dam at 1pm. Sharid was not in sight having walked well beyond the garage track to avoid us being seen close together too often. I detected a slight movement on the opposite bank, well… er… not on the bank itself, but skirting the trees and bushes. It was obviously someone who knew or who had been told of the dangerous bog over there. Couldn't make out who it was with just my sun glasses and I did not want to raise my field glasses for obvious reasons.”

Fadyar impatiently interrupted, “Nasra, please, just the facts. We don't want a minute by minute account.”

“Sorry. Well, whoever it was walked across the dam, then a few minutes later walked back taking up position close to the south gate. We thought a guard would be placed there, but he is not easily visible as you drive by on the road. I had a walk along to check if I could see him but couldn't. On the way back up the road I noticed the tape on the north gate so stopped and hid behind that inlet building and got my glasses onto him. It's a British special forces or protection officer armed with a sub-machine gun. He seems to have some sort of seat or bench in the bushes there so he can see out, but it's very difficult for him to be seen which I thought was strange. I should have thought if they wanted to deter an attack he ought to be visible.”

“Nasra. You really are quite naïve at times. Do you know the range of my rifle? Do you know how far it is across the dam?”

“The dam is just over 300 metres across, we measured it.”

“Yes, one hundred yards give or take. My rifle is accurate for a kill up to a mile away. At half a mile it is so accurate I could hit a spot on a target's face. I do not blame the officer for concealing himself as best he can.”