‘James Fletcher . . . Martin Fletcher . . . they must be brothers.’ Hex saw Alex’s bemused expression and explained. ‘Martin Fletcher’s the guy you were trapped in the bothy with, right? I just saw him here now. He was identifying someone.’
It made sense. ‘Oh yes. He mentioned he had a brother who used to come here. Poor guy.’ Alex shuddered. They had all nearly joined him.
Hex’s mind was on the same thing. ‘I suppose the two thugs who tried to kill me and Tiff have gone free, though.’
A smile of triumph played over Alex’s lips. ‘No they haven’t. Remember Paulo spent all that time tinkering with the Range Rover? The tracker had been disconnected. He got it working again. The police picked them up about an hour down the road.’
Hex laughed quietly to himself. ‘That is stylish,’ he said. ‘Very stylish.’ He’d enjoy giving the evidence that ensured they stayed behind bars.
‘When you were in the lodge,’ said Alex, ‘did you get any evidence on the laird?’
Hex thought. ‘We overheard one conversation with the gamekeepers and the two heavies.’
‘Was it taped?’
Hex shook his head.
Alex sighed. ‘That’s a pity. They’ve interviewed him but there’s no actual evidence to pin on him. He says he’s a city boy and lets his staff run the place. He had no idea that storeroom was full of the raw materials for drugs. Allegedly. They’ve looked into his history to see if he has a previous record but they can’t even work out where he came from.’
‘I’m sure he was the third man who came to the hostel,’ said Hex. ‘I remember his kilt. He was even wearing it later. But when I looked it up on the database, I saw it was a standard pattern to fob off tourists who want fake Scottish ancestry. Hardly enough to make a positive identification.’
Alex was grinning.
‘What’s the joke?’
‘Just my puerile sense of humour. You looked up his kilt and you didn’t find anything.’
Hex laughed and shoved him on the shoulder. ‘Get out of here. I’ve got to go and give evidence in a minute. You’ll upset my concentration.’
Alex stood up. ‘I’m going to get some air. See you soon.’ He pushed his way out through the swing doors.
Hex got out his palmtop. Now Alex had gone, he had a few minutes before the plainclothes officer came back to interview him. Just enough time . . .
There was a file he’d sent to a secure website while he was on the computer in the Glaickvullin shop.
Alex walked out into the car park. The sun was shining. It glinted off the windows of a taxi as it pulled in. It bleached out the ridges in the concrete drive. Behind, the moor rose up steeply, a cliff of purple heather.
A silver-haired figure came out of in the shadows of the building. He walked past Alex, his red Gore-Tex jacket over his arm. Martin Fletcher. Poor man, thought Alex. He looks lost. What’s it like to find out your brother was murdered?
As he walked down the three concrete steps, he tripped. Alex rushed to help him up. He found his arm gripped in a fist of iron.
Martin Fletcher’s grey eyes pierced his like two flints. He spoke in a low voice. ‘I’ve had my eye on you. When you’ve finished here, come and see me at MI5.’ He handed Alex a business card.
Alex looked at the card. It had a name and a number on it, nothing more.
The taxi pulled up. A petite figure got out and Alex caught a glimpse of pink shoes. Tiff, come to give evidence. She skipped up the steps and the taxi pulled away.
Martin Fletcher hadn’t finished with Alex. ‘Tell Hex when he wants a change of scene to e-mail johnsmith.’
‘John Smith?’ repeated Alex. But it wasn’t quite the way Martin Fletcher had said it.
‘johnsmith. All one word, lower case.’
He brushed the dust off his hands and walked away across the bleached car park.
Hex completed his task and put the palmtop back on standby. The plainclothes officer still hadn’t come back. The outer door swung open again. Alex, thought Hex.
Instead of Alex’s walking boots he saw faded pink Converse trainers.
It was Tiff. Her blonde hair was pushed up into a tweed cap and her face was pale. ‘Mind if I sit here?’
It was the first time Tiff had asked for anything. Usually she demanded.
Hex moved over on the bench and she sat down. ‘You OK?’
‘I think I preferred the other pills I took.’ She actually looked sheepish.
‘Yeah,’ said Hex. ‘It looked like they were more fun.’
Tiff stared at her feet. ‘I’ve been an idiot.’
This was a different Tiff talking. She was sad, like the other evening when she’d taken the drug, but this time she knew what she was saying.
As she had then, she reminded Hex of so much. Particularly a spoilt rich girl who had been desperately unhappy. He had an urge to put his arm around her. Instead he grinned. ‘You were more than an idiot.’
If he’d said that to the old Tiff, it would have lit the blue touch-paper. Instead she nodded and flexed her feet thoughtfully. ‘I hated everything. I took it out on you guys. I was petty and spoiled, while there was all this life and death stuff going on around me. Tell everyone I’m sorry.’
Hex put his hand on her arm. ‘A few years ago I hated everything too. Then I met some people.’
Tiff was quiet, thinking about what he’d said. ‘Yeah,’ she nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Keep in touch, right? Just as friends, nothing scary. Tell the others too.’ She lifted her hand as if inviting him to arm-wrestle her. ‘Respect.’
Hex clasped her hand. ‘Respect.’
The sun was shining in Glasgow too, but the figure hunched over the computer had drawn the curtains across the window to block it out. Duncan Stewart was staring at the screen, unable to believe what he was seeing. But he had to. And it was serious. His bank account had been cleaned out.
Fists pummelling on the front door made him jump. No one hammered on doors like that – except the police.
The police were people Duncan Stewart liked to steer well clear of. The house was full of ecstasy pills; he’d just sold a shipment for London. Cautiously, he peered out of the window into the litter-strewn street below.
It wasn’t the police. It was a guy with tattooed shoulders and a gold Rolex watch. Fergus. But why was he trying to hammer down the door? Were the police after him?
The thundering came again. ‘Duncan!’ he heard. ‘Get up, ya lazy bastard.’
Duncan raced down the stairs. His heart was hammering. If the police were onto them, they’d better dump that ecstasy fast. He snatched open the door.
Fergus nearly ran over him as he came in. He slammed the door behind him. He looked furious.
Duncan asked first. ‘Have you been busted?’
‘My bank account’s been cleaned out.’
Duncan felt a mixture of emotions. Relief, because he didn’t have to get rid of all the drugs and scrub his house clean. But what Fergus said reminded him of what he’d just seen on his computer screen upstairs.
Fergus marched past him. ‘Where’s your hardware?’ It was a rhetorical question; he seemed to know. He pulled open a cupboard and slid out a box of buckshot cartridges.
‘My bank account’s empty too. I just saw it this minute.’
‘Yeah. Well I saw it twenty minutes ago. My son’s done an audit trail. And guess whose fingerprints he found? That clever bastard Frank Allen.’
Fergus tossed Duncan a sawn-off shotgun and picked up another for himself.
‘Laddie, I think it’s time we went hunting in the north.’
33
T
HE
B
EACH
The police Land Rover pulled up by the shore of the Kyle. The driver, a young constable, turned round. ‘Are you sure this is where you want to be dropped off?’
‘Yes,’ said Alex.
‘I know the hostel’s sealed off so you can’t go back there, but we can find you a place in a B&B.’
‘No,’ said Alex. ‘Here is fine.’
His four friends were already unloading gear from the boot. Sleeping rolls, waterproof plastic sheets, individual camping stoves and plenty of torches.
Hex helped Paulo put a rucksack over his good arm. The other arm was in a sling. He had been lucky. It was only a flesh wound. He had to take antibiotics and avoid activities that might split the wound open, but apart from that he was fine.
Li looked up at the sky. The clouds were high, the air still. ‘Looks like we won’t need those waterproofs.’
Amber looked up too. ‘The forecast said it would be warm and dry.’
Alex picked up a rucksack. The constable was still looking bemused. Alex waved to him. He waved back, put the Land Rover in gear and drove away, shaking his head.
Alex led the way down the steep rocks onto the pebbly beach. The Kyle of Tongue was a still, silver triangle in front of him. Birds wheeled high in the sky, calling to each other. Otters and seals splashed in the water. The only other sound was the footsteps of his friends as they crunched along the beach behind him.
After a short walk Alex put his pack down. He’d found the perfect camping spot. A flat patch of rock that formed a low shelf, sheltered by a cliff.
Wordlessly, they followed his cue. They collected driftwood, finding plenty of pieces that had dried in the afternoon sunshine. They spread out sleeping bags, built a small hearth. Alpha Force could set up a camp virtually in their sleep. Many a long, hard day had ended with the same soothing routine.
Alex prepared his pièce de resistance. He dug a pit and got the fire going as the others combed the rocks for seafood. They brought back mussels, cockles, razor clams and scallops. Alex laid them on the hot stones and covered them with moss. A few minutes’ cooking transformed them into a feast.
Alex pulled the scallop meat out of the shell and dropped it into his mouth. It was juicy, sweet, and quite delicious.
‘You’ve been wanting to do this ever since we got to Scotland,’ said Paulo.
Alex nodded, his eyes crinkled up with pleasure, his cheeks bulging. The pleasure on the others’ faces was just as plain.
The sun was sinking into the horizon, lighting up the sky with red and purple. The Kyle was shimmering red. Somewhere on the opposite shore, about five kilometres away, was the cave where Alex and Amber had rescued Hex and Tiff. It would be sealed with police tape, but they were far enough away not to see it. It was there, but it merged with the dark shadows like a healed wound.
Paulo looked up into the vast sky. ‘I can’t believe I have to fly home tomorrow.’
Li tapped his sling with a razor-clam shell. ‘You’re going to be a lot of use on the ranch with that.’
Paulo gave her a grin. ‘Yeah, but they’re two pantaneiros down and it’s calving season. All the freelances have got jobs. Half a cowboy is better than none.’
‘Don’t talk about going,’ said Amber, licking her fingers. ‘I’ve got to fly to Boston tomorrow and meet the board of my parents’ company.’
Alex threw a razor-clam shell onto the discard pile. ‘Do you think they’ll be branching into adventure tourism?’
‘If they do, I don’t want to run it,’ said Amber. ‘It’s too stressful. We can’t even keep ourselves out of trouble.’
Paulo twitched his injured arm. ‘Hey, do I get a refund?’
‘No,’ said Amber. ‘You have to pay extra for a gunshot wound.’
‘I know why he’s really going back.’ Li picked up a scallop. ‘To show off his macho souvenir. He knows we won’t be nearly as impressed as all the local girls.’
‘You can come with me if you like,’ said Paulo smoothly. ‘Keep me under control.’
‘Paulo,’ said Alex, reaching for a mussel, ‘you have my deepest sympathy. My dad got shot once and he said it’s agony.’
‘So, Li,’ said Paulo, ‘why are you standing me up tomorrow?’
‘I was going to book a ticket to Shanghai. There’s some family stuff I need to see to. But the police guy who interviewed me told me to call a recruiting officer he knows.’
‘In drug enforcement?’ said Alex. Another shell clinked onto the empties pile.
Li shook her head. ‘No, it’s something else. Nothing to do with drugs.’ She wiped her hand on her trousers and took a card out of her pocket. It was plain with just a name and a number.
Hex hooted with laughter and produced a similar card. ‘I got one too.’
Amber and Paulo both pulled cards out of their pockets. ‘Snap.’
‘I can do better than that,’ said Alex. ‘I’ve got two.’
‘Pah,’ said Amber. ‘They probably gave one to Tiff as well.’
She was greeted with yowls of dismay, and had to duck as a barrage of empty shells whizzed towards her.
The meal was finished. Alex put more stones in the pit to raise the level of the fire and added more wood. Flames and smoke licked into the sky, flecked with wood particles.
The five friends swept away the shell debris and got into sleeping bags. The unpredictable Scottish weather had decided to be kind to them. The breeze off the sea was gentle and the night would be warm. The sky was now completely black, the stars clear and twinkling.
An airliner slid across the night sky as Amber lay back. Its wing lights winked red and white. ‘I wish we didn’t have to leave,’ she said. The murmurs from the others told her they all felt the same.
Alex tucked his hands behind his head. ‘Wouldn’t it be great,’ he said, ‘if instead of having only our holidays together, we could end up working together?’
CHRIS RYAN’S TIPS FOR STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURES
Like many of the world’s elite forces, Alpha Force have standard operating procedures, or SOPs – a set of rules for carrying out missions to minimize the risk to personnel and ensure, as far as possible, that they are successful.
Two’s company:
Alpha Force don’t go into an enemy area alone unless it’s unavoidable. In the SAS we never worked alone, it was always in a minimum of pairs. Usually there were more than two of us in a squad, so we could keep people in reserve. That way, if someone’s cover was blown we could swap them for someone else, or send in reinforcements if necessary. One of Alpha Force’s strengths is that they have five members and they’re quite distinctive. If the enemy has met a black American girl and a Chinese girl (Amber and Li), they won’t necessarily connect them with two white English guys (Hex and Alex).