by Alan G Boyes
Ritson thanked him, but was disappointed. Dervisais’ efforts had yielded quite a lot of periphery information that corroborated the ATU suspicions that some sort of terrorist plot was well underway, but revealed very little about Masri’s intentions or provided the hard, factual intelligence Ritson so earnestly needed. The detective chief superintendent could only wait and hope that the information now passed to him by the French was sufficient for his liaison staff to get GCHQ to decipher the message.
One hour passed, then two. Nothing. No more information was forthcoming. Two hours of vital time, two hours nearer whatever Fadyar Masri was plotting for it to reach fruition. Frustrated and bad-tempered, Ritson went home having posted notice of a full review meeting of everyone in his team for 4pm the following day. He had decided his enlarged team could not sustain their efforts for much longer unless some real and more tangible results were forthcoming, and the only hope of that lay in the yet to be deciphered message. There were also other matters that required his team’s attention that had nothing to do with this investigation. Those might be just as important, just as critical to the UK’s well-being and safety as Ritson believed the Masri case to be, and he could not ignore those pressures for much longer. He set himself a deadline of Thursday afternoon. Unless he had more hard evidence by then, the Masri file would have to remain in abeyance pending further developments.
* * *
Senior firearms officer Greaves had travelled the Kinloch Hourn road three times from end to end during the day. He had observed Donaldson’s car and thought it totally unsuitable for a holiday in the highlands, but he was used to seeing tourists make real fools of themselves. Many did not even possess a pair of boots nor a waterproof jacket and returned home to tell their relatives that they got thoroughly soaked several times, as if it was someone else’s fault. Where did they think all the water in the lochs came from? In his view there were only two kinds of vehicles for the Highlands – large estates and 4x4’s, like the vehicle he saw parked at the cottage by Kinloch Hourn. Despite its local registration number, he had not recognised the Land Rover and gave it little consideration when he first passed by in early morning. Greaves paid it more attention in the afternoon when he spotted the three boats out fishing. He watched their occupants, his trained eyes observing small details casual onlookers would miss. It was immediately obvious to him that only one person knew how to cast a line properly. The rest were very poor and could only be beginners. If Truscott was the practised angler, then who were the others, he asked himself. The security agents for certain would be in the craft nearer to Truscott, but the very sloppy casting and poor technique in the handling of the third boat strongly suggested tourists, yet the only vehicle he had seen from where its crew might have come from was the locally registered one, now parked at the cottage. Local people would know how to fish and how to handle a boat, though it was just possible the Land Rover did belong to someone fairly new in the area, possibly having moved to the Highlands to escape the rat race.
Out of curiosity he typed in the registration number for it to be checked and watched the small screen in the centre of the fascia console of his own vehicle. It revealed that the Land Rover Defender was registered to the garage at Fort William and Greaves interest waned slightly. He knew that David, the proprietor, often hired out vehicles even those he might eventually sell, which would explain everything.
“More tourists”, Greaves mumbled to himself.
Meticulously, he noted the result of his vehicle enquiry in his log book. Several hours later, when the first dark clouds raced across the tops of the mountains heralding the onset of dusk, Greaves was on his way home and passed by Eagles Rest Hotel and was surprised to see David’s Land Rover parked there, since he had assumed it was being used by the tourists who had hired the tiny cottage at Kinloch Hourn. Greaves drove past the hotel and stopped, wanting to clarify his thoughts. Something niggled in his brain. He knew the tourists’ blue boat must have been hired from Kinloch Hourn as those hired out by Eagles Rest hotel were all painted light grey and had two bright red stripes along each side. Why would tourists obtain a boat from Kinloch Hourn and use the outboard to travel miles up the loch before starting to fish when the hotel boats were nearer and superior? Were the strangers staying at the Hotel or the cottage? He decided he would investigate the cottage and its occupants tomorrow, assuming the Land Rover was not parked outside. After a boring day travelling up and down between Corach and Kinloch Hourn, Greaves was looking forward to an evening meal with his wife and speculating about the antics of crazy tourists were not going to disturb that.
Margaret MacLean had prepared a superb roast beef dinner and the conversation around the table turned to what the holidaymakers would like to do the following day. Gordon and Dean had already agreed their chosen activity, but neither said anything until Cindy had made her suggestions. As none of these seemed to elicit any favourable reaction, albeit not direct opposition, from either Assiter or Truscott, she realised that the two men had probably already discussed the subject.
“Well, you two. Seeing as my suggestions do not appear to have your support, what would you really like to be doing?”
Gordon looked a little sheepish as he turned to his American guest.
“The weather for the next few days seems set fair, cloudy with a few sunny intervals but no major rain. Looks ideal for a spot of stalking and walking the hills, might even get a stag. If not tomorrow, then Friday. How does that grab you, Dean?” Gordon asked slowly.
Before Assiter could reply, Cindy screwed up her napkin and flung it across the table at Gordon, laughing. “You bastards!” she exclaimed smiling, “You two have cooked this up on the boat today. Don’t lie. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Cindy’s joyful face radiated merriment and everyone at the table laughed along with her. It was Assiter who spoke first, “Well, ya see Cindy. Gordon and I may have spoken a little, but nothing was firmly agreed. We definitely wanted to hear what you and Paulette had to say first. Promise.”
After a few further lighthearted exchanges it was settled that for the next two days Gordon and Dean would be on the hill, stalking. Cindy and Paulette would travel to Inverness for some shopping on the Thursday, and probably go for a walk around the dam and fish the loch themselves on Friday.
The four plotters were seated in the small lounge of the cottage, reviewing the day. Fadyar was still jubilant at discovering that there were at most only six security agents; two American and four British. She had also observed the marked patrol vehicle on the road, conspicuously and deliberately travelling up and down. The communication equipment worked really well and their tests confirmed that it was capable of receiving the transmissions from the British police radios. The CIA agents’ transmission frequency was unknown, but Fadyar presumed this was due to the fact that as they were literally in the same boat there had been absolutely no need for them to be used. She was satisfied that if and when they were operated, her own equipment would be able to eavesdrop. She would have been overjoyed had she known that an elementary, but crucially vital, aspect of Assiter’s protection had been overlooked. The American equipment brought into Britain courtesy of the diplomatic bag (in reality a crate accompanying Assiter on his cross Atlantic flight) did function, but used illegal UK frequencies which unsurprisingly the British radios were not manufactured to detect. As such the Americans were capable only of radio communication with each other and not with the British, something they would only discover later when the two forces desperately needed to talk with each other.
“First thing tomorrow, I need to make a phone call from the public telephone box down at the harbour to confirm the final aspect of our mission and to ensure that everything will be ready for us when we need it. Then I want you to put me back on the bank where I was today” Fadyar told Khan. “No one goes there and I shall never be discovered. I need to observe more, at close quarters, and in any event I can get a complete view from there of the mountains to the north of th
e Kinloch Hourn road. If Assiter and Truscott are going to go walking, or some such, then that is probably where they’ll go. They may simply drive somewhere on the estate, but I doubt that as it looks to be mainly forest. My guess is that they will be happy to remain around here. I can observe everything from the Mealag side of the loch far better than I can from the boat, and if I can arrive there early enough I may learn some information that may prove helpful.”
The others nodded.
“What shall we do then?” enquired Mattar.
“You and Sharid must take the Land Rover and drive along that very small track that is our first choice escape route. We have to be 100% certain that we can get through and we did not fully test that out last time. After that, make sure the camper van is still safely parked and drive it away for an hour or so. Be a tourist. Moving the van will be good as it will remove any suspicion of it. Nasra and I will not meet you at the hotel in the morning but we’ll rendezvous with you in the evening, say 7pm hours at the cottage.”
Later, when Khan and Fadyar lay in bed, Khan turned to her and said, “Fadyar, how many days do you think it will be before we can execute our plan? We have been here several days, although Assiter has only been here a couple, but do you share my anxiety that as each day passes, it could be our last. We could be discovered any time.”
Fadyar knew exactly what he felt as she shared the same unease, but she could not allow frustration to compromise a good plan. She had to wait for the right moment. If circumstances were not favourable tomorrow, they would be the following day or the day after that. Neither was she comfortable about openly sharing her anxieties with Khan. Naked and sleeping with him was a special type of reassurance for her, but baring her soul was not going to happen. She put her arm around him and pulled him closer.
“Nasra, we have a good plan and I am totally confident it will work but we must remain patient. We have been so careful to cover our tracks and not provide any clues that I am sure the authorities do not yet suspect us. This mission is what we have trained for. We have been so honoured to be chosen to serve Allah. Is this not what we have dreamt of? Do not worry my dear brother, nothing will stop us. We will succeed and Fadyar will keep you safe.”
58
The weather forecast as provided by Gordon Truscott the previous evening was not, as yet, correct. It was cloudy and overcast on Thursday morning with intermittent squally showers mixed with an almost constant heavy drizzle that quickly soaked everything it touched. No one at Mealag Lodge was in any great hurry to venture forth and the conversation at breakfast was prolonged whilst everyone waited in hope for the weather to clear. There were no such qualms about the weather from either Donaldson or from Fadyar Masri and her associates. All had set out early.
Margaret MacLean, who disliked using the new machine Cindy had persuaded Gordon to purchase, made some fresh coffee, replacing the filled kettle on its usual spot on the hot-plate of the Aga stove. As she poured the boiling water into the cafetière Gordon called out to her. “Will this rain and mizzle hang around all day, Margaret? You know more about Highland weather than any of us, give us your view.”
“Ach well, there’s no real telling but I think it might clear soon enough,” she less than confidently replied.
“That’s it then. We’ll go on the hill as planned. What are you girls doing, still going shopping?” Gordon turned to Paulette as he spoke.
“Might as well, Cindy, what do you think? We can still make a whole day of it and I should like to see Inverness and some of those Scottish woollens you told me about.” Paulette was keen to experience several hours looking around the foreign shops, something she had been unable to do in London where she and her husband were kept closeted and out of sight apart from the organised, dutiful and specially scrutinised photo opportunities for the world’s media; appearances which bored them even more than their hosts.
The kitchen clock showed a few minutes past ten as Assiter and Gordon began loading the boat with the rifles, ammunition and the most vital supplies for the day which included a flask of hot, black coffee, some bacon rolls and a bottle of single malt whisky. Sandy MacLean joined them at the boat, also carrying his rifle. “I’ll take the girls over and see you by the road,” he said “They’re just coming.”
Cindy and Paulette appeared just as Chuck Drew and Josh Atkins came out of Ruraich and walked towards the group. The special agents were both wearing waterproof clothing and carrying their weapons which were further protected from the weather by bright yellow nylon covers.
“Juss a quick word if ya please, ‘fore ya go. Is the plan still the same given the weather and all that?” Drew asked.
“Yes,” said Gordon. “No change and we’ll also be going to the hill tomorrow unless the weather gets much worse. If it does we will put on the board what we are all doing, but otherwise everything is still the same. Cindy and Paulette are off to Inverness now and tomorrow they hope to go over the dam and walk up the mountain over there to see the surge shaft and tunnel. If time permits they may just fish around the shore close to the house.”
“My, you British are real hardy folk. Me, I’m glad to stay indoors when it rains, but not you guys! OK, let’s get in Josh.”
Sandy MacLean then spoke. “Chuck, just remembered. It’s Margaret’s day off tomorrow and she and I will be going over to her sister’s at Glenelg for the day, so we won’t be around. I’ll try not to forget to put it on the board later, but you may want to put it on yourself.”
“Sure thing. Are we in for a good day’s hunting?” asked Drew.
“Maybe. It all depends where the deer are. Weather has been a bit warm lately, so they may be too high up.”
“Don’t be a pessimist, Sandy” exclaimed Assiter, “I’m sure we’ll have some sport.”
At precisely 10:15am the small boats were started up and made their leisurely passage across the loch. Fadyar Masri, hidden in the same bushes where she had spent part of the previous day, watched them leave. She might have been expected to be rejoicing at the information she had just gleaned, a worthy reward for rising early, but instead she was extremely angry with herself. She withdrew to a safe distance where she could not be heard and called on the radio.
“Melon are you receiving? This is Apple. Over.” No answer.
“Apple calling. Fig are you receiving? Over.” The radio remained stubbornly silent.
“Apple calling. Come in Orange. Over.” She knew that Khan would answer as she could see him, still fishing from the boat, near the loch’s edge.
“Orange here. Loud and clear. Over”
“Can you move out and try to get either Fig or Melon to answer. If you do, tell them to go home immediately. Then come back to pick me up. Over.”
“OK, Apple. Out” Khan signed off and almost immediately Fadyar heard his outboard start up.
She continued to look through her telescope until the Mealag boats arrived at the jetty below the road. Truscott, Assiter and MacLean unloaded their gear and began walking at a forty-five degree angle across the slope of Gleouraich mountain. Halfway to the summit the shooting party changed direction, going behind the hill but still climbing upwards. They waved to Cindy and Paulette as the two women passed below them on the road, warm and dry in the Volvo.
An hour later, Khan returned and Fadyar jumped into his boat. He had not been able to raise either Mattar or Bagheri on the radio, both of whom were obviously well out of range. Khan had even tried his mobile as he noticed he actually got a signal at one point, but as he dialled the signal disappeared again.
“Why did you want them back, Fadyar. Is anything wrong?” asked Khan.
“No, far from it. It was just that when I saw where our target was headed, I thought that if we could get everything in place, we might have been able to try to capture him today. As I expected he went up the hill.” Khan’s eyes opened wide but before he could comment Fadyar continued, “Visibility is poor across the loch, so the guard at the dam would not have a good view of what
was happening until too late. If only I had known they were definitely going to the hills today, we could have done it. I know we could have. It’s probably too late now, our chance today has gone.”
“Well, Sharid and Mawdud will hopefully have been able to test the escape route so it’s not a wasted day, Fadyar” Khan tried his best to placate her.
Fadyar was still cross with herself and frustrated by what she perceived as a wasted opportunity, but by the time they had reached the cottage the grandness of the scenery and the stillness of the loch had calmed her.
On the long trip back, Fadyar propped herself against the stern of the boat and rested her arms along its back and side. The rain slowly eased to a fine mist and then ceased altogether. The cloud lightened, teasingly suggesting that the sun might soon break through, and instead of focusing on her mission she found herself absorbed by the natural world around her. As she expectantly watched the surface of the loch for a telltale ring of a trout rising to take an unsuspecting fly, she observed a black-throated diver land on the water. It swiftly performed a half somersault then swam submerged, reappearing a short while later several metres away from where it first dived beneath the cold water, with a fish in its bill. She studied the mountains, now mostly concealed by billowing clouds of pure white gossamer. As the cloud raced sideways every so often a break appeared and she could see the illuminated summits rising imperiously through the mist. A pair of buzzards, probably startled by the noise of the outboard, took off from their high perch amongst the tall forest spruce trees and circled above the loch before flying into the distance and disappearing from view. She was so engrossed that Khan had to shout at her to get her attention.
