Dreams to Die For

by Alan G Boyes

  When Maythorp stopped laughing, he said “Nay, don’t think so. As you say, they have their own intelligence and security. I think the original notification from HQ would have mentioned if anything going on there might ever merit a Level 1 – for a start we would have been instructed to increase patrols and ensure reinforcements were on stand-by. Anyway, no one is going to get in there with all those SF’s around. I agree. Pull Greaves off immediately.”

  * * *

  Nasra Khan’s practice at fly fishing was beginning to yield results and he had supplied three more trout that Fadyar had cooked for the group’s evening meal at the cottage. His catch had provided a welcome diversion from their thoughts and gentle banter was exchanged across the table instead of serious deliberation. They were in no hurry and Fadyar let everyone enjoy the meal and the camaraderie. It was only later that Fadyar carefully spread the Ordnance Survey map onto the bare wooden table and started to detail the plan for the following day.

  “It appears that tomorrow Assiter and his friend will be hunting again. They came down from the hill today with nothing and that is good for us as it will mean they have no reason to change their intentions. The other man is going with his wife to a relative so there will only be four people on the hill – Assiter, Truscott and the two CIA agents. That helps us as well. The other two women at some time will be going over the dam. They might become a problem, it depends where they go and at what time, but they will be unarmed and I am confident they do not present any real threat.”

  “Suppose they do not go, Fadyar, but stay at the lodge. Also, is it not possible they could raise the alarm if they hear shots? In my experience, women often change their mind. Is that not right Nasra?” Bagheri joked and everyone laughed, but he had made a serious point and one that Fadyar had already fully considered.

  “You’re right, Sharid. I am grateful to you for pointing that out. Either the lodge communications have to be severed or the women have to be kept out of the way, preferably both. I will see to that.”

  Khan spoke next. “Talking of communications Fadyar, is it really necessary tomorrow to use fruits as our call signs? What difference can it make now? We know we are not being listened into, but even if we are overheard tomorrow so what? I think it will make everything easier just to use our names. Whatever happens, in twenty-four hours we shall be all over the television screens and on all the news broadcasts. If anything goes wrong I want my family to know I did my duty.”

  The others murmured their agreement and Fadyar willingly agreed. She spent the next two hours going over the details and crosschecking with each member of her team that they knew exactly what they should be doing and at what time. Her plan was refined and honed; eventualities considered; contingencies worked out.

  She stood up and turned to face the others. “We all know what to do. Tomorrow is our day, my Brothers. Our Jihad. Allah is with us. We are ready.”

  61

  Cindy and Paulette returned from Inverness carrying brightly-coloured bags of all shapes and sizes each filled to capacity. They talked and laughed as they unloaded the vehicle and carried their purchases to the small jetty. It was late afternoon and the brightness of the light cloud cover was beginning to fade into greyness, but the loch still retained a glossy appearance, and fish were beginning to feed on flies that had rested on the water.

  “This is such an amazing place, Paulette, I have really grown to love it here. It is always the same yet always looks different; the light, the birds, the fish, the water, all of it. It’s just magical.” Paulette agreed with Cindy. She had realised just what a sacrifice she and her husband were making by continuing to work and live in Washington DC, and remarked to Cindy that she would love to stay longer.

  “Well, you must come again. Soon. If necessary, I will talk to your President!”

  Cindy parked the Volvo in the garage and walked back to the jetty to join Paulette. The boat was loaded and they crossed to Mealag where Margaret poured them some hot drinks. A short while later they were joined by the stalkers, tired and without even a sight of a deer to report, despite scouring the hills all day. Far from being disappointed, Dean Assiter was even keener to find a stag the following day much to the chagrin of his two exhausted guards. Four hours later and relaxing in the drawing room after another fine meal, the two women were anxious to show off their new purchases. Paulette had an idea.

  “I shall organise our own fashion show, we shall call it the Mealag Collection!” Everyone laughed. Gordon offered to provide the commentary until Cindy reminded him that he wouldn’t know cashmere from cotton, bringing forth more laughter and ribaldry. All the new clothes, and some others that neither of their partners had yet seen but which had been brought along for the holiday, were placed in a side room near to the lounge from where the changes of apparel could take place. Paulette opened the modelling by entering the room dressed in a pair of tailored, deep blue slacks and a silky black blouse. Poised and graceful, her tallness accentuated the cut of her clothes and she walked up and down to a round of applause from Gordon and Dean. Cindy followed, wearing a fetching country hat, moleskin trousers and a checked shirt loosely tied around her waist instead of being fastened all the way down the front and tucked into the trousers. More applause greeted her amid shouts of “Ride ‘em cowboy”.

  Successively, Cindy and Paulette displayed the clothes to ever greater applause until finally Cindy said, “It is now time for our finale. You will have to give us a few minutes, so be patient.”

  She and Paulette rushed upstairs, changed, and started applying make-up to their faces. Twenty minutes later, they were ready and standing in the hall. Cindy went to the music control panel, pressed the illuminated blue button, selected the music for the lounge and turned up the volume. Joe Cocker’s unmistakeable and unique voice filled the air with his famous rendition of the 1972 Randy Newman classic, You Can Leave Your Hat On. The women entered the room slowly and walked provocatively towards their partners, their elbows sticking out as their hands rested on their swaying hips. The large coats they were wearing swayed and swirled as they moved exaggeratedly forwards before they stopped opposite Gordon and Dean, whilst slowly unfastening the coat buttons.

  “A striptease! How wonderful!” shouted Dean. Gordon entered into the spirit of it all, laughing and calling out “Get ’em off” and “Show us what you’ve got then!”

  The women let their coats fall to the floor, revealing very short white trousers, long black stockings and a flimsy top which soon became detached. Their heavy make-up and glossy red lips shone in the bright crystal lighting as they mouthed silent obscenities whilst slowly undressing. Shouts of delight filled the room and, in time to the music, most of the remaining clothes were gradually, but purposefully, removed until they were modelling their new swim wear. Very slowly they unpeeled their costumes, the expectation of their audience rising rapidly with Gordon and Dean leaning intently forward on their seats. Exaggerated groans of disappointment mixed with ribald comments followed as the final items worn by Cindy and Paulette were revealed. The women paraded up and down the large room several times before stopping in front of their partners. As each removed their bra in unison, they were careful not to reveal much of their upper body by judicial placement of their hands. Now wearing only a hat and the tiniest G-string imaginable they turned and faced away from their partners. Still dancing in rhythm to the beat of the evocative music they took three steps and slowly eased their G-strings down until they fell to the floor and could step out of them. As the music ended, they flung their arms into the air, took off their hat and placed it over their pubic area. In a grand finale, the two make-believe strippers performed a full 360 degree turn giving their excited audience only a brief glimpse of their bare breasts before they ran out of the room. Everyone dissolved into laughter.

  “Encore, encore”, came the shouts from the sofas, but Paulette and Cindy declined as they dressed in the hall before coming back to gather up their discarded clothes.

&nb
sp; “I think that’s quite enough for you at your age,” mocked Paulette speaking to her husband. “Too much excitement isn’t good for you.”

  “Weren’t they just marvellous, Gordon? Tremendous. Well done!” said Assiter, beaming.

  The fun continued with them playing some not too serious games of snooker, before they ended by taking a late night plunge into the pool, splashing each other and generally larking about. It had indeed been a great evening: one to remember; one to savour; one never to be repeated.

  62

  The first light of dawn brushed across the loch, illuminating the wisps of mist that were gently caressing the surface of the water. The only sound that could be heard was the occasional plop from a fish that had risen to feed or had jumped simply to clean any lice from his scales and for the fun of creating a splash. Fadyar went outside the cottage and breathed in, filling her lungs with the fresh, cold, pure air. As she viewed the mountains, she reflected that they had remained constant over thousands of years and would look, and be, the same tomorrow.

  “But will I?” she asked herself, but obtained no reply. She had checked and re-checked all her equipment, especially her firearms. She had again mentally analysed every aspect of her plan, recently amended to ensure that no one would be able to communicate an emergency message from the lodge. Whilst she kept telling herself that Assiter and Truscott might change their intentions to go deer stalking, somehow she just knew they wouldn’t. She was calm now and she hoped she could remain that way when later in the day she was going to be called upon to act. For the first time, she felt the real burden of leadership and the onerous responsibility of possibly leading her comrades to their deaths. It had been a long and arduous journey from the ruined streets of Baghdad and the torn bodies of her parents to the calm of this highland paradise, and the irony was not lost on her that she was about to inflict on this place a similar, albeit different, atrocity to that which befell her beloved home. She had not heard Khan as he walked up behind her and was startled when he put his arms around her waist and kissed her gently on the back of her neck.

  “You have grown to like this place, haven’t you Fadyar?” he asked gently.

  She didn’t give an immediate response but slowly she turned to him and said, “It is beautiful, it really is. I have begun to take notice of it more and more, and each time I look I see it differently. Truscott must be a wise and clever man. With his fortune he can live anywhere, yet he lives here: where travel is inconvenient; where life, in many ways despite his wealth, is harsh. Why do you think he does that Nasra? I will tell you why. Because he is sensitive to nature and to life itself and values it higher than he does his money.”

  Nasra stayed silent for a moment, thinking upon what Fadyar had just said.

  “And so are you Fadyar.” After a pause he added, “I came out to say I am ready but also to tell you something I may not have chance to say later. I love you.”

  “I know,” she said simply, “and I you. I fell asleep last night thinking that it was us in the lodge, not Truscott. How weird is that?” Neither she nor Khan answered, and they jointly loaded up the small boat and prepared to make the long journey towards the dam as the new sunlight began to dissolve the mist.

  In contrast to Fadyar, Donaldson had slept little. His contract with Crossland was becoming a burden and a considerably dangerous one. He sweated with nervous energy as he thought about the various ways he could possibly penetrate the lodge defences, but failed to find any that totally satisfied him. Sure, he could get close, but there was no real requirement for him to take such risks. His task was simple: kill Cindy Crossland. He could use his rifle to do this from a safe distance, either when she was crossing over the water in a boat or simply lie in wait for her at a passing place and shoot her through the windscreen of her vehicle as she drove along the road.

  There was only one reason why he longed to get inside the lodge and it had little to do with murderous intent. Not being able to sleep he rose very early and had quickly washed and shaved the overnight red stubble from his face. The lure of Cindy Crossland was considerable and he decided to go to the lodge again and simply see what happened in the morning. If no opportunity presented itself, he would have to resort to taking a shot at her later in the day, or if he had to, the following day. He knew he was good at dealing with situations as they arose and he would rely on his instincts and reactions rather than try to devise some elaborate plan to circumvent the security. There was one thing he was certain about. Delay was not an option, never had been and never would be. To delay means failure and Donaldson knew only success. He carefully packed his suitcase and placed it in his 4x4 alongside his rifle, field glasses and ammunition. He called in at the local store, always open early for the camper and caravan tourists, and bought provisions that filled his rucksack – having first emptied it of some miscellaneous items which included a bundle of long nylon cable ties held together by a thick elastic band. He drove slowly but purposefully around the southern and western shores of Loch Lochy, before turning left for Loch Arkaig and to the Mealag Estate track that he had come to know so well. He hid his vehicle deep into the forest and looked at his watch. 8am. He took his rifle from its case and slung it across his shoulder, checking first that it was loaded and the safety catch secured. He placed his glasses around his neck and made certain his large hunting knife was in its sheath at his side. Finally, he took two bacon sandwiches from his rucksack and put them into his left jacket side pocket before undoing the band from around the ties and stuffing a large handful of them into his right pocket. His last act, before making his way through the trees to the lodge, was to lock his car and place the keys on an inside pocket that he could securely close by its zip. He took several gulps of air and set off to hunt for his human prey.

  Sharid Bagheri and Mawdud Mattar had been meticulous in their preparations. The Land Rover was full of fuel, more to aid its stability than for the miles it was expected to travel, and their equipment had also been double-checked. As soon as they left the hotel, they changed into sturdy, studded walking boots and their camouflaged jackets and trousers before Bagheri drove to the passing place a quarter of a mile beyond the garages. They waited there, their shortwave radios switched to the ‘on’ position. They had an excellent view of the loch and of any comings and goings from the lodge itself, whilst not appearing overly conspicuous themselves. They placed their high powered glasses to their eyes and searched for any activity on the lodge estate, where Fadyar was going to be landed in about thirty minutes time. Fadyar had instructed them that if it was not safe for her, then they should start their vehicle and drive along the road. She would see it and abort her landing. All was still amid the trees and they remained in their position.

  Khan skilfully cut the engine and silently brought the small boat onto the opposite shore. Fadyar jumped out, and immediately Khan rowed out towards deeper water before starting his outboard again. The boat had been at the shore for barely ten seconds. Khan made way towards the dam, it being his role to take out the officer patrolling the wall and gate when Fadyar gave the signal. He dropped anchor and prepared to start fishing. Ordinarily either Mattar or Bagheri would have made some light hearted comment upon Khan’s fishing, but today such thoughts did not disturb their concentration and they remained silent. Several minutes passed and then the radio came to life.

  “In position. Synchronise watches. In ten seconds it will be 8:15am exactly. Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, mark. Over.” It was Fadyar.

  Almost simultaneously three voices responded “Affirmative. Out”

  63

  The previous evening, Chief Inspector Keith Maythorp at Fort William had reasonably assumed the raising of the terrorist threat had been sanctioned by the JTAC, since as far as he was aware that was their responsibility. That was also the very firm view taken by the Chair of the JTAC, the Assistant Director General of the Security Service, Rosalind Craglis – a redoubtable woman of immense experience in intel
ligence and counter intelligence. She had been a skilled field operative in the days of the cold war where she had demonstrated considerable courage and fortitude in various overseas countries, many of them visited without a valid passport and entered by non-conventional means. She then served in various embassies and UK missions, often masquerading as an Under Secretary for Trade, a euphemism for her real work as a spy. Since taking up a position at Millbank, she had risen steadily to Assistant Director General and she did not take kindly to having her role usurped by someone whom she regarded as a promotion-seeking policeman. Assistant Commissioner Manders was being firmly reminded that his responsibilities did not include unilaterally issuing threat assessments prior to any discussion of the actual facts by the JTAC. Craglis had opened the meeting at 8:30am when the sixteen representatives from government departments were present, but it was now nearing 9am and Manders was becoming impatient. He and Ms Craglis had clashed previously, and it was apparent that the Assistant Director General was now using this opportunity to settle old scores.

  “If the Chair would permit, I am finding this lecture time consuming and non-productive. I move that we immediately discuss the main item under review and either confirm or rescind the Assistant Commissioner’s threat warning. I cannot imagine he issued it lightly.”

  Everyone turned to face the interjector, a little known figure with a fresh, round face, who was standing in for the Permanent Secretary at the Ministry of Defence. Murmurs of assent gathered in volume.

  “I should like to second that.” John Walters of GCHQ, who had unofficially helped earlier in the investigation, called out. The obvious affront to the Chair inwardly delighted Manders but although Ms Craglis blushed she kept her composure.