Dreams to Die For

by Alan G Boyes

  Once Curry was satisfied that the scene was totally secure, the hostage safe and the injured evacuated, he contacted Bill Ritson, manning the room at the Eagles Rest Hotel.

  “All secure here, Bill. I’ll leave the lads to stay around. Everyone is now off the scene pending forensics and the usual clean up.”

  “Great, John. Thanks. Excellent job. At least the hostage is safe but the aftermath will be interesting. See you in a while. Would you like me to contact Silver and Gold?”

  “Yes please” said Curry.

  After a few moments Bill Ritson formally reported that the incident was over and requested Silver and Gold to stand down. They both congratulated Ritson and Curry on a successful outcome. An hour later, the Home Secretary added his own thanks and those of the Prime Minister to all the personnel who had served in Gold, Silver and Bronze commands. When Curry returned, he joined Ritson who had already begun winding down the Bronze command room.

  “Time to call everyone in” he said to Ritson, who nodded.

  Curry switched on the radio and spoke to all the units involved in the rescue.

  “Debrief at the hotel in one hour.”

  84

  Cindy had been waiting anxiously in a side room that the hospital staff had offered for her exclusive use. She had been warned the operation was likely to be lengthy and that she may not be able to see Gordon for several hours. She was desperately tired, exhausted, but her concern for Gordon was keeping her awake and alert. A look in the mirror showed the extent of her anguish, but also revealed to her that she was badly in need of a shower and a change of clothes. The events of the morning, which seemed a distant memory now, had prevented her from using any make-up and she irrationally told herself that she had to look good for when Gordon opened his eyes. She started to cry again. She was often breaking into small bursts of uncontrollable crying and wondered if she had been wise in refusing any medication. She realised she ought to tell someone about the morning, about Donaldson, but she could not face doing so. Not yet. All she could think about now was Gordon, though she knew she must sometime consider her own health and also tell the authorities what had happened.

  “Oh God” she sighed. “I can’t, I just can’t,” and she started crying once more.

  Images of Gordon flashed in front of her, a miscellany of intense and varied recollections. She saw his smile, his voice, their times together. She sobbed as she remembered how really happy they had all been less than twenty-four hours earlier when she and Paulette performed their mock striptease. Her thoughts reflected on Gordon’s tenderness, his always gentle but sometimes urgent love-making, his thoughtful consideration of her such that he ensured she always gained as much pleasure from it as did he. She saw him standing at the dam gate, relaxed, dressed in jeans or his favourite mole skin trousers and a jumper, awaiting his next band of students just as he had for her when she first went to Mealag. She began to cry again and a nurse appeared asking if she needed anything. Cindy shook her head. Unwilling to reveal the events of the morning, she asked simply if there was anywhere she could take a shower and borrow a comb.

  “Come with me. I know just the place.”

  Cindy followed and they entered a large room, beautifully equipped with a bed, television and its own en-suite bathroom.

  “We have a few of these for private patients, but you can use it. You will find shampoos and even a small make-up kit including comb.”

  “That’s so kind of you, but I will be happy to pay. It’s no problem”

  “No need, but anyway we can talk later. If you need anything just ring the buzzer or come and see me. I’m only down the corridor.”

  “Is there any news of Gordon?”

  “No. He is still in theatre. I will let you know as soon as he comes out.”

  Cindy showered. Refreshed, she sat in the chair and was trying to focus on reading a glossy magazine. She found it hard to concentrate and had just put the book to one side when there was a knock on the door. Several police were surrounding Paulette and Dean, with others stationed along the corridor. Cindy was overjoyed to see her friends and invited them in.

  “I am just so sorry. It’s all my fault, Cindy. I shall never forgive myself.” Paulette was full of remorse.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Paulette. If it had been Gordon on that plane coming down the steps I would have done the same. Please, don’t blame yourself.”

  “You are so kind, Cindy, a true friend. I have told Dean how brave you were you this morning, and how you kept that monster away from me.”

  “That must have been terrifying. I learnt a bit about that on the plane, from the woman,” Assiter added.

  They spent several more minutes whilst he repeated to Cindy what he had already told Paulette about events on the aircraft and the conversation he had engaged in with Fadyar.

  “Extraordinary thing to do,” said Assiter. “I am amazed she didn’t kill me. Paulette tells me that her instructions were to kill me if the kidnap attempt failed.”

  “Yes, she mentioned something similar to that at the lodge this morning. She would be bound to create world headlines had she done so.” Cindy was glad to have the diversion of conversation.

  “How would you assess her, Cindy? Was she for real?” Assiter asked.

  “I’m not sure I understand quite what you are driving at Dean, but she saved our lives when she didn’t have to. She put herself and her mission in danger to prevent something she found abhorrent. I will always be grateful to her for that. Yes, she was ‘for real’ as you put it. I think she was a very genuine person and I believed her story regarding her parents killing in Iraq.”

  “What’s that then, Paulette, you haven’t told me this?” Assiter asked questioningly.

  “Dean, you and I have not stopped speaking about today’s events. There simply has not been time for everything. Look, Cindy and I can talk to you later about all that. For the moment, we must think only of Gordon.”

  “Yes, my dear, of course. But for what it is worth I, too, think she was genuine and very courageous. She died for her principles, but actually those were not terrorism. Her beliefs could have been Muslim, Christian, Buddhist or all of them. I think, paradoxically, she believed in the sanctity of life and the right of people across the world to live their life as they want to, not as others wish it. She abhorred evil and wrongdoing. That is why she saved you this morning, even though it might have put her mission to capture me at risk.”

  They chatted for a while longer, but with no news of Gordon forthcoming Paulette offered to stay with Cindy, for at least a few hours.

  “Dean, darling. Cindy must be exhausted, I know I am. I think we need to rest up here now, just us two girls.”

  “Sure, of course. How thoughtless of me. I’m so sorry Cindy. The police have booked me and Paulette into a hotel in the town, so I will go there now. Call me if there is any news, will you?”

  Cindy agreed she would, as she kissed Assiter’s cheek at the door.

  Paulette was a necessary tower of strength to Cindy. She organised food and asked the police to urgently obtain some clothes of Cindy’s and hers from Mealag Lodge which arrived two hours later. Importantly she told the police and the hospital about their ordeal at the lodge. The police agreed to take a full statement later, but the hospital persuaded Cindy that she ought to be examined and a blood test taken. Although unpleasant, it helped to take Cindy’s mind away from dwelling on Gordon. Later, Paulette made numerous telephone calls and again enlisted the police help to contact Sandy MacLean, finally catching up with him at his sister-in-law’s house. After briefly talking to him, Paulette passed the phone over to Cindy. He explained that in the confusion at the end of the siege he was whisked away by the police. He tried to get back to Mealag but it had already been sealed off and no one was being allowed to enter under any circumstances.

  “Crawling with the blue shirts,” was how Sandy described it. “They were also at the garages and the boats. Arc lights set up everywhere, looked
like a damn pop concert.”

  He spoke for over half an hour with Cindy. It took up more time, temporarily slightly easing her angst.

  As the hours passed by and midnight approached, tiredness overcame them both. Cindy lay on the bed, shut her sore, reddened eyes and was shortly joined by Paulette who comfortingly put her arm over her friends shoulder.

  At three in the morning there was a slight knock at the door. Blearily, the two women woke as a doctor in a crisp, white knee-length coat entered the room.

  “Mrs Crossland?” he enquired looking at both.

  “Yes, that’s me.” Cindy replied. The doctor glanced at Paulette, then back towards Cindy’s pained face.

  “It’s all right, Doctor. This is my friend. It’s about Gordon, isn’t it? How is he?”

  “He has had major surgery and he remains in a very grave condition. The bullet entered his right side and struck his spinal column where it caused severe injury. It then deviated upwards and came to rest in his neck, below his ear. Another bullet entered his side causing a lot of bleeding but, essentially, that is a flesh wound and not life threatening. He is out of theatre but the next few hours will be critical. His body has received a tremendous shock and we are having to maintain the life support systems.”

  “Oh my God,” said Cindy, dropping to her knees sobbing. Paulette rushed to comfort her and slowly Cindy rose from the floor.

  “What are his chances, Doctor, of pulling through this?” Cindy enquired.

  “I would be lying to you if I did not say that we are very concerned. He is stable at the moment and sedated. We shall have to keep him that way for some while on the Intensive Care Unit. We may know a little more by morning.”

  “Can I see him? Please.” Cindy pleaded.

  “Of course. You can sit by him but I would advise against many visitors. In fact, ideally, probably only you, but if your friend would like to pop in now and then, I’m sure that would be fine.”

  Cindy was stunned and dazed. She had heard what the surgeon had told her, but did not wish to comprehend its significance.

  “I’ll go now if I may.”

  “Certainly. I will inform the ICU staff. Follow me and I will show you where he is.”

  Cindy opened the door and saw Gordon lying in the bed. He was surrounded with an array of electronic equipment, tubes, three drips and breathing apparatus. The steady beat of the machines, interspersed with irregular high-pitched beeps served only to remind her of the gravity of Gordon’s condition. She drew up a chair and sat beside him as the doctor withdrew from the room. Paulette sensed Cindy wanted to be alone and also left.

  When she had gone, Cindy broke down, “You stupid, stupid man. Why did we have to do all that? I told you not to,” but she was not really angry. She knew that Gordon had felt compelled to help his friend but he was now paying a terrible price. She felt under the sheets for his hand and held it softly. “You held my hand once and saved me,” she whispered. “I just hope I can do the same for you now.”

  The minutes and hours passed without Cindy once releasing his hand from hers. Paulette came in briefly a couple of times and brought in a coffee. Busy, pleasant nurses entered and checked Gordon every fifteen minutes and were constantly monitoring the equipment from room 275 on the console of their centrally placed desk within the ICU. Cindy spoke to Gordon about her plans for them both when he was out of hospital and how she would look after him whilst he recovered his strength. She talked of Mealag and the dam, and she started chatting to him about when they might next go to the villa – but it was a one-sided conversation. Gordon’s laboured breathing was the only sound that emanated from the bed, though Cindy felt he had slightly squeezed her hand when she mentioned the underground bombing.

  Although well past daybreak, Cindy was almost asleep in her chair when she was awoken from her slumber by a constant high-pitched tone, accompanied almost instantly by a rapid intermittent alarm sounding in the room. Nurses and doctors rushed in and moved Cindy aside. A doctor gave Gordon another injection and started resuscitation whilst the paddles of the crash trolley were prepared. The medical team tried to resuscitate Gordon three times. Twenty minutes after the alarm was triggered, the doctor slowly stood up and took a small torch from his breast pocket. In turn, he lifted each of Gordon’s eyelids and shone the piercing light into them. As he turned off the torch he glanced at the clock, immediately calling out the time and pronounced him dead. Cindy, the tears flowing down her cheeks, went to the bed and placed her arms around Gordon hugging him tightly, not wanting to let him go, crying loudly.

  “I am truly very sorry. We did all we could,” the doctor said, but his words went unheard.

  85

  At the time of its purchase, Gordon had issued instructions to his small property company that the cottage should always be made available for Cindy if ever she needed it and was never to be sold whilst she was alive. As she gradually came to terms with her grief, the cottage had proved of immense benefit as she slowly began immersing herself again in the garden, pruning and clearing, but she found more difficult the routine household tasks. She thought constantly of Gordon. She was frequently being reminded of him and the awful events of that September day: the correspondence, the funeral, her own final negative blood test report, and even the songs she would hear on her radio. The days seemed interminably long and she was unable to concentrate on any of her unfinished articles. Evenings were spent sitting alone and usually ended with her crying herself to sleep on the sofa. She rarely spoke to anyone, though she had kept in touch with Paulette. She had had a very brief conversation with Alan, who expressed his relief that she was unharmed in the terrorist incident itself, and his horror and revulsion at the assault upon her by Donaldson. He had sounded genuinely remorseful when he apologised for not listening to her warnings about him.

  Now, on a damp, dark November morning, two months since the horrible events leading to Gordon’s death, the cold mist clung to the bare branches of the trees and Cindy was picking up the dying twigs of the pruned perennial bushes and gathering the annuals she had dug up. Her thoughts were on Mealag Lodge. She knew she had to visit it again. She had not returned there after Gordon’s death, nor even after the service of commemoration and cremation which was the last time she had seen the MacLeans. Gordon had no surviving relatives, or at least none that anyone knew of, his parents having died many years before and he being an only child. No uncles nor aunts seemed to exist and certainly no relative made contact with either Gordon’s solicitors nor came to the service which was attended by Dean and Paulette, the MacLeans, some estate workers, Dimitrius and his family from Monemvasia and several business friends. Chief Inspector Keith Maythorp and Area Inspector John Curry represented the police. Cindy had been given Gordon’s ashes and she knew that she must take them to Mealag Lodge and bury or scatter them there. As she was pondering when to go, her telephone rang and she ran inside to answer it.

  “Mrs Crossland?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry to bother you, Detective Chief Superintendent Ritson speaking. It has now been some while since we last spoke and I was wondering when we could have another chat.”

  In the immediate aftermath of the terrible events in the Scottish hills, Cindy had given statements about the Donaldson assault and about the kidnapping to a number of different police officers of which Ritson had been the most senior. As the weeks passed, she had forgotten that he had said he would in all probability need to re-interview her dependent upon what his subsequent enquiries revealed about the plot and those who perpetrated it, and so she was startled to hear his voice.

  “Oh. Yes. I’d forgotten you said you might want to speak to me again. What about tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Saturday? Well, I suppose so if that is convenient to you,” he replied, “about eleven?”

  “Sorry, I had forgotten it was Saturday tomorrow,” said Cindy. “The days seem all the same to me now, I forget which day it is most of the time. Are you sure it is con
venient to you?”

  “No problem at all. See you tomorrow, then.” Ritson rang off.

  As she returned to the garden she wondered just what was so important as to merit such a high-ranking officer from London to visit her on a Saturday.

  The following day, exactly as her hall clock struck eleven, Ritson arrived and rang the bell. Cindy invited him inside and they sat in her small, cosy lounge. After exchanging pleasantries and enquiring as to how she was getting, along Cindy brought in some coffee and biscuits. Now they were both more relaxed, Ritson brought the conversation around to the main point of his visit.

  “Mrs Crossland, we have obviously been investigating all the circumstances regarding the plot that ultimately led to the tragic death of Mr Truscott and I do have some unanswered questions, more akin to loose ends, that I should like your help upon if you feel up to it.” Cindy nodded and he continued.

  “We have a statement from Mrs Assiter wherein she describes the moment that the female terrorist, let us call her Fadyar, attacked the man Donaldson. Evidently, Fadyar knew your name. Mrs Assiter is positive Fadyar called you Mrs Crossland. Have you any idea why she should recognise you?”

  “Did she? Yes, I think she did call my name at least once. I really can’t remember it clearly, but I believe she did. She knew Paulette too, of course, as Mrs Assiter.”

  “Quite so. But Mrs Assiter thought the woman terrorist was surprised to see you.” He left it for Cindy to decide if it was a question or a statement of fact.

  When Cindy did not respond, Ritson added, “As if she wasn’t expecting to, and of course if that is right, that she did not expect to see you, why should she know your name?”

  “Well, I can only guess that she had done her homework pretty thoroughly on Dean and Gordon. If she had, she probably knew who I was.”