by D S Kane
Jon asked her, “Has this ever happened before?”
Moira shook her head. “Never. I’ve never lost a single tourist until today.” As she drove the thirteen remaining tourists back to the hostel in Bowmore, there was total silence in the bus, save for the humming of the bus engine.
When Moira arrived and parked, two uniformed men were waiting. The tour director opened her door and spoke with the two men. When she returned to the bus, she said, “The two officers, the sheriff and his deputy, need to have a word with each of you before you head off to your choice of restaurants in Bowmore.” She opened the bus door and the two uniformed policemen pointed to the two tourists in the first row. They exited and followed the officers into the lobby of the hostel. Ten minutes later, the law officers returned and took two more of the tourists into the hostel.
Jon faced Ann. “Something bad has happened here today. I’m sure it has to do with Mr. Vole’s disappearance.”
Soon, it was Jon and Ann’s turn. They exited the bus, led by an aging rotund man with a red face, and a much younger man who seemed to be deferring to his boss. In the lobby of the hostel, the older man pointed to four chairs scattered in front of the fireplace. “Please sit.”
Jon and Ann dropped into chairs.
The two officers also sat. The older one said, “I’m Luther Brown, the sheriff of Islay. This here’s my deputy, Angus MacGarrett. We don’t have crime in Islay. Last one was five years ago, when George Singer poisoned Mary Harrow’s dog after the dog killed two of George’s sheep. But this morning, was different. We found a body among the scotch barrels warehouse at Bowmore Distillery. It was one of your fellow tourists. It appears he was tortured and stabbed to death,” He paused, and Ann found the silence to be oppressive.
Jon asked, “What do you want from us?”
The older man said, “Did you notice Mr. Vole yesterday? Did he do anything unusual?”
Jon sat silent for a while. “No. Nothing. He seemed to almost be invisible. My wife,” he paused and looked at Ann, “nicknamed him George MacSour.” But Ann noticed that Jon had said nothing about the thumb drive.
She nodded. “He didn’t seem to be enjoying the tour. He never sampled any of the scotch.”
Police Chief Brown nodded and made a note on a paper pad. “Anything else?”
Both Jon and Ann shook their heads.
Brown said, “Well, if you think of anything, please call me.” He handed each a business card.
When they got to their room to change for dinner, Ann said, “I’m assuming you didn’t want to disclose the existence of that thumb drive.”
Jon nodded. “I’m not sure how Vole’s murder came to be, but this thumb drive is what Avram wanted us to find. We just happened to be in the right place at the right time. What luck. I thought it would be a wild goose chase. Ann, we have to find out what’s on this thing.”
Ann asked the obvious question. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Jon shrugged. “Sorry. I’m guessing these hapless policemen will never discover who and why Mr. Vole was murdered. I know now, and we can’t tell them.”
Ann tried to contain her rage. “Jon, this is our honeymoon!”
CHAPTER 19
Laphroaig Distillery,
Outskirts of Bowmore,
Islay, Scotland
May 25 5:02 p.m.
The tour bus had been three passengers short when it arrived at Lagavulin the evening of the previous day. Now, the problem of the missing tourists was all that the remaining passengers could talk about.
When the bus arrived at Lagavulin, Moira told them the distillery would have a tour guide who was employed directly by the distillery. The guide would lead them through the distillery and tasting room.
A young blonde woman met them. She smiled and said, “I’m Ingrid. I’ll be your guide as we tour the distillery.” Moira returned to the bus, holding her cellphone while the distillery tour guide led them to a huge copper pot with a tall chimney. It sat alone on a pedestal outside the distillery building. “This used to be the single distillery kettle we used from before 1815 until Lagavulin closed its doors about ten years ago. When we found the investors we needed to reopen, we placed this one here. It was no longer serviceable. If you look at the building in front of you,” she pointed to the huge white building now in front of them, “you see two copper chimneys. We’ve doubled our production.”
Most of the tourists talked in low tones about being interviewed by the police the previous evening, and ignored Ingrid.
Ingrid led them into the building and pointed out salient features and functions of the scotch distilling process. The tour went on as they walked from station to station. Just before noon, Ingrid led them into the cafeteria where she told them lunch was on their own dime. The tour was over.
Jon and Ann examined the menu and chose a fish cream soup and a dressed crab sandwich and they split both. Jon shook his head. “Seems like our compatriots are disturbed about their missing peers.”
When they returned to the tour bus, they were the first aboard. Jon counted the arriving tourists as they entered the bus.
But when the tour director stood up from the driver’s seat, she bore a worried face, her eyes furtively counting the tourists. “We seem to be short two more of you. Please wait here.” She exited the bus and called out to one of the Laphroaig employees and spoke to him at length. The man turned and trotted back into the building.
Jon whispered to Ann, “This is not good. Someone or a team of someones is looking for the thumb drive and is willing to kill us one by one to get it. We’re now at risk.”
Ann smirked. “Not funny, Jon. You are joking, right?”
Jon shook his head. “I’m going to call Avram. Maybe he can help us find a computer where we can read the contents of the thumb drive. Or maybe we should send it via FedEx to him and let his tech people open it.”
Ann nodded. But now, she felt fear within her growing so deep she was sure she wore it on her face.
Jon stared at her. “I feel it too. But it’s too soon to feel desperate. When we get back to the hostel, I’ll make that call. Try to look like you’re enjoying the afternoon. We don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves.”
Ann nodded. She and Jon had been at risk before, but together they had always managed to survive. Why didn’t she have the same confidence in their abilities now?
* * *
“Where did you find that old relic?” Betsy slapped her hand against the chalkboard.
“In Ben-Levy’s old closet office, down in the basement.” William grabbed one of the markers and drew a Venn diagram of the pieces of Avram’s puzzle. Ashmel’s Modus Fi startup was at the center of the board, with circles for the Ness Ziona, the Russians, the Chinese, and “Others” all grouped within another circle, and the Ashmel family in a smaller circle off in a corner.
Slowly, one by one, the senior members of the Mossad entered the conference room and sat, with Avram at the head of the table once more.
William said to the assembled group, “We’re using this diagram to show you all the connections to the Ashmel explosion. It looks like we’ve still got some missing pieces, but we now know enough to describe what we do know about those missing pieces.”
Betsy pushed in front of William. “We think the Ness Ziona was playing ‘spy.’ Only the prime minister could order them to expand beyond their charter. Oscar Gilead wanted them to plant a series of false flags and used Ashmel’s Modus Fi startup to foster them. When we hacked into the Ness Ziona, we found that there was a contract for the Ashmel Modus Fi startup to work on an ‘invisibility cloak,’ and they leaked the project to a select set of operatives for several governments. Russia, China, and Iran were among those. But there were also a few tech corporations that discovered the development of this budding weapon. One of the operatives was able to physically break into the Ashmel startup and copy the plans for the nonexistent weapon onto a thumb drive. The time of the break in and the
ft of the data was exactly three days before the explosion.”
Now. William pushed in front of Betsy. “We’re sure there’s a trail of money that we can follow here. So far, we have a few possible notions worth pursuing. One is Ashmel’s few surviving heirs. They might have been motivated to kill him and get control of his fortune. That includes a sister living in the United States and an ex-wife living in Paris.”
Some of the meeting attendees began taking notes. But Avram simply sat in his seat, frowning.
William continued speaking. “Another is the group of tech giants we mentioned before. And last, there are the nations that desperately believe there is a new weapon they might exploit. So, for now, we need to follow the money and also see if we can find out who stole the data. It was probably copied onto a thumb drive and hand carried to a dead drop.”
Avram asked, “How much longer?”
William offered an answer. “Not that much longer. Figure a few days at most.”
Avram’s brows rose. “But Ashmel and almost all of his heirs are now dead from the explosion. Are you sure that the reason for the explosion wasn’t to put the Israeli government into a state of disarray?”
Betsy shrugged. “We don’t know yet. Just a bit of patience right now. Please.”
Avram shook his head and rose from his seat. “Patience, my ass. Get me a target!”
* * *
The tour bus made its last stop of the afternoon at Bowmore Distillery, located in the center of the town of Bowmore. A gentle rain fell as the dwindling number of tourists and their tour director walked up the driveway in front of the great white building.
The tour guide assembled them in front of the doorway. “So now we have several tourists missing. It might be better if you arrange your distillery visits in groups.” She neglected to mention that at least one of those missing had been tortured and murdered, but Ann could read from the worried expression on her face that she knew this. “So, to make sure no one else disappears, please walk in groups of at least two.” She led them through the doorway.
Ann whispered to Jon, “At least she’s worried. That’s a good thing. But what should we be doing now?”
Jon shrugged. “Let’s enjoy the distillery and when we go for dinner in town, we can make a plan.”
“But if that’s what you want, we shouldn’t get ourselves too shitfaced.”
Jon shrugged. He pulled an empty ziplock bag from his pocket and handed it to Ann. He said, “And I’ve also got one. Drop most of the scotch in the bag and toss it after we leave.”
They entered the tasting room and sampled Bowmore’s overly peated smoky single-malt scotch offerings. Jon seemed to drink everything. Before they were married, Ann hadn’t ever seen him inebriated, and felt a bit of worry. Will he be like this when he isn’t working?
It was nearly dusk when Ann and Jon got off the tour bus at the hostel.
Jon and Ann changed for dinner and packed their suitcases as much as possible. They walked about three blocks to the Bowmore Hotel’s restaurant, filled with diners, some of whom were their fellow tourists.
A group of three beckoned to Jon and Ann, and she recognized Doris Mackey and Salvatore and Diane Crachett. The couple introduced themselves using what Ann assumed were their real names, Thomas and Susan Torre, but Ann found it difficult to remember that they weren’t the Crachetts. Ann and Jon sat with them at the large bench table and looked for menus to order their dinner.
Salvatore handed Ann a menu, saying, “We’ve just ordered. The wait staff seems overwhelmed right now with all of us from the tour arriving nearly all at once. So now, at least ya’ don’t have to wait for the menu.”
Ann thanked her fellow tourist and opened the menu, moving closer to Jon so he could share the view. “I think I’ll have the Irish stew with Guinness, venison with Lagavulin, steak with red wine and thyme. How about you, Jon?”
Jon scanned the menu. “I’ll go with the smoked scallops with lemon and basil dressing.” He looked at the rest of the diners. “But we’ll still have to wait for someone to take our order.” He shrugged. “While we wait, what do you all think about the missing scotch drinkers?”
All three of their companions merely shifted their gazes away from Jon and Ann.
But, then, Salvatore pointed his finger at Jon. His mustache seemed to twitch as he spoke, “Well, it’s not like we’re all in danger of being offed. Did either of you know the victims?”
Ann shook her head. “Not us. Any of you guys?”
Around the table, everyone else shook their heads.
Doris Mackey broke the silence. “That first one missing. He seemed to be a loner.”
Diane nodded. “I saw him constantly looking around as if he was there to meet someone. Not a typical tourist.”
Salvatore shrugged. “I’ve never seen someone who looked remotely typical. Came for the sights and, in this particular tour, the tastes. Myself, I find this entire tour untypical.”
Just then the waiter stopped at their table and took Ann’s and Jon’s orders. He asked, “Did you see our list of scotch choices? We have over seven hundred you can order.”
Ann touched Jon’s arm. “We’ve tasted over twelve today, and nearly an ounce per sample. We need to be clear headed tonight.”
Jon nodded, “We’ll pass.”
The waiter shrugged and disappeared.
After dinner, Jon and Ann walked back to their hostel and—once again—found the two policemen in front of the fireplace, interviewing one of the other tourists. Sheriff Luther Brown, nodded at them both, but deputy Angus MacGarrett left the fireplace and walked over to Ann and Jon.
MacGarrett spoke in just above a whisper. “Two other travelers went missing after you arrived back this afternoon. We’ve now recovered their bodies. Also tortured before being murdered.”
Ann’s face fell. “Seems like someone wants us all dead. But why torture us first?”
Jon said, “Maybe they think we know something or have something they need.”
Ann realized that Jon was referring to the thumb drive. She remained silent.
MacGarrett shrugged. “We’re still investigating. But we’ve also called Scotland Yard. Three murders in two days is unheard of here. Have you two seen anything that might help us in the investigation?”
Jon said, “Sadly, we haven’t.”
MacGarrett nodded and returned to the fireplace where Sheriff Brown had finished questioning the tourist. Brown faced Jon and Ann. “So, my deputy says you folks can’t help us. Well, don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Have a bit of patience.”
Ann tried to remember where every one of their surviving fellow tourists was located when each of the murdered tourists went missing, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to eliminate any of them as suspects. With the sparse population on Islay, wouldn’t an outsider be noticed? How many other tour buses were there on Islay right now? She felt a bolt of fear shoot through her and wondered how many more might die before the policemen solved the murders.
Jon led Ann back to their hotel room. “Still haven’t heard back from Avram on what he wants us to do with the thumb drive. Given that, I think after everyone turns in for the evening, we should use the hostel’s computer to see what’s on the thumb drive. If it’s not encrypted, we might be able to discover what’s this all about.”
An hour after midnight, Jon and Ann slipped silently down the stairs to the room with the fireplace and couches. On a corner desk was a very old computer. There were coffee stains on its keyboard, and the letters on several of the keys were no longer readable. Jon turned it on and found that its operating system was Windows 95, nearly ancient. “We probably won’t have any luck with this,” he said.
Ann pushed in front of Jon. “Let me have a shot at it.” She examined the back of the small desktop computer. “Looks like the hardware is more recent than the operating system. It actually has a USB port.” She held out her hand. “Gimme.”
Jon handed her the thum
b drive.
After she inserted it, nothing happened. Ann scanned the internet for an updated driver that would work with Windows 95. She shook her head. “I’ll need to update the entire operating system. She logged into her Stanford University student account and looked for student projects involving “resolving operating system incompatibilities.”
While Ann furiously worked, Jon fidgeted. Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
“We have to finish this before anyone comes downstairs.”
She faced him. “Shh. Just a few minutes more.” She typed as fast as she could. “There. Now.” The screen blinked and the computer’s hard drive whirred. “Okay, now.”
She hit a few more keys and the screen displayed a message. “Drive unreadable.”
Ann tapped a few more keys. “No joy. It’s encrypted.” She went back to the Stanford University website and searched for “disabling encryption.” A host of student projects filled screen after screen. She ran the software from one project called “determining which encryption method is employed.” Then she searched for a project that might disable the encryption method she’d identified as being used.
They heard someone walking down the staircase toward them and Ann shut the monitor off and turned to face Jon’s seat.
Diane Crachett walked toward them and when she saw them, she suddenly stopped. She wore a ratty looking nightgown. “Oops. Didn’t know anyone else would be awake at this hour. Do you know if there’s any milk in the fridge?”
Jon and Ann said, “No,” at the same time. Then they both grinned.
Crachett shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen.
Jon and Ann made small talk until Diane appeared again, holding a glass of milk. She said, “Couldn’t sleep. Maybe this will help me with the case of nerves all this murder business has given me. Goodnight to you both.” She took the stairs up to the bedrooms.
Ann waited until it was silent again. “Do you think she’s the murderess?”
