Powerstone

by Malcolm Archibald

  ‘Where are we?’ They had been driving for hours across the body of Scotland. At first Irene had enjoyed the novelty of changing scenery, but now the procession of rugged hills, lonely lochs and one-horse villages wearied her.

  ‘Coigach,’ Drew said. The name sounded like an ancient curse. He pulled the Audi into one of the passing places in the single-track road and opened the window. Only the distant bleat of a sheep and the hush of breaking waves shivered the silence. To their right, gaunt mountains rose like the bones of a prehistoric giant. Wild, untamed, unreachable, they looked older than anything Irene could have imagined.

  ‘How much further?’ She felt like a child again, completely under the control of somebody. Then it had been her parents, now it was Drew. He seemed different since he had told her something of himself, much more serious.

  ‘Not far, my little rogue.’ He allowed the silence to seep into the car. ‘But I want to stop for a few minutes.’

  ‘Why?’ Irene heard the faint piping of a curlew. It sounded eerie, perfect for this place of rock and water and pre-history. Something flew past, its beak down-curving ahead of scimitar wings.

  ‘There’s been a car behind us since we left Inverness. Not many people use this road, so I’ll let it overtake.’ Drew glanced in his mirror. ‘It might be an idea if you ducked down for a minute. Hide your face.’

  ‘What?’ Irene looked at him in some alarm. ‘Nobody knows my face.’

  ‘Let’s keep it that way, shall we?’

  Irene slid down the leather seat. She heard the hum of an approaching vehicle, felt the passage of wind as it passed, and bobbed back up. Drew had his mobile phone in his hand.

  ‘I got his photograph,’ he said calmly, and showed the slightly blurred image. ‘Do you know him?’

  Irene shook her head.

  ‘I do. He is an associate of my father. ’

  ‘So why is he here?’ Irene felt panic claw at her stomach as her voice raised an octave.

  ‘Could be perfectly innocent business. He is some sort of lawyer, I believe. On the other hand my father could have sent him, which is bad news.’

  ‘Bad news? Why?’

  Drew shrugged. He waited until the road was empty in both directions before pulling out. ‘My father belongs to some ancient society dedicated to protecting that sceptre of yours. Or at least that wee crystal ball on top. It seems to be a sort of powerstone.’

  ‘What? What are you saying? Secret society? What sort of secret society? ’ The panic was greater now as Irene realised that she was in one of the most deserted parts of Europe in the company of a man she hardly knew. ‘Let me out. Stop the car and let me out.’ She heard the pitch of her voice rising.

  Drew pulled to a halt beside a group of sheep. Beyond a slender verge of grass, the sea shushed onto a beach of rounded stones. There were small islands offshore, and a scattering of seabirds floating on the swell. ‘You’re not a prisoner,’ he told her. ‘You are free to go any time you like, but I have told you before that you’re in no danger from me.’ When he killed the engine the silence pressed upon them.

  ‘Your say that your father is in some society to protect the sceptre?’ Irene found it difficult to control her voice.

  ‘That’s right.’ Drew’s sudden grin took her by surprise. ‘Ironic isn’t it? That’s why he came down the other day. He wanted me to join. It seems that it’s been a family tradition for hundreds of years.’

  Irene opened the door. One of the sheep bleated noisily. ‘Sweet Lord, what have I got myself into?’

  ‘The presence of terrorists and murderers, thieves and vagabonds,’ Drew told her cheerfully. ‘But what did you expect, mixing with royalty? They were the biggest cut-throats going. The man with the longest sword was king; the woman who could manipulate best was queen. Welcome to Scotland.’

  Swinging her legs outside the car, Irene sat on the seat and remembered the tale of Johnnie Armstrong. ‘This is not what I expected.’

  ‘Life never is,’ Drew’s voice hardened.

  ‘It all seemed so easy once.’ Irene sighed. ‘What did I do wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Drew sounded more sympathetic. ‘We’re all the same, Irene. We are all trying to live the best way we can. It’s just that the dice of life are loaded in favour of the wrong people; don’t ask me why. If you want to succeed, you have to get your hands on the right dice.’

  ‘How do I do that?’ She looked around.

  ‘I think that’s what you’re trying to do now. Come back inside. I’ve got to see a man about a boat.’ When Drew’s phone rang he lifted it, but killed the signal. ‘That’s my father phoning now. Talk of the devil eh?’ He waited for a few minutes and punched in a text message, but waited until Irene had returned to her position before restarting the car. ‘Aye, they don’t make rogues like they used to.’ He glanced across to her. ‘Or perhaps they do. Who says that your namesake Johnnie Armstrong was always brave? I’ll bet he found life a complete bugger from time to time.’

  ‘Johnnie Armstrong?’ Irene forced a smile. ‘My father used to tell me about him.’

  Irene relapsed into silence for a few minutes as she watched the vista of mountains and water slide past. ‘If it’s a family tradition to join this society, Drew, why are you helping me?’

  He glanced at her and shrugged. ‘I’ve already told you one reason. I quite like you. But after serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, I also dislike societies that protect their secrets by casual murder.’ He waited until she reacted before continuing. ‘The Society had a meeting not long back; the same day I met our friend out there,’ he nodded in the direction of the road in front, ‘and one of the new members refused to co-operate. My father and another equally charming old buffer left the meeting early, and next day I heard that the new member had died in a car crash.’

  ‘Shit!’ Irene stared at him. ‘They murdered him?’

  ‘Her,’ Drew corrected. ‘They murdered her.’

  Irene looked out to sea. Three thousand miles of Atlantic stretched between here and home. ‘And now this society is after us?’

  ‘So it seems.’ Drew’s grin reappeared. ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’

  ‘Are you not afraid?’ Irene asked, still curious despite the now familiar sick slide of fear.

  Drew shrugged. ‘Probably.’ He faced her, driving one-handed on the twisting road. ‘If you want to end this, I can contact the old man. The second we hand back the trinket, the Society will lose interest, although they might want to know for whom it’s destined.’

  ‘That is only my business, I’m afraid,’ Irene felt her back stiffen as she waited for Drew’s reaction. When he only shrugged, she reached over and switched on the radio. The educated tones of a Highland broadcaster filled the car.

  ‘…terrorist attack in the Middle East. Back here in Scotland the police have finished interviewing a woman over the theft of the Crown Jewels. The woman was caught on CCTV camera speaking with one of the thieves, but police are now satisfied that she was not involved with the July 12 attack. The Scottish Crown and Sword of State have since been recovered, but the sceptre, a gift from the Pope in 1496, is still missing.’ ‘Detective Chief Inspector Murdoch, leading the investigation, said yesterday that he was vigorously pursuing a number of lines of enquiry and expected further developments to occur shortly.’

  ‘A number of lines of enquiry?’ Irene turned the radio off. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that they have not got a clue what to do next.’ Drew grinned to her. ‘Anyway, you’ll be out of the country within a few hours and then you’ll have nothing to worry about.’

  Irene nodded, but when she closed her eyes, she could see Desmond fall as the soldier lunged with his bayonet. With every member of her team dead except her, it seemed that the Scottish authorities were not interested in arresting those who stole their Honours. Like King James V, they were more intent on vengeance than justice. ‘Put your foot down, Drew, and get me out of this country.’

  The
y passed over a hump-backed bridge and stopped at a black and white road sign that said Alltgobhlach. Only the sea broke the silence when Drew switched off the engine, and Irene studied the village. It did not take long. A single medium sized building with two petrol pumps stood beside a small terrace of cottages, and then came a small church, another bridge and then a final road sign.

  ‘Highland metropolis, eh?’

  ‘Alltgobhlach. The forked burn.’ Drew had parked in a small area of grass beside the beach, where a single child’s swing creaked slightly in the breeze and a herring gull watched from the back of a green wooden bench. ‘We’ll have a wee breather here, a bite to eat and it will be time for a spot of fishing.’

  Irene was still dazed at the thought of a secret society chasing her across Scotland. ‘The sceptre?’

  ‘Leave it where it is.’ Drew had repacked the sceptre in a stout canvas bag, which he had placed beside the spare tyre in the boot. ‘You can hardly carry that around with you.’

  The larger building boasted a sign proclaiming that it was the Alltgobhlach Hotel and claimed to have the last petrol for forty miles. It also extended a hundred thousand welcomes in Gaelic, but the woman behind the tiny reception desk spoke with the sharp accent of London. She signed them in without interest.

  ‘We’re here for the fishing,’ Drew told her breezily. ‘So I’ll want to hire a boat for the night.’

  ‘That will be great,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll get my husband to see you.’

  After they had eaten a poor meal of overcooked chicken and vegetables straight from the freezer, Irene followed Drew outside. Ignoring the distant shrill of what she took to be bagpipes, she looked out to the bay, seeing a group of humped islets and the faint line of a larger island on the far horizon.

  ‘The big one’s Lewis,’ Drew told her. ‘The largest of the Outer Hebrides.’

  There was one large boat afloat in the water and five smaller hire boats lying bottom up on the shingle beach. Drew chose one at random, and the hotel owner helped him turn it the right way up for a proper inspection.

  ‘Not bad,’ Drew probed the wooden planks of the clinker built hull. ‘Sound as a pound.’ Eighteen feet long, the boat came equipped with a Yamaha outboard motor and a set of oars. ‘I’ll take it out tonight,’ he said. ‘Could you put it on my bill?’

  ‘Of course.’ The owner smiled. Irene guessed that he would add everything possible to the bill, on any pretext. ‘We can hire our rods too.’

  ‘We have rods in the car,’ Drew said. ‘I like to use my own. I know the balance better.

  Irene had been with Drew when he walked into the sports shop in Edinburgh and asked for a sea fishing rod. ‘Do you do a lot of fishing, sir?’ the assistant had asked, and had provided a free crash course on the basics when Drew admitted that he had never fished in his life.

  ‘Of course, sir. Well, I’ll leave you to get acquainted with the boat, if you will excuse me? Best to take it for a short trip in the bay here before nightfall, to make sure you know how she handles.’ The hotel owner walked briskly away, red tartan trousers bulging around his hips.

  ‘I still don’t understand exactly what we’re doing.’ Irene disliked the small-girl complaint in her own voice.

  ‘Trust me.’ Drew looked up as the piping sound began again. ‘But we’ll be moving under cover of darkness.’ He tossed the car keys over to her. ‘Get the fishing gear from the boot, could you? Just carry the whole bundle over and dump it into the boat.’

  Irene opened the boot and hauled out the three long rods that Drew had bought, together with the large bag that held the wriggling live bait and the various reels. After checking to ensure that the canvas bag that held the sceptre was secure, she carefully locked the boot and carried the fishing gear to the boat. ‘What now?’

  Drew looked at his watch. ‘Seven o’clock. Now we’ll go fishing. Get changed into your warmest clothes, Irene, as it can get damned cold out there, even in summer.’

  ‘Why are we going fishing?’ The long drive had wearied Irene more than she knew, so her words sounded slurred even to her own ears.

  ‘To get your sceptre to America, of course.’ Drew grinned across to her. ‘Now go and get changed. And bring your passport, and anything else that might be used to identify you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘In case anybody goes through our stuff when we’ve gone.’ Drew grinned. ‘It’s all right, Irene. I do know what I’m doing.’

  Despite the light sky, the air was cool when they pushed away from the shore, leaving behind the inevitable host of midges. Irene leaned closer to Drew. ‘The sceptre!’ she hissed. ‘It’s still in the car!’

  ‘The sceptre is safe enough,’ Drew told her. ‘Trust me!’ He hauled powerfully on the oars until they were into deeper water, and then tilted the outboard motor so the propeller was submerged. The engine sounded loud in the Highland quiet. ‘We’ll go between these two wee islands,’ he said, pointing to a narrow channel of sombre sea.

  Seabirds screamed overhead, and a large marine creature surfaced nearby. Unsure what it was, Irene edged closer to Drew.

  ‘Just a seal,’ he told her. ‘It’s perfectly harmless.’

  Birdlime smeared the bare rock of the nearest islet, with the swell rhythmically swaying its fringe of seaweed. ‘That’s Eilean Beg,’ Drew told her, ‘and a good place for sea bass, so I’m told, so if you’d like to get the rods out now?’

  ‘Is this necessary?’ Irene stared at the collection of long rods and fishing equipment with incomprehension. ‘I’ve no idea what to do with all these.’

  ‘You don’t have to. You only have to look as though we’re fishing.’ Settling down, Drew produced a small pair of binoculars from inside his waxed Barbour jacket. He examined the shore for a few minutes, grunted, and handed the binoculars to Irene. ‘Look at the car.’

  It took a few moments for Irene to adjust the focus, and then she swore. ‘They’re in the boot! Who are they? They’ll find the sceptre!’ Dropping the binoculars, she glared at Drew, her voice rising to a scream. ‘You did this on purpose! You bastard, you sick, dirty bastard! You came out there to give them the sceptre.’

  ‘Hardly.’ He ignored her insults. ‘Keep looking.’

  ‘Turn round! Get back to the car!’ Furious that she had trusted him, Irene grabbed at Drew’s jacket. ‘You meant this! You’re working for your father.’ Only the rocking of the boat and the lingering pain in her right hand prevented her from slapping him.

  Drew picked up the binoculars and handed them back to her. ‘Keep looking.’

  ‘You bastard!’ Irene sat heavily on the centre thwart. She glowered at Drew, then lifted the binoculars and watched all her dreams disappear. There were two men examining their hired car, and although both seemed familiar, she could not say exactly where she had seen them.

  ‘Who are they?’ I know them!’

  ‘The small, stocky one is Iain Hardy. He followed us here from Inverness, remember? The other is Kenny Mossman, the jeweller that made your Luckenbooth brooch. They are both Society men.’

  Aware that she was shaking with fury, Irene watched the two men remove the spare wheel from the boot and rummage around with the tools. After a few minutes they lifted the long canvas bag in which she had placed the sceptre.

  ‘They’ve got it,’ Irene said quietly. ‘They’ve got it. You’ve won.’ She lowered the binoculars as the realisation of defeat came to her. Her anger dissipated, leaving only numbness. She guessed that bitter despair would come soon, as it had when she lost The Neophyte final.‘ Very clever, Drew, very, very clever. Lure me up here with the promise of help, and then hand everything over to your father’s goons.’

  ‘They might be many things,’ Drew said, ‘but never dragoons.’ He sounded as calm as ever. ‘And if I had intended taking the sceptre, why should I come away up here? I could have done that at any time. Look again.’

  By now the boat was quarter of a mile out to sea, with the waves hissing and bubbl
ing around the wooden hull. They had penetrated deep into the channel between the two islets and were within casting distance of Eilean Mor. Irene could see a host of seabirds among the grass, as well as the ubiquitous black-faced sheep.

  ‘Go on,’ Drew encouraged. ‘It’s all right. We’re a dark shape against dark rock. Damned near invisible, indeed. So they can’t see us watching them.’ She raised the binoculars just as Iain unzipped the canvas bag and plunged his hand inside. Irene watched his expression change from triumph to shock. He withdrew his hand very quickly, and jumped back, his mouth working frantically as he shook his hand as if to rid it of something very unpleasant.

  ‘What? What’s happened?’ Irene half stood, trying to improve her vision. She sat back as the boat rocked unpleasantly.

  ‘Maggots,’ Drew said. ‘I made a few alterations at our last comfort stop. I took out the sceptre, put in an old length of wood and poured some of the bait on top. Just a wee message for the boys.’

  Irene stared at him, and then began to smile. ‘So where is the sceptre?’

  ‘At your feet. In the real bait bag. I can’t imagine anybody poking in there for long.’ Drew winked at her. ‘So let’s get you over to America, shall we? Once they’ve recovered, they’ll be after us like a shot.’

  ‘You could have told me,’ Irene stared at him, her initial relief fading to irritation, then fury. ‘You made me believe that they had the sceptre.’

  He grinned at her, obviously enjoying her anger. ‘Yes. And it serves you right, Miss Rogue. I told you to trust me, so when you don’t, you deserve all the torment that you bring on yourself.’

  ‘You truly are a bastard,’ Irene said. ‘It’s no wonder that all your previous girl friends left you!’

  Drew nodded, his face more serious. ‘I’m sure that I warned you. It would take a special kind of girl to stay with me, Irene. But I’ll enjoy your company as long as I can. Now, let’s get you home.’ Sparing only once glance behind him, Drew pushed the throttle and the boat began to speed up. Spray rose from the bows, spattering over Irene.

  ‘We can’t go all the way to America in this,’ she shouted. ‘It’s thousands of miles!’