by Alan Judd
‘Where are you going to do it?’ asked Zac. ‘Drop it in the water.’
‘Find a place when we get there,’ said James.
‘Can we stop for a piss?’
It turned out they all wanted one. Rob said he could do with a cuppa and something to eat. It turned out they all wanted that, too. But there was nowhere they could easily stop on the A82. James said they were bound to find somewhere when they turned off onto the A814 to Faslane. They passed a couple of cafés in Dumbarton but there was nowhere to park a lorry and James found negotiating the main street too stressful to drive off in search of somewhere.
‘I wanna go, I wanna go soon,’ said Zac as they left the town.
James pulled into a lay-by outside Dumbarton. A stone wall abutted the railway line, beyond which the Firth of Clyde stretched grey and sullen beneath broken cloud. They all got out and stood against the wall, where it was apparent that others had stood or squatted before. Two distant helicopters followed the line of hills behind them. Rob said the town on the other side of the firth was Greenock, where his grandparents used to live. Zac said he was famished. James said it wouldn’t be long, they’d stop when they found somewhere.
Farther on, just before Cardross, they passed another lay-by occupied by a single car. ‘That grey car,’ said James. ‘Don’t know what it is but it’s been behind us since the M74 and it passed us when we stopped back there.’ The others tried and failed to see it in the mirrors. ‘It’s old, whatever it is. Old registration.’
‘They wouldn’t use an old car for following us, would they?’ said Rob.
‘Who’s “they”?’ asked Zac.
‘Anyone. Bloody Salvation Army for all we know.’
‘It’s behind us again,’ said James after a while, his eye on the mirror. ‘A long way back but it’s there.’
‘See if it’s still with us after Helensburgh.’
It was. They were all nervous now, hunger forgotten. ‘Pull off at the next turning and see if it follows us,’said Rob.
James shook his head. ‘We’re almost there. I don’t want to start messing around, drawing attention to ourselves.’
‘What are we going to do, then?’ asked Zac, his voice slightly higher now.
‘Keep on till we lose it.’
‘How much fuel have we got?’
James hadn’t thought about that. The needle was between a quarter and empty. ‘Is there a garage at Faslane – Garelochhead, whatever it calls itself?’
‘How do I know?’
Leaving Helesburgh and its wide seafront road, they passed the yacht club, a sign to the council offices and an outdoor pursuits centre. The loch-side was now shielded by a thick belt of trees which would have provided useful shelter had they not also denied access. Soon there was also a high wire fence and a barrier to the left, with a sign announcing the RN Clyde Base. On the right side of the road, half-hidden by a straggle of trees and undergrowth, was a cluster of garishly painted but unkempt caravans and ancient small coaches. A faded sign proclaimed the Faslane Peace Camp. James slowed, unsure what to do. He remembered the layout and size of Faslane from Google Earth but now, on the ground, it looked larger and less porous. They would have to get beyond it to find access to the water. The peace camp looked uninhabited. One of the more noticeable old caravans had NO DOVES FLY HERE painted across it.
‘They crap here, though, I can tell you that,’ said Rob. ‘Gulls, anyway.’
‘Where is everyone?’ asked James.
‘In London for the demo, most like.’
By the time they reached the Faslane South entrance the fence was topped with razor wire and monitored by cameras. Cranes, accommodation blocks and large industrial buildings were visible above the trees. After more miles of fencing and razor wire they came to the Faslane North entrance, where there was a roundabout and guards with automatic weapons inspecting vehicles queueing to enter.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Zac, his voice squeaking at a higher pitch. ‘All them police and military. And cameras, look. I might be on them.’
‘Keep your hat on, we’re not going in there,’ said James, heading across the roundabout towards Garelochead. ‘We’ll only stop somewhere quiet. If necessary we can go round to Coulport on Loch Long, where they store the nuclear warheads.’
‘I ain’t going anywhere near them.’
‘It might be better there, less built up. Also people will more likely believe in a radioactive leak where nuclear warheads are loaded and unloaded.’
‘That car still following us?’ asked Rob.
‘Can’t see it at the moment.’ They passed a small filling station in Garelochead but he didn’t want to stop, then thought he should have, then resolved that he would on the way back. All they had to do was find somewhere quiet for a few minutes, that’s all it would take to unload. It was important to keep Zac sweet since they’d need him to operate the mechanism.
‘We could’ve got some food at that filling station,’said Zac.
‘Yeah, and something to drink,’ said Rob.
‘On the way back.’
After Garelochead, James turned left onto the B road leading to the Rosneath peninsula, keeping the water to their left. The road led around the peninsula to Coulport, loch-side all the way except for one section where it cut up inland. His hope became a determination that there was bound to be somewhere where they could unload Deep Blue swiftly and securely.
The dashboard now showed a yellow fuel warning light.
‘We have to, there’s no option,’ said Charles as they pulled into the Shell filling station at the entrance to Helensburgh. ‘Hardly got any in before.’
‘Have they got many options on the road ahead?’asked Sarah.
‘Not according to my phone,’ said Robin. ‘Unless they turn off right to Loch Lomond, which is hardly likely because no dead fish floating around there could be blamed on the subs. D’you think they’ve spotted us?’
‘Probably,’ said Charles. ‘Should’ve. We’re the only vehicle that’s stayed with them.’
‘This might reassure them, then.’
When he got back in after filling up, delayed by a uniformed naval officer who was curious about the Bristol and assured him that its battleship grey was wrongly named, Sarah and Robin were talking animatedly. Their words were drowned by the clatter of a helicopter taking off from somewhere ahead.
‘Charles,’ said Sarah as he pulled away. She leaned forward between the seats. ‘We were just saying, while you were wasting time talking to that sailor about the car, that neither of us has any idea what we’re going to do if we catch them. I mean, if they’re in the act of tipping Deep Blue into the water, how do you propose to stop them? Wrest it from their hands and die of radiation poisoning a few minutes later? By which time they’d presumably be dead too.’
‘They must have some plan for dumping it in its container without exposing themselves to it. Best thing we can do is watch where they put it so we can tell people.’
‘But do we need to? Won’t all the dead fish be a giveaway?’
‘Ideally, we’d stop them doing it. Intervene before they dump it.’
‘That’s what I mean – by wresting it from them?’
‘Ram your car against the back of the lorry so they can’t get it out,’ said Robin.
‘There was a hotel back there, I’m dying to go to the loo,’ said Sarah.
‘Presumably you could claim it on expenses – the car?’ said Robin.
Once again, Charles felt that no one – including half of himself – was taking this seriously. The outlandishness and amateurishness of the way James and his friends were going about it disguised the seriousness of its consequences, not to mention the physical dangers of a bungled operation. But he would pursue it to the end, whatever that was. Sentimental, perhaps, but he felt he owed it to Josef and Federov, brief and vivid tutors of his youth, the era of serious spies. The trail had begun with them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
; The Present
‘Where the hell are we? Nothing here but villas and bungalows for rich gits,’ said Rob. After following the loch for miles without any vehicle access, with the cranes and moorings of the Faselane base just across the water, the road was now leading them inland. ‘Not even a bloody puddle to drop Deep Blue in.’
‘It’s less built up farther on,’ said James. ‘After Kilcreggan, which is where we get back to the loch-side.’
‘Yeah, but can we get to the water? Can’t carry the bloody thing ourselves.’
‘Bound to.’
‘Sure, are you?’
There was an edge to James’s voice that wasn’t there before. ‘I am.’ James nodded without looking round, knowing he sounded more confident than he felt.
Eventually, they began to descend and the loch reappeared, at first intermittently, to their left. Beyond more bungalows and older villas in Kilcreggan, he slowed at a sign indicating a picnic area ahead. The trees thinned to reveal a few wooden tables and benches and signs announcing that deep water was dangerous.
‘Be telling us it’s bloody wet next,’ said Rob.
‘Could we reverse between those tables to the water’s edge? Is there room?’ asked James.
Zac craned his neck. ‘Not with those minibuses.’ Two minibuses from the outdoor pursuits centre were parked to one side. ‘School buses, they look like. Don’t want kids running round while you’re unloading, do you?’
‘No one in sight,’ said Rob. ‘Only take a few minutes.’
‘They might come back.’ James accelerated, conscious again of the low fuel indicator. They would have to find somewhere soon in order to have enough to get back to the filling station. At least the grey car was no longer with them; maybe it had turned off right for Loch Lomond.
Either side of the hamlet of Cove the road was as near to the loch as they could wish but with a sheer drop to the beach. The tide was out, which meant that the water was too far away for them to drop Deep Blue and its container into it. James didn’t want to risk hanging around for hours, waiting for it to come in. If he’d thought about tides, they could have timed it differently.
‘Christ!’ exclaimed Zac, in his highest pitch yet. He pointed ahead as they rounded a bend. Out in mid-channel was the sinister black bulk of a surfaced submarine. Accompanied by a sleek grey surface vessel, it was making its way up the loch, very slowly, with virtually no bow-wave. It rode high in the water and was much larger than they were prepared for. ‘We can’t do anything now, they’ll see us.’
‘We’ll turn round, find somewhere,’ said James.
‘Reckon it’s got nuclear bombs on board?’ asked Rob.
‘If it’s a missile sub it might, if it’s returning from patrol. Unless it’s just starting and is going to load up.’
James wasn’t unhappy that their attention should be distracted rather than focussed on their failure to find anywhere to dump Deep Blue. He was still looking for somewhere to turn round when, quite suddenly, the road ended at the entrance to the Coulport base. There was a mini-roundabout, the usual razor wire, great vertical slabs of rock and more armed guards, this time Marines as well as police. There was nothing else, no other vehicle, only a woman standing at a bus-stop. All the guards were looking at them. James edged the lorry gingerly round the roundabout and headed back the way they’d come. His heart was beating faster.
‘We’ll have another look at that picnic area,’ he said.
‘Where do they keep all the nuclear bombs and rockets?’ asked Zac.
‘In the rocks, stored underground.’
‘Better not light a fag here, might get more than you bargain for,’ said Zac.
Confident there was nothing behind him, James slowed to a crawl before reaching the picnic area. His caution was rewarded when he spotted a gap in the trees a hundred yards or so before the picnic area. They must have missed it before. It showed the land running level off the road with, at the water’s edge, a small concrete slipway ahead, with no boats and plenty of room to pull off. James stopped and looked at Zac. ‘Can you . . . ?’
Zac nodded and opened the door. ‘So long as the beach is firm enough.’
James and Rob walked on the beach, stamping, and stood by the slipway as Zac reversed the lorry towards it, holding up their hands when he reached it. Zac switched off and there was a loud hiss from the air brakes. Near-silence followed, apart from the lapping of the water and the cry of gulls. Zac climbed out of the cab. ‘Want the forklift?’
‘Can’t do it without. And we need the doors open.’
‘Do that yourselves.’
He threw them the key to the padlocks holding the bolts shut, then pressed buttons at the back of the lorry to lower the forklift on the ramp. As it lowered he looked across the loch. ‘What if that submarine comes back and sees us?’
‘It won’t, it’s going the other way.’
‘Did you see all them guards with guns? They’d shoot us, no problem.’
‘Just get on with it, will you?’ said Rob.
The lorry’s suspension eased as the forklift reached the ground. Zac climbed back into his cab.
‘Aren’t you going to move it, then?’ called James.
Zac stuck his head out. ‘Rob used to drive one, you said. He can do it.’
‘Yeah, years ago,’ said Rob. ‘Not this sort.’
‘Key’s in it.’
Rob looked at James, mouthing obscenities. James shrugged. Rob mounted the forklift and after a minute or two of fiddling and looking, started it. He reversed off the ramp rather suddenly, laughed and then drove it forwards as fast as it would go, turning several times in front of the lorry and waving his finger at Zac in the cab, his hair flapping behind him. James unbolted the high doors and opened them wide. Inside was the solid-looking, dull-red, steel container, like an old-fashioned safe, standing on a wooden pallet and strapped to the floor. It was about five feet high but looked small in the back of the truck.
Rob looked at James. ‘Get it out as is?’
James glanced at the empty road. There was nothing in sight. He nodded and released the straps. Rob raised the forks to the level of the pallet and eased his vehicle forward. He had to stop and adjust the fork height, then inched forward again until the blades slid into the pallet gap. He raised it carefully and reversed towards the top of the slipway until it was clear of the lorry. He lowered it until it was not quite on the ground. There were yellow radiation markings on the side of the container.
James raised his hand. ‘Hold it there.’ He walked around it. ‘Can’t see how it opens. The top must come off.’
‘Ask him. He must’ve seen them do it.’
James went to the cab. Zac was smoking, his back against the door and his feet on the other seats. ‘Can you show us how it opens?’
‘I’m not coming out there with it open. I’m not coming anywhere near it.’ He did not look round.
‘We won’t do it when you’re there. Just show us.’
‘I want my money first. You said half in advance and I ain’t had any yet.’
James took a moment before saying, ‘You can have it now, before we do it. As long as you show us.’
Zac sat up, threw the butt of his cigarette out of the window, climbed down and walked back with James to the forklift.
‘He wants his money,’ said James.
Rob looked from one to the other. ‘What now, with this thing sitting here like this? Hadn’t we better get on with it?’
‘You said half in advance, half when we done it. You said.’
‘For Christ’s sake.’ Rob looked at James, shrugged and got off the forklift. He felt in both back pockets of his jeans and handed two folded wads of notes to Zac. Zac stared at them without counting. ‘It’s all Scottish, it’s all in Scottish.’
‘Nothing wrong with that. Worth more because it’s warmed by my arse. Now, come on, show us what to do. You can count it when you’re on your bloody yacht. We want to get done and get out of here.’
Zac stuffed the wads into the inside pocket of his jerkin. ‘You’ll have to lower it right down.’
Rob remounted the forklift and lowered the container to the ground. Zac pointed to the square top. ‘That’s a lid, see? It comes off. You undo those four screws at the corners with that Allen key, see?’ He pointed to a large Allen key slotted into a shaped groove in the centre of the lid beneath the raised handle. ‘What I’ve seen them do, they take the screws out then lower it into water with a crane attached to that handle, then turn the handle with the crane and lift off. You’ll have to do that yourselves. I ain’t gonna hang around and watch, I’m going in the cab.’
They spent some minutes considering how to get it into the loch without exposing themselves to it. They had known this was a blank in their plans which couldn’t be filled until they saw the problem. Best, they decided, was to remove the screws, turn the lid without lifting it, take it down the slipway on the forklift, then tip it into the water in the hope that the lid would come off and Deep Blue would slide out and do its work. They, meanwhile, would retreat up the slipway, shielded by the container.
It was the work of minutes to undo the screws and turn the handle a quarter turn until it stopped. ‘Don’t we wanna take the container away?’ said Rob. ‘Or they’ll find it and know it’s not the subs or the nukes or whatever.’
‘But how could we get it out without going into the water and lifting it? It would be too heavy anyway, lined with concrete or something.’ A breeze got up, ruffling the water and sending wavelets lapping against the slipway. There were distant sounds of a helicopter and, nearer, the voices of children from the trees farther on. James looked up. There was still no one in sight. ‘We’ll just have to leave it. They’ll work out what it is quick enough, anyway, because this kind of radiation is different to anything that could come from nukes or subs, or so I’ve read. It just has to last long enough to make news in time for the demo tomorrow, and I can make sure of that. Then the campaign will be unstoppable. The government will deny it but no one will believe them. It’s the panic factor we want, the hysteria, a lot of people frightened but no one dead, just a few fish. Come on.’
