The Shackleton Affair (A Raymond Armstrong Novel Book 2)

by Michael Gill

  There was a long marble-top bar with a glass backdrop full of shelves with single malt whiskies. Looking around the room, she spotted many neatly boxed frames of sports memorabilia and a large cabinet with a light that had this most charming coin collection. Often she would take coins, but not this time. Too tricky at the border.

  She found the item in question which was on a special stand in the middle of the whisky collection. Wow she said aloud. There must be literally thousands she thought, scanning the room. She picked up the beautiful wooden box, running her fingers over the bottle and the velvety silk that lined the box. “What the heck is this?” she said quietly. Wrapped around the whisky bottle was what looked like some kind of necklace? She hadn’t seen anything quite like it before. It would be worn for ceremonies or something like that she decided. Must have some special connection to the whisky. She closed it making sure the clasp was tight shut. Next she slipped into the master bedroom, finding a jewellery box on top of the vanity chest. Inside was an array of diamonds, emeralds and ruby rings, necklaces and bracelets. She took it all except the diamonds. Too easy to trace she murmured to herself.

  She was out of the house in five minutes tops.

  Back in her car, she sent a text message.

  All fine and will see you in a few days.

  Amazing but why so long, came an immediate reply.

  Have to cross the border with foolproof method.

  Okay but keep it safe.

  Stop worrying with a smiley face, she replied.

  Chapter 3

  Trace had been to Costco for some Kirkland signature whisky. She bought two and kept the receipt. She placed the Dalmore 46 into the Costco carrier bag with one of the whiskies she had bought. The other she would leave in an alley for some homeless person to think it was their birthday. She bought a ton of clothes from Walmart that she would never wear, along with some cheap dress jewellery. She would give them all away to friends or the goodwill shops.

  Trace had made it to Portland Maine, her eyes so heavy it would be crazy to continue, she decided. Booked in to a motel where she paid cash, watched an old movie until well past midnight. When she finally awoke from a deep sleep it was lunch time. Evening she determined would be the best time to cross the border. During the day was just insane with lines of traffic waiting their turn to be checked. She had crossed the border many times in the last few years to simply shop. Whenever the Canadian dollar was strong to the US Dollar. They only checked all her bags thoroughly once. Please don’t do that again, she thought.

  Trace arrived at the border just before dusk. The line of traffic was reasonably light and fingers crossed she would be through into Canada in under the hour. They were all used to her taking her shopping sprees to the States and always brought back whisky for her dad. Well that’s what it would say on her passport file. She finally rolled up to the booth, after fifty minutes.

  “Good evening,” said the guard. “Been shopping have we?”

  “Yes, the deals in Costco and Walmart are too much to pass up when I am shopping for family and my best friends.”

  He took her passport and went into the office, scanning her passport on a large screen. One other agent had already scanned underneath the car. He looked at her several times. Not a smile or a nod. Just eyes piercing right through her. He gave her the creeps.

  “Open the trunk,” he said rudely.

  The first agent came back and asked to see her shopping bags. The other agent left in the direction of the booth. The first agent seemed to have a kinder face and Trace hopped he would be friendly. He went through the clothes and peered into the Costco bag. “You have a boxed whisky in there. Expensive?”

  “No it was super cheap, like $50. It’s my Dad’s birthday this weekend, thought I would splash out on him.”

  “Mine next month. I have already hinted to my wife and daughter I like a drop of good rye.”

  “Dad likes rye too,” she nodded with a smile.

  “Welcome home Miss Hager.”

  Trace left the border control, her heart racing fast as she tapped on the steering wheel. All thoughts of staying a further night in a motel had vanished. She pulled over into a lay by and sent a quick text.

  I am through the border crossing.

  Should be back, six hours tops.

  A reply was instant.

  Excellent news. I will be waiting in the den.

  She set off on the boring journey on the Trans-Canada highway which would take her through New Brunswick and into Nova Scotia. She had made this trip so many times and it was absolute boredom. She pushed the button on her iPod and hit random. Someday by Nickelback came blaring out of the four speakers and she immediately began to sing along, knowing every word. Someday, somehow, she sang at the top of her lungs.

  She finally hit the Nova Scotia border well past half way and decided on a quick pit stop at Tim Horton’s near the Oxford exit. She almost ran into the restroom and with a sigh of relief went to the counter and ordered a large single, single. One sugar and one cream was how she liked her coffee.

  Back on the road, it was dark now and she had to go over the pass and pay the stupid four dollar toll fee. In the winter this could be a scary drive with snow on the road, when the rest of the area had none. If there was bad weather around, this is where you would find it. Once she had paid the toll twenty minutes later she settled down to some softer music she found on one of her selections with the likes of Maroon 5 and David Jonas. She was back doing 120 on cruise control, singing softly. You got me in chains, you got me in chains for your love. The song made her float into auto pilot, her mind racing back to the beginning of her journey. Her life before Ian!

  She saw their house in her mind, the moving truck, her cat and dog both with their faces pressed against the window. We can’t make you come Tracey, but we know you will. I have left you a thousand dollars to get a flight out the second you are ready. Legally, we can make you come and stay with us. However, your aunt said she would look after you. He hugged her while her mother looked the other way. Mother wasn’t impressed with her stubbornness to stay in Nova Scotia when they had the opportunity of a new life, in paradise without the cold winters, British Columbia. Well she liked snow in the winter and was just fine staying right here in Bridgewater. In her mind, she was sixteen and old enough to make up her own mind. How that changed!

  After a blazing row with her aunt, she moved to Halifax without a plan and quickly became a coke addict. Her money for the flight had vanished up her nose in the first month. She felt like a cat that was just discarded, left to roam around searching for food, all her home comforts vanished, and she had to adapt to a new way of life, a cruel one. She stooped to being an escort girl and actually got a bigger cut than most - after all she was in demand. A sixteen year old, tall blonde, with such a big chip on her shoulder negotiated her deals regardless of the threats from the agency. In the end, she realised having to perform sex just to eat and survive was dumb. However, with her stubbornness to retire from the easiest form to make money, came a starving coke addict. Her roommate was Matt. A quiet guy that kept to himself. Turned out he was one of the best thieves in Halifax. Over the next twelve months he took Trace into his confidence, teaching her the art of housebreaking. She quickly found a new skill which paid for her coke addiction. However, Matt got caught, consequently sent to prison leaving her to hang low, under the radar. The police were on to her but without any evidence. Matt never did grass on her. No thieving meant no coke which in turn meant no money to buy food.

  It was a night like that in downtown Halifax when a man walked past her. Sir can you spare some change for me to eat. No, he replied studying her. I will take you for a meal. My limo driver is on his way.

  What, I don’t go for a meal with a stranger, just getting in his limo! You could be a serial killer, a rapist or just plain crazy.

  Okay we will walk to a restaurant. Follow me.

  Three months later she had moved into his mansion in Chester in
the South Shore region, quite close to where she grew up in Bridgewater. He had lost his wife the year before. A rich and lonely man. She became the daughter he never had. He was a perfect gentleman, encouraging her to go to university and never want for a penny. She did it all and only in the back of her mind was the lack of excitement she used to get with the buzz of cocaine and the parties in Halifax.

  She made a decision right there to never be on the streets begging for her next fix. She took to being a thief. She got really good at it and never in Nova Scotia. New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island or even the USA were her targets. When Ian found out he was surprisingly understanding about the whole thing, suggesting she focus on stealing for him. He was a millionaire and so why? I have an obsession for collecting rare single malt whisky. He took her into his huge basement den. He pulled away a large book, pressed a concealed button and a new room opened up. It was amazing with an incredibly large collection of whiskies from wall to wall.

  Trace came out of her thoughts, the next exit would be Hammonds Plains Road that would cut across from highway 102 to 103 and have her home in one hour. She took the exit, staying focused on the busy road with numerous traffic lights until she was back on the highway down to Chester. She went back into a zone, recalling the initial rush she felt after stealing the first whisky for Ian. His face lit up like a child at Christmas after Santa had left the presents. He opened the bookshelf, walked into the private room and placed the whisky in a special space he had made in anticipation. He found a bottle of regular malt whisky, pouring two large measures into special glasses. A toast to Trace - the best whisky thief in the world. They sat and talked for hours, while her body was still tingling - the adrenaline rush was still flowing through all of her body. She studied him in a different light for the first time in years. He was like a Dad to her, a piece of luck that cold night in Halifax when she thought her life was almost over at such a young age. He was, however, extremely handsome and while being much older than her, she was attracted to him. Who was the sexy superstar that said if I could marry anybody on the planet it would be my director? Yeah I get that, she mused. That was what - a forty three year age difference, she calculated. Not that strange an idea, after all, since Ian had taken her in all those years ago not many boyfriends made her feel good.

  “Almost there,” she said aloud.

  She would enjoy the moment with Ian shortly, shower and take a sleeping pill to wind down. Yoga in the morning, chat with her fence in Toronto and then drive to Halifax and book into the Waverley hotel for a night.

  “I will use my tinder account to find some guy and screw his brains while probably imagining it’s Ian. Shut up,” she screamed in her car. She sang loudly to the music. I’m still alive, Hey, I, I, oh, I'm still alive.

  Chapter 4

  Ian moved from the chair, picked up the Dalmore 1946, placed it down on the coffee table and joined her on the sofa.

  He picked up the whisky, admiring it like a newborn child.

  “This contains a portion of whisky from 1868. Hard to believe. Only three bottles were produced and I missed out on the two up for auction a few years back.

  “Really! How much did they fetch?”

  “One hundred and sixty thousand each or thereabouts.”

  “A drop in the ocean for you. Could it be you prefer the excitement of me stealing it for you?”

  He smiled. “Possibly but I am running out of whiskies I desire. My fascination for rare whisky is the age they were made. Before they had all the fancy technology to make consistent whisky.”

  “Will you ever open one from your rare collection?”

  “I will one day.”

  Ian placed his hand on Trace’s knee, sending shivers down her spine.

  “One question. Why did you bring this?” He waved the fancy neck ornament in his right hand.

  “It was in the box. Has to be part of the whisky right. Some special edition?”

  “I have no idea but highly unlikely.”

  “What is it?”

  Ian placed his reading glasses on the end of his nose.

  “I would say some sort of Masonic collar to be worn in secret. You wouldn’t see this in public, rather behind closed doors at a Masonic event.”

  Shall we look it up on the internet, see what we can find out about it?” Trace suggested.

  “Not at the moment. Let me enjoy the latest member of my collection.”

  Ian looked at the Dalmore for more than fifteen minutes, finally placing it inside the special room attached to the den. He placed his hand behind the bookshelf, the large door closing shut. He re-joined her on the sofa.

  “Trace, you will turn thirty in a few months, you need to find a steady boyfriend, get married, and have kids. Perhaps this needs to stop and you find a more legal pursuit. You will get caught one of these days. I hope you are always careful and aren’t tempted to steal anything else?”

  She looked at him with her innocent eyes but he could see through her. He had known her for over ten years, lived under his roof and now occasionally he knew her intimately. “Please don’t tell me you take anything else.”

  “Just a little memento from each job. Something I can sell on easily.”

  “Why would you do that? I have all the money you could ever desire. I have all my inheritance left to you.”

  “Well I don’t want you dying for a few more years and I am an independent woman. I want my own nest egg and to spend as I please with the pride I did it myself.”

  “Give me an example?”

  “Coins, jewellery but not diamonds. They are traceable. I know what I’m doing, don’t worry.”

  Ian went quiet.

  “Why did you ever start this collection lark? You are one of the richest men in Atlantic Canada; people respect you for all the charity work you support.”

  “I wanted you to stop stealing from houses in this area, I wanted you to stop taking drugs. The more you stole the more obsessive I became. In some ways I like our arrangement, it sort of bonds us like a team. I have succeeded with both. Please promise me you will never go back to coke or any other stupid dependant. We have had a good run and I don’t want you taking any more risks.

  He pondered, looked at her for a full minute. “There is only one more left, after that we stop.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Just outside London. It will be the most difficult for you. Very high tech apartment with all the latest security.”

  “Why, who is he?”

  “Russian oil tycoon.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Let’s talk more in a week or two. I want to make sure we plan well. There is no rush.”

  “What is the whisky?”

  “A special Macallan. Only one in the world!”

  Ian stood, giving her an admiring look. “I am going to retire. Thank you,” he said, walking towards the stairs.

  “Ian.” He turned. Can I spend the night in your bed please, she thought. “See you in the morning,” she said.

  Chapter 5

  Stamford England. Next Day

  “Thank you members for attending tonight’s tasting. Thanks to my wife Anne, for all her help with the printing, the tasting notes, and encouraging you all to come out on what is a busy week for all of us.”

  “As you know, this tasting marks our third anniversary. We finally had enough people on the waiting list to expand. My apologies for those who have been waiting so long. I hope our explanation was sufficient to understand. Once a whisky club has twenty four members then you have sufficient for one reasonable dram measure of each bottle we taste.

  “Wish it was bigger servings!” shouted one member.

  “Well, for a while it will be now,” shot back Raymond. “We have added eighteen new members who are all here tonight, bringing our total to forty two. We will buy two bottles of each whisky in the future which if you do your maths, Colin, should be a tad more.”

  “Remember it’s our AGM at the next tasting and b
e thinking about your nominations for the next president. Time I gave someone else the helm.

  “My family tree company has taken off and I have little time to spare. That and I got married to the lovely lady sitting on my right.” He smiled at Anne.

  “Mr. President,” said Danny the club secretary, “I am making a note in the minutes, we all met privately and voted you stay as president. You have been a breath of fresh air and we don’t want any changes at this time.”

  The club members all shouted “Here, here.”

  Raymond looked over at Anne who smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “Okay, one more year you lot. So, before I get into the tasting, I would like to welcome our special guest who flew all the way from New York. Jeffrey Daniels master blender and huge collector of fine single malts.” The members all applauded. “Largest collection in the USA I believe,” continued Raymond.

  Jeffrey smiled at all the members in the room, giving a nod back to Raymond in acknowledgement.

  Sitting close to Raymond, Anne was lost in thought admiring her relatively new husband. They had been together on and off for four years in their early twenties. He was working with the government on dangerous missions and she needed some stability. By chance they met six months ago at her home, the Isle of Bute in Scotland.

  She thought he was more handsome now than back then. Sexy hazel eyes, with a deep forehead which she always wanted to kiss. He had creases in the middle which became severe when he was too serious. Full dark hair that went back naturally and quite often a one-day shadow on his face which she loved. Much taller than her at six feet two, he was the man she had always wanted to be with.