The Shackleton Affair (A Raymond Armstrong Novel Book 2)

by Michael Gill

  True to his word, they did land in the morning. They had all advanced over a reef and the current pushed the boats to shore.

  The men lay groaning, shivering, and trying to find the feeling in their feet and legs. One of the men found a box of powdered milk, lit a fire and boiled it up. Soon the crew were feeling better, with one spotting seals basking on a rock. A group went hunting and brought back four. They made steaks and feasted on them like never before. By mid-afternoon every last one of them was sleeping on the beach. Exhaustion had finally taken its toll, leaving them to sleep like babies for many hours.

  They all slept like babies except Chippy. He slept for one hour. He had fallen asleep many times over the last few days. The boss had hit him several times. Chippy keep rowing! What is this hell hole? Chippy had thought when they made land. A large rock with nothing, in the middle of the ocean. Miles from anything. This could be worse than the ice floes. He quietly left the men, walking down the beach to where the boats had been dragged earlier. The tide was up with violent waves crashing onto the three boats. He had decided right there, while they all slept, what he needed to do. Shackleton wouldn’t stay on this island. No chance. He would take one boat to find help. Assure the men they would be back. Well, Chippy had decided he needed some insurance to make sure he came back.

  He swam to the Cairn, finding Shackleton’s casket, hidden to the stern. He lifted the casket on to the side of the boat, held on with one arm while taking out the two whisky boxes and the velvet bag which he placed in his pocket. A wave hit the boat, the casket falling in to the ocean. He held on tightly to the whiskies, while swimming back one-handed to the shore.

  He got back to land, went to a cliff and climbed for as long as he dared, found a crevice in a small cave and placed the whisky box and the velvet bag containing the bible. He placed all the items on a shelf, which looked secure and out of the stiff breeze.

  He wasn’t sure why he had done this except revenge, the fact he hated the boss with a passion. Would he be able to return before they left? Not important really. The whole casket has gone and he won’t be able to lay the blame on him. But, if he leaves without us, Chippy would use the hidden valuables to his advantage, decided Chippy.

  He returned to the camp, sat by the fire and finally fell asleep.

  The next morning, he was woken by shouts from two of the crew members. “Boss, something has gone overboard.” He ran to the shore line looking at papers riding on top of the waves.

  “Get out there.” They swam out to the Cairn.

  “We can’t see anything missing boss. Everything is secure.

  “Check my casket in the stern. Bring it to me.” The two men checked the rear of the boat.

  “It’s gone,” shouted one. Shackleton leapt in the water, making it to the boat in seconds. He turned back after a few minutes, looking at the two men. “Go check the bottom.”

  “What boss? It’s too cold.”

  “Go.” They dived off the boat, vanishing underneath the waves, the men on shore looking in amazement. After a full minute the two men brought up an empty casket. Shackleton stared in astonishment.

  Chapter 15

  Nova Scotia Present Day

  Trace stood on the balcony sipping on her coffee. She breathed in deep, enjoying the sea air. The view was spectacular looking out over Chester bay. She was deep in thought. It was May in Nova Scotia, who knew what to expect from the weather? The place is still sleeping and won’t come alive until at least June. Funny how so many of her friends around the world only think of igloos and crazy stuff when being told she lives in Nova Scotia. Summers are warmer than England. It’s just quite often we only get three months of summer, she always explained.

  Today was an exceptionally large day as they say here. Not a cloud in the sky and forecasted to reach twenty five degrees. The bay was empty of yachts at the moment with many drifting in next month mainly from America. Many had houses here in the summer and the race week was so much fun with the place packed.

  She had never been into sailing but liked to socialise with all the boaters and drink in the Rope Loft, a pub right on the water in the middle of the marina. Ian was always playing golf at the local club, another pastime that she did effortlessly. The Yoga helped her swing too. Actually, she wished today was a Saturday when she held her weekly yoga class on the beach, weather permitting. Today would have been perfect instead of being cooped up in the hall she rented. She looked out across the ocean in deep thought. If only everyday was like this she wouldn’t have to keep stealing, build up her nest egg for her dream house on an island somewhere warm. Where had she looked last? Yes, Madeira where she could enjoy a day just like this only it would be January. I can’t wait, have some patience she thought.

  It was tough in the summer not to break her rule of never stealing from anybody who was visiting Chester. The one thing she could never afford was a link back to here. Everybody knew her and it was a small town. No, her gig with Ian worked just fine. A rare whisky for him, and a little something for her was working just fine.

  She looked to the right at the small town. Two thousand people lived in Chester except for the summer. During race week you could hardly move for the tourists. She had now lived there over ten years, feeling somewhat sad she would be leaving to start her new life in the sun. Growing up in the south shore region of Nova Scotia, Chester was a place to visit for a day on the beach. To live there all year round was only for the posh people. It even had a theatre. Can’t get much posher, she thought.

  The Chester Playhouse was tiny but it put on some quality plays throughout the year. The town was also a regular spot for film-making. Stephen King’s series was shot there for many years. She had spent many nights in the fine dining restaurant talking to the film crew who pretty much took over the town. It didn’t have the party atmosphere of Halifax with all the pubs and night clubs but it had enough. The high end restaurant, and a pub they say is the oldest in Nova Scotia, dating back to 1764 which is old for Canada.

  Then the other pub on the wharf which was crammed to the ceiling with boaters once the summer got around with the Americans sailing up to open their large homes that had lain unoccupied in the winter months. A nice spot but time to move on.

  “Trace, do you have a minute?” Ian said joining her on the balcony.

  “Would you like a trip up to Cape Breton?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m attending a whisky symposium at the Glenora distillery.”

  “What would I do up there while you’re all yakking about whisky?”

  “Play golf at Cabot Links.”

  “Now that’s an idea. How are we travelling?”

  “Helicopter.”

  “Count me in. Would you call your friends at the course and book me a tee time? How about you?”

  “No time - I have to be in the whisky meetings all day.”

  “Why?”

  “I love whisky and the industry is changing. Always good to know what is going on from an investment standpoint? My collection may be increasing in value very soon.”

  “But you can’t sell the ones I have stolen for you.”

  “No need. I have all the money I could ever want. However, it will make me feel good to know how rare and sought-after they are.”

  “Okay, call the course and ask if I can be added to a group. Make sure they are interesting people with some brains. I don’t want to be playing golf with a bunch of idiots.”

  Chapter 16

  Raymond stretched his legs out fully in the first class pod aboard Air Canada flight AC 861. The pilot had announced the flight would be approximately seven and half hours, due to some strong head winds. He took out his computer tablet and scrolled on documents. He had transferred a file with information on the Glenora distillery and its history. He knew about their ice wine cask finish and had a friend bring a nineteen year old to one of their tastings and remembered enjoying it immensely. He was looking forward to visiting the province of Nova Scotia and Ca
pe Breton Island.

  He knew very little about the province of Nova Scotia which was quite odd since he’d been half way round the world and back. The nearest he had been in his work was Newfoundland where a spy was finally tracked down to a hotel in St Johns. His role in the surveillance had finally caught the Canadian citizen selling technical documents to the Russians. He was a go-between for a top US navy officer.

  What he did know was the odd historic tidbit on the capital city of Halifax, the famous citadel built in 1749 to protect the British from the French which never did come under any hostile take overs. Being in the circle of spies and the pesky Russians, he obviously knew the embarrassing story of Leon Trotsky, taken into the citadel in 1917 after his passport seemed dubious. He was on his way back to Russia from New York. After only a few weeks in a concentration camp for Germans outside of Halifax, the new Russian government asked Britain for his release and they obliged. Raymond mused on the idea of just say Trotsky had won the leadership of USSR over Stalin and decided it would have been no better.

  The story he knew very well was the explosion in the same year as the capture of Trotsky. Early December he recalled. The largest manmade detonation in history, until the atomic bomb in world war two.

  He had been in Boston with a CIA operative and good friend one December day back in the 90’s. They walked past the common just as this monster of a Christmas tree lit up with cheers from a large crowd that assembled. Apparently for many years Nova Scotia has sent one of the best trees they could find as a thank you to the people of Boston. The response had been immediate from Boston with medical aid, doctors and nurses speeding through the snow and blizzard conditions to arrive in a city devastated by the blast. With over fifteen hundred killed instantly, the medical team had over nine thousand injured. That must have been a big chunk of the city affected right there in a split second, Raymond had asked at the time, to his CIA buddy. Have you any idea how strong their ties are after 1917. Like what, Raymond had asked at the time.

  Well the province is almost all patriots’ fans. Not too much of a shock with them not having NFL up there. But, Bruins fans. Hockey is their national sport! Yes, and Red Soxs although they do support the Blue Jays as well. After all back-to-back champions in 1992/3.

  I had no idea. He finally fell asleep until he was woken with a start. The pilot was announcing they would be starting their descent. He looked out of the window to see numerous lakes and large pine trees, without a building in sight.

  The descent was steep. Raymond found his nose inhaler which he quickly snorted up each nostril, a trick he had picked up after a blast in Serbia had left him with sensitive ear drums.

  The plane landed to a loud squeal of tyre noise, with the small airport flying by to his right. The plane came to a stop and turned back, taxi-ing towards the airport gates.

  They walked through the terminal into a large area where customs officers were waiting. Two elderly people dressed in kilts said Welcome to Nova Scotia.

  “This really is New Scotland,” he said to Louisa. “Wait until we get into Cape Breton,” she said with a smile beaming across her face.

  Chapter 17

  They both walked through the main doors to see a young lady holding a sign: Glenora Distillery welcomes Louisa Reid and Raymond Armstrong. She had long brown hair, big dark eyes, and a large smile on her face and was now waving at them. “I know you are on LinkedIn, but I’m not,” he whispered across to Louisa.

  “Welcome to Nova Scotia,” she said excitedly, now shaking their hands firmly. “I am Olivia. We have a car waiting to take you to the distillery. Follow me.”

  They put the luggage in a large SUV and Raymond offered to sit in the back. Louisa would hear nothing of it and insisted he sit in the front with the chirpy Olivia.

  “How long is the drive he asked?”

  “Four hours tops,” Olivia replied.

  “Four hours! Do you have an airport nearer to the distillery?”

  “Absolutely. Sydney Cape Breton. We thought you would enjoy the drive up.”

  “Oh, I will. I have never seen so many lakes and pine trees on the descent into the airport.”

  “Yes, we have more lakes per square mile than any other province in Canada.”

  “I imagine four hours is nothing to you Canadians. In the UK these days I would sooner take the train.”

  “We’ll be there in no time. I usually make two stops at a Timmy’s.”

  Raymond smiled vacantly.

  “Yes, I’ll be ready for a large single,” piped up Louisa.

  “A what?” The girls laughed.

  “Tim Horton’s is the national coffee chain in Canada. Single single is one cream and one sugar. I stop at Truro and Antigonish. Truro will be about 40 minutes. Feel free to ask me any questions on the way.”

  After the Truro stop where he had a black, no sugar Timmy and a doughnut, he napped. He woke to the faint sounds of music which sounded like Maroon Five. He actually liked their music, although he much preferred classic rock. She went to turn it off.

  “No please don’t turn it off for me. I like music when on a long drive.”

  “Okay,” she smiled. He turned to look at Louisa who was in heavy sleep mode.

  “My niece can sleep through anything, I swear.”

  “What about you?” Olivia asked.

  “Oh the opposite - one eye open always.”

  “Why is that?”

  He was careful with his reply.

  “Always been that way since a small child. What about you?”

  “Hardly ever sleep, too much on my mind.”

  “What do you do at the distillery?”

  “Marketing manager and actually our offices are near Halifax. I love the odd chance I get to drive up. It’s like night and day. Mabou Cape Breton is like paradise. Well, not tropical paradise with the weather but so peaceful and beautiful. Mabou is just down the road from the distillery. Glenville is the actual address and was called the Gleann Dubh pronounced glown doo.”

  “They have a Gaelic school in Cape Breton,” piped Louisa. She was now stretching her arms in the back of the car.

  Poit Dhubh we have tasted at the club. Posh doo we all call it.

  Olivia continued. “The mountain range behind the distillery is the cape Breton Highlands that range from 1100 feet and are made up primarily of igneous and metamorphic rock. The brook that passes through the property is called Macleelan’s Brook after the first settlers. The brook is twenty-two springs coming from the table top of the Cape Mabou Highlands and it empties into the Gulf of St Lawrence.”

  “And yet another distillery that was built in an area that had perfectly clean spring water to take their fine whisky. Willie at your distillery still believes water is number one, right Louisa?”

  “Oh yes, we went through months on the Isle of Bute before Wille announced the water source we found would be perfect.”

  “Sorry Olivia, please continue.”

  “The area is primarily Gaelic-Scottish settlers from the highlands of Scotland. The first settlers to the area were Macllen’s Gillis and Kennedys. Archibald Kennedy was the very first in 1821. I hear the Cabot trail is a must-drive around the island and Baddeck. Yes for sure. We get so many tourists take the trail.”

  “Any chance I might spot my first moose?”

  “Quite possibly. Baddeck is probably my second favourite place in Cape Breton after the distillery. Alexander Graham Bell fell in love with Baddeck. He was quoted as saying ‘I have traveled the globe, visited the Rockies in both Canada and America, the Alps and the highlands of Scotland but for simple beauty Cape Breton outrivals them all’.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  They passed a sign showing Inverness thirty kilometres. Raymond did a quick calculation. Eighteen miles. He looked out at the huge amount of trees, the terrain reminding him of western Scotland. This was a good break he decided, feeling sure a picture would develop in his mind of the theft. Right now, let’s enjoy the view.


  “We are almost there,” said Olivia in a singalong voice.

  They came to the top of a brow where Olivia pulled the car over to the side of the road.

  “What a view.”

  “Look down there to your left.”

  “WOW that is a perfect distillery setting.”

  “And what would you call that area?”

  He thought for a second then smiled. “A valley, a dale in Yorkshire and in New Scotland. A glen if you are twisting my arm. He laughed now. I heard all about the controversy and glad you won. This is Cape Breton, New Scotland - of course it’s Glen. Now let’s get down there. I am dying to have a look in the still room.”

  “What are the buildings overlooking the distillery in the mountains?”

  “Our chalets.”

  “Would you like one of those rather than the hotel?”

  “Absolutely, how about you Louisa?”

  “The hotel is fine for me, I like all the luxury comforts,” said Louisa.

  “If you had one next to me, I could give you a knock on the door around 5.30 in the morning. You could join me on a run.”

  “No thanks Uncle Raymond.”

  They drove down the other side of the hill and turned left into a large driveway with an arched gateway. The sign read Welcome to Glenora and a few hundred yards ahead was the shiny white distillery with a reservoir in front and a brook running through the property.

  Raymond got out of the car and stretched his long legs, looking up past the distillery to the mountain backdrop.

  “Olivia, are those the cabins we’ll be in tonight?” He looked at the mountain directly in front of them.

  “Yes, aren’t they magnificent?” He nodded.

  “Still staying here in the lodge thank you,’” said Louisa.