Betrayed: (A Financial and Conspiracies Thriller – Book 1 in the Legacy Thriller Series)

by William Wield

  Up on Craithe, the Professor, Perry and the team were at work still trying to get the full identity of the conference attacker. Without Komarov’s resources – especially Danil Morozov – they still had no idea of the existence of Mina, or Wheeler or of the plans to turn their world upside down.

  * * * * *

  After Wheeler had had the time to get over the shock of Komarov’s appearance on the scene and the transformation of their plans, his discussions with Komarov’s were almost cordial – though the cordiality was helped somewhat by the provision of the helicopter, as mounting the kidnapping operation using only power-boats would have been both more difficult and risky.

  On discussing what had now become their joint plans, it became clear that the Major’s trip out to Londonderry would be immensely easier if he hitched a lift in this helicopter with Zaytsev.

  The Major was quickly alerted to this and rushed back to his place, packed and got himself down to the London Heliport by lunchtime. He found Zaytsev already there, with the Embassy-chartered machine and was waiting to go. While the helicopter was given a last check-over, he sized up Zaytsev.

  The man’s appearance was everything one would expect – the perfect embodiment of a one-man mission, just right for one of such importance. His spoken English was faultless if a touch accented, and his manner and physical bearing inspired immediate confidence. As the Major walked with him towards the machine, he felt relaxed and in good hands and the uncomfortable rush to get there for a lift to Rollo’s place well worth the effort. Once strapped in aboard the Eurocopter, the pilot ran quickly through the pre-flight checks and then they were off, rising quickly over the Thames and heading west along the river – a good start to what promised to be adventuresome project. The Major glanced across to Zaytsev and smiled. The smile was not returned and, on reflection, the Major thought this more in keeping with the seriousness of the mission that was to follow and thereafter he just admired the views as they sped up the river at a mere couple of thousand feet.

  Chapter 16

  Good Friday Morning

  Norbally House, Portrush

  Northern Ireland

  As instructed, the Pilot took the helicopter in near Belfast to top it up with fuel. It had been explained to the charter company that there might need to be a number of trips between Northern Ireland and the West Coast of Scotland over the weekend, and that further refuelling visits should just be debited to their account which would be settled at the end of the charter; as the charterer was the Russian Embassy, this was readily accepted. From Belfast there it was just another twenty minutes further flight time to Portrush and Norbally House on the north coast.

  Only a few years earlier, Norbally House had been almost derelict – a large Northern Ireland mansion in the Georgian style with a home farm adjacent. During ‘The Troubles,’ whilst the Irish Economy was in poor shape, it had been put up for sale though, for years, no one seemed interested. Eventually an anonymous buyer appeared, and though the offer they made for the place was low, the sellers, keen to get it off their hands, accepted.

  For some time afterwards, the buyer’s identity remained unknown. Much work on it and its grounds could be seen by the locals, including large new wrought iron gates and over six miles of tall, electrified wire-mesh fencing. It was only after this work appeared to be complete that the new owner moved in and his name was eventually discovered to be Mick Rollo.

  There was some local speculation about his origins and the nearest anyone got to the truth was that he had once been in the British Army’s Special Forces. This was thought possible as it was also rumoured that, with a name like Rollo, he was originally from Scotland. He was soon joined at by a team of six or seven fit, military-looking young men. Some of these occasionally came down to the pub not far from the main gates, though they always kept to themselves. Eventually it became known that this team had all once been members of ‘the Coverts’ and as everyone in Northern Ireland knew, the coverts were best left to themselves.

  As soon as the pilot had landed the helicopter on Norbally’s large front lawns, Mick Rollo came out of the house and stood, arms folded, waiting for them by the front door. As soon as the Major had jumped down from the helicopter and come across the lawn, Rollo greeted him with an embrace and mutual back-slapping. He was then introduced to Zaytsev.

  As soon as they got to the large drawing room, Rollo summoned three of his coverts – Flaxman, Bookie and Tulloch and introductions were made. They then moved to Rollo’s study where there was a large whiteboard standing on an easel. He had already written up on it the names of the four members of the mission. They all seated themselves and Rollo went up to the Whiteboard.

  ‘This initial briefing won’t take long,’ he said, ‘as the Major will go into more detail when you get up to the Inn where you’re staying tonight. Your two jobs are quite straightforward.’

  ‘Greg,’ he said, turning to look at Flaxman, ‘you’ll take Bookie with you and the two of you will be responsible for kidnapping Macrae’s wife. Shaun,’ he continued turning slightly and looking at Tulloch, ‘you’ll be with Mr Zaytsev here…’

  ‘Dmitri, please, my name’s Dmitri,’ interrupted Zaytsev.

  ‘You’ll be with, er, Dmitri whose job it is to acquire the Craithe Team’s software suite they call Athena. We’ve booked in for an indefinite time at an old Inn called the Galley of Lorne. The owner there, Hamish Munro, is very obliging. It seems that he has a liking for the bottle and so, conveniently, I’ve found him nicely talkative. He should be a good source of local knowledge. Shaun, I picked you because you’re a keen photographer, I’ve already told this Hamish Munro that you’ve photographed Castles all over Europe – an extra cover should we need access to areas of the Castle not open to the public. Dimitri, you can pretend to be Shaun’s European cousin, interested in comparing castles in whichever country you choose to come from.’

  ‘The Ukraine,’ said Zaytsev, ‘we have many beautiful fortresses and old castles in the Ukraine.’

  ‘Good, the Ukraine it is,’ repeated Rollo. ‘Munro is hiring a boat for us for just long it takes us to complete our two missions. Munro vouches for this boat captain as being the best there is. The Major and I have discussed all of this and we feel confident that our success will be down to surprise and to small, unobtrusive two-man teams. Once we’re settled in there this afternoon, the Major will discuss individually with each of you, the details of the two missions. Any questions on any of that?’

  There were no questions asked, but a few lesser points were covered - for example a hire SUV would arrive from Oban at the Galley of Lorne soon after their arrival at the Inn. It would be used principally to find a rendezvous point for the boats and the helicopter after the kidnapping and the theft of Athena. Then there was the Major’s hope that, as a backup to stealing Athena, he might be able to find and sever the Island of Craithe’s Internet cable. He had already booked an appointment in Oban with one of the engineers who had installed this fibre optic cable. The four carrying out the two operations would have the rest of the afternoon to familiarise themselves with the castle layout. This they were to do from the internet and from the castle’s own brochure and from these studies they could work up the fine details of their plans.

  The Meeting concluded with the four participants suitably ‘fired up’ for the tasks ahead. But, just before they went out to the helicopter, Zaytsev asked what facilities Rollo had for the kidnapped prisoners once they had been brought back to Norbally house. In particular, he asked what had they by way of rooms which might be used to get information from people who were not immediately willing to impart it. Rollo was surprised at the question, as the kidnapping was nothing to do with him, but, keen to show off his facilities, he simply said ‘come with me’.

  Zaytsev followed Rollo to the back of the house and then into a dimly lit room.

  ‘Wait here and look at that large mirror there,’ he said as he pointed to it taking up much of the room on one wall. Rollo t
hen left and a moment later lights came on beyond the mirror, showing it to be a two-way window into what was obviously an interrogation room. From the room Rollo flicked a couple of switches and then asked, through a speaker system,

  ‘Does that answer your question, Dmitri?’

  ‘Yes, but how you have a facility like this?’

  ‘It was put in and used by the previous owners,’ replied Rollo, ‘probably used in the very difficult times of in Ireland known as the Troubles.’

  ‘Ah, yes the times of the bombs,’ said Zaytsev

  They walked back through the house, picked up the three coverts’ overnight bags and equipment lying in the hall and went on out to the helicopter. As soon as all were aboard, the pilot started up the Eurocopter and they climbed off the front lawn and immediately swung north over the shore nearby. They headed towards the Mull of Kintyre which had become clearly visible as soon as they had gained height over Norbally House and, with a distance of just 75 miles to the Galley of Lorne, the trip was going to take them around half an hour. Despite his training with the SAS all those years ago, as this was the first time that the Major had joined in on one of the missions he had brokered, he was both surprised and slightly embarrassed to feel that his stomach was churning at the thought of how things might go from here.

  Chapter 17

  Good Friday Mid-morning

  Glasgow International Airport

  Borislav Boreyev and his team of five had arrived at Glasgow International Airport about a couple of hours later than planned, about eleven o’clock. The flight in Mikhail Vassilov’s Hawker 800 jet had been delayed for take-off – some confusion over the flight plan.

  With some assistance from his friend Freddy Briston, who had spoken at the Cobra Meeting to his Cabinet colleague, the Home Secretary, Angus had got the flight diplomatic status and on arrival at Glasgow, the jet was directed to a private tarmac apron which would gave access to private customs clearance and the hired vehicle organised by Angus.

  No sooner were the doors opened and the steps let down, than a UK customs officer, accompanied by a smart young man in a well-tailored suit entered the aircraft.

  ‘Mr Boreyev?’ enquired the young man in the suit.

  ‘Yes, I’m Borislav Boreyev,’ he replied as he unstrapped himself and rose from his seat.

  ‘My name’s Geoffrey Plumstead. The Home Secretary has sent me to convey our welcome to the United Kingdom to you and your group. As a diplomatic gesture all your baggage and belongings will be loaded directly into the minibus which has been hired for you by Mr Macrae. Chief Customs Officer Smalley is here with me to ensure your smooth passage through the documentary formalities and then to speed you on your way. Is there anything else I can do for you?’

  ‘No, thank you, and please convey our thanks to the Home Secretary,’ replied Boreyev.

  ‘I will indeed, Mr Boreyev, and welcome again to the UK.’ With that, he turned about and left the plane. Chief Customs Officer Smalley stayed behind, examined the passports and asked Boreyev to sign a couple of documents. After that, he too was gone.

  A minibus with a large luggage space behind the seats had arrived next to the plane. As soon as Boreyev and the other five were down on the tarmac, they watched as their baggage and equipment were loaded. Just as this was being completed, there was the sound of a mobile telephone ringing from the driver’s seat inside the minibus. It had been put there on Angus’s instructions and its number had been passed back to him by the minibus rental company. One of the baggage handlers picked it up, answered it and brought it over to Boreyev.

  ‘I think this’ll be for you,’ he said as he handed it over.

  ‘Borislav, you arrived safe and sound?’ said Angus.

  ‘We have, yes, Angus, many thanks for the welcoming party,’ he said in Russian, ‘this was really most kind; I’d have hated trying to explain my equipment going through normal customs channels.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ replied Angus, ‘In addition to this mobile, I asked the van rental people to get a map for you and to mark it with your route from the airport to Crinan. Tatty and I will be waiting for you there. There’s no hurry but I’ve booked a table for lunch for all of us at the Crinan Hotel, as we have to wait for slack tides to get us through the Corryvreckan.’

  ‘The what?’ repeated Boreyev,

  ‘The Corryvreckan,’ replied Angus, ‘I’ll explain about that when we meet.’

  As he had been speaking, Boreyev had found the map, and half-opened it to see Crinan highlighted on the map.

  ‘The marked map looks good; how long will it take us to drive up to Crinan?’

  ‘As you’re not familiar with driving on the left, and on account of some of the winding roads, it will probably take you about a couple of hours, or so.’

  ‘Good, we’ll see you in Crinan for lunch then,’ said Boreyev and they rang off.

  The map showed them the way across the River Clyde from the Airport, along its north bank and then, turning north, up the west side of Loch Lomond. They motored on good, well sign-posted motorway at a steady pace, slow enough to take in the beautiful surroundings firstly the River Clyde below them and, after turning north near Dumbarton, on up above Loch Lomond. Some stretches of the road were high above the loch and the views of it and Ben Lomond on the far side of it were spectacular. Cameras and smartphones clicked as they drove through the magnificent scenery.

  Near the head of the loch, at the tiny hamlet of Tarbet, they turned away from the Loch Lomond and the road now took them over wild mountain passes, down into the deep valleys, round the heads of a couple of sea lochs until, at last, they arrived at Inveraray. Cameras clicked again to record the magnificent Castle, its four grey slate-roofed towers glistening after a brief April shower.

  The last leg of the journey, from Inveraray to Crinan was short and on arriving in Crinan, there saw their rendezvous with the Macraes, the large white building of the Crinan Hotel. After parking the van in the hotel car park, they sauntered down to the loch’s edge to admire the views, stretch their legs and draw in the fresh sea air. Looking west, straight out from where they stood on the high quay, the horizon west was dominated by the bulk of the Island of Jura and, to its right, the slightly smaller Island of Scarba. Through the gap between these two islands, they could also just see the towering mountains of the Island of Craithe.

  ‘There you are,’ came a voice in Russian from behind them – it was Angus Macrae coming down from the hotel, with the beautiful Tatiana by his side, and Kim Bradley following behind. Boreyev turned and walked briskly over, first to Tatiana who he engulfed in his arms and then kissed on both cheeks and then to Angus who he also enveloped in an all-enveloping embrace.

  ‘How beautiful a place you bring us to,’ he said in his deep Russian voice, as he released Angus. He then spotted the slight figure of Kim Bradley, standing a few yards back towards the hotel. He suddenly felt a pang of he did not know what, seeing the shy-looking, frail figure standing there, awkwardly, he thought. Angus saw him looking towards her and quickly introduced her.

  ‘Boris, this is my invaluable Secretary cum personal assistant and all-in-all wonder, Kim Bradley.

  ‘Delighted to meet you at last,’ said Kim, in fluent Russian, stepping forward confidently with her hand outstretched before her. Boreyev’s impression of her underwent an instant transformation, thanks, of course both to Angus’s introduction and to Kim’s change in demeanour for, as she looked back up at him confident, smiling, she took his hand in both of hers.

  ‘Miss… er…Bradley,’ he said, in English, taken aback by her immediate closeness and familiarity.

  ‘I’ve spoken to you so often,’ she replied in Russian, beaming back up at him, ‘that I feel I’ve known you for ages, Mr Boreyev, and, anyway my name’s Kim.’

  ‘In that case, I insist that you call me Boris,’ he said. They kept smiling back at each other and, had there been some newly-invented gauge which could detect human ESP, it would have bounced up off th
e top end of its activity scale for several seconds.

  ‘Right all of you,’ said Angus in Russian, ‘lunch is ready,’ and taking Tatiana by the hand, added, ‘follow me.’

  As the group, all conversing in Russian entered the hotel, the staff were waiting to look after one as locally important as the son of Sir James Macrae, Laird of Craithe. Most of them knowing him well - but having no knowledge of his years spent in Moscow - were astounded to hear him also conversing in fluent Russian.

  The group sat at a large table with wide panoramic views out west towards the islands. Angus explained the geography of this part of the world and went from there to tell them why he had called on their services, and the babble of conversation was replaced by attentive listening.

  ‘As your boss, Boreyev knows,’ said Angus, ‘We have on the island where you’ll be staying for a while, a team of computer scientists. They’ve developed valuable software and we have reason to believe that there are some who would want to steal it. Your job will be to protect the team and the software from theft. Borislav will tell you what this will entail for each of you when we get to the island, In the meantime I welcome you all to Scotland and hope you enjoy your stay in addition to the protection work.’

  He looked round the table and all seemed quite content with the short briefing. He then raised his glass. ‘So, I give you a toast, to a happy stay on the island of Craithe.’ Everyone raised their glasses and as soon as they had drunk to it, Angus added, ‘Just one other thing, if you have reason to speak to my father, just call him simply Sir James and if you’re speaking to others about him you might just refer to him as The Laird.’

  ‘We have no titles in Russia any more,’ said Boreyev, suddenly switching his attention back to where it should have been these past minutes, ‘so what is all this about - Sir James and the Laird?’