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

by William Wield

  ‘Four o’clock, yes I’ll remember that,’ said Flaxman. Then, on hearing for the first time that this whirlpool system might affect the timing of their return he added, ’so why the whirlpools, what causes them?’ There was sharp irritation in his voice.

  ‘The waves an’ the swell come a-rolling some two an’ a half thousand miles across the Atlantic. As often as not they’re driven on by the westerly winds, an’ the first thing that they hit on arriving here are the three or four hundred foot underwater cliffs of Scarba. That island up ahead there, to the right.’ He pointed it out to Flaxman. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, the waves smash into the underwater cliffs and with a ragged sea floor and a great underwater stack of rock, the seas are thrown up all o’er the place - causes the waters to turn an’ turn about themselves – you’ll see what I mean quite soon.’

  By now, the seas were already tumbling over themselves on the surface, as he had described.

  ‘And you say this becomes impassable?’ asked Flaxman peering ahead.

  ‘Oh aye, the waves can get up to ten, fifteen feet or more, too much for this poor wee boat,’ replied Mckinnon.

  ‘Not today, I hope,’ said Flaxman, looking even more intently at the churning waters.

  ‘Not unless the weather turns more than expected. They say there are to be a squall or two later on, but here on the west coast that can happen at any time, especially this time o’ year. I always keep an eye on the weather, though,’ he added, ‘only once in all the years I was not able to get my customers back home on time.’

  Flaxman fell silent, not sure if this meant he need not worry about getting back today or not.

  As they got nearer to the narrow point of the gulf, McKinnon pointed out to them some of currents in the waters coming in against them from the Atlantic Ocean. Flaxman could see the bubbles and spent spray on the surface of the sea flowing past them like rivulets in a fast stream. Already there was a roar from the sea ahead of them and McKinnon leant forward and switched on the small speaker system. About half way through the gulf they came towards the Corryvreckan itself. McKinnon, spoke to them through a microphone.

  ‘If you’ll look on ahead, on the starboard side of the boat - that’s on the right - you’ll see the whirlpool of the Corryvreckan,’ he said. The speakers were loud but not offensively so - just enough to be heard over the roar of the cascading waves some of these now higher than Calistra’s decks. The four guests each raised their binoculars and looked out of the right-hand side of the boat at the larger, white-topped waves coming into view. As they drew closer they marvelled at the huge bowl-like depression of rotating waves of the whirlpool itself. The bowl must have been many times the size of Calistra, maybe a hundred yards across.

  ‘Nice to see her so peaceful,’ said McKinnon over the speakers.

  The four of them looked on in silence as they passed on by. None of them could have imagined the speed of the currents sweeping past nor the occasional six-foot standing waves. This show of the power in nature was accompanied by a roaring sound that was like a combination of huge ocean rollers crashing onto a beach and some mighty waterfall.

  Even past the Corryvreckan itself, the constantly breaking waves caused the Calistra to wallow and yaw in her progress. Flaxman’s two companions looked as though their arrival at the small town of Stanleytoun on Craithe could not come soon enough, both of them pale and clearly not enjoying the boat’s lurching progress.

  As they drew closer to the island, McKinnon could tell that none of them had seen before anything quite like the castle. They all looked up at it and two of them scanned its massive walls, towers and French-style blue-grey slate rooves with their binoculars. Its position and size meant that it dominated everything around it and it seemed to echo the grandeur the craggy mountain peaks behind it. Beneath it, the little town of Stanleytoun was a tourist’s dream of charm, with its walled-in harbour, steeple church and neat, granite-built waterside houses.

  As they were still some minutes or so out from the harbour walls, McKinnon, following his usual routine, gave them his standard brief history of the town and the Castle. This little discourse always got favourable comments from his customers - though he would not be expecting much response from these four. Out of habit, he gave it anyway.

  ‘You’ll see a lot of the look of a French Chateau in the look of the castle,’ he said, ‘the wife of John Stanley, seventh Earl of Derby was French. That was about 370 years ago in the 1640s. She spent some time here when Oliver Cromwell was rampaging about the countryside down south. His daughter Louisa Stanley married the young Macrae, son of the Laird of Craithe of the time. The Stanleys were amongst the richest families in England in those days, hence the magnificence of the castle here compared to some other castles in Scotland. In addition to the fortifications against the Clan Wars in these parts, the Stanleys also strengthened them to keep Cromwell out when he extended his military campaigns to Scotland in 1650. In fact, Cromwell’s main field commander, General Monck, had a go at taking over the castle but failed. It’s never been breached by anyone,’ he concluded with almost proprietary pride in his voice.

  Shortly after McKinnon had finished his short tale, Calistra passed through the narrow entrance to the harbour and as they glided slowly to the quay side where there were many willing hands to help tie her up. Charming as the views of the town might be, all four of them were off the boat and onto dry land as soon as she was tied up, and whether psychological or not, the colour returned to their faces.

  ‘We’ve no plans’ said Flaxman to McKinnon as he climbed ashore behind the other three. This, as McKinnon would later discover, was a lie, but what he said next did have some truth to it. ‘We’re meeting an acquaintance here in Stanleytoun,’ he said, ‘and after that we’ll decide whether to go over the castle or motor on out to see some of the other islands’. Flaxman then bent down, picked up the wicker picnic basket and took with him. With an Hotel, a pub, restaurants and cafes in plain sight, taking a picnic basket with them struck McKinnon as odd, though not odd enough to comment upon at the time.

  ‘Fair enough, Mr Flaxman,’ he said, ‘I’ll no be going anywhere except maybe to get a bite to eat, so you’ll find myself and Calistra here whenever it suits you.’ Then he added, raising a hand and pointing a finger to the sky. ‘Just remember we’ll need to be leaving here around three thirty so as to be going back through the Corryvreckan by four and get you home today’.

  ‘Understood,’ replied Flaxman as he left to catch up with the other three.

  After they had gone, McKinnon clambered out onto the quay and walked over towards a lifeboat; it was the Laird’s, the Louisa. She was tied up near Brown’s Repair Shops at the far end of the quay from Calistra. He had known the captain of the lifeboat, Sandy Grieg, all his life. But it had only been these last couple of years that he had seen more of him - ever since the Laird had bought the Louisa and Grieg had become her skipper. Grieg had been up to the RNLI station in Oban on a number of occasions to learn the many facets of the ex-Arun Class boat. He had learned well - especially on the back-up call out with his brother and some others during the great storm of 2013 when he saved a couple of lives. More than once too he had justified the Laird’s purchase of her when he had got through the Corryvreckan in atrocious weather when no other vessel could have done so.

  ‘Hi there, Sandy,’ said McKinnon as he reached the Louisa. Grieg climbed down off the lifeboat, came across the quay and both shook hands warmly.

  ‘Repairs won’t come cheap on her, I’ll suppose,’ said McKinnon, inquisitive about one of the most expensive boats on the coast.

  ‘Oh, nothing serious,’ said Grieg, ‘she’ll be back in service tonight or tomorrow morning. Have you time the now for a wee dram?’

  ‘Certainly have, and maybe I’ll have time for something to eat too.’

  The two of them made their way towards the corner of the quay towards a small side-street that would take them to Jimmies’s Bar - the locals’ favourite.

>   As arranged, Geordie was wearing a bright yellow shirt and Flaxman and the other three had met up with him outside the Derby Arms and formally introduced each other, Geordie shaking hands with each in turn.

  ‘I’ve some useful news for you,’ said Geordie – addressing his remarks mainly to Flaxman. ‘Angus Macrae and his wife are going out mackerel fishing about two o’clock – a perfect time I would suggest, Mr Flaxman, for your wee surprise for your old friend, and I can take the other two round the Castle while you do that. How’s that sound?’

  Flaxman looked pleased, leant over and clapped Geordie on the back.

  ‘Excellent plan, Geordie’ he said, and then, looking down at his watch, added, ‘That gives us just time for a quick lunch, do the Derby Arms do sandwiches?’

  ‘They do,’ replied Geordie, ‘follow me,’ and led the way into the main Bar, followed by the four.

  Chapter 21

  Saturday, after lunch

  Craithe Castle,

  After their lunch with all the family, Angus and Tatty duly set off for their boat trip to explore some of the island’s coastline, with Angus overheard by the others still trying to persuade Tatiana that she would enjoy trying the mackerel fishing as well.

  On reaching the boathouse the two of them found the clinker-built dingy waiting tied up by the water gates. Earlier in the morning, Geordie had also put out the basket with the mackerel lines ready, together with nets and a bucket of water, to keep fish fresh in if they wanted to bring any of their catch back to the castle. Angus checked the outboard and found that Geordie had failed to top up the outboard engine’s fuel tank. There was a can of fuel nearby, however, so he stowed that aboard the dingy along with all the fishing gear and some waterproof clothing in case of April showers.

  He helped Tatiana aboard and pushed the boat off, nimbly jumping aboard as they drifted out into the channel in front of the boathouse gates. After several energetic pulls on the outboard’s starter rope, the aged engine eventually coughed into life.

  With his very substantial income as Managing Director of the Towneley Vassilov Merchant Bank, Angus could have afforded to do many things around the castle – like updating this old boat or buying a new engine for it. But whilst his father was still the Laird, he would not interfere with anything – besides there was a charm to using old, familiar things like these, many of them with memories attached to them. Tatiana had watched his efforts to start the engine and tried to imagine him doing the same thing as a little boy or even as a young man and she loved seeing him in his boyhood surroundings.

  They motored a short way out from the boathouse and then turned right, to the west, parallel to the shore. Tatiana looked up to the castle above them but soon could only see the top of the South West Tower and, although somewhat fearful of small boats, she put her trust in Angus. It had been some twenty minutes after the view of the Tower had disappeared that, without warning, the stiff breeze that had been with them since they had got out from the shore, suddenly stiffened and soon it began to rain. It started as a gentle April shower, light and warm, but soon it began to pour and the temperature dropped dramatically.

  Angus, well organised from years of experience, quickly pulled a couple of large capes from his rucksack and these they hurriedly put on. Next, from under the stern seat, he pulled out a large thin sheet of tarpaulin. He got Tatiana to rise from her seat and, after spreading the tarpaulin along the bench, they both sat back down on it and he pulled the rest of it up over their backs and then their heads. Their last defence against the sudden squall came in the form of a large gaudy golfing umbrella which he raised above them, slanted back at a sharp angle into the oncoming storm. With the anchor now holding firm and the engine switched off, the boat naturally swung slowly so that the bow of the boat behind them faced into the strengthening wind from the west.

  So used to doing this kind of thing since childhood, Angus had managed to get the weatherproofing up before they had really got wet. Now, huddled together cosily under the tarpaulin and with their backs to the strengthening wind and rain, they just needed to ride out the spring shower. Tatiana giggling a little from time to time at the novelty of the experience.

  As often at this time of year, the squalls dissipated within a half hour, and in this space of time, the weather had changed back from a torrential downpour to being dry again with bright sunshine and with some warmth returning. They were left, however, with choppy water and the boat rocked quite sharply at anchor. They laughed with relief as the last clouds ran on past them heading east through the Corryvreckan and on towards the mainland.

  It was then that Angus found that not only had Geordie not topped up the outboard fuel tank, but that the spare can of fuel which he had left for them to be take out with the boat, was filled with diesel instead of a petrol mix that it ran on.

  ‘Goddamit,’ he said, ‘looks as though I’m going to have to row us back unless there’s someone up on the South West Tower to see us.’

  ‘Can’t you ring on your mobile phone,’ suggested Tatiana.

  ‘That would be great wouldn’t it,’ he replied,’ but unfortunately there’s no signal unless one’s practically sitting under a mobile phone mast on the mainland - too few people for them to bother with more phone masts out on the smaller islands and the terrain’s too mountainous anyway. Some people go to the lengths of buying themselves radios to get round this problem but, other than this very moment, I’ve never found the need.’

  They were well round the corner of the mountain beyond the castle and therefore out of sight of it, so Angus got the rowlocks and oars up from the bottom of the boat and began to set them up. As he was in the midst of this process, to their relief, a small tourist cruising boat came round the point of the island and into view. Angus stood up carefully so as not to rock the boat and waved energetically, shouting as he did so. They were soon spotted and the cruiser turned towards them and cut its engines as it approached. As it got nearer Angus could at last read its name, the Calistra.

  ‘Aha, that’s good,’ he said looking down at Tatiana, ‘it’s Neil McKinnon and some of his customers’. Having got quite close to experiencing mackerel fishing without actually doing any, and having by now had enough of the vagaries of the west coast weather, she was quite ready for something a bit more comfortable. She turned round, somewhat awkwardly, and peered at the approaching boat. She was glad to see that it had a covered cabin in which to warm up.

  The Calistra came on towards them and as they were about to touch together, Angus lifted up an oar for the large fair haired tourist to grab a hold of and pull the dingy alongside.

  ‘Could you perhaps give us a tow back into Stanleytoun?’ he asked, ‘we’d be happy to carry on wherever you’re going so long as we get back there at some point.’

  ‘Sure, no problem,’ said the tall man, ‘come aboard and hand me the bow line.’

  Angus helped Tatiana get up into the Calistra’s wide stern area, fetched the bow line and holding it firmly, climbed up after her. That was the last thing he knew for a good ten minutes, for the moment he was aboard, to Tatiana’s mind-shocking horror, the tall fair-haired tourist whacked the back of Angus’s head with the butt of an automatic pistol and he crumpled to deck, to immediate appearances, lifeless.

  She let out a wild scream and leapt forward and down onto him, picking up his head and cradling it in her arms. Bookie stepped forward and gently but firmly prised her away from her husband’s motionless body, passing her to McKinnon. She was now sobbing, out of control and while McKinnon held her, Flaxman and Bookie man-handled Macrae’s body down the short stairs and into the small for’ard cabin. There they threw him onto one of the bunks and returned to the wheelhouse. Shielding Tatiana from the other two, McKinnon obeyed Flaxman’s gestured order and guided her down the steps and into the cabin. She sat, perched on the narrow bunk-seat, beside her husband, now sobbing quietly. McKinnon tried to comfort her by placing a hand on her shoulder and he then bent down and whispered close
to her ear.

  ‘Don’t worry, Missus, we’ll get you both out of this safely somehow, and at least he didn’t bother to tie either of you up. You’ll find pain killers in one of the cupboards in the Galley. You’ll need to get them yourself later as I must get right back up on deck before they become suspicious.’ He touched her gently on the shoulder, turned and hurried back past the galley and up into the wheelhouse.

  ‘I don’t want you talking to them again, do you hear?’ said Flaxman and McKinnon nodded, and turned towards his white swivel seat.

  ‘From now on, only Bookie here talks to them, is that understood?’

  Again McKinnon nodded his head but this time added a barely audible ‘Aye, I hear ye.’

  ‘Right,’ cried Flaxman, shouting this time, ‘back to the mainland as fast as this tub will take us.’

  ‘Aye, aye,’ muttered McKinnon and he started up the motor, gently steered Calistra away from the abandoned dingy and pushing the throttles to full ahead, put her into a wide arc back east towards the Corryvreckan and the mainland.

  ‘And keep well wide of the town as we pass, I don’t want anyone to be able to see the name of the boat as we pass, is that understood?’ shouted Flaxman over the noise of the engines, straining at full power. This time McKinnon simply nodded that he had got this message.

  * * * * *

  The lunch with Geordie at the Derby Arms Hotel was timed to fit in with Geordie’s estimate of when Angus and Tatiana would have left the boathouse and got out of sight of the castle. At this time, still convinced of Flaxman’s story that he wanted to surprise his old friend Angus, he had purposely not topped up the fuel when he had prepared the dingy for the mackerel fishing expedition. He reckoned that Angus and Tatiana would run out of fuel after a couple of miles, making it easy for his friend Flaxman to catch up in Calistra and come to his rescue – what better surprise could there be?