by Tana Collins
Bingham looked up as Carruthers replaced the phone. ‘Farm’s been rented out. Ronnie doesn’t know anything other than it’s a six-month rental. He lives pretty close to the farm. Says he’s seen a couple of men go in and out. Said they didn’t look much like farmers. Apparently, there’s been increased activity there just in the last few days with a few more men arriving. Hasn’t seen any women.’
‘I don’t know much about farms, but I would imagine a six-month rental’s pretty unusual if you seriously want to farm anything,’ said Bingham. ‘This sounds suspicious. Like you said, it’s a perfect hideout, of course. Remote, but still within easy reach of Castletown.’
‘Bugger. I don’t like the sound of the woman screaming. As you said, it might be nothing; on the other hand, we know we have terrorists in the area and a woman connected to the case is missing. Just to be on the safe side, I’m going to get a negotiator ready. If there’s a potential hostage situation, we need to be ready. I’m going to put a call in just in case.’
Bingham stood up. Walked towards the office door, which Carruthers opened for him. They left together, talking as they went.
‘I want you and McGhee to head over to the farm,’ said Bingham. ‘And for Christ’s sake, try not to kill each other on the way. When you get there, keep your distance from the farm. If you feel it’s safe to approach, do so with caution. We might be barking up the wrong tree, but if it is the terrorists up at the farm, and they do have Siobhan Mathews, we don’t want this to turn nasty.’
Carruthers swallowed. He was starting to kick himself for not keeping a closer eye on her. ‘I’ll ask Dougie to find out who’s leased the farm. We need to know. I’ll get going and pick McGhee up as I go. We’ll take my car.’
‘Good. Unmarked is best. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourselves.’
‘I’ve just had a thought,’ said Carruthers. ‘Might be worth taking some birdwatching gear with us. Binoculars, bird book, that sort of thing. The farm, if I remember rightly, sits right on the edge of a nature reserve.’
TWENTY-ONE
They drove inland on the A91. It was stiflingly hot in the car. Carruthers opened the driver’s window to let in some much-needed fresh air. A warm breeze hit his face. ‘Jesus, the weather’s close,’ he said, ‘really muggy. Wonder if we’ll have a storm?’ He could smell static in the air. He was gripping the steering wheel tightly. His back was so tense it had started to ache.
The scent from the rape fields, once they’d left the golf course on the outskirts of Castletown, was overpowering. McGhee sneezed twice. ‘Can you shut the window? It’s setting off my allergies.’
Carruthers sighed but shut the window. The heat with the window closed was almost unbearable.
‘Have you got any water?’ asked McGhee.
‘Jesus, you don’t want much, do you?’
‘Don’t be so fucking tetchy.’
The two men lapsed into silence again.
‘For Christ’s sake are you going to keep this up the whole shitting drive?’ McGhee demanded a few minutes later.
Carruthers ignored McGhee and kept driving. When he thought McGhee wasn’t looking he sneaked a glance across at him. Jim could see the tension thrumming through McGhee, from the compressed lips to the bolt upright sitting position.
‘Stop the car,’ McGhee demanded.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Pull over. Now.’
Carruthers pulled into the first safe place and with eyes blazing and mouth resolutely set he glared at McGhee. ‘Now what?’
‘Now we talk.’
‘I don’t think we have anything to talk about,’ said Carruthers.
‘Yes, we have. If this is a hostage situation and we go in the way we are now, we’re more than likely to get ourselves killed.’
Carruthers looked straight ahead. He was aware of his shallow breathing.
‘You’ll more than likely get the hostage killed as well,’ said McGhee.
Carruthers felt a twitch in his left eye. McGhee’s words had hit home.
‘Look Jim, whatever you think of me personally, we need to work as a unit. If we don’t, we’re done for. Terrorists don’t piss about. This could be the most dangerous situation you’ve ever faced. I, for one, don’t intend to get myself killed. And I’m certainly not intending to carry around a dead fucking weight, which is what you’ll be if you don’t put your personal feelings aside. Look, hate me all you like. But just not right now. Truce?’
Carruthers said nothing but weighed it up. He hated to admit it but McGhee was right. He looked sideways at the man and let out a long sigh that sounded like a pressure cooker letting off steam. ‘OK, truce.’
McGhee nodded. ‘Let’s get going.’
Carruthers drove out of the lay-by. ‘There’s a bottle of water in the back seat of the car underneath that old rug. There’s not much in it and it’ll be warm,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’ McGhee reached over to the back, moved the rug and grabbed the bottle. He opened it and took a swig, pulling a face.
‘It’s tepid.’
‘Sorry.’ Carruthers looked McGhee up and down. ‘Have you ever been in a hostage situation before?
‘Couple of times.’
Carruthers looked at him questioningly.
‘And before you ask,’ said McGhee, ‘they didn’t end well. I’ll tell you about it sometime. All you need to know is that lessons have been learnt. The same mistakes won’t be repeated here. At least, not by me.’
Carruthers wanted to ask what those mistakes had been, but now wasn’t the time.
‘Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a hostage situation but if it does, are you happy to follow my lead?’
‘Yes,’ said Carruthers. What else could he say? After all, what experience did he have of hostage situations? He looked up at the cloudy sky. There were some ominously dark clouds in it.
‘Good,’ said McGhee. ‘Glad that’s sorted.’ As he said it there was a rumble of thunder. ‘Think that storm you predicted is coming. How long until we reach the farm?’
‘Not long. About seven minutes.’
They passed more fields of rape, the brightness at odds with the increasing darkness of the sky. The countryside was dotted with farms, ancient stone walls, and the occasional hedge.
‘I never realised Fife was so beautiful,’ said McGhee. ‘Do you miss London?’
Carruthers shrugged. ‘Sometimes. I miss the restaurants. And the football.’ London had an undeniable buzz. Ironically, it had been Mairi who had been the one to be homesick first for Scotland, and who had wanted to move back. All the same, it had surprised him that he hadn’t missed Scotland more. However, now he had returned north he was beginning to enjoy living in Fife.
‘Do you like living in Hicksville, then? Always had you down as a big city boy,’ said McGhee.
‘Trust me, Hicksville has a certain charm. For one thing, you get clean air and beautiful skies. Although,’ he looked out through the windscreen at the leaden sky, ‘not today,’ Carruthers broke suddenly as a pheasant flew across the road.
‘Christ,’ said McGhee. ‘At least in the city you don’t get fucking suicidal wildlife.’
Lightning slashed the sky to their right.
‘I’ve always been fascinated by lightning,’ said McGhee, ‘although we could do with the storm holding off. Don’t know too many bird watchers who would be out in the rain. Last thing we want is our cover blown. What caused the fire in Pinetum Park Forest, do you know? It obviously wasn’t a lightning strike. You were pretty lucky. Much damage done?’
‘Not a huge amount,’ said Carruthers. ‘Hadn’t long since started when the firefighters turned up. Caused by a disposable BBQ.’ There was another rumble of thunder.
‘Christ, people can be stupid.’
Carruthers swerved to avoid a pothole. ‘Thank goodness nobody was injured. Fletcher was telling me there’s a lot of cycle paths in the forest, I’m sure Michael wasn’t the only cyclist in there whe
n it started.’
‘How’s the eye?’
Carruthers absentmindedly touched it. ‘Sore.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t have hit me. You were always going to come off worse. Don’t think the nose is broken, thanks for asking though. I could give you a few pointers for a better punch, if you like?’
Carruthers didn’t comment. They fell into silence. Finally, they drew close to the long dirt track that led to the farm. ‘This is it,’ said Carruthers. ‘Old Man Docherty’s farm. We should set off on foot from here.’
McGhee nodded.
They left the car behind, and walked cautiously up the track, all senses on high alert. Carruthers stumbled on some stones.
‘Careful,’ said McGhee.
At the first sight of the old farmhouse they stopped in their tracks. They were perhaps two hundred metres away from the farm. To the left was a copse of trees just beyond a field of wheat. To the right, a field of cattle and calves.
‘Act normal,’ said McGhee as he trained the binoculars on the property. ‘After all, we’re just a couple of RSPB members out for a day’s birdwatching.’ He lowered the binoculars. ‘No sign of movement, apart from some cows.’
Carruthers gazed at the farm buildings. The old stone farmhouse had an air of dereliction, as did the green corrugated iron barn. A couple of white butterflies flitted low in and out of the grasses, and a swallow swooped over the barn.
McGhee handed the binoculars to Carruthers.
‘Christ, it’s humid.’ Beads of perspiration were gathering on McGhee’s top lip.
‘Let’s just enjoy it whilst it lasts,’ said Carruthers, training the binoculars on the farmhouse. ‘It’s Scotland after all. How are you getting on being based down in the south, by the way?’ There was a louder rumble of thunder.
‘It’s OK. Too full of English folk for my liking.’
‘At least you get the chance to see some top-quality premiership games. Managed to get along to any?’ Another rumble of thunder. This time much closer.
‘Seen Chelsea a few times,’ admitted McGhee.
That figures, thought Carruthers. How typical of McGhee. Flashy and money-driven. Just like Chelsea. ‘I’m more a Gunners man myself. Andie’s an Arsenal supporter. In fact, she’s Arsenal mad.’
‘You’ve moved on from Mairi already then.’
‘If you want this working together to work, don’t talk to me about my wife. She’s off limits,’ said Carruthers.
Carruthers lifted the binoculars to his eyes once again, and took in the wider vista, concentrating this time on the barn. The only movement was in the air. A dozen or so swallows claimed the sky as their own as they fought for supremacy. Suddenly, the sun appeared from behind the clouds, temporarily catching something behind the farmhouse and making it glint.
‘Shit,’ said Carruthers. ‘There’s a car parked round the back of the farmhouse. Why didn’t I see that before? I’m going to move closer to get a better look. See if I can see the number plate.’
McGhee took the binoculars.
Just as Carruthers started moving, the door of the barn some hundred metres from the farmhouse, was thrown open. McGhee grabbed Carruthers’ arm and pulled him back. A man dressed in black and wearing a balaclava came out and scanned the area. Satisfied that there was nobody else around, he disappeared back inside, only to emerge a few seconds later backwards this time, dragging something heavy across the ground.
‘Jesus Christ. It’s a body,’ said McGhee.
Carruthers’ heart leapt into his mouth, as he trained the binoculars he’d grabbed back off McGhee onto the figures by the barn. He found himself holding his breath, as he adjusted the lens to get a sharper look.
‘Too large to be a woman,’ said McGhee dispassionately. The lower half of the body was already out of the door, but not the upper half, which was still inside, partly obscured by the shade. The man left the body where it was. Went back inside. Carruthers strained over McGhee to get a better look.
‘Easy tiger,’ said McGhee.
Carruthers prayed that McGhee was right about it not being a woman – not being one woman in particular. Lightning lit up the whole sky. The man dragging the corpse suddenly reappeared, this time carrying a large shovel.
‘Shit. He’s going to bury it,’ hissed McGhee. He grabbed the binoculars off Carruthers.
The man walked round the side of the barn disappearing from view. A minute later he reappeared without the shovel; strode purposefully back to the body. Glancing around as he went, he picked up the legs and dragged the rest of the body out of the barn.
Jim’s eyes were dry from staring, but he didn’t dare look away. What if it was Siobhan? Had he failed her this badly? The body came to view and the breath he didn’t know he was holding rushed from his body as he saw a man. A man in a black balaclava. Were the terrorists turning on each other? There was a perceptible sigh when Carruthers saw the rest of the corpse. ‘I’m going to call this one in,’ he said. His hand trembled as he pulled his mobile from the top of his shirt pocket.
‘Obviously something’s gone wrong. If they’re turning on each other, they’re volatile and unpredictable, and from our point of view, more dangerous,’ said McGhee as Carruthers called the station on his mobile.
‘Still, makes our job a bit easier if it’s one less,’ said McGhee as Carruthers talked urgently into his mobile.
***
The barn was deathly quiet. Siobhan tried not to stare at the stain of blood on the dirt ground. She swallowed bile. The smell of sweat was strong in the air. And fear. Her own. She glanced at her captor who was pacing the barn. As he sighed, he ripped off his balaclava to reveal a red and sweaty face. Ran a hand over the stubbly grey of his crew cut. Siobhan watched the hard-set lined face, and shivered. Why had he taken the balaclava off? Because he was hot? Or because he was going to kill her? She no longer knew if she would live or die.
He put his hand in his trouser pocket. Brought out a packet of cigarettes. Opened the pack. Took out a fag. Placed it unlit in his mouth.
‘Why did you kill Rhys?’ she asked.
Silence.
The man drew a box of matches from his other pocket. Lit a cigarette and took a long drag. He exhaled slowly. Finally the man answered. ‘He found out about my plans to kill Holdaway. He was going to turn Roberts in to the RAF. He had to be killed.’ He started to pace the floor.
‘I knew something was wrong,’ said Siobhan. ‘He wouldn’t tell me what it was.’
‘Probably didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.’ The man grabbed a nearby bale of straw and straddled it. A clap of thunder made him look towards the barn roof. ‘Do you know, I haven’t been to confession for thirty years? Not much likelihood of finding a priest anytime soon round here either. I don’t think they frequent farms very often.’ Perhaps I should have made my headquarters a church,’ he laughed mirthlessly. ‘I need to get some stuff off my chest. In the absence of a priest you’ll have to do.’
TWENTY-TWO
‘When will the marksmen and negotiator get here?’ Carruthers asked.
‘Any time now. Don’t go getting all nervous on me.’ McGhee looked at his watch. ‘Bryn Glas 1402 was never a big outfit. There can’t be too many of them left.’
‘What do they say? Just takes one,’
‘Well, we’ve already got one,’ said McGhee. ‘What we want to know is, if there’s more than one. I very much doubt our man with the shovel is the brains behind the organisation. He certainly won’t be Ewan Williams. You don’t get the top dog doing grave digging. They don’t usually do their own dirty work.’
As he said this, Carruthers felt something wet land on his shoulder. There was another splat on the ground by his feet. The first drops of rain started to fall. He looked behind him to see a convoy of police and unmarked cars snaking their way quietly and very deliberately up the dirt track towards them.
‘I hope they’re not spotted,’ said Carruthers, jerking his head towards the silent convoy.
‘They’re not amateurs. Any risk of that and they’d have left the cars at the top of the road. Lucky for us the farm sits in a bit of a valley. In any case, we still don’t know if this is a hostage situation.’
‘No, we don’t. However, the terrorists haven’t made contact with either the police or the media, as far as we know. If a woman is being held, for whatever reason, we don’t want this to turn into a hostage situation. It’s more likely to happen if they see this lot.’ As he said it, McGhee turned round and waved his arms to caution those arriving.
‘What’s happened to the guy who disappeared behind the barn?’ said Carruthers.
‘Probably still digging his grave.’
Carruthers looked down at his hands. They had a fine sheen of sweat on them. He swallowed. His mouth felt dry.
He kept his eyes focused on the now still farmhouse, but was aware of the activity going on around him. He had a quick look to the dirt track behind them. He could see the marksmen. They had taken their weapons, and they were fanning out all around, stealthily taking up position. He calculated that there must be twenty or so individuals, all dressed in black, with Kevlar vests. All eyes were on the farmhouse and the barn, which suddenly seemed eerily quiet. The wait had begun.
***
‘I never saw myself as a terrorist, although you probably do,’ said Ewan. There was a loud hammering on the corrugated iron roof as the rain hit it. ‘The Irish Republican Army didn’t see themselves as terrorists, did they? They saw themselves as freedom fighters.’
‘Is that what you are?’
‘In a manner of speaking. It will be hard for you to understand, being English, but for centuries the Welsh, like the Irish and Scots, have been persecuted. Our customs, language, culture have all been under threat. We are a fierce and proud nation, us Welsh.’
‘Is that why you turned to violence?’
