It was 1235, and he turned into the High Street, walking west up the long rise to Castle Hill, which leads up to the massive granite edifice which has symbolized the innate defiance of Scotland for more than 850 years. Ben had been here once before, in 1988 with Laura, and he stood staring up at the Outlook Tower, just as the castle’s 1300 cannon shot crashed out over the city, as it did every day except Sunday.
There was a considerable crowd of tourists awaiting the sound of the cannon, and a predictable number of “oohs” and “wows” as it happened. Ben stood still at the sound of the sudden shot, and his muscles tensed. It was the reaction of a military man, in a military place. Although no armed forces have been garrisoned in the castle since the twenties, it was once home to the great Scottish regiments: the Black Watch, the Royal Scots, the Seaforth Highlanders.
In the Middle Ages, the castle was besieged constantly, mostly by the English. It is impossible to remove the overtones of blood and valor from such places, and Ben Adnam felt more at home there, in those stark, bleak vales of distant courage and gallantry, than he ever did in the Balmoral Hotel. Ben imagined the clash of steel and the thunder of the guns, as he walked slowly along the stone walkways to the twelfth-century St. Margaret’s Chapel, the small stone-arched place of worship inside the castle. These days it is nondenominational, and used only by visiting military, but once it was an important Catholic church.
Ben opened the door and stepped inside, gazing at the five magnificent stained-glass windows behind the altar. Before him were images of St. Ninian, St. Columba, St. Margaret, and St. Andrew. But Ben had no interest in them. He walked to the bright, beautifully colored window dedicated to Sir William Wallace, the great Scottish national hero of the thirteenth century.
This, Ben knew, was a real man…William Wallace, who had led his renegades to kill the Sheriff of Lanark, and then to defeat the English governor of Scotland, Lord Surrey, in a brutal battle near Stirling…William Wallace, the man who finally drove the English out of Scotland altogether. Ben knew that in the end Wallace had been executed for treason. Nonetheless, he died bravely at the age of only thirty-three, and Commander Adnam stood in front of the window and bowed his head in front of Scotland’s most noble terrorist.
He stayed for just a few minutes, then walked outside, where it was still raining, and, within him he felt the old resolve surge again. He gazed out northward across the gray expanse of the city, toward the wide waters of the Firth of Forth, and beyond to the ancient kingdom of Fife. He thought back to the days of Wallace, and the undaunted fearlessness of the man…the audacity it must have taken to move in and ruthlessly attack the enemies of his country.
Suddenly, for the first time in a month, Ben believed he was thinking clearly again. The face of William Wallace had seemed to look kindly upon him, and the example of the long-dead martyr of freedom seemed to galvanize his spirit. In a flash of inspiration the commander knew where he must go, and what he must do. It was his only chance, and it was a chance that might lead him simultaneously to Laura. But first he had to find her.
He turned from the castle and headed back downtown, hurrying along the High Street, then turning back along The Bridges to his hotel. He arrived there and found a telephone book with listings for the border country. The Scotsman had always quoted Douglas Anderson as, “Speaking from his estate near Jedburgh last night.”
“Anderson…Douglas R.—Galashiels Manor, Ancrum, Roxburgh…that’s it.” Ben Adnam wrote down the address and phone number, then debated the merit of making the call and decided against it. The telephone has a disadvantage, he decided. The person on the other end is able to say, politely, “No. I’m afraid I cannot help, and I’m extremely busy at the moment. Good-bye.” Which is essentially the end of the campaign.
No, he concluded, I’ll go to Galashiels Manor and talk to Mr. Anderson in person, if he’s there. I’ll make up some story to persuade him to give me Mr. Baldridge’s address. Having decided, Ben had a quick cup of coffee in the downstairs vestibule, ordered his car from the garage, and set off out of Edinburgh, southeast to the Borders.
He drove quietly out past the city limits and onto the A68. It was 28 miles to the Galashiels area, down a long winding road, past the western edges of the Lammermuir Hills. There, on the high ground, were some of Scotland’s finest grouse moors, in particular those of the dukes of Roxburgh, and those of Sir Hamish Anderson, the magisterial father of Douglas.
Commander Adnam sat behind the wheel, glancing occasionally at the cold bleak winter home of the game birds, and reflecting upon his forthcoming tactics. He would pretend that he knew nothing of the divorce and that he had come to visit Laura and her husband as a result of a long-standing invitation.
In the end he wanted just one thing from the banker—the American address of Lieutenant Commander Baldridge. And if Mr. Anderson should prove difficult, it might be necessary to force the information from him, which might mean he would have to silence him permanently before leaving. But that was a course of action the commander was quite prepared to take. Old habits tend to die hard among terrorists. And Ben Adnam knew that for the rest of his life, if he was to evade capture, he might have to take such actions. Because for him, one witness as to his possible identity was one too many. That would signify, quite simply, the end of his life.
He reached the junction with the Selkirk–Kelso road and continued on straight for the 6-mile run down to Ancrum. The afternoon had turned suddenly bright, as the rain cleared swiftly away to the northeast, and, after a couple of miles, Ben stopped in a desolate stretch of green hilly countryside and checked his map. He was inside a triangle, bounded on three corners by Selkirk, Jedburgh, and Kelso. Twelve miles away to the southwest was the cashmere and knitware town of Hawick.
Right there he was in the heart of the great border tribes of Scotland, the men once known as the Border Reivers. Their lawless reign of terror had flourished along those lonely hills for 350 years, until 1600, because England regarded the entire region as “ungovernable.” Ben himself had just seen, in the past 20 miles, signs that remain of them still—ancient castles, stately homes, fortified farmhouses, ruins of historic abbeys, remains of watchtowers built as fortresses with walls 7 feet thick. There were remnants of abandoned hamlets in remote valleys, remnants of a cruel and turbulent history in which the warring tribes of England and Scotland had fought each other savagely over four centuries. Many of their descendants still lived in the area: families with names like Nixon, Armstrong, Graham, Kerr, Maxwell, Forster…and Anderson.
But it was quiet there as Ben Adnam drove south, almost eerily quiet. For these borderlands represent the center of one of Britain’s last wilderness areas, a land of vast moors, forest, hills, rivers, and streams. And the Iraqi ran on down to Ancrum, stopping just short of the tumbling River Teviot, for hundreds of years a silent haven for salmon fisherman. Ben actually drove past the village green and on out to the other side before realizing his mistake and turning back.
He stopped and turned around, drove back to the village shop, where he inquired as to the address of Mr. Douglas Anderson. “Take the road to Nisbet,” he was told by the gray-haired, tidy Scottish lady behind the counter. “And on your left you will come to a graystone gateway with carved granite lions on the posts. Turn in there…the drive’s about half a mile long. Mr. Douglas is in residence, I believe. By the way, if you get to the Memorial, you’ve gone too far.”
The commander found the road to Nisbet and drove out through the rolling country traditionally hunted by the duke of Buccleugh’s foxhounds, next to the vast lands owned by the marquis of Lothian. He found the lion gates and turned into the drive, making his way between long lines of towering spruce trees on either side. The house itself was gray stone with four columns on the front portico. The oak doors stood 12 feet high.
Ben parked the car, walked up the four steps to the entrance, and rang the bell. An elderly butler, dressed in striped trousers and a black jacket, answered the door, and Ben
asked if he could possibly see either Mr. or Mrs. Anderson. His English was impeccable, and the butler recognized this to be so and invited him to step inside. Then he asked who he should say was inquiring.
“Tell them, Mr. Arnold. Ben Arnold from South Africa.”
“Very well, sir.”
When he returned he was accompanied by a dark-haired, youngish woman of medium height and quite striking good looks. She wore a deep red silk shirt, tight black pants, and high heels. Her lavish lipstick matched her shirt. She looked like an actress to the tips of her dark red fingernails.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “I’m Natalie Anderson. My husband is rather busy at the moment, I wonder if I could help…I don’t believe we have met?”
The commander smiled and offered his hand. “No…no we haven’t. I’m Ben Arnold…and this is all rather embarrassing.”
“It is?”
“Well…it is. You see, I thought Mr. Anderson was married to a lady named Laura.”
“Not anymore,” said Natalie, laughing. “They were divorced two years ago. I’ve been married to Douglas for more than a year now.”
“Oh…I see. Then that makes it even more awkward.”
“It does?”
“Well, yes. You see my wife and I met and became quite good friends with Laura Anderson in Cairo several years ago. We live in South Africa, but we exchanged addresses and promised to meet if we ever were in the same place…my wife arrives tomorrow, and we’re staying in Kelso. So I thought I’d do a recce, and arrange a dinner or something…”
“Well, Mr. Arnold…that sounds lovely…but since none of us knows each other probably out of the question.”
“Oh, absolutely. And I apologize for taking your time.”
Ben turned to leave, but he hesitated and looked back suddenly, and said, “I say, I’m sorry to be a bore…but do you think your husband would have Laura’s address? At least my wife could send her a Christmas card and let her know we tried.”
Natalie smiled, and replied, “I’m sure he would. Let me go and get him. I have to go to Kelso myself now, so I’ll say good-bye and send Douglas to see you.”
Ben waited, feeling the hilt of his desert knife in the small of his back, wondering how he would feel when he confronted the man who had taken “his” Laura. In less than two minutes he found out. Douglas Anderson, a tall, heavily built man, wearing a country suit with thick, long socks and plus fours, came marching across the hall, the steel tips on his highly polished brown brogues clipping on the stone floor.
“Good afternoon,” he said, in an accent that betrayed every vestige of the polished, landed Scottish banker. “I hear you’ve got your wires a bit crossed. I’m Douglas Anderson.”
The two men shook hands, and Anderson immediately looked at his watch, and said, “What is it…five o’clock? Tell you what. You’ve come a long way…how about a cup of tea?”
“Well, I hate to intrude, but that would be very nice.”
“Come on in here,” he replied, leading the way into a warm, comfortable drawing room with a log fire. “You can tell me about meeting Laura.”
Ben followed him in. “Cairo,” he said. “Maybe eight years ago.”
“Yes…I remember she did go there once for a brief holiday with a girlfriend. Annie, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I believe that was the name of Laura’s friend. But anyway, my wife Darlene got on very well with Laura. They went shopping together, hired a couple of camels and rode out around the pyramids. I used to call her Laura of the Desert. We were all staying out at the Mena House Hotel near Giza.”
“Absolutely. I remember her telling me about the place.”
“Anyway, we lost touch, but we always kept her address, and now I’m here on business for a few days and Darlene’s flying into Edinburgh tomorrow. I thought we might all get together…but it really was a bit embarrassing meeting the new Mrs. Anderson like that. I suppose I should have called and saved everyone a lot of trouble.”
“Think nothing of it, old boy. I’m glad of the company. Natalie’s gone to her bloody aerobics class, and I’m alone for a couple of hours.”
The butler brought in the tea, and Douglas Anderson poured it. “Sugar…?”
“No thanks. Just a splash of milk.”
“And how about you, Ben? What’s your line of country?”
“Mining. Copper and coal. We have holdings in both. I’m here to see several bankers in Edinburgh, but I thought it would be nice to stay out here for a few days in the country. I say, I’m really sorry about you and Laura…she seemed such a nice girl.”
“Oh, yes. She was. Damned nice family. Daughter of a very eminent admiral, you know. It all happened so damned quickly. I never knew what had hit me. She suddenly met this bloody American, here in Scotland, and announced she was buggering off with him. Shook me up, I can tell you.”
“Well, Douglas, you look to me as if you’ve made a satisfactory recovery,” said Ben, smiling.
“Haven’t I?” said Douglas, laughing loudly. “I was a bit bloody lucky really, landing a beautiful younger woman like that…she’s only twenty-eight now. I’m forty-five. She keeps me young, and I’ve taught her how to catch a salmon. Not much of a deal for her really. But she seems to like it up here…and we have nice holidays.”
“Where did this bloody American come from?”
“Well, that’s all been a bit secret, Ben. You remember that United States Navy aircraft carrier that got itself blown up about four years ago? Well, apparently the Pentagon thought it might have been hit by some fucking Arab in a submarine, and this Baldridge Johnny—that was his name—was over here trying to find out who he was. Apparently Laura knew the chap they all suspected…an old boyfriend, I think, when he was training here. Nothing serious, of course…just some bloody foreigner learning how to drive a submarine. Her father was the Teacher at the base at that time.”
“Hmmm. Did they find him?”
“Don’t think so. I never heard any more. Except my wife had cleared off with the American investigator. Left me high and dry. My luck changed in the summer…my mother’s on the board of the Edinburgh Festival, and we had a group of the actors and directors out here for dinner one evening. Natalie was playing the lead in the main theatre. I drew her next to me at dinner, and we never looked back.”
“Well, Douglas, you have been very kind. The only thing I wondered was, could you possibly let me have Baldridge’s address? I think my wife would like to send Laura a Christmas card or something, and let her know we did try to get into contact. She’ll be very disappointed to have missed her.”
“No problem, Ben. Natalie mentioned that…and I have it right here. Baldridge Ranch, Burdett, Pawnee County, Kansas, plus the zip. My daughters are going over there in a few days for the first time. I did hear that Laura and her husband might show up here…but I think they’re bringing the girls back after the Easter holiday. No one tells me much…not now I’ve remarried. I believe American Airlines are in command of the outward journey.”
Ben stood up and offered his hand. “Douglas, I’m sorry to have taken your time. It has been most enjoyable, and I wish you every happiness. You have a very lovely wife.”
“Thank you, Ben. I’m glad to have met you. I hope you have a nice stay in Scotland, and please give my regards to Darlene, whom I nearly met.”
They both laughed, and Ben took his leave, walking out into the dark, and starting the car, heading out through the spruce trees, and the A68 back to Edinburgh.
Admiral Sir Iain MacLean answered the telephone in his study just after 1800.
“Oh hello, Douglas. How nice to hear from you.”
“Yes…well it’s been a bit of time, hasn’t it? We don’t seem to run into each other so often these days. How’s Annie…and the American branch of the family?”
“Oh, they’re all fine…Bill and Laura are here actually.”
“Oh, they are? I thought the idea was that their mother would bring the girls back.”
/> “Well, it was. But they had a change of plan, decided to come over for a few days, and take the girls to Kansas. Then they’ll fly them up to Chicago and put them on the direct flight back to Edinburgh. You don’t want to speak to Laura, do you?”
“I don’t think so, Iain. Tell you the truth, I was just looking for an excuse to have a chat for a few minutes. Nothing very important. But I had a rather unusual visitor this afternoon, looking for Laura.”
Iain MacLean’s voice went ice-cold. “You did? Who was it?”
“South African chap. Nicely dressed, expensive sheepskin coat, driving an Audi. Told me he and his wife had been friends with Laura about eight years ago. But the address he had was mine. He thought we were still married.”
“What did he look like, Douglas?”
“What do you mean, what did he look like? Perfectly ordinary sort of chap, well-spoken, in the mining business.”
“No, Douglas. What did he look like.”
“Well, he wasn’t all that tall. I’d say a bit less than six foot. Quite broad, well built.”
“What kind of coloring?”
“Oh, dark. I took him for a South African Jew. Black hair, curly, cut short.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“Yes. But I can’t remember…the surname anyway. His first name was Ben.”
Admiral MacLean’s mouth went dry. He said, “Just a minute, Douglas…” He poured himself a glass of mineral water before continuing.
“Was there anything else about him that you noticed?”
“No, not really.”
“Did he say where he and his wife met Laura?”
“Yes, he did. Cairo. Laura went out there with her girlfriend Annie about eight years ago. Stayed at the Mena House out near the pyramids. According to this chap, they all met there and exchanged addresses. I just thought it was a bit strange. You know, Laura never mentioned anything about a South African couple to me, and I just wondered if the chap rang any sort of a bell with you.”
H.M.S. Unseen Page 33
