Mahmoud jumped in between Khan and Mossab who were glaring at each other with black bitter hate-filled stares. Mahmoud spoke with assertive pacification.
“Khan! Enough! We are all mujihadeen – al-jihad fi sabil Allah! We celebrate because we have won a great victory last night in the name of our blessed God over the infidel scum!”
Mahmoud El Kharroubi, although sounding to the others like a man rising to anger, knew exactly what he was saying. He suspected what was eating at Khan’s black heart and he intended to shake it out of him. Khan rose easily to Mahmoud’s bait. Khan struck back with rising venom in his hissing voice.
“Yes, my brother – Mahmoud. Please can you pour me a Scotch to celebrate striking at the heart of the infidel scum? I would like that. Of course, Aisha was not infidel scum, was she -?”
Mahmoud raised his palms towards his Kuwaiti friend in a placatory motion.
“Khan, my friend, Aisha is now a martyr sitting at the right hand of Allah.”
Khan sprung like a striking hooded cobra from the window sill spitting poisonous venom at El Kharroubi who jerked back his head and shoulders at Khan’s verbal assault.
“AISHA WAS NOT MEANT TO BE IN THE CAR! I’m going to kill that Palestinian bastard -!!”
Hassan intervened with a puzzled look on his face.
“- But, Khan, your white girl? Jill -?”
Khan swivelled his cobra-hooded stare around to Hassan.
“Are you all so naïve? Jill Geeson was a front – a means to an end! I loved my beautiful Aisha and when I get that bastard from Gaza, I’ll…”
“ENOUGH – KHAN!”
Mahmoud El Kharroubi finally exerted his authority over the Group and the two men glowered at each other with a deep dark blackness in their eyes. Mahmoud did not flinch as he continued to speak with a steady control in his voice.
“The Palestinian is not to blame. It is I who ensured that Aisha would be in the car.”
A terrible silence filled the crowded room. Khan visibly paled with disbelief. His best friend had betrayed him and he felt a steely coldness like a stiletto stabbing his broken heart.
“Ma-ah-moud…?”
“Yes, Khan, it was I and our masters in the Brotherhood of Jihad who took this terrible decision.”
Mahmoud gulped hard as he continued with his dark revelation.
“We felt that Aisha knew too much and that she would be a danger to the greater cause of Islam if she lived. She had to be sacrificed, my brother –“
The silence was palpable, throat-constricting. Khan slumped back on the window sill, his darkened soul in another place. Time had seemingly stopped in the room and Mahmoud El Kharroubi knew he had to break the suffocating silence.
“Well, my friends, are we going to have that drink before we show our faces again to Dicky al-Threlfall and have our dinner in his esteemed infidel presence?”
Khan sprang off the window sill again and barged his way past the others crowded around the bed. He spat out venomously at the rest of the Group.
“You know where you can stick your drink! I will see you all at dinner for the sake of the cause! Meanwhile – I am going out for some air that I can actually breathe - !!”
Khan sprinted downstairs, past a surprised Oliç who was setting up the Group’s table for their evening meal in the snug area, and the Kuwaiti ran outside into the snow. Oliç thought that the Arab must be desperate for a cigarette. The snow had eased down to a mere few flakes but the ground was well covered with up to 10 centimetres of an unspoiled white virginal blanket. Khan sprung over the low snow-covered dry-stone dyke and ploughed downhill through the thick snow, past some placid red shaggy-haired Highland cattle that looked almost sympathetically at him as he trudged by. When he reached the dark slippery seaweed-covered rocks on the shoreline he knew he could go no further. Khan stood shivering in the freezing cold night and looked across the Sound of Sleat to the twinkling fairy lights of Mallaig. The lights looked big and watery in his eyes and he wept silently for his lost love Aisha.
*
Earthdate: 20:45 Sunday February 9, 2081 GMT
“Ewan Sinclair – I hope that you and Gary are not going out on the drink on the Sabbath?”
Ewan and Gary had obviously been getting their gear ready to go out for the evening and Ewan did not want to give too much away to his mother Jessie. Before he had thought what he was saying to his ‘Wee Free’ mother and committee member on the Lord’s Day Observance Society, Ewan knew immediately that he had blurted out a fatal reply. It would have been better to have said that he and Gary were actually going to the pub.
“No, mother, we are just going for a run in the car round to Portnahaven with Uncle Duncan…”
Ewan winced and knew right away from his mother’s darkening scowl that he had said completely the wrong thing.
“Don’t mention that man’s name in my house, especially not on the Lord’s Day!”
“Oh, mother - !”
Jessie Sinclair raised a warning palm to Ewan.
“No – don’t utter another word, Ewan Sinclair!”
John-Archie, who had been sitting blissfully beside their original old-fashioned peat fire trying to read his Bible, looked up and tried to pacify the stormy flickering flames being fanned between his wife and his son.
“Jessie, give the boy a break. He has always got on well with his uncle, ah…”
John-Archie refrained from using the name.
“…and anyway he has never done any bad to this family.”
As far as Jessie was concerned John-Archie might as well have poured oil onto those flickering flames.
“No, John-Archie, he has not – but the Jezebel witch that he is married to certainly has, God forgive me for saying that on the Sabbath!”
As the room fell into a chilly silent atmosphere, Gary looked at the three pensive family members and wondered what the hell that was all about. Ewan certainly knew, as he and Gary sat ready in silence for his Uncle Duncan McNeilage to arrive in his electri-car and pick them up. The trouble had begun long before Ewan was born, in fact, it actually happened about two years after Jessie McCaffer Campbell had married John-Archie Sinclair and even before they had borne any of their four children. It was while Jessie and John-Archie were staying in their small ‘single-end’ tenement on Byres Road in Partick near to Glasgow University where John-Archie was studying for his Doctorate in Divinity. Jessie had been one of five children born in Lagavulin to father John Angus Campbell, known as Iain-Angi Mhór, and mother Shonaig McCaffer. The others were the oldest son Alex, who lived in Glasgow and youngest daughter Mary, who lived in Bowmore. There had also been two other sons. Iain Campbell who had been killed on active duty in the Second Afghan Conflict in Nad e-Ali serving with the 4th Battalion the Royal Regiment of Scotland. John-Archie had known young Iain Campbell well and had attended his memorial service at the Nou Camp. Another son William McCaffer Campbell had died shortly after birth in the Glasgow University Hospital in Glasgow with a congenital defect of his male reproductive organs and he had been buried at Kilnaughton Cemetery. In the same grave as his brother Iain was later to be buried in. Jessie’s father Iain-Angi Mhór had died before she met and married John-Archie, but Jessie’s mother Shonaig had still lived in Lagavulin. A year after Jessie married John-Archie in the chapel at Glasgow University her sister Mary met and married Portnahaven man Duncan McNeilage. Mary and Duncan were married in the Round Church in Bowmore. Jessie was bridesmaid and John-Archie was the best man. Later that evening, Mary and Duncan prepared to leave on their honeymoon to Nice in the French Riviera from the riotously happy wedding reception in Portnahaven Village Hall - riotous due to the fact that Duncan’s father had laid on a welcome ‘free bar’ for the thirsty island guests and they were freely partaking of the ‘water of life’! Before the happy couple jumped into the waiting electri-taxi, Mary pulled Jessie aside a
nd they happily hugged each other tightly. Mary looked into her big sister’s teary eyes and joyfully wept.
“You’re my best sister and you’ll always be my best friend!”
Jessie shouted laughingly after them as the cab drove off from the waving guests.
“I’m your only sister, Mary, always will be! And don’t you ever forget that!”
Jessie and John-Archie continued to live in Partick in Glasgow, Mary and Duncan moved down south to live in Blackpool in England and Alex lived in Pollok on the south side of Glasgow. A year later, their mother Shonaig McCaffer Campbell died intestate after a short battle with cancer and Alex took the reins and stated that as the only surviving son he would arrange all the funeral details and the winding up of their mother’s tiny estate, which in financial terms did not amount to a great deal of money. A week after their mother had been buried in the family plot at Kilnaughton beside her husband and two sons, Alex drove over from Pollok to Partick to discuss the financial affairs with Jessie. Mary and Duncan were back down in Blackpool by that time. Alex laid out the details to Jessie.
“I’ve a cheque here for you and John-Archie to cover your travel costs to Islay and I’ve also sent cheques to Mary and Duncan and the other relatives who had to make the trip over to mother’s funeral.”
Jessie could not remember the last time that she had actually seen a cheque as the banking world by that time was 99% electronic and online based. However, their mother on Islay still liked old-fashioned paper banking.
“Now as you know, Jessie, mother did not have a will. She never liked those ‘bloody leeching lawyers’ as she would call them. After settling the funeral expenses, I think there is only going to be about six thousand left in mother’s account. Not a lot these days!”
“My goodness, Ally, is that all there is left?”
“I’m afraid so Jessie. I’ve made enquiries through a pal of mine and he says that if we get the lawyers into it there will be virtually nothing left to split. What I propose if you agree, is to settle up with the bank on Islay and split the six thousand equally three ways between you, me and Mary? What do you think?”
“That sounds okay? Does Mary agree to that?”
“Och, Jess, you know me and Mary have never got on for years. For goodness sake, she never even invited me to her wedding. Look if you trust me to do the right thing then just you tell Mary what we’ve agreed to –“
“Of course I trust you, Ally.”
Jessie and Alex had always been close but her fiery short-tempered red-haired sister Mary had fallen out badly with Ally about five years ago. She would never tell Jessie what it was all about. When Jessie phoned Mary in Blackpool the next day she was more than a bit hesitant about Mary’s reaction. Jessie had heard Mary’s sharp tongue before but never like this.
“You’ve agreed to let that bastard brother of mine do this thing, Jessie? I swear on the fresh soil of my mother’s grave and God forgive me, Jessie, but I hope the two of you choke on the money!!”
“For pity’s sake, Mary, Ally says that there will be no money left if we bring in the lawyers…”
“I don’t give a damn if the bloody lawyers get the whole rotten stinking six thousand. I wouldn’t trust Ally as far as I could throw him, so you get back on to that shitey bastard brother of ours and you tell him to get a lawyer and do this thing properly!”
Mary then cut Jessie off. Jessie repeatedly tried ringing Alex in Pollok but his phone did not even go on to voicemail and she began to feel a rising sense of dread. John-Archie tried to calm Jessie down.
“Look, Jessie, if the six thousand means that much to Mary and Ally then let them fight over it. We don’t need it so much that it is worth falling out about –“
Jessie remained adamant as she replied.
“No John-Archie. Apart from my mother’s wedding ring and her old photo album, I have nothing else to remember my mother by –“
“Jessie, it is the memories of our parents that we should treasure the most.”
“I’m entitled to my mother’s money as much as Mary and Ally - I am going to have my share!”
Another two days passed and then Jessie decided to phone Ally’s brother-in-law Bobby who also lived in Pollok and asked if he had heard from Alex. Bobby sounded quite taken aback.
“Surely you know Jessie? Alex and Betty have immigrated out to New Zealand – they’ve been planning it for months now.”
Jessie felt sick to the base of her stomach. How could she possibly tell Mary that she had been right all along and that their deceitful little brother had run off with their mother’s money? Jessie thought that Mary would go totally ape, but instead when she phoned and explained what Alex had done, all she heard was an icy silence before the phone went dead. That same evening Jessie received an email from Mary. She printed if off and thrust it into John-Archie’s hand.
“Well, read that then. It has all come down to this –“
John-Archie read the note with a sorry heart.
Dear Jessie, I find it hard to express how much I hate you and that thieving bastard who is no brother of mine. You are nothing but a harlot and a witch for consorting with the Devil himself, and I hope that you both rot in Hell. Mary McNeilage.
John-Archie spoke to Jessie sympathetically seeking reconciliation.
“Oh, Jessie, Mary’s heart is filled with a black rage. She cannot mean those terrible words. Destroy that blasted thing and we’ll find a way to make the peace.”
Jessie grabbed the note out of her husband’s hand her eyes burning fiercely.
“No, John-Archie! This piece of bile is going into my treasure box beside my mother’s ring. As long as it lies there Mary McNeilage is no Campbell and she is no sister of mine. And that is my final word!”
Gary who broke the silence as he spotted the lights outside, bringing Ewan’s thoughts back to the present.
“That looks like a car has just arrived, Ewan.”
Ewan hurriedly grabbed his bag in an effort to escape the frosty atmosphere at home.
“Right, Gary, get the gear and let’s get out of here.”
Ewan and Gary trudged down the path over the crunchy thin layer of snow to meet Ewan’s Uncle Duncan who was standing beside his big electric Land Rover Eco 4x4. Ewan sensed the twitching curtain behind him as he greeted the big warm friendly man before him.
“Ciamar a tha thu, a Dhonnchaidh!”
“Tha mi gu math, Eóghann!”
Gary butted into this private greeting between uncle and nephew.
“Hey! Hey! Can we aw get back to a language that God himself would understand?”
As Duncan pumped Gary’s hand he laughed at the Glaswegian.
“You’ll be Gary then? I’m Ewan’s big Uncle Duncan – and by the way the Gάidhlig is the language of God.”
Ewan had been standing checking the night sky. He had been praying that the earlier light February snow would be blown out to sea and his prayers had been answered. The black inky Islay sky was as clean and as clear as he could have hoped for. He could clearly discern the billions of stars of the Milky Way swathed silkily across the firmament. The God of all religions had been with him and Gary tonight in more ways than one. As Gary and Duncan chatted lightly beside him he scanned about him. He looked across the inlet to Surnaig, panning round to the floodlit whitewashed distillery buildings with the giant black-painted lettering LAGAVULIN painted on the white wall. He then gazed down to the bottom of the little Dunyveg road past his parents’ house and saw the ancient black shattered stump of Dunyveg Castle silhouetted against the shimmering ink-filled sea. His mother told him the tale as a wee boy in Lagavulin of his ancestor, the son of an Irish clan chief, Caffer og McCaffer who escaped Cromwell’s forces in Ulster over four hundred years ago and brought his men in boats over to Dunyveg. In the Gάidhlig ‘cath bharr’ (pronounced ca-far) means ‘from the battle�
� and the McCaffers were the shield bearers of the McDonalds of Dunyveg who were eventually ousted from Islay by the Campbells. Duncan McNeilage gave Ewan a nudge to bring him back to the present.
“Hey! Dream boy – are we doin’ this thing tonight or what?”
The three men all jumped into the Land Rover and Duncan turned the smooth silent-running 4x4 and drove it purposefully down through Lagavulin, past the distillery at Laphraoig and on south to Port Ellen. They went past the modern European ROMANCE marina with the huge white yachts swaying and clinking in the swell and on down past the well-lit buildings of the Maltings, which ran a 24/7 operation to produce the malted barley for the unending whisky production and to fill the inexhaustible coffers of the Great God Money. At the end of Kilnaughton Bay the road passed the cemeteries and Ewan could see a low eerie mist roll in off the sea and over the darkened gravestones, but he thought that would not be any problem up on the Mull of Oa. Duncan lowered the gears as the Land Rover began the climb up onto the great large promontory that was the Oa peninsula. The snow was heavier here but the climb up through the Cragabus farmlands presented no problems for his powerful car. They had all been pretty silent since leaving Dunyveg but Duncan broke the impasse.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Ewan – and I trust that you are ready for what’s up there?”
“I hope so, Uncle Duncan.”
Ewan looked back from the front passenger seat to the gear on the back seat beside Gary and it made Ewan swallow hard as some acid rose into his throat. On top of Gary’s satchel containing his laptop and computing equipment there lay a pile of clear elasticated face-masks and two sterilised blue plastic hooded coveralls, the type used by police forensic scientists. When Ewan had phoned his Uncle Duncan about the possibility of getting into CORSAIR for a couple of hours on the Sunday night, he did not really have a firm plan as to how he could possibly pull it off. The Royal Observatory on the Oa was manned almost every night in the year and the astronomy staff knew Ewan well. However, he did not know how he could possibly convince them, without the proper authority that he needed to use the telescope for two hours for his own research. Duncan McNeilage provided the stroke of luck, in conjunction with tonight’s clear dark sky that gave Ewan the perfect opportunity.
2084 The End of Days Page 14
