Lost Souls

by Michael Knaggs

  “With the benefit of hindsight, it would have been better to let you succeed in getting him off – or keeping him on – PTV2 on the day we sent him there. I have to say, I was pretty impressed with that – just how far you were prepared to go to save him. The idea of jumping into the sea – that was quite something.”

  “You won’t get away with a fake security operation like that? Someone will challenge you about what was going on.”

  “Oh, they did. Ruby Weller was furious. We had a blistering row. But by then I had Lawrence Harding in my pocket – although I don’t think it’s my pocket he wants to get into. I got him to position it as an exercise to test how quickly we could respond to a security threat. You know – had to do it without telling people in advance or it would be meaningless – that kind of thing.

  “Jonathan sort of mediated – I have an excellent relationship with him by the way – and we’re all friends again, to a point. It doesn’t take much to create a temporary communications shutdown. That was just to get Jason shipped out as quickly as possible with the Kadawe thing coming to a head. Couldn’t risk somebody requesting that we take him off passage, not with Andrew thinking he’d already gone. Then you turned it into a real emergency with your little pilot chum. Actually, it’s surprisingly easy scrambling a couple of jets.”

  “And they’d have shot us down?”

  “I’m really glad they didn’t, because, as I said, within a few weeks it became clear we needed to get him off. We had the means, we had the access, and we had a volunteer who knew Jason and, if necessary, could easily persuade him to leave with the promise of his being reunited with the lovely Katey. So it was two birds with one stone.”

  Tom felt himself tiring again as he struggled with the meaning of Grace’s words. His own voice seemed distant and faint when he spoke.

  “Two birds?”

  Grace shifted her chair a little so she was facing him more directly.

  “An exchange, Tom – you for Jason. That’s how it was planned. Kade was supposed to leave you there. So we get Jason off the platform and destroy the transmitter – that’s bird number one; we leave you where you’d never be found and the south London serial killer disappears without trace, assumed drowned – bird number two. You’re the only person the police are looking for and if they can’t find you then everyone else is safe.”

  “You… really… are… mad…” Every word was a major effort now.

  “Oh, there are a few loose ends.” Grace continued as if Tom hadn’t spoken. “The other four guys who approached Jack on Delaware and the three who phoned in but didn’t agree to be interviewed – we think those three are part of the same four, anyway. But they seem to have disappeared off the face of the Earth of their own accord, and with Kadawe out of the way, and Jack and Jason now consigned to history – well, I’ll take my chances. There’s the guy who survived the Dorking bomb, but I think that will prove a temporary reprieve once he comes out of Witness Protection. We’ll be monitoring Cottrell, of course – she’s with her toy boy in Leicester and she’d do herself a big favour if she kept her mind on him in her spare time. It was a good move of Mackay’s to send her back there; it might just save her life. And we’ll be watching Gerrard, as well. Then there’s the singer and her guitarist friend – I hope nothing has to happen to them because I think she’s really good, don’t you?”

  She paused and he noticed just a hint of compassion in her eyes.

  “To be honest, Tom, this is not about setting you up for murder. You’ve been a big concern for us for some time, which is why Walcott bugged your phone. We needed to know exactly what you were mouthing off about in your drunken revelries. If you continued expressing concerns about Alpha and the NJR, like you had been doing, you still have a big enough following out there to take a majority of people along with you. It was never initially planned to link you with the killings. You just played into our hands saying all the right things and being in all the right places.”

  Tom felt as though he was sinking into the mattress of his bed. The lights seemed less bright now.

  “You said assumed drowned?”

  “Your car was found abandoned in Ullapool about a week ago; parked near the harbour. A boat is missing from a mooring just north of the town. That boat will be found empty, except for a few of your personal effects, grounded on the Shiant Islands in The Minch some time soon, close to where you’ll be dropping in very shortly. Eventually the story about your previous attempt to rescue Jason will come out. Then people will draw their own conclusions – an attempt to escape a murder wrap; another ludicrous stab at saving Jason Midanda; suicide; whatever. Your most optimistic fans will hope that it’s a successful attempt to fake your own death and you’ll be living on a desert island somewhere in luxury. No matter – it will be over. If Kade hadn’t screwed up, of course, you would never have been found. But even if you are, then an autopsy will show you died from drowning, which will just confirm what most people had assumed.”

  Tom was silent for a long time, gathering his strength to speak.

  “Who on the mission knew about this?” Grace had to lean forward to hear his whispered question.

  “They all knew we were getting Jason off the platform because his transmissions were a genuine risk to the security of Alpha. So they knew that you wouldn’t be taking him to Knoydart and believed you were there in case Jason resisted leaving with them. Only Kade, Jules and Rico knew that you weren’t supposed to come back. And Jules and Rico were only told just prior to your leaving Mingulay. Of course, Harding didn’t know that part either – he was your number nine on the mission, by the way. Useful to have someone who can just walk around Lochshore asking questions whenever he likes, without anyone wondering what he’s up to; but a bit of a risk when it comes to sharing something like that.”

  “So Mike…?”

  “Needham believed that the only purpose of the mission was to get Jason. He didn’t even know we planned to pick up your phone from the Heath.”

  Tom managed a little smile.

  “He nearly left me, you know.”

  Grace frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Kade. I understand now. He must have given me the Glock to use on myself. He closed the hatch and left me behind in the corridor. Then he opened it again.”

  Grace raised her eyebrows. “Really? He told me he didn’t have an opportunity to leave you behind. Well, he’s lucky he’ll have the chance to redeem himself.”

  Tom moved his hand to take hold of Grace’s. It felt like he was pushing a heavy weight.

  “Please, Grace, for God’s sake. We made love…”

  “Love. That wasn’t love, Tom; it wasn’t even lust. It was more like … masturbation on your part. And for me, it was just for the satisfaction of knowing I could make you unfaithful to Maggie.” Her voice softened a little. “I didn’t want it to be like this, Tom. But it has to happen. Everything fits. And it makes it a little easier when your personal pride has been trampled on, and your loyalty rewarded with humiliation and rejection.”

  She pulled her hand away and got to her feet. Tom turned his head to her, using up all his remaining strength, every word now a test of willpower.

  “Jason? What… happens… to…?”

  “Well he can’t go back, can he – to Alpha or Cobham?”

  “So?”

  “Use your imagination, Tom – but you’ll need to be quick.”

  “And me? What…?”

  “That’s already happened.”

  She walked to the door, her image fading as he passed into unconsciousness.

  *

  The stretcher with the prone figure zipped into the thermal bag was pushed across the lounge on its trolley to the steps leading up to the flight deck – the ones down which Tom and Jason had been escorted twelve hours earlier. The trolley was raised on its tele
scopic legs and the stretcher slid out onto the deck. Four crew members grabbed the canvas handles at the corners and carried it the short distance to the helicopter, angling it up to be pulled into the cabin by Kade and his pilot. They secured it in place against the bulk head and Kade dropped down onto the deck. He was still wearing his combat gear and beanie hat. He went down into the lounge where Grace was waiting for him, seated on one of the armchairs.

  “All set?” Her voice was clipped and strained. “If you’d done what you were supposed to do – what you’re paid to do…”

  “Then you wouldn’t have had to face this moment.” Kade completed the sentence for her. “It would all have happened conveniently somewhere else. Right?”

  “Just remember your place, Kade, and who you’re talking to. We all have our parts to play. When we’ve a little more time, you can explain why you decided to disobey a simple order.”

  “I’ll tell you now; it takes no time at all. I rescue people, save people; I don’t murder them – at least not good people who deserve to live. Which is why I’ll need to consider my future with this group going forward. I’ll complete this mission because the guys deserve their pay-check. That’s the only reason.”

  Grace smiled. “That would sound very noble if you hadn’t accepted the mission in the first place. But it wouldn’t have been murder, anyway, would it? Our Mr Brown is a brave and natural leader – and if anyone could talk himself out of a tight corner, it’s our Tom. Who knows, he may well have survived to lead a mass break-out or something.”

  “So what’s this – now – if it isn’t murder?” Kade said.

  “Death by drowning. He’ll be alive and sleeping peacefully when you leave him – natural causes. And please don’t screw up this time, Kade. We’ve arranged an escort for you and I’ll be tracking him on NTS, and watching his heartbeat. Just do your job.”

  She held out her hand for him to shake. He looked at it for a long time then shook his head.

  “Sorry, ma’am, daren’t risk it. Whatever it is you’ve got, it might be contagious.”

  He turned and went up the steps and across to the Sea King.

  *

  Ten minutes after take-off – twenty miles into their journey – Kade saw a light approaching from over to the west and Grace’s ‘escort’ – a Lynx helicopter from the station on Benbecula – tucked in behind them to track them to their destination a further thirty-five miles away.

  “Nice of them to care so much,” Kade said to the pilot. “Let’s give them what they want to see.”

  *

  “Lynx to Jura, in position tracking Sea King.”

  “Copy, Lynx.”

  The two men in the cockpit of the Lynx remained silent from that point until they reached their objective twenty minutes later. The wind and rain had abated and breaks in the clouds allowed an occasional moonlit glimpse of the island group as they approached. They passed over the two largest islands, stretching north to south and joined by a narrow isthmus, across to Eilean Mhuire to the east.

  They saw the Sea King hover a few feet above the waves near the island’s northern tip and the cabin door slide open. The man beside the pilot focussed his binoculars on the two men in the opening. One, in casual clothing, lay horizontal and still on the cabin floor. He watched as the other man, in black combat trousers and jacket, wearing a beanie hat, knelt behind him and rolled him out of the helicopter into the waters of The Minch.

  “Done.” The man with the binoculars spoke in a hushed voice.

  “Lynx to Jura; visual confirmation. Object entered water at fifty-seven degrees fifty north; six degrees twenty-five west. Sea King leaving site and heading north east. Should we maintain surveillance? Over.”

  “Copy, Lynx.” A woman’s voice now. “Let them go. Return to base. Out.”

  The contact was broken.

  “Right, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  His companion’s strong Ulster accent took the pilot by surprise. He glanced at him, noting that his eyes under the peak of his black baseball cap were shining with tears. The man twisted round to place the rifle he’d been holding behind his seat.

  “Won’t be needing this,” he said, his voice now soft and refined again. “A Barrett M82,” he added, speaking to himself, “the most powerful sniper rifle in the world; capable of bringing down a helicopter with a single shot.”

  *

  In the small IT suite on HMS Jura, the two people present checked the NTS monitor to confirm the co-ordinates of the drop. Their attention switched to the panel at the side of the screen showing the five life indicators, their signals weakening from a succession of vigorous peaks to gentle undulations and finally to a series of flat lines.

  They sat in silence for five long minutes before Mike rose to his feet.

  “I’m going on deck,” he said, his voice steady and calm.

  Grace nodded, saying nothing.

  The door closed behind him; and the ice around her finally melted and ran down her face as tears.

  THE SHIANT ISLANDS

  The group of islands known as the Shiants (pronounced ‘Shants’) lies five miles off the east coast of Lewis. In addition to the three main islands, a line of Galtachean rocks stretch out to the west, like the tail of a gigantic sea monster. The highest cliffs reach a height of five hundred feet, dropping vertically to the cold waters of The Minch. The islands are home to seals, sea-birds and black rats.

  And sheep.

  Crofters from Lewis graze small flocks on all three islands, particularly on the most fertile of the group, Eilean Mhuire. The shepherd’s house – now a bothy – is on the south island of Eilean an Taighe, and until the beginning of the twentieth century supported a family of seven. The islands are now uninhabited and visitors are rare, confined mainly to wildlife study groups and crofters checking their animals. From late summer to spring, the group is deserted by humans.

  So for someone to be on Eilean Mhuire in November – at 4.00 am on the very day that a low flying helicopter dropped something into The Minch just a hundred yards off its northern tip – was an incredible coincidence.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Once again thanks are due to the many people who contributed in different ways to the production of this book.

  To Alan Isherwood – again – who gave up his time on a number of occasions to provide me with information and answer questions relating to police procedure and policy. A great example of the police helping the public with their enquiries!

  To all the people – friends, acquaintances and strangers – who have purchased Catalyst and Heaven’s Door, and pursued me for the date of the next book in the series. Their encouragement and generous feedback made it an easier task to complete the final instalment of the Hotel St Kilda trilogy.

  To those who have helped in a practical way to promote my work through meetings with reader groups and other organisations, in particular the Bury group of libraries who have provided me with opportunities to reach a wider reader population. And, on an individual basis, sincere thanks to my good friend, Leonie Fitton, for arranging a number of events through her own circle of social groups, and for her constant interest and support.

  To my publisher, Matador, for making the whole experience of creating these books such an enjoyable one; and to Gary Smailes of Bubblecow – again – for his detailed editorial critique and invaluable advice following on from this.

  To my family for their continuing encouragement; and especially to my wife, Carol, for both her wise counsel and her amazing achievement in converting my ethereal thoughts about book cover design into such excellent final images.

  Thank you all.

  MICHAEL KNAGGS was born in Hull in 1944. He moved to Thurso, Caithness, in 1966 to work as an Experimental Officer at Dounreay Atomic Power Station, and relocated to Salford in 1968 to complete a degre
e in Chemistry. From 1970 up to his retirement in 2005, Michael worked for Kellogg Company – the global breakfast cereal manufacturer – latterly as Human Resources Director with responsibility for pay and benefit policy across the company’s European organisation.

  He lives in Prestwich, Manchester, with his wife, Carol. Their passion is hill-walking and they undertake at least one long distance walk each year. They have two children and two grand-children.