Dreams to Die For (49 page)

Cindy and Paulette were so dazed and shocked, it was several minutes before either one of them spoke.

“Can you get free?” Cindy asked.

“No. The straps are too tight, what about you?”

“The same. We must keep trying, though.” They struggled to pull themselves free, but the strong nylon restraints dug deep into their flesh and hurt their wrists. Exhaustion and despair gradually overtook them and Paulette was becoming tearful and ever more worried about her husband.

“We must do something, we must. They will kill him, I know they will. Cindy, help me. Please help me,” she blurted out amid her sobbing.

Cindy wanted to help but she was unable to move either.

“The woman said that it was not their intention to hurt Dean. We have to trust her. She helped us and had no reason to lie.”

Cindy tried to reassure her friend, but inwardly was not confident. Whichever way she looked at it, she and her friends had got caught up in a major terrorist plot and her own experience of being frightened and alone in the dusty swirl after the bomb went off in the train, kept flashing back into her mind. The women began to shout out for help, they painfully tried to lift themselves up, raising the chairs before sitting back on them trying to bang them on the stone floor, but no one heard and no one came.

“Margaret and Sandy might come back soon, let's hope so” said Cindy.

“What time were they planning to return? asked an anxious Paulette.

“About five, but they may be back sooner,” Again Cindy tried to inject a positive note, but Paulette started to cry again.

“That will be too late.” Her simple words needed no answer. Both women looked at each other and eventually leant back in their chairs, once more defeated and bereft of any ideas.

* * *

“Have we gotta take this deer all the way down the hill?” Josh Atkins was not accustomed to carrying much weight and the dead beast, albeit shared by his three companions, was causing him to be out of breath.

“I was thinking the same Gordon.” Dean Assiter, the eldest of the four clearly needed a rest and they agreed to stop a while. They lowered the deer onto the ground and the four quickly sat back and relaxed on the stubby, wet grass. Mattar and Bagheri were waiting in the tunnel entrance and, as time passed without the shooting party showing, became increasingly anxious.

“Nasra, come in Nasra,” whispered Bagheri into his radio.

“You are very faint, I can hardly hear you. Over”

“Can you see them? They have not arrived, yet they should be here by now.”

“No. Maybe they have gone a different way.”

“We are in the tunnel and we cannot see them, but if we come out at the same time as they appear we will be in real trouble.”

Fadyar interrupted, “This is Fadyar. You will all stay where you are until I say so. Do not break your cover.”

“Understood. Out.”

Five more minutes passed and then distant voices slowly descending the hill were heard by Bagheri, who inched back into the dark recess of the tunnel. Mattar leant up close to the iron grille barred entrance and eyed their quarry, slowly coming into better view.

“An agent is first then Truscott, then Assiter and then an agent at the rear. This is good. As they are carrying the animal, they will not be able to react quickly and raise their weapons. You take the one at the rear, I will deal with those at the front,” Mattar started to unleash his grenade from his belt as he spoke.

Oblivious to the danger awaiting them, Assiter's party continued their descent unaware that every step took them a moment nearer their death. As soon as they were level with the tunnel entrance, Mattar threw open the gate, pulled out the firing pin on the grenade and threw it at the feet of Atkins, the agent at the front. The blast killed him outright and Gordon was hurled clean off his feet, landing unconscious twenty feet away. The animal trussed to the pole dropped to the floor, and as Chuck Drew went for his automatic, he was hit by a hail of sub-machine gun fire from Bagheri's Israeli made Galatz. Bagheri had loaded the detachable magazine to its capacity of twenty rounds of 0.308 calibre bullets and half were discharged with frightening force and accuracy into Drew's body and head, his protective vest proving totally inadequate for such a close range and high-powered onslaught.

Assiter yelled “Don't shoot, don't shoot” and held his arms aloft.

Saying nothing, his two assailants quickly held him and removed his rifle, throwing it onto the ground. Bagheri and Mattar each grabbed Assiter by an arm, and half ran, half marched him down the hill where Khan met up with them.

“Well done my brothers, well done. Praise be to Allah.”

An excited Khan switched on the radio, “Success, Fadyar, success. We are on our way.”

“Excellent. Out.”

Fadyar started up the Land Rover and turned it around to face in the direction of Kinloch Hourn.

“What do you want? Who are you?” Assiter gasped out the questions between taking large gulps of air, struggling for breath as he was pulled, half stumbling, down the hill.

“No questions,” retorted Bagheri. “Do as we say and you will not be hurt.”

The group soon reached the road and the waiting Fadyar. She handcuffed Assiter using some of the nylon straps left by Donaldson and the struggling US Secretary of State was bundled into the rear of the Land Rover, quickly followed by Khan. Mattar jumped into the driver's seat and Fadyar into the seat beside him just as Bronze commander, Curry, made a fateful wrong decision and issued orders to a police traffic observation helicopter. Curry's urgent briefing to the pilot was totally inadequate merely telling him to fly along the Kinloch Hourn road and over the Mealag area on a reconnaissance mission. He needed information quickly, and impatiently exercised his operational command prior to awaiting the arrival of all his specialist units.

Paulette Assiter was slowly recovering from her ordeal. The bleeding from her swollen lip had stopped and she was telling herself how much worse it would have been had the foreign woman not intervened. She shivered as she remembered the steely look in Donaldson's eyes as he removed her robe and fondled her breasts. She started to recall the morning's events in more detail and particularly the indignities he inflicted on Cindy.

“Did, did, that horrid man hurt you? I'm sorry Cindy, I should have asked long before now. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I think so.” she lied. “I'm sore and bruised, but he was shot just before… he… Thank God.” Cindy found it hard to speak of the traumatic experience and started to cry. The ordeal had left her stunned and she also felt ashamed of herself for not putting up more resistance. She kept recalling the morning she had a coffee with Donaldson that had seemed to trigger his assault on her.
Had she been provocative? Should she have changed out of those stretch jeans and that old T-shirt? Was she flirting with him?
She was beginning to doubt herself. Maybe she was to blame and said as much to Paulette.

“No, Cindy. You were not to blame for that… that animal. You did nothing wrong. That woman said he had done terrible things before.”

She had forgotten all about what Fadyar had said, and Paulette's words immediately lifted Cindy' spirits.

“Thank you Paulette, but what about you? He hurt you.”

“It was only a bit harder than my first encounters with the boys at school. You know, all grab!”

Cindy laughed and then the two of them giggled uncontrollably for several minutes, releasing their tensions. Suddenly Paulette became serious.

“The knife, Cindy. What happened to his knife? The woman didn't have it when she left and I don't remember him holding onto it? Where is it?” Paulette's recollections were proving invaluable.

“You're right! Yes. It might still be here, somewhere.” Cindy was now looking about her, straining at the bindings fixing her to the chair.

“It must have dropped on the floor, must have.”

Cindy started rocking her chair back and forth until it crashed onto its side, taking Cindy with it.

“Ouch. That bloody well hurt,” swore Cindy, but she immediately started manoeuvring across the wet floor using her body to provide the propulsion. As she rounded the table she shouted, “I can see it, it's near to the Aga. He must have dropped it when he hurled the kettle at the woman”.

She worked her way over to the stove.

Slowly and painstakingly, she turned the handle of the knife so she could hold it firmly in her hand and she then wriggled her way back to where Paulette was still seated.

“I can't uncut my own straps but I may be able to do yours” Cindy called out.

Carefully, she slid her body so that the hand holding the knife was adjacent to Paulette's right leg. Cindy slipped the knife under the plastic and gently pushed it further forward. The lethally sharp blade instantly cut the tightened nylon strap. She repeated the process for Paulette's left leg and then Paulette was able to move herself easily to where Cindy could cut one of the bonds restraining her wrist. It took less than a minute for both women to be free. They stood up and hugged and kissed each other, tears of joy and relief spreading down their cheeks.

After a few brief moments Cindy said, “Come on. We must get dressed and warn the others.”

She picked up the phone, but the line was dead. She then hit the panic alarm, but that too failed to sound.

“Damn. Everything has been knocked out, Paulette. We'll have to go across the loch.”

The two had never dressed themselves so quickly. In less than five minutes, Paulette appeared in practical blue jeans and a green sweater having washed away most of the spattered blood from her hair, face and body. Likewise, Cindy had dashed under the shower to thoroughly cleanse her body of Donaldson's odour and removed all traces of his unwelcome intrusion into her body. She too donned a pair of blue jeans, but her top was a hand knitted roll-neck yellow jumper given to her by Mrs MacLean.

They grabbed their anoraks and boots and rushed outside towards the jetty, giving only a momentary glance at the obviously fatally wounded protection officer, as they ran passed by his body.

When they saw that the boat had gone, Cindy called out to Paulette, “Come on, follow me, but don't stray from my footmarks.”

She started running towards the dam, making sure that Paulette was closely behind her and staying on the solid ground. As the women rounded the knoll, they were startled by the sight of Donaldson, still alive, and up to his shoulders in the peat bog.

“Help me, Cindy. Please help. I can't move,” he wailed weakly.

The pressure on Donaldson's body exerted by the heavy, wet peat had slowed his bleeding, but he was surely and steadily sinking into the deep morass.

“You bloody bastard. That marsh will be your slimy grave. You'll die there and I hope you sink very, very slowly and go to hell.” Cindy's anger exploded into venom as she shouted out the words.

“Are you sure he will die, Cindy? He will drown won't he?” Paulette asked nervously.

“Yes. Absolutely, he will.”

“Cindy, please. You can't do this. Surely you can't leave me to die, helpless like this?” but Cindy was already hastening onwards to the dam.

“If you won't help, then can you at least tell the police to come and rescue me? Please.” Donaldson was desperate. Even the act of talking slightly disturbed the peat enveloping him and had made him sink a further inch.

Cindy turned and shouted, “Jack. I'll give you some good advice. Give that tiny dick you think so much of a rub from me. You'll drown quicker, you bastard.” Cindy could not resist mocking the helpless Donaldson and laughed out loud as his face visibly reddened in silent fury.

They reached the dam wall and had just started to run across when the Land Rover, parked on the road opposite them revved up and sped away towards Kinloch Hourn.

“Was that them, Cindy? Did you see Dean or Gordon?”

“I couldn't tell who it was. It might have been the woman or whoever she is with, but it's been a long time since she left us.”

A loud regular thudding noise caused them to stop running and to look back across the loch towards the lodge. A small helicopter flying very low and with POLICE markings clearly visible came into view. The women waved their arms excitedly and as the helicopter turned west, the male pilot waved back. He was already transmitting on his radio that he had spotted two females on the dam wall waving at him and that all appeared normal. He was accustomed to members of the public gesturing and signalling as he flew low; there was nothing unusual about it, and a couple of women on their own walking across the dam wall did not arouse his suspicion. Several seconds later, he received information that the dam wall was supposed to be guarded and that no one should therefore be able to walk across it. He was ordered to return to base, the full realisation of the possible consequences of the rushed deployment of the helicopter pilot having become apparent to everyone at Bronze, Silver and Gold commands. It was too late. Immediately after receiving the message, the inadequately briefed pilot began to turn the helicopter around when he spotted a Land Rover travelling along the road. He throttled back, trying to keep the vehicle in view, and reached for the radio switch. Fadyar had noticed the helicopter as it crossed the dam and asked Mattar to stop. She gathered and loaded her trusted rifle, lowered the window and took aim, just as the pilot was about to report. Two massive thuds rocked the helicopter, tearing its skin apart. Fadyar had deliberately aimed her first bullet at the engine block, which on impact shattered into several pieces before exploding, flinging blackened shards of metal in all directions that fell to the ground like confetti thrown at a wedding. The second bullet was aimed at the cockpit. It missed the pilot but ripped through the electronics and short-circuited all the electrics.

The pilot's only words that he managed to relay before the inevitable crash were “I'm hit. Vehicle… ”

Devoid of power and leaving a thick black smoke trail, the helicopter spiralled wildly downwards hitting the loch. Large chunks of aluminium, steel and plastic were thrown into the air as the impact broke the helicopter apart. What was left, disappeared into the depths of the loch within seconds, the pilot still strapped to his seat as the water gushed over him. The early loss of a police helicopter and pilot in such inauspicious circumstances forced Maythorp to call Curry and order him to await Ritson's arrival before embarking on any further major initiatives. He should continue to deploy his resources, but unless forced he should not take precipitate action to engage the terrorists until Silver had sufficient intelligence and an adequate plan. Curry's impatience at not awaiting a specialist helicopter to be readied for action, allied with the totally inadequate briefing given to the pilot, had clearly played a major part in what was already being regarded as the unnecessary death of a police officer.

Cindy and Paulette saw the downing of the helicopter. For a few seconds neither spoke, the realisation of the gravity of their situation and that of their respective partners temporarily silencing them. They reached the road and looked about them. Seeing nothing, Cindy said “They cannot all be in the Land Rover, there isn't room. Perhaps some are injured up the hill. Come on.”

She started walking and it was not long before they came across the macabre aftermath of the Mattar and Bagheri attack. Blood and body tissue was strewn in a roughly-shaped circle in the centre of which was a dead deer, its feet still neatly bound to a wooden pole but whose flesh had been torn to shreds in parts. The sight resembled more some sort of ritual killing than a kidnap. Cindy searched for Gordon and burst into tears when she spotted him prone on the ground, but at least not cut to pieces by a grenade or high velocity bullets. She ran and cradled him in her arms. Gordon started to mumble incoherently as he recovered consciousness and Cindy burst out, “You're alive. Darling, you're alive,” and hugged him closer.

“They have taken Dean. He isn't here.” It was a tearful Paulette that focused Cindy's mind back to the general situation. As Gordon recovered, he confirmed he must have been knocked out by the blast but he was otherwise unhurt. He quickly surveyed the carnage that lay spread on the ground before them and reflected how in an instant lives and circumstances change. A few moments earlier he had been talking and laughing with the two CIA agents both of whom now lay dead, mown down by fanatics intent on taking hostage his friend Dean Assiter. By nature Gordon was not easily angered, but he was now furious at the outrage that had been committed upon them all.

“Gather up the agents sub-machine guns and all magazines; we have to go after whoever did this. I know it's not pleasant, but we must do it.” He spoke firmly, assuredly confident that he was doing the right thing.

As they hastened down the hill, Cindy tried to tell Gordon all that had happened but skirted over the trouble with Donaldson.

“I'll tell you more of that later,” she said to him. “How can we rescue Dean?” Gordon did not reply. Instead, overloaded with miscellaneous thoughts, he asked a question of his own, “Did you not raise the alarm?” Gordon asked.

“Everything was severed at the house, nothing worked.” Cindy replied.

“What about the garages? Have you been there? That alarm is on a different circuit.”

“God, I'm sorry. I forgot. No, I was so worried about finding you, but a Police helicopter came over and has just been shot down, so they know something is happening here.”

They exchanged more information as they headed off the hill towards the garages. As soon as they were inside, Gordon triggered the alarm. The warning was received at both Fort Augustus and Fort William and less than a minute later the scribes in Gold, Silver and Bronze command centres were logging their whiteboards, noting the time and location of the alarm. The Home Secretary and COBR were informed, the alarm being regarded by Gold as a highly significant development.

“Cindy, are you quite sure they headed towards Kinloch Hourn?” Gordon queried.

“Positive.”

“In that case, we must go too. The police will wait at the main A87 junction and travel slowly towards the dam expecting to run headlong into the terrorists. They will not be expecting them to go to Kinloch Hourn. They must have a boat there.”

As he spoke, he pressed furiously at the digits on his mobile phone, before putting it back into his pocket. “Damn these mobiles. That's another reason to go West. There's a signal at the coast.”

Gordon knew that taking a vehicle from the garages and then driving along the tortuous Kinloch Hourn road would necessitate him having to drive slowly. As the road wound its way around the bases of several large mountains, it was also a considerably longer route than going straight down the loch itself. The three ran to the small jetty where the boats were tied up.

“Take the mini cruiser, its faster” yelled Gordon.

They jumped aboard and Gordon pushed the accelerator lever fully forward once he had reversed out into safe water. The engine roared as the throttle widened and the small boat's bow rose up causing a large wake to spread across the loch, scattering the few black-headed divers that were patiently waiting for their meal of a small trout or eel to swim by beneath them.