Powerstone (37 page)

The fog came unexpectedly and
Irene huddled into her coat when they nosed toward the North American
coastline. However luxurious the boat, it did not run to a wardrobe of warm
clothing for any female passengers that they happened to pick up, and even a
July fog was chilling at this latitude.

‘You all right?’ Drew slid an arm
around her as she stood on the greasy foredeck, staring into the amorphous mass
ahead.

‘Fine.’ Irene suppressed a shiver.
‘Typical, isn’t it? We cross all those miles of sea and sail into this stuff
just off
America
.’

‘Shocking,’ Drew agreed. ‘I’m sure
that the Pilgrim Fathers never had this trouble.’ He gestured back to the
cabin. ‘Would you not be better inside? It’s a hell of a lot warmer.’

‘I’m fine,’ Irene said. ‘Besides,
if we hit something, I can get off easier out here.’

Drew shook his head. ‘We won’t hit
anything. Not with all the electronic equipment that she carries. According to
Willie, she has integrated Simrad Radar, GPS, Chart plotter and echo sounder.
It’s like the starship
Enterprise
in there,’ he nodded to the bridge.

‘Thanks, but I’m not keen on
boldly trekking.’ Irene looked around her. She could see a yellowing glow
ahead, as if
America
was calling to her through the
fog, but even the powerful lights of the yacht could not penetrate the murk. On
an impulse, she yelled out, only to hear her own words bounced back, distorted
and unintelligible.

‘Don’t get too cold,’ Drew
advised, and returned back below.

With her radar circling steadily,
the yacht crept on, engine hushed by the fog, her two-man crew quietly
efficient and only Irene on deck. She shivered and pulled her coat closer to
her throat, wondering how efficient the United States Customs would be, and how
Ms Manning would greet her.

The yellow glow increased, shone
bright for a second and vanished.
America
lay over there, just beyond that light. That was her home, her land
of opportunity. For a long moment Irene stared into the fog, and then she
fingered the Luckenbooth brooch and glanced upward at the bridge. She could see
Drew, bowed over the controls, his face frowning in concentration, and she
smiled. He was a good man, and whatever had motivated him into helping her, he
deserved a reward.

‘Drew.’ Irene crept up behind him
as he examined the fluorescent green dials that gave their position and
bearing. ‘Are you driving this boat?’

He turned around, shaking his
head. ‘Just being nosey.’

‘Then leave that to Willie. I’m
sure he knows what he’s doing.’ She crooked an enticing finger and he followed,
with that slightly puzzled look on his face that meant he did not trust her.

Reaching out, Irene took hold of
the front of his jacket and pulled him down the short ladder to the
accommodation below. ‘A toast to
America
,’ she said, opening the door to her cabin.

The bunk was only a little
narrower than Drew’s bed in
Edinburgh
,
and the steady motion of the boat had an almost aphrodisiac effect as she
slipped off her clothes and stood naked before him.

‘Well now,’ Drew began to unbutton
his shirt, his hands slow and easy.

Irene positioned herself directly
in front of him, staring unsmiling into his eyes as she completed his
undressing and ran her hands down his flanks and up the curve of his hips,
where she stopped, running her thumb over her nails.

‘This is a nice surprise,’ he
began, but she put a finger to his mouth.

‘Shhh. Don’t spoil the mood,’ she
said, straightened her fingers and patted the warm bulge of his buttocks. With
Drew, there was no desire to hurt. ‘Come on, now.’ Lying slowly on top of the
bed, she guided him on top of her.

The lighthouse at the entrance of
Portsmouth
harbour glimmered briefly through
the porthole, illuminating the play of muscles on his body as he responded to
her requests, and then Irene grinned, cupped his face and asked exactly what he
wanted.

‘A present from
America
,’ she said, smiling, ‘I promise
not to be shocked.’

Drew shook his head, ‘don’t make
promises that you cannot keep,’ but his response pleased her and they made
gentle love in the cabin until he dozed to sleep and she could slip away in the
quiet light of morning.

Irene had never been in
New Hampshire
before, but she liked the
brightly painted wooden houses of
Portsmouth
and the yellow-suited fishermen busy on the State Fishing
Pier. She liked the bright American flag that hung limp from its pole and the
long, measured accents of the men on the quay. She liked the pick-up trucks
with their nautical contents and the women in tight denims who exchanged calm
words over steaming mugs of coffee.

Stepping ashore as soon as the
yacht tied up, Irene waved a fast farewell to Willie and vanished among the
harbour side streets before anybody could ask where she was going.

She felt the brisk beating of her
heart as she located an ATM and withdrew the first American money that she had
seen in weeks, boarded a bus at random and sat back as it roared into the
wooded countryside. It was good to see the familiar road signs and shops, but
better to know that she was free in her own land and her future lay before her.
Irene fingered the Luckenbooth brooch.

‘Good-bye, Drew Drummond,’ she
said softly. ‘I liked you a lot, but you helped me of your own free will. I
never made any commitment.’ She knew that she spoke only the truth, but still
wondered why she had to justify herself. She hugged the canvas bag to her side.
With the wriggling fish bait removed, the bag held only the sceptre and her
destiny.

New York
and Mannadu, August

Luxuriating in her own identity,
Irene returned to her
Manhattan
apartment, greeting Mark with a friendly
smile and an uncharacteristic kiss.

‘Well now Miss Armstrong,’ Mark
stepped back slightly, one hand to his cheek. ‘It’s good to have you back. And
will Mr McKim be joining you?’

‘Never again, Mark,’ Irene told
him nothing but the truth. ‘I am afraid he preferred the company of another
woman.’

When Mark murmured something both
embarrassed and incoherent, Irene allowed her hand to drift over his arm. ‘I’m
sure that I will soon find a suitable replacement,’ she teased, and spent a
bittersweet hour removing all traces of Patrick from her apartment. The sceptre
looked good sitting on top of her kitchen table, and for one longing moment she
wondered about keeping it. However, the rival temptation of power and prestige
disposed of that frivolity.

Although Ms Manning had been at
pains to hide the location of her hideaway, Irene knew that it was in the
northern
United
States
. It took her
only half an hour with an atlas to work out that it was in
South Dakota
, and a few extra minutes with the
Google Earth website helped her find the general area, although Ms Manning’s
influence had no doubt ensured that the building had been erased from any
images.

With all the terrorist security
constraints in operation, Irene travelled by train across
America
, lying back in comfort as she
enjoyed the unified diversity of Americans and sipped strong coffee. She
watched her own country unfolding on either side. ‘Excuse me, but were you not
on the television recently?’ The speaker was male, quite presentable and under
forty. Irene charmed him with an easy smile.

‘I was,’ she admitted. ‘I was
defeated in the final of
The
Neophyte
.’

The return smile was genuine. ‘So
you were. Well, well done for reaching that far! I thought that you should have
won, after fighting your way to the top.’ Producing a business card, the man
hesitated a little before handing it to her. ‘I don’t like to ask, but if you
are ever looking for a position, I own a fairly successful chain of companies…’

Irene accepted the card. ‘That is
so kind of you!’ She increased the intensity of her smile. ‘I will certainly
keep you in mind, Mr…’ she checked the name on the card, ‘Mr Johansson. I may
well be in touch.’

She waited until Mr Johansson
withdrew to his own seat, sat back and basked in the warm glow of recognition.
Not long now and Ms Manning would also be offering her congratulations.

Irene rolled along Highway
29 in
her hired Ford 4X4 pickup, enjoying the feeling of power
of the massive engine. The Sioux Falls were well behind her, with their quota
of excited children and baseball-hatted men from Eastern cities; the air was
crisp, dry and clear, the land huge and open with none of the dampness that she
had always felt in Scotland.

Once she past Beresford Irene
headed west, into the vast plain that she remembered so well. With the radio
tuned into a Country and Western station, she checked the map that she had
drawn herself, crossed the
Vermillion
River
and left the road for an unmarked
track that hopefully led toward Ms Manning’s property. There was a fence that
stretched from horizon to horizon, and she drove alongside, jolting on the
rough ground as she listened to the swish of grass beneath her wheels.

When Irene saw the speck far in
the distance, she stopped her vehicle and raised the binoculars she had bought
in
Sioux Falls
. Dull green, low and broad, it
could only be a Jeep, and she grinned. No doubt the occupant was a member of Ms
Manning’s private army, come to check her out. Well, he was welcome.

Irene drove on, searching for the
gate that she knew was here, somewhere. Everything had appeared so simple on
the computer screen in her apartment, but this land was so vast that scale was
deceptive. She drove on, very aware that the Jeep was closing fast. Far
overhead, clouds gathered, promising a storm.

The sound of the shot shocked her
and she stared at the rear-view mirror. A man was leaning out of the passenger
window of the Jeep, pointing a rifle in the air. He shouted something, the
words lost in the distance, and fired again. She heard the ripping whistle of a
bullet passing close to the Ford.

‘Welcome to the Manning
Corporation,’ Irene said, ducked down and pressed her foot hard on the gas. She
masked the familiar apprehension with flippancy. ‘Pedal to the metal, as they
say.’

The Ford jumped ahead, bouncing on
the rough ground, tossing Irene high up in the air and banging her painfully
down. She gasped involuntarily and glanced in the mirror. The man had slid back
inside the Jeep, which seemed to diminish in size as she accelerated.

‘Come on boys!’ Irene yelled. ‘I
must be getting close!’ Strangely she was more excited than worried, for she
knew that she was not yet trespassing, and could not imagine that any employee
of Ms Manning would engage in casual murder. That shot had surely been only a
warning.

Irene saw the gate in the
distance. It was high, tubular steel and rigged with cameras. There was no
mistaking the mark of Ms Manning. ‘I’m home, boys, Irene Armstrong is coming to
claim her life.’

The bullet sliced across the bonnet
of the Ford, raising a thin sliver of metal in its passage.

Irene could not suppress her
scream. She could see the Jeep, much closer now, with the rifle thrust through
the side window. She saw the barrel of the rifle jerk, heard the report of
another shot, but did not see what happened to the bullet.

‘Fuck!’ Irene ducked, trying to
make herself as small a target as possible, peering over the steering wheel as
she negotiated the rough terrain. Glancing in her mirror, she saw the Jeep
power forward, cutting the angle between her and the gate. What was he trying
to do? Surely Ms Manning had not demanded that every visitor to her property
should be killed?

Swearing, Irene swung the wheel,
hoping to arrive at the gate first, but the other driver was good. Anticipating
her move, he sent his vehicle into a hand brake turn that sent the Jeep
directly in front of her. She had no option but to pull aside, but screamed
again as the Ford slammed sideways, its offside front wheel crashing into a
hidden hole. She swore again, pushed the automatic gear into reverse and
yelled, shouting every obscene word that she knew as the wheels spun, carving a
useless groove in the prairie. Dust rose, but the Ford was immobile, its nose
tilted at a frightening angle and one of its back wheels off the ground.

The sound of the engine mirrored
Irene’s own frustrated scream. She had come so far, only to end up in a hole a
few short yards from success.

She swore again and banged her
fists on the dashboard, but the Ford did not respond. Sliding free of the Ford,
she looked up, seeing the fence a mere ten yards away, with the Manning
property stretching beyond, the prize for which she had striven for so long
just outside her reach. No! She would not give up. If she could not drive, then
she would walk to Mannadu, however far it was.