The Adept (30 page)

“But, why would anyone want tae take the Fairy Flag
there?”

McLeod rose and clapped Sandy on the shoulder. “If I’m right, I’ll explain later,” he said. “And about the piano upstairs. Meanwhile, we’re going to need a vehicle. How’s the Volvo for petrol?”

“Och, she’ll get ye there, easy, but I dinnae know how ye propose gettin’ off the Island. The ferry’ll no be runnin’.”

“We’ll worry about that when we get to the ferry,” McLeod replied. “Are the keys in it?”

Sandy looked dubious; “Aye, they are. But if ye
are
determined tae go out in this, at least come intae the mud room an’ take some proper rain gear. Ye cannae go wi’ just what ye wore before; ye’ll get fair soakit.”

To this concession, at least, McLeod was forced to agree. He had not really allowed himself to think about what they might have to do, once they
reached
Urquhart, so concerned was he about simply getting there; and the prospect of doing it wet and freezing was daunting, indeed.

“Sandy’s right, Noel,” Adam spoke up, before McLeod could answer. “We can’t work at peak efficiency if we’re cold and wet.”

“This way, then,” Sandy said. “The mud room’s here, underneath the stair. We’ve a good assortment, between what belongs tae the staff and what visiting members of the family hae left behind. Take whatever ye need, an’ I’ll gae tell Dad what’s afoot . . .”

He vanished down the back stairs, leaving them to sort through the contents of the mud room. Among the several dozen pairs of rubber Wellington boots lined up along two walls, they easily found three pairs to fit; and loose-fitting rain slickers layered over then own clothes seemed the best choice for protection from the wet. McLeod exchanged his trenchcoat and suit jacket for a thick sweater and a waxed jacket like Adam’s. They had scarcely finished kitting themselves out when Sandy returned, accompanied by his mother. Margaret MacLeod was carrying a small wicker picnic hamper, which she presented to McLeod.

“Trust a man tae go chasing off after those rascals wi’ no thought for yer tea till it’s too late,” she told him, with a matronly cluck of her tongue. “Here’s sommat tae take with ye in the car. It’s no’ very fancy—just sandwiches an’ scones—but it should keep ye going till ye can find time for supper.”

McLeod accepted the hamper with a grateful nod of the head and passed it off to Peregrine without comment, before clumping back into the entry hall to pick up his blue bag. Sandy and Margaret followed to see them off. At the door, as the three of them donned caps and scarves and zipped up slickers, preparing to brave the elements, McLeod glanced aside at Adam.

“Shall I drive, or would you rather?” he asked.

Adam shook his head. “You’re the professional. Why don’t you let me navigate, and be an extra set of eyes, if the going gets really bad? The visibility out there is going to be worse than bad, once it really gets dark.”

“Aye, there’s no arguing that,” McLeod agreed. “All right, let’s go!”

The wind wailed as Sandy opened the front door of the
castle and held it, gusting rain into the entry and sending Margaret scurrying for cover.

“I dinnae suppose ye’d want another pair o’ hands?” the young man offered, as Peregrine and then McLeod bolted for the car.

A brief smile touched Adam’s lips. “Not this time, I think—though the offer is appreciated. What you
can
do, if you would, is to stand by, if the Chief should call, and tell him where we’ve gone. If we do succeed in recovering the Fairy Flag, he should be on hand to receive it.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll do that.”

With that, Adam clapped him on the shoulder and dashed into the rain, taking his place up front beside McLeod.

“Everybody buckle up and hold tight,” the inspector warned, giving the ignition key a turn. “It’s going to be a rough ride.”

The trees lining the avenue were thrashing crazily back and forth, and bare branches lashed at the sides of the car as it eased back up the narrow avenue. The flickering lights of Dunvegan Castle receded into the gathering gloom behind them, disappearing well before they reached the main road.

Turning right, the big car picked up speed along the road toward Dunvegan village. No lights showed in any of the houses and shops along the High Street, and the rain-swept pavement was empty. A truck had stalled out in the junction leading off to the north, but McLeod barely slackened speed as he whipped the Volvo around and carried on, past the outlying buildings and on toward the rugged country beyond.

The road wound back and forth between rain-drenched ridges of high ground. The wind that blew down off the heights carried an eerie whistling note, like the keening of inhuman voices. McLeod drove with single-minded concentration, taking each successive bend in the road with calculated precision. In the back seat, Peregrine clung white-knuckled to the nearest armrest and the back of Adam’s seat, hardly daring even to think about the miles still to go before they reached the ferry, somewhere beyond the airstrip.

They sped through Struan and Bracadale and carried on toward Drynoch, Rain whipped across their path in driving squall-sheets, leaving the tarmac slick as an oil spill. McLeod held the Volvo ruthlessly to the roadbed at speeds well in excess of what Peregrine considered to be safe. Sitting motionless in the seat next to McLeod, Adam fingered the sapphire on his hand but said nothing.

Forty minutes after setting out from Dunvegan, they rolled into Kyleakin to find ongoing traffic at a standstill, with cars being turned back at a barrier ahead. As McLeod crept up to the barrier, a slicker-clad policeman armed with an acetylene lamp trotted up to the side of the car.

“Sorry, sir, but the ferry’s nae running, on account of the storm,” he informed them, when McLeod rolled down the window. “I’m afraid ye’Il have tae turn around.”

Scowling, McLeod reached inside his coat and produced his police ID.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, laddie,” he said. “I’m on official business, and we’ve got to get over to the mainland as quickly as possible.”

The policeman’s face fell. “Well, now, that
is
a problem, sir. But it’s the ferry captain’s decision. Ye cannae blame him for no’ wanting to venture out o’ port in such a storm. He made his last run half an hour ago, an’ I dinnae think he’s going anyplace.”

“Well, maybe I can persuade him to change his mind.” McLeod’s blue eyes were glinting behind his spectacles. “Where can I find this ferry captain?”

A look of incredulity crossed the policeman’s face, but he was better trained than to argue with a superior about a matter that really did not concern him.

“Please yourself, sir. I think he may still be aboard. If he isnae there, ye’ll probably find him and his mate holed up in their office. It’s at the end of this row of cottages.”

“Thank you,” McLeod said, with tart satisfaction. “Now, if you’ll shift that barrier out of the way, we’ll be on about our business.”

Once clear of the barrier, they made a swift descent along the sloping street that led down to the water. Off to their right, a covey of small boats jerked and tossed at their anchors, behind the stone breakwater protecting Kyleakin’s
small harbor. The ferry itself was close-moored to the pilings at the end of the pier, its superstructure dimly visible in the blustery storm-gloom and the harsh yellow illumination of sodium lamps. A wide concrete ramp sloped gently down to the water beside the pier, and McLeod eyed the waves rolling up on it as he halted the car at the top.

“It doesn’t look so bad, once you get out a bit—mostly swells,” he observed. “The tricky bit will be getting the car across the ramps—timing ourselves, so we don’t end up in the drink.”

“After
you’ve persuaded the ferry captain to go out at all,” Adam said. “How bad
is
it, Noel?”

McLeod managed a wry smile. “I’ve sailed in worse. Now let’s see if
he
has. Mr. Lovat, why don’t you stay with the car?”

He did not wait for Peregrine to reply. Turning up his collar, he opened the car door and got out quickly, as did Adam, heading purposefully down the pier. Lights showed aboard the ferry, in the little purser’s office on the car deck, and McLeod and Adam darted across the heaving gangplank and headed there. The door to the office had a round glass porthole, and through it they could see a stocky, balding figure in a shapeless grey pullover and battered captain’s cap, drinking coffee. A younger man was with him, tall and lean, with a shaggy thatch of ginger hair.

McLeod gave a perfunctory knock at the door, but he did not wait to see if the men inside had heard. ID in hand, he opened the door and entered, Adam at his back. The two men looked up in surprise.

“Here, what’s this?” the younger man began.

“Detective Chief Inspector Noel McLeod,” he announced, holding up his ID and addressing the older man. “Sorry to disturb you, but are you the skipper of this vessel?”

“Aye. Archie MacDonald’s the name,” the captain said. He indicated the young man behind him with a jerk of his thumb and added grudgingly, “This here’s my mate, Charlie Baird. Wha’s amiss?”

McLeod didn’t mince words. “We need you to ferry us back to the mainland.”

“What,
now?’
MacDonald was incredulous.

“Yes, now.”

“Ye must be daft!” MacDonald stated flatly. “In case ye havenae looked outside lately, it’s blowin’ up a right gale out there. If the wind doesnae drive us all the way tae Loch Duich, the waves’ll toss us about like a rugby ball. Take it from me, ye wouldnae enjoy the ride.”

“We’re not looking to take a pleasure cruise,” McLeod retorted. “This is police business, not an outing for the Boys’ Brigade!” Seeing that the two were still looking mulish, he added testily, “If I have to, I’ll commandeer this vessel. I have the authority.”

“Do ye now?” MacDonald said, bordering on belligerent. “And who’s going tae pilot her, if I might ask?”

“I’ll pilot her myself, if need be,” McLeod snapped. “I’ve held a master’s rating, in my day, and I could do it as well as yourself—”

“If we don’t get across,” Adam interjected with quiet emphasis, “many other lives besides ours could be at stake. If this wasn’t an emergency, we wouldn’t be asking you and your associate to take this risk. But it is, and we must.”

His tone, like his bearing, conveyed a subtle force of authority. The captain gazed across at him with grudging respect.

“An emergency, eh?” he said, somewhat mollified. “What kind of an emergency?”

“I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to tell you that just now,” Adam said, in the same well-modulated tone. “You’ll simply have to accept my word for it that people besides ourselves are in danger. I assure you,” he went on, “we are telling you as much of the truth as we can, under the circumstances. Will you do as the inspector asks?”

Adam’s mellow voice carried the ring of incontrovertible sincerity. The ferry captain gnawed thoughtfully at his lower lip, clearly wondering what Adam’s status might be, but after a moment longer, he cast a look over his shoulder at his mate.

“Well? What about it, Charlie?”

The mate shrugged. His eyes, too, were on Adam. “I’m game, if you are, skipper.”

The ferry captain accepted this verdict with a bob of his head. Drawing himself up, he returned his attention to Adam.

“All right, we’ll gi’ It a try,” he said heavily. “But I’ll do the piloting myself,” he added, with a sidelong glance at McLeod. “The old tub may no’ be much, but I’m fond o’ her. If anybody’s going tae scuttle her, it’d better be me.”

He pulled a well-worn yellow slicker off a hook and shrugged into it, his mate following suit.

“Ye can ride out the crossing in here, if ye like. Just dinnae be sick on my clean deck.”

“Perhaps we didn’t make ourselves entirely clear,” Adam said smoothly. “We have a third passenger waiting—and a car.”

“A car.” MacDonald paused in the act of doing up his slicker, exchanging an incredulous glance with his mate. “Ye think ye can get a car aboard, in weather like this?”

McLeod’s reply was stark and succinct.

“Yes.”

MacDonald eyed the inspector long and hard, then slowly nodded.

“Weel, ye just might get her on, this side. But gettin’ her off, at t’other side, may be another matter. She’ll end up in the drink.”

“We’ll take that chance,” McLeod replied.

With a snort of disbelief, the captain shrugged and threw up his hands.

“All right, since ye seem determined. But I’ll no’ accept liability.”

“That’s understood,” Adam said.

“Get back tae yer car, then, an’ wait till ye hear me sound the horn before ye come down the ramp. Charlie an’ I’ll do our best tae hold her steady.” Outside, McLeod and Adam trotted back along the pier toward the waiting car. As soon as they were back inside, Peregrine sat forward eagerly.

“Is he taking us, then?” he asked.

“Aye—and hopefully, the car too, if I can manage it.”

“Can
you?” Adam asked.

McLeod nodded, eyes straight ahead on the surging waves and fingers clenched tight on the steering wheel.