The Anvil (37 page)

‘Losing a lot of blood …’

Again, MacLean heard the catch in the voice. Leavey was growing weaker. ‘I’m coming over.’

‘Be careful!’ urged Leavey. ‘I think there’s … still one left … ‘

MacLean crawled over to where Leavey lay and examined his wound as best he could. The bullet had entered through the upper right- hand side of Leavey’s chest and exited through his shoulder at the back. He did his best to stem the flow of blood, seeing this as the main threat to Leavey’s life. He reckoned that the bullet had missed his lung but it had shattered his scapula on the way out.

‘Señor!’ came Carla’s voice from behind them.

‘Be careful Carla!’ We’re over here,’ said MacLean.

Carla joined MacLean and Leavey without attracting fire from the tunnel and saw Leavey’s plight. She took over bandaging while MacLean rolled over on to his stomach and levelled his gun at the mouth of the tunnel, telling the other girls to pass the junction while he covered them. They filed past and waited for MacLean and the others to join them.

MacLean put away his gun and helped Leavey to his feet. He supported him on one side while Carla did her best to help on the other.

‘Leave me,’ said Leavey.

‘Don’t come that old movie shit with me,’ said MacLean.

Suddenly a figure appeared in front of them in the mouth of the tunnel. It was the guard Leavey had been worried about. He had been waiting for the right moment and was now holding a gun on them. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He was about to fire when one of the girls he’d been ignoring, shot him instead. Fernanda Murillo, holding the pistol she had taken from one of the guards the girls had overpowered, stood, holding the smoking pistol in two hands, her eyes wide in disbelief that she had done such a thing.

‘Well done!’ said Carla and Fernanda burst into tears. She was comforted by the others as they made their way up the tunnel.

When MacLean, supporting Leavey, arrived at the head of the tunnel with the girls they found the door open and the boiler house deserted. The panic of the fleeing guards and the uncertainty and rumour about the size of the invading force had spread to the Hacienda. A muffled explosion followed by a deep rumbling sound behind them said that someone in the Hacienda had decided to obliterate as much evidence of the X14 project as possible. They emerged into the night air to see the flashing lights of police vehicles winding their way up the mountain road.

MacLean put Leavey down gently and took Carla to one side. He explained that he did not want to wait around for official questions and explanations. He had pressing business elsewhere. ‘I want you to look after Nick for me,’ he said. ‘See that he gets to a hospital. José and Maria will help and I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.’

‘I understand,’ said Carla. ‘And thank you.’

MacLean knelt down beside Leavey and said, ‘I’m going to leave you this time old son, but you’ll be OK. Carla will see that you get to a hospital.’

Leavey who was just managing to hold on to consciousness smiled and said weakly, ‘You fix that kid’s face … you hear?’

‘You bet,’ said MacLean. ‘We’ll have a drink when you get back. He clasped Leavey’s hand tightly to convey his thanks for all that had gone before and with a final nod to Carla he was gone.

MacLean made his way back down the mountain using the route that he and Leavey had used for the ascent. High above him, the Hacienda was ablaze with light and above that the sky was lit with a dull red glow from the fires in the secret valley. It was still red when he edged the Erinia out of the marina and said a silent farewell to the friends he had left behind. He turned his back on the high Sierra and started heading west, hugging the shoreline but staying far enough out to be invisible from land. His plan was to follow the outline of the coast until he reached Gibraltar.

He used the intervening time going through the papers he’d taken from Von Jonek’s office, separating out anything that seemed relevant to techniques used for the X14 project. When he was satisfied that he had extracted everything he took the sheaf of papers on deck and started tearing them into shreds. He scattered the confetti on to the sea. With luck no one would ever be able to repeat the experiments of the
Hacienda Yunque
. He realised that it would mean the end for Cytogerm too, just in case anyone ever got the same idea as Von Jonek. God willing, Carrie would be the last person to receive Cytogerm surgery. He thought of Tansy and Carrie as the wind got up and spray swept over the bow to catch his face as the lights of the Spanish coast slid slowly by on his right.

Convincing the British authorities in Gibraltar that he was who he said he was proved no easier for MacLean than he had imagined but the assault on the Hacienda had brought him too close to physical and mental exhaustion to even contemplate making a bid for home on his own. He steeled himself for successive interviews with progressively more important people in the scheme of things, starting with the port authorities police and ending up with an aide to the governor named Hargreaves.

Hargreaves began by showing scepticism and MacLean understood. He had sailed into Gibraltar, having come through the night from the Costa Del Sol, the most notorious bolthole for British criminals on the run in Europe. His lucky break came when he mentioned the name of the
Hacienda Yunque
and found that Hargreaves had heard of it. The wife of one of his friends had come back from there looking ten years younger. He agreed finally with MacLean’s suggestion that he telephone the Spanish police in Fuengirola.

MacLean had to wait on his own while Hargreaves went off to make the call in private. There was a policeman stationed outside the door. His uniform was British bobby but his features were local.

‘It appears that there is something in what you say Doctor,’ said Hargreaves on his return. It seems that our Spanish friends are hearing much the same story from a dozen or so Spanish girls who were held captive in the Hacienda. The question now is what to do with you. You are travelling under a false passport and appear to have broken every immigration law in the book.’

MacLean said, ‘Mr Hargreaves, you have just discovered that what I have been saying is true. Would you believe one more thing?’

‘Try me,’ said Hargreaves.

‘It’s a matter of life and death that I return to the UK as quickly as possible.’

Hargreaves sucked in breath through gritted teeth and put his head to one side. ‘You are putting me in a very difficult position Doctor,’ he said.

‘I’m serious,’ said MacLean.

‘One moment,’ said Hargreaves. He left the room to return a few minutes later. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘It seems that this mess along in Mijas is going to take forever to sort out. We’ll confiscate your false passport and revoke the one under your own name for the time being but you can return to Britain. We’ll dress that leg for you and put you on an RAF flight in the morning.’

‘Thank you,’ said MacLean.

MacLean’s reunion with Tansy was long and tearful. Despite a reasonable night’s sleep, thanks to medication supplied by the doctor in Gibraltar who dressed his wounded leg, he appeared haggard and drawn and walked with difficulty.

‘God, I’m so glad you’re back,’ murmured Tansy through her tears. ‘I should never have let you go.’

‘I got it Tansy,’ whispered MacLean as he held her close. He took out the vials of Cytogerm to show her. ‘I got it.’

‘And Willie? And Nick?’

The look in MacLean’s eyes warned her of what was to come. ‘Oh no,’ she whispered.

‘It will all be over soon Tansy,’ said MacLean. ‘I promise.’

MacLean contacted his old surgical colleague, Ron Myers in Glasgow and asked for a favour. The favour was that he not ask questions when he requested that Myers book operating facilities at a private clinic and an anaesthetist for the next available date when Myers was free. It turned out to be two days hence.

‘Who is operating, you or me?’ asked Myers.

‘You,’ replied MacLean. ‘I’ll assist.’

‘But surely I need to know … ‘ began Myers.

‘Trust me,’ said MacLean. ‘You will know everything you need to know before you start.’

‘All right,’ agreed Myers doubtfully. ‘But this is pushing friendship to the limit.’

With Carrie safely installed in the private clinic on the eve of her operation, MacLean sat up late; he had arrived at the last hurdle. A close examination of Carrie’s skin had revealed no likely blemishes that Cytogerm might trigger but there was no way that he could be absolutely sure. He was under great stress and it showed on his face. Booze would have helped but he couldn’t risk it. He wanted to be more alert in theatre in the morning than he’d ever been in his life.

Tansy got up to join him saying that she couldn’t sleep either. She stood behind him and kneaded her fingers into his shoulders in an effort to help him relax. Her eyes kept moving to a pair of envelopes lying on the mantelpiece. She had been wondering when to show them to MacLean. She decided that it might as well be now. She gave the envelopes to him and said, ‘Nick and Willie said I was to give you these if they didn’t return. I was to open them myself if none of you came back.’

MacLean opened the envelope with Willie’s name on it and brought out the last will and testament of William David MacFarlane. In the event of his death, everything he possessed was to go to Sean MacLean or, in the event of his death too, to Mrs Tania Nielsen and her daughter, Carrie. MacLean looked to the window. Dawn was breaking. He handed the paper to Tansy who dissolved into tears.

Myers looked at Carrie’s injuries as she lay on the operating table and whispered to MacLean, ‘Are you serious?’

‘Trust me,’ said MacLean. ‘Remove exactly what I tell you and then apply this compound.’ He placed the vials of Cytogerm on a metal tray beside the instruments.

Myers looked as if he might pull out of the whole thing for a moment but the look in MacLean’s eyes reassured him. He cut away the damaged tissue from Carrie’s face as instructed and used Cytogerm instead of skin grafts to fill the areas. The only difficult bit was in the reconstruction of Carrie’s mouth but MacLean knew that Myers had more than enough skill for the delicacy required. He watched his scalpel trace out a perfect line and said, ‘First rate. Now the Cytogerm.’

Finally Myers stood back from the table, stripping off his gloves and said, ‘How was that?’

‘I owe you, Ron,’ said MacLean. ‘That was a fine job. I’ll do the dressings.’

MacLean, who had not trusted his own hands to carry out the surgery, felt confident enough to apply the dressings to Carrie’s face. It seemed the perfect end to a nightmare but there was still the wait to come.

With each passing day Tansy and MacLean grew more confident that complications were not going to arise and four weeks to the day after the operation they and Ron Myers met in a small room at the clinic for the removal of the dressings. It was a magical moment when the last pad was removed from Carrie’s cheeks and she was revealed as the pretty little girl she’d been before the fire. Tansy broke down and hugged MacLean. Carrie was unsure about all the tears and sucked her thumb.’

Myers was dumbstruck. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he murmured. ‘I see it but I don’t believe it.’

‘It’s a one-off Ron,’ said MacLean. ‘Just call it a miracle.’

The difference to their lives was the difference between night and day for Tansy and MacLean. To have Carrie restored to them was everything they had wished for. Thanks to Willie MacFarlane, they had enough money to rebuild the white bungalow by the canal and this they did. Three weeks before Carrie’s sixth birthday they moved in. MacLean and Carrie resumed their Saturday expeditions.

On the Saturday before Carrie’s birthday, MacLean took her into town to choose a bicycle. She chose a red one and was disappointed when MacLean said that it would be delivered and no, she could not ride it home through town traffic. She was still insisting on her ability to do this when she bumped into a man by the door. She said sorry, sheepishly and MacLean smiled his own apologies.

When they got outside Carrie said, ‘That man was at our house yesterday.’

MacLean reeled under the impact of the words. He couldn’t speak for a moment. When he could, he asked, ‘What makes you say that Carrie?’

‘I saw him. He came to the door. Mummy said he was selling something.’

MacLean went out after tea, telling Tansy that he had a headache and needed some fresh air. In truth he had to face the nightmare that had surfaced before him like some kraaken from the ocean. He saw the figure up on the bridge from a long way off, dark suit, metal-framed glasses, the man from the bicycle shop.

MacLean knew what he had to do. He returned to the bungalow and spent the next two hours writing and putting various documents concerning the Anvil families into envelopes. At seven o’clock he told Tansy and Carrie that he had to go out again and kissed each of them lightly on the forehead.