The Feathery (21 page)

D
errick located Douglas and escorted him to the range. The boy was thrilled to caddie for Scott Beckman. Derrick calmed him down and gave him a stern lecture about keeping his remarks off the course. He then gave him a pat on the back, saying, "You’ll do well, lad."
Scott hit only a few shots on the range before leaving for putting practice. The wind was blowing a gale and it was raining hard when he reached the practice green. The temperature had dropped, but the cashmere sweater under the top half of his rain suit held off the chill. Douglas tucked in two extra towels and made sure there was a sufficient supply of golf gloves in his bag for a wet and wild day. An experienced person adapted to doing so in the local weather could still manage an umbrella in the wind and Douglas showed that experience as he held one above Scott while he practiced putting. He would miss Matt’s expertise, but Scott had some comfort in the belief that Douglas would know the course and how it played in the wind and rain.

On his way to the first tee, Scott spied Beth in the crowd and walked over to her. She was dressed for the weather in a light blue rain suit that was a compliment to her figure, and the color went well with that mass of jet-black curly hair.

"You’ve done so well. Keep it up, Scott," she said.

Douglas was standing behind Scott with the golf bag slung over his shoulder. "You have a new caddie. Where’s Matt?" Beth asked.
Scott moved close to her and spoke very softly about the reason for Matt’s absence.
"Oh shit, is this about the feathery?"
"No, it’s about gambling on golf."
"Can I do anything to help?"
Scott thought about her offer for a few seconds. "Would you stand by the phone in my room and bring me any news about Matt? Call the head of security, Randal Lyle, to take you out on the course if you hear anything."
"I’ll do that."
"Thanks. You can watch the Open on television there." Scott handed her his room key and headed for the first tee with a proud Douglas McEwan following close behind.

Despite the weather, a large gallery was surrounding the first tee. They were dressed in rain suits and carried large multicolored umbrellas. Scott’s playing partner was Kuniaki Yamazaki from Japan, and he was alone in second place. Yamazaki had won a few tournaments in Japan and Australia, but had been on the U.S. tour two years without a top-ten finish. He was one of the few to make it to the Open in a regional qualification playoff. A multitude of fans who had made the trip from Japan were in the gallery, and a large group of Japanese press photographers were positioned near the ropes. If Yamazaki won the British Open, it would be the first major golf tournament won by a native of that golf-crazed nation. He bowed, smiled and said a few polite words in English to Scott.
When, Scott Beckman, the tournament leader, was introduced, a ripple of applause went around the first tee. He hit his drive. It was caught in a crosswind and deposited in a bunker on the right side, 284 yards out. Yamazaki’s drive was a perfect three wood to the left side of the fairway, and a roar from the thickly populated Japanese crowd followed it. Scott made a bogie on the first hole and Yamazaki a par.
From there it didn’t go well for Scott. When they reached the seventh tee, called
Roon the Ben
, Scott was three over par on the day and Yamazaki at even par, leading the tournament by two shots. The twosome of Yamazaki and Beckman were still in first and second place respectively because the wind kept the field playing in front of them from gaining any ground.
Douglas was doing a good job, and neither the caddie nor the weather could be blamed for Scott’s play. Scott had played better on this same course in the same conditions during practice, but today his thoughts kept wandering to Matt, and the concentration needed for each shot and putt was absent.
Yamazaki’s caddie was aware that Douglas was a novice. When Scott’s shot reached the green of a par three, hole-high against the wind, the Japanese caddie approached Douglas before Yamazaki would select a club for his shot to the same green. His question was said in broken English. "What club your bag use for shot here?"
Douglas, at five-foot-five, pulled his body up to about five-foot-eight and frowned down at the Japanese caddie, saying, "It’s against the rules to tell you that, so bug off."
Scott was within earshot of that exchange, and heard Douglas’ rebuke. He smiled…his first of the day. Then his thoughts returned to more worry over the fate of his regular caddie.

B
eth was watching play on the television in Scott’s room when the phone rang. Several earlier callers were seeking news about Matt, and she thought this might be another one of those. "Hello, Scott Beckman’s room."

The voice on the other end asked, "Hey, who’s this? This is Matt." Beth snapped up in her chair and exclaimed, "Scott’s caddie, Matt,

Matt Kemp? Beth Sweeney here. Is it really you, Matt? Where are you?"

"It’s me for sure, lass. I’m at a police station in Larne, Northern Ireland, about twenty miles north of Belfast."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, except for the mother of all two-beer hangovers and a missing gold earring that was not removed gently. Is Scott playing?" He asked.

"Yes, he’s on the seventh hole, three over for the day."
"Good, I was afraid he might withdraw. Please tell him I’m okay, and I’m trying to get to Turnberry for tomorrow’s round. Travel by sea
is out. The ferries to Portpatrick have stopped running because of the bad weather, and there’s no commercial flights to Scotland out of Belfast
airport until around noon tomorrow."
"Hold on a minute, Matt, I’m getting the security head, Lyle, on my
cell phone."
Beth told Randal Lyle about Matt’s problem after locating him near the green on the ninth hole. He radioed the local police with the information that Matt was located and then caught up to Bob Bray on his way to the 10th tee. He passed on the news about Matt, and mentioned his difficulty in returning to Turnberry. The pilot of Bray’s Gulfstream was following Bob Bray behind the ropes. Bob approached him, and after a short conversation with the pilot, Bob came to the security golf cart and spoke to Randal.
"The pilot of our Gulfstream said he’ll be there inside of two hours to pick up Matt. He wants Matt to get to the Belfast Airport private terminal as soon as possible. Even though commercial flights are grounded, he may be able to slip in. But the pilot doesn’t want to hang around there long because the weather at Prestwick on return is going to get worse."
Lyle passed the plan on to Beth and she in turn to Matt who was still on the room phone.

There was a pause from Matt and some talk in the background before he spoke. "The local police have volunteered to whisk me to the airport. I’ll wait there for Bray’s airplane."

"How did you get free, Matt?" Beth couldn’t help asking.

"I got some help. I was released near here, and found a police station. Let Scott know what’s happening." And then Matt added, "Tell him to make some birdies on the back nine. Okay? Thanks, I have to rush, bye."

Beth called Randal Lyle, and the security golf cart pulled up in front of the hotel lobby shortly after. He wiped the seat beside him with a dry towel and handed Beth a yellow slicker like the one he was wearing.
Randal spoke into his hand-held radio, asking for the location of Scott Beckman on the course. The answer came back, and they drove off into the rain and wind toward the 8th tee.

Scott just made a par on the 7th hole and was walking to the 8th tee when he saw Randal and Beth drive toward him. He tried to prepare for what could be the worst news about Matt.

Beth beckoned Scott over to the golf cart and said breathlessly, "Matt’s alright. I just finished talking with him."
Scott stood still and looked up at the gray sky for a moment before he asked her, "When will he be here?"
"He should be in Turnberry after you finish play."
"Not sooner?" Scott asked anxiously.
"Not likely. He may be delayed by the weather, but he’ll be here to caddie tomorrow. His message for you was to make some birdies."
"I’ll try. I feel a bit more like it now. Thanks, Beth. I’ll see you after I finish."

After hitting a huge drive on the 8th hole, called Goat Fell, Scott walked off the tee feeling like a weight had been suddenly lifted from him. He birdied not only the 8th, but also the next two holes. And he rounded out the rest in par except at the 17
^th
, Lang Whang
,
where he made an eagle three. Lang Whang was becoming his favorite hole. When Scott walked off the 18
^th
green he still led the British Open on this third day, and one stroke better than Yamazaki.
Yamazaki bowed and shook Scott’s hand. He said, "tomorrow, I’ll play with you again." He turned and was escorted by Randal’s men through the horde of Japanese cameramen clamoring to photograph the one who could well become their long awaited national hero.
After they signed their scorecards, the two players were escorted to the press tent. Scott had to field a few questions about his missing caddie. He was thankful the news of Matt’s kidnapping hadn’t leaked. When he left the press tent the wind gusts were even stronger than during play, and the rain was heavier. He decided not to practice in such harsh conditions. He was also anxious to get the latest on Matt, so he headed straight for the locker room.

Scott entered the locker room after signing some autographs. Douglas McEwan had finished cleaning his clubs and was hanging up some foul-weather gear to dry. He paid Douglas in cash, and the lad was taken aback by the two 100 pound notes put in his hand.

"Thanks for taking Matt’s place, Douglas. You did a great job in this weather. Looks like Matt will be back on the bag tomorrow…Oh, and by the way, you were right on standing up to Yamazaki’s caddie when he asked you about the club I’d hit on that par three."

Douglas was all smiles. "It was nothing, Mr. Beckman. I’ll be following you tomorrow after doing some ferreting on Arran." He tried to hand Scott back the money. "I’d rather play a round with you after the Open instead of being paid so much."

"How about if I do both?" Scott said.

The smile on Douglas’ face broadened, and his exclamation was an American origination he’d picked up recently. "Awesome!"

Scott left the locker room and walked up the hill to the hotel. The rain had let up some, but the wind was still howling through the Linksland. The forecast for tomorrow was worse than today. It would be another day to test a player’s shot-making skills in severe weather…a day only a gannet would love.

When he entered his room he was pleased to see Beth and thanked her for standing by the phone. Their kiss was a long one, ending a tumultuous day that had finished much better than it had begun.

The Gulfstream V landed at Prestwick at seven in the evening with Matt on board. He called Scott from the Kilt and Jeans just as Scott was finishing dinner in the hotel dining room with Beth. The waiter handed Scott a phone.

"Hey, Scott, have you seen my earring?" Matt said.

"The cops kept it for evidence, but I’ll buy you a new one. You don’t know how great it is to hear your voice. How are you?"
"Tired, and I have a sore place where my earlobe used to be. But I’ll be okay in the morning. Bob Bray’s pilot got me out of Belfast and into Prestwick through some really nasty weather. I was given a tetanus shot and some antibiotics at the clinic here. Hey, I heard you’re leading it."
"Yeah, unbelievable. Everything started working on the back nine, but I need you to keep it going in tomorrow’s weather. Tee time is one thirty."
"I’ll sleep in until ten and meet you in the locker room at eleven. Good night, dude."

D
ouglas McEwan was up and about early and cooking his breakfast porridge. After eating it, he pulled on his boots and buttoned his raincoat. The hood of the coat fit snugly over his red curly hair and its drawstring framed his freckled face. He quietly closed the door to the small cottage bordering the Turnberry courses and walked out into a gale-force wind partnered with hard-driving rain. He thought it would be a good day for ferreting out the rabbits thinking they’d hunker down in their burrows, away from the storm and the noise of the Open crowd.

He was excited about Scott’s chance to win, and after he finished ferreting he looked forward to following Scott with his father. Could Mr. Beckman continue to handle the wind? His da often said, "nae wind… nae golf," and the earliest McEwans of St. Andrews had passed along those words through generations. Douglas wasn’t sure he could ever live up to that phrase because he preferred to play when the wind wasn’t blowing at him or his golf ball.

He fetched his ferret from the shed next to his house, and the animal seemed eager to get on with the hunt as he pulled hard at the leash. Douglas fed him a small lump of sugar and grabbed a burlap sack from a pile on the floor. He opened the shed door with the ferret under his arm and faced an onslaught of a hard-driving rain that stung at his face. The thrill of caddying for Scott the day before still lingered as he trudged toward the Arran course with the empty burlap sack over his shoulder.

Scott was finishing breakfast in his room when the phone rang. It was the chief inspector.
"I want to wish you the very best today." Bradshaw said.
"I’ve got my caddie back…thanks to you. What was that all about?"
"It was about the amount of money bet on you at high odds. The owner of Barkley’s Betting Shops, Ian Barkley, was intent on your withdrawal from the Open. His object was to stop his potential losses in case you won."
"How did you get on to them and get Matt released?" Scott asked.
"Barkley was a person of interest in your feathery robbery. I cross checked information on him with a Scotland Yard team working on gambling irregularities, and found out they had Barkley and his bodyguard, an ex-IRA operative, Malachy Gallagher, under surveillance. Most of Barkley’s activity dealt with fixing horse racing and football, and he had a crew, inclusive of Gallagher, fixing jockeys and football players. But we’re pretty sure this was the first time Barkley has tried to fix professional golf."
"How did you find Matt?"
"Well, this Gallagher chap called us from his mother’s house in Belfast to give us the information on where they were holding Matt, and then he turned himself in. We have Gallagher in protective custody, since he’s a key witness against Barkley. Because of his cooperation we’re working on a reduced sentence for him, with the possibility of amnesty for his crimes when he was with the IRA."
"How did Scotland Yard surveillance people miss Matt’s kidnapping from the Kilt and Jeans?"
"TheYard was watching racetracks and football pitches for Gallagher and his team to show. They hadn’t linked Barkley’s golf-fixing angle until your caddie’s kidnapping came about. But we caught up to them in Northern Ireland when we got the tip from Gallagher. The rest of getting him free was left up to the undercover agent we had planted there."
"Why did they let Matt go?" Scott asked.
"The kidnappers who’d held your caddie in Larne, Northern Ireland, were ex-IRA whom Barkley had a hold over. He knew of their past deeds of carrying out terror bombings in London and other violence. Our mole
,
whom they trusted," Bradshaw continued, "convinced those holding Matt Kemp that he had information from other ex-IRA sources we were closing in on them…so they released Kemp and ran."
"Have you rounded up the bad guys?"
"Not quite, Scott, but we’re doing so with the help of the Irish police."
"How about the feathery robbery and murder?" Scott asked.
"The others, who had a keen interest in bidding on the feathery, to include Carrabba, Barkley and Sarah Covington, have been cleared of any implication at this time. Arrests in Spain and New York have gathered up the killer and his accomplices. Their London connection, Mary Harding, is in custody."
"That’s good news. Where’s the feathery?"
"It’s on my desk as we speak, and I’m admiring it. Of course I’m wearing latex gloves while examining it."
To Scott, it sounded like Bradshaw was eating while he spoke. "When will I get the feathery back?"
The mastication sounds continued while Bradshaw talked through them. "I’m admiring all three of those fascinating antiques on my desk as we speak." Said Bradshaw. "The feathery will be on the way to you at Turnberry shortly by special courier along with the bronze statuette and the McNair Journal. They’re not needed for evidence. We have photos and a confession from the key conspirator, Mary Harding."
"Great work by you and Scotland Yard, Chief Inspector."
"Thanks, Scott. Now, concentrate on your game today. I’ll be watching on the telly….Cheers."