The Keepers of the Persian Gate (18 page)

“Know what?” asked Paddy.

“Will’s wife is the daughter of Robert Jackson, the former Secretary of State of the United States,” replied Brigadier Lancelot.

This came as a surprise to Paddy. The addition of the CIA added a new twist to the situation. His immediate concern, though, was how to get to Gigha. The Brigadier suggested that Paddy didn’t go by the helicopter he arrived in. Due to the fact that MI5 witnessed his helicopter taking off from Hyde Park Barracks, there was no guarantee that he hadn’t been tracked.

“You can rent a car, but use cash only.” Brigadier Lancelot went to his safe and produced an envelope containing several thousand pounds in cash. “My yacht is currently moored in Crinan. Here are the keys. Do me a favour and don’t sink her. Sail her from Crinan to Gigha. You will anchor in the main bay when you get there. Watch out for the reefs. Read through the pilot books I have stored in the shelves down below before setting off,” instructed Lancelot.

Colonel Stephens re-entered the room carrying a bundle of documents. He handed Paddy a fake passport and driving licence. After the meeting, Paddy was shown to a hidden exit from the barracks which led into a nearby field. It was out of sight of the route of the helicopter in which Paddy had arrived. Once he’d left, that helicopter would be ordered to proceed eastward to RAF Northolt in the opposite direction.

“The main road is a mile across the fields. From that point, you can get a taxi to the nearest car rental depot. Remember, whatever you do, don’t travel under your own name, and use cash only,” explained Brigadier Lancelot.

“I hope we meet again, sir,” said Paddy.

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other sooner than you think, Mr. Trimble,” replied Brigadier Lancelot.

.

Chapter 12

Gigha

IT WAS ABOUT 0430 HOURS on Wednesday, the 10
th
of August 2011, when Paddy finally made it to Crinan in Scotland. The drive in the rented car was long and tedious, taking Paddy right through the heart of England, and further north into the Lake District and borderlands. When he crossed the land border into Scotland, he followed the road a while before veering northwest through Loch Lomond National Park and past that towards the rugged west coast. As was always the case with that particular time of year, there was a light developing in the sky.

The small village of Crinan was an idyllic location for holidaymakers. It was most famously associated with its canal, which cut through the upper end of the Mull of Kintyre and led boats down to the Clyde. On the other side, it faced the islands of Jura and Islay. A sea mist had descended upon the harbour and the air was quite cool as Paddy parked the car and walked down to find the Brigadier’s yacht. There were quite a few pleasure craft in the harbour. Paddy surveyed each one, and then he came to a yacht that had the Brigadier written all over it - quite literally. The name of the yacht was Lancelot. She was a Swan 45, a truly excellent sailing yacht with immaculate teak decks. Paddy hopped on board and examined her layout before settling down below to read the pilot books for the trip ahead.

After about an hour of getting organised and reading up on the journey, Paddy was prepared to get moving. He started Lancelot’s inboard engine, cast off the lines and went about carefully manoeuvring this large sailing yacht around the other vessels that were also berthed within the harbour. Paddy briefly tied up Lancelot in order to open the lock gates. The usual lock keeper was not awake at that time of the morning so Paddy had to do it manually by turning the large winches. After that he moved the yacht into the basin of the lock before closing the gate and allowing the water levels to descend level with the sea outside.

Once out of the lock, Paddy checked the windex and put the boat into the wind. There was a steady breeze blowing from the northwest, at about ten to fourteen knots. He hoisted the mainsail and unfurled the genoa. After that he set up the auto helm to follow the way points on the GPS to Gigha. Paddy expected Lancelot’s voyage to Gigha to last about four and a half hours; the favourable tides meant the journey would hopefully be slightly shorter than it would usually be.

***

By the time Paddy had got to Ardminish, the main bay in Gigha, it was 1030 hours. He anchored the boat and inflated a small dinghy to row ashore to the pier. The water in Gigha that morning was the sort of crystal blue you would expect to see in somewhere like the Carribean. Paddy could clearly see the ocean floor, despite being a quarter of a mile offshore. As he rowed Lancelot’s tender towards the pier, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary on the island.

The island itself was relatively small, about six miles long and one and a half miles wide. Paddy’s destination was the mansion house of Achamore, which was supposedly built by Brigadier Lancelot’s Great Grandfather, Lieutenant Colonel William James Scarlett. Achamore was a white seventeenth-century Baronial mansion, complete with turrets on each wing. As Paddy walked along the pier, he noticed a small jet coming into land on the island’s runway. This was quite unusual, as Gigha’s runway had for some time been designated for emergency use only. “It must be the CIA,” Paddy thought to himself.

Paddy continued to walk the short distance uphill along the narrow roads of the island toward Achamore House. After about fifteen minutes, he reached the gates of Achamore. The gardens were open to the public and had been donated to the National Trust some years earlier. However, on this particular day, the gates to the gardens were shut. To the untrained eye, the gates were unguarded; however, as Paddy drew closer he could clearly see figures in the surrounding bushes. He walked to the middle of the two gate posts and stopped, staring straight ahead. He put his hands behind his head.

“I’m here to see McGregor,” said Paddy.

Several masked men jumped out of the bushes, binding and gagging Paddy. A hood was placed over Paddy’s head so he could not see where he was being taken. After a few minutes, Paddy was dropped on to a hard surface with a thud. The men removed Paddy’s hood and ungagged him. The masked men then left the room and locked the door, leaving Paddy in what appeared to be a cellar.

“Wait, you idiots. I’m on your side!” shouted Paddy. He ran over to a small window close to the ceiling, but it was covered with bars and in any event was too small to climb out of. “I’m here because of William Dunlop!”

From the darkness, someone spoke.

“If that were true, then you must also be aware that William Dunlop is dead,” said the voice in a New York accent.

Paddy turned. “Who’s that…?”

Out a dark corner appeared a well-built figure in a suit. The man lit a cigarette and approached Paddy. It was hard to make out his face.

“You were looking for me,” said the man.

“McGregor?” asked Paddy.

“Correct!” said McGregor.

“McGregor, I am here because I was told to come here by Brigadier Lancelot. I’ve sailed here in the Brigadier’s yacht so I could move undetected. I am working for the Intelligence and Security Committee of Parliament. It’s a matter of national security that I find out who killed William Dunlop and why,” explained Paddy.

“National security is a fickle thing,” said McGregor, as he took another draw of his cigarette.

“I have information that concerns both of us.” Said Paddy.

There was a silence as McGregor continued to ominously observe Paddy.

“Where’s Will’s wife, and his children?” said Paddy.

“We evacuated them last night under orders from NSA. You said you have some information for me,” said McGregor.

“What I’m about to tell you breaches the Official Secrets Act and pretty much all laws pertaining to the area of intelligence in the UK. You cannot repeat this to the wrong source, ok?” said Paddy.

McGregor nodded.

“Last week, the SAS captured Abdullah Ahmed Atwah in the Hindu Kush. He’s due to stand trial in a secret court in London this weekend. It is a major security headache. One of the prosecution’s witnesses is a big terrorist target. Obviously, with the situation being as it is, the ISC can’t afford to take any chances. That’s why I am here to investigate,” said Paddy.

McGregor stopped Paddy in his tracks. “Do you drink whiskey?”

“What?” asked Paddy.

“Whiskey, do you drink it. This house apparently has one of the finest collections of single malts in Scotland. They have a tasting room upstairs, care to join me?” said McGregor.

Paddy and McGregor went upstairs to discuss matters further. They sat in a large drawing room overlooking the grand gardens that swept down to the coast.

“Have a try of this. It’s Lagavulin, it’s a magnificent whiskey, distilled not far from here on the island of Islay,” said McGregor.

Paddy took a sip. “That’s pretty rustic. Very peaty.”

McGregor sat down beside Paddy. “When this all kicked off, Will got in touch with the US Embassy in London. That’s when I became involved. When Will later spoke to Brigadier Lancelot, it was his suggestion that we take the family here for its remoteness. We evacuated the family within hours of the shooting at Dunlop & McLaine.,”

“Before today I didn’t know that Will’s wife was American, let alone that she was a daughter of a former Secretary of State,” replied Paddy.

“Well, her father still occupies a prominent position in the NSA. We couldn’t afford to have a hostage situation on our hands,” replied McGregor.

“What about this energy company in Houston?” asked Paddy.

“Clarkson Nuclear first came to my attention when we received information that it had been doing business with a Dr Ludwig Von Gunten,” explained McGregor.

“You mean the Mechanic,” said Paddy.

“How much do you know about him?” asked McGregor.

“I was on the operation that captured that bastard, Operation Frequent Flyer,” said Paddy.

McGregor was very interested to learn more about Paddy’s involvement in Frequent Flyer, not having been aware of Paddy’s military background. Afterwards, McGregor made a few more enquiries with Langley regarding Clarkson.

***

The pair sat down for the entire afternoon and into the early evening in order to share intelligence and plan a strategy. The CIA had uncovered evidence to suggest that the Mechanic belonged to a secretive collective in the Middle East which had been in partnership with Clarkson Nuclear. On the face of it, Clarkson was a clean as a whistle. Like all publicly traded companies in the US, it had a main board of directors, CEO, proper accounting, corporate social responsibility and the like. However, when the CIA dug deeper, they discovered that certain executive members of the board were answering to a shadow board which would routinely meet several days before the main board meetings. Finally, some of McGregor’s enquiries came good.

“So, my contacts in Langley tell me that there’s a shadow board meeting taking place tomorrow at noon in Houston. We have a man on the inside called Williamson who is attending. He’s acting as an aide to a particular Congressman who will be joining the main board. I’m told the shadow board meets and approves the appointments of all main board members,” McGregor told Paddy.

“Can you get me into that meeting?” asked Paddy.

“Well, first we’d have to get to Glasgow airport, might be quite tight for time,” replied McGregor.

“But I saw one of your jets land on the island earlier…” said Paddy.

McGregor looked at Paddy, somewhat puzzled. “We came here by boat, Paddy. What jet are you talking about?”

Paddy stood up and walked to the window. “Gigha only has an emergency airfield. I thought it was strange that I saw a small Learjet land earlier,” said Paddy.

McGregor joined Paddy at the window. The pair monitored the surrounding area.

“How many agents do you have on the grounds?” asked Paddy.

“About twelve,” replied McGregor.

“That might not be enough,” said Paddy.

At that very moment, an RPG launched across the front lawn of Achamore House, hitting a CIA vehicle. McGregor ran to his radio to signal the rest of the team.

“Unit, we are under attack. I repeat, we are under attack,” said McGregor.

Gunfire broke out across the grounds of Achamore House. At that moment three CIA men stormed into the room, attempting to grab McGregor. Protocol was to evacuate him as senior agent. However, McGregor brushed them aside. The group decided that the fastest way off the island was to take the plane on which the enemy unit had arrived.

“How far is the airfield?” asked McGregor.

“Two miles,” said one of the team.

“Ok, let’s move.”

As they moved down the stairs, the CIA and Paddy became aware of the size of the task they had on their hands. The gardens were filled with enemy gunmen, and the invaders were moving into various positions around the house.

“They’ve destroyed our transport, sir, so the only way to the boat is on foot.”

“We need diversion, boys. It’s of the utmost importance that we get Paddy Trimble stateside and in one piece,” said McGregor.

“Ok sir, understood,” said one of the agents.

With that, Paddy and McGregor parted company with the rest of the team. Back in the main drawing room, each agent smashed a window and began opening fire on the invading enemy force. Meanwhile, Paddy and McGregor had exited onto the back roof. Beyond that, there was a large artificial lake out the back of Achamore House.

“We’re going to have to jump and swim across it to go undetected. How good a swimmer are you?” said McGregor.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” replied Paddy, thinking briefly of his extraction in Venezuela during Frequent Flyer.

The two men dived off the roof into the lake and swam underwater for as far as they could. Slowly moving along and only surfacing briefly for air and to monitor their surroundings, they passed the perimeter of the surrounding enemy force. Paddy spotted two of the enemy patrolling the rear of the lake. He nodded to McGregor to go left, while Paddy went right. They swam underwater to the feet of each combatant. McGregor opted to pull the first enemy combatant into the water with him and after some struggle, managed to drown him. As this happened, the other combatant was distracted, and Paddy lifted a large rock, smashing it across the back of other man’s head.