Authors: Jim Eldridge
The Lethal Target (5 page)
‘I’m told that you can see otters in the water if you come down here early enough,’ said Lauren. ‘And deer, who come down to the loch side, in the evening, just before nightfall.’
‘Wow!’ said Jake.
This place was a whole world away from the crowded streets of London, where he’d spent all his life. It had a peace and tranquillity he’d never experienced before. And yet, just a few hundred metres away up the path from the shore, an excavation was at work, looking for a book that could hold the key to making one of the most potentially dangerous weapons ever known. What was it Lauren had said?
Beauty often hides a secret killer
.
‘We can get back to the guest house along the shore,’ Lauren said. ‘There’s another path a couple of miles along here that goes back up to the cliff top.’
‘Another couple of miles?’ echoed Jake, horrified. ‘We’ll have walked about six miles today! And we’ll be finishing with a climb upwards!’
Lauren smiled.
‘It’ll make you fit,’ she teased him.
‘It’ll make me exhausted,’ countered Jake.
But, as they walked and he took in the scenery all around them, Jake had to admit it was worth it. I wish we could be here without us needing to find the book, he thought. Without the Russians and MI5 and the CIA, and everyone else, and all this intrigue. I wish it could be just me and Lauren, walking along the shore like this, free and without any worries.
And he reached out and took Lauren’s hand in his, and squeezed it gently; and she squeezed back.
‘There’s Robbie!’ she exclaimed. ‘And his Uncle Dougie!’
Jake saw two small upturned boats on the shore ahead of them, with two figures working on one of them. As they neared them, they saw that they were painting the upturned hull of the boat.
‘Good morning!’ called Lauren brightly.
The two stopped their painting and turned. The older of the two, Dougie MacClain, gave a friendly smile.
‘Good morning, Miss Cooper!’ He beamed.
‘This is my friend, Jake Wells,’ said Lauren.
‘Hi!’ said Jake, and he held out his hand.
Dougie looked down at his own hand, then shook Jake’s hand. His handshake was firm and friendly, like his brother Alec’s had been.
‘Just checking I didn’t have paint on it,’ he explained.
‘I could always wash it off,’ said Jake.
‘Not this stuff,’ chuckled Dougie. ‘Special paint for boats. Hard stuff. Has to be to withstand the salt in the sea. Isn’t that right, Robbie?’
Robbie nodded. Unlike his uncle, he didn’t smile.
He doesn’t trust us, thought Jake.
‘We’ve just met the Russians at their dig site,’ said Lauren.
‘Aye?’ said Dougie cautiously.
‘Dreadful!’ exploded Jake. ‘That fence shouldn’t be allowed in a beautiful place like this!’
‘The whole thing shouldn’t be allowed,’ growled Robbie. ‘They’re digging up sacred ground! People died there where they’re digging. They should be left in peace!’
‘Robbie feels very strongly about it.’ Dougie smiled.
‘I don’t blame him,’ said Jake. ‘I’d feel the same if I was him.’
Get on their side, thought Jake. If the MacClains were Watchers, as Lauren suspected, then they’d be keeping a close watch on the site, and everyone going near it. He and Lauren might well need their help.
‘What’s the fishing like?’ Jake asked Dougie, indicating the boats.
Dougie shook his head sadly.
‘Non-existent,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly all salmon farming these days. Everything seems to be on an industrial scale.’
‘No room for the small fisherman,’ sighed Jake sympathetically.
‘We get by,’ said Dougie. He smiled at Robbie. ‘Robbie wants to join me when he leaves school. I’ve told him there’s no future here. He ought to go to university and get a degree in something. Make his future elsewhere, where the money is.’
‘My future’s here,’ said Robbie firmly. ‘This is my home. If you can make a living here, so can I.’
‘There’s always tourism,’ said Lauren.
‘And archaeologists.’ Jake grinned.
Robbie scowled, not amused.
‘Come on, Robbie,’ said Dougie. ‘We’d better get on with this before the paint starts to dry. Have a good day, Miss Cooper. Nice to meet you, Mr Wells.’
Dougie and Robbie turned back to their painting, and Jake and Lauren continued their walk along the shore.
‘Well, what do you think?’ whispered Lauren. ‘D’you think Dougie’s a Watcher?’
‘With the small number of residents on this island, especially those with a long ancestry here, that makes sense to me,’ agreed Jake.
That evening, Jake and Lauren found themselves comfortable seats in the small bar area, and were just toasting one another with drinks, when a short but stocky man came over to them, holding a drink in his hand. Jake saw that he walked with a slight limp. This must be Muir, thought Jake. The mysterious American.
It was confirmed as the man gave them a smile of greeting, and said to Jake in an American accent: ‘Hi, I’m Ian Muir. You must be Jake. Miss Cooper said you were coming. Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all,’ said Jake, gesturing at the empty chair.
‘Can I get you folks a drink?’ asked Muir.
Jake and Lauren shook their heads.
‘We’re fine, thanks, Mr Muir,’ said Lauren.
‘Ian, please,’ said Muir.
He put his own glass down on the table, and made himself comfortable in the chair.
‘Some island, huh?’ he asked.
‘It certainly is,’ agreed Jake.
Muir took a sip of his drink, then said: ‘I saw you talking to our Russian friends at their dig today. You interested in archaeology as well, Jake?’
‘I certainly am,’ said Jake.
‘Mind, if you ask me, the Russians are lucky to be able to just turn up and dig like that. No red tape, no form-filling, just get right on with it.’
‘I’m sure it’s not that simple,’ said Lauren. ‘I expect they had to make submissions before they could dig, just like anyone else.’
‘I hear what you say.’ Muir nodded. ‘But I bet you they got their permissions faster and easier than most. And with less restrictions. Look at that fence they’ve put up, for one thing! What an eyesore! On a beautiful place like this!’
Jake smiled at Lauren. Muir was echoing her own sentiments about the dig.
‘But then the system here in Scotland’s still pretty feudal,’ continued Muir. ‘Throw the local laird enough money, and you can do pretty much anything. Providing you grease a few palms of the local councillors and members of the Scottish Parliament.’
‘I get the impression you don’t have much time for the people in power locally,’ said Jake.
‘No, Jake, I don’t,’ said Muir. ‘I come back here, and it seems not a lot’s changed since the Clearances forcibly kicked out my great-great-great-grandfather and sent him off to Canada back in the 1800s.’ He obviously saw Jake’s puzzled expression, because he asked: ‘You don’t know about the Clearances? The Highlanders were evicted from their homes and sent to Canada and Australia just so the landowners could graze sheep on the land.’
‘No,’ admitted Jake.
‘You don’t know about the history of your own country?’ asked Muir accusingly.
‘I’m English,’ said Jake. ‘This is Scotland.’
‘But isn’t it all the same country?’ asked Muir. ‘The United Kingdom?’
‘That depends who you talk to,’ said Jake. ‘As far as many of the Scots and Welsh are concerned, no. Their countries are separate. Hence the independence movements.’ He frowned. ‘But I’m surprised we haven’t heard about these Clearances. Every day there seems to be some new revelation of the bad things the Imperial English did in the past to other nations. The famine in Ireland. Suppression of the Welsh. Massacres in India.’
Muir chuckled.
‘This wasn’t the English. It was the Scots doing it to themselves. Scottish landowners, the Scottish aristocracy, getting rid of Scottish peasants.’
‘Ah,’ nodded Jake in understanding, ‘that explains it.’
‘Calgary in Alberta in Canada is actually named after Calgary Bay here on Mull, because it was from that same bay that many of the ships went across the Atlantic, taking the Highlanders to their new life,’ said Muir. His expression clouded as he added, ‘Those who didn’t get on the ships voluntarily were hunted down by dogs, and then bound hand and foot and thrown on board.’
‘But you’re American,’ said Lauren. ‘I thought you said your great-great-great-grandfather went to Canada.’
‘He did,’ agreed Muir. ‘But two of his sons crossed the border and settled in Chicago, thinking life might offer greater opportunities for them there. And that’s where my particular branch of the family comes from. The Windy City.’ He sipped his drink. ‘Most people have no idea the impact that Scotland has had on North America, both sides of the border. Most Canadians are either from Scots or French descent, mainly Scots. And the States wouldn’t be anywhere without the Scots!’ He leant forward. ‘Remember the moon landing in 1969?’
‘Not personally,’ said Jake. ‘Way before I was born. But I know about it, obviously.’
Muir didn’t seem to have heard him, he continued with what was becoming almost a lecture: ‘At the ceremony to celebrate the moon landing, the three men on the podium were the astronaut Neil Armstrong, President Richard Nixon, and the Reverend Billy Graham. All of Scottish descent.’
‘The Clearances?’ asked Jake.
Muir shook his head.
‘No, the Reivers.’
‘The Border Reivers.’ Lauren nodded.
‘I’m impressed.’ Muir smiled at her. ‘One of you knows their Scottish history.’
Lauren was on the point of retorting: ‘I ought to know about the Reivers, I’m a Graham,’ but she stopped herself in time. My name’s Cooper, she reminded herself. Helen Cooper.
‘The Border Reivers were clans who operated both sides of the Scottish and English border from the twelfth century to the seventeenth,’ continued Muir. ‘They were murderers and gangsters. They killed for profit and for power.’
‘Just like modern organised crime,’ said Lauren.
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Muir. ‘Chicago, New York, London, Mexico. The story’s the same.’
‘But you say they did it for
five hundred
years,’ said Jake.
‘Because there was no law in that part of Britain,’ said Muir.
‘They called the border area the Debatable Lands,’ added Lauren.
‘Like I say, you know your history,’ he said.
‘So what happened to them?’ asked Jake. ‘They suddenly stopped?’
Muir gestured at Lauren. ‘I’ll let you tell him.’
‘King James I of England offered the clans a deal: they could either join him and become his servants, swearing fealty and giving all their lands and goods to him, or they could be transported to the New World — America. Or they could be executed.’
Muir grinned.
‘In the words of
The Godfather
, it was an offer they couldn’t refuse. About half accepted the king’s terms, and just under half accepted the offer of a new life in the American colonies.’
‘What happened to the rest?’
‘They were executed,’ said Lauren. ‘As an example to any others who might be considering rebelling.’
‘An English king killing and exiling Scots,’ murmured Jake. ‘I’m surprised the Scots who want independence haven’t made more of that.’
‘He was King James VI of Scotland before he became King of England,’ said Lauren. ‘He was the son of Mary, Queen of Scots.’
‘I see,’ said Jake.
Muir grinned and raised his glass to them in a toast.
‘See?’ he said. ‘Trust me, the Scots should spend more time blaming their own Scottish aristocracy for their troubles!’
As they got back to their room, Jake’s mind was still whirling with all the historical facts Muir had loaded them with during their session.
‘Wow!’ said Jake. ‘That was some history lesson!’
‘He’s an expat,’ explained Lauren. ‘Expats and second-generation immigrants are always more patriotic about their mother country than the people who still live there.’
‘Still think he’s CIA?’ asked Jake.
Lauren shrugged.
‘If he is, his cover’s good.’
‘So, what next?’
Lauren smiled and came to Jake, and put her arms around him.
‘After the history lesson, I was thinking of trying some biology,’ she whispered.
‘I always preferred biology,’ he murmured.
Next morning, the sky was overcast, but Jake couldn’t have cared less if it had been blowing a gale outside. He was here, with Lauren, and they were closer than they’d ever been.
After breakfast they set out for the site of the dig again, dressed for anything the weather might throw at them, and both with binoculars hanging around their necks.
‘You think that professor might get suspicious if he sees us again?’ asked Jake. ‘I mean, we’re supposed to be tourists.’
