Authors: James Raven
“They should be easy enough to disable,”
Stewart said. “They run on diesels and I've worked on those often enough.”
Hodge said, “You told us there were only
three boats, Mac. I can see at least six.”
“We've only got to concern ourselves with
the fishing boats,” Maclean said. “The other boats are only for use around the
island. They wouldn't attempt to cross to the mainland in one of those.”
As
the van journeyed on to the concrete pier the four of them studied the shadows
in silence. Although Maclean was not surprised to find the place entirely
devoid of life, the others were. It was as if they were the only people on the
island, cut off from the rest of civilisation.
The
fishing boats were moored in a line along the pier. Maclean pulled up next to
the first one and switched off the engine. Again the heavy silence closed in on
them.
He
gestured towards the boats and spoke softly. “They’re all yours, Bob. Make it
quick. If anyone comes along I'll whistle a warning. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Stewart
beamed a smile at the others, picked up the small canvas bag containing the
tools he had purchased in Oban, and lowered himself down the iron ladder on to
the boat's deck. As he set to work on the engine the others climbed out and had
a smoke as they listened to the clanging of metal on the deck below.
The
bitter wind lashed unmercifully at their faces and as Parker looked down into
the blackened water of the harbour it was as if it was beginning to boil before
his very eyes.
Turning
to the others, he said, “It'll be hell going back.”
For
the first time, Maclean's face betrayed his concern. “Don't worry. We'll be all
right.”
“I
only hope Stewpot is as good a sailor as he's cracked up to be,” Hodge said. “Because
I never did learn to swim.”
Stewart
spent about ten minutes on each boat and in all that time no one came to
enquire what they were up to.
When
Stewart's work was done, Maclean said, “You were quick.”
“They
were a piece of cake. I only had to undo a few nuts and screws.”
“You're
sure they won't be able to use the boats tomorrow?”
“Well,
let's put it this way,” he said, smiling mischievously. “If they want to,
they'll have to find the parts first — and I threw those over the side.”
They
piled into the van and backed off the pier on low revs. Minutes later they were
outside a small brick-built hut just up the road from the village. According to
Maclean it was typical of the many exchanges located on islands throughout the
Hebrides.
Maclean
stopped the van. “This is the exchange. Parker and I have to follow the road
for about a mile to Mor's place. We'll see you back here in about forty five
minutes.”
Stewart and Hodge walked up to the heavy
wooden door, each carrying a shotgun and a crowbar insulated with rubber. As
they set about forcing the door open, Maclean drove off.
NINE
Ross
Mor removed the pipe from his mouth and looked up at his daughter as she
entered the room. Her shoulder length hair was tucked up under a flowered
headscarf and she was wearing a thick beige duffle-coat. As she walked across
the tiny room, full of rustic furniture and the memories of happier times, the
orange glow of the open fire stroked her cheeks. She leaned over her father and
kissed him affectionately on the forehead.
“I'll
not be late, dad. I promise.”
Anna
was going down to the village to spend the evening with Kate Ruag. They'd
probably have supper together and gossip over a game of draughts. Mor smiled up
at her. He was thankful that he didn't have to fear for her safety whatever
time she went out. On the mainland he'd be worried sick if he knew she was
going to walk across desolate moorland in the pitch dark. But here on Stack he
knew she was in no danger at all.
“Enjoy
yourself, lassie,” he said. “And be sure to bring me back a piece of Morag's
fine cake, you hear?”
“I
shan't forget. Now, will you be wanting a cup of tea before I go?”
“Ach,
no, lassie. I'll do myself some hot chocolate shortly and then I'll be off to
bed.”
As
he turned his head to gaze pensively into the crackling fire, Anna felt a
twinge of pity for him. Her mother’s death had hit him hard. He was still
drowning in grief and there was nothing she could do about it except to be
there for him.
She
was tempted for a moment to kneel at his feet and offer words of comfort, but
she had done that so many times during the past five months and rarely did it
make him feel any better. If anything it only made him worse. Enhanced his
sense of loss.
She
said, “Would you rather I stayed with you tonight? I wouldn't mind, truly. 'Tis
an awful night out anyway.”
Her
words pulled him back to the present. He sucked thoughtfully on his pipe and
forced another smile.
“No,
you go out and enjoy yourself. I'll be all right. I've got some thinking to do.”
“About
the treasure, I'll bet.”
When
he nodded, she cheered up slightly. At least, she thought, this treasure
business was keeping his mind occupied for some of the time.
“I'm
calling a meeting for tomorrow night,” he said. “So I can report on what
progress we've made.”
“And
what progress have you made so far?” she asked him.
“Well,
young Maclean has been doing like we asked him. Already he's raised over five thousand
pounds for us and only a few coins and trinkets have been sold at that.”
“And
what is to be done with the money?” She knew very well what was to be done with
it, but she wanted him to know she was interested.
“It's
going into a kitty, lassie. And when we’ve sold everything we'll start putting
it to good use.”
Anna
stared into his eyes for a long moment, wishing to God that her mother could be
here to share this new adventure with him.
“Best
you be going,” he told her, breaking her train of thought. “The torch is over
there on the shelf.”
Once
outside the tiny cottage Anna pulled up the collar of her coat and bowed her
head into the wind. She felt guilty suddenly for having left her father to
spend the evening alone, but even if she did turn back now she knew he would
only be upset by her show of sympathy.
So
she closed the front gate behind her and with the beam of the torch dancing
crazily on the surface of the road, she hurried down the hill towards the
village.
She
had gone about half way when she saw the blazing headlights of a car coming
towards her. Briefly she wondered who it could be. She stepped to the side of
the road to let it pass and when it drew level she leaned forward and tried to
catch a glimpse of the occupants.
The
driver turned his head towards her, and unmistakably it was Andrew Maclean. She
raised her hand to wave but before the gesture could be carried through the van
was already past her. She resumed her walking, feeling happier in the knowledge
that her father would shortly be having some company.
*
Five
minutes after Anna had left there was a knock at the door. Ross Mor immediately
assumed his daughter had returned, probably because she’d forgotten something.
He dragged himself up from his fireside chair, placing his pipe in the ashtray
on the table, and went to answer it.
He
turned the knob and the door threw itself open.
Two
men barged in. He felt a hand slam against his chest, shoving him backwards
into the living room.
His
features froze in an attitude of disbelief as he stared from one to the other. He
couldn’t see their faces because they were wearing masks. But they were big and
threatening and he knew they were strangers.
For
a second he thought he was losing his grip on reality. I must be seeing things,
he thought. A dream. No, a nightmare. It has to be. These two hideous creatures
can only be visions of a tired mind. Nothing more.
But
as realization dawned so the adrenaline of fear paralysed his body, freezing
his flesh and numbing his senses. He found he could no longer move, not even to
turn and run, as the two men came further into his home, slamming the door
behind them.
They
were shouting out words that didn’t register with him and their guns were
cocked in a threatening manner.
He
fell against the wall cabinet, knocking over glasses and plates.
And
then they were coming at him from both the right and left. He heard himself cry
out.
But
a second later a sharp pain lanced through the back of his skull and he felt
himself falling forward into a black, pain-filled void.
TEN
They
saw the beam of the torch coming down the road towards them, probing the darkness
like an accusing finger. They’d just finished their business in the hut where
they had ruined the island's entire communications system in an orgy of
mindless destruction, and were standing outside waiting for the others to
return.
They
concealed themselves behind the hut and had waited in unbearable silence for
whoever it was to pass them by.
But
then they heard a girl’s voice. She was singing to herself, a soft gentle sound
broken up by the wind.
Hodge
glanced conspiratorially at Stewart and nodded in
the girl's direction. She was now drawing level
with them.
“I reckon we
should make the most of this,” he said. “Let’s have a bit of fun.”
“Are you
fucking crazy?” Stewart said.
Hodge shrugged.
“She’s by herself and there’s nothing to stop us seizing an opportunity.”
Stewart shook
his head, “Don't be a fool. The others will be back at any minute.”
“Sod the others.
Besides, they might be ages yet. We can
pass the time
any way we please now we've done the job.”
“But what if
...”
Hodge sprang to his feet.
“Oh, come on,
Stewpot. Anybody would think she was your own fucking daughter.”
*
Anna was shocked when the figure stepped
out from behind the exchange. She raised the torch and aimed it.
The light revealed a
tall, good-looking man, with dark,
wind-blown hair and squinting eyes. She
knew immediately that he was a stranger and sensed just as quickly that there
was something bad about him.
She'd never
seen him before and had heard no mention
of such a man being on the island. Her heart began to
beat faster
and her hands trembled slightly.
“Hello there,
young lady,” the man called out. “Lost, are you?”
She didn't answer. She couldn’t summon the nerve to speak
.
Slowly, the man
walked towards her. Beyond him, she noticed now, there was another man, smaller
and plumper, and he, too, was walking towards her.
Her natural instincts told her to drop the torch and
run, that these men were not friendly. But for some
reason she couldn't. She found she could
only stand there
as if the very soles of her boots were glued to the
road. Fear and shock had conspired to produce this reaction in her.
“Out for walkies are we?” the first man
said, grinning.
Anna realized suddenly that something
dreadful was
going to happen to her. The man
was smiling, teeth
glowing white in
the torch's beam, but there was no
warmth
in his smile. As his cold, malevolent eyes looked
her up and down there
was a kind of predatory glint in them.
“I'm not going to hurt
you,” he said, not very con
vincingly.
“Wh ... who are you?” she managed weakly.
As he got to within a couple of feet of her
she lowered her right arm and the light fell from his face to form a
bright pool at his feet. In the darkness his
voice was even
more frightening.
“At the moment, little
girl, we're strangers. But when
it's over you'll probably know me better
than any man alive.”
All at once she knew what he meant and
panic over
came her. She dropped the torch
and the bulb went out
as it crashed to the ground.
But she had left it too late. There was no
escape, not now. Big strong hands latched on to her shoulders as she turned to
run. Then he increased the pressure and she
screamed with pain
and fear as he forced her to her
knees.