Dreams to Die For (44 page)

The first light of dawn brushed across the loch, illuminating the wisps of mist that were gently caressing the surface of the water. The only sound that could be heard was the occasional plop from a fish that had risen to feed or had jumped simply to clean any lice from his scales and for the fun of creating a splash. Fadyar went outside the cottage and breathed in, filling her lungs with the fresh, cold, pure air. As she viewed the mountains, she reflected that they had remained constant over thousands of years and would look, and be, the same tomorrow.

“But will I?” she asked herself, but obtained no reply. She had checked and re-checked all her equipment, especially her firearms. She had again mentally analysed every aspect of her plan, recently amended to ensure that no one would be able to communicate an emergency message from the lodge. Whilst she kept telling herself that Assiter and Truscott might change their intentions to go deer stalking, somehow she just knew they wouldn't. She was calm now and she hoped she could remain that way when later in the day she was going to be called upon to act. For the first time, she felt the real burden of leadership and the onerous responsibility of possibly leading her comrades to their deaths. It had been a long and arduous journey from the ruined streets of Baghdad and the torn bodies of her parents to the calm of this highland paradise, and the irony was not lost on her that she was about to inflict on this place a similar, albeit different, atrocity to that which befell her beloved home. She had not heard Khan as he walked up behind her and was startled when he put his arms around her waist and kissed her gently on the back of her neck.

“You have grown to like this place, haven't you Fadyar?” he asked gently.

She didn't give an immediate response but slowly she turned to him and said, “It is beautiful, it really is. I have begun to take notice of it more and more, and each time I look I see it differently. Truscott must be a wise and clever man. With his fortune he can live anywhere, yet he lives here: where travel is inconvenient; where life, in many ways despite his wealth, is harsh. Why do you think he does that Nasra? I will tell you why. Because he is sensitive to nature and to life itself and values it higher than he does his money.”

Nasra stayed silent for a moment, thinking upon what Fadyar had just said.

“And so are you Fadyar.” After a pause he added, “I came out to say I am ready but also to tell you something I may not have chance to say later. I love you.”

“I know,” she said simply, “and I you. I fell asleep last night thinking that it was us in the lodge, not Truscott. How weird is that?” Neither she nor Khan answered, and they jointly loaded up the small boat and prepared to make the long journey towards the dam as the new sunlight began to dissolve the mist.

In contrast to Fadyar, Donaldson had slept little. His contract with Crossland was becoming a burden and a considerably dangerous one. He sweated with nervous energy as he thought about the various ways he could possibly penetrate the lodge defences, but failed to find any that totally satisfied him. Sure, he could get close, but there was no real requirement for him to take such risks. His task was simple: kill Cindy Crossland. He could use his rifle to do this from a safe distance, either when she was crossing over the water in a boat or simply lie in wait for her at a passing place and shoot her through the windscreen of her vehicle as she drove along the road.

There was only one reason why he longed to get inside the lodge and it had little to do with murderous intent. Not being able to sleep he rose very early and had quickly washed and shaved the overnight red stubble from his face. The lure of Cindy Crossland was considerable and he decided to go to the lodge again and simply see what happened in the morning. If no opportunity presented itself, he would have to resort to taking a shot at her later in the day, or if he had to, the following day. He knew he was good at dealing with situations as they arose and he would rely on his instincts and reactions rather than try to devise some elaborate plan to circumvent the security. There was one thing he was certain about. Delay was not an option, never had been and never would be. To delay means failure and Donaldson knew only success. He carefully packed his suitcase and placed it in his 4x4 alongside his rifle, field glasses and ammunition. He called in at the local store, always open early for the camper and caravan tourists, and bought provisions that filled his rucksack – having first emptied it of some miscellaneous items which included a bundle of long nylon cable ties held together by a thick elastic band. He drove slowly but purposefully around the southern and western shores of Loch Lochy, before turning left for Loch Arkaig and to the Mealag Estate track that he had come to know so well. He hid his vehicle deep into the forest and looked at his watch. 8am. He took his rifle from its case and slung it across his shoulder, checking first that it was loaded and the safety catch secured. He placed his glasses around his neck and made certain his large hunting knife was in its sheath at his side. Finally, he took two bacon sandwiches from his rucksack and put them into his left jacket side pocket before undoing the band from around the ties and stuffing a large handful of them into his right pocket. His last act, before making his way through the trees to the lodge, was to lock his car and place the keys on an inside pocket that he could securely close by its zip. He took several gulps of air and set off to hunt for his human prey.

Sharid Bagheri and Mawdud Mattar had been meticulous in their preparations. The Land Rover was full of fuel, more to aid its stability than for the miles it was expected to travel, and their equipment had also been double-checked. As soon as they left the hotel, they changed into sturdy, studded walking boots and their camouflaged jackets and trousers before Bagheri drove to the passing place a quarter of a mile beyond the garages. They waited there, their shortwave radios switched to the ‘on' position. They had an excellent view of the loch and of any comings and goings from the lodge itself, whilst not appearing overly conspicuous themselves. They placed their high powered glasses to their eyes and searched for any activity on the lodge estate, where Fadyar was going to be landed in about thirty minutes time. Fadyar had instructed them that if it was not safe for her, then they should start their vehicle and drive along the road. She would see it and abort her landing. All was still amid the trees and they remained in their position.

Khan skilfully cut the engine and silently brought the small boat onto the opposite shore. Fadyar jumped out, and immediately Khan rowed out towards deeper water before starting his outboard again. The boat had been at the shore for barely ten seconds. Khan made way towards the dam, it being his role to take out the officer patrolling the wall and gate when Fadyar gave the signal. He dropped anchor and prepared to start fishing. Ordinarily either Mattar or Bagheri would have made some light hearted comment upon Khan's fishing, but today such thoughts did not disturb their concentration and they remained silent. Several minutes passed and then the radio came to life.

“In position. Synchronise watches. In ten seconds it will be 8:15am exactly. Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, mark. Over.” It was Fadyar.

Almost simultaneously three voices responded “Affirmative. Out”

The previous evening, Chief Inspector Keith Maythorp at Fort William had reasonably assumed the raising of the terrorist threat had been sanctioned by the JTAC, since as far as he was aware that was their responsibility. That was also the very firm view taken by the Chair of the JTAC, the Assistant Director General of the Security Service, Rosalind Craglis – a redoubtable woman of immense experience in intelligence and counter intelligence. She had been a skilled field operative in the days of the cold war where she had demonstrated considerable courage and fortitude in various overseas countries, many of them visited without a valid passport and entered by non-conventional means. She then served in various embassies and UK missions, often masquerading as an Under Secretary for Trade, a euphemism for her real work as a spy. Since taking up a position at Millbank, she had risen steadily to Assistant Director General and she did not take kindly to having her role usurped by someone whom she regarded as a promotion-seeking policeman. Assistant Commissioner Manders was being firmly reminded that his responsibilities did not include unilaterally issuing threat assessments prior to any discussion of the actual facts by the JTAC. Craglis had opened the meeting at 8:30am when the sixteen representatives from government departments were present, but it was now nearing 9am and Manders was becoming impatient. He and Ms Craglis had clashed previously, and it was apparent that the Assistant Director General was now using this opportunity to settle old scores.

“If the Chair would permit, I am finding this lecture time consuming and non-productive. I move that we immediately discuss the main item under review and either confirm or rescind the Assistant Commissioner's threat warning. I cannot imagine he issued it lightly.”

Everyone turned to face the interjector, a little known figure with a fresh, round face, who was standing in for the Permanent Secretary at the Ministry of Defence. Murmurs of assent gathered in volume.

“I should like to second that.” John Walters of GCHQ, who had unofficially helped earlier in the investigation, called out. The obvious affront to the Chair inwardly delighted Manders but although Ms Craglis blushed she kept her composure.

“Very well, then,” she curtly replied. “Assistant Commissioner, the floor is yours.”

She beckoned at Manders to start. Manders then laid out all the evidence. His presentation was flawless as was his mastery of the facts both salient and the less significant. He replied to questions with courtesy and patience and succinctly explained the reasons why he had taken the extraordinary step of pre-emptively raising the threat level.

“With these facts and particularly the decoded message that reveals the dates for such an attack, it was imperative in my view not to lose any time at all in alerting our security and protection forces across the country. To have delayed until this morning, only to find that overnight an attack had occurred on an unprotected installation or, worse, during the London rush hour, would in my humble submission have been tantamount to a dereliction of my duty and obligation to the state.” Manders ended his evidence with a flourish that brought wry smiles around the table but which did nothing to harmonise his relationship with Rosalind Craglis.

A further hour of debate followed, and then various proposals were put by the Chair and voted upon, the most pertinent being unanimous agreement to endorse the raising of the threat level and to also immediately notify the Joint Intelligence Committee. Craglis closed the meeting at 10:45am, twenty minutes after four persons were either dead or dying 600 miles away.

Manders returned to the office where he saw Ritson leaning over Dongle's shoulder staring intently at a computer screen. Ritson looked up.

“How did it go?” he enquired.

“Fine, apart from that bloody Craglis woman.” Then mindful of Dongle's presence added hastily, “I'll tell you about it sometime. God, these meetings can be tiring.” Manders threw his file of papers rather too hard onto Dongle's desk and sat back on a vacant chair. The documents spewed out of their protective folder with some going over the desk and others drifting drunkenly to the floor. Dongle and Ritson went to gather them up, when a piece of typescript caught Dongle's eye.

“Can I ask what this is, I haven't seen it before?” He enquired, passing it over to Manders.

“You don't know? That's the decoded message that was the clincher for the raised alert, are you sure you haven't seen it?” Manders asked, as he looked quizzically towards his detective chief superintendent.

Ritson replied, “Dongle wasn't shown it, Sir. His skills are in computer analysis and stuff the rest of us don't understand. We don't want him tied up in doing phone number searches on databases, stuff we can all do!” he chuckled.

Dongle remained serious. “May I look at it again, Sir?”

Manders passed it to him and Dongle studied it in silence for about a minute whilst the others looked at each other, puzzled.

When Dongle spoke again he did so in a hushed, faltering manner. “I, er, I don't think this has any phone numbers on it. In fact… um, I don't think it's got anything to do with a phone number at all.”

“What?”
Ritson shouted, and jumped up from his chair. Manders mouth gaped open but no words came.

“No Sir. You see, I do a lot of walking when I can, holidays and the like, and I use Ordnance Survey maps. This number looks awfully like a grid reference to me. And the initials NH at the end would probably be the actual map. It will be somewhere up north.”

Manders grabbed the paper from Dongle's hand and looked at it. He then passed it to Ritson. All three men stood for several more seconds before Ritson broke the silence.

“Oh fuck.”

A number of persons, each with differing motives, observed the MacLeans drive out of Mealag at 8:45am using the Range Rover. The British protection officer patrolling the lodge waved at them as they passed by and offered to close the gate behind them as they drove out. Donaldson, carefully concealed at the outer edge of the fence, also noted their departure. Fadyar Masri, having taken up her familiar position, glanced at her watch as the MacLeans pulled away. The smell of diesel fumes invaded her nostrils and she fleetingly resented the affront to the usually clean, odourless air. Ten minutes later, Assiter and Truscott appeared. They were carrying their rifles and rucksacks and headed towards the jetty where two boats were moored. They got in the larger one and sat down. A few moments later, the American agents walked smartly down to join them.

“Get in,” said Gordon, “You can travel first-class with us today.”

Five minutes later, they had drawn up at the jetty, unloaded the boat, and were about to commence their ascent of the hill. Fadyar waited, her telescope firmly focused on the group. As soon as they started the climb she spoke into her radio.

“Sharid. They are on their way, as planned. It's safe to move out. Over.”

“OK. Over”

Bagheri started the Land Rover and drove it to the track by the garages where he parked it out of sight of the road. He and Mattar deliberately left the doors unlocked and slid the key under the driver's floor mat. Concealed by their fabric carrying cases and hidden by their loose-fitting camouflage jackets were their CAR-15 sub-machine guns and the Walthur hand guns, holstered at their side. Each wore an ammunition belt, also underneath the jacket, from which hung two grenades, clips for the Walthurs and a large supply of bullets for the SMG's. Mattar wore the field glasses around his neck, whilst Bagheri carried various items in a rucksack. A few minutes later they walked along the road to the dam where they turned off and started to climb the hill. Their ascent attracted the attention of the officer at the dam gate, curious as to why, today, two groups should be deer stalking the same area. He switched on his radio and spoke into the microphone which was pinned to his lapel.

“Bill. It's Nigel at the dam. Are there any others on this deer stalking trip that we know of?”

“Don't think so. I can go and look on the board if you think it's important.”

“Yes, can you do that. Two other guys have just followed our party up the hill, about fifteen minutes behind at a guess.”

“Will do. Out”

Bill Green, still on his patrol, walked to Ruraich and looked at the board. Nothing was mentioned about more persons joining the party.

“Nigel, I'm outside Ruraich. Nothing on the board – what next?”

“I'm not sure. I'll come over to the house. Can you get Pete from the gate to join us before he goes off duty. No point in waking up Simon, at least not yet. Oh, and can you confirm with the women that no one else is expected on their husbands' trip.”

Fadyar watched intently as the three officers gathered outside the house and she moved silently to be in earshot of their conversation. She was just in time to hear them trying to raise their CIA counterparts on the radio.

“Bloody things. You would think that with all those farts in Whitehall and Washington they could at least ensure that the radios we use are the same or at least compatible. The US guys have their own comms and I think theirs must work on a different frequency. I can't get them.”

“Well, I think two of us should go across and follow the second lot of walkers. After all Assiter is the priority and if something odd is happening over there we should take a look. Pete and I will go. You and Simon stay here, but wake Simon.” It was Bill that was taking charge and a few moments later the two officers started their long walk across the dam wall towards the mountain opposite. The four went their separate ways just as Cindy and Paulette took their usual morning swim and dived into the pool. A few minutes later the phone rang in Ruraich but no one heard it. Then the phone in the hall of the lodge rang and no one heard that either. Eventually the MI5 officer in London hung up and went on to ring the next number on his list of those who should be told of the Level 1 alert.

Fadyar slid herself back into deeper cover until she was well away from the lodge complex, then she spoke quietly into her radio, ensuring the scrambler was on. “Mattar. There are two British police coming over and they will be behind you. You will need to take them out before attempting any attack on our target. Note there are four, repeat four, British police in total. Not three. And some good news, the Americans and British can't communicate via their radios.”

“Understood Fadyar. We will let you know the outcome.”

She then told Khan to withdraw from his position and make his way back, past Mealag, and anchor a little way beyond so as not to attract any attention from the officers who would be crossing the dam. Fadyar had considered whether she, and perhaps Khan, could have shot the officers as they walked across but dismissed the idea. Although her rifle was silenced and she was an expert shot, the odds did not favour a clean kill on two moving targets at a distance she estimated to be in excess of 700 metres. Also, the muffled noise would still be very audible to anyone close by and any shots would totally compromise her position and probably the mission itself. Khan would have a very difficult shot from a boat bobbing around on the waves. She slowly wriggled on her stomach to return to her original vantage point, pleased that at least severing the communications at the lodge was now going to be a whole lot easier than she first envisaged – though there was still the matter of the two remaining protection officers to resolve, not to mention the two women, but her plan included those challenges.