Dreams to Die For (46 page)

Dean Assiter and Gordon Truscott were making a slow climb across Gleoraich headed in a broadly Easterly direction. The main part of the mountain reared its huge head to the west but its long eastern flank, also impressively tall, was a lot easier to traverse. The two CIA agents were maintaining a distance of no more than fifteen metres behind the stalkers. Three hundred metres behind them were the two kidnappers, and the two British police were a similar distance behind Bagheri and Mattar. As the flank gradually became less steep, Gordon and Dean changed direction and headed north before doubling back behind the hill in order to continue the climb. The two British protection officers had barely started their walk along the eastern flank as Dean and Gordon disappeared behind the mountain. Bagheri and Mattar, alerted by Fadyar that the two officers behind them represented a threat that had to be dealt with, were also steadily making their way across the hill, but they did not turn behind the mountain.

At the Eastern end of Gleoraich, just slightly away from the path taken by the walkers ahead of them, was the entrance to the surge shaft access tunnel that Gordon had pointed out to Cindy on her first visit to the dam. It was still protected by a padlocked wrought iron grille door and the large DANGER safety notice swayed slightly in the gentle breeze. The entrance was small, permitting only one person to enter at a time and the interior of the tunnel was pitch-black. Being cut deep into the hill, no sunlight ever entered it and daylight only penetrated a few yards into the dank interior. It was an ideal spot from which to spring an ambush, provided Mattar and Bagheri could quickly remove the padlock. Carrying no tools and not wishing to risk the noise their silenced weapons might make, they would have to improvise. Fortunately, as with the dam, cost constraints at the time of construction were severe and there was no money available for clearing the detritus and unwanted or broken machinery. A lot was buried within the massive works but considerable amounts were either submerged by the rising water in the loch as the dam took effect or just left to rot at the shoreline. Similarly, the excavations for the surge access tunnel had not been removed and an ample supply of broken and torn metal, mostly iron and steel, littered the immediate surroundings. Mattar picked up a deformed and twisted iron bar about 2cm thick. It was crusted with bright orange flakes of rust, which fluttered to the ground like sprinkling tea leaves as he wedged it firmly into the padlock's hoop. He twisted the bar round and asked Bagheri to lend his weight and their combined strength soon overcame the lock's resistance. It snapped open and fell to the grass. They opened the door slowly, which much to Bagheri's dismay squeaked and squealed as it moved on the rusted hinges.

“Stop,” cried Mattar. “Wait.”

He then walked a short distance and started picking the berries, full and ripe, from a nearby large rowan tree. When he had gathered two handfuls he brought them over to the gate and squeezed his hands together, letting the sticky liquid drip over the rusted mounts. He moved the grille very slowly back and forth and it was soon operating silently, much to his partner's admiration.

“Good trick that Mawdud, well done” remarked Bagheri. “Let's get in.”

They entered the long, narrow tunnel, pulled the grating closed and waited. Several minutes later, from their secret hideaway they saw the officers come into view, their upright posture indicating that the climb was not demanding much effort from their fit bodies. It was time for Mattar and Bagheri to ready their weapons.

The CAR-15 is a highly versatile submachine gun. Not only is it short barrelled, light and easy to use, but it can also be switched easily from a machine gun to a fast firing single shot repeating rifle, the setting now chosen by both terrorists.

“You take the one on our left, I will take the one on the right. Remember, they have body armour. Go for the head.” whispered Bagheri.

A moving target is clearly more difficult to hit than a static one. Normally, any trained killer will aim at the body as it presents a larger target area and does not move quickly in unpredictable directions as does a person's head, but the Kevlar protective vests altered the odds. The officers passed in front of them.

Mattar gave a quick nod to his companion and silently opened the gate. The two stepped out and lay flat on the coarse grass and took aim. The officers were no more than fifteen metres away and Bagheri and Mattar could not miss. Two silenced shots were fired and two bodies fell, both dead before they hit the ground. The sound of the shots, like that of young child trying to imitate the sound of a steam engine, although muffled, was still loud enough to alarm Bagheri.

“Will the CIA hear that?” he asked, but Mattar reassured him.

“No, my friend. They are the other side of this high mountain. We heard it, sure, but it will pass well over their heads. We are safe.”

He was right. The two stalkers and the two Agents ahead of them carried on walking and chatting with only the squawk of an occasional buzzard catching its prey to distract them. Bagheri switched on his radio to report to his leader.

“Fadyar, are you there? Over.” he whispered into the microphone.

The radio clicked, but instead of hearing Fadyar's calm and reassuring voice, he heard the panicked screams of Cindy and Paulette.

“Fadyar, is that you? Are you alright?”

“Mawdud, I'm fine, but something really odd is going on here. Someone else has arrived and he isn't friendly. I am investigating. Meanwhile, just continue with our mission. If you cannot raise me, remember there is Nasra waiting in reserve.”

“OK, if you are sure.” For the first time some nervousness crept into Bagheri's voice. “I called to say those following us are now eliminated.”

“Well done, my brothers. Keep to our plan. We shall succeed. Out.”

Fadyar could not waste more time nor risk exposure from the sound of the radio. She needed to quickly investigate what was happening at the lodge as she had to ensure that the alarm systems were neutralised and the communications severed. The red head now posed a significant risk to her mission. Her hopes that he might be soon gone faded when she heard those awful screams. She tried to remain calm and rational, but she sensed that the terrified women's screams meant only one thing. If she was right, the red head would not be leaving for quite some time – time she didn't have.

Donaldson marched quickly up the drive, totally indifferent to the sound his boots made on the gravel, before making his way around the outside of the house. He paused underneath the lobby window. Placing his hands on the stone sill, he leveraged himself just high enough to take a rapid glance inside. No one. He smiled to himself as he silently opened the door and entered the house. Almost immediately, his heart began to pump faster and the sides of his temples visibly pulsated in rhythm to the quickening beat. He walked through into the kitchen. The wooden table had been partly set for breakfast with bowls and plates neatly placed in front of two chairs. Packets of cereal, milk and fruit juices were nearby. Two mugs were placed on the work surface adjacent to the coffee maker and a heavy kettle simmered gently on the hotplate of a cast iron cooking range. The constant heat had made the kitchen extremely warm and that, together with his adrenalin-fuelled excitement at the prospect of soon collecting his prize, caused beads of perspiration to quickly form on Donaldson's forehead. He picked up a small towel hanging from the drying rail of the range, mopped his brow and wiped his rapidly moistening hands before superfluously rubbing them down each trouser leg. He clasped his right hand over the handle of his hunting knife, sheathed at his side, and several times subconsciously gripped and released his short fingers from its shaft. As he moved cautiously towards the hall he could hear some distant voices, the excited chattering of two women. Startled, he walked back through the kitchen to the lobby, closing the internal door behind him.

Since the Assiters had arrived, Cindy and Paulette had drifted into what had become a familiar morning routine. They would rise at a pre-agreed time dependent on their plans and, not bothering to dress after washing, would don a pool robe from the previous day and start each morning with a splash in the pool. After their swim they showered in the changing area, took a fresh robe from the many on the pegs, rinsed out their costumes and hung them to dry in their cubicle before walking back to the inviting warmth of the kitchen for breakfast. Donaldson heard them enter the kitchen, Cindy talking about the dam. He waited. He heard the sound of the coffee machine being started followed by the mugs being slowly filled and the steady scrape of the wooden chairs on the stone floor as the two unsuspecting friends sat at the table. Donaldson turned the handle to release the lock on the internal door and then deliberately kicked hard against it knowing that the loud, sudden sound of his boots against the heavy wood would instil momentary fear, adding to the element of surprise and thereby lessening the risk. Both women screamed loudly and turned their heads.

Donaldson entered the room, his rifle aimed at Cindy.

“Shut up,” he shouted. Paulette screamed again. He immediately took his rifle in both hands and used the butt to strike the French model in the mouth. Be ruthless at the outset, minimise opposition. She nearly toppled from her chair, but recovered her balance. Blood was spurting from her smashed lip which she vainly tried to stop with her hand. Red blobs ran down the back of her fingers before dropping onto the fresh white robe. Cindy, too bewildered and confused to speak, gaped open mouthed at Donaldson.

“I said shut your mouth, and meant it.”

Menacingly, he slowly withdrew his knife and brandished the point close to their faces.

“Leave her alone!” Cindy raised her voice, “What the hell are you doing here, Donaldson? What do you want?” She was recovering her composure.

It was now time to ensure one hundred per cent compliance. Donaldson leaned closer to Cindy.

“I told you to shut the fuck up. If you don't, you see this knife – it has a real sharp blade and your friend here is going to be skinned little by little.”

As he spoke, he very gently ran the point of the blade across Paulette's cheek, being careful not to cut the skin.

“Not my face, please not my face,” Paulette started to cry, and the blood on her teeth and lips flowed a little more as she spoke with a heavier French accent than was usual.

“OK. OK. Leave her Donaldson. Why are you here? Does Alan know? Why are you following me? I presume it's me that's brought you here?”

Before Donaldson could answer, Paulette whose mind was gradually clearing from the impact and shock of the blow to her mouth, said hesitantly, “Do you actually know this man, Cindy? Why is he here?”

“He works for Alan but… ”

“That's enough! Shut up, both of you. Your husband and I parted company, if you must know so I thought I'd look up a few friends,” Donaldson smirked, “those who owe me a favour or two.”

Donaldson leant his rifle against the table and once more placed the knife close against Paulette's face. “Now Cindy you do exactly as I say or she gets very badly cut indeed. And no more questions. Got it.”

Cindy nodded as a terrified Paulette tried to lean further back into her chair. Donaldson threw Cindy several of the long and wide plastic cable ties.

“Handcuff each wrist to the chair. Place one on each of her wrists and secure them tightly. Then thread another one through the first and hook it round under the arm of the chair and then tighten ‘em up.”

Cindy hesitated. She had always disliked Donaldson, distrusted him, and now her worst fears were turning into some sort of nightmare.

“Do it!” Donaldson barked out the order, and Cindy slowly fixed the ties to each of Paulette's wrists.

“Now her ankles. Pull her legs back so each ankle is next to a rear chair leg. Then fix them in the same way.”

Cindy slowly got down from the chair. Her mind spinning with thoughts of how she might escape, but so much was rushing through her brain she found it difficult to think of anything but carrying out his orders.

After a few minutes Paulette's hands and feet were securely bound to the chair. Donaldson sarcastically praised Cindy, “That's good, Mrs Crossland. You see how real easy it is to please Jack.” He laughed, contemptuously at her. “You'll get a reward soon. Bet you can't wait!” he contemptuously spat out the words to her. Cindy felt physically sick. The man always had always been gross and uncouth but now he really terrified her. He had become a monster out of control. He positioned an empty chair a little away from the bound Paulette and looked at Cindy.

“Get back into the chair. Slowly.”

As she sat down, Donaldson began threateningly waving his knife around between the two helpless women. He touched the point on Cindy's throat and gradually moved it up to her wide open eyes. There he deliberately kept turning the knife around so that the sharp, shiny blade flashed from the reflection of the bright halogen ceiling lights.

“Now, stay there. One move from you and I'll start cutting her up. Put your arms on the chair”. Cindy obeyed and he used one hand to fix the plastic strap into place. The process was repeated for the other arm, but he left her legs unbound.

Cindy was desperately trying to think of how best to escape, or at least minimise the danger she and Paulette now faced. She knew that it was not in their interests to anger him and that it would be better to try and strike up some sort of rapport with their captor.

“Jack, what's this all about? We know each other, surely this isn't necessary? What's gone wrong?” She tried to sound composed and calm, anxious not to upset him.

Donaldson wasn't listening. He returned to Paulette, placed his hand under her chin and lifted up her head. “You are really quite a pretty little thing aren't you Frenchie?”

Paulette didn't answer. Donaldson grabbed the belt around her blood spattered robe and cut it through with his knife. The robe fell apart exposing her naked body.

“Not bad Frenchie, not bad. I'll keep you as my bonus prize for later.” He replaced the knife in its sheaf and sniggered as he placed his hand on her breast. Paulette quivered as his thick, coarse fingers touched her smooth soft skin. She leant backwards as far as her shackles allowed but Donaldson only laughed at her futile efforts. She opened her mouth wanting to scream but, too fearful, wept silently when no sound came.

“Leave her alone, Jack,” Cindy snapped. Donaldson laughed again, still slowly moving his hand across Paulette's breasts.

“Why? Are you getting jealous, Cindy? Your turn will come. I've something very special lined up for you.”

He moved between the two chairs, then said, “I want to know why the police, why all this protection. Is it for her?” He looked at Paulette.

Neither woman replied.

“Answer me!” He barked.

“Mr Truscott is planning a party this weekend. Some important people are arriving today and tomorrow. The police wanted to ensure the area was secure,” Cindy hoped she sounded convincing.

“Ugh. Well it wasn't, was it? And they'll sure get a surprise when they come, won't they!” He laughed, then spoke more seriously, “Don't give me a load of crap, Cindy. Your stupid husband might have believed your lies but no one's coming here – if they were, lover boy and his mate wouldn't be halfway up a mountain.”

“You are really some sick bastard, Donaldson. Really sick.” Forgetting all about trying to appease her captor she spat the words at him. Her lapse was painful for Paulette. Donaldson grabbed her left breast and squeezed hard. Paulette screamed.

“What did you say? What did you say? I think you should apologise to big Jack.”

“Sorry, Jack. Let her go please.” Cindy mumbled. Donaldson released the pressure of his hand and stepped back.

“OK. But you will have to show me how you grateful you are. I deserve a better apology than just you saying sorry.”

He stood directly in front of her, so close he rested his chin on the top of Cindy's head. He cut the shackle from her right wrist.

“Now, Cindy, make me happy.” He spoke calmly, without menace.

Cindy raised her hand, shaking slightly, lowered the zip on his trousers. She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

Donaldson quickly walked across to the kettle and held it above Paulette's head. Maintain the terror. Ensure obedience. They always give in.

“You win, Jack, you win,” Cindy whispered; defeated, humiliated, submissive. Donaldson now knew that she would offer no more resistance, her fight gone. He calmly replaced the kettle on the Aga, and as he stepped back to the chair Cindy lowered her face in readiness of what was expected of her but surprisingly Donaldson started to talk.

“You remember when I came to see you how you kept bending over, first showing me your tits then deliberately showing off that tight arse to me?”

Cindy stayed silent.

“I'll ask you again. Do you remember?” He raised his voice, threateningly.

“I didn't do that, and never would,” but Cindy did immediately recall the day he came round for Alan's papers and she had given him coffee.

“Oh, yes you did, sweetheart. You knew exactly what you were doing, how much I fancied you and played me along. We really could have had some good fun, you and me. It was obvious you wanted to but then you backed off, you silly bitch. I'd have given you what you needed.” He stared at her, paused, and said quite gently, “I hoped you'd be different, but you're all the fucking same.”

“That's not true Jack, none of its true,” Cindy simpered as she began to cry.

“Well it don't matter, ‘cos now it's time for you to make amends and let me have a real good look, close-up like.” Donaldson sniggered as he began cutting through the remaining nylon restraints holding Cindy to the chair.

The ties pinning her hand fell away and he motioned with the knife for her to stand up.

“Now take off that robe, turn around and rest your arms flat on the table.”

The truth of what was about to happen gradually dawned upon Cindy. She wanted to yell at him and run but was too tired, limp and exhausted.

Feebly she managed to say “No Jack. Not that. I'll do anything but that,” but Donaldson ignored her.

Cindy stood there, her naked body trembling, as he started fondling her breasts then her buttocks before gently pushing her head down next to her hands. She turned her face and shut her eyes whilst he positioned her exactly where he wanted. As Cindy bent over the table she cried out as he thrust into her.
Adepto tantum victorem praemio.