The Nationalist (27 page)

Major Charles Brown thought he recognised the old man but he didn’t have long enough to make the connection. Jock pushed the button and disappeared in a cloud of blood. The blast tore off the upper torso of the Provost and echoed around the enclosure, taking the lives of all those near enough to feel the full force of the blast. The explosion also triggered the C-4 packed into the red wreath which the Major had taken into the enclosure. It caused a smaller but no less deadly blast around the periphery. The force of the second explosion opened a deep crack on the head of the ceremonial granite Lion on the north side of the Cenotaph’s boundary, with the shrapnel ripping through the assembled crowd. By the time the dust had settled 14 people were dead. The whole incident had been caught on camera and within 24 hours the whole of the UK would be on a security lockdown for fear of a wave of similar attacks.

“He was very brave,” Annabelle said, moved by the story, “It makes you think that anything is possible.”

“Where he goes, we must follow. Jock started the revolution and we’ve arrived at a tipping point, Annabelle. The country has to wake up to the fact that its toxic history needs to be rewritten. If we can wake up the nation we’ll have achieved what has eluded Scotland for 300 years. We’ll have helped free the country from the dregs of an already dead empire.”

Annabelle was wary of Ian Wark’s new-found evangelism. He had always been a logical man – brutal perhaps, but always logical. She nodded her head and placed her hand over his, “We’ll be OK, Ian – together we’ll get through this, one way or the other.

46

Rosalind Ying wanted to see the cottage at Gourock first hand. Her Landrover Discovery left the main road, with the vehicle whispering through the tall grass of the overgrown driveway. The patter of rubber on tarmac gave way to a lighter whisper as the creaking vehicle rolled downhill through the tall grass. She could see that Arbogast and Guthrie were already there.

“Have you two been here all night?”

“Just arrived back for a second look,” Arbogast said.

“And?”

“And I still think I’m missing something.”

“The prints have shown up though?”      

“They were here all right. We didn’t miss them by much. I’m just not sure why they would have come here. They must have known we’d find out about the cottage before long.”

Chris Guthrie was standing on the edge of the cottage garden. Beyond the bluff, a rocky outcrop dropped down about five feet. Beneath him the land opened out to a narrow strip of shingle beach. The remains of a wooden jetty could be seen jutting out from the water, with only stumps visible at high tide. Chris picked up a stone and threw it down towards the water. He missed. The clatter of rock on rock got his DCI’s attention.

“Are you not a bit old for that, Chris?”

“I was just thinking this is an odd spot to hideout. Do you think they’re leading us somewhere?”

“I’m not sure how far ahead they’re planning. The explosion seemed to be the pinnacle of their campaign. I’m not sure what else they could do.”

Arbogast interrupted, “They could do anything they put their minds to. He was a trained killer with experience in some of the most brutal conflicts of the last 10 years, while she knows computers. Cyber crime is big business now. I’m told it’s worth billions to the black market. If these two put their minds to it, and let’s face it there’s no reason to suppose that they won’t, who can say what they might be capable of? Maybe the explosion was just the start.”

“Yeah, but they’re mobile. How much kit could they carry?”

“How much kit do they need? I’ve got the high street on my phone these days. I could buy a car online right now if I wanted.”

“You think they’re hoping to bring down the world to a standstill from the comfort of a smart phone? Revolution’s not what it used to be,” Rosalind was laughing. It warmed Arbogast to see the gleam in her eye, and for a second he forgot where he was, “Well do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you think they’re going to try something online?”

“All I’m saying is that they could do a lot of damage with a phone – even more with a laptop and wifi dongle. Do we know who his internet provider is? I think we need to close down his account as a matter of urgency.”

“And hers for that matter,” Chris said. All three nodded.

“But of course,” Arbogast continued, “It’s not impossible that he has an account under an assumed name. While I doubt they’re still using their mobile phones for calls, we need to try and trace their movements. I know we’ve already checked this, but it’s possible their handsets are still live. If they get sloppy and use the phones, we’ll find them.”

“I’ll get the team onto it. It won’t take long to track them down if we can trace a signal while they’re on the move.”

“Thanks, Rose.”

“That’s DCI Ying to you DI Arbogast, and don’t forget it,” Rosalind walked back to the car and phoned in the request. Chris turned his back to the car.

“Forecast is for a frosty start today.”

“You’re a bloody comedian.”

“Don’t let her get to you. I thought she was being pretty decent.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. To be honest I don’t want to think about it.” He turned and walked down over the bluff and onto the beach. A red plastic palette was washing up on the shore. Where does this crap come from? Looking out across the Firth, Arbogast looked to try and see what Wark and Strachan would have seen. Where did you go? In the distance he could see the islands of Cumbrae and Bute with the high, jagged landscape of Arran visible in the distance. Would you have gone to an island? Was there a boat here? Turning round he could see he was being watched.

“What do you think Chris – do you think they would have risked going to one of the islands? Have we checked with Cal Mac on journeys for the last two days?”

“The security alert has gone to all airports, ferry terminals, and border control points. Cal Mac would have been told, but I doubt they’d have gone to an island. They’d have nowhere to run; it wouldn’t make sense.”

“In other words it would be the last place we’d think to look?”

Chris nodded, “I’ll put a call in. It’s worth a shot.” Ten minutes later they were back on the road.

Sarah Meechan was called into Pitt Street at 12 noon. She had been suspended after admitting to hacking the system and expected the worst. Still she felt better about coming clean and wasn’t looking to get any more involved in Ian Wark’s scheme than she already was. Sarah waited in the corridor on the top floor but she knew she wouldn’t be speaking to the Chief.

“Sarah?” She looked up and saw a tall, lean man wearing a light grey, three piece suit. She thought he had a kind face.

“I’m DI Ian Davidson. This meeting won’t take too long, but you need to be aware of what happens next.” Sarah nodded and followed the man into a room furnished only with a mahogany effect Formica table and two black padded vinyl chairs.

“Sit down, please.” Her interrogator gestured for her to take a chair, “You know why you’re here,” Sarah nodded while Ian Davidson continued his monologue, “In many ways you were wise to come forward when you did. However you are still up to your neck in it. The department does not take kindly to leaked information, and the fact that you focused on some of our top people was a stupid mistake on your part. However you may be able to make amends.”

“I’ll do anything I can.”

“That’s good. That’s what I need to hear. You can start by telling me everything I need to know about Ian Wark. Why did you give him the information?”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the conversation felt like one-way traffic, “He said it would help Scots to make the right decision.”

“And what does that mean exactly?”

“We shared a passion for our politics.”

“Really so you were glad that all those people died?”

“Well no, I didn’t mean that.”

“This isn’t a game. I was down there on the day. I saw the mess that that bastard caused. There was nothing left of some of them; limbs ripped off and strewn across the enclosure. You know the Cenotaph has had to be covered over. The blood has stained the white granite. It looks like something out of a bloody horror movie. Is that something your politics allows for?”

“I didn’t know anything about that. I wouldn’t have got involved if I thought he was—”

“—if you thought he was serious?”

“If you’d maybe let me finish a sentence.”

“Do you have anything worthwhile to say?”

“He could be very persuasive. I met him a few years ago at a conference. We got talking and I was impressed by him. He spoke well. He had fought in the Middle East and he was passionate that other people shouldn’t have to follow suit.”

“Did he mention Libya?”

“Libya was a long way off. I don’t know why he got involved in that. He said he didn’t want to face any more violence.”

Davidson laughed out loud, “I can see that. He just persuades old men to do his dirty work for him. How much do you know?”

“I don’t know anything. I owed him a favour. He gave me a place to stay for a few weeks once. My partner had left me and I had nowhere to go. I had a kind of breakdown, and he was good enough to get me through it. Regardless of what he’s done to other people, he was always good to me.”

“Were you shagging him?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said—”

“—I heard what you said. I just can’t believe what I’m hearing. What does sex have to do with anything? It wasn’t like that. We were just friends. He was always gentle with me but he had changed of late. He phoned me up and asked me to get some emails for him. He said there was a lot of back-handed work going on at Police Scotland and that the people needed to know. He said if they knew they might start asking questions – that it might help to build momentum for a ‘Yes’ vote in the referendum.”

“And you believed him?”

“Every word.”

“Then you’re more of a fool than you look.”

The nearest ferry terminal was in Gourock. Arbogast and Guthrie spent the best part of an hour trying to get the attention of the ferry master, Gerry McLean, but the constant grind of arrivals and departures meant their host was hard to pin down. Eventually they were told that all terminals had already been contacted by head office and the on-board CCTV was being made available to try and identify any suspect behaviour. All west coast terminals had been operating a reduced service the day before due to a national strike. He said that the ferries had only been running between 19:00 and 20:00 and only then to make sure they kept the locals onside, to make sure they could at least leave the island or get back on.

“That’ll help with the ID. But can you remember anyone acting suspiciously yesterday?”

“We only had four crossings so it was extremely busy but I can’t say anything springs to mind. There was a bunch of drunk guys, but I knew them, and I know they’re not involved in anything. They’re only boys.”

Arbogast noted down the name and addresses of the boys that Gerry could remember off hand, and phoned them into Pitt Street. A background tone from his handset told him someone was trying to reach him. It was Ian Davidson.”

“Where are you?”

“Gourock. I’ve got a couple of names for a group of guys in Dunoon; probably nothing, but worth checking. I’ll get local Police to interview them rather than making the trip. It’ll save time.”

“Good idea, but not just yet, I’ve another long shot I want you try.”

Arbogast felt his heart sink. He knew his colleague would be hell bent on trying to make his life a misery, but this didn’t seem to be the time for a personal vendetta. “I’ve just been speaking to Sarah Meechan.”

“Lucky you,”

“She’s cooperating. She mentioned a possible link that might be worth checking out; mentioned Ian Wark talked about an outwards bound course he used to take work at on Cumbrae.”

“An outward bound course?”

“Bear with me. It was a good 15 years ago, but he seemed to talk about it quite a lot. Before he was in the army he was a member of the Sea Cadets. Seems they used a place in Cumbrae a few miles out of the main town. I’ve checked and it’s not open at the moment but it would make for a good cover.”

“It seems unlikely.”

“I’ve just spoken to Ying too. She mentioned Chris Guthrie’s theory that we might be getting led on a deliberate path. He might be right. Maybe Wark has a reason for things he’s doing. I’m giving you an opportunity to follow the bread crumbs.”

Arbogast felt like he was being set up for something, but he wasn’t sure what. 45 minutes later Chris Guthrie drove onto the last ferry of the evening. As the gangplank drew up behind them, they both knew they were facing a long night.

Annabelle looked into the pantry and saw a sea of spam. “We’re going to have to move on soon, Ian. I can’t survive on this for much longer.”

“We’ll be gone soon. It’ll just have to do for now.” The pantry was part of the kitchen, at the very back of the building, furthest away from the road. Outside they heard the distant rumble of an approaching car. The noise stopped and the curling beam of headlights illuminated the inside of the building as the vehicle pulled-up outside.

Ian looked rattled, “Put the light off now. We’ve got company.”

47

The gate to the complex swung open and Arbogast nudged the car forward. Chris Guthrie followed behind on foot. There were two buildings in the complex. Arbogast parked at the front of what he assumed was the dormitory. It was pitch-black outside, so he left the motor running and kept the headlights on full beam. In the distance he could see Chris’ torch illuminate the darkness, the light probing at windows, searching for signs of life. It didn’t look like there was anyone home; another dead end. Arbogast reached back and felt around for the second torch behind his seat. By the time he got out Chris had disappeared round the back.