

### The Assassin's Gift

(Book One)

By

IAN C.P. IRVINE

Published by Ian C.P. Irvine on Smashwords

Copyright 2018 IAN C.P. IRVINE

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright observed above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Google and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated to Dedo

And to my Dad,

who taught me how to spel.

Other Books by Ian C.P. Irvine

Say You're Sorry

I Spy, I Saw Her Die

Haunted From Within

Haunted From Without

Time Ship

The Orlando File

The Messiah Conspiracy

London 2012: What If?

The Sleeping Truth

Alexis Meets Wiziwam the Wizard
Chapter 1

Loch Ness

Scotland

July 28th

9.30 p.m.

Salvador killed people for a living.

Why?

Was it for money? Notoriety? Or the enjoyment?

In fact, it was none of those things.

The reason Salvador was once again looking through the lens of his high-powered sniper's rifle, patiently waiting for his latest victim to appear in front of the cross hairs so Salvador could gently squeeze the trigger and blow the man's brains out of the back of his head, was none of the above.

In the silence and peace which afforded such similar moments of introspective contemplation that flowed in the moments prior to a kill, Salvador often reaffirmed to himself the three reasons behind his actions.

Firstly, Salvador killed because killing was an art, and Salvador was an artist.

He killed because he was good at it, and like other people, Salvador needed to earn a living. He worked hard. Took lives. Pocketed the money. Lived his life. It was a job. Nothing more. Nothing less. That was the second reason.

Lastly, the third was a simple statement.

Killing someone meant nothing to Salvador. He could take another human life and feel no emotion in the process. Salvador knew that others might view this as inhuman, an abomination, but Salvador saw it as a gift.

It allowed him to do what had to be done, without it impacting on his own life.

A glint of light from the boat below caught Salvador's attention. A man had come up from below and emerged onto the deck.

Salvador immediately centred his attention back onto the boat which was at anchor in a quiet cove on the other side of Loch Ness and focused the cross hairs of his riflescope onto the man's head.

The cove sheltered the boat and offered it some protection, that side of the loch being a nature reserve with no public access.

From Salvador's covered hide in the woods directly opposite on the other side of the Loch and a half way up the hill above the road, his high-powered rifle and telescopic sights took all that protection away. To Salvador it mattered not whether the boat was fifty yards away, or a mile.

Salvador's extensive training in America and years of experience had taught him everything he needed to know technically about killing with rifles, but his natural acumen and ability made up the rest. It was going to be a long shot and a difficult one, but not one that Salvador couldn't achieve. He had already accurately estimated and made adjustments to compensate for the various factors that influence a bullet's trajectory and point of impact, such as the range to the target, gravity, wind direction, wind velocity, air density, elevation, and even the Coriolis effect due to the rotation of the Earth across the distance that the bullet would fly. Having compensated for the particular local factors, - the heat rising from the loch, the wind speeds which varied across its surface from one side to the other, and the moisture in the air, Salvador was confident that he could achieve his mission so long as his Russian target appeared on deck. Salvador's biggest concern was the movement of the boat on the water itself, but by dropping anchor in a sheltered cove, they had stupidly solved Salvador's biggest problem and were practically offering Pavel Kuznetsov to him on a plate.

Salvador didn't know much about Kuznetsov, except that he was nicknamed 'The Blacksmith' and had a bad reputation. What he did, or why he had earned that bad reputation didn't interest Salvador. All that mattered was that someone was willing to pay eight hundred thousand dollars to have him killed, and for that sort of money, the man must have done something seriously wrong.

Anyway, the time for debate was long over. Salvador had already accepted the first four hundred thousand in advance. Now he had to deliver the expected result before the remainder appeared in his bitcoin account on the Dark Web.

It was cooler now, and less moisture would be rising from the loch, reducing resistance to the flight of the bullet as it crossed the loch. A quick glance at the small flags flying on the top deck of the cruiser close to where the man now stood also told him that the wind had changed direction slightly. Reaching up with his right hand but maintaining his hold on the rifle with his left, he adjusted the telescopic sight and made a few last minute tweaks to the settings on his weapon, automatically dialling in windage and last minute elevation corrections without moving his eye from the target.

The man who had come up onto the deck was Matvei Sokolov, one of two bodyguards who stayed with Kuznetsov twenty-four seven. As opposed to Kuznetsov, Salvador knew a lot about him. Likewise for the other gorilla, Leonid Hubenko, a Ukranian. Salvador always made it his business to learn about those who may be shooting back at him. How clever they were? What skills they had? How fast they could run if they started chasing him?

Both men were bad news and potentially dangerous.

However, so far they had already made a series of spectacularly bad decisions, - like the positioning of their boat on the far side of the loch -, and Salvador could have taken advantage of any one of them.

But he had bided his time as they toured around Scotland, and had followed them to the loch where he had already been watching the boat for three days.

It was getting late. The sun was slowly going down behind the mountains that shielded Loch Ness, and soon the Loch would be silent.

There were only three men on board the motor cruiser which Kuznetsov had rented. Hopefully that meant only three bullets.

Salvador released the safety catch, focussing the cross hair on the centre of Sokolov's forehead. He took three controlled breaths and in the respiratory pause at the end of the last down breath, he gently squeezed the trigger, following through to the rear of the action before releasing the trigger slowly back to the front.

As hoped for, as the bullet passed through Sokolov's head it imparted enough momentum to his neck and torso to cause him to stumble backwards, trip on the rail and flip backwards over the side into the water.

In the seconds before Sokolov toppled over the edge, Salvador's practised eye registered the point of impact on the man's skull, noting that it was slightly elevated and to the right of where he had intended. Subconsciously calculating a few adjustments, he quickly dialled in some further minute adjustments to the rifle, pushing forward on the controls of the rifle and rotating them clockwise, thus moving the point of impact down and to the left. Only then did he start to think of the fate of his victim.

Salvador guessed that thanks to the density of muscle in the Russian's heavily built-up body, he would quickly sink to the bottom of the loch, out of sight.

How long it would be before he was missed and the Ukrainian came looking for him, Salvador could not know.

It depended perhaps on whether or not they had heard the shot.

By the time the bullet reached the boat it would be travelling at two to three times the speed of sound, creating a small localised sonic boom. However, if those inside the boat had any music playing, the sound of the shot would most likely be drowned out.

But assuming that he was missed, it would probably be five or ten minutes before someone came looking for him.

Unfortunately however, Salvador's plan had a weakness.

Everything depended upon Kuznetsov coming topside. If he became alerted to something going wrong, he might simply stay inside the cabin, and call for help, or raise the anchor and move up the loch.

At that point things could get messy.

Salvador would then have no choice but to fire into the cruiser itself with metal-piercing rounds that could pass through the hull and ignite the fuel tanks.

Kuznetsov would be killed, possibly cremated alive, but half of Scotland would hear the explosion.

Not very subtle, and potentially problematic for the days ahead.

Salvador knew that Kuznetsov had been planning to spend another two days on the loch. Yesterday afternoon, after it was clear that Kuznetsov's boat had moored up on the other side of the loch, he had made enquires in the rental office in Fort Augustus, requesting to rent Kuznetsov's boat by name: 'Maiden of the Loch'. Unfortunately, he was told, it was rented out for another seventy-two hours. Instead, Salvador had rented a smaller boat and spent an hour cruising the loch alone disguised in a wig and American looking clothes. Feigning interest in the surroundings, he had intentionally cruised once up and down past Kuznetsov to get a good look at the boat, and to get a feel for the strength of the wind and the current across the loch and near the cove.

Salvador needed as much information as possible on local conditions to help secure the shot. Fortunately, according to the weather forecast, the conditions for the next few days would be very similar. It was now just a matter of waiting, which was something that over the years, Salvador had become an expert at. Salvador had waited all over the world, killing people wherever his missions took him. In capital cities, deserts, mountains, brothels, casinos... he had tracked down and killed his targets wherever his targets frequented or would be found. Salvador seldom had the luxury of choosing the location; the location chose him.

This however was, without doubt, one of the most beautiful of them all. He was surrounded by incredible scenery: mountains, lush green forest, the tantalising and legendary Loch Ness. And the smell... It was wonderful. As he lay in the grass, covered by his portable camouflaged hide, resting on his elbows with the telescopic sight against his eye, the smell of grass, the earth and the heather filled his nostrils and stimulated all his senses.

Continuously scanning the deck for any signs of movement, he thought back to his encounter that morning with the Monarch of the Glen: as he had studied the boat below with his field glasses, a sixth sense had told him he was being watched, and he had turned around, lifted the corner of his hide, and found himself staring straight up at a glorious stag. At least nine feet from the tip of his magnificent antlers to the base of his front hooves, the stag was sniffing the air and studying the land around him. Slowly he had bowed his head and antlers towards Salvador, and for a few, brief but drawn-out moments, their eyes had met. The stag's eyes, a beautiful translucent brown that sparkled in the morning light, studied Salvador carefully, before the great beast lowered his head still further and stretched out towards Salvador, sniffing the air.

Salvador smiled, and exuding no fear in response to the presence of the powerful beast above him, he momentarily turned his attention back to the field glasses and his mission below. A moment later he glanced back to the stag, only to find that it had gone. It had vanished effortlessly back into the wilderness around; his kingdom, in which Salvador now felt a blessed and welcome guest.

Pulling back from the telescopic lens, Salvador lifted his field binoculars and scanned up and down the loch. A cruiser was heading down to Fort Augustus, passing Kuznetsov on the side nearest Salvador. It would pass in the next few moments. Once it was gone, the rest of the loch was clear. Salvador blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes, and then returned to his vigil with his right eye close to the telescopic sight.

Twenty minutes passed. Twenty-five. Then the cabin door opened, and a man stepped out. A large man, larger even that the previous gorilla who had made the mistake of coming topside. Immediately glancing at the flag above and making a few minor adjustments to his rifle, Salvador then watched as Leonid Hubenko stretched, flexed from side to side, and then looked around him. With the cross hairs on his forehead Salvador saw him open his lips and call Sokolov's name, then turn and walk along the deck away from the cabin towards the other end of the boat.

Salvador followed him in his sights, waiting for him to near the other end, biding his time. Hubenko was calling his partner's name again. A look of confusion now spread across his face. He turned towards Salvador, the cross hairs again centred on his head. Salvador temporarily increased the pressure on the trigger but then reduced it again, watching as Hubenko bent forward over the rail towards him. Hubenko was busy staring at the water beneath him, obviously evaluating possibilities. Anticipating Hubenko's next action correctly, Salvador prepared himself as the Ukrainian straightened up, crossed the deck and started to bend over the rail on the far side.

The shot caught him at the centre of the base of his neck, removing that part of the spine and its momentum propelling the body forward and over the edge of the cruiser.

One moment he was there, and the next he wasn't. Thanks to Salvador's patience, and skill, another monster had found a home in the depths of the loch, leaving no blood or body matter splattered over the white deck.

Salvador stretched his neck, moving his chin from side-to-side, then stretching his fingers. After allowing himself a deep breath and a momentary closure of his eyes, he once again focused back on the cabin of the cruiser. Kuznetsov would soon start to wonder where his two bodyguards had disappeared to and emerge from below to search for them, possibly expecting to catch them smoking and chatting in the fresh air. The worry was that Kuznetsov might perhaps suspect something odd could be happening, raise the anchor and attempt to head for a port without showing his face on deck.

So far, Salvador's track record was impeccable. He'd never failed in a mission. He'd always collected the final bitcoin.

Fifteen minutes passed. There were no further signs of activity from anywhere on the boat. Salvador was beginning to make mental calculations regarding the light. At this time of the year in Scotland the evenings were long, and this far north the light held for a long time. Salvador reckoned that he had at most another thirty minutes before he would have to consider switching to a night vision riflescope.

Salvador blinked. A light had just gone on in the main cabin of the boat. Sensing that someone had possibly just entered that cabin, Salvador automatically checked the flag above the boat and made a few tiny recalibrations of the rifle and sight. Checking his breathing and his pulse, Salvador took a few deep breaths and relaxed, calming his pulse and bringing it down from 59 to 55 beats per minute.

Readying himself once more for what Salvador hoped would happen next, he marginally increased the pressure on the trigger and focused on the door leading from the cabin to the deck which the Ukrainian and the Russian had both come through.

A person appeared in the cabin behind. Salvador could see his figure approaching the cabin door through the glass. Anticipating where he would exit onto the deck he trained the cross hairs on the glass of the door, head-height, in the middle of the doorway.

He only needed one shot.

One clear shot.

And the mission would be over.

Suddenly the doorway rose upwards in his sights, momentarily confusing Salvador. The boat was rocking, almost violently. Quickly, Salvador lifted the aim back up the door, but saw the figure inside the cabin take a step backwards.

Suspecting that the wash of a large passing vessel must be rocking the boat, Salvador quickly pulled up away from the rifle sight, lifted his field-glasses, and scanned the loch below.

Where was the vessel? Had it gone past already? Could Salvador still take the shot, or would the presence of the other vessel force him to delay it?

Scanning right and left, Salvador looked for a boat. Or a cruiser.

He could see nothing.

Had it gone past on his side of the loch and was it in the lee of the hill beneath him, out of sight?

Either way, it should now be far enough away from Kuznetsov not to matter.

He looked quickly back towards the boat, noting that there were quite a few waves rolling towards the cove, and that the boat was bobbing up and down and rolling about in their wake.

It must have been quite a large boat to cause such a disturbance, Salvador realised.

He was just in the act of dropping the field-glasses and returning his eye to the rifle sight when Salvador saw it.

It was just a fleeting glance, but one which registered firmly in his photographic memory, and caused him to momentarily stop in his tracks. About ten metres in front of the boat, Salvador's mind registered what seemed like a line of several large dark hoops rising from the water. Three distinct, thick, large humps standing proud of the water's surface. Salvador blinked and for a tiny moment his brain froze.

At the same moment, just beyond the disturbance in the water, Salvador registered that a figure had come through the cabin door and was emerging out onto the deck.

Salvador blinked again, clearing his brain and immediately refocusing. Settling in behind the rifle and finding the man on the deck, he drew the cross hairs to bear on the man as he stumbled unsteadily towards the edge of the deck and reached out for the handrail.

It was Kuznetsov.

Gripping the rail, the man looked out onto the loch towards Salvador and gawped, his eyes seemingly wide with surprise, or terror.

Giving no thought for what it was that had startled Kuznetsov, Salvador breathed out, rested, and gently squeezed the trigger.

The bullet entered through the right eye, and because Kuznetsov was standing at a slight angle towards Salvador, it left through a large hole lower down on the left side of his skull. It took with it most of Kuznetsov's brain, and all memories of whatever it was that Kuznetsov had just seen in those last few seconds of his life.
Chapter 2

Loch Ness

Scotland

July 28th

10.25 p.m.

Automatically reloading his rifle with one final bullet, Salvador quickly scanned the body now lying crumpled on the deck of the boat.

It was obvious from the bloody mess on the deck and the state of Kuznetsov's shattered skull that his mission had been completed.

Once again Salvador eased the crick out of his neck and stretched his fingers.

Gently lowering his rifle and picking up the field glasses, Salvador scanned the water in front of the boat.

Frantically searching for the three hoops he'd just seen rising from the surface, he zoomed out slightly so that he could take in a wider field of view and slowly scanned the loch around the boat.

Finding nothing, he searched again, and again until he had convinced himself that whatever it was that he had just seen, was now nowhere to be found.

Swallowing hard, Salvador dropped the glasses and rolled onto his back, closing his eyes.

Recalling what he had just seen in the waters of the loch in the moments before his final shot, he replayed the strange images in his mind, over and over again.

Three large, dark hoops, rising slowly but distinctly from the surface of the water?

He felt a curious mix of emotions, none of which had much to do with the death of his latest three victims.

Allowing himself another minute to study what he'd seen in his mind's eye, he then filed the memory away for future consideration.

There would be time for that later.

For now though, Salvador had to get off the mountain and away from the loch as soon as possible, leaving behind no trace that he had ever been there.

Although it was unlikely, once the body on the boat was discovered, it was possible that an experienced detective may place the origin of the shot from somewhere on the far hillside, and send in dogs to find where the shooter had operated from.

After Salvador had dismantled his gun and wrapped it and the field glasses in a heavy, durable, canvas bag, he rolled up the camouflaged hide under which he had lain for the past few days and collected his things together. Picking everything up and doing his best to reinstate standing grass wherever he had flattened it, he pulled on a glove, opened a plastic box which he'd filled up with cow dung from a field he passed each morning, and smeared it over the area where he had been lying.

Just in case that wasn't enough to mask his smell, he then removed a can from his bag, and sprayed the area with a noxious liquid which he trusted from experience to deter a dog's ability and desire to detect anything in that space. In effect, it got right up their noses, and drove them away from the source of the scent.

Once he was convinced that he'd left no traces of his presence behind, he left the area and hurried up the hill away from the loch and the busy road below.

After fifteen minutes hiking he came to a gorge and started to descend to the sound of a river below.

It was getting dark and although Salvador moved quickly, he was careful to ensure he didn't trip up on a tree root, or fall over a rock. The last thing he needed now was a broken ankle.

Cautiously heading through the trees around the edge of the gorge he came to an impressive waterfall where he immediately searched for and found several heavy, large stones.

Stuffing them into the canvas bag in which he'd put his rifle, he carefully moved as close as possible to the edge of the waterfall and launched the heavy bag as far out as he could into the centre of the deep pool at its base.

The Accuracy International AXMC long range sniper rifle was his preferred weapon of choice. It wasn't cheap, by any means, but he hadn't paid for it. It was part of the deal that he had arranged with those who had contracted him for the assignment. He had picked it up, as directed, from a hidden location near Stirling, and it was meant to be delivered back to the same place, upon completion of his task. However, Salvador had no intention of handing back a weapon covered in his DNA to someone who knew what he had done, and could at any point in the future, deliver him up to the authorities.

Keeping it was not an option either. Salvador had no use for it. It was the perfect weapon for the assignment just completed, but useless for city work, or anything close-up. Salvador also made it a policy never to walk away from a kill carrying anything that could in any way link him back to it.

Which is why, having thrown the rifle into the rock pool, he moved further upstream and ten minutes later found another deep pool to throw in his other bag, also weighted with large rocks, containing amongst other things his hide, the pullover and trousers he'd been wearing.

Wearing fresh trousers, and a light cagoule, and having washed his hands, face, arms and shoes free of all traces of dirt from where he had been lying down, he headed up over the top of the hill and down the other side.

By the time Salvador got to his car parked in the forest on the other side of the hill on the A887, it was dark, and there was almost no other traffic heading south from Invermoriston, the nearest town.

Climbing into the back seat of the rental car, Salvador changed out of the rest of his clothes and stuffed everything else he was wearing into another bag. After putting on the fresh clothes he'd bought a few days before in Inverness, he slipped into the front seat of the rental.

With the lights on his car switched off, he slipped the clutch and let the car roll out of the car park which was surrounded by trees, before stopping when he had a good view of the road in both directions.

Only when he was convinced that there were no other cars visible in any direction, did 'Salvador' switch the car lights on and join the main road, heading first south, then later north-west to Plockton, a tiny, dreamy, Scottish hamlet as far away from Loch Ness as the local roads could take him.

Shortly before Salvador got there, he took a detour over the bridge to Skye from Plockton, stopped the car midway across, and from the middle of the bridge dropped a final weighted bag with his last change of clothes into the sea far below.

No one saw Salvador on the bridge.

No one passed him later on the road to Plockton.

And no one saw him pull into the driveway of the rental cottage.

If they had, however, it would not have been a man that they would have seen getting out of the car, opening the front door of the fisherman's renovated cottage and slipping silently inside.

It would have been a woman.

Now wearing a tartan skirt, a blue cashmere jersey, a graceful pearl necklace and dark blue suede shoes.

Even if someone had spotted the man hiking over the hill away from the murder scene on Loch Ness, there would be nobody now who could associate that person with the woman who was entering the cottage.

Which was exactly what she intended.

For in a world dominated by men, and where the most professional of assassins closely guarded their true identities, Salvador's greatest secret, and perhaps greatest strength, was that he was not a man at all.

Salvador was a woman.

\--------------------

Thursday

00.35 p.m.

Tommy McNunn sat in his prison cell, sipping a glass of his favourite Rioja. He hated prison. Every second spent inside intensified his hatred of the man who had put him in it: DCI Campbell McKenzie.

Tommy knew that the likelihood of him ever getting out of prison was very small, unless he took his future into his own hands and planned his own escape, - which he was going to do -, but in the meantime, he had business to conduct.

Thankfully, money still bought favours, even in prison, and Tommy had no shortage of money. Illegal money. Squirreled away in lots of different accounts under false names, but accessible none the less.

Which meant that Tommy could buy himself a lot of favours.

In fact, if it weren't for the lack of a decent whisky and the fact that he couldn't leave whenever he wanted to, he had to admit that life in prison was nowhere near as bad as he had feared it would be.

But the hatred still flared.

He hated DCI McKenzie with every waking breath.

He had vowed he would take revenge and now that his laptop had arrived and the guards had finally left him alone in his Wi-Fi enabled cell (another illegal perk that he had paid for, although rather handsomely), he was finally able to first download the Tor software he needed, set himself up with an account on the Dark Web, and then install his favourite VPN software.

Tommy had done it all before, a million times. He could do it in his sleep. He had spent more time working and making money in the Dark Web than he'd ever spent on the Surface Web, his other name for the normal internet.

After only thirty minutes Tommy was able to access the site he wanted, which was the reason he'd purchased the laptop, bribed the guards, and was taking these risks.

'HitsforBits' was an online Dark Web assassin's market place. It was here you could name and detail a target and put a price on their head, and offer the contract to the general Dark Web public. Assassins for hire would take their pick of contracts they wanted, and bid for them, declaring how much they would do the job for, and when. The 'how' was mostly of less interest. So long as the target died, punctually when agreed, people seldom cared how they died.

If the price, reputation and reliability of those who were interested in a contract were acceptable, HitsforBits acted as an intermediary. The Dark Web site took a percentage of funds transferred via its system, and ensured that the agreed sum in bitcoins was securely delivered to the assassin, according to the terms agreed between the contractee and contractor once, and only once, a target had been confirmed dead.

It was a great system, and Tommy McNunn had used it frequently before he had been arrested and locked up in prison by DCI McKenzie.

Tommy was an honourable man. He kept his promises, and people respected him for that.

And now was the time to keep another of his promises.

Calling up the contract form, Tommy began to fill it in online.

He filled in the four most important boxes first.

Name of Target: DCI Campbell McKenzie

Contract Price Offered: £600,000.

Location: Scotland

Target Death Time: Within one month.

Tommy filled in the rest of the form, - the small print -, hit UPLOAD, and took another sip of his Rioja as he watched his contract go live.

Within thirty minutes he had his first acceptance.

Within an hour, he had three.

Tommy checked his watch. The closing date for applications was in 48 hours.

There would be no messing around.

Tommy wanted McKenzie dead.

And soon.

Chapter 3

Plockton

Scotland

Thursday

8.25 a.m.

Alessandra Moretti stepped out of the shower, dried herself and put on her underwear. Not wanting to draw any attention to herself, she omitted applying any makeup or dabbing herself with any of her perfumes, and instead, put on her sailing clothes and blue sailing jacket and stepped out the front door of the cottage.

Now her work was done, she wanted to relax, and having discovered that Plockton had its own sailing school and offered sailing boats for hire, she could think of no better way to relax and consider the events of the day before.

Alessandra owned her own small sailing yacht, and she had spent many happy years sailing around the Mediterranean and along the ever changing coastline of Africa.

She loved to sail, to feel the power of the wind driving her through the waves with salt water splashing on her face. Sailing exhilarated her, and she loved the sea.

Alessandra was not a recluse, but she enjoyed the solitude she found being miles from the shore, alone with the elements and her own thoughts.

It was her escape.

Whenever she finished a mission, she would head to the port wherever her yacht, 'Sea Bream', was last moored, and then disappear out on her boat for weeks or months on end.

Another of the reasons she was so successful as an assassin, was because when she dressed normally as a woman she could easily blend into any background, and not be noticed.

A curse to others, but to Alessandra a blessing, was the simple fact that without makeup she was not at all remarkable. She never stood out in a crowd. Slim, of medium height, with brown hair, and dark green eyes, she could join a group of people and be lost, without drawing looks or attention from anyone.

However, like many of the pop-stars and celebrities of the modern age, the moment she applied makeup, she would be transformed. The ugly duck would become the swan. Men would take second-looks as she walked past them in the street, and other women would be jealous.

Without makeup, Alessandra was practically invisible. With it, she could quickly become the centre of attention.

Which was why, most of the time, Alessandra chose to wear no makeup at all.

Leaving the cottage she had rented, it was a short walk along Plockton's only street beside the sea wall, to the boathouse where she filled in a few forms, showed some false ID and charged a boat rental to a false credit card.

According to the rental agreement, she was Alice Brandon, a teacher from Chicago.

For professional reasons, Alessandra had many different names and identities, but Alice was one of her favourites. The name was chosen for her by the Spaniard who specialised in such things, and where he got the false names from, she did not need or want to know. Besides, 'Alice' was as close as most people could get to Alessandra in day-to-day conversation and of the many false identities she had, this was the one she felt most comfortable with.

Within thirty minutes, having rigged and set the sails on her rented Merlin Rocket she was out in the bay, sailing out around the headland towards the open sea. Only then, with the wind blowing through her hair and cold salt spray landing on her cheeks, did she begin to feel relaxed and alive.

Almost immediately, her mind cast back to the episode the evening before. Something strange had happened yesterday out on the loch, and she didn't quite understand what it was.

Her imagination was as good as anyone's, but she wasn't one to let herself loose on flights of fancy, but... she had definitely seen something. Something unusual.

In the moments before she had managed to assassinate Kuznetsov, a large disturbance in the water had rocked his motor cruiser. From the size of the wake which she had seen hit the boat, it had to have been something large. And the three large humps she had seen rising out of the water in the seconds before she had taken the final shot, had got her mind working overtime.

Alessandra was Italian, but even in Italy the legend of the Loch Ness monster was known by almost everyone. In fact, in Italy, whenever an Italian thought of Scotland they thought of four things: whisky, rain, bagpipes and the monster. Alessandra had an open mind about most things but she was a pragmatist and not a fantasist. She didn't believe in ghosts. She didn't believe in aliens. But so many people had claimed to have seen the monster from Loch Ness that she had always wondered if perhaps it could be true.

Tacking from port to starboard, she pulled in the mainsheet a little more, leaned back and closed her eyes. In her mind's eye she recalled for the umpteenth time the picture of those three humps in the water.

Thinking logically, she tried to convince herself that they were something normal, but try as she might, she couldn't rule out the possibility that she had seen something amazing. And not being able to rule it out, she was forced to allow herself to ask the question: 'had she really just seen the Loch Ness Monster?'

The question annoyed her, but it also excited her.

She lived in a binary world. People lived or they died. Life or death. There was very little grey in-between. To Alessandra the world held few mysteries.

Could it be that she might have just encountered one of them?

Opening her eyes, and laughing aloud as the wind suddenly increased in strength and drove the boat forward faster, she made up her mind.

Instead of leaving Scotland in two days time and flying down to the Med to join the Sea Bream, she was going to stay a while longer.

Normally, as soon as she killed someone she would leave the area immediately, by as circuitous a route as possible. The original plan had been to drive down south and catch a ferry to Ireland, and from there fly to Greece, avoiding the watch lists and CCTV at any major UK airport.

Tomorrow however, she would drive back to Loch Ness and see what she could learn about the monster.

Was she mad? Had days of lying in the grass on a Scottish mountainside somehow affected her reasoning?

Perhaps.

But Alessandra didn't care.

It had been years since she'd had an adventure, and now she'd got one.

With Salvador gone, it was time for Alessandra Moretti to take a holiday.

\--------------------

Thursday

Edinburgh

St Leonards Police Station

10.00 a.m.

DCI Campbell McKenzie stood at the window of his office in St Leonards, staring out of the window at Arthur's Seat, but focusing on nothing in particular.

In his right hand he held the card advertising the name of the marriage guidance counsellor he had been recommended to call. In his heart he knew it was the right thing to do. In his mind, he couldn't face it.

Ever since the events of six months' before, Campbell McKenzie and his wife had been having 'problems'. Not problems caused by anything that Mrs McKenzie had done. She had done nothing. And to this day, she did not yet know what the source of their troubles was.

Campbell was racked with guilt, and it was that guilt which was poisoning his marriage now.

Unfortunately it was also not the single act of adultery which he had committed which was the source of the guilt. It was more complicated than that. As with so many things in Campbell's life, nothing was ever straightforward. Campbell's life had been a succession of monumental mistakes, followed by ever more monumental complications.

Nothing however could top what had happened to him half a year ago, when after having fought and grappled with his lust for a junior colleague for over a year, the stress of the mutual case they were working on had ended up with them falling into bed with each other, and giving into everything which he knew to be wrong.

That was bad enough. However, within hours of them doing the deed which Campbell had stupidly allowed himself to enjoy more than he could ever possibly have expected, his partner in the crime and beneath the sheets, DI Wessex, had been murdered by her ex-boyfriend. An ex-boyfriend who was sadly only too well known to DCI Campbell, being the focus of his investigations at the time and the second largest crime lord in Scotland.

But that. Was. Not. All.

The crime lord, ex-boyfriend Tommy McNunn, had framed Campbell for her murder. It was his - Campbell's - sperm that had been found inside Wessex's body, having been stolen and extracted from the condom he'd used with Wessex the night before and then placed inside her moments after her murder at the hands of McNunn.

Definitely complicated.

Made even worse still... because Wessex had been killed so soon after his infidelity, with no real natural opportunity afforded to Campbell for him to regret his actions.

True. He regretted what he had done, after the fact... but could, would Campbell be able to face his wife and tell her that it had been a one-off? That it would never have happened again had she lived?

The truth was not obvious.

Wessex was dead. Murdered. Probably because of him. He felt guilty for that. Too.

But probably even more so and worst of all was the fact that there had been many times since when he had fondly remembered the night they had 'fucked' each other senseless and enjoyed it. All these months later, he could still taste her skin on his lips. The sense of her nipple prodding gently against his eye. The softness of her breasts. And the sound of her voice as she purred in the moment of orgasm.

He felt guilty, yes.

But nowhere guilty enough.

Her death had ensured that the memory would never tarnish. Her body would always remain perfect, and desirable, and like a fresh rose, the scent of her would never fade.

So, how could he tell his wife the truth of what had happened?

Yet, he had to.

The trial of Tommy McNunn for her murder was due to start in several weeks time.

The next monumental fuck-up in Campbell's life was just around the corner.

Either he told his own wife what had happened, or some trial reporter would print it all in the Evening News and she would read it then.

It had been six months now. Campbell couldn't hide it much longer.

Time was running out.

Campbell looked down from staring at the top of Arthur's Seat, the large hill which dominated the centre of Edinburgh, and stared at the number on the card.

He should call the counsellor.

He needed to talk to someone about this.

And he needed to tell his wife.

Soon.

Very soon indeed.

\------------------

Thursday

Edinburgh

Plockton

The hypnotic demands of sailing are such that no man, - or woman, can remain focused on their thoughts for long. Once the wind picks up, the sails fill, the sea unfurls before the bow, and the white noise of the water and wind rushes over the crew, soon all thoughts are lost and time becomes meaningless.

There is only the sea, the boat, and the wind.

And so it was with Alessandra Moretti.

Alone at sea she forgot her background, her life, and who she had become.

At sea there was no need for multiple names, false passports, and invented lives.

If she ever did manage to dream or think back on her life, it was the memories of her early childhood that filled her mind.

Sometimes, when the sun was shining on her face, and the light danced on the waves in front of her, she would once again feel her father's arms around her. Holding her. Teaching her. Reassuring her.

Perhaps, subconsciously, that is why she loved to sail so much. It gave her a chance to commune with lost memories of the only man she had ever truly loved.

Her father had been a wonderful sailor. They had their own sailing boat, and as soon as she had learned to swim, which had been when she was very young, perhaps three or four, her father had taken her to sea with him.

She had laughed then at the thrill of it all, and now when she laughed aloud amongst the waves and wind all these years later, it was the same Alessandra deep inside that responded to the elements and the power of nature.

She and her father had been very similar. Kindred spirits.

She had loved her father.

He had been her rock.

Before the Mafia had murdered him.

Alessandra's father had taught her many things.

Including how to fire a gun. Which, in the end, had been the one thing that he had taught her which had most influenced the rest of her life, and even her choice of career.

Alessandra had grown up in Sicily, and her father had been a popular Sicilian, loved by many, and also feared by others.

At the tender age of six, however, she had not been exposed to the fear. Yet, she had easily recognised the love that others had shown him, and had acknowledged the respect that those who feared him had afforded him. For a little girl so young, to see everyone respond to her father so positively made her believe her father to be one in a million.

Then one day, in the middle of a long summer's afternoon, one of her many 'uncles' had come to visit her father. Alessandra had many 'uncles' during those days. Their house was always filled with men, laughing and drinking. That afternoon, her father had sat in the shade on the terrace at the front of their house, surrounded by his lemon trees and grape vines, the smell of citrus heavy in the warm air. Her uncle had sat opposite her father, reclining in the comfortable chairs, and drinking wine from her father's estate.

Alessandra had listened from her bedroom upstairs, which overlooked the terrace beneath.

She had heard the discussion get louder and quickly noted the change in the tone of her father's voice.

He was getting angry.

Voices were raised.

Her uncle shouted at her father, and Alessandra heard the sound of a chair being pushed over.

Her father had shouted at her uncle, who had responded with words that her mother had told her were very bad, and which she must never learn.

Quietly, Alessandra had tiptoed over to the window ledge and looked out at the commotion below.

Her father was standing, facing her uncle, who was waving one hand in the air and pointing a gun at him with the other.

Alessandra knew what guns could do. She knew the danger which her father was in.

Seeing that her father did not have his own gun, without further thought she turned and flew from her room, down the marble staircase and straight to her father's study.

Pulling on one of the mahogany desk drawers, she reached inside and lifted the heavy gun from where it lay, and hurried towards the terrace at the front of the house.

There was suddenly a loud bang.

A gun had been fired.

Hurrying out of the hallway onto the terrace, her heart leapt as she saw that her father had fallen forward onto the ground. Her uncle had turned his back and was beginning to walk away.

Alessandra hurried to her father's side. She knelt down beside him and rested a hand on her father's back. Immediately it felt warm and sticky, and she realised, almost in slow motion, that her hand was red, that there was blood everywhere.

Looking up at her uncle, walking away from them down the gravel path, past the flowers and the fruit trees, she lifted the heavy gun with both hands and pointed it at his back.

It was then she had heard her mother scream.

"No, Alessandra, No!"

Her uncle had turned around towards them, looking back towards the house, then finally back at Alessandra and her dead father.

Alessandra had squeezed the trigger.

The uncle had jerked violently and fallen backwards to the ground.

Alessandra had screamed, stood up, and dropped the gun on the ground beside her father, then run back into the house and hidden in her bedroom, shaking, but not crying.

When the Carabinieri had arrived ten minutes later, they had found her father's gun lying under his own hand, his fingers wrapped around it, holding it tightly. There were two dead men, facing each other, a daughter who refused to leave her room, and the wife of one of the deceased who was curled up in a ball, lying on the terrace, staring at her dead husband.

No proper investigation was ever conducted. No fingerprints were taken.

It was obvious what had happened.

The Carabinieri had smiled at each other. Both men were known to them.

And now that two more of the mafia were dead, the world was surely a better place.

\--------------------

Alessandra often thought back to the events of that day, and of her mother's intervention to deflect attention from her daughter and to protect her.

Her mother's actions had been swift and calculated, but from that day forward, her mother had begun to retreat into her own mind, shunning social occasions, and becoming increasingly agoraphobic.

Her mother openly mourned her husband, and without any further thought of shielding her daughter from the truth of who he was, she explained to Alessandra the truth about her father: that he had been a senior member of the mafia family in Sicily, that a rival member had started a feud with him, and ordered her father's death; that the man who had killed her father was only a foot soldier, and not the one truly responsible.

The loss of her father had weighed heavily upon young Alessandra, and as her mother became increasing less of a mother and more of a burden, Alessandra began to become angrier with the world, and swore to take revenge upon anyone who had anything to do with her father's death.

In the following years, Alessandra grew up quickly. Outwardly she maintained a calculated air of innocence, taking advantage of her reputation as the 'poor bereaved daughter' so that she could get access to those she needed, without suspicion.

With her father gone, their business interests were slowly taken over by other rival members of the mafia, and the importance and standing of Alessandra's family diminished.

Alessandra became something of a curiosity to others. She was frequently invited to dinner parties, and gatherings of other mafia family members, where members of the faction that had supported and won the feud over her father's business interests, often gave her gifts. Sometimes out of pity. Perhaps, sometimes, from guilt.

Alessandra took advantage of every opportunity to learn about those who were responsible for her father's death, and in private moments in her bedroom at night, she drew up a list of twelve people.

Then one by one, she started to kill them.
Chapter 4

Sicily

Many years before

Killing the first three people had been tricky. She was very young, and the tools at her disposal were limited. Alessandra would later discover that as she grew older, the opportunities to kill would present themselves more frequently: she would have more weapons to choose from and more power to facilitate the time and act of killing. With the passing of her years, the gift of death would come easier to her.

The act of killing in itself, did not disturb her in any way. On the contrary, she was eager to eradicate those who shared the responsibility of her father's death from surface of the planet: they deserved to die, and they would. However, Alessandra very early, at the age of eight, had assumed a sense of responsibility for her mother, and did not want to be caught by the Carabinieri, lest losing her daughter in such quick succession to her husband then tipped her mother over the edge.

The good news was that Alessandra was clever beyond her years. She knew that her age and innocence were her greatest assets, and that she must use them to her maximum advantage.

From day one, she realised that the best way to succeed and then not be caught, was to ensure that she was never associated with the victim.

No one should ever see her with the person whom she would kill around the time of their death.

This was a strategy that she adopted throughout her future career.

Another important point she accepted was that time was on her side. She didn't need to rush. Planning and patience were paramount. Once she had decided who would die, she did not set a timescale. Having decided their ultimate fate, Alessandra was able to continue the process of growing up, taking opportunities as and when they presented themselves, but never taking undue risks.

The first of her uncles to die met with an unfortunate accident while walking with Alessandra along the cliffs one day. Alessandra had been out cycling, when she had seen one of the people on her list, walking a dog, alone and without protection.

"Hello?" she had cried, waving heartily at him as she approached along the cliff path.

The uncle, an older man in his sixties, had smiled at her appearance. Alessandra had set her bicycle against a tree, declaring they could pick it up on the way back, and she had walked with the man for thirty minutes before she saw the opportunity.

Being a 'gentleman', the uncle had walked on the side closest to the cliff. When they came to a part in the path where they were very close to the edge, Alessandra had pointed to a fishing boat on the horizon, and asked why the boat was firing off rockets.

There was no fishing boat, and no rockets, but Alessandra had learned about the nautical distress call earlier that week in school, and improvisation was a skill that she would hold dear to her heart in later years.

"Where?" the uncle had asked, looking out to sea, his focus and attention now completely diverted.

"There... look, over there!" Alessandra had exclaimed, stepping a little closer to him and raising her hand, momentarily pointing.

Retracting her hand, she had put her full weight behind the old man and pushed his back.

It had been surprisingly simple.

Even better when the man had held tightly to the leash and pulled the dog over the edge of the cliff with him.

Skipping back to her bicycle she had cycled quickly away from the cliffs across the fields and was soon back in her bedroom.

The man's body was found two days later. No questions were ever asked.

Accidental death. Most unfortunate.

\--------------------

Six months later, inspired by the simple act of pushing, Alessandra had one day developed a thirst whilst cycling past the house of another 'uncle'. She knew that he was mostly alone, both sons having been killed over the years in pursuance of mafia activities, and his wife had died of cancer.

There was a well in the courtyard.

A deep well.

Alessandra saw the man standing near it.

Alessandra was thirsty.

The man was helpful.

His body was never found.

Only Alessandra knew where it was.

\--------------------

The third uncle to die at her hand since the evening of her father's death, - her fourth victim in all -, was the most risky she would undertake for many years. From the experience she would learn two important lessons: know your own weaknesses and do not take unacceptable chances.

She was eleven at the time, had started another growth spurt, and with her new found height and strength, and successful track record to date, had perhaps become overconfident and was due for a fall.

Her mother had asked her to visit the uncle and request some help, asking if he could send one of his farm workers to fix a water pump in their garden.

She had cycled over to the house, around three PM on a Saturday afternoon, only to find the man sleeping on a sun-lounger on the terrace of his house. His wife was not there, having perhaps gone into Palermo for the day, or to visit friends.

Alessandra had long ago discovered that the man was one of the group of her father's rivals within the mafia family, although it seemed unlikely that her mother knew this.

His name was on her list.

There was an empty wine bottle on a table beside the uncle, and an empty glass. Beside the bottle, lay a gun. It drew Alessandra's attention immediately.

From listening to the man's snoring, Alessandra had guessed that he was drunk and sleeping off the bottle.

Knowing that no one knew she was there, apart from her mother, and seeing the unarmed man, sleeping so helplessly before her, Alessandra had become strangely excited. Her pulse had quickened, and her mind had rapidly changed its focus. It had been almost two-and-a-half years since she had last killed someone, but as she hovered above the snoring man, shifting her feet nervously from one to the other, she knew that if she acted fast, the opportunity to kill was presenting itself again.

The man before her was in his early fifties. He was overweight, but probably very strong, and should he awaken Alessandra would be no match for him. Also, someone could come home at any moment.

Alessandra had long ago heard the expression that opportunity only knocks once, and when it does, you have to grasp it fast, before it leaves.

Quickly, she made up her mind, and frantically thought of how she should kill him. Her eyes kept darting back towards the gun, but instinctively she knew that it was not an option.

A gunshot was loud and would draw attention. Besides, it would be messy, and if any of the man's blood splattered on to her dress, she would be incriminated immediately. There had to be another way. More subtle.

Walking swiftly around the side of the house to the garden shed, she stepped inside and hurriedly scanned its contents.

Not knowing exactly what she was looking for, but fervently seeking inspiration, as soon as she saw the pile of coiled ropes, her heart skipped a beat.

Grabbing five of the ropes, she hurried back to the sleeping man, and knelt down on the slabs of the terrace. Uncoiling the ropes she quickly passed them underneath the sun lounger, ensuring that there was enough on the other side to pass back over the top towards her.

Standing up, she tiptoed around to the other side of the sun-lounger and after spacing the position of the ropes along the length of the body, - two across the chest, another around the waist, the third around the man's thighs, and the last around his ankles, - she passed them across to the other side of the man, leaving them resting gently on his body. Returning back to the other side, she took several deep breaths, took a few moments to check no one had returned home, then quickly began to tie up and tighten each of the ropes with a Trucker's Hitch, before securing each with a couple Half Hitches.

Within a moment, thanks to the knots that her father had taught to her during their special times at sea together, the man was fully restrained. His arms were immobilised underneath the ropes, and his body was quite firmly tied to the heavy sun-lounger.

As Alessandra picked up a cushion from another of the sun-loungers on the terrace, her hands began to shake.

Lifting the cushion and holding it with both hands above the face of the snoring man, she hesitated.

She wasn't scared. And it was not that she was having second thoughts, but for a few moments she looked down at the face of her next victim and just stared at him.

The man's eyes blinked open.

He stared straight at Alessandra.

Their eyes connected and for a brief moment, Alessandra froze.

The man tried to move his left hand, and at that moment began to realise that he was tied up.

He began to struggle. He shouted at Alessandra. What he shouted didn't register with Alessandra, but it broke the spell and galvanised her into immediate action: she had to shut him up.

Climbing on top of his chest, she pressed the cushion down hard onto the man's face.

The man started shaking his head from side to side.

Alessandra pressed harder, leaning forward.

As she did so, she could feel the man rocking his weight from side to side on the sun-lounger beneath her, struggling to escape from the ropes that bound him.

Thankfully, the sun-lounger was made from solid iron, and moving it was probably difficult enough even when sober and untied. Nevertheless, at that moment, Alessandra had begun to doubt her actions. Would he succeed in pushing her off him, breaking the ropes or slipping out of them? Had anyone heard the man's cries? Had she tied the knots properly, just as her father had taught her? She remembered then that her father had always insisted that knowing how to tie proper knots could maybe one day save her life...

She pushed harder, worried now that her arms were getting tired.

Looking down at the man's hands, there was a moment when panic almost overcame her and she feared that he was about to break free.

She imagined a hand coming up and grabbing her throat, squeezing it. Crushing her...

She pressed harder.

Then almost abruptly, the man's head stopped moving underneath the cushion.

Not wanting to fall for any tricks, she leaned forward putting all her weight upon the cushion.

Then accepting that the man's body was now still, she shifted her weight around on top of him, and sat on the cushion across his nose and mouth.

She sat there for three or four minutes, making absolutely sure.

Finally, she removed the pillow and looked down at the man's face. Eyes wide open and red. Blue lips. Vomit coming out of the corners of his mouth.

She felt nothing but relief.

Nodding, and mentally visualising the number 'four', she climbed off the body, and quickly went to work.

Undoing the ropes, and coiling them back up, she returned them to the shed where she had found them. Hurrying back to the terrace, she picked up the dead uncle's gun from the side table, and wrapped it in a cloth she'd found in the shed.

Then carrying the pillow to the well in the courtyard, she dropped it down inside. Retrieving her bicycle from where she had left it propped up against a wall, she placed the gun in its protective cloth in the basket on her handlebars, and covered it with her light summer jacket. Then she cycled home.

Three days later she had read about the man's death in the newspaper.

He had drunk too much, fallen asleep in the sun, and then choked on his own vomit.

Thankfully, no one had heard him cry out, no one had found the cushion in the well, and no rope abrasions had been found on his body.

She had been lucky, and Alessandra knew it.

Lesson learned.
Chapter 5

Sicily

Alessandra's teenage years

From the list she had compiled in her bedroom, three of the names had already been scored out.

There were still nine to go.

Nine more people that she'd sworn to kill to avenge her father's death.

But how?

It had been slow progress so far, but she couldn't push everyone over a cliff, down a well, or wait for them to fall asleep.

The truth was, Alessandra wasn't really a proper killer, just an opportunist. If she was to achieve her goal, she knew she had to become better. She needed to learn more about the art of killing, and not only how to take advantage of situations, but also how to create them.

If she didn't, most of the others on the list would die of old age before she would get round to ending their lives for them.

She had two advantages in her favour.

First, she now had her very own gun. She also had a plentiful supply of ammunition which she had found in her father's office cupboard, and which fitted the gun perfectly. Since her father's death, her mother hardly ventured into his rooms, and almost everything lay just where it was on the evening he'd been murdered.

Secondly, since she was a baby, she'd been surrounded by killers, from whom she knew she could learn everything she needed to know, if only she could be given the chance. Even now, long after her father had been killed, she and her mother remained part of the extensive mafia family. Since her father's death, her mother had become a shadow of her former self, and had largely withdrawn from her social life, preferring to remain mostly at home, and hiding in her garden.

For several years she had officially been in mourning, but had recently stopped wearing the black clothes which had become her uniform. Since then a few men had come calling at her door. All Mafioso. She had shown no interest in any of them, bar one, even though several had been wealthy, and young.

Her mother had not lost her looks, and Alessandra had tried to encourage her to live again. Alessandra's life was just starting, and she was determined to explore the world as she knew her father would have wanted her to do. He had often promised to take her places: to show her New York in America, London, and even Victoria Falls in Africa! Places he had been when he was young and had wanted to share with her. She was determined to see them all, preferably with her mother, but without her if needs be.

Of all the men who had come-a-calling, one had caught her mother's attention. He was Vincenzo Balistreri, a handsome man several years her junior, quiet, attentive and charming. He had a sparkle in his eye, and a beautiful smile which when directed at Alessandra, made her feel special.

By now, Alessandra was a young woman. At fourteen years of age, she noticed that some men had started to look at her differently and that too made her feel special.

She was not particularly attractive, and she knew it, but when she smiled, her features transformed and her face lit up. During the following months when her mother left the house to go out for the evening, or for walks with Vincenzo, Alessandra would sneak into her mother's bedroom and play with her make-up, trying to mimic the use of it on her face, having studied her mother applying it for hours on end.

She learned that make-up could change her appearance dramatically, transforming her from the unnoticeable duckling that she mostly was, into a beautiful swan beyond her true years.

She knew her mother would be furious with her if caught, so she always endeavoured to ensure that every trace of it had been wiped from her face before she and Vincenzo returned from wherever their courting took them.

The months turned into years, and Alessandra and Vincenzo became close. Had she not fought it, he could have easily become a second father figure to her. However, Alessandra never allowed herself to feel like that towards any man. Her father was her father. She did not need another one even though he was no longer with them.

Instead, Vincenzo became her friend and her confidante.

She trusted him.

So much so, that one day the following summer, when she was fifteen, she voiced two questions to him which she had been thinking for many months.

"Vincenzo, is it true... are you the top assassin for the Capo?"

Vincenzo had been silent for a while, then replied, "Yes, I work for the Family. But there are many assassins and I cannot state with certainty that I am the most successful."

Alessandra had nodded, carefully considering his reply.

He had not denied it, but in true style, he had refused to exaggerate or lie.

"Vincenzo," Alessandro had looked him straight in the eye, and spoken with clarity and sincerity, "will you teach me how to kill?"

\--------------------

The answer was no.

At first.

Vincenzo could see that she had meant what she had asked, and that it was no idle request. Yet, how could he teach the daughter of the woman he was courting, the art of death?

However, a year later, when the relationship between Alessandra's mother and Vincenzo had run its course, he was set free to ask her the question that had troubled him ever since she'd asked it.

"Alessandra, why do you want to learn to kill?"

The question was asked one evening in the garden of the local Capo, the leader of the local branch of the Family. Officially it was an evening intended to celebrate the start of the grape harvest, although unofficially everyone knew it was in honour of the son of a respected mafia member who had just been 'made' - and been granted full membership and the protection of the Mafia Family. It was a warm evening, the crickets were chirping loudly all around, and the moon was full.

They'd walked for a while in silence, slipping away from the others, before Alessandra had replied.

"I need to avenge my father's death."

"Please, sit here beside me, Alessandra." Vincenzo had stopped at a seat beside the small lake at the bottom of the garden.

Alessandra sat down and turned towards him.

"You wish to kill those responsible for your father's death?"

She nodded.

"Do you know who they are?"

"I do. I have always known."

"I too know, Alessandra. But killing them will not be simple. Especially for a young woman."

"But that's surely to my advantage, isn't it? No one will suspect me. I can get close to them without being suspected. I can strike before they even know it."

It was not the reply that Vincenzo had expected.

"Are you prepared to die in the process?"

"Yes, Vincenzo, I am. Which is why I am asking for your help. I don't want to die. And I do not want to get caught. But I do want to kill. And to do it well, so that the other's will respect me for it."

Vincenzo had laughed. Not in mocking her, but perhaps out of surprise and admiration.

"And your heart is set on this?"

"It is," she replied.

"Then I will teach you."

\--------------------

It had been that simple. Alessandra had thus found a teacher, and Vincenzo had found a pupil and perhaps an heir. Over the years that followed, both had fulfilled their roles with dedication and respect for the other.

At first it had been a slow process, during which Alessandra had learned the many tools of the trade and had been set upon a course of exercising the muscles of her body so that she could become strong enough to kill others with her bare hands.

During her pupillage she had learned a lot about her tutor that no others knew. Sworn to secrecy, and having taken an oath upon her father's memory, she had learned about the various assassinations that Vincenzo had committed, and how they had been conducted.

She had learned to recreate them, using the various tools that Vincenzo had used: guns, shotguns, ropes, explosives, medicines, drugs, and brute force.

During the subsequent years, she had endlessly practised everything that Vincenzo taught her. She was a star disciple. So much so, that just before her eighteenth birthday, - deliberately chosen so that she was not yet legally an adult in the eyes of the law should she be caught -, she had accompanied Vincenzo to Palermo and under his guidance, had assassinated a businessman who treated the Family with a lack of respect, and had many unpaid bills.

Following her intended target for hours until the right moment had presented itself, Alessandra had finally caught the man alone in an almost empty cobbled street, with high-rise apartment buildings on either side.

Trailing the man from a respectable distance, as soon the only other pedestrians in the street had passed by in the other direction, she had quickly closed the gap between them and inserted a syringe deftly into his neck, emptying its contents into the ascending aorta.

Without stopping to wait for him to die, she had hurried on, followed by Vincenzo who had momentarily crouched over the dying man and whispered something in his ear.

"What did you say to him?" she had later asked.

"I told him the name of his assassin, so that he would respect and fear you in the afterlife."

"What name did you tell him?" she had asked.

"Salvador."

"But that's a man's name!" she had exclaimed.

"Exactly."

"I don't understand?" she replied.

Vincenzo had looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

"Well, Alessandra, you certainly don't look like a man to me. And you never will. Which is ideal, because even if all the police in the world eventually hear of you, and search for you, they'll never find you. They can't find what isn't there."

A month later she had killed her first woman. A politician in Palermo who was asking too many questions. Vincenzo had watched her from afar, and this time it was Alessandra that had whispered Salvador's name into the victim's ear.

Then six months later, she had killed a policeman, followed a week later by another businessman.

Each time, Vincenzo had watched from afar. Each time a little further away.

After two years, Vincenzo had agreed to help her kill one of the names on her list.

The name belonged to a 'made man', a member of the mafia who had the Family's full support and protection. Vincenzo knew the man, and although he did not like or respect him, he could not agree to have a part in his killing - officially.

He had advised Alessandra. Helped her select the weapon, the time and the place, but on the evening of his assassination, Vincenzo was intentionally having a drink with his Capo, the local leader of his branch of the Family.

Above suspicion, and although under no immediate threat to himself, he had worried about his protégé all evening, until they had spoken by phone early the next morning.

Without enquiring about the fate of the other man, he had simply asked, "Are you okay?"

Her reply was all the confirmation he needed.

"Yes."

Her apprenticeship had lasted eight years, until the age of twenty-four, when one day Vincenzo himself had been murdered.

Alessandra had tracked down those responsible and killed them all.

The pupil had grown up, and the apprenticeship was over.

\--------------------

When she was twenty-five, Alessandra had finally succumbed to the wishes of her mother, and gone to study languages at the Sapienza – the University in Rome. She missed her beloved Sicily, but also loved the world she found beyond the shores of her island home.

Her world suddenly exploded with possibilities, and she fell in love, frequently but always only for a short time. She fell out of love almost as quickly as she fell in to it, but from each person she spent time with, she grew.

Although she loved Rome, she returned home as often as she could. Each time she visited, another name was scored off her list, until by the time she was just about to graduate, the vow she had made to avenge her father's murder had been fulfilled.

Thanks to her training with Vincenzo, her victims died in many different ways, thereby not establishing an obvious trend that could appear suspicious to the Carabinieri. Two of the names on the list were killed by the gun she had found at her third victim's house, all those years before, and which she kept buried in a field near her house.

Thanks to Vincenzo, Alessandra was never once suspected of any of her crimes. On the one occasion where a victim was still alive when he had been reached by the Carabinieri, before he finally died the man had volunteered the name 'Salvador' for his assailant. Thus the future legend of Salvador had been born.

After graduating, Alessandra had struggled to get work. There was a recession on, and many of the companies that may have employed her were biased to younger graduates and male employees. There were opportunities, but she would have had to move to London, or New York to take them, and at that time, she was needed by her mother who was now ill and needing frequent medical care.

There was a problem however.

Her mother was almost bankrupt.

After her father's murder, many of his business interests had been acquired or stolen by those responsible for his death. For a time the Family had sponsored and supported her mother and Alessandra's upbringing, but as soon as she finally flew the nest, the remaining support was cut.

Her mother lived in a lovely, large house. She had expensive tastes. Alessandra found herself the sole provider, but with no income. Something needed to be done, and soon.

It was the height of summer, almost a year after she had graduated, when Alessandra had requested a meeting with the Capo, the local member of the Family who ran that part of the island.

Wearing a dress and the make-up which she knew helped her to appear at her most beautiful and attractive, Alessandra had sat in the garden with the seventy-year-old Capo and asked for a job.

"You may not know, but I spent a lot of time with Vincenzo Balistreri. He taught me much of what he knew. I even helped him complete several of the missions you sent him on."

The Capo had smiled.

"I know. Vincenzo spoke of you often. He was proud of you."

"Then since you know what I'm capable of, will you give me a job?"

"As an assassin? Surely you know that as a woman, I cannot offer you Vincenzo's job."

"I do not seek to join the Family. I seek only to be recognised as an Associate, and to be contracted, when needed, to help the Family with its personnel problems."

"A hired killer?"

"If you will, Signore."

"And you expect to be paid for this?"

"Absolutely. And well. If I cannot join the Family, I would be willing to serve it to the best of my ability in completion of tasks you may pass my way. But for a good and fair price. I shall take the risks, without the protection the Family could otherwise offer me if I was a man, but in return I shall need to be well paid. So that I can look after my mother, the wife of a Family member."

Her reference to her mother had been deliberate. Not only was it true, but it appealed directly to the strong family values of all Italians, including the Mafia.

The Capo had nodded and announced that he would consider it.

The meeting was brought to a close and Alessandra had left.

Two weeks later she was passed details of an assignment.

A banker. In London. Several weeks later he was found dead, floating in the river Thames.

It had been Alessandra's first international assignment, and from the money she had earned from it she was able to look after her mother for a whole year.

The Capo was pleased. Alessandra was much richer. Her chosen career had been launched.

In the years that followed, Alessandra earned the respect of the Capo, fulfilling all the assignments that were offered to her. During that time Salvador's reputation had grown, and thanks to the Capo who had recommended Salvador's skills to others, she had made contact - always indirect, but trusted - with others who were in need of Salvador's skills.

One contact would lead to another, and then that contact to another, and so on.

Over time her reliance on the Capo for work decreased, and Alessandra was already at the point where demand for Salvador's skills was higher than her ability to deliver, when one day the Capo was himself assassinated by a car bomb.

With his death, the only man remaining alive who knew the true identity of Salvador was gone.

During the seven years that Alessandra had worked for the Capo, her mother had grown increasingly fragile, and her memory had slowly ebbed away.

Thanks to the money Alessandra was earning, she had been able to pay for nurses and medical care which enabled her mother to remain in her home in Sicily.

Alessandra was now travelling frequently, eliminating targets across the globe, but she always tried to return home every few months.

It was after one such trip to Mexico that Alessandra had returned to visit her mother, only to discover that her mother no longer recognised who she was.

She had stayed for several weeks, coming to terms with the reality of Alzheimer's and with the realisation that although her mother was not dead, Alessandra had now lost both her parents.

However, her continued presence in their house seemed to distress her mother more than comfort her, so Alessandra had finally left her home for the last time.

Wherever she was in the world she would keep in contact with those who cared for her mother, and she would pay all the bills that came her way, but she never returned to Sicily.

At times, Alessandra felt like a lost soul, an orphan cast adrift upon the world, with nowhere really to call home.

She immersed herself in her new career, learning and perfecting skills that enabled her to take on the most challenging of assignments, and to succeed in every one.

She attended military training camps in Libya, Russia and America, where for a price, others well-versed in the art of killing were willing to share their experiences and teach a new generation of assassins their skills.

Alessandra became proficient with a multitude of weapons; she learned how to make bombs, to use chemicals, and how to kill with her bare hands, with the minimum of effort.

After each camp she attended she practised what she had learned, turning killing into an art form that furthered her reputation and enhanced the respect afforded to her by her customers.

The price she could command went up. And up.

Which allowed her to be more selective about the assignments she would choose.

There was never ever any shortage of work.

Salvador was in demand.

The world had become his oyster.
Chapter 6

Present Day

Scotland

DCI Campbell McKenzie's Office

St Leonards Police Station

Thursday

10.30 a.m.

The phone rang on Campbell's desk and he picked it up automatically, without diverting his attention from the report in front of him, which he continued to read as he said hello and waited for the caller to announce themselves and their need.

"Campbell? It's Peter here. Can you talk, or do you have others in the office just now?"

Campbell lowered the report to his desk and blinked a few times. Peter Nicolson was an investigative journalist at the Scotsman, and over the years they had built up a solid rapport with one another. Campbell knew the importance of having the press on his side, so over the years he had made it a policy to nurture several symbiotic relationships with journalists in all the major Scottish broadsheets. Whenever he could, he helped them out with useful news, and likewise, they returned the favour whenever possible.

"Peter. How are you? By the way, that was a good piece of yours on the election expenses scandal. Good job."

"Thanks. I'm good, but I can't guarantee you will be in a minute. I've just seen the copy of an article the paper's running tomorrow on the murder of DI Wessex. It's pretty explicit. I don't know how they got it, but somehow they know it was your sperm that was found inside her body and that Tommy McNunn's defence is that he had nothing to do with it, and that he didn't put it there. Have you told your wife all the details yet, because if you haven't, she's going to read about it all soon. Very soon."

Campbell's head spun.

"Who wrote it and when's it being printed?"

"Can't tell you that. Probably tomorrow."

"Shit... the trial starts in two weeks' time. Is there any way you can get Brown to hold fire on this just a little longer?" McKenzie asked, referring to the editor of the Scotsman.

"Which means you still haven't told your wife? And the answer's no. Well, maybe, possibly until Saturday, at best Monday, if I really push it. But no longer. Brown's keen on this one. But that would give you the weekend?"

"I'll take it. Let me know if he doesn't agree, otherwise I'll assume you've got me a breather. Thanks Peter."

"Tell her Campbell."

"I will, I just don't know how to."

"Believe me, this is none of my business but with something like this, there isn't any particularly good way to break that kind of news."

Subdued, Campbell nodded, then hung up.

He didn't need a journalist to tell him that.

\--------------------

Fiona McKenzie stepped out of the shower and started to towel herself down. Her usual five kilometre run around the Queen's Park had taken three minutes longer than normal, but that was probably down to the wine she had drunk last night.

Campbell had come home, offered to cook dinner, and then produced two bottles of her favourite white.

She was already slightly tipsy by the time he served the fish, Dover Sole, her favourite.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden attention?" she had asked, after dinner, the 's' in pleasure being drawn out slightly too long.

"You read me like a book, Fiona. Always have, and always will." Campbell had replied. "I'd wanted to talk to you about something, but it can wait till tomorrow now. I've spent too much time in the kitchen, and you've spent too much time with your wine."

"Are you trying to say I'm drunk?"

"And why would I want to say that?"

"Because the bottle's empty?"

"Which is why I bought two..." he replied, lifting the new bottle and pouring her some more, then reaching across and kissing her softly on the lips.

"Hmmm... delicious."

"The wine?"

"What do you think?"

Not long afterwards they'd made love for the first time in months. Fiona had begun to wonder if there was something wrong; she'd missed him, but recently he'd had to work a lot longer hours than normal, and by the time he got home, she was either asleep, or Campbell just wanted to eat, shower, and bed.

Wrapping the towel around her head, Fiona stood in front of the mirror and picked up the razor to shave her armpits.

Lifting up her arm, she cupped her left breast to the side to look at her armpit, holding the razor in the same hand.

It was then that she felt it.

A small, hard lump, just under the tip of her right index finger.

Putting the razor down, she gently stroked her breast, feeling carefully around where she had noticed the lump.

An icy chill coursed down her spine, and her heart skipped a beat.

She felt the area again, her fingers shaking.

Lifting her head, she closed her eyes, and felt light-headed. Dizzy. Nauseous.

Putting the lid down on the toilet and sitting down, she steadied herself, flexed her left arm several times in the air, hoping that it would make a difference, then examined her breast again.

It was hard, just under the surface, and quite large.

Taking several deep breaths, she walked slowly through to the bedroom on shaky legs, picked up the phone on the bedside table, and called the doctor's surgery.

The earliest appointment was in two hours' time.

\--------------------

Scotland

Thursday

Plockton

Alessandra was a sensible woman. She knew it. Her friends, and more than a few of her many lovers had commented upon the fact.

She didn't believe in ghosts.

She had never believed in the tooth fairy, although truth be told, she had always looked forwards to Christmas time and hoped that La Befana, the old Italian witch, would climb down their chimney on January 6th and leave her lots of presents. And when the old witch did come and left presents galore, Alessandra never complained or questioned where they came from.

Aliens didn't exist. And 9/11 was not a conspiracy led by the Americans.

So what then, had she seen on the Loch?

In spite of everything: the perfect wind, the beautiful scenery, and the solitude she found out at sea, yesterday afternoon whilst sailing, and for much of the evening, her thoughts had been dominated by questions about what it could have been.

She was so sure that she had seen 'something', reluctantly she had begun to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she had in fact seen the Loch Ness Monster.

As soon as she had returned from sailing, she'd pulled out her iPad and attempted to search the internet to learn more about 'Nessie', the nickname for the monster that was plastered over all the tourist paraphernalia that swamped Fort Augustus, every shop and tourist destination around Loch Ness.

Frustratingly the internet connection in her cottage was slow and intermittent, and she was soon driven to the pub on the only main street of Plockton in search of Wi-Fi.

In spite of the lack of make-up and the drab clothes she wore, no sooner had she sat down in the corner with a gin and tonic, than she started to attract attention from some locals, one of whom even attempted to come over and engage her in conversation.

Returning short but simple answers to the few questions that were directed at her, accompanied by no emotion of any sort whatsoever, he soon got the message and lost interest, and Alessandra was left to herself.

Equipped with the Wi-Fi password from the bar, she began to learn everything she could about Nessie from the web.

She even downloaded a couple of books about the monster to read later.

After a second 'G and T', as the Brits loved to call it, she decided that perhaps isolation was not the best policy and took up a seat on one of the bar stools, hoping to now catch some attention from the locals after all.

Mrs Gilmarton, the pub landlady soon obliged. "Well then," she started, her broad Scottish brogue pushing the limits of Alessandra's English, "if it's an opinion on wee Nessie that you'll be wanting, then you'll have to speak to Young Angus."

Alessandra glanced over in the direction that Mrs Gilmarton had indicated, peering through the darkness at the back of the pub, and finding an old man, probably in his seventies, sitting quietly in the corner with a newspaper and a glass.

"What's he drinking?" Alessandra asked.

"His daily tipple, Drum Dregg, the local whisky."

"Make it two. Doubles."

Carrying across the two glasses she wandered over to Young Angus and proffered the gift before being invited to sit opposite him in the corner away from the log fire.

"Hello, I'm Alice Brandon. I was just talking with Mrs Gilmarton at the bar, and she directed me over here to you. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all, lassie. Sit yourself down. I'll be guessing that it's stories of Nessie that you're after?"

"Not just stories. The Internet is full of them. I'm more interested in trying to find out the truth. Is she real or not?"

Young Angus laughed, then coughed a few times, before reaching for the fresh glass of whisky and taking a sip.

"Mmmm. Drum Dregg. The good stuff!" he smiled. "So you're looking for truth then, along with everyone else? And what makes you think that I know it?"

"Nothing. But you know something, otherwise I wouldn't have been sent over to meet you."

Young Angus glanced over at the bar and nodded.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what's your interest in the old girl?"

Alessandra hesitated and glanced over her shoulder back at the bar owner.

Young Angus laughed again.

"No, I didn't mean Shona, \- Mrs Gilmarton-, I meant the Beast herself, the Lady of the Loch."

It was Alice's turn to laugh.

Then she turned serious and for a few seconds found herself staring at the old man, appraising him. Wondering if she should tell him the truth, or spin him a yarn.

"I saw something. Something strange."

"And you think you saw her?"

"Her? Are you so sure she's a she?"

"Well, obviously, there has to be a male or two somewhere, but mostly people see the girls. The females."

Alessandra shook her head and edged her chair closer to Young Angus.

"So you believe in her?"

"Belief implies doubt. I have no doubts."

"Why not?"

"I've met her. Several times, in fact."

"There's only one?"

Angus cocked his head to one side and studied the woman in front of him.

"I mean, I've met the Lassie of the Loch on more than one occasion. And to be precise, as I can see you're keen for me to be, no, I canna be certain that she was the same one. The second one was larger than the first, but maybe she'd grown. I don't know. But to be fair to her I would have looked different as well, it being thirty years later an 'all."

Alessandra smiled at the man.

"How old are you now, if you don't mind me asking?"

"That I don't. I'm eighty-nine years old."

Alessandra blinked and leant forward.

"Eighty nine? Good grief, what have you been drinking!"

"Drum Dregg. All my life."

She smiled and began to feel herself warming to the old man.

"Will you tell me about your meetings? When you saw her? Or them?"

The old man nodded, then closed his eyes. When he started to talk again, his eyes remained shut.

"I was sixteen years old, the first time. It was 1944. A dark night. There was a curfew. No lights for miles. The loch was quiet and still. Everyone was at home. It was late."

The old man opened his eyes and looked towards the fire in the centre of the pub, and for a second his thoughts were lost in the flames.

Alessandra studied his worn and lined face. It was like he was seeing back into the past, reliving the experience second by second.

"So, what happened?"

"We didn't have cars then... hardly anyone did, and I was too young to drive. If you wanted to get anywhere in those days, you had to row. I had been visiting my friend Dougie, - he lived on the other side o' the Loch -, and when his parents kicked me out and sent me home, I got in my wee boat and started to row. It was a mile from his house to mine. I'd done it many times. 'Twas no bother. Anyway, like I was saying, I was in the wee boat, rowing away, my thoughts lost in other things, when ahead of me I heard some splashing. I looked up and saw some fish jumping out o' the water. They wernie flying fish, or anything o' the like. Just fish in a hurry, as if they were trying to escape something chasing them."

He coughed, lifted his glass and took another small sip of the amber nectar.

"It was then that I saw it for the first time. Just ahead of me. There was a mist hanging over the cold water... nothing unusual like, just the same mist you often seen floating out there on the waters... but frae oot o' the swirling mists I saw this long neck rise up, and two eyes slowly turned towards me and fixed a stare on me. The head slowly turned towards me. I froze. For a second I thought it was going to come for me. I almost wet my pants, I can tell you. I was that scared," he admitted, before his eyes glazed over again and he seemed to just stop talking.

"And what happened?" Alessandra prodded, "What happened next?"

"Slowly... very slowly, almost like as if time itself had stood still, the neck lowered itself and the head sank back into the mist. I had stopped breathing by that time, I think. I was just sitting there. Staring. Then suddenly I found myself breathing out loudly and gulping for breath. I stood up in the boat and crept forward. I wanted to see if the beast was still there or not. Then the boat began to rock..."

"Oh dear, .... you didn't fall in, did you?"

Young Angus laughed.

"Dinnie be daft lassie. I've never fallen oot o' my boat in my life. If I had, the beast would have swallowed me for sure, and I wuddnie be here today to tell you the tale now, would I?"

"So what happened?"

"She'd gone. Slipped back down into the loch. I sat there for a few moments, and then I started to row. Faster. Then faster. By the time I got back to my cove, I was probably going fast enough to win the Olympics!"

Alessandra laughed.

"How big was it? The monster... the 'Beast' that you saw?"

"I couldn't tell. It wasn't huge. I think its neck was about six feet long, and its head about one foot long. I didn't see any more of it though. Not then, anyway."

"Did you tell you anyone about it?"

"Everyone. Anyone who would listen to me. I spent the next few years learning everything I could about the beast, talking to everyone else who had ever seen her. In those days, people saw her more than now, and it turned out that lots of people had seen her, but few people talked about it. After a while, I also talked less and less about it. But it changed my life. I ended up going to Edinburgh, to the University, and studying to become a vet. Seeing the beast on the loch fired up an interest in me for animals. I became fascinated with them. And I spent the next thirty years of my life learning everything I could about the Loch, the beast, and what she was."

"So, what is she then?"

"Best I can tell, she's a plesiosaurus. A dinosaur of sorts. I was probably one o' the first to make the connection, and nowadays everyone will tell you the same. But back then, it was quite an idea."

"So, you said you saw it again? When?"

" 'Twas 1974. Down the other end o' the loch. For years and years I'd been standing around the loch shore staring oot o'er the water hoping to see her, or rowing up and doon the loch trying to catch a glimpse o' her again, all tae no avail. And then one day, after we'd paid our last respects to my friend Dougie who died young and was buried at Dun Gell, beside the wee Kirk on the side of the loch, I was just taking myself for a wee walk along the shore to gather my thoughts and calm down after the burial service, when I turned a corner into a wee inlet and there she was, standing proud oot o' the water on the shore, just staring at me."

"You saw all of her?"

"True as my word, she was standing about forty feet from me. Towering above me, just looking down."

"Were you scared?"

"The funny thing was, this time around I wasn't at all. She saw me, cocked her head to one side, and it was if she blinked at me. Her eyes closed, slowly, then opened, and her neck bowed, then lifted up again. It was really strange. It felt like she was saying something to me. And the fact that it was just after Dougie's funeral, the same lad who I had seen on the night the first time I had seen her, was uncanny."

"How big was she?"

"Big. About thirty feet from the ground to the top o' her head. And she was long. About sixty feet."

"It wasn't the same one then. I mean this one was huge, and the last time you saw her she was small."

"Listen lassie, the last time I saw her I was small too. I was only a wee lad. But now I was a man. In my prime. And she was too. She'd grown. We'd both grown."

"Perhaps it was another one from the colony..."

"Aye, perhaps it was, but in my reckoning, she was the same beast. The very same. And grand she was too. Beautiful."

Young Angus smiled, then emptied the rest of the glass of whisky.

"Here's to ye, lassie!" he smiled.

"And before you ask, she turned then, slowly, and returned to the loch. I watched her glide slowly away as her head sank down into the waters. And then she was gone."

"Wow..."

"Sounds incredible, doesn't it? And I bet you think that it's all just a wee story that the old man in the pub tells to get himself a few wee drams for free? That I'm half mad, and a bit of a fool. The local fool."

Alessandra felt moved. She reached across to the old man and touched him gently on the back of the hand.

"No. Not at all. I told you, I saw something myself too. It wasn't like what you saw, but it was something very strange."

Alessandra described to him what she had seen, omitting the fact she was in the process of killing a few people at the time she saw it. She described the three large hoops she saw rising out of the water. How it made her feel. And how she couldn't stop thinking about it. She needed to know more about what she had seen.

"I dinnae want to disappoint you, lassie, but a lot of people see what you have seen, and only a few of them have ever really seen the beast herself. Lots of sightings of the beast turn out to have perfectly logical explanations. Have you been down to the Loch Ness Visitor Centre in Fort Augustus? They've a whole museum dedicated to 'Nessie', and you can see hundreds of photographs taken by people who claim to have seen her over the years. Maybe you'll see something similar to what you saw that can explain it."

"So you don't think I've seen her then?"

"I never said that lassie. Only you can tell what you saw or not. But, you never saw the head or the neck, only the body, which to be honest, doesn't sound like a plesiosaurus to me. Which is what 'Nessie' definitely is. She confirmed it herself when she stood before me and revealed herself in all her glory."

Alessandra was silent for a moment, thinking, and for the first time doubting what she had actually seen.

Young Angus sensed her thoughts. He lifted his hand from under hers and rested his palm on her hand.

"Listen, wee Lassie. Sometimes we see things, or think we see things for a reason. There's always a reason. For me, seeing the beast for the first time, led me to a life of caring for animals. Helping the poor wee sick animals who canna help themselves. For you, there will be a reason too. Whether you truly saw the beast, the 'Lady o' the Loch', or not, there will be a reason for thinking you saw what you did. Whatever that thing truly was."

He smiled at her then, and she felt a sudden warmth for him.

"Go to Fort Augustus, and perhaps you'll find the truth there. Remember what I said, for those who think they see her, the beast appears to us all for a reason. Go find that reason, whatever it is."

Alessandra nodded. It made sense. The old 'young' man was more of a philosopher than he probably realised.

For the first time in her life, as the old man spoke those words, Alessandra felt a hollowness within her.

Day to day, she lived without feeling. She believed in very little. She existed more than lived. Whatever life she did live, was led on the outskirts of society.

She suddenly felt an overpowering longing to belong. To something. To somebody.

To believe in the monster. To experience something unusual, something supernatural.

"And you? Do you hope to see the 'lady' again?"

Young Angus laughed. At first there was a twinkle in his eye, but then Alessandra noticed it quickly extinguish to be replaced by a darkness. A sadness.

"Lassie, I would give everything I had to see the Lady one more time. To say goodbye to her. But I canna. Sadly, my days are numbered now, and the effort to make it to the loch is far too much for my old body."

"Never say never, Angus. Remember, they call you Young Angus for a reason."

"Aye, but soon they'll be calling me Dead Angus. The doctor says that I'll be lucky to last till winter. Cancer of the liver. Too many years of Drum Dregg, probably. Or perhaps not enough of it."

Alessandra felt a sadness creep up on her.

"If I were to offer to take you, would you come?"

Angus looked at her and squeezed her hand. The twinkle had returned to his eye.

"No, lassie. 'Tis kind of you. And I appreciate it, but I probably wouldn't survive the trip. I spend my days now in my cottage, or here. This is my world now. And up here." He said, tapping on his head. "Memories."

A voice from behind interrupted them.

"Angus, shall I take you home now? You're looking tired."

It was Mrs Gilmarton, standing behind a wheelchair.

Alessandra looked at the wheelchair, and then back at Young Angus.

She'd only just met this man, but he had touched her, and the sight of the wheelchair affected her.

She stood up, leant forward, and without asking, placed a soft kiss on the man's cheek.

"I'll go to Loch Ness, and I'll find her for both of us. And when I see her, I'll give her your love."

"Aye, lassie. You do that. But dinnae forget my words. The beast appears to us all for a reason. Go find that reason, - before that reason finds you..."
Chapter 7

Scotland

The Promenade

Portobello Beach

Edinburgh

Thursday

11.00 p.m.

DCI Campbell McKenzie parked his car at the bottom of Bath Road and walked down across the promenade onto the beach.

As usual, the sand grooming machines had been out and the beach was wonderfully clean and smooth.

He loved Portobello beach, the wide expanse of sand that swept round the bay as far as the eye could see, and which edged the outskirts of Edinburgh.

When Campbell had been a small boy, package holidays were just taking off and although some people were beginning to fly all over the world in search of the sun, a lot of people still came down to the beach for their holidays, staying in guest houses or caravans dotted along the coast. The promenade had been a hive of activity then, full of life, with people lying on the beach and sunbathing, the sea full of screaming, excited children.

That was then. This was now.

Thanks to Easyjet and Ryanair, the sea at Portobello was just too cold to swim in, - unless you wore a wetsuit, and for some reason, people never seemed to lie on the sand anymore.

Sun snobbery.

Once you've been to Greece, or Spain, somehow Portobello, in spite of its name, didn't seem to compare.

Campbell however was not a turncoat. He had loved Porty as a boy, and he still loved it now, all these years later.

It was where he came to think.

At this time of night it was mostly deserted.

Apart from the occasional dog walker, and maybe a few students who sometimes came down to light a wee fire and sit around drinking cans of lager under clear night skies, Campbell was always surrounded and hemmed in by nothingness...

Crossing the sand and reaching the edge of the sea, now out, he took off his shoes and socks and splashed his way gently along the foreshore. As he walked, he looked out across the bay towards North Berwick, then stopped and turned, looking back towards Fife across the wide expanse of the Firth of Forth, the river estuary where the river Forth mixed with the North Sea.

Surprisingly, across the distant hills, he could still see the last vestiges of day light, the faint tinge of orange barely visible somewhere above Elie.

Above him, the clouds had all but gone, and Campbell could see a good selection of stars. He quickly found the Plough, and looked northwards to the Pole Star.

There was hardly any wind, and it occurred to Campbell that the almost perfect night could only be made better if he were to now catch a glimpse of a shooting star, perhaps a harbinger of good luck for the days ahead and what must be done.

He scanned the skies in hope and expectation, but found none.

His heart skipped a beat, and the reality of his situation hit home once again.

He was fucked.

Truly, truly fucked.

He would have to confess everything to his wife tonight, tomorrow at the latest. He couldn't run the risk of the news being printed on Saturday and her reading it over coffee before he got the chance to explain it to her himself.

Shit.

So what should he tell her? And when? And how?

Campbell's feet were getting cold.

He turned and walked back onto the sand, found a spot to sit down, and crossed his legs. He stared out past the now redundant oil-rigs moored up in the bay and let his mind wander over all the different possibilities.

He knew how she would react. That was almost certain.

She would cry at first. Then question him. Then go quiet.

Almost definitely she would then grab a coat and leave the house.

She'd walk for hours, then come home, and start to throw a few things at him.

Nothing big. Nothing meant to harm him. Just a symbolic gesture of the pain she would be feeling.

Then she would ask him to leave.

Fidelity was everything to Fiona. Everything.

Over all the years, whenever he said he was working late, she never complained, never ever questioned where he was going or why. She just accepted that in his job, a life together was not predictable. Maybe he would come home on time, maybe he wouldn't. But never ever would Fiona suspect that he was sleeping... fucking... another woman.

Campbell swallowed hard, and looked upwards at the stars again, fighting back a single, stupid, idiotic tear.

Fuck.

He was going to lose her. He knew it.

He'd been an idiot. A massive prat.

At some point she would ask him, 'Would you have done it again? Given the chance?' and she would see that moment of hesitation in his eyes as he tried once again to think how to answer that question.

Shit, if he still couldn't answer it himself now, after all those months of asking himself that same question, over and over again, what could he tell her?

Perhaps. Yes, maybe I would have. I don't know.

He would try to tell her the truth, though, that he still loved her, his wife, and that he'd never stopped.

She would laugh. He could already hear her in his mind.

She wouldn't even then say the obvious, 'So, why did you do it then?'

She would just shake her head, half smile, and start to die inside of herself.

Betrayal is a terrible thing.

Campbell had betrayed his wife.

He deserved everything that was coming to him, and he knew it.

\--------------------

Scotland

Friday

Fort Augustus, Loch Ness

2 p.m.

Alessandra stepped out of her car and stretched, taking a moment to look around and check for anyone looking at her, and to see if she recognised any faces.

For Alessandra, constantly keeping an eye out to make sure no one was following her, or was showing too much interest, was second nature. Her photographic memory could easily register a face that she had seen recently or before, and if she did, she would take a moment to remember where that person had last been seen: to figure out whether it could be healthy coincidence or if she was perhaps being followed.

Even though no one had yet come looking for, and although everyone believed Salvador to be a man, there would possibly come a day when she would look into a crowd and see two eyes staring right back at her.

She remembered one of Vincenzo's many sayings, all of which were given to her to help her stay alive: 'The best way to get out of a trap, is never to walk into one in the first place.'

He had taught her the fundamentals of staying alive, and the essentials skills for becoming a professional assassin. Skills which she had been constantly refining over the years through further training and from experience.

Although she had learned to relax, like many of the SAS soldiers she had received training from in Cyprus, many years before, she was constantly primed and ready to react instantaneously to any threat she may perceive from her surroundings.

Her subconscious was constantly on the lookout, and if anything was spotted, an alarm bell would ring in her head and her whole body would immediately go on full alert.

For now though, everything was fine. To everyone else around her, she appeared like any other tourist visiting the main town at the southern edge of Loch Ness.

She had taken the indirect route to Fort Augustus, driving as before, up the A887 to Invermoriston, a small town sitting on the edge of the loch further up towards Inverness. When she'd got there, she'd turned right and driven south down past where she'd kept her vigil for Kuznetsov, on the side of the loch directly opposite where his boat had been moored up.

As she had driven along the road near to where she had lain in the forest, she had been alarmed to find the place a hive of police activity. Her pulse had quickened, fearing at any moment that her car would be stopped, but the traffic had not slowed, and she had simply driven past a row of eight police cars and vans, parked on the side of the road.

Quickly scanning left and right to capture as much information as possible about what was going on, it became obvious the police attention was all centred on the strip of land and loch below the road.

There didn't seem to be any activity visible through the trees on the right, going up towards where she had lain hidden in the grass.

At one point the forest on her left had cleared, and for a few seconds she'd had a clear view of the loch.

A line of policemen were walking along the loch shore, scanning the ground, obviously looking for signs of previous activity that could be related to what they would have discovered on the boat.

Looking across the loch to the other side, Kuznetsov's boat was gone. Others now filled the cove, but before she could look at them properly, the trees blocked her view.

His boat had most likely been towed away somewhere for detailed forensics, away from the press and out of the public eye.

Carrying on along the road, she took a deep breath and took a modicum of comfort from the fact that the police search was cold. Very cold indeed. Although she knew that could quickly change.

By the time she arrived at Fort Augustus a few minutes later and pulled into the car park, her mind had already wandered onto other things: food, and her sighting of the monster.

Gathering her camera from the boot, and making sure she had her rain jacket with her just in case the weather changed, she locked the car and started to stroll slowly to the fish and chip shop on the edge of the car park.

She was starving.

The conversation last night with Young Angus had been both an inspiration and rather depressing. It was obvious from the light in his old eyes and the passion which he showed whenever he spoke of what he had seen, that he'd truly seen something. Something he firmly believed to be the 'lady of the loch' as he had so casually described her towards the end of their conversation. But Angus had not been so sure about her own experience. Which rather curiously, disappointed her.

Alessandra realised then that she actually wanted to believe that she had seen something. She wanted to believe that she had seen the 'beast'.

Which is why she had taken Angus's advice and contrary to her standard best practices, had probably rather stupidly got in a car and driven back to within a spitting distance of where she'd just completed her previous mission.

She knew it was madness. By all rights, she should be heading to Ireland now, escaping Scotland via the back door. The last place she should be just now was here. But she needed to know more about what she had seen, and if possible she was hoping to be able to convince herself that she had seen something special. Which she would hopefully be able to do by visiting the Loch Ness Visitor Centre and spending time in the exhibition there.

Angus had also given her specific instructions to ask for a man called Gavin and say that Angus had sent her. Gavin was reliably one of the most informed experts in Scotland and had himself apparently also once seen the monster.

Paying for her fish and chips, she grabbed a few extra sachets of the surprisingly free tomato ketchup from the counter, and walked briskly through the town centre to the bridge spanning the canal which split the town in two.

Fort Augustus was famed not only for being on the edge of Loch Ness, but also for the fact that it was the location of an amazing feat of Victorian engineering - a set of five sequential canal locks that lifted boat traffic up the side of the mountain to the level of the Caledonian Canal, which ran along the Great Glen across the backbone of Scotland connecting the North Sea with the Firth of Clyde, and beyond that to the North Atlantic Ocean.

Turning right at the bridge, Alessandra stood for a moment to marvel at the sight of the locks, then hurried up two flights of steps and sat down on some grass beside one of the locks, where she tucked into her fish and chips.

As soon as she opened up the wrapped newspaper, and the smell of the vinegar and the chips hit her, she realised just how ravenous she truly was.

For the next ten minutes she was oblivious to the world around her, only beginning to take notice of her surroundings again when half the meal was gone.

The screech of police car sirens drew her attention, and she turned to her right to see three police vehicles sweep through the town along the loch. They were in a hurry, and Alessandra had a good idea of where they were going.

She stood up, and continuing to eat her food, followed the path up the side of the locks, until she was at the top, level with the canal, looking down over the town and the edge of Loch Ness.

Alessandra found it incredible. Using nothing more than water power, before the days of lorries and mass transport, a heavy, coal-laden canal barge could be lowered hundreds of feet down the side of the hill and let out gracefully into the mouth of a small river that ran out into the loch below.

Nowadays the industrial barges had long since mostly been replaced by pleasure boats and cabin cruisers, but at the very bottom there was a single token barge visible, waiting its turn to be carried upwards.

Her eyes took in the vista, the bright sun shining on the purple heather on the hills all around her, and the sweet smell in the air. She closed her eyes, and in the distance somewhere she could hear someone playing the bagpipes.

It was magical. Truly magical.

The Loch Ness Visitor Centre was situated on the left at the bottom of the flight of locks, on the other side of the bridge, near the edge of the loch.

Half of the building was given over to a museum which housed the Loch Ness Monster Experience, which promised to provide its visitors with all the information they needed for them to be able to make up their own minds whether the monster existed or not.

Alessandra willingly paid the rather expensive entrance fee and spent the next three hours walking slowly around all the exhibits, reading and digesting everything she could.

In a rather small cinema, twenty people at a time could see a video summarising Nessie's history, and showing interviews with several people who had seen her.

She smiled almost excitedly when Young Angus appeared on the screen, recounting his experiences, almost verbatim as had told her.

The last person who appeared in the interviews was a young man, Gavin MacDonald, whom Alessandra immediately recognised as the man who had sold her the ticket at the entrance.

After watching the video, Alessandra wandered back into one of the rooms where a large wall was given over to the display of hundreds of photographs that people had taken of the monster over the years.

The wall was divided into three sections. On the far left there were many photographs hung on a purple background. These were photographs, which upon expert examination, were easily explainable, and which when viewed with the written explanation in mind, Alessandra couldn't help but agree with. They showed many things... but none of which were Nessie: upside-down boats, dinghies, tree trunks, people swimming, deliberately deployed fake models of the monster, even an aircraft which had crashed onto the loch and was in the process of sinking.

The middle of the wall, with an amber background, was covered with photographs which were not so simple to explain. Experts had made suggestions as to what the images represented, but their explanations were given only as that \- they were purely suggestions. She counted thirty photographs.

The far right had sixteen photographs on a red background. These were the photographs for which the experts could offer no credible explanation. These were the real photographs of Nessie, the Lady of the Loch, the Beast. Supposedly.

Probably.

Maybe.

One thing was certain however. They were the photographs which had spawned the modern legend of the monster and built the multi-billion pound Nessie industry upon which a significant portion of Scottish tourism thrived.

As she had entered this part of the exhibition, her pulse had quickened, and she couldn't believe how simultaneously nervous and excited she had felt.

She had spent a long time examining the photographs on the far right, comparing them with the images which she so preciously guarded in her own mind.

Sadly, none of them compared to what she had seen.

Relegating herself to the amber background, she felt the disappointment creep over her as she began to recognise similarities in some of the photographs to what she had herself seen.

Alessandra stepped back from the wall, as far back as possible, and stared at those in the middle section.

She closed her eyes, running through the sequence of images she had seen, again and again.

Then she returned to the wall, and pragmatically began to admit to herself that she had probably, although not definitely, found an explanation for her sighting of the monster.

Five of the photographs on the wall, - although she had surprisingly not wanted to initially admit it - were actually probably similar enough to her own sightings to spawn further considerable doubt in her mind.

"Find anything interesting?" a man's voice startled her, so deep was she lost in her thoughts.

She turned and found that it was Gavin.

"Ah...," she smiled, "I was just about to come looking for you. Young Angus in Plockton said I should look you up when I came here, and I recognised you from your interview on the film."

"How's he doing? I haven't seen him in a few weeks."

"Entertaining. And full of stories. Interesting stories."

"That sounds like Angus! But you haven't answered my question, though. Are any of these similar to what you saw?"

Alessandra laughed and stared at him.

"What makes you think that I saw anything?"

"I've been working here long enough now to separate the wheat from the chaff, the tourists who come here because they want to see Nessie, and those who come here because they already have. From the hour you've spent in this one room, and the way you're digesting each and every photograph, I can tell which group you belong to."

"It's that obvious?"

"Even more so. The fact is, you're undecided. You keep flitting backwards and forwards between the amber and the red. Am I right?"

"Almost," she laughed again.

"Do you have a name?" Gavin asked, rather forwardly. "Any friend of Angus's is a friend of mine."

Alessandra hesitated. Melting into the background was always her policy. Making herself known and of interest to a leading local only less than a mile or two from where she'd just killed three people was hardly a smart or clever thing to do. But making herself more mysterious by not answering his direct question, was probably now just as bad.

"Alice. My friends call me Alice." She smiled and turned back to the wall. "You're very observant Gavin, but in this case I'm actually probably verging more to the amber wall than the red. I want to believe that what I saw was something special. But the reality is, what I saw was probably something quite like these... probably..." She stepped forward and pointed to two of the photographs.

"But you're not sure?"

"Not completely."

"So what did you see?" he prodded.

"Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing."

"Listen, I'm afraid we're just closing up. But, if you've got some time, we could go to the pub next door and get a coffee? How about I meet you there in twenty minutes?"

\--------------------

Alessandra sat in the corner of the pub, looking out of the window onto the Loch.

It seemed so peaceful and calm today. The water was still, almost mirror like, and there was no wind.

After leaving the exhibition she had wandered down to the foreshore and looked left along the loch to where Kuznetsov's boat had been moored, studying the hive of activity on the water and the shore just behind.

She counted about six boats anchored around where his boat had been, with several others on the loch shore. From where she was she couldn't count the number of police officers, but she could see them like ants moving in and out the forest, their bright yellow jackets clearly visible against the trees and ferns.

She found it strangely interesting. This was the first time, ever, that she had hung around after a mission had been completed, and even though she knew it was madness being there, it was also curiously exciting.

Turning around and walking back along the side of the river that ran into the loch from the locks in the middle of Fort Augustus, she walked past the Loch Ness Visitor Centre towards the pub. There were a few lights still on in the visitors' centre, so she knew Gavin was still inside.

Approaching the pub, her common sense told her to walk straight past, get in her car and drive back to her safe house in Plockton. However, she realised that she didn't want to. And she wasn't going to.

She had questions. She needed answers. Gavin could maybe help her find them.

Sitting in the pub she watched the people around her as they came and went. Tourists most of them. A few locals.

One of them looked across at her. She smiled back, then turned and directed her attention out of the window, avoiding more inquisitive looks.

"Sorry I'm late," Gavin's voice caught her by surprise a few minutes later. "A couple of policemen turned up at the centre and wanted to ask me a few questions."

He had her attention.

"No problem. I was just enjoying the view." She paused, feigning as much innocence as possible, "I can't imagine that there is much crime here in such a small town. Yet, I've seen quite a few police cars zooming around along the loch. Is there something up?"

"Looks like there's been a murder. A tourist was found dead on one of the hire boats. That's all any of the locals know. They brought his cruiser in yesterday. According to the skipper of one of the day-trip boats who passed it on the loch as they were bringing it in, the deck was apparently covered in blood. Everyone was talking about it last night at the bar."

"Ouch. I came on holiday to get away from that sort of stuff. People die in Chicago every day. You would have thought if there was anywhere on earth you could escape, you could do it here in the middle of nowhere."

"We're not exactly in the middle of nowhere. Fort Augustus is one of the largest towns in the highlands, and the biggest round here."

"Sorry," Alessandra smiled, continuing the act. "I didn't mean to insult you. It's just, compared to Chicago, or New York, ... well, you know what I mean."

"Don't worry, I'm only teasing. So, what are you drinking?"

"A coffee will do fine. I'm driving."

"Coming up. But I'm having a whisky. I need one."

As he wandered over to the bar, Alessandra's eyes followed him.

He wasn't at all unpleasant to look at. Quite the reverse, in fact. Brown hair, a moustache and a beard. Dark brown eyes. And the kilt he was wearing also made him rather attractive. She watched it sway from one side to the other as he walked, and found her eyes moving up past the kilt, to his shoulders, and then back down to his bottom, where her eyes lingered a little longer, and didn't seem in a hurry to go anywhere else.

When he returned, Alessandra accepted the coffee and thanked him.

"I've just realised that I've never actually talked to a man in a skirt before!" she said, laughing.

"Then don't worry. You still haven't. This isn't a skirt."

He winked at her, then, and took a sip of his whisky, settling down in his seat and letting out a little 'Aaahhh...' as the alcohol slid down his throat, reminding Alessandra of a cat purring with contentment.

Alessandra put the coffee cup down and leant forward.

"So, what did you see?" she asked him.

"I saw 'her'. The monster."

"Why is everyone so dammed sure it's a 'she' and not a 'he'? Why is it that big dangerous horrible monsters are always male, and cute, curious, mysterious ones are always female?" Alessandra asked.

"Good question. And I don't know the answer. But all I can tell you was that from the moment I saw her, I have always felt it was a female. Maybe because it was slender and delicate... and beautiful."

"Beautiful?" she paused. "So what did you see?"

"It was about seven o'clock in the evening one night in June. Still daylight. I was flying my microlight along the loch just enjoying the summer evening, about twenty metres above the water, in the middle of the loch... and suddenly there she was. Below me."

"What? What was there?"

"The Loch Ness 'monster'. Except she was no monster. She was beautiful. Her neck was sticking straight up out of the water, and her head was following me as I came up to her and then flew over the top of her."

"You flew over her?"

"Right over her. And as I looked down, I could see the top of her body. It was quite broad. Surprisingly so. I immediately banked and flew around, but I think the sound of the engine changing pitch startled her and she immediately dived down under the water. I saw her back rise up, and then her tail as she dived headfirst straight down."

"Did you get any photos?"

"No, I wasn't carrying a camera. Anyway, I circled round a few times, but she was gone. I scared her off I think. She'd probably never seen a microlight before. Especially so close up. I almost crashed into her."

"Wow. It almost seems too amazing to be true..."

She paused for a moment, then questioned him with her eyes.

"You're not making this up are you?"

Gavin didn't blink when he replied.

"No. It's the truth. All of it. It changed my life. I was just on holiday at the time, having bought the microlight with my first wages out of university. I then quit my job, moved to Loch Ness, and have been living here ever since."

"Did you tell anyone about what you saw?"

"Everyone. Absolutely everyone. You couldn't get me to shut up about it. But I had no proof. And I still don't. I've been running the visitor centre for just over ten years now, and I haven't seen her since. But I keep hoping." He sipped the whisky. "Your turn."

His big brown eyes twinkled and looked directly at her, and for a moment, she felt rather nervous. Not because he was looking right at her, but for some reason, she realised that she really wanted him to believe her. That she did see 'something'.

"I ... I was just looking out across the loch, scanning the surface with my binoculars, perhaps 'hoping' that I 'might' see something... you know, like buying a ticket for the lottery... you know it's not going to happen but you can't help but want to try?..."

Gavin nodded. He knew only too well.

"And then I saw it. A line of several large dark hoops rising from the water. Three distinct, thick, large humps standing proud of the water's surface. I saw them only for a few seconds. Stupidly, I took the binoculars away from my eyes to see for myself, then looked back through the lenses, but she... he... was gone. Had disappeared."

Alessandra held her breath as if waiting for a verdict from a judge. What would he say? Had she seen something or not?

"So you never saw a head? Just the body?"

"No."

"Where were you at the time you saw it...?"

Alessandra paused.

"Does it make a difference?"

Gavin obviously wasn't expecting that answer.

"Yes. And it depends on what time of the day it was, too. Where were you standing when you saw it?"

Alessandra hesitated. She couldn't tell him the truth.

"I was down near Urquhart Castle. I'd climbed over the fence just a little along from the car park at the Castle, and made my way halfway down across the field to the shore to have a picnic lunch. It was about one-thirty, probably."

"When you saw the humps, were you able to discern any skin tones? Any markings or colour?"

Alessandra closed her eyes and replayed the image.

"No. Sorry, it was too dark. And it happened too quickly. But if anything, I'd have said the skin was a sort of brown colour."

Gavin thought for a moment.

"Okay. Interesting. Most people would not have said that. They would say it was grey or black." He paused again. "It's a difficult one. So, you want to hear my thoughts on what you saw then?"

She nodded.

"Okay, so this is just based upon what I've learned over the years, talking to everyone and studying everything I can about the monster. It's become an obsession, but I think I do know what I'm talking about..."

"If you're not qualified to give an opinion, who is?" she smiled back.

"Fine... and I'm not saying you didn't see something, okay? The question is, just what was is that you actually did see...?"

Alessandra nodded, raising her eyebrows, conveying a subtle 'get on with it'.

"So, to be honest, because you were using binoculars and got a good close up view, it bumps your sighting up a notch, in terms of the Gavin scale of credibility. And the brown was good. Because I think you may be right. But you didn't see a head, and that's not so good. The problem is that there are many natural phenomena out there on the loch that can cause the appearance of humps. Such as when a boat passes up the loch, it sets up waves, which when the light shines or reflects off the water at the right angle, makes the water around seem bright, but the waves themselves very dark. So it looks like you are seeing humps rising up..."

"But mine were standing quite high out of the water..."

"Which is interesting. As you say... but perhaps it was a tree trunk that was caught by the waves, so you had two effects combining. Which is unlikely, but very possible."

"When I was sitting on the grass on the side of the hill, I was looking 'down' at the water... not across it. Does that make a difference?"

Gavin smiled.

"Yes. It does. I've already considered that. That raised angle complicates things a little."

"I've seen the photographs on the Amber wall. The ones that the experts think were caused by waves maybe created by passing boats. But there weren't any boats around at the time. I looked for them. I couldn't see any."

"The same effect can be caused by the wind. The waves build up, slowly. Or it could have been a big cruiser which passed by a while before... you might not have seen it. It was long ago. Unfortunately, there is also the slight possibility that there may have been an earth tremor that caused the waves. I'd have to check with the university to see if any tremors occurred around that time. We're sitting on a geological fault which runs right down the Great Glen. It's possible, and it's been the cause of other false sightings."

"So, you don't think it was real, what I saw?"

"No, it was real. But was it really Nessie! That's the question. Anyway, what do you honestly think it was?"

"I don't know. Having visited your centre, and seen all the photos, I am honestly, - and I'm surprised just how much I have to admit this to myself- quite disappointed that I think it was probably the phenomenon caused by the waves. But, then again, the humps I saw were so high, and I can't completely get round that."

"So, amber wall or red wall?" Gavin asked.

She looked back at him.

Her face was blank. She looked out of the window, back down at the loch.

"Why is this affecting me like this? Why does it matter so much?" she asked aloud.

Gavin laughed, leant across the table and touched the top of her hand, in a reassuring gesture that brought her attention back to him, and away from the loch.

"It gets to you. Seeing Nessie changes people. Maybe they see something and they are changed. Or maybe they want to change so they think they see something... But they somehow get connected to the Loch. To the monster, or their experience of it. And they get drawn back to it. Repeatedly. We're all affected by the experiences we have. In strange and wonderful ways. It definitely changes people. I understand. Just like it changed me."

She looked at him, quizzically.

"Yes. I told you, I quit my job. Moved here. Have been here ever since. Hoping to see her again. I don't think I'm mad, or insane. Others might. But I know I'm not. And I'm not the only one. Do you know about the caravan park?"

Alessandra frowned, shaking her head.

"It's at the end of the loch, over there," he said pointing out of the window. "It's got its own beach, at the head of the loch, and you can see for miles along its length. It's not a public caravan park... it's more like a private club, but it's full of people who have come here to find answers."

"What do you mean?"

"Over the years, a lot of people have seen the monster. More people than you would think. A lot of them don't feel comfortable telling the press about what they see. Over time the loch draws them back, and they come here to be close to it. They spend months, even years, living in the caravans, until one day, they find the answers they need, and they leave."

"They see the monster?"

"Some do. Others don't. But to be honest, I don't think that's the crux of the matter. Young Angus, he has this theory that everyone sees the monster for a reason. "

Alessandra nodded. "He mentioned that."

"There's no doubting that the monster exists. And many people do really see it. But some people see it, and truly believe they've seen it, but in reality there's a reason they think they've seen it. There's something else going on in their lives that causes them to see it..."

"To imagine it?"

"Possibly. But they see something, imagined or not, and then it gives them the subconscious justification to step away from their daily lives, the problems or the daily routine or grind that's slowly killing them, and to come up here, by the loch, and find some solitude. Some time just to exist. To be. To live. To find answers to questions that really have nothing to do with the monster, and more to do with life, and about themselves."

"Wow..." Alessandra breathed out heavily and shook her head. "That's heavy... And that's what happened to you?"

"Maybe. Perhaps. To a certain extent. But for me it was different. I really did see her. I didn't make it up. However, coming here was the best thing I ever did. I'll probably never leave, at least, not until I see her again."

"Why's it so important that you have to see her again? If you saw her once, and you KNOW she exists, he exists..., then why not just accept it, and get on with life safe in the knowledge that you were privileged to see something no one else has?"

"I don't know. It's important. For now. Although that may change. If I listen to my own advice, then maybe I am looking for something too. Maybe it's not just the monster. But for now I'm happy."

Alessandra looked back out the window.

From where she was, she could just make out a few of the caravans at the furthest end of the loch. She could even see some people standing on the beach, looking out across the water. Hoping to see something. Yearning to find answers.

She felt strange. Peculiar. This was all rather unsettling.

She turned around to face Gavin, noticing only then that his hand was still resting upon hers.

"So, just saying for a moment, that I might consider staying here a little longer, and could be interested in renting a caravan for a week, or two... who would I talk to about it?"

He smiled.

"Me. You'd talk to me."

Chapter 8

Scotland

Edinburgh

Friday

7.00 p.m.

DCI Campbell McKenzie sat diagonally opposite his wife at the corner of their large mahogany table in their dining room. From their windows they had a tremendous view which captured the sweep of the Pentlands, the range of hills just outside of Edinburgh. The sun was beginning its slow summer descent, and the sky was clear. It was a beautiful evening.

He'd poured his wife a glass of wine, a small one, so that it could perhaps take the edge off what he was about to say, but he knew that any more, or too much, would make the situation worse. He was holding his wife's hand in his.

Dinner had just been finished, and for once Campbell had made it home on time.

"There's something I need to tell you," he announced, when he'd called from the office that afternoon, checking to make sure she was going to be at home.

"I need to tell you something too," Fiona had replied. "Something important. I'll cook something nice so we can relax and discuss everything. Can you be home at six? Dinner at 6.30?"

Dinner had been less animated than usual. Campbell was still trying to keep his resolve to tell her, knowing full well that this might be the last dinner they shared together, and he was full of thoughts and worries. He'd practised his opening line a million times in his head, but he knew when the moment came, he would end up improvising.

Fiona had been quieter than normal too. Campbell could see she was worried about what he was going to say. She looked drained. Tired out. Her eyes were slightly red, and Campbell even wondered if she had already heard the news and had been crying. Earlier on that afternoon he'd wondered what it was that she wanted to talk to him about, but such was his self-centred focus that as the appointed hour drew closer and closer, he slowly forgot all about it.

By the time he sat in front of her, the meal finished, his future hanging in the balance and the sword of Damocles hanging over their relationship, there was nothing more important to him that ensuring that he maintained the courage to speak. It didn't really matter what she had to say. At this juncture, as far as their relationship was concerned, nothing could be more important than his news.

"So, who wants to go first?" Fiona asked, nervously fingering the bottom of her wine glass with two fingers.

"Can I?" Campbell coughed, taking a sip of the wine to kill a few seconds. "There's something I have to tell you. Something difficult. So I need to just warn you that you may be shocked by what I have to say, but I am only going to tell you, because I love you so much, and that because I love you, I know that I have to tell you."

He coughed again, looking straight at his wife, noting the immediate concern and questions, and fear, that flashed in her eyes.

"You're worrying me, Campbell. Has something happened? Something bad? Are you ill?"

"No, I'm fine. But something bad has happened. In fact it happened a while ago, because I haven't been able to pluck up the courage to tell you, because I knew it would hurt you. It will hurt us both. But I have to. I have to tell you so that you hear it from me, and we can discuss what happened. Husband to wife."

"Now you're really scaring me... just tell me. Spit it out!"

"Can you remember about six months ago I was working on the case concerning Tommy McNunn, one of the biggest crime lords in Scotland? We finally managed to arrest him and charge him with the murder of his girlfriend, Danielle Wessex?"

"Absolutely. You'd been chasing him for years, and unable to ever pin anything on him."

"Well, there's something more to the case that I need to talk to you about. It wasn't that clear cut. But actually, this isn't really about him. It's about me. And something I did..."

It was happening. Exactly that which Campbell had feared would. He'd begun to ramble. He was coming to the most important part and he was making a hash of it. He'd known it would all be about the delivery, about the preamble, and the logic and reasoning of what had happened, and he'd practised that all down to a tee. Yet, now he was going off script, and it was all falling apart.

Fiona squeezed his hand. "What did you do?"

"I've loved you since the moment I first met you. I know it took a while for me to propose," he smiled. "But it was never in question, that you and I would get together. I've always known it... I've always loved you."

It was then that Campbell saw the light change in his wife's eyes. The first indication of a shard of steel appearing.

She'd twigged what this was about.

Perhaps the only surprise was that it had taken her this long.

"It's another woman? You're seeing someone else!"

Campbell hesitated.

"Actually, yes, it's about another woman, but no... I'm not seeing her... and I never really was seeing her in the first place. She's dead. Shit, sorry, I'm not explaining this well, and it sounds worse than it is."

He closed his eyes and reached for the glass with his free hand. At least Fiona was still holding his other hand. But for how long?

He took a sip, and opened his eyes again, resolved to just tell it all as soon as he could.

"She was a colleague at work. You've met her several times. Smart, attractive. We worked together. A lot. Although nothing ever happened. But about a year ago, when we started working together on the twins rape, -remember when the twins from Galashiels were raped then murdered? - Well, it was about then that we started to spend too much time together. Not out of choice, but because we had to."

Fiona opened her mouth to speak, but saw Campbell's plea to be allowed to carry on, and she let him.

"Thanks... it's just that this is really hard to say and explain in any way that makes any sort of sense... so I just want to tell you everything as it happened. The truth. For better or for worse?"

Fiona nodded, the first tear beginning to form in the corner of her eye.

"I can't tell you how it happened, exactly, or why, but one night, after weeks of working late and sleepless nights, and I'm not using this as an excuse, but simply because it's the truth... just when you were helping me to fight the alcohol, and keep a lid on how much I was drinking... well, one night, the whole team was out for drinks at the Fiddler's Arms and as we were all leaving, I bumped into her in the doorway, and she kissed me on the lips."

"Is that all?"

Campbell blushed.

"Yes. But the thing was that for some reason I didn't pull away. It was a slow kiss. Nothing fancy. But there was something there, and I think I felt it. It confused me. I felt guilty. I thought about it a lot. Which really annoyed me because I kept asking myself why? Why was I thinking about it so much?"

"Were you attracted to her?"

"... Yes. The truth is I was. But just because I was attracted to her, doesn't mean I should do anything about it. I mean, there're lots of attractive women in the world, and I'm not attracted to them. So why her?"

"You're not making this easy, Campbell. You're confusing me. Is this an apology or a philosophy class? Did you sleep with her?"

Campbell stared at her. He could feel her hand tighten around his, her emotional fuse beginning to burn short.

"Not then. No..."

"So later, you did later..."

"Yes, but it was a long time later. And it's not that simple. It wasn't simply a case of sleeping with her or not... I need to explain what happened..."

"It's simple enough, you worked with her, you fancied her and you slept with her!"

His wife stood up, pulling her hand free of his, and taking a deep, deep breath. "You bastard!"

"Wait!" he urged, standing up. "When I say it wasn't that simple, I mean it! It turns out that she was Tommy McNunn's girlfriend. The whole time we were working on the case together to bring him down, to put him in prison with enough evidence to throw away the key... that whole time, she was with him. She was his lover!"

Tears had begun to roll down her cheeks now, but for a moment, the confusion registered.

"What do you mean? I don't understand... How many people was she sleeping with?"

Campbell shrugged his shoulders, a stupid thing to do. "I don't know. Turns out it seems I didn't really know who she was after all. I had no idea she was sleeping with Tommy McNunn. She would have been fired on the spot if anyone had known."

"So how's it relevant to you? Are you trying to say that you think she seduced you? Deliberately, to try and compromise or blackmail you?"

Campbell shrugged his shoulders again. "I don't know. Possibly. Maybe very probably. But I'm not using that as an excuse. The fact is that the night before she was murdered, she took me to a hotel room and ..."

"Did you 'fuck' her, or did you make 'love' to her?"

Campbell hesitated in his reply. A momentary pause which his wife instantly picked up on.

"What? You made 'love' to her? It was serious?"

"Fiona, I need to explain this to you. It's really important... please..."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. You made love to this woman, Tommy McNunn's girlfriend, ... and then the next day he murdered her? What, out of jealousy?"

"Possibly, but I don't think so. I think he planned it all along. She was his pawn."

"What do you mean? How?"

"I think it was possibly part of an elaborate plan to get rid of me. When her body was found, he had somehow taken a condom full of my sperm, which he had taken from the hotel room the night before just after I had been with Danielle, his girlfriend... and he had inserted that sperm inside her. He wanted to make it look like I had just made love to her, and then I'd killed her..."

"Your sperm was found inside her dead body?" she stared at him incredulously. "After you had made love to her?"

"No! Not at all ... he'd put it there!"

"Campbell, I'm really struggling here. Now you've got me really worried... Should I be concerned that you might have killed this woman? How on earth would he get hold of 'your' sperm?"

Campbell reached out with both hands to hold his wife's shoulders and try to reassure her. He could see the sudden flash of fear in her eyes.

"You know me, Fiona. I'm no murderer. Please, put away that thought immediately. And you needn't worry. For reasons I can't share with you, the police have evidence that it wasn't me, and even though the circumstances are very unusual, no one has ever cast any suspicion in my direction. We have a watertight case against McNunn. I'm not under suspicion at all. Her murder had nothing to do with me, but he wanted to make it look like it was. He tried to frame me."

Campbell could see the colour draining from her face, and for a moment, he was scared she was going to faint.

He tried to gently steer her back to the chair, to sit down, but she pushed his hands away, a sudden strength and resolve returning to her face.

"So, why are you telling me all this now, after all these months of lying and sleeping with me, after you'd been with her? Why now? Why now, Campbell?"

Campbell's heart ached for her. He knew that the next sentence was going to be the last straw, but he had to tell her, because she needed to know.

"Because I've been told that over the weekend some details are going to be published in the newspaper."

"The whole world is going to know?"

Campbell nodded.

Fiona's hand went to her mouth, and she took a sharp intake of breath.

For a moment, their eyes connected again, and he could see all the confusion, the pain, and the hurt in her eyes. In that moment of connection, he sensed that there was also something more, a shadow of something else, but then it was gone.

As was Fiona.

She turned her back on Campbell and walked out the door.

He heard the front door close, and the car engine start and rev.

And then peace.

His house was silent.

It was then that DCI Campbell McKenzie realised for the first time that Tommy McNunn, his arch-enemy for many years, had succeeded after all: he'd just destroyed Campbell's life.

\--------------------

Saturday

Fort Augustus, Loch Ness

1.30 p.m.

Alessandra felt good. Excited. Nervous.

For the first time in a long time, she was living on the edge. Doing something spontaneously. Something unplanned. Something exciting!

Inserting the key into the door, she pushed it open and stepped into the caravan she had just rented at the edge of Loch Ness.

Gavin had offered her a choice of two caravans, one of which had recently become free after its previous occupant had died, although apparently not unexpectedly, and the other which was now free because its previous occupant was in a relationship with another one of the caravan park's tenants, and they had moved in together. Life, death, relationships, and monsters. "It all goes on here", Gavin had joked.

Alessandra chose the first of the two, simply because Gavin insisted it had the best Wi-Fi connection. Although what she was doing was 'mad', she still needed to keep abreast of reality, and high on the list of things she needed to do next, was to give a status update to those who had hired her to kill Kuznetsov.

First things first though.

She cleaned the caravan from top to bottom, disinfecting everything in sight, putting new bed sheets and linen on the mattress which she had bought in Inverness, the city at the other end of the Loch, that morning, and placed some pictures and other bits and bobs around the caravan that hinted at her made up life in America, and that of a normal everyday woman and tourist: pictures of her outside a house in the suburbs of Chicago - not her house, just a random one she was passing one day that looked the part and she knew would fit the job - pictures of a dog, and a cat, - taken from a magazine, and one of a young woman graduating from high school, - again, taken from a magazine, but now masquerading as a fictitious niece.

Sometimes, at night, wherever she was, she would stare at these elements which alluded to another life, and they made her sad. They helped her imagine another life that she could be living, and although she knew that after a while it would probably bore her to tears, there were aspects of it that she occasionally yearned for. A family whom she could talk to. A partner. And someone, or something to love.

After cleaning the caravan, she took a walk along the foreshore and sat down on the cobbled beach, looking out across the loch. In a moment of surprisingly honest introspection, she admitted to herself that there was a hole in her life that she had not yet managed to fill, which was perhaps the reason she was here now. Living in a caravan park, in the middle of nowhere, searching for something. Perhaps all this was nothing to do with searching for the monster. As Gavin had suggested, perhaps this was more about searching for herself.

Later that evening, after having devoured a plate of traditional Haggis and Neeps and Tatties - mashed potato, and turnips - at the pub, she had returned to her caravan, closed her curtains, and logged onto the Tor network, via the Wi-Fi. From there she logged onto another Deep Web obfuscation service, - a further precaution to yet further bury all her communications. Then and only then, - when she knew that there was no way anyone or any secret service on the planet could ever track her action back to her laptop or her location in Scotland - did she log into the temporary email account which had been established to communicate with her sponsors for terminating Kuznetsov, allowing her to then send a report of what she had achieved.

She knew the account was monitored, and that they would be expecting the report.

True enough, within ten minutes, a reply appeared, confirming the transfer of the remaining bitcoins to her account.

Alessandra quickly got to work, logging into several bank accounts and other Dark Web services. First of all, she converted the bitcoins to US dollars, and then routed them through several different banks and bank accounts from one country to another, until the funds finally ended up in her own private Swiss account.

Confirming that they were finally there, she took the first sip of the wine that she had opened and was letting breath in preparation. A beautiful red. The most expensive she had been able to find in the supermarket: although she knew cost did not necessarily equate to quality, tonight she just wanted to splash out.

In general she did not normally feel the need to celebrate the completion of a mission, but tonight why the hell not?

Perhaps things were changing.

Kicking back, and drawing her feet up beside herself on the chair, she started to browse the Dark Web, the set of mostly illegal and hidden websites that only those armed with a Tor browser could access and view.

Most of the websites she visited were in relation to the supply of weapons, chemicals, or tools of her trade.

She kept up to date with the latest Dark Web intelligence, having subscribed to several sites that provided up-to-date information on the latest techniques that law enforcement agencies and intelligence services were using to track down criminals on the Dark Web and intercept their communications. Most importantly, this supply of threat intelligence, or rather counter-intelligence, also informed their paying customers how to get round these latest developments, to avoid detection, and remain invisible, regardless.

Where the information came from, Alessandra didn't need to know, although she knew that corruption was everywhere, and that these counter-intelligence services were most likely provided, for a price, by corrupt members - 'insiders' \- of the secret services who were more worried about their pockets than their countries.

In her experience, everything, and everyone was for sale. For the correct price. And the Dark Web was the place to buy or trade it.

Idly browsing to the assassins' website, 'Hitsforbits', she casually scrolled down through the current selection of international targets that were on offer. Over the years she had found quite a few decent contracts for offer on the site, and in the past she had accepted a number of them and carried them out. Enough for the system to recognise her as a highly trusted assassin who completed all the work she took on. Even though the site was a recognised and trusted site amongst her peers, in recent years she had become more cautious of all the offers and targets advertised there: she had a growing concern that intelligence agencies had infiltrated the site and were now routinely offering fictitious targets, in the hope they could entice some top international assassin to go for the bait, reel them in, and then catch them. She had no proof, but it only took a little imagination to see how it could be done, and surely, if she'd thought about the idea, the agencies would be way ahead of her and have thought of it too!

The magic word was 'caution'.

Still, she often visited the site, and browsed what contracts were on offer or up for grabs.

A few pages in, one immediately grabbed her attention.

Name of Target: DCI Campbell McKenzie

Contract Price Offered: £600,000.

Location: Scotland

Target Death Time: Within one month.

Curious.

She hit the link and started to read the details.

The target was a DCI in the Scottish police force, based out of Edinburgh. The contract sponsor made no bones about that. The price was good. The location was perfect.

Leaving the webpage open, she put her iPad down and went to get some more wine from the bottle which she had left in her small kitchen.

There was a knock on the door of her caravan.

A little alarm bell sounded in the back of her mind.

Who could it be? Who knew she was here? She looked quickly at her watch.

9.35 p.m.

The only person who knew she was there was Gavin.

She smiled to herself, checked that she looked okay in the mirror, and then opened the door.

"Good evening, Miss," the police officer standing on the grass outside announced. "I apologise for it being so late, but we were wondering if we may ask you a few questions?" He nodded at his colleague, a young woman constable by his side.

"May we come in?" he asked.

Alessandra stood in the doorway, a little numbed from the shock of seeing two uniformed, and armed, police officers on her door step. Her mind immediately went into overdrive, and the fight-or-flight response kicked in. She quickly calculated in her mind, all the options available to her.

They were limited.

Although Alessandra had no guns with her, there were only two police officers, and their weapons were not drawn, so if needs be, she knew she could easily overpower them quickly.

But, she did not know how many more were out there.

If she did have to run, Gavin knew her car number plate - she'd had to sign several forms before getting the keys to the caravan. Granted, all the details she had filled in were false, and the credit cards she'd used were faked, professionally, so they couldn't get anything on her from them, but at this time of night she could not rent another car.

If she had to run, it would be by foot: by car she would not get far... there were not many roads in the highlands, and a helicopter and a few road blocks would catch her easily.

Crossing the mountains on foot would be possible, although tricky by night, but she'd left her emergency case, containing another passport, identity and cash, at the airport in Edinburgh, and she'd have to make it all the way there, somehow, without much money, evading the police all the time, before she got to it. And without it she couldn't leave the country.

It was doable, but it would be tricky.

These, and a thousand other thoughts and permutations, went through her mind in the seconds she stood there in the doorway.

In the end, she weighed them all up and came to the best conclusion. The obvious and less risky course of action to take next.

"Come in, please?" she said with a smile, opening the door, and stepping aside, waving them towards the table.

The police officers smiled, removed their hats, and wiped their feet on the mat at the doorway. Stepping inside the caravan they walked towards the table and sat down on the seats edging the windows.

As he sat, the young officer, reached out and picked up the iPad.

Alessandra froze. Still visible on the main screen was the 'Hitsforbits' website.

"Sorry, I almost sat on it," the officer said, holding it out and offering it to her. Smiling.

Alessandra quickly took it from him.

"Thank you," she replied. "I was just about to catch up with the real world on Facebook.

The officer smiled.

"I don't want to take up too much time from your evening, but we are just going round the caravans gathering some information and making some local enquiries. Is that okay?"

Offering no hesitation that could visibly attract any attention, she immediately agreed, smiling.

"Certainly. Can I offer you some tea? I've just opened some wine, but I'm guessing that since you are on duty..."

"Very kind, but no thank you. Hopefully we'll be gone in a few moments. May we start by asking your name?"

"Alice. Alice Brandon. Miss Alice Brandon."

"Have you been living here long?"

"Only about an hour. I just moved in."

"Oh, well," the two officers looked at each other. "I suppose you have heard that a body was found not too far from here a few days ago? On a boat, out on the loch? Well, we were going to ask if you had perhaps seen anything at all, since you have such a good view of the Loch. But if you weren't here...?"

"Sorry, officers, I've just arrived. I only arrived here in the area yesterday evening and was offered the caravan last night by the manager of the visitor centre. I was looking for somewhere to stay."

"So where did you stay last night?"

"In a village near Skye, on the west coast. I'm a tourist, from Chicago. Have I done the wrong thing? Is this place not safe? Do you suggest I leave?"

The officers stood up.

"I'm sorry to alarm you. But there is nothing to worry about Miss Brandon. This is the first time we've found a body like this in years. And I'm quite happy to assure you that this is one of the safest places in the world. We'll leave you in peace now and let you start your holiday. I repeat, don't be alarmed. Fort Augustus is a haven of peace and tranquillity. But, if you are going to be staying here long, may I recommend that you visit the monastery and try their tea and scones. They're to die for..."

The young policewoman scowled at him, and the officer blushed.

"Sorry, a better choice of words may have been more appropriate. But suffice it to say that they're delicious. Enjoy your stay."

The officers ducked through the caravan door on their way out and disappeared towards the next caravan.

Alessandra laughed.

She returned to the table, poured herself another glass of wine, and opened up 'Hitsforbits'.

She was beginning to enjoy Scotland. Staying a while longer was beginning to seem like a good idea.

And who was to say she couldn't mix some business with pleasure?

She spent the next two hours considering killing DCI Campbell McKenzie, and in the end came to an informed decision.

Why not?

Chapter 9

Scotland

Edinburgh

Saturday

3.00 p.m.

One of the great advantages of her job was that Alessandra got to see the world. She couldn't claim that she had been everywhere, but she had certainly visited most of the continents, and killed people in almost all the major capital cities of the world.

She'd been to Scotland once before, to Glasgow, but to this day she had never yet managed to spend more than an hour or two in Edinburgh, the capital. She'd read about it, and seen many, many pictures of how beautiful it was: the castle, the old tenement buildings of the Old Town - which were apparently the first skyscrapers in the world, - the New Town, and the beautiful scenery and countryside which surrounded it. One half of the city was even bounded by the sea, which could obviously create sailing opportunities if she ever had the time and she found a boat to rent!

The fact that her latest potential target, DCI Campbell McKenzie 'currently' lived in Edinburgh was one of the attractions enticing her to make a bid for his assassination on HitsforBits: 'currently' being the operative word, for if her bid was accepted and she was given the contract, DCI Campbell McKenzie wouldn't be living for much longer.

Until she found out if the job was hers or not, she wouldn't get too excited about seeing the city. She had plenty to occupy her mind where she was.

Alessandra was a good cook. She liked to cook to relax, and she found that when standing in the kitchen and creating a meal, she could empty her mind of most other thoughts and just immerse herself in the smells she created, and the food she sliced, diced and prepared.

However, she didn't yet have any ingredients to cook any of her favourite meals, so she decided to walk into Fort Augustus and visit the supermarket before it closed. On the way, she thought she might visit the Monastery, take the tour which Gavin had recommended and see if it wasn't too late to sample the apparently delightful tea and scones.

Locking up her caravan and leaving, she said hello to a few of her new neighbours who eyed her curiously, and stopped to help an older man who was slowly walking towards the beach, resting on a stick.

"I go down to the beach every day at this time, take my flask with me, have a cup of tea, and see if I can spot Nessie. I've been doing it every day for ten years!" he explained.

She accompanied him through the gate onto the cobblestones, helped him down to the water's edge, and helped set up the portable canvas chair he'd brought with him.

"I'm Robert," he volunteered. "Thank you."

"And I'm Alice," she replied.

"I know. We all know. Word travels fast of new arrivals to our strange little community."

"Strange?"

"Well, we're not a typical cross-section of humanity, are we? We're all here for the same reason, all obsessed with the same dream. To see the monster... whatever it takes, however long it takes..."

She nodded, smiled, and then turned and walked along the beach to the gate at the bottom of the path that led from the beach up to the monastery.

The path took her up the side of a big, granite, Victorian building. It looked very out of place, sitting at the south end of the now teeming tourist resort. Its grand facade with tall double-storey windows and the two large towers with sharp, pointed roofs that pierced the sky above, adjoining a thin, tall, church, all reminded her of something more out of a Harry Potter film, than a house given over to the service of God.

As she worked her way around the side to the public front entrance, she absorbed the atmosphere of the place and was surprised to feel the calm and solitude which exuded from the building and the grounds around it.

Walking up to the main entrance, she saw a sign advertising tours and checked her watch, pleasantly discovering that the next one would be in thirty minutes and was 'free', but which also left time for a refreshing cup of tea beforehand.

The tea shop was at the back of the monastery, in an elevated position above the working gardens where the monks grew crops to sustain the faithful. The tea shop was surrounded by wonderful panoramic glass windows that afforded those within an incredible view of the loch, which spread out before them and headed into the distance north towards the city of Inverness.

If ever there was a place to sit and watch the loch in comfort, this was it!

She sipped her tea and slowly savoured her scone, keeping her eye on the loch, hoping. It occurred to her that on the tour, she must question the tour guide about how many monks had seen the monster. Surely, over all the years the monastery had been here, they must have had many sightings!

Two voices on her left caught her attention, interrupting her thoughts. Half turning to discern their origin, she discovered that two police officers had sat down at a table several feet away, had taken off their hats and were obviously trying to relax during a moment off duty.

Their conversation immediately drew her in.

Another body had just been discovered on the lake, having floated to the surface.

Shot through the back of the neck.

"Could have been executed and then dumped overboard." One voice had suggested.

"Looks like it. They're calling in police divers now."

"Shit. I told you, as soon as they found out that the first body belonged to a top Russian mafia boss, I knew this was going to get messy."

Alessandra had not known that Kuznetsov was Russian mafia, but the news did not surprise her. She'd suspected it.

Either that or some sort of billionaire oligarch who had fallen out with the Russian leadership. And in today's world, you probably didn't become an oligarch without breaking some rules somewhere.

Now the police divers were being called in, it was probably only a matter of time before they also found the third body. But so what? Although it was tempting to stay and listen for any more titbits of information which the policemen may casually, and rather stupidly, let slip in public, Alessandra saw from her watch that the tour of the monastery was due to start quite soon and she didn't want to miss it.

By the time she arrived, there was already a small line of people standing in front of a board advertising the tour and stating 'Queue here".

Alessandra had always found that one of the most endearing aspects of the British: their love of queuing. She knew it was a sign of respect for others, recognising the value of other human beings and their time, and supporting the importance of the idiom 'first come, first served.' How long would that great British quality last, she wondered to herself as she lined up behind a rather large and 'round' couple with American accents, with so many migrants now flooding into her Italy, most of whom were intent on making their way to Germany or Britain. None of whom were in any hurry to queue for anything, and whose manners and philosophies on life were all very, very different to the British.

She thought of the tea and cakes she had just eaten, the umbrella for the rain she was carrying, and the fact she was now standing patiently in a line with other people: she was practically British herself!

Then she laughed to herself as she thought of yet another great British trait: the fact that the British never complained. She looked at the people in front of her, who were already beginning to grumble that the tour was three minutes late in starting. Maybe four.

What a bloody disaster!

They were meant to be on holiday, relaxing.

She was half-tempted to lean forward and tell them to chill-out, as the Americans she knew so quaintly put it, when a small man with a black cassock and a classic bald patch in the middle of his head - a 'tonsure' - opened up the main door and stepped outside, looking every inch like the image of a monk you would possibly ever imagine. A character straight out of a book, except smaller.

"Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen, p-p-p-p-please, come this way! C-c-c-come inside, just in case it starts to r-r-rain!" The monk announced, stuttering his words, and making Alessandra's heart go out to him. "How brave," she thought to herself, "to be a tour guide, with such a speech impediment!"

She followed the tour group inside, into a wooden panelled entrance room, where the monk greeted them and gave them a brief history, discovering that its proper name was St. Benedict's Abbey, completed in 1880 and was a Benedictine Monastery.

Beyond that, she began to lose interest in the fine points of the religion, their daily life, and what they practised, but as they moved from the first room and started the tour around the building, she was fascinated by the architecture.

Hanging back towards the rear of the group, she continued to warm to the small monk who led them around. He was jovial, light-hearted and friendly, and Alessandra couldn't help but like him.

After about twenty minutes, they came to a quadrangle and gardens surrounded by cloisters - a covered walkway with the inner edge comprising a low wall and large impressive stone arches. It was dark in the cloisters, and the rain was now pouring down into the open garden in the quadrangle beyond. The draught brought by the falling rain as it pushed the air gently outwards into the open cloisters brought with it a wonderful smell of roses and herbs; the sound of the raindrops falling gently onto the plants pleasant and relaxing.

The tour walked around the cloisters, listening to the little monk point out various pieces of architecture and statues. Half-way around the quadrangle, the monk stopped and tried to climb up onto the raised wall overlooking the inner square, so that he could address the group from within one of the arches, and so that everyone could see him properly.

Seeing that he was struggling to climb up, Alessandra quickly stepped forward and offered him an arm to rest on, and a hand to help lift him up.

The little monk hesitated before accepting her gesture.

He looked at her, his dark brown eyes meeting hers, his face suddenly blank of expression.

He cocked his head to one side, his eyes appraising Alessandra, then lifted his head back up again.

He blinked. Nodded his head slightly, then smiled.

Reaching out, he rested his hand on her arm, and pushed down on it, at the same time accepting the hand she placed under his elbow as she helped lift him upwards.

With her help, he turned slightly and clambered up onto the ledge of the small wall, but as soon as he was there, he turned back towards her.

Without her consent, or any indication of what he was about to do, he reached forward and placed both hands on her head. Then spoke.

"Bless you child." He said.

It was only three words, but it caught Alessandra completely by surprise.

She felt the presence of his hands upon her head, and sensed his touch.

Instead of immediately lifting his hands as she might have expected, they seemed to linger there, gently, softly, almost caringly, and although it could only have been for the briefest moment, that moment seemed to stretch itself out and last for far longer than it must actually have been.

The moment carried with it an incredible feeling of intimacy ... and something else that she couldn't identify.

Alessandra felt mesmerised. She closed her eyes. Her head fell slightly forward, in an almost unconscious act of supplication and acceptance. At that moment a strange sensation travelled up and down her spine.

It was like an electric current had passed from the monk to her, and something tangible, something incredible, passed between them.

She felt his hands lift off her head, but although they were gone, the incredible, almost peaceful feeling of intimacy remained, pervading her body.

Her head was still bowed forward, her eyes closed.

For a moment, her brain seemed to slow down and stop, the world around her ceasing to exist. She was cocooned in silence. In nothingness. In peace.

And then she heard the monk speak.

His voice was soft, above her, talking about something she did not immediately understand. She struggled to open her eyes, and found that they resisted, almost as if they were glued shut. She tried blinking, hard, and they came slowly open.

Lifting her head, she blinked several times again, and then looked up.

The monk was speaking normally, addressing the rest of the tourists.

He was speaking about the quadrangle, the architect, the plants and the flowers.

She looked up at him, and he was reaching out his hand towards her.

Automatically she responded by offering her arm and hand once again, and this time he immediately accepted her offer of help.

She helped him down off the wall, and when he had both feet on the ground, his hands still resting on Alessandra, he looked up at her face, his gentle eyes meeting hers, and he simply smiled.

"Bless you," he said very quietly, "for you are now blessed."

Then he turned away from her, and walked off down the corridor, the rest of the tour group following him.

Alessandra stood rooted to the ground, not understanding what had just happened. Indeed, something strange HAD just happened. Something very peculiar.

She felt weak.

Nauseous.

The world around her seemed suddenly unclear.

Different.

Unsteady.

Turning from the rest of the group, she hurried quickly back around the quadrangle, saw the sign for the exit, and just made it through the entrance door to the world outside before the world began to spin, she bent forward and vomited.

"Bless you," the voice in her head said, "For you are now blessed."

Straightening herself and wiping her mouth with a tissue from her pocket, she backed away from the entrance to the monastery, turned in her stride, and then hurried away from the building as quickly as her legs could carry her.

Chapter 10

Scotland

Edinburgh

Saturday

11.30 p.m.

Campbell McKenzie sat at the back of the Fiddler's Arms, leaning against the wall and listening to the in-house Ceilidh band, his eyes closed, his fourth pint half-empty, and his life ruined.

He'd been there two hours already and had no intention of leaving any time soon.

Fiona had returned, briefly, earlier that day.

She'd thrown a copy of the Scotsman newspaper down on the floor, looked at him... just looked at him without speaking, and then left.

Campbell had already seen the paper. Fearing the worst, he'd been out first thing in the morning to buy a copy. It was all there. The whole story, or at least as much as they had been legally allowed to print without being in contempt of court and ruining the prosecution. Obviously, Peter had failed to stop it being printed today, as he'd hoped. The only consolation, which was practically none at all, was that Campbell had managed to tell Fiona before she read it.

Fiona had not returned home on Friday night. He'd called her best friend, and she'd confirmed she was there, before denouncing him as a little shit. Then she'd hung up.

When Campbell had picked up the paper from the floor earlier that morning, there was a sticky note stuck on the page that ran his story.

Its message, hand-written by Fiona, was clear and succinct.

"Please pack a bag and please leave the house by this evening. I would prefer you out of my sight."

The message was typical of Fiona. Even at this time, she was courteous and polite. She could well have written, 'Pack a bag' and, 'I want you out of my sight!' exclamation mark, but instead she'd said, 'please' and 'prefer'.

Over the years, whenever Campbell had read about divorce cases, or heard tales of woe from his own friends, he'd always been stunned that the woman should presume that the man should leave the property. Why? In the modern age of equality, if they were that bloody equal, surely in all divorce cases statistically half the women should leave the house too? Campbell had always promised himself, half-seriously, that god forbid his own marriage ever hit the rocks, that there was no way he was going to just vacate his own house.

However, now, given the facts, and knowing that it was he who'd ruined her life and not vice-versa, he didn't even question it.

He packed his suitcase, two in fact, and was gone from the house by later that afternoon.

By six o'clock he was entrenched in a Premier Inn, and by nine he was in the pub.

"Hey, Dumbell!" a familiar voice caught him off-guard, shouting sufficiently loudly directly into his eardrum to make him jump. "What the hell have you gone and done this time!"

It was statement, not a question mark. And although his best mate had just called him his childhood nickname, Dumbell, instead of Campbell, this time it was entirely appropriate, and Campbell knew he used it deliberately.

"Shit, Brian, you almost gave me a bloody heart attack! Don't bloody do that, okay? And how did you know I would be here anyway?"

"I read the paper, I called you, you didn't answer. I called the house, Fiona answered. She told me she'd kicked you out and here was the obvious choice. This is where you come to think, to forget, and to get pissed, right?"

"Yeah. Except you're a bit late. I'm almost pissed already. Just not enough."

"Anyway, pull up a pew, Bri, but do me a favour and first get me another pint, and a wee nip of Teachers too. And get the same for yourself." Campbell commanded, thrusting a twenty pound note at his friend.

Luckily, as Brian returned, the band finished for a nicotine break, and Campbell was able to give Brian the lowdown on what had happened, without shouting.

"You complete and absolute twat!" Brian summarised the situation. "How the fuck could you do that to Fiona? She's the loveliest woman in the entire world! You idiot."

Campbell looked at his friend, another long serving officer in Police Scotland, with whom Campbell had been best friends ever since their first days at the police college together.

"Another pint?" Campbell asked, "And maybe we should move over there? The band's about to start again, and I don't want to shout."

Campbell fetched another round and Brian got a couple of quieter seats at the front of the pub away from the band.

"I can't remember DI Wessex. What did she look like?" Brian asked. He was also a DCI but stationed elsewhere on the other side of the city. Their paths did not cross too often professionally, but at least once a week in their leisure time.

"Let me show you," Campbell replied, leaning across a table and picking up a copy of the Scotsman that was lying there. He flicked open the paper to page nine, and pointed at the picture of her half way down the page. "I thought you said you'd read the article?"

"I did, but not in the Scotsman. It was in the Mail."

Campbell's face fell. "The Mail? You're joking, right? How the hell did they get hold of the story?"

Brian never replied. He was too busy gawping at the attractive woman that Campbell had pointed at.

"Wow. She's a looker."

"Was. She's dead now, in case you'd forgotten."

"Was. Is. Okay, she's gorgeous, but for Pete's sake Dumbell, she worked for you. Could you not keep it in your pants?"

Campbell took a sip of his beer. The start of his sixth.

"I was an idiot. And I don't know why it happened. I tried to resist it. I fought it. But it happened, and when it did, I just didn't seem to be able to stop it. Or say no. Subconsciously I must have wanted it. I mean, I did want to, truth be told, but I'd always managed to say no until then.... then one day... I just ran out of the strength to fight it."

Brian shook his head and looked at the photograph again.

"Was she good?"

Campbell stared at him.

"Sorry, that was probably out of order." Brian admitted. "Listen, have you ever heard the joke: '"Why do men give their penis a name? ... Because they don't want a stranger making all their decisions for them!"

"Bloody hilarious."

They sat and talked about Fiona then, Brian advising Campbell to back off and give her some space for a while, and insisting Campbell should move into the spare room at his place.

"She's angry. But give her time and she'll want to talk about this again. And then you'll have another chance."

"You think she'll take me back?"

"I don't know. To be honest, it could go either way. But Fiona's a sensible woman. She's going to hurt, badly, but all this business with the woman being Tommy McNunn's accomplice, your arch-rival, ... that puts it in another ball game. Like you said, it's complicated. The fact that it isn't so straightforward, means there could be a chance. But I honestly don't know, mate. Only time will tell."

Campbell swallowed hard. The alcohol level in his blood had now almost hit that point where he would either start to get really melancholy, start to philosophise about life in general, or go the other direction and start to laugh about ridiculous things.

Without realising it, he went for the second option.

"How come everything we do in our life revolves around our penises? You were bloody spot on with that joke. But I mean, everything, every fucking thing we do in our lives is dictated by... by 'fucking'... isn't it?"

"We're men. It's hormones. It's the way things are..."

"I mean, everything in our lives. Fucking. It dictates everything... it's the one thing that stays with us all our lives..."

"Dunno about that. Okay, I agree, it's really important when we're young. But not so much when we're older."

"You're right. I mean, you might be. How about this then... I've just thought about it... let's call it the 'fucking lifecycle'... starts like this..." Campbell coughed. "Right, when you are young, 'fucking is the whole point'. Everything we do is about fucking anything that moves. But then, like you say, we change as we get older, and by middle age, what the hell, we get to the point when we're all angry, and the big question is, 'What's the fucking point?'... And then later, when we're even older, when we've used up every tiny bit of testosterone and the old penis has shrivelled and lost its ability to rise to any occasion and the women are all old, saggy, and have shrunken tits, then, the truth is, 'What's the point in fucking?'"

"Did you just make that up?"

"Yeah, not bad eh?"

"It's brilliant, mate! The Fucking Lifecycle! I love it. 'Fucking is the whole point', followed by middle age, and 'what's the fucking ... what?'

"What's the fucking point!"

"Then what, what's the last one? What's the point in fucking?"

"Yeah, I think we need to write it down before we forget it. I'm going to put it on a T-shirt and wear it to court one day!"

Brian laughed.

"Ah, but there's one part about fucking that you missed out, that covers your situation just now."

"What's that?"

"Right now, thanks to Tommy McNunn, you're fucked!"

\--------------------

Sunday

Fort Augustus, Loch Ness

2.30 p.m.

The ray of bright sunshine streaming through the crack in the curtain slowly moved across Alessandra's face until it landed on her closed eyes.

The sun was warm, the caravan was already hot inside, and now the final added touch of the heat and light directly on her eyelids was enough to pull Alessandra over the edge and drag her back to consciousness.

She stirred, stretched and slowly opened her eyes. Blinded by the light, she automatically raised her hands to shield her face, then rolled onto her side.

Reaching out and picking up her watch from the bedside cabinet, she did a double take when she saw the time, checking that she hadn't imagined it.

2.31 p.m.

How was that possible?

She'd gone to bed yesterday as soon as she got back from the monastery without any evening meal or drink, and that must have been sometime around five o'clock.

She'd felt nauseous and exhausted and almost immediately she'd fallen deeply asleep and slept without stirring for almost twenty-one and a half hours?

Alessandra couldn't believe it.

She normally woke every morning around seven a.m. like clockwork.

Her body ached all over.

Was she ill? She had to be.

What else could explain it?

"Bless you. For you are now blessed."

The words which suddenly entered her mind caught her off balance.

She remembered the strange events of the afternoon before. The monk. The peculiar connection they'd shared. The bizarre feeling of something being transferred from him to her. The peace she'd felt.

And then the nausea.

Alessandra was not a sensationalist. She was practical. Extremely practical. The fact that she had slept so long and was now aching all over meant that she had picked something up. She was ill.

Then she realised the most sensible explanation.

The cream in the scones she'd eaten in the monastery must have been off.

It would be a simple case of food poisoning.

She closed her eyes again and tried to relax.

She smiled.

In spite of the aching in her body, the sensation of lying down and doing nothing, - of relaxing, of not rushing off to do something else -, was strangely... wonderful!

She felt the pleasure of the sun on her face again. Then she sat up and opened the curtains, adjusting her pillows so that she could sit and look out of the window to the scenery beyond.

From her window at the back of the caravan she got an unhindered view of the mountain that rose steeply from the Loch on the east side of the water.

At this time of the year the trees were their most verdant, with the purple of the heather above the tree line offering a beautiful contrast to the greens below.

Tea. She needed a hot cup of tea.

The good news, she discovered, was that as soon as she edged off the bed and started moving around the caravan, her aches seemed to vanish, and within minutes she felt as fit as a fiddle.

Then the hunger hit her.

She was ravenous.

Which was a problem because after the visit to the monastery she'd rushed home without getting any food from the shops.

Taking her tea to the small shower, she quickly washed, dressed and collected a few bags to fill up with food in the town centre.

Momentarily contemplating driving, she decided to leave the car keys behind and walk along the loch and up the side of the river. It was a wonderful day, and after all, she was in no real hurry. She was on holiday!

Robert the old man she helped yesterday, was already on the beach on his chair, as were a number of other people, sitting, talking with each other, and looking out towards the loch.

Waiting.

Watching.

Hoping.

Deciding she had a few moments to meet the locals, she walked over across the pebbles and greeted Robert.

"Aha... Alice! It's a pleasure to see you again." He announced warmly, with a genuine smile on his face.

A few faces turned in their direction and a couple of the others started to make their way across towards them.

"Hello, I'm Sally Brown." A middle-aged woman with bright red hair greeted her. "Welcome to the Loch Ness Hilton, the most exclusive resort in the world."

"And the craziest." Another added. "I'm Lisa. From Durban in South Africa."

Three others, two men and a woman, stood a few feet away, but didn't come forward.

"They're just shy." Sally said. "And harmless. For now you're the latest curiosity, but if you're still here in two weeks' time, they'll want to speak to you. They'll want to tell you their stories."

"What stories?" Alessandra blurted out before realising the obvious.

"Their stories of the monster. What they saw. We're all here for the same reason. Martin there will bore the pants off you if you give him a chance.

"Or else he'll pull them off you," Lisa added. "He's a randy old bastard." She laughed to herself. "You're Alice, right?"

She nodded.

"American?"

"Did Gavin tell you?"

"No, but I recognise the accent. Slight, but still traceable. You have my sympathy."

"What for?" Alice asked.

"Trump."

Alice laughed, but didn't engage in the topic. As a rule, she never pursued conversations about politics. She had her own views, but she didn't want to attract the attention of others who didn't agree with her.

"Are you coming tonight?" Sally asked.

"To where?"

"The bonfire. Every Sunday at sunset we all come down and if it's not raining, we start a bonfire and hang out together. There's no chance of seeing anything, what with the fire scaring away any animals, but it's a nice way to end the week."

"I'd like to, thanks." Alessandra smiled. "So, how long have you been here Sally, and you, Lisa?"

"Six years, would you believe? I can't. But it's definitely six years and counting." Lisa replied.

"Six years?" Alessandra couldn't help but show her surprise.

"That's nothing," Sally interjected. "I'm a newbie at only three years, but Robert has been here for nine, and old Willie over there has been here for eighteen, or so he claims."

"Why?" Alessandra blurted out.

They all stared at her.

"Why stay so long?" Lisa replied. "Take a look around and let me ask you another question: why on earth would you want to leave?"

Lisa had a point. Standing on the beach looking out towards the loch, surrounded by the tranquillity and such wonderful scenery and nature, she could see it was a valid question.

The moment was only broken when a police helicopter flew overhead and headed over towards where several police boats were bobbing around on the loch in the distance.

"Nasty business." Robert exclaimed aloud. "I heard they found another two bodies this morning."

"Two?" Alessandra couldn't help herself from asking aloud in surprise.

"Yes."

Which was very interesting because she knew for a fact that she was only responsible for three.

So, where did the other one come from?

Chapter 11

Scotland

Edinburgh

Sunday

6.30 p.m.

Alessandra sat down opposite Gavin at the best table in the restaurant and glanced out of the window at the special view of the loch which it afforded.

She realised then that everything revolved around the loch.

The whole community existed because of it and it dominated their daily lives.

Even when relaxing in style, the most expensive seat in the house was orientated towards it. In fact, the restaurant only existed because of it.

The loch and the monster within it.

No opportunity was lost to look out across its expanse in the hope its scrutiny would be rewarded with a sighting of the monster.

Monster?

Alessandra found that the word monster was no longer appropriate.

Creature? Animal?

She thought again fondly of the term Young Angus had used: 'The Lady of the Loch', and she decided it perhaps fitted best.

Lady of the Loch.

Of course, it would prove to be a disaster if at the end of it all, it turned out there was only one, and it was a male after all.

"Penny for them?" Gavin asked, pouring her a glass of red wine.

"I'm just realising how much everything revolves around the loch." She replied.

"We make the most of what we have. It's a tight-knit community that does its best to get by. We look after each other and the loch, and the loch looks after us. Anyway, how are you settling in, in your caravan? Have you met any of the neighbours yet?"

"Yes, I have, and tonight I'll be joining them for the bonfire if the sky stays clear. Have you ever been?"

"Yes, but I've not been invited for a while..."

"Consider yourself invited."

Alessandra liked Gavin. She felt relaxed in his company. She'd bumped into him on the way up to the supermarket from the caravan park and he was in a rush, but he'd asked if she fancied joining him for dinner, his treat.

"I'd heard the Scots were a mean bunch, so I'll have to accept, just so I can tell my friends it's not true!" she'd joked.

Gavin had suggested the Boathouse Lochside, and she'd accepted without realising it was also the most expensive in town. Its location on the edge of the loch was unbeatable.

"You look tired." Gavin said, honestly.

"I am. I was feeling a bit under-the-weather earlier. But I'm a lot better now."

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Like a log. You wouldn't believe it. I guess I didn't realise how tired I was from the sailing I did on the West Coast a few days ago. It's all this fresh air. You stop running from life, stop working so hard and wham- it suddenly hits you."

"Have you met Lisa yet? You should ask her for one of her massages. By the time she's finished with you, you'll be a different person. She hunts down every tiny little piece of stress in your body, and releases it... and wow, you feel amazing."

"I'd just fall asleep."

They chose their meals, and Gavin recommended the sticky toffee pudding, but Alessandra opted out.

"I don't eat too much; I try to keep myself in shape and piling on the pounds doesn't help."

"Are you saying I'm fat?"

"I didn't mean that. Actually, you look good, but you were probably just fishing for compliments, so I won't say any more."

"Don't. But I'm having the sticky-toffee pudding anyway."

Just then several police-officers came in through the doors of the restaurant and came and sat down at a table nearby.

"The police are everywhere at the moment," Alessandra remarked, prompting a response.

"It's not always like this. It's the bodies which have been found on the loch."

"Robert, in the caravan park, said today that they'd found more bodies. I think two more yesterday?"

"Yes. It was in the local paper this morning."

"What happened? Do you know what it's all about?"

"A few days ago, they found a body on a cruiser moored on the loch. Then a body floated to the surface and so they sent down police divers to look for more, just in case. They apparently found another two. One was in a suitcase. A young woman. The paper was hypothesising that it may be the body of a sex-worker who went missing in Inverness about a week ago."

"A sex-worker? What's that?" Alessandra asked, feigning innocence.

"It's our PC way of saying a prostitute."

"From Inverness. I wouldn't have thought that a city that size would have anything like that going on."

"I guess, wherever there are tourists, there's a business opportunity. Anyway, hopefully, in a few days, the police will find everything they need and move on. Normally there're only a few Bobbies in town. Before this, the biggest crime that ever hit Fort Augustus was when someone stole a canoe. That was two years ago."

They ordered dinner and when Gavin made his excuses and went to the toilet to wash his hands, having come straight from work, Alessandra thought about what he had said.

She never made judgements about the people she assassinated. She just did her job. But knowing that Kuznetsov had probably murdered a young woman, did make the hit a little more justified.

Over the years she'd had brief encounters with members of different mafia organisations from throughout the world. In comparison with most of them, her memories of her friends and relatives in the Family in Italy were very, very different. They lived to a code. They killed to a code. And there was honour in the Family. Outside of Sicily, things were very different.

\--------------------

Sunday

Fort Augustus, Loch Ness

9.00 p.m.

After dinner Gavin had escorted Alessandra back to the caravan park and they'd found a seat around the pile of drift wood and tree branches which would soon be set on fire.

Gavin knew everybody and through him Alessandra was introduced to everyone else, including those who had hung back earlier and viewed her with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Alessandra had brought with her a bottle of wine and when the fire was lit, they all sat around under the darkening sky and started to swap their experiences of the week.

Sadly, no one had seen the 'lady of the loch', but as previously warned, Alessandra was soon being subjected to the stories and experiences of others, which she found not only fascinating but hopeful.

Just before midnight Gavin made his excuses and left, but not before Alessandra thanked him for the meal and for everything he'd done for her over the past few days and kissed him gently on the cheek.

Which didn't go unnoticed with Lisa or Sally, who made faces and giggled suggestively.

Alessandra politely ignored them and immediately changed the subject, turning the attention back to Sally.

"So, what did you see?" she asked.

"I was in my car, driving along the side of the loch. I was up here on holiday from Glasgow, escaping from my husband who I was in the process of leaving, and I was day-dreaming. Just glancing casually at the loch whenever the trees thinned out. Then suddenly I saw this huge 'thing' near the edge of the loch. I pulled over, got out of my car, and ran down to the shore, which was only about twenty metres away. It must have been about thirty metres out. It was huge."

"Did you see its head?"

"Yes," she replied, her eyes glazing over slightly, either from the wine or the memory, but probably both. "But not straight away. At first I only saw its body. It was moving away from me. Then its neck rose up and its head turned towards me. I think it looked at me. It must have seen me because then it sank into the loch and disappeared."

"Wow... how long did you see it for?" Alessandra asked.

"The whole thing probably lasted a couple of minutes. From when I saw it while in the car, to getting out and then watching it from the shore."

There were tears in her eyes now and when she blinked they began to roll down the side of her cheeks.

"I'm a silly old cow, I'm sorry." She apologised.

"That's amazing." Alessandra shook her head in awe.

"Have you ever seen it again?"

"No. Just like my husband. I got back to Glasgow, and he'd gone. Thank goodness. After a few months of not sleeping at night in an empty house and wondering if I'd gone mad or not, I packed my bags and came back here. I've been here ever since."

Lisa's story was not dissimilar and was a little like Young Angus's

She was walking through the woods one day along the side of the loch and she had seen the monster wading through the water close to the shore. Head, neck, body and all. The monster had swum out from the shore and dived down under the water.

At the time Lisa had left South Africa and had been touring the world. She'd got as far as Scotland, saw the monster and never left.

It was a warm evening. The sky was clear. The stars were out.

Alessandra knew a lot about the sky and certainly enough to navigate by the stars across both land and sea.

After midnight, as the fire began to die down with no more wood to replenish it on hand, a few people started to leave.

"Wow!" one of the women on the far side of the fire cried out. "Look!"

Alessandra's first thought was to look out to the loch in search of the monster, but she quickly realised the woman - Sheena- was pointing upwards to the sky.

Everyone looked up and Alessandra was just in time to see the tail end of a fabulous meteor shower.

"It's a good sign. Something good is going to happen!" Lisa announced beside her. "You mark my words!"

An hour later everyone else had left. It had been a wonderful evening. Sitting around the fire, under the night sky, talking, sharing, simply existing, had been one of those rare occasions in life that money couldn't buy.

Now alone, Alessandra stared into the glowing embers of the fire. Thinking.

For the first time since she'd completed the mission, she thought of the people she'd killed. She could see the lights on the police boats in the distance. She had no regrets, none. But she wondered, if she had completed the task sooner, could she have saved the young woman's life?

She thought of the 'lady': her sighting of the lady of the loch. She knew she would always treasure what she had seen, but she found it curious how much she wanted to believe that it was real, in spite of the likelihood that it was just floating trees or abnormalities in the water surface caused by strange wave formations. Still, Gavin had not discounted her sighting, and he was the expert, so maybe she should not be so quick to explain it away.

Then she thought of herself.

Something was different.

She could feel it.

Something in her had changed.

What it was she didn't know.

Then she remembered the words of the monk:

"Bless you, for you are now blessed."

A tingle passed down her spine.

Standing up, she walked quickly back to her caravan, climbed inside and then locked the door behind her.

As she turned the key in the door, she noticed for the first time her fingers felt different.

They were tingling.

Stripping off her clothes she climbed straight into bed.

Pulling out her iPad from under her mattress, she opened up the Tor Browser and logged on and then went through all her usual security precautions, ensuring she was invisible to the world.

When all was safe, and most importantly she was safe, she logged onto HitsforBits.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins.

Her offer on the new contract had been accepted.

She'd offered to do the job for the equivalent of £500,000 in bitcoins, but for some reason the sponsor had agreed to pay her £600,000 so long as she expedited the job and killed the target within three weeks.

The HitsforBits system was simplistic to use, but was supported by complex algorithms and advanced technology way above anything Alessandra could understand, or would ever need to understand.

Over the years, because she had always delivered on what she said she would do, and thanks to the reviews left by her happy customers, the system now automatically advertised her as a 'Top Assassin.' She had two avatars on the site, one being Salvador and another being her default: 'Khan'.

When any assassins first used the site, they had to complete each mission and prove their kills before receiving any payment, but now, due to having each achieved five successful hits, Salvador and Khan would both receive half-up-front, and the other half on completion.

It made sense. The best assassins took on the toughest missions and could incur significant expenses upfront in their preparations. Thanks to this arrangement, as was now usual, if she accepted the hit, half of the money would arrive in her account in the next twenty-four hours, followed by the remainder upon completion.

Although having the money upfront was good, it was not a gift. Any temptation to take the money and run was not something anyone should ever entertain. Those who ran HitsforBits were very clever, and powerful. Their complex system worked on trust and the honour that supposedly existed within the community - along with the simple threat that should the initial trance of the money ever be paid out, and you then did not complete the hit, they would come after you.

You would be the next target.

They would find you.

No matter how hard you made it for them.

They would get you.

However, it didn't worry Alessandra or most other Top Assassins, who didn't really do it for the money but for the kudos, pride and respect.

An email was already waiting in the email account Alessandra had created especially for this assignment. It contained more details about DCI Campbell McKenzie.

She studied the photograph in the file for several minutes.

He was a good looking man.

But, if she now accepted the job, hit "Accept" on the HitsforBits contract webpage, she'd be fully committed and DCI Campbell McKenzie would die with twenty one days.

Her fingers still tingling, she touched the "Accept" button on the iPad screen, logged off, and closed her eyes.

Within minutes she fell deeply, deeply asleep.

Chapter 12

Scotland

Edinburgh

Monday

8.38 a.m.

Alessandra awoke seven hours later to the sound of screaming.

It was coming from somewhere just outside her caravan.

Quickly picking up a large knife from the kitchen, she moved to the window and pulled a corner of the curtain gently aside, so she could see into the field beyond.

At times like these she deeply regretted not having her own weapon, but in the UK, possession of a handgun was illegal and the risk of getting caught was too high.

The instant she had heard the scream, Alessandra was fully awake, and primed to react to whatever was about to come her way. Her mind was instantly calculating possibilities, and making preparations for defence, evasion or escape.

It was a man's voice. She could tell by its tone. However, it was obvious from listening to his screams that whoever he was and whatever had happened to him, he was in absolute agony.

From her window there was nothing obvious to be seen, but the screams continued.

She left it a few moments longer and still nothing seemed to be coming her way.

Annoyingly, her fingers were tingling like crazy, and as she held the curtain corner with one hand, she examined her fingers and wondered what on earth could be the matter with them.

Deciding that whatever the problem was outside, it was most likely not a threat to her - if someone was coming after her, they would never telegraph it by causing such a rumpus, she scrambled out of her bed, pulled on some jogging shorts and a top, and hurried outside.

The first person she saw was Lisa running across the park towards one of the caravans parked in the row next to hers.

"It's Robert, he's broken his leg!" she shouted to Alessandra.

Alessandra immediately broke into a run, following Lisa who headed straight to a caravan, four away from her own.

Robert was lying on the ground in front of his caravan screaming his head off, surrounded by three others, all looking flustered and worried, but not knowing what to do.

"Has anyone else called an ambulance yet?" Lisa asked, getting the phone she'd just fetched ready.

A round of 'nos' and shaking heads.

Alessandra knelt down by the old man. His left leg was lying at an odd angle, and his face was contorted in pain. The door to his caravan was wide open, the pair of metal steps leading up to it having been kicked forward, slightly away from the door.

"What happened?" Alessandra asked. "Did you trip on the stair?"

She put a hand on his head and stroked his cheek gently.

"Robert, can you hear me? It's me, Alice. We met yesterday. I'm going to help you. You're going to be okay."

Not all the training that Alessandra had completed in camps around the world was about killing. An essential component of all training was what to do if you were in the field and you were injured. Helping yourself, or a colleague to survive. She had trained for moments like this, and now the training took over.

It was obvious to Alessandra that the man was in a lot of distress. Her first concern was to calm him down, to help him relax as much as possible, and to establish what had happened.

Was it only a broken leg, or was there more to it? Why had he fallen? Was he having a heart attack or a stroke?

Quickly assessing his facial expressions and his responses to her questions, she ascertained that the leg injury was most likely the immediate concern. It was broken above the knee, and she could see the femur - the thigh bone \- sticking out through the flesh.

"How long is the ambulance going to be?" she asked Lisa.

"They don't know. There was a road accident near Inverness. All the ambulances are busy. They might have to send one from Fort William."

"But that's quite far away, isn't it?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Not good..., that's too long." She replied, worried that the old man could go into shock.

Annoyingly her fingers were tingling so much that they were beginning to distract her now. She tried to focus, rubbing her hands together and trying to improve the circulation.

"Robert, I'm going to move you. I'm going to pick you up and move your leg. And I'm going to cover you with some blankets. It'll hurt, but you'll be better in a moment."

A crowd was now gathering; the rest of the park's residents circling around the poor man on the ground.

Alessandra stood up and spoke in a stern but authoritative voice.

"I'd like you all to leave please, except for Lisa and Sally. I may need you. Please, your presence here could be distressing poor Robert. Why not all go over to someone's caravan and get a cup of tea? As soon as the ambulance arrives, I'll come and give you an update on how he is!"

For a moment, they just looked at her, but then her calm authority won them over and one-by-one they began to disperse.

Returning to Robert, she took the blankets from Lisa, which she had found inside his caravan, and covered him over.

"I'm going to move you now..." she said, calmly.

Then she took hold of his leg under the blanket and gently readjusted it on the ground so that the bones once again met correctly.

Robert screamed and then passed out.

"Is he ...?" Sally asked, staring at him.

"No. He's just fallen unconscious. It's probably best."

She looked at his face, stroking his cheek.

Alessandra felt strange. But not because of the stress of the moment.

It was something different.

Her fingers were tingling in a way she had never experienced before.

It was a curious sensation.

She raised them to her face and looked at them.

"Bless you, for you are now blessed."

That thought again. A thought so strong it was almost a voice in her head.

What the hell did it mean?

Blinking to clear her mind, she focused back on poor Robert and felt with her hands under the blanket to where the fracture in his leg was.

A wave of what she could only describe as 'compassion' swept over her. The idea that this poor man was in such a terrible way, began to really affect her.

Almost physically.

She couldn't stand his suffering.

A strange compulsion came over her. An idea, so bizarre, it took her by surprise.

She felt suddenly conspicuous. She had to get rid of the others. She wanted no-one watching her.

"Lisa, Sally, could you please both go to the entrance of the caravan park, one of you staying at the gate, the other going up the path to the junction with the main road. Wave the ambulance down when you see it and direct it down here. I'll stay with Robert."

"Good idea," Sally quickly agreed, seeing the sense in the suggestion. Both she and Lisa turned and left, leaving Alessandra alone with Robert.

Robert blinked. Alessandra could see that even in his unconscious state, waves of pain were sweeping across his brain, and he was still suffering.

She had to do something. She had to end the pain for him.

"Bless you, for you are now blessed."

This time, a real voice in her head. The monk's words reverberating around inside her skull.

She blinked.

She knew she could do this.

A feeling so strong that it almost overwhelmed.

Her fingers were tingling so much it almost felt as if electricity was jumping between them.

And then it happened.

She closed her eyes and rested both her hands upon the broken leg.

With a conviction the like of which she had never previously experienced, she found herself willing that Robert's pain would stop. That his suffering would end. That he would find peace.

Suddenly she felt an incredible warmth spreading from her wrists, down through and across her hands. She pressed lightly onto Robert's leg and the warmth left her. It felt as if the heat had left through her fingers and her palms, diffusing through her skin into Robert's body.

Then it was gone.

The tingling in her fingers abated.

Almost instantly a wave of exhaustion and nausea spread over her. She felt light-headed. Giddy. As if she was going to faint.

Pulling her hands back from under the blanket she sat back on the ground and propped herself with a hand on either side of her body, steadying the world and making sure it would not fall on top of her.

She closed her eyes.

A woman's voice caught her off guard.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

"Yes," she replied, discovering that two ambulance crew were by her side. Somehow, she had not heard the ambulance drive up between the caravans, or the paramedics with Lisa and Sally rushing over to her and Robert. "His name is Robert. He's unconscious just now, because I reset the leg. It was badly broken and at an angle. I was worried about the blood supply. You'll need to check it. I'm not a nurse, but I once had some training from the army. By the way, I think he fell from the entrance to his door, and banged his leg on the steps on the way down."

The ambulance crew already had Robert on a stretcher.

"Thank you." The female paramedic replied. And with that they lifted Robert and took him to the ambulance.

"I'll go with him," shouted Sally, as she climbed after the crew. "He'll need a friendly face with him when he wakes up."

Slowly Alessandra made it to her feet, resting for a while against the side of Robert's caravan.

As they watched the ambulance leave the park and drive up the side of the hill, past the monastery, Alessandra bent double and vomited.

"I think I need to go and lie down," she whispered to Lisa, then turned and hurried back to her caravan.

Stepping back up inside she locked her door, climbed into bed and closed her eyes.

She was instantly asleep.

A deep, deep sleep.

Peaceful. Restful.

Blessed.

\--------------------

Monday

Her Majesty's Prison Shotts

3.00 p.m.

Ivor Petrovsky was fuming. Getting privileges these days was proving far more difficult than before. After months of trying to arrange it, he'd only just been given the laptop he'd bribed at least five guards to first help get it into the prison for him and to then ignore the fact that he had it.

Ivor was finding prison very difficult to deal with. He'd been in prison for almost eight months now and his trial, which had been repeatedly delayed, was now set for two weeks' time. From information he'd found out recently, the only consolation was that it would be running at the same time as the trial of Tommy McNunn, the bastard who had stitched him up and got him locked up in the first place.

Unfortunately, although from what Ivor had heard, the evidence against Tommy was overwhelming, Ivor had no faith in the Scottish Judicial System and knowing that Tommy McNunn was just as corrupt and bent as he was, he could not be sure that McNunn would even get convicted.

People like McNunn and himself always managed to pull a rabbit out of a hat at the last minute, or more likely, find a way to get to the jury or bribe a judge.

Ivor was reasonably confident that he would get a light sentence and with good behaviour and an appeal, may be out in six years. Which was better than the full life sentence he was facing currently, for a murder which McNunn had committed and pinned on him.

Ivor and Tommy had always been rivals, fighting to take over leadership of the largest and most lucrative area in Scotland. For years there had been an almost unwritten truce between them, but McNunn had unexpectedly grown impatient, and taken matters into his own hands.

By blaming the murder of a corrupt policeman on Ivor, McNunn had declared war.

Despite how it may look right now, Petrovsky was not yet finished. He would get out of prison and he would take over the whole of McNunn's criminal empire.

Before, McNunn was just an annoyance, but now he was the single purpose that got Ivor up every morning.

McNunn had become the reason he managed to survive in prison.

He was the centre of Ivor's attention, his every thought being spent on planning how McNunn would die.

Already, two pathetic attempts on McNunn's life had been made in his prison, but they were both botched jobs and McNunn had easily survived them. McNunn had seen to it that both the men who had been caught trying to kill him had been blinded. Rumour had it that McNunn had even personally gouged the eyes out of both of them by himself. Although when Ivor had heard that he doubted it. Such brutality was more his own style than McNunn's.

Ivor also knew that if he'd managed to put out contracts on McNunn, that McNunn would have also put out contracts on him.

Which was why Ivor had paid an arm and a leg and used all his influence to get hold of a new laptop and be moved to a cell with access to a local Wi-Fi connection that was switched on for an hour each day.

Only his cell had the Wi-Fi and it was costing him five thousand pounds a month.

He knew that the prison officer who'd arranged it for him was taking the piss, but Ivor couldn't argue. Take it or leave it. And Ivor knew he had no option but to take it, whatever the cost.

One day he'd be free again and then he'd hunt down the guards who'd profited from his misery, and he'd personally cut their testicles off, one by one.

But for now, it was a seller's market and he had no choice but to smile when he arranged for the money to be transferred into their bank accounts each month.

Five thousand was a lot, but nothing in comparison with what he could continue to earn by managing his lucrative criminal empire from within his own prison cell. So long as he had an internet connection, crime continued to pay, regardless of the fact that he was in prison and shortly facing a murder charge which could keep him out of circulation for years to come.

By the time Ivor had managed to boot the laptop up, log on to the Tor browser and access the Dark Web, he had already used up fifteen minutes of his time.

It took him another few minutes to log on to 'Hitsforbits', but once there he was able to work rapidly.

He was offering a target contract price of two million pounds.

Ivor knew it was a lot. Probably the most anyone had ever been offered to kill someone in Scotland. Ever.

But McNunn was a difficult, and infamous target. He was in prison. Always surrounded by security, who by this time would probably all be under McNunn's influence, financially or through blackmail or threats made to their families in the world outside. And people were almost as scared of McNunn as they were of himself, Ivor Petrovsky, one of the most brutal crime lords in the whole of the United Kingdom.

Calling up the contract form, Ivor began to fill it in, online.

He filled in the four most important boxes first.

Name of Target: Tommy McNunn

Contract Price Offered: £2 million.

Location: HMP Stirling

Target Death Time: As soon as possible.

Petrovsky knew how the HitsforBits process worked: he'd used it professionally many times before.

Now all he had to do was sit back and wait for the fish to bite.

For the money he was offering, he was confident there would be lots of offers. But Ivor needed to find the right offer. From someone who was capable enough to get the job done.

He might have to wait a while. To be patient.

However, for someone in HMP Shotts, who was going nowhere soon, that would be no problem at all.
Chapter 13

Scotland

Loch Ness

Tuesday

8.38 a.m.

Alessandra stirred. The banging she was hearing in her dream was getting louder. It was coming from somewhere else. She struggled to open her eyes, but when she did was confused as to what was going on.

Someone was knocking on the door to her caravan again.

Slowly, she sat up and edged off the bed, wondering why her left leg was hurting so much.

She stretched, and then as she put some weight on her foot and moved towards the door, the pain vanished.

Curious.

"I'm coming. Just a second..." she cried loudly.

Fumbling with the key, and then the handle, she pushed open the door and yawned, wincing in the bright, summer sunshine.

"Are you okay?" Lisa asked, smiling, and seemingly bouncing full of energy. "I was worried about you, a little... you just disappeared yesterday."

"I came back to the caravan and fell asleep. What time is it?"

"Almost quarter to nine."

Alessandra frowned, "In the evening?"

"No dummy, the morning. It's Tuesday morning. Are you okay?"

"Tuesday? I can't believe it. I've slept the whole day, and right through the night? I must be coming down with something."

"You look fine. Great, in fact. Listen, maybe it's a bad idea, but I was wondering if you fancied joining us for our morning swim in the loch?"

Alessandra glanced sideways towards Loch Ness.

"Are you kidding? It must be freezing."

"Don't be a wimp. I thought Americans were made of sterner stuff than that. Anyway, I'll leave you just now, because you're not feeling great, but any day you fancy a swim, some of us get together about nine on the beach. As long as it's not raining. It's a fabulous way to start the day."

Alessandra thought about it for a second, and as Lisa turned to leave, she gave in.

"I need about ten minutes. I'll see you down there. I'll catch you up."

Stepping back into her tiny new world, she felt the sudden need for the bathroom and locked herself inside the cubicle.

What was happening to her? That was twice she'd fallen asleep so deeply, overwhelmed with exhaustion.

Alessandra didn't like doctors. They asked too many personal questions, and she 'didn't do' personal.

But she felt fine now, and that was the main thing. Alessandra's mentality and training was always to soldier on, regardless. As long as no one told her she was ill, then she wasn't. Simple as that.

Grabbing a quick glass of water, a towel and her swimming costume, she hurried down to the beach. The others were already in the water.

Alessandra stopped and stared in disbelief. For an instant she questioned what she was seeing.

There were nine of them wading out into the water.

Including Sally and an old man, who Alessandra immediately recognised.

It was Robert.

He wasn't hobbling. On crutches. Or in plaster.

She stared at him incredulously.

"Your leg!" she heard herself cry out loudly.

Robert turned and waved at her.

"Come on in, it's not that bad."

Throwing her towel onto a rock near the others, Alessandra hurried out towards him. Probably numbed by the shock of seeing Robert, she didn't initially feel the cold, but as she got further out, she quickly began to waken up, and the vestiges of last night's deep sleep left her.

"Robert, I don't understand. What happened to your leg?"

"Actually, it's fine. And I owe you some thanks for taking charge of the situation and calling the ambulance just in case."

"But it was broken!"

"Turns out it wasn't. Just a graze. They took an X-Ray just to make sure, but it's all okay. They were more worried why I fell in the first place, but they gave me a full examination and said they couldn't find anything wrong with me. Even the cold I had yesterday seems to have vanished!"

Alessandra was beside him now and without thinking about it, she reached out as if to touch his left leg. The one that was broken in two, but no longer was.

"May I?" she asked, catching herself at the last moment.

Robert turned, put a hand to steady himself on Sally's shoulder, and lifted his leg up out of the water, stretching it out straight.

For an elderly man, his leg was surprisingly sturdy.

Alessandra placed a hand on his thigh and stroked it gently. There wasn't even a scar.

She shook her head.

She felt slightly odd.

"Are you okay?" Sally asked.

"I was sure it was broken. I was positive it was broken..."

"Well, luckily it wasn't. Which means that I can still enjoy the swim this morning."

Lisa pointed to the others. "We'd better catch up with the others."

Alessandra blinked, bent down and scooped some cold water up over her face.

She laughed.

"I can't believe it, I honestly thought it was broken, Robert. I was really worried for you... Normally a break like that would put you out of action for months."

"But I'm fine. Which is the main point. And I'm grateful for everyone worrying about me, even though it all turned out to be a false alarm. Anyway," he said, turning, "I'm not going to be last today, so you'd better catch up." And with that he dived forward and quickly took up the breast stroke. A strong steady stroke, surprisingly powerful for a man his age.

Lisa put a hand on Alessandra's shoulder.

"Are you sure you are okay? I can walk you back to the caravan if you wish?"

Alessandra turned to her, smiling. "I was so sure, really sure it was ..."

"Broken? So was I. But it's not. Something funny happened yesterday morning that you or I can't explain, but that's normal round here. Crazy, but normal. Welcome to the madhouse."

Alessandra search Lisa's eyes. "You thought so too? So I'm not going mad?"

"No."

They stood together for a moment, Sally not saying anything, Lisa looking at Alessandra and Alessandra still staring incredulously after Robert.

Alessandra didn't understand any of this, but in the past week a lot of things had begun to happen which she didn't understand.

She blinked, smiled, and then dived forward into the water calling out, "Last one to catch the group buys lunch."

As she swam, for a few moments she again noticed the pain in her own left leg, but then it was gone.

Never to return.

\--------------------

Tuesday

Western General Hospital Edinburgh

3.00 p.m.

Fiona McKenzie stood outside the front of the Edinburgh Cancer Centre at the Western General looking up at the sign above the door.

The word "Cancer" beamed down at her. Her appointment with the Oncology Consultant was in 15 minutes time, but she couldn't quite seem to make it past the entrance.

She would be late.

She couldn't afford to be late.

"The first step is the hardest." A soft voice beside her broke her concentration.

She turned to find a friendly face smiling at her. A lady, the same age as her. Warm blue eyes.

"I'm scared." She said to the stranger.

"So was I. The first time. Shall we go in together?"

Fiona nodded, and the woman rested a hand on her arm.

Fiona swallowed, wiped away a tear, and took the first step forward towards recovery.

Chapter 14

Scotland

Loch Ness

Tuesday

6.00 p.m.

Alessandra knocked on the door of Lisa's caravan, cradling the bottle of red wine in her arms.

The door opened outwards towards her, and she stepped back automatically so she wouldn't get knocked off the metal steps.

"Come in, we're all here!" Lisa greeted her warmly.

Alessandra stepped inside. Robert was already sitting at the table at the other end of the caravan, with another man called Nicholas and a woman called Corinna, both of whom she had met during the swim that morning.

Sitting down, Alessandra had just finished saying hello when the bedroom door opened and Sally stepped out. She smiled at Alessandra and then went towards Lisa who was standing beside the cooker. They exchanged a few words, and Lisa laughed, then kissed Sally gently on the cheek.

It was a gesture of intimacy that caught Alessandra by surprise, especially since it came so soon after Sally had emerged from the bedroom.

"They're together," Robert whispered. "They moved into together last year."

Alessandra blinked, letting it sink in for a while.

"They might not have found the monster," Robert continued. "But they've found happiness. And each other."

"Wine?" Sally asked, holding up a bottle of white. "We're having fish. Is that okay?"

"Absolutely." Alessandra replied. "It's good, because I'm on a sea-food diet. I see food, and I eat it."

The others laughed.

"No seriously," Alessandra continued. "The whole day, I've been starving. I've spent most of the day eating and I'm still famished. For some reason, my appetite's doubled. It must be the mountain air or something."

"Well, good. Lisa will sort you out. She's a brilliant cook." Sally said, pouring wine into their glasses.

Alessandra looked up at Sally. She was an attractive woman, but probably older than Lisa by about ten years. For a moment, a random picture flashed through her mind of the two of them naked and kissing passionately, but she quickly flushed it away.

"So, Alice," Corinna said, raising her glass. "Here's to you. And to you finding whatever it is that you came here in search of."

The others raised their glasses too, and Lisa rushed over from the cooker, grabbed a glass and lifted it quickly.

"And to escaping whatever it is you're running away from!" Nicholas added, which met with a stern slap on the arm from Corinna who was sitting beside him.

"Don't be so negative! Or rude!"

"I'm just saying, - observing - that we're all here for different reasons. That's all. I'm not casting any judgements. But if you look around at everyone else, most of us are hiding from something."

"Or maybe we're just fed up hiding and want to be seen." Alessandra quipped, before she could catch herself.

"Is that what you've been doing?" Corinna probed. "Hiding?"

Alessandra felt everyone's eyes on her and realised she was almost blushing. She never blushed. The sensation caught her off guard. "Possibly. A little bit. To be honest though, I don't really know exactly why I'm here or why I just said that."

"You've only been here a few days. You have to settle in first. Stripping off all those layers of crap that have settled on us over the years takes time. And only then, when we've shed all the layers of shit, can we start to figure it all out. It takes time." Lisa shouted from the other end of the caravan.

"Yes, don't stress yourself out worrying about what you're here for. You're defeating the object of being here! The whole point of being here is to get away from the stress." Nicholas added.

"I thought we were all here to see the Loch Ness Monster?" Alessandra probed.

"Originally, yes. That's what draws us here. But it's not the reason people stay."

Nicholas and Corinna nodded.

"And where have you come from, Corinna? Is that a German accent I detect?" Alessandra wondered.

"I'm from Bavaria. Near Ingolstadt. One of the big cities in southern Germany."

"And what brought you here?"

"The fish and chips. And the clean water."

Alessandra raised her eyebrows, not knowing if Corinna was joking or not.

"Okay, so I'm joking about the Fish and Chips, but the bit about the water is true. I love the water. It's pure. Tastes fantastic."

"But where did you learn to speak such good English?"

"All Germans speak good English. So we can vun day rule ze world."

Nicholas looked across at her. It was his turn to give Corinna a little slap on the arm.

"Would you two stop it?" Sally joked. "You'll scare Alice off. The truth is that Corinna is an English teacher. And she's practically more Scottish now than German. She's been living here for years."

"Have you seen her?"

"We've all seen her, Alice. Or we wouldn't be here."

"But have any of you seen her again since you've been here?"

A round of silent shaking heads.

"Paul has!" Nicholas remembered.

"And Davina. She says she saw it last year."

"Is she still here? Can I talk to her, or Paul, about it?"

"Sure, they'll be excited to tell you all about it, no doubt."

"Nicholas, so what makes people stay? You just implied a minute ago that people come for the monster, and then stay for another reason... And if Paul and Davina have seen it again, why are they still here?"

"Maybe because they've found the monster but they haven't found themselves yet, and they can't leave until they have?" Sally suggested.

"I think that some people come here not knowing what they're actually looking for, consciously using the monster as the excuse, but subconsciously being driven by something they don't understand."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Looking back, now, yes, but I was also running from a failed marriage and knew it at the time."

"Have you found anything else yet then? The real you?" Alessandra asked, almost regretting the question before she'd even finished the sentence.

Sally looked at Lisa, blushed and replied, "I think so."

Lisa beamed back at her.

Corinna coughed loudly a couple of times and made a show of breaking up the moment. "I think we all walked straight into that one. But going back to what you asked about why people don't leave? I think there's something really special going on here. This is a really cool place to be. Our little 'community', or call it what you want, may have started out being made up of a bunch of nutters who were either hallucinating or had genuinely seen something special that hardly anyone else in the world had seen, but now it's more than that. We're a good group."

"A few of the people are a little quiet, and they hold back until they trust you, but, all in all, there's actually no one here that is genuinely mad or crazy." Nicholas added.

"Plus," Lisa added, joining them at the table. "I don't just think it's only the community or the monster, there's more to it than that. I think it's this place, too. It's really unique and it's got something going on which you can't really put a finger on. Have you seen the standing stones on the other side of the ruined church at the end of the old road?" she said, pointing out the window. "You should go and have a look. There's a small stone circle, with an avenue of standing stones leading up to it. People have been coming here for thousands of years, drawn to it for whatever reason. Something that we've probably all lost touch with."

"Which is probably also why the monastery was built here?" Alessandra suggested. "Maybe this place has something religious or holy about it?"

"See," Nicholas laughed. "It's already getting to you! Welcome to the club."

Another little slap from Corinna. Which Alessandra now recognised more as flirting that anything else.

"I'm serious." Alessandra said. "Why build a monastery here? Surely, because they identified it as being a place of special interest too?"

"Maybe..." Nicholas replied, and a small paused followed. A pregnant, but not uncomfortable gap, during which everyone drank some more wine.

"Have you heard the latest?" Robert asked, the tone of his voice more serious.

"No," Lisa and Sally both replied together, as if they knew exactly what he was talking about.

"It's all very well us going on about how wonderful this place is, but according to Gavin, it looks like it could be going ahead after all."

"What?" Alessandra shook her head, "What are you talking about?"

"Apparently the Laird who owns this land is thinking about selling it. To a property developer." Sally explained. There's been a rumour going around for a few weeks now."

"What?" Alessandra immediately sat up straight, "When? Why?"

"We don't know. But it could be a couple of months, or longer... depending upon who buys it."

"Is there anything we can do to stop it?"

Nicholas and Sally shrugged their shoulders.

"I hope so. We're holding a meeting about it later this week. This community has been here for years. We must have some sort of rights. We're going to protest it, if we can. But until the Laird actually decides to put the land up for sale, there's nothing actually to protest about."

Alessandra felt curiously sad. She'd only just arrived, and wasn't a true, time-earned paid-up member of the community, yet, but the idea that it could be shut down deeply saddened her.

"It's shit," Lisa said, standing up. "I think we need more wine. I'll open your bottle, Alessandra?"

Alessandra nodded.

Lisa walked across the caravan to the kitchenette, picked up the bottle and started to fight with the metal wrapping around the cork.

Alessandra stood up and wandered across to her, annoyed that her fingers had started to tingle again. Maybe it was something to do with her elbow? Had she banged it and jarred a nerve? But it was in both hands. So that couldn't explain it.

Lisa looked across at her.

"The problem with expensive wines is that you can't bloody open them. What's with all this faffing around and putting metal around the cork? And then having to stick a corkscrew in to pull the cork out?"

"Actually, it's not that expensive," Alessandra confessed as she watched Lisa pick out a knife from a drawer and start digging at the metal covering to prise it off. "I just got it in the supermarket in town..."

Lisa was just about to reply when the knife slipped and jumped, and the tip of it sliced into one of Lisa's fingers.

Blood immediately started to well up from the cut.

"Shit," Lisa swore quietly, putting the bottle and the knife down.

Alessandra instinctively stepped forward, cupped a hand around each side of Lisa's hand and directed her gently but firmly to the sink.

Blood was now dripping from the cut.

Alessandra turned the tap on, and ran cold water over the finger, whilst Lisa used her other thumb to tease the cut open and see how deep it was. Blood surged out and was quickly washed away by the water.

It was pretty deep.

"Blast. What an idiot."

"Have you got any ice?" Alessandra asked.

"Ice? This is a caravan not the real Hilton hotel."

"Now you've washed the cut clean, push the skin back together. Hold it there for a moment longer. Have you got any plasters?"

"Under the sink. In the red tin."

Alessandra got the tin.

Her fingers were tingling so much now she found it difficult to open the little box and prise the lid up.

She put the tin down and wiggled her fingers in the air, looking first at her own hands and then when she wasn't able to spot anything obviously wrong with them, she glanced back at Lisa's finger.

Looking at the cut, a strange thought entered her head.

She glanced across at Robert, sitting comfortably with the others around the table. They were all chatting amongst themselves and occasionally laughing aloud, oblivious to the little drama unfolding at the other end of the caravan.

"Here," Alessandra said, gently coaxing Lisa's hand onto the metal draining area of the sink. "Let me wrap a few paper towels around the finger..."

Lisa looked across at Alessandra, searching her eyes quizzically. But she didn't speak. Instead she complied with Alessandra's gentle authority.

"And now these...," Alessandra reassured her, wrapping the finger in some fresh paper towels she ripped off from the roll hanging on the wall.

"Lisa, I don't know what I'm doing, but for some reason I have an overwhelming urge to do it. So please, just go with the flow for a second and laugh me at afterwards, but for now... I just want to try something."

The tingling in Alessandra's fingers had got to the point where she once again felt as if little electrical sparks were jumping between them. It was a totally bizarre feeling. Weird. She didn't know what was going on. Yet at the same time, what she did next felt instinctive to her. Strangely natural.

With Lisa's hand resting on the side of the metal sink, Alessandra slipped a hand underneath her cut finger, so that it rested in her palm, and then covered the top of it with her other hand, palm down.

She gently squeezed her two hands together, slowly increasing the pressure on the finger caught between the palms of her hands.

Alessandra's wrists started to feel uncomfortably warm. The heat she felt then moved slowly down through her hands to her fingers, until both her hands felt hot. At that moment, Alessandra's mind filled with thoughts of Lisa's finger. She imagined the finger being whole again, the cut closing and healing up. She willed it to be so. For the finger to be healthy. Virgin. Cleansed. The skin to be unblemished and intact.

The heat in her hands seemed to now concentrate around the finger enclosed within it, moving inwards, diffusing across the gap from her hand to Lisa's.

She felt the heat leave, and at the same moment she heard Lisa take a sharp intake of breath.

But then something else happened. Something unexpected.

She experienced an overwhelming compassion for Lisa. For something more than the finger. Something else, something almost intangible.

A hurt. An inner pain?

The pain confused Alessandra. She didn't understand it, she couldn't touch it. It made her feel strange. Dark. Uncomfortable. Heavy.

She quickly willed it to go away. To be replaced by lightness. Comfort. Warmth. Joy.

Alessandra felt a second sensation of warmth surge from within her, span her wrists, travel down through her hands and melt slowly across from her to Lisa.

Lisa breathed in deeply and that same moment Alessandra exhaled, blowing the air out of her lungs, expelling it forcibly from her airways and body.

Then it was gone.

The tingling in her fingers had left.

And with it all her strength.

Alessandra reached forward quickly for the edge of the sink and steadied herself.

Her heart started to pound within her chest and she felt suddenly light-headed. Nauseous.

Alessandra closed her eyes and rode a wave of dizziness. She took several deep, steady breaths.

"Are you okay?" Lisa asked. "What's the matter?"

"I'm fine. It's all good." Alessandra blinked her eyes open, and focused on Lisa, but continued holding tightly to the sink.

"What just happened?" Lisa asked, her eyes searching Alessandra's.

"I don't know. Sorry, I just got this urge... I can't explain it." Alessandra frowned, then nodded at Lisa's finger. "Can you take off the paper-towel? Let me see your finger?"

Lisa took the edge of the paper towel with her free hand and then looked back at Alessandra, hesitating.

"Show me. Take a look."

Lisa pulled the paper off.

Underneath the bleeding had stopped. The red blood, now dry and solid, encrusting the finger.

Lisa put the finger back under the running water from the tap and washed the dried blood off.

In a moment all signs of the blood were gone.

Lisa stared at the finger, lifting it closer to her eyes. She studied it, incredulous at what she was seeing.

There was no wound.

No cut.

No scar.

Nothing wrong with the finger at all.

The flesh was intact, vibrant and healthy.

As if Lisa had never been cut in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Alessandra said quietly. "I have to go now, I don't feel well. I need to rest, but please, don't tell anyone about this. Okay?"

Lisa opened her mouth to say something, but Alessandra stopped her.

"Promise me? And nothing about Robert either! You promise?"

Lisa was shaking her head, but her words were out of sync with her actions.

"I promise."

Alessandra nodded, turned and hurried out of the caravan door.

She vomited twice on the way back to her caravan, en route to the oblivion which immediately followed as soon as her head touched the pillow on her bed.
Chapter 15

Scotland

Edinburgh

Tuesday

8.00 p.m.

Fiona McKenzie sat on the top of Crow Hill, in a small round dip in the ground, sheltered by the wind from behind, and from the view of everyone clambering around the top of Arthur's Seat, the top of the other nearby hill less than a hundred metres away.

From her wonderful position, she had a panoramic sweeping view of the south of the city, out across the Firth of Forth and across the bay to North Berwick, and then continuing all the way around to the lowland hills which marked the beginning of the Borders.

Fiona had come here to get away from it all, her favourite spot in the whole of the Queen's Park in Edinburgh. As a little girl, she'd come here with a book and a picnic that her mum would make up for her.

As a child she was not a loner, far from it, but she loved this place. She adored the wildness and ruggedness of the park in the centre of the city. For those who lived near or around the Queen's Park, it dominated their view of everything and gave them a back garden to play in that others could only dream of.

Forget 'Swallows and Amazons', for Fiona this place had let her explore her imagination and allowed her and her friends to play pirates, Cowboys and Indians, and even 'Japs and Commandos', games which were probably frowned upon and not PC today, but were great fun for a little child growing up then.

Today, however, she came here to think. To ponder. To be sad, afraid, and lonely, and to try to find some strength within herself to figure out what on earth she should do next.

This was her favourite time of the evening. The sunshine, soft and gentle, stretched out far across the landscape which unfolded before her, and the sea air was a pleasure to breathe.

It invigorated her. Freshened her mind.

But sadly, did little to help alter the fact that she was dying.

The consultant had been brutal. Pleasant, friendly, measured, but... as direct as a sledgehammer encountering a pane of glass.

Not only had he shattered her life in a million pieces, but the unexpected news he had given her, on top of her already existing suspicions and fears, had ground any small, surviving shards of glass into dust.

The cancer was quite advanced.

Treatment should begin immediately.

It needed to be aggressive if there was to be any hope of killing the tumour and preventing it from spreading further.

There was not a second to spare.

Oh, and by the way, ... you're pregnant.

What?

Pregnant?

HOW?

'But I can't be!'

'I'm afraid you are. Ordinarily this would be a joyous occasion, but I'm afraid the pregnancy would not be able to survive the treatment we will need to give you.'

'What does that mean? I will lose the baby?'

A nod. Not even a formal acknowledgment.

'And if I don't take the treatment, will I live long enough for the baby to be born?'

'Perhaps. But as the cancer progresses, we cannot predict the effect it may have on the child in your womb.'

'What are you saying?'

'Perhaps the child will not survive, or it may not develop normally. On the other hand, it could live. Although, it will be without a mother.'

Silence.

Then...

'And if I don't have the treatment... can I delay it? Long enough for a premature birth... giving the baby a better chance to survive...?'

'The longer you delay your treatment, the more chance you give for the cancer to spread, and the worse your prognosis will become.'

Then, a brief pause.

'However, I should add that if you have the treatment we would prescribe, a combination of chemotherapy and radiation therapy, should you survive, the treatments can affect your reproductive system and your fertility.'

'I might live, but not be able to have more children?'

'Yes. Although, depending upon how important it is for you to have children, there is an option you may wish to consider. We delay the treatment for a few days to let you consider everything carefully, and we try to harvest some of your eggs. After the treatment, we may be able to use the eggs to help achieve a successful pregnancy. With yourself, or perhaps via a surrogate. However there are no guarantees. The focus for us just now should be to treat the cancer and help you to survive.'

A hesitation by the consultant.

"May I ask, is there a Mr McKenzie? Or a partner, or someone else we could recommend to you to help you talk this through?'

At that point, things began to get too much. She just wanted to scream, "Information, I need more information! How can I make a decision now, without knowing ALL the facts?" but she could see that her time was up.

The consultant had smiled at her, tried to be as humane as possible, but as she was practically ushered out of the room, she could almost hear him shout, 'Next Please!' to another unlucky person in the waiting room.

Which was how Fiona had ended up sitting alone in the Park, surveying the world which stretched out below her.

Cancer was a leveller. It brought everyone down to the lowest common denominator. Mankind, regardless of how clever or intellectual an individual may be, regardless of which university they had attended, how much money they had, or which religion they belonged to, all men, women and children were nothing more than an incredible, elaborate complex of cells. Cells which could go wrong. Malfunction. Fuck up.

'What was it that ministers say at funerals? Dust to dust?' Fiona pondered the pointlessness of it all. The cycle of life in which nutrients from dust and soil were absorbed into the cells of plants or animals and ultimately turned into food for animals and humans, which are eaten and turned into flesh on bodies, which grow and produce more flesh, which then die, rot, and disappear. Back to dust. No matter what, everyone ends up back as a handful of dust.

Fiona was far along that rat road. The dust bit was beckoning her.

She'd always wondered how she would react if she were ever the recipient of such bad news. How would she handle it? What would she feel?

Well now, she knew.

Fear. Frustration. Sadness. And anger.

And right now, a lot of that anger was directed at Campbell.

Where the hell was he? Where was the man she loved when she needed him most?

Tears began to flood down her cheeks.

She was a failure. Campbell had always wanted to have children and so had she. They had talked about it often, but until last week they had always believed that they had time. The clock had not yet started ticking for them. Or so they had thought. And now?

What the hell now?

She wiped away the tears from her cheeks and blinked, trying to see properly.

Resting a hand upon her womb, she comforted her child.

She comforted herself.

How could life be so cruel?

Only five days ago her life had been so good. Almost perfect.

Then one after another, the pillars of every part of her existence had crumbled beneath her.

She felt so confused. She wanted more than anything to smile and be happy, and be joyous about the life that was growing within her, to stand up and scream 'I'm pregnant! I am with child! ' but she knew she couldn't. How could she celebrate the child the doctors were telling her that she must kill?

'We want you to kill your child.'

She thought briefly about the film 'Sophie's Choice' which she had seen whilst growing up. Meryl Streep had been forced to choose between her two children: one would die, one would live. 'Take my little girl! Take my baby!' Streep's words rung in her ears, as she recalled the choice she had made. 'Take my baby!'

And now it was her turn. Fiona's choice.

'Kill my child. Save me!'

Fiona McKenzie sat at the top of the hill as the sun went down. Wrapped in a blanket she watched the moon rise.

She sought answers. Understanding.

She found none.

Instead she found only sadness.

Loneliness.

Confusion.

And anger.

'Campbell, where are you when I need you most? I am carrying your child. Our child. Come and collect me, sweep me up in your arms before it's too late. Take me away, take us away. Save your family. I need you. I love you.'

Drowned out by the wind, she called into the darkness.

No one heard her.

\--------------------

Wednesday

Maharashtra

India

Advanced Cyber Team (ACT!)

Indian Office

5.55 p.m. India Standard Time (IST)

Anand Mhasalkar was tired. He'd been working long hours recently, preparing a report for the team leader, Ray Luck, on the most recent advanced cyber threats that he was observing targeting UK businesses.

His remit was wide, but so was his skill set. Since being recruited to join the Indian branch of ACT!, - a team of cyber experts armed with the most advanced cyber tools and backed up by the permission to do whatever it took to defend British and Indian national interests - Anand had proven himself invaluable.

The truth was, however, that he simply loved his job.

For Anand Mhasalkar it was a dream come true.

Until he'd been recruited, he had worried that he would die of boredom in a call centre, but Ray Luck had rescued him and shown him another world that was beyond his wildest imagination.

The world was becoming increasingly reliant on cyber technologies to progress and survive, yet the same technology that promised so much hope, also empowered criminals and other nation states who may be intent on causing harm, committing acts of espionage, or acts of terrorism against others.

Yet, national laws often prevented cyber experts within their own countries from taking effective action against such 'threat actors', or from even monitoring their communications.

Not so, if you were covert, undercover, and operating from abroad. With 'no connection' to the UK, and vice-versa if you were operating from the UK and serving India.

Which is why the British and Indian governments formed ACT! - the Advanced Cyber Team. Empowered to act. To take action. To save lives, and secure their national cyber space. But from territories outside of UK or Indian legislation.

It was an exciting job. And well-paid. But most of all, it was fulfilling.

Which is why Anand worked far harder than was expected of him and put his heart and soul into the job.

He cared about what he did. And he cared about the people he was empowered to protect.

Tonight, his last job was to peruse some of his target pages on the Dark Web. These were pages which could either provide him with valuable intelligence which would help him complete certain of his missions, or which may indicate or detail new threats which may need immediate attention or further investigation.

Each night he tried to go through at least ten pages from his watch list, collecting and gathering valuable data wherever possible.

It was when visiting the third website on tonight's list that he realised he had discovered something very dangerous.

Two separate entries on the HitsForBits 'hitmen-and contracts' website immediately drew his attention.

They were both contracts to kill people in Scotland, a country for which Anand held a great affinity. One was a contract being offered to kill a police officer in the city of Edinburgh, the other a prisoner in a jail. Anand was able to access the next level of detail by using false credentials, which belonged to a made-up persona he had carefully constructed and which suggested he was a deadly assassin for hire.

The first of the contracts had been marked as accepted. It was only by pure luck that he was able to still see it: later that day it would be removed from viewing, and was only continuing to be visible temporarily to inform people who may have been interested in it, that the contract had now been awarded to someone else.

When he read the details, he couldn't believe it.

The target was a DCI Campbell McKenzie, someone with whom Anand had previously been deeply involved, albeit virtually and at a distance. McKenzie had been the target of an attempt to frame him for the murder of a woman, organised by a Scottish crime lord Tommy McNunn.

Anand, whilst not then an employee of ACT, had discovered the attempt, and alerted the authorities in Scotland. It was through that action that Anand had received the job offer for ACT.

Incredulously, as Anand looked at the second contract available, he discovered the target was Tommy McNunn himself!

Was this purely a coincidence, or was there a relationship between the two?

The good news, if there was any to be had, was that the contract offer for Tommy McNunn was still open. No one had yet accepted it.

Anand sat back and thought about what he had discovered. Instinctively he knew that he had to act fast to save the life of DCI McKenzie. He needed to report his intelligence immediately.

Picking up the red phone on his desk, he dialled four digits and waited.

A woman's voice answered.

"Hello, Brighton Laundry Services. How can I help you?"

"It's Anand. I need to speak to Ray Luck. Urgently..."

Chapter 16

Scotland

Loch Ness

Wednesday

12.30 p.m.

Alessandra Moretti awoke to the repetitive but hypnotic tip tap top of rain drops bouncing off the top of her caravan.

Slowly she came to, once again struggling to open her eyelids, which seemed to be stuck down and refusing to obey the signals to open.

The random sequence of raindrops falling onto the roof was beautiful, a symphony of noises which far from annoying, was surprisingly pleasant to listen to.

As she lay on her bed, she looked at her watch, still on her wrist, and realised that for the second day in a row, she had slept through the evening without eating, or rising to use the bathroom.

Shifting slightly in her bed, she became aware of a burning sensation in her finger, and winced as a spasm of abdominal cramp crept across her midriff.

Looking at her finger, she found no sign of a possible cause, and feeling gently with her hand along her chest and waist, prodding lightly, she discovered no obvious sign for her discomfort.

There was a knock on the door of the caravan.

Easing herself gently out of bed, and discovering she was still fully clothed from the night before, she stopped momentarily to examine herself in the mirror on the outside of the cupboard door, but realised there was nothing that could be done in the next few minutes to fix the disaster that was revealed in her reflection.

"Coming," she called en route to the door.

Upon opening it outwards to the world outside, she was not really surprised to find Lisa, who stepped up and pushed past Alessandra into the caravan without waiting to be invited.

"Do you want a cup of tea? I'm parched. I've just woken up..."

Alessandra walked back past her, picked up the kettle and filled it underneath the tap.

"What did you do to me last night?" Lisa asked, not answering the question.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. What did you do? And how did you do it?"

Alessandra turned and faced her, and then quickly crossed the caravan and sat down on the chairs surrounding the table at its other end. She felt suddenly very tired. The pain in her abdomen was still niggling her, and the finger stung.

Without thinking about it, she rubbed the area around her lower abdomen with her right hand, and winced.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this..." she shook her head, "but for the sake of peace and quiet, what exactly are you referring to?"

Lisa sat down opposite and stared at her.

"You know! You did it!"

Alessandra shook her head.

"Lisa, to be a hundred percent honest with you, the past two days have been a blur. So, to answer your questions, one by one. No, I don't know what I've done. Or how I did it."

"How about this then?" Lisa said, lifting a finger and showing it to her. The forefinger of her left hand. The same finger which was hurting on Alessandra's hand.

Alessandra reached forward and pulled Lisa's hand closer. She rotated the finger close to her face and stroked it gently where the finger had been sliced open, but now was clean and intact. The same place where Alessandra's own finger was now hurting. Strangely though, as Alessandra stroked Lisa's finger, the pain in her own disappeared. Vanished.

"Wow..." Alessandra whistled.

Lisa was studying her intently. Not knowing what to make of Alessandra or her reaction.

"That's just for starters. Not only did you fix my finger, but I'm bleeding heavily. And it's because of you. I'm sure of it!"

"Where? Where are you bleeding? I can't see any blood."

"I'm having a period. For the first time in three years."

"What do you mean?"

"The doctor's told me I couldn't have children. That I'd never be able to get pregnant again... but I woke up last night with cramps, and... now I'm menstruating! I've been to the doctor. She sent me straight to Inverness. I've had a scan. Everything's normal inside again. NORMAL. And I'm having a period. How the hell did you do that?"

"Have you told Sally?"

"No. I came straight to you."

"So, you think you might be able to have kids now?"

"The doctor says it's probable. There's no sign of what was wrong with me before... she even questioned my notes... She thinks there must previously have been some sort of mix-up or mistake, but I told her there wasn't. I know, because I've already seen a thousand doctors, and they all said the same thing. No children. For goodness' sake, the last time I had a period was in South Africa, when I was still with Jeff!"

"Jeff?"

"My husband. We wanted children so much that when we found out we couldn't, it destroyed us. Which is when I started travelling. And why I've been running from myself ever since. Until now. Because of you."

"You can't be sure that this means anything..."

"Alice, don't fuck me around. You know you did something to me last night. We both sensed it. First you fixed my finger, and then, somehow, you reached deep inside me and fixed me. You fixed me!"

Tears were running down her cheeks, and she was sobbing.

Alessandra stood up, walked around the table and put her arms around her from behind.

She rocked her back and forward until the sobbing stopped, and Lisa dried her eyes.

"Tea?" Alessandra asked, backing away towards the kettle which had boiled and switched itself off.

She made two cups and brought them back to the table.

Lisa was staring at her, searching her eyes.

"Who are you? Really? And why are you really here?" she asked, quietly.

"Until a few days ago, until Robert, I thought I was me. And then yesterday I had this overwhelming urge to reach out to you and help you... to help fix you... to make you better... and now I don't know who I am. Or what's happening to me."

"Are you saying you couldn't do this before?"

"What's 'this'?"

"What you did to Robert, and me. You healed us."

Alessandra turned away and looked out of the window. Then she stood up and walked towards the door. Still fully dressed from the day before, she opened it and stepped down outside. Before she closed it, she popped her head back inside.

"Lisa, I don't know what's going on. I don't know what happened to you and Robert, but I can assure you that I'm not a healer. I'm going for a walk. I need to think. Promise me you won't tell anyone about this. Promise me."

Lisa nodded.

"I promise."

\--------------------

Her walk took her to the shore, where she sat on a stone and gazed out over the Loch. Her mind was a mess. What the hell was going on? What was happening to her?

She thought of Robert and his leg, then Lisa and her finger. And then the sadness and darkness she had felt within her the night before, only to discover that Lisa now believed that Alessandra had somehow cured her of her infertility.

Maybe Robert was mad, and Lisa was too, ... maybe everyone in the Loch Ness Hilton was mad, including Alessandra! The problem was, though, that Alessandra had seen Robert's broken leg, and the cut in Lisa's finger, with her own eyes. They had been real.

She hadn't imagined it.

A voice caught her off guard. A soft, quiet voice, inside her own head.

The voice of the monk.

"Bless you," it said, "for you are now blessed."

"FUCK!" Alessandra shouted aloud, into the wind."Blessed? How can I be blessed?"

Just then, as she looked out towards the loch, two humps seemed to emerge from the water. Almost as quickly, they both subsided, and Alessandra immediately saw that they were simply two waves, the sides of which appeared to be dark and could easily be mistaken for the back of a 'monster'.

"It's this place! It's driving me mad!" she shouted aloud again and then realised what she had to do. She had to get out of there as soon as possible. She had to get back to her life. She had to get back to reality. And who she really was.

By the time she got back to the caravan, Lisa had gone.

It took ten minutes for Alessandra to grab all her things and pack up her bags.

Within fifteen, she was in her car.

Driving.

She didn't have a plan. She didn't have a destination.

She just drove.

\--------------------

Wednesday

Maharashtra

India

Advanced Cyber Team (ACT!)

ACT Indian Office

7.28 p.m. India Standard Time (IST)

The phone rang on Anand's desk, and he picked it up immediately.

"It's Ray. I've just spoken to Sapphire, and she has directed the following. I will contact DCI McKenzie through internal security channels and make him aware of the threat to his life. However, she has instructed us to take no further action on McNunn."

"But if someone accepts the hit, he'll be killed."

"McNunn is a threat to Scotland, and to the UK. He's been a thorn in the side of the establishment for years and you, more than anyone else, know he is a murderer and perhaps one of the top criminals in the UK. If the underworld want to take care of him permanently, Sapphire believes we should just let them do it. It's one job less for others to worry about."

"I understand."

"Good. Well spotted on McKenzie. I'll call him right now. Have a good evening."

Anand replaced the receiver on the hook.

He was glad action was being taken about McKenzie. He was a good man.

McNunn, on the other hand, would hopefully get everything that was coming to him.

Anand switched off the light and went home.

He'd sleep well this evening.
Chapter 17

Scotland

Eilean Donan Castle

Wednesday

4.30 p.m.

Alessandra was sitting in her car facing the world famous Eilean Donan Castle, one of the most beautiful and scenic castles in the world. She had passed it several times on her way to and from Plockton, and had recognised it from films she had seen such as Highlander and Entrapment, in which the castle had provided a suitably impressive and mysterious background for the action.

She'd driven all the way from Loch Ness to here in a daze and had only started to become conscious of her surroundings when she'd seen the castle.

She'd turned off the road, into the car park, and found somewhere in the far corner facing the sea and as far away as possible from the rest of the tourists.

No one paid any attention to the woman sitting in her car, staring out across the sea, her mind full of thoughts.

Alessandra wound the windows down and breathed in the sea air. She could taste the salt.

She longed to be back at sea sailing with the wind, without a care in the world, and she realised that was where her subconscious was taking her: back to Plockton.

She needed space to think.

And she needed to plan.

She suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that she had just signed up for another contract, and that half the money was almost definitely already in her account. Not only must she go through the process of moving it to her other accounts as soon as possible, but she had to start planning how she was going to execute the assignment within the timeframes stipulated for the job.

The clock was now ticking.

There was no time to lose.

She had to focus.

No more pathetic, monster- chasing shit.

She smiled to herself.

Now she was away from the Loch Ness Hilton, she was pleased to see that she was already beginning to think more clearly.

"Okay," she thought to herself, "...so here's the plan. I check into a hotel, or rent another cottage in Plockton. I study everything I can find about DCI McKenzie from the web, read and learn everything that was in the McKenzie file I was sent from HitsForBits. I go sailing, spend a day considering options, then head down to Edinburgh to reconnoitre the city, observe the target and tweak or make a final plan..."

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was a start, and just starting the planning process made Alessandra feel good. All Alessandra's plans started out as a dubious draft, but slowly they always came together and moved to fruition.

Alessandra loved the preliminary work. The planning. The chase. Followed by the seamless execution of the job. In many ways, if the planning was perfect, actually completing the mission was an anti-climax.

Some assassins would say that luck had no part in their work, that it was all down to the planning, but Alessandra was no such fool. She knew, and recognised, that everything in life was dependent upon luck. If fate decided to act against you, there was nothing that you could do about it.

All she could do was to master everything that was under her control, and then hope for the best.

With any luck...it would then all work out fine.

However, if luck was not in her favour, she would always be sure to have another plan in her back pocket. A Plan B. Just in case.

And often, very often, a Plan C.

Opening her bag, she took out a new phone and a fresh SIMM card, and made a few calls. Luckily, one of the sailing cottages was empty, and she booked it.

Getting out of the car, she wandered down to the edge of the sea and sat down on a rock. For the first time in over a week, the sky was laden with clouds, and there was no sun. She could feel the change in pressure in the air, and her senses told her rain was coming.

She looked over at the castle and admired it. It sat on a small island all by itself, about four stories tall, consisting mainly of two different sized rectangular buildings, each with a slanted roof and a couple of turrets. The castle itself was small, - not one of the vast fortifications she would otherwise have imagined at the mention of its name, but it was imbued with a wonderful sense of history and had a character all of its own. A long, small and narrow stone bridge with multiple arches, connected the island to the main-land. The backdrop to the castle couldn't have been more beautiful: a winding inlet of the sea that wound its way slowly out towards the Isle of Skye, fenced in on the left by a mountain covered in beautiful greens and browns, topped with purple heather.

It was nothing less than spectacular.

She sat taking it all in, breathing the air and relaxing until eventually she realised how hungry she was. Making her way over to the Castle's visitor centre, she grabbed some sandwiches, then crossed the bridge and paid for a guided tour of the castle.

When she left an hour later, she was feeling much better. She was thinking clearly again, and looking forward to a shower, a glass of wine, and an evening of getting back to what she knew best: planning her next assignment.

Climbing back into her car, she closed her mind to everything that had happened in Loch Ness and focused on the next few days ahead.

It was time to get back to work.

\--------------------

Plockton

7 p.m.

Upon arriving back in Plockton, her first job had been to stop by the local fish and chip shop and get herself a 'fish supper' wrapped in an old newspaper. The first time she'd ordered fish and chips in Scotland and had been handed it in the old newspapers, she couldn't believe that it was actually allowed, but now she accepted it as just another one of the many quaint Scottish traditions that made the country so special. In fact, now she positively enjoyed it: the world was becoming such a global village that it was curious traditions like that which still differentiated one country from another. "And long may it continue!" she thought to herself as she sat on the harbour wall and dangled her feet over the edge above the sea and the incoming tide.

Arriving at her cottage she was pleasantly surprised to find it was even quainter than the last one she had rented, with another view straight over the bay and the mountains beyond. The best surprise of all, however, came when she powered up her laptop and found that she had a strong Wi-Fi connection. Even more incredible was she discovered it was open, with no security, which meant she could access it to her heart's content.

One shower later, a large glass of wine and her notebook by her side, she curled up on the sofa, accessed the Tor network, and started to learn everything she could about her DCI Campbell McKenzie.

Logging on to the email account she'd created for the assignment, she downloaded the file she'd been sent by the client who had given her the contract. It contained a wealth of information on the target.

The dossier listed where he worked, where he lived, details of his wife, his hobbies, and gave a whole file full of personal information. It also included a number of very detailed, and clear photographs of the man she was to kill.

The information provided was essential for her to gain an understanding of who he was. But it was not enough.

She needed to learn far more.

And thanks to Google, it was all forthcoming.

Linked-In, Facebook, Instagram, the archives of the Scotsman Newspaper in Edinburgh, the Electoral Register, even Police Scotland's website itself... wherever she looked she found breadcrumbs or nuggets of intelligence which helped her build her own dynamic persona for Campbell McKenzie. Normally she didn't go into so much detail when researching a target, - she just took the money and killed them - but needing to be busy and kept occupied, she dived straight in.

She quickly learned about his earlier career, his promotions, his marriage, his relatives... and devoured the recent newspaper articles about the upcoming trial in which he had been framed by the crime lord Tommy McNunn.

As the hours slipped by, Alessandra came to know Campbell.

His skills, his dislikes, his favourite places.

She made notes, copied pictures, downloaded articles.

By the time she began to feel tired, the sun's first light was beginning to stream over the mountains on the other side of the bay.

As the sky and the emerging scattered clouds began to turn ominously red, she remembered the old English expression she had learned at school: "Red sky at night, Shepherd's Delight; Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning."

The word 'warning' lingered in her mind, before she finally flushed it away and returned her attention to her laptop.

Realising that she was now approaching the point of diminishing returns, - she'd probably found out as much as she could from her internet sources -, she was just about to pack up her things, when perhaps more out of habit and idle-curiosity than anything else, she decided to check out the pages of HitsForBits and see if her contract had now finally disappeared from its pages.

It had.

However, another entry on the pages immediately caught her attention.

Another contract.

In Scotland.

In Edinburgh.

For Tommy McNunn himself.

For two million pounds.

Five words jumped off the page at her.

'Tommy', 'McNunn', 'Two', 'Million', and 'Pounds'.

Alessandra wasn't stupid. The contracts for McNunn and McKenzie were obviously both linked. Perhaps there was a connection with the upcoming trial. Perhaps, even, the contract on McNunn was in retaliation for the contract out on McKenzie. Or perhaps an enemy with sufficient grievances wanted to make a clean sweep of it and get rid of them both.

There were questions to be considered, obviously, but even before she finished reading the details on the webpage, Alessandra knew she had already made a decision.

She would volunteer for the contract on McNunn too.

With any luck, if she got it, she'd kill two birds with two stones, during the same visit to Edinburgh.

Except, there was potentially a problem.

As she read the details, she discovered that the location of McNunn was HMP Stirling.

HMP?

A quick google later and she had the answer, which made perfect sense, given the article she'd read about McKenzie which mentioned the upcoming trial.

HMP was the abbreviation for Her Majesty's Prison.

Alessandra smiled to herself, understanding now why the offer price was so high.

Tommy McNunn was in prison.

Obviously someone wanted him dead, desperately.

Alessandra was good. Very good.

But could she kill someone in prison? A man's prison?

And get away with it?

Was it even possible?

It would certainly be a challenge worthy of her skills and creativity.

For the first time since leaving the caravan site, she thought briefly about Loch Ness. The Monster. Angus. Lisa. And the Monk.

Then she looked back at the HitsForBits website.

One was a world she couldn't understand. Where she was uncomfortable. Scared. Perhaps beginning to lose her mind.

The other was a place she knew, a comfortable and familiar terrain in which she was the hunter, and the others, the hunted.

The letters HMP worried her.

But right now, she realised, a challenge was exactly what she needed.

More than she had ever needed one before.

For the second time in under a week, she typed in a price - this time logging in as Salvador with a few updated personal contact details - and clicked on the green "Accept" button.

\--------------------

Edinburgh

St Leonards Police Station

Edinburgh

Thursday

8.30 a.m.

DCI Campbell McKenzie had only just arrived in his office, hung up his jacket, and sat down at his desk when the phone rang.

Rather loudly.

He winced.

The walk into the office that morning had done nothing to clear his head.

When he was younger, waking up with a hangover was the worst part. From that point forward it just got easier. These days, the older he got, the worse the hangover became as the day went on.

Last night had been a good, but rather bad session. He'd drunk far too much.

With Fiona nowhere in sight to tell him off, he'd gone back to his bad old ways.

And Brian wasn't helping. At all. In fact, he was loving it. His wife had thought it was a good opportunity to go on a shopping trip to America with her sister, using the excuse that it was best if the 'boys were left alone to talk and bond', and for Brian to be able to help his best friend without any female distractions hanging around and nagging them about the empty beer bottles and dirty socks.

Brian had feigned protest, but as soon as she was out of the country, he'd practically taken a pen and paper and mapped out an evening of debauchery for every night next week.

Using Campbell as the excuse again, he planned to visit as many night clubs, strip bars and golf clubs as possible before Anita came home.

"I need to keep your mind off things," he insisted.

"Don't forget, I'm still working!" Campbell insisted. "I still have to make it into work each day. There's a lot on at the moment."

"So do I! You're a lightweight, McKenzie. Bloody lightweight. What's become of you?"

It was a good question.

He missed Fiona. He was worried about her. He'd called several times and left a few messages, but then Anita and Brian had persuaded him that it was best to let her have her own space for a while. Back off. She'd come to him when the time was right. At least leave it another week or two.

Two weeks?

At this rate, he'd be dead and lying in a morgue somewhere, pickled and embalmed in malt whisky.

He picked up the phone, "DCI McKenzie here."

"DCI Campbell McKenzie?"

"One and the same."

"Hello, this is Ray Luck. I'm calling from the Home Office in London. I'm head of the newly formed ACT -Advanced Cyber Team, which the Prime Minister formed last year. I don't know if you have heard of it?"

McKenzie detected an element of hope in the man's voice.

"Nope. Never. How can I help you?"

"I'm calling you with some rather bad news. Are you alone at the moment?"

Campbell glanced around his office theatrically before realising how stupid he was being. The guy from the Home Office couldn't see him. Campbell put it down to the high level of whisky probably still circulating in his bloodstream.

"Yes, very alone." He replied, dwelling a moment too long on the 'alone' word, and thinking quickly of Fiona.

"Good. My team is a special task force with the responsibility to monitor threats in cyber space, which could impact the UK or India. A colleague of mine informed me yesterday that whilst monitoring a recent website on the Dark Web called 'Hitsforbit',- it's a forum that assassins, hitmen and criminals use to put out contracts on people's lives- , I'm afraid he saw a contract which has been offered and accepted that names you as the target. We tried to call you immediately last night but we couldn't get hold of you at all."

Campbell choked on his coffee, spilling half of it over his desk.

"What did you say? A contract? Out for me?"

"Basically, yes."

"And? What else can you tell me? It's been accepted? By whom?"

"We don't know. And the details have now been removed from the site."

"Shit...", Campbell swallowed hard. "This is not some sort of wind-up is it? You've not been put up to this by my wife, or my friend Brian? I'd remind you that I am a police officer and that wasting my time would be a criminal offence."

"The contract specified the time frame for the hit was four weeks. And it was accepted several days ago."

"A month?"

"Less. Actually, if it's any consolation, you might be interested to know that the bounty being offered on your head is considerably higher than the market rate."

"How much am I worth?"

"Six hundred thousand pounds."

"You what?"

"Six hundred thousand."

"Bloody hell, I'd kill myself for that much. But why? Any idea who wants me dead?"

"You'd probably have a better idea of that than me. My job is just to warn you."

"Warn me. Is that it?"

"No. Are you still alone?"

Just then his office door opened and Campbell's boss walked in.

"Not any longer. My boss is here now."

"Good. I spoke to him before I contacted you. I'll leave you alone now. Detective Superintendent Guthrie wants to discuss the matter with you personally."

Click.

Campbell was left holding the phone in his hand, staring at DSU Guthrie who had already pulled up a chair and was sitting on the other side of his desk.

"You stink, Campbell."

"I know."

"Are you still staying at DCI Watkinson's?"

"Yes, but I've been promoted from the couch to my own bedroom."

"Take it from me, best leave it a while with Fiona. You fucked up. You've apologised. She's the one that has to come back to you..."

"I know. You're not the first to say that."

"Actually, my wife told me to say it."

Campbell stared at him. Exactly how many other people knew about it.

"Okay, enough banter. I've got some good news, or some bad news, depending upon how you want to take it..." his boss informed him.

Campbell raised his eyebrows.

"You're suspended."

Campbell stared at him, assuming there was something more to come.

Only the power of silence.

"Suspended? What the hell for? What have I done?"

"Nothing. But I think that it's probably the best option. There are a couple of reasons... and after I've explained them, I'm sure you will agree. Of course, you'd be on full pay. And the only condition for my incredible generosity is that you disappear. Get as far away from here as possible and DON'T tell anyone where you've gone."

Thirty minutes later, Campbell McKenzie walked out the door of the police station. Suspended, on full pay, and told to go on holiday.

Actually, when the DSU had explained the reasoning fully, it all made perfect sense. Guthrie was a friend of his. They'd known each other for years and understood each other well.

First, there had been quite a lot of bad press around the trial which was coming up. The boys and girls in the PR department in Police Scotland Headquarters were worried about the fact that McKenzie had been sleeping with another CID officer, DI Wessex, a colleague, who had then been murdered by McNunn, her boyfriend. Questions had been asked at the time, and McKenzie had received a stern talking to, but to save journalists chasing McKenzie, photographing him and digging up the past again for the sake of getting new column inches by reviving what was obviously a good story, having McKenzie go on 'holiday' and being unavailable for comment was not a bad thing.

Secondly, Guthrie, and Police Scotland, were worried about McKenzie. One of their senior ranking officers was now the subject of an assassin's contract. The DSU had started out by offering McKenzie some police protection, but admitted that he knew McKenzie would turn it down. Guthrie knew McKenzie well. But Police Scotland had a duty of care to McKenzie, and if he refused to take police protection, then the next best thing would be to suspend McKenzie on full pay, with no associated disgrace, so that he could go on holiday and disappear.

It would not be a long-term solution. The contract out on McKenzie was only a short term contract, expected to be completed within a month. Guthrie had been advised by ACT that normally, any contract not fulfilled within the given timeframe would be revoked. This would cause severe complications for the assassin who may already have received partial payment for the work to be done: as a punishment and deterrent, a subsequent contract would often then being offered on the original assassin for failing to complete. The result was, historically, that almost all contracts offered on HitsForBits with a specified timeframe, were completed within that time.

In other words, Campbell would most likely be back at work within six weeks, with a suntan and a relaxed smile on his face.

Or he would be dead.

Thirdly. Guthrie knew that Campbell had marital problems. Admittedly caused by his own stupidity in the most part, although it was still not clear exactly if the relationship between DI Danielle Wessex and him had been genuine, or if Campbell had been set up. Privately, Guthrie had admitted to Campbell just after it had happened over a beer, that if Wessex had come on to him as part of a setup directed by McNunn, Guthrie, or any man, would have found it hard to resist. Wessex had been a beautiful, sexy and very intelligent woman.

The point was though that Guthrie was trying to do Campbell a favour. "You're one of our best men. Even without this contract on your head, you're under a lot of stress. The Department needs you, and needs you to be well, clear-headed and not making any wrong decisions. Plus, if DI Wessex had come on to you as part of a bizarre McNunn plan, then in some way, the problems you're having with Fiona at the moment, are partially caused by work. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. Take some responsibility..."

So, now Campbell understood the intention behind the suspension, he had agreed to take some time out. Go on holiday. Get out of the city. To disappear.

He would check-in regularly, but not let anyone know where he was.

In fact, the arrangement was very well-timed.

He was missing Fiona. A lot. If it had not been for everyone insisting that he should give her space, and not contact her, he would definitely be camping out on her - their - doorstep by now.

It worried him that Fiona had not called him back or returned any more of his messages to her. He'd stopped sending them, as Brian and his wife had insisted.

He'd hoped that she would fume for a while, calm down, and then give him some wiggle room to weave his way back to her, without losing too much face over it... but so far there was none.

He'd heard nothing more from her.

Was she okay?

He worried a lot about her. More and more each day.

He'd known how much he'd miss her. But still, the intensity of his feelings towards her, now that it had happened and they were apart, actually surprised him.

He had always known he loved her, but only now was he discovering just how much he actually did.

Leaving the police station, Campbell went for a long walk up and across Salisbury Crags in the Park. Arriving at his favourite spot, overlooking the sprawling city of Edinburgh beneath him, he sat down, thought about Fiona, his life, his suspension, and made a plan.

First, he would go and visit Fiona. Make sure she was okay. Try to talk to her. To start the healing process.

Then he would inform her that he had to go away for a while. He wasn't yet sure if he would tell her about the contract out on his head. In some ways it could help Campbell's cause ... The threat of losing him, should the assassin catch him and kill him, might scare Fiona into dialogue and a second chance with her. But it would also worry her. And Campbell wasn't a hundred percent sure that it would be fair to tell her. The flipside would be if Fiona invited him back for the wrong reasons, or too early. He knew that if they were to realistically have a chance to survive, together, then Fiona would first have to work through her feelings of anger, and possibly even hatred, towards him. Otherwise it would just simmer away, and all come out one day in the future.

But, then again, the Fiona he knew would be furious if he didn't tell her, and something then happened to him.

Which, actually, was admittedly only still a valid point, if she still cared.

Which she might not.

He thought about the best way to go home and collect his stuff. Should he just turn up, and hope that she was there, or should he call her first?

Should he say he was going to leave town for a while, in advance, thus giving himself the excuse to go home and collect his passport and some personal belongings?

Then there was a scary thought... if he didn't tell her why he was having to leave town, then maybe she would think he was running away from her, from the situation between them. She might think he didn't care.

It could make things far, far worse.

He swallowed hard.

Maybe it was because he was a professional, someone who dealt with danger and crime and threats all day long, every day, or perhaps because he was blocking it out, but until now he had not really thought about what the 'contract on his head' really meant.

With a pang of fear, perhaps not unlike that which a person may experience in the onset of a panic attack, Campbell suddenly realised just how serious this actually could be.

No, not actually 'could be', rather, actually was!

Shit... a hired killer, a trained and professional contract killer had accepted a large amount of money to kill him. Within the next three weeks? Three-and-a-half weeks?

He looked around him. Was anyone watching him now?

This was pretty bloody serious.

A trained killer would already be hunting him down. Following him. Planning how and when McKenzie would die.

And what was he doing?

He was bloody sitting on a rock, sightseeing, looking at his favourite view, and contemplating his navel.

McKenzie broke out into a cold sweat, and his breathing started to get faster.

His heart skipped a few beats, and he felt suddenly light-headed.

Shit... shit....

He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths.

He remembered the training that he and his officers had taken on several occasions. Training designed to help them maintain a cool head during moments of extreme duress, enabling them to make the right decisions, at the right time.

He tried to focus. To breathe properly.

To calm down.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

In.

Out.

Relax.

RELLLLLAAAAAAXXXXXXX!

Slowly, but what seemed like very slowly, the world started to stabilize.

He started to think rationally again.

To make plans.

To puts things into perspective.

First things first.

He realised then that the longer he was hanging around in Edinburgh, the more dangerous it was.

And if he went anywhere near Fiona, he could actually put her in danger too.

Perhaps it would be better to go home and only collect his things when she was not around.

But then again, perhaps going home was a bad idea altogether. His address was a matter of public record. You could find it in at least ten different places that Campbell could think of. Someone could be sitting there outside his house, waiting.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet.

Looking inside, he confirmed what he already knew: he had two bank cards and a credit card. A driving licence and his gym passes. And a few other cards.

He looked at his cards. He looked at the city. He stared over towards where his home was.

And he made a decision.

Campbell was leaving the city now.

He was not going home.

He was not going to meet with Fiona.

He was leaving immediately.

Pulling out his mobile phone, he called Brian.

"We need to talk. Now. Urgently. Meet me in twenty minutes at the bottom of Hillend Ski slope. There's something I need you to do for me... tonight. And can you bring with you some paper and a pen? I need to make a will and have you witness it."

"You sound weird. What's up?"

"I just discovered I might only have three weeks to live."

There was a silence at the other end of the phone.

"Is this a wind up? You're the healthiest man I know."

"I've just been informed I might die of lead poisoning... Listen, I'll explain it when I see you. Can you make it?"

"Yes, I'll be there."

"And one last thing. Can you bring your spare car? Can I swap mine for yours? For the next three weeks?"

"Your Jaguar for my Volvo? Why?"

"I'll tell you in twenty minutes. Don't be late."

Campbell stood up.

Looking around him, he felt a sudden overwhelming sense of sadness.

Three weeks to live?

Is this what it felt like when you suddenly realised that you might die?

Campbell didn't like the feeling. At all.

He thought of Fiona.

And then a strange thing happened.

He realised that without her, he probably didn't want to live anyway.

Perhaps this was all karma.

He had done wrong. And now the universe was getting its revenge.

Chapter 18

Scotland

Plockton

Thursday

8.00 p.m.

Alessandra's day had been mixed, split between making preparations for her mission in Edinburgh, possibly even two missions... and relaxing.

She'd finally fallen asleep well after the sun had risen, but once out, she had slept like a log until just after 2 p.m. Then she'd risen, showered, and made a number of phone calls through her laptop VoIP phone via the Tor network. The calls had been encrypted, untraceable and free.

Although money was no longer a problem for Alessandra- so long as the assignments kept coming - she always found it fascinating that the new VoIP software phones on laptops helped people to make phone calls all over the world, without paying a penny for it. How on earth did the people who invented them ever make any money? Alessandra had learned very early on in her life, that apart from anything found in Nature, everything that mankind had ever fashioned, only ever came at a price. Nothing was for free. So what was the catch?

She made calls to her usual suppliers, ordering a small arsenal of weapons, ammunition, explosives, medical supplies, which included poison and mechanisms for delivering it, and communications devices. She'd also ordered floor plans of HMP Stirling, just in case she was given the job, of which she was quite confident, having identified herself as Salvador and trusting in her reputation to have preceded her.

She trusted her suppliers. She'd never met them, but their service was impeccable. They were able to procure anything she'd ever asked for, on time, securely and in confidence: information, weapons, drugs, food and even once, a bottle of the most expensive champagne she'd ever purchased. It was a rare bottle, highly sought after, and the favourite tipple of one her targets.

She managed to get some poison into the bottle through the cork. Her greedy client had bought the bottle from her fake website. Drunk it. Died. Job done.

The supplies were to be delivered within two days and buried in a wood near Stirling, where her other supplies were still buried.

How they would be able to get hold of everything she had specified on her shopping list, she could not imagine. How they would be able to smuggle it into the country, undetected, and deliver on time to her chosen destination, she found even more amazing.

But Alessandra no longer needed to know.

Over the years, their trust in each other had grown. She trusted them to arm her appropriately, and they trusted her to pay them a lot of money.

Having everything delivered to Stirling was a good idea. She knew the location well, already having had those who hired her to kill Kuznetsov to deliver and hide the two rifles there which she'd specified for that assignment, along with everything else on the list she'd needed.

In the end, she'd only used one of the two rifles delivered - she always ordered a backup - and the other one was still lying buried in the wood where she'd reburied it after having moved it to another location.

For Alessandra, having too many supplies was always preferable to having too few. At present, she did not yet know how she would kill McKenzie. But that did not stop her ordering for any eventuality.

As the afternoon progressed she started to think a lot about the potential two million pounds which could be earned for killing the Scottish crime lord Tommy McNunn, whom she had started to research and profile in anticipation of winning the job.

Two million was a lot. Amongst other things it would cover paying for another private nurse, and the restructuring, repair and rebuilding of her mother's home, turning it from a house into a hospice.

Her mother was increasingly needing more attention. Around the clock care. A new stair lift. A specialised swimming pool with wheelchair access. A hoist to help her get from the wheelchair onto the toilet. And so on. As every new day passed, her care bill went up. And the old family house that Alessandra had been brought up in needed altering so that it could become a hospital for her mother, somewhere she could live comfortably until she died.

Thinking about her mother too much always made Alessandra very sad. It was just after 6 pm when Alessandra decided she'd done as much as she could, and then wandered out and down to the harbour, in search of a boat.

Unfortunately it was too late to sail, but she found someone offering trips out to see the seals, and decided to give it a go.

Just being out at sea would help her take her mind off her mother.

Alessandra returned to the harbour an hour later, the owner of the boat full of apologies for not having seen a single seal, and offering to honour his advertised "No Seals, You get a free trip!" deal.

She turned it down. Seeing the seals would have been a bonus. But just managing to get fresh salt air blowing on her face and watching the waves break on the bow of the boat was all she had really wanted.

A chance to wind down. To shut down her mind and let it rest.

As always, being out at sea gave her a healthy appetite and she made a beeline for the hotel as soon as she landed.

She was starving.

"Aha, our American friend is back!" Mrs Gilmarton beamed as she recognised Alessandra walking through the entrance.

"Alice," she replied. "I'm back, and I'm famished."

"Would ye be wanting to try the haggis, neeps and tatties? That'll fill you up."

"Or make me vomit." Alessandra replied. "I know what's in it."

Mrs Gilmarton looked genuinely offended, and for a moment Alessandra feared that their blossoming friendship had just come to a swift end.

"Not my haggis, my dear. It was freshly killed this morning, out on the hills. My husband shot it himself. One of only three that he bagged today. They're getting rarer and rarer, now the Japanese have taken a fancy to hunting them down themselves."

Alessandra hesitated. She'd tried haggis once before, years ago, and at the time someone had spun her a story that it was made up of all the bits and pieces of an animal that would go rotten over the winter. To avoid waste, the highlanders gathered all the offal together, added some oatmeal, suet, spices, then boiled it all up in a sheep's stomach. Over the winter months, as meat became scarcer and scarcer, the haggis would become more and more tempting, until one day the poor highlander would devour it and swear it was the most delicious meal in the world.

Or vomit.

Which Alessandra had first been tempted to do, when she learned what was supposedly in the haggis she had just eaten at a Burns supper she had attended, rather bizarrely, in Spain.

"What do you mean, 'freshly killed?' I thought you ..."

"Bought them in the supermarket? Behind the meat counter?" Mrs Gilmarton laughed aloud. "You Americans, you 'crack me up!' Is that what say?"

Alessandra felt rather strange. As if she was turning red. Blushing.

She could sense that every eye in the pub had suddenly turned on her. The stupid, gullible American.

If only they knew...

"Okay, well, far be it from me to ..." Mrs Gilmarton started.

"So, where do they come from then?"

"The real ones? Well, the real ones come from over there!" she said, pointing out the door Alice had just come through. "From the tops of the Scottish highlands. They're like mini-baby pigs with bigger noses, and funny little legs. Very rare. So rare, that most of the so called haggis you buy in the shops is synthetic. Made up. Thus perpetuating the ridiculous myth you've bought into. But if you make your way all the way here to the highlands, it would be a cardinal sin not to sample a freshly killed beastie caught in the glens this morning. They're expensive, but delicious."

"Caught or shot?" Alessandra questioned, detecting a variation in the woman's story.

"Could be either. The 'men' like to boast that they shoot them, like pheasants, when they fly overhead, but the best way to catch them is to find them rolling about at the bottom of the glens, trying to stand up... exhausted, and disorientated. They're easy pickings, and the meat is best when the animal is unharmed."

"What do you mean, 'fly'? Haggises can't fly!"

Mrs Gilmarton laughed again. Louder. More people looked over. Alessandra turned redder.

"You're a right one, aren't you, ma lassie. Of course, haggis can fly. I mean, not all haggis, but some of them. And they're the best. The hardest to find. To hunt. To shoot down. Which is why the men boast about it so much."

She hesitated, then bent forward across the bar, almost conspiratorially, as if she was about to share a great secret with her. Alessandra leant closer too. Mrs Gilmarton continued.

"But see me? I can get five haggis for every one they shoot, simply by hiking along the bottom of the glen before the sun comes up, and just picking the ones up that have rolled down the side of the hill and not been able to stand up again, on account of them only having three legs. They're stupid animals really. When they try to turn around on a steep slope, they topple over, roll down the hill and then struggle to get up."

"How many do you catch? Each time you go out? And how often do you go hunting for them?"

"On average, three each time. About twice a month. Too often and you wipe out the local breeding stock. Too little, and they become a local pest, worse than foxes or rabbits."

Alessandra nodded. Convincingly.

"Okay, brilliant. In which case...," Alessandra said standing back up straight, "I'd like to order one of your best freshly killed flying haggis with three legs, shot just this morning in your local mountains. With some neeps and tatties. Of course." Alessandra laughed. "It's a good story. I loved it. But they haven't yet taken the word 'gullible' out of the American dictionary and I certainly know how to spell it."

Mrs Gilmarton hesitated, frowned, then turned and walked out of the door behind her towards where the kitchen presumably was. She returned a minute later.

"Sorry. We just lost the last one. It wasn't quite as dead as we expected, and it just flew out of the window. How about a hamburger and chips?"

Turning from the bar, leaving a wounded Mrs Gilmarton behind, she glanced round the pub, wondering if Young Angus were to be seen.

Sure enough, sitting in the far corner in the exact place he was last time she'd visited, Young Angus was reading a paper, nursing a pint and a wee dram.

His eyes twinkled with either mischief or excitement when he looked up and saw her sitting down at the table opposite him.

"Aha... Alice. So, what did you learn? And how is life in the Loch Ness Hilton?"

Alessandra was momentarily taken aback, wondering how on earth he could know about where she was now living. Then she remembered the connection.

"So, you've been speaking to Gavin then?" she enquired.

"Or maybe, he's been speaking to me. Asking a few questions about you." he smiled. Definitely mischievously.

"What sort of questions?"

"The sort of questions you wonder when you take an interest in someone else."

He chuckled to himself a couple of times, then raised his beer and took a sip.

"Don't worry. I won't be saying anymore. Except that Gavin is a fine young man, and from what I can see, you're both sharing a common journey."

Alessandra nodded.

"So," Young Angus asked, stroking his long, grey and red beard. It occurred to Alessandra then that Angus would have made a fearsome pirate. "Did you find any answers?"

Alessandra tapped her small glass of Drum Dreg against the fresh glass she'd just put in front of him.

"Basically, no. In fact, it's the opposite. I've got more questions than ever."

"Which is very healthy. And normal. Before you can find the answers you really want, you have to find the questions, the real questions that need to be answered. Don't worry," he started to cough, quite violently, but after briefly turning red with the effort, a large sip of the Drum Dregg seemed to put out the fire... "Don't worry... You'll discover a lot of the questions won't need answering. So long as you answer the most important ones first."

He started to cough again.

He winced in pain, and for a moment, he gripped the edge of the table with one of his hands.

Alessandra saw the knuckles turn white.

Once again, as before, she felt a strong affinity towards the man and she remembered his previous admission that he was dying of cancer.

A vision of Robert and Lisa passed through her mind's eye. She recalled again the strange events that had taken place on the side of Loch Ness. And she wondered if it was perhaps not just by chance that she had bumped into Young Angus again tonight.

Could she repeat for Angus what she had done for Lisa and Robert?

A strange excitement filled her.

"Angus ... actually. Yes. Something did happen to me at Loch Ness. Something strange. And it's confusing me much more that the sighting of the Lady, if that was at all possible."

She looked around her, acutely aware of the proximity of the others in the small, packed, 'cosy' pub.

"Angus, after I've had the meal I ordered, is there somewhere else we can go to talk? Somewhere more private? I don't mind pushing you in your wheelchair anywhere we need to go..."

Young Angus chuckled again, his eyes twinkling.

"That's the best offer I've had in years. Or at the very least, the best this century. We can go back to my place..."

The food arrived shortly afterwards and Alessandra demolished it quickly. She'd had an idea and she was eager to get Angus home to his place, and alone, as soon as possible.

As before, Mrs Gilmarton helped Angus into his wheelchair and gave them both a curious look as Alessandra wheeled him out of the door. Young Angus gave her a wink and Alessandra laughed when she saw it. Mrs Gilmarton didn't know what to make of it.

His house was a small cottage at the far end of the High Street - actually the only street in town, a small cove directly opposite his front door, with a sandy beach and several boats pulled up onto a lawn along its edge.

"The brown wooden one is mine." Angus pointed out, seeing her gaze wander down to the boats, as she stood beside him and he fished in his pockets for his house keys. "She's a good girl. Although I haven't been out in her for years. She's probably falling apart now."

"I didn't know you sailed? Sailing is my life. That's why I'm here..."

"I know. But that's not the real reason you're here. That much I can tell, lassie. It's just your excuse."

He passed her his keys and she let them into his home.

As soon as they stepped inside, two cats came running towards them and immediately started sniffing her legs and rubbing themselves against her feet.

"I'm sorry about the smell. I'm used to it, but Shona is always complaining about it. It certainly looks like you've made two new friends there, by the way. I'm impressed. Cats are good judges of character and people's souls... and they both really like you. Normally they'd run a mile and hide upstairs."

"I probably just smell of fish from the boat I was out in this afternoon."

"We'll go in here." Angus said, leading the way and wheeling himself into the room at the front of his house. "But can you go ben the house and get two glasses from the sink, and pick up the bottle of Drum Dregg from the table?"

By the time Alessandra returned, Angus had lifted himself from the wheelchair onto a couch.

The room was small and overcrowded. There was a separate chair beside the couch and along the wall was a bed. In the corner there was a plasma TV, looking rather out of place, and there was an open fire in the opposite wall.

"If you're cold, you could strike a match and set fire to the kindling in the grate. The fire's already prepared for the evening. It just needs lighting."

In spite of it being summer, it was a really cold day, and when the sun had gone down, the temperature had dipped dramatically.

Alessandra knelt down and got the fire started, before she joined Angus who had already poured them both a glass of whisky.

"Slangevar!" Angus raised his glass, and she replied, doing her best to pronounce the word as he had.

"So,... is this where you seduce me, and have your wicked way with me?" he laughed, then started to cough vigorously.

"Perhaps another day. I do want to touch you but not at all in that way. I want to try something... It may sound weird, but everything that I'm going to tell you now is true. It did happen..."

Alessandra started to explain all about her visit to the monk, then what happened to Robert and Lisa. And how she'd effectively run away to save her sanity.

"I just drove... I had to escape... and then I found myself heading back to Plockton. And probably, to you. I think that subconsciously I was coming back to see you. Maybe I can do the same for you that I did for Lisa and Robert?"

"You think you can heal me?" Young Angus's jaw dropped, his expression one of complete disbelief.

"I don't know. But I'd like to try. If it worked for them, I want it to work for you too. And I want a friendly witness to help me understand whether or not I'm going mad."

"And what do you expect to happen? That you'll cure me of cancer?"

"I hope so."

"Dinna be daft, lassie. I'm dying. And there's nothing that you, or anyone else can do about it. I've had my time and the grim reaper's knocking on my door, and there's nothing that anyone can do to keep him out."

Alessandra detected an edge of anger in his voice.

"Will you let me try?"

Young Angus stared at her.

He said nothing for a moment, then poured himself another glass of whisky and downed it in one.

"Is it important to you that you do?" he replied, surprising her with the question.

Now it was Alessandra's turn to be quiet.

"I need to know if I can do this again. I don't understand what happened before. Was it just a one-off... twice... something weird that just happened in Loch Ness, or is there something more to it?"

"So you're doing it more for you, than me?"

"For both of us. Didn't I just say that the reason I came back here was because of you?"

"You did, lassie. But I'm just trying to figure out who will be doing the healing if it happens again. Will I be healing you, or you healing me?"

"Are we doing this or not?"

"I'm game for a laugh if you are. But I'm having another dram beforehand. And if I fall asleep whilst you're in the middle of doing whatever you want to do, then you can let me be and just let yourself out. There'll be no need to make any excuses. What you're suggesting is impossible, and I don't believe in the impossible. At most, perhaps the implausible, but only at a push."

Alessandra nodded. She looked around the room, then her eyes settled on the bed.

"How about you get onto the bed and lie down?"

"Now this is getting interesting," Angus replied, swallowing another mouthful of Drum Dregg. "But I have to warn you, I think I've probably drunk too much of the good stuff to perform as my reputation would normally demand..."

Alessandra slapped him playfully across the shoulder.

"Behave. Can you get there yourself, or do you need a hand up?"

"A wee bit o' help would be appreciated, lassie."

A few minutes later, Angus was lying on his back on his bed, looking up expectantly at Alessandra.

"What happens next? I must admit it's been a while and I can't remember what..."

Alessandra scowled at him.

"Maybe this is a bad idea. If you're just going to laugh at me, I won't be able to do it. And I don't even really know what it is I'm meant to do."

"We sound like a couple of virgins..."

"Last chance, then I leave, and you never find out if I'm just a mad woman or a witch with magic powers."

"Which would you prefer? To be a mad woman, or a witch with powers?"

"Right now I wish I was a witch so I could cast a spell of silence on you!" she paused, breathing deeply. "Actually... I think I'll leave... This was a crazy idea."

Alessandra was turning to go when she felt Angus's hand on her wrist.

"Sorry. Don't. Please stay. I'll be quiet. I'm just a little scared."

"Not half as much as me, you're not." Alessandra replied quickly.

"Not true. It was me that suggested that you go to Loch Ness in the first place. To find out the true reason behind whatever it was that you were experiencing. Maybe it could turn out that seeing the Lady of the Loch was just the calm before the storm... the carrot that attracted you to the monastery, and the monk.... and a gift of healing... and with that gift you will heal me and save my life... I've got used to the idea of death, or at least I thought I had, until you suddenly told me all this rubbish. And now I'm petrified that you could really have something, after all!"

"So you want me to try?"

"I don't want to die."

She could see the fear in his eyes then. She'd never noticed it before. But it was there now.

And she could see the hope. The anticipation. The promise of redemption.

She nodded.

"Lie back." She instructed, reaching out and switching the electric light off at the door. The room was now lit only by the soft orange glow of the fire. "Try to relax. And please be quiet. I need to take a moment to focus. And to figure out what happens next..."

"I'll go to sleep then. And you can get on with whatever you want. If I wake up with a smile on my face, and a cigarette in my mouth, I'll know it was as good for you as it was for me..."

"ENOUGH!" she smiled at him and punched him playfully on the arm. "Please be quiet!"

Young Angus coughed a few times, then sat up and winced, as a spasm of pain coursed through his body.

"How bad is it?" Alessandra asked.

"Getting worse."

"Do you have any family?"

"No. None to speak of. A son. But we don't talk. Haven't spoken in years."

Angus reached for the bottle of whisky and the glass again. He poured himself another glass and drank it down quickly.

"You've drunk a lot..." Alessandra cautioned him, but then immediately felt rather silly when she heard the reply.

"I'm self-medicating. Morphine and I don't agree with each other. It's either the whisky or a bullet in the head. And no one round here seems to want to do that for me, or has a gun. But if you know anyone who's good at mercy killings, please direct them my way. And soon."

Alessandra bit her tongue.

Perhaps, if she couldn't help him in one way, then later on, when the time came, she could help him in another.

"Why don't you lie down now, and we'll give this a go."

She put a hand gently on his shoulder and coaxed him backwards onto the bed. She helped remove his shoes and lifted his feet up onto the mattress, and then positioned a pillow comfortably under his head.

He looked at her. His eyes searching hers. She felt weak. Hollow. Sad. Full of compassion for the old man. An old man so full of life, but whose life was ebbing slowly away. Day by day. Spasm by painful spasm.

The corners of his mouth curled up into a representation of a smile, then he closed his eyes.

Alessandra stood by his side.

The room was now silent.

Slowly she began to notice a clock ticking on the mantelpiece, and she could hear the wood crackling in the flames and the fire rushing up the chimney.

She closed her eyes.

She wanted to help this man. To cure him. To make him well.

Did she have to the power to do so?

Rubbing her hands together she warmed them up, then placed them gently on Young Angus's chest.

She tried to remember the words of the monk, the affirmation of the fact that she was now blessed. She tried to recall his words, his voice.

Beneath her fingers she could feel Angus's body. The faint pulse of his heart.

She wondered if she should open up his shirt and place her hands directly onto his skin, but perhaps that would be too intimate.

After all, she hardly knew the man.

Focussing, she screwed her eyes tightly shut. She imagined that Young Angus would be well. She tried to visualise the cancer within him and tried to imagine it shrinking and disappearing. She conjured up pictures in her mind of him being well again. Of being pain free. Smiling. Walking. Laughing.

A frustration began to build within her.

She thought of the moments she had done this with Robert and Lisa and recalled the strange sensations that she had felt: the tingling of her fingers, the heat, the transfer of 'something' from her to them.

She tried to remember what she had done before in an effort to make it happen again now.

She tried. She tried hard.

But nothing happened.

"Have you started yet?" Young Angus asked, quietly, a few moments later.

Alessandra, exhaled loudly, realising for the first time just how stressed and tense she was.

She really wanted this. Both for him and for her.

To prove that she was not going mad. That whatever had happened at Loch Ness was real. That no matter how crazy it was, how impossible it was, that it had happened.

That she could do it again.

Without answering, she pushed slightly onto his chest with both hands. She moved them around on his body, trying to find another position where a 'connection' could maybe be made. Where she could possibly sense something, anything, within Angus's body.

She pushed a little harder.

"It's hurting," Angus exclaimed, quietly, reluctant to interrupt whatever Alessandra was doing, but at the same time, beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

Alessandra willed it to happen even more.

It had to happen.

She had to heal him.

"Stop!" Angus cried out, pushing her hands away. "Enough. It's too painful."

Alessandra blinked, opened her eyes, and stepped backwards from the bed, both her hands still held out in front of her in mid-air.

Angus reached for the bottle of whisky and the glass, and Alessandra quickly fetched it for him, pouring a glass and handing it to him.

A tear emerged at the corner of her eye, and as she wiped it away, another appeared immediately after it, followed quickly by several more.

Alessandra swallowed hard, took a deep breath and drew herself up as tall as she could.

"I'm so sorry, Angus. I'm so sorry..."

"Dinna fash yerself, lassie. I didn't expect anything to happen. And nothing did. So we're no worse off now than before. Don't worry about me... But how are you?"

Angus sat up in the bed, sipped his wee dram, although it was more large than wee, and studied Alessandra.

The soft orange light cast by the fire danced across her face, but Angus could see the confusion there. The frustration. He reached out a hand to her.

"Nothing happened. There was nothing... I don't understand. I tried my best. I wanted to heal you, I really did. I willed it with every ounce of my being, but nothing... NOTHING happened."

"Perhaps it's not something that you can turn on and off like a light."

"I don't know what it is. I don't know how it works, or why it worked in Loch Ness. But if it worked for Lisa and Robert, why not for you too? You need it more than them. You're dying. They're not."

"It was not meant to be."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Simply that. You were meant to heal them. But you're not meant to heal me. My time has been prescribed, and there's nought that you, or anyone else can do to alter it."

Alessandra started to sob. The first tears she had probably shed since she had left her mother's house, never to return, leaving her mother behind with a mind without memories. She closed her eyes, and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking gently on the spot.

She felt a hand upon her arm, gently pulling her closer to him. Then a hand upon the side of her cheek.

"Alice. There is a goodness there in your heart. I can feel it. And you did something for me this evening that no one else has done in years. You showed me a kindness that I shouldn't really expect from someone I know so little. You reached out to me and tried to help a stranger. You've put some warmth back in my heart. You might not have healed me, but you shared a part of you with me this evening that I will keep and treasure. I'm not dead yet. And thanks to you, I'll find some strength to stand another day."

Alessandra leant forward and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Now go..." he said, wincing, another spasm of pain coursing through his body. "I need to rest. To sleep..."

He lay back on the pillow and handed her the glass, now empty.

His eyes closed and for a few moments Alessandra worried that he had died, until thankfully she heard the reassuring slow but steady rhythm of his breathing.

Putting a new log on the fire and securing the fire guard around the fireplace, she stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

She took a moment longer to compose herself in the hallway of Young Angus's house, before pulling on her coat and leaving the old cottage.

As she walked slowly down the High-Street towards her rental cottage, she looked out across the bay and the still sea and admired the reflection of the bright, full moon.

Her mind was full of thoughts.

She cursed herself for the selfishness she had just exhibited towards Young Angus. She'd raised his hopes and then dashed them. What the hell had she been thinking about?

Trying to cure a man of cancer?

Her, a healer?

Had she really just been so stupid?

She shivered with embarrassment and quickened her pace towards home. Her temporary home.

From now on there would be no more of this helping, 'curing' or 'healing others' shit.

Tomorrow she would return to her real life and what she was good at. Her true talent, and what she was born to do.

Killing people.

She thought of DCI Campbell McKenzie and resolved that he, and perhaps also Tommy McNunn, would both be dead within a week.

Then she would leave Scotland, as quickly as possible, and never return.

Chapter 19

The Kremlin

Russia

Thursday

10.30 p.m.

Colonel Alexei Zhirov finished reading the report he had been given on the death of Pavel Kuznetsov in Scotland.

His death had surprised him. And angered him.

Kuznetsov had not only been a good friend and business colleague, but he was a valued member of Pravda, a covert operation set up several years ago to generate a much-needed source of foreign currency through the establishment of both legitimate and illegitimate businesses abroad.

Pavel Kuznetsov was a leading member of the group. He had fingers in every pie, was connected in all the right places in the underworld, and had friends in high places in the Kremlin.

Everyone knew that Kuznetsov kept the lion's share of the monies he earned, but he was a crook, after all. And in spite of the funds he squirreled away through his network of secret bank accounts, he still transferred home tens of millions of US dollars and British Pounds every year to the Kremlin's vaults.

As Colonel Zhirov read the report two main thoughts occurred to him.

Firstly, he had to ensure that a successor was found as quickly as possible. Someone who was as loyal to the Kremlin as Kuznetsov had been and who was just as greedy. Whoever took over Kuznetsov's operation had to have a self-inspired determination to generate as much money as possible, thus maximising the Kremlin's share and keeping that area of Pravda operational.

Secondly, Colonel Zhirov wanted revenge. Someone had killed his friend and now honour dictated that whoever was responsible, wherever they were, would be killed in retaliation.

An eye for an eye.

A tooth for a tooth.

Slowly. Painfully.

As horrifically as possible.

According to the report, the assassin most likely held to be responsible for Kuznetsov's death was a lone wolf called Salvador.

The report on Salvador was comprehensive, listing every target that had been attributed to him in the past ten years.

It was impressive.

Not only was Salvador one of the most competent and feared assassins available for hire in the entire world, but he was also a ghost.

In spite of numerous attempts to do so, neither the NSA, CIA, MI6 or their own SVR and FSB had ever managed to identify Salvador or track him down.

Zhirov knew that Salvador should not be underestimated.

He was dangerous. Capable. And invisible.

Whoever Zhirov sent to kill him had to be an equal match. Or better.

Equally invisible - and deniable -, just as deadly, and more than capable.

He knew just the man.

Picking up the phone he ordered his assistant to set up the call.

\--------------------

The Grange

Edinburgh

9.30 p.m.

Fiona McKenzie lay in her bed, looking up at the ceiling.

She was feeling tired. Very tired.

But she could not sleep.

She was scared. Confused. Angry.

She felt a whole rainbow of emotions, - except rainbow was the wrong word. Rainbows were bright. Vivid. Colourful.

Her world was just a thousand shades of grey.

Dark, dark grey.

She had begun checking her mobile phone, just looking to see if perhaps Campbell had tried to call her again.

He hadn't.

Not since she had stupidly ignored his previous efforts to reach out to her.

But why not?

She had been thinking a lot about what he had said. About his version of events. About his infidelity.

Perhaps she had been too harsh.

Just perhaps.

Most of her still screamed that he was a bastard. A right royal, unfaithful bloody bastard. But, and this was the worst part ... she missed him.

And she needed him, so very, very much.

Campbell was a strong man. He oozed calm and inner strength. Both of which she needed now.

More tears rolled down her cheeks and she did nothing this time to stop them or wipe them away.

For days now she'd done her best to keep control. To maintain a stiff upper lip. Not to be weak. To think positively.

But as the clock on the stair struck the half-hour and she heard the chimes reverberate around her large, empty house, it all became too much. A fountain of tears welled up within her and caught her off-guard. But she did nothing to try and stop them.

Her chest shook violently as a wave of emotion washed through her.

The house was no longer quiet. She filled the silence with her anguish and grief, and fear.

It was not fair. None of this was fair.

To lose your child, your husband and your future all at once...

How could God ever allow so much suffering for one person? HOW?

"WHY ME!" she exclaimed and sobbed loudly at the top of her voice.

The tears flowed and for a while she lost control of herself.

And didn't care.

Only much later did the tears stop and the sadness abate. Temporarily.

Enough for her to realise once again that she was alone in her home.

She was lonely. So, so lonely.

She picked up the phone again and checked it one more time.

Soon. Soon. He must call again soon.

Exhausted. Tired. And with no single reason to keep her eyes open, she closed them tightly and for the first time in her life, wished that she was dead.

\--------------------

Plockton

Scotland

10.30 p.m.

Alessandra lay on her bed. Thinking.

In the past few minutes, the complexity of her life had just increased, officially.

Her offer to accept the contract to terminate Tommy McNunn within HMP Stirling had just been accepted.

Everything was suddenly becoming very real to her.

Although no absolute time-limit had been set, she was now contracted to kill two people in Scotland.

One a serving senior police officer, the other a serving prisoner.

According to the terms of the contract, another million pounds would shortly be arriving in her bank accounts, and she would then be obliged to carry out the hit, lest she ruin her reputation, or subsequently become the target of a contract herself, for failure to complete.

For a few moments, lying on her back and facing the ceiling, she wondered if she had perhaps for once bitten off more than she could chew.

How the hell was she going to kill someone in a high-security male prison?

However, although she currently had no idea how it could be done, she was quietly confident, as ever, that given time, focus and sufficient planning, she would find a way. She always did.

But one thing was for sure just now.

There would be no more Loch Ness, or "Faith Healing" nonsense.

At least for the foreseeable future.

She had to concentrate now.

Focus.

Research.

Think.

Plan.

And kill people.

Her phone rang.

She picked it up from where it was lying on the mattress beside her.

Only a few people had the new number she was using, so she knew it could only be one of them.

She was right.

"Hi Gavin, how are you?"

"It's late. I know. I was just worried about you."

"I'm just lying in bed. So you haven't woken me up or anything."

"In the caravan?"

She wondered whether or not to tell him. "I'm back up in Plockton. I wanted to do some more sailing."

"Ah..., I stopped by yesterday..., on the off chance I might catch you. I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me again sometime?"

Alessandra smiled to herself. Over the past few days she had thought more than once about him. He was a good looking, fit young man. Intelligent. And oozing charm and sex appeal. And the truth of the situation was that Alessandra had not slept with anyone for months. She was definitely tempted. On top of everything else, she had to admit to herself that there was a connection between the two of them. There was definitely the potential for something interesting there. But only minutes before she had promised herself that she would put Loch Ness behind her. And that included Gavin.

"I'd like that." She heard herself saying in defiance of her better judgement. "But I can't say when. I'm going to be here for a while out on a boat, and then I'll be travelling around the North. I've always fancied seeing John O'Groats."

"It's a bit of an anti-climax to be honest. There's nothing there."

"So I've heard. But it's on my bucket list. Anyway, you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"How are you?"

"Oh. Good. But before we get onto me, do you have any idea when you'll be back? Should I rent the caravan out to anyone else?"

Alessandra hesitated. "I've paid upfront for three months and I'll be back before then. Probably next month."

"Actually, beyond three months it's difficult to predict whether there'll still be any caravans left at the Loch Ness Hilton."

"What do you mean?"

"The landowner's informed us he's now definitely going to sell the land as soon as possible."

"I'd heard that from Lisa."

"But before it was just a warning. Now he's given us a proper formal warning of his intentions. A sale's imminent."

"Can he just kick you off the land? Surely not!"

"None of us have got the money or the inclination to fight a long legal battle. The folk at the Hilton are mostly there to avoid stress, not confront it. They'd all give up without a whimper. It's really annoying though, because in the contract we have with him, when he originally set it up he wanted to give the community security, so it states that whereas the owner has the right to sell the land if he so chooses, should he die at any time, ownership of the land would automatically be transferred to the community. The gift was his idea...bizarre as it is."

"You mean, if he died tomorrow, or before the sale went through, he couldn't sell it?" she interrupted him.

"Right. It would belong to the community, to be shared by anyone who lives there, in perpetuity."

Alessandra went silent for a moment, considering the news she had just learned, and its implications. "So why did he change his mind?"

"Don't know. Something's different but he won't discuss it. His whole demeanour's changed. He just seems such a sad old man now..."

"You know where he lives?"

"Yep, I deal with him regularly. Why?"

"I just wondered..." she lied. "Anyway," she continued, trying to change the subject and distract further possible discussion on an obvious solution to the whole problem, "how are Lisa and Robert? Have you seen them?"

"Yesterday, actually. Lisa seems to be as high as a kite, happier than I've ever seen her, and Robert has taken up jogging. It's incredible. If I could find out what he's on, I want some of it!"

"And Sally?"

"Not so happy, ... I think Lisa and her have had a falling out of some kind. It's none of my business. But you haven't heard the big news, have you?"

"What news?"

"Did you ever meet Megan? The old lady with the green dyed hair? A bit out-there, but very sweet?"

"I've seen her..."

"Well, she saw the Lady of the Loch yesterday. She was walking her little dog along the beach past the church, and saw her rise out of the water and glide along the surface for several minutes. The press have gone to town on her. They're turning up from all over the world to interview her. You're missing it all!"

"You think she really saw it?"

"She swears she did. I can't see any reason for her to make it up."

"What about the fact that it draws attention to the community at a time when you're all threatened with eviction?"

"I hadn't thought of it like that. Perfect timing, but I can't imagine her planning something like that."

"Or maybe 'Nessie' decided to make an appearance, all by herself, to help save the community." Alessandra paused. "Whatever happened, you guys need to get organised and take advantage of the attention all the press are going to give this. It's a gift horse you can't ignore..."

"You've got a point... I'll talk to them." He paused. "Better go. But I'll look forward to seeing you again. Shame it won't be till next month."

He had put his cards on the table. Maybe she should too.

"Gavin, I'm not who you think I am."

"Alice, I don't know who you are. But the point is, I'd like to find out. If you'd let me."

Silence.

"I can't promise anything."

"I'm not asking you to. But if you get hungry, lonely, or inquisitive, will you call me?"

Alessandra couldn't help but smile. She wanted to say yes, but she'd just persuaded herself to forget all about Loch Ness and the people she'd met there. This was not part of the plan.

"I will," she replied before she knew it.

Then hung up.

That last thing she needed now was any form of complications like Gavin.

Although she knew, deep down, that it was already too late.
Chapter 20

Stirling

Friday 5 p.m.

Alessandra had left Plockton early the next morning. Before she'd left, she'd stopped by Young Angus's house and apologised once more for the fiasco the night before. She'd given him a hug and a new bottle of Drum Dregg.

Thankfully, it had been a clear drive down to Stirling, where she'd had lunch and made a few phone calls, finally booking herself into a small hotel in a scenic mountain area north of Stirling called 'The Trossachs'. Close enough to be near Stirling, but far enough away to be a decent distance from the scene of her next crime-to-be.

The journey down south from Loch Ness had taken almost four hours, and during that time she had thought long and hard about the coming weeks ahead.

She'd decided that if possible, she would take care of McNunn first, primarily because not only was it bound to be the hardest target, but it also paid the most.

Alessandra was a business woman. Neither of the targets meant anything to her, so given the choice, she'd go with the money first.

Having taken care of some other minor preparations, she drove towards the prison where Tommy McNunn was locked up, and having approached as close as she felt comfortable, drove around for several hours, familiarising herself with the area, and studying the prison from all angles.

The prison was built up on a small hill, with two impressive cliffs at the rear and side of it. The building itself comprised two main wings, each of about four floors. An image of the German prisoner of war camp 'Colditz' sprang to mind as she looked at it. Presumably built in the late 19th Century, it was a solid, strong building and Alessandra could immediately see the difficulty she had let herself in for. And why Scotland considered this to be one of its most secure prisons.

Surrounded by high walls, fences, natural cliffs, and a sloping hill, getting into the prison would be tough enough. Getting out would be akin to breaking out of Alcatraz.

So, how on earth was she meant to kill someone on the inside?

Driving around the area, in seemingly ever increasing circles as she took smaller country roads progressively further and further away, she found herself driving along the edge of another smaller, wooded hill, north of the prison.

Getting out of the car and wandering up the hill, she sat down under the trees and looked out towards the prison. Using a new pair of binoculars she'd purchased at a Field and Game store near Pitlochry on the journey down, she studied the building carefully.

From where she sat she could see one side of one of the buildings, the other building now hidden from view. The building facing her rose up above the surrounding wall and cliff, and she was able to see most of the top two floors: cold, dark, smoke-covered granite walls, with small windows which probably afforded the cell's occupants their only view of the outside world. If at all.

She was studying the walls of the building when she noticed one of the top windows open and a hand reach out, flicking the end of a cigarette into the open air outside.

Opening up her notebook she made a few notes.

Referring to the range finder on the field binoculars, she noted down the distance from her to the window as just over a mile.

She stood up and looked around her, at the trees and the forest. Then packing up, she started to ramble around the hill, taking notes on the terrain and the view she could get of the prison from various points within the forest.

Several hours later, she left the hill, walking back to her car and driving off.

She was smiling.

It might be impossible. It certainly was crazy.

But Alessandra had had an idea.

And if it worked, this was going to be one of her best hits yet.

\--------------------

Slovakia

Poprad

6.30 p.m.

Copernicus hung up the phone, having accepted the assignment. It was good to hear from his old friend in the Kremlin again. It showed that his reputation was still strong, and his skills were still in demand.

Particularly for a job like this one, where the target was invisible and others would struggle to identity him, let alone kill him.

This new challenge would prove to be an exciting and extremely profitable one. And once it had been completed, his reputation would be enhanced beyond all measure.

Copernicus knew that in recent years his reputation had suffered. He'd failed to kill two of his targets in the past eighteen months and some of his customers were questioning if he'd lost his touch.

Which was not true, and Copernicus was determined to prove them wrong.

If fact, he needed to prove them wrong.

In his world, reputation was everything and by killing Salvador, a legend amongst legends, not only would his reputation be restored but in the eyes of many he would replace Salvador. He would take his place.

Of course, there was one small problem.

No one knew who Salvador was.

What he looked like.

And where he was. Ever.

Salvador was the ultimate ghost.

But today, Copernicus was feeling particularly psychic.

He would find Salvador.

Track him down.

Then cut him up, piece by piece. Whilst filming it.

Afterwards, he would post the video on YouTube and bask in the glory.

The adoration.

The respect.

Copernicus could visualise it now.

From his window Copernicus had an incredible view of the Tatras Mountains. They rose up before him in a sweeping panorama that filled his view from left to right, rising steeply from the gentle wooded slopes, almost vertically, touching the skies and breaking the clouds.

His apartment at the top of the old Grand hotel, now being renovated, was the cave where he had hidden for most of the past year.

Stupidly, he'd let his face be caught on a camera on his last trip to India to assassinate a leading member of the opposition party there, and ever since he had felt vulnerable. Worried that at any moment, a SWAT team would surround him and drag him off to oblivion in one of a hundred different countries where he had made mortal enemies over the years.

Slovakia was a beautiful country. Each day gave him a thousand different opportunities for ways to spend his time, enjoying the outdoors: cycling, climbing, skiing, swimming, running, skating...

He had chosen it as the ultimate place to go into exile and hide. To disappear from view.

But now it was time to return.

The world would soon hear from Copernicus again.

Although Copernicus had no idea who Salvador was, or where he would be now, since childhood he had been imbued with a wonderful sense of self-confidence. As far as he was concerned, until it was ultimately proved otherwise, there was nothing that he could not do.

He loved challenges.

And if finding Salvador was the next one on his list, although difficult, it was a challenge that he would rise to, and overcome.

Salvador was out there somewhere.

Until now Salvador had enjoyed the ultimate reputation of being one of the top hunters in the world.

But now things were about to change.

From this moment forth, Copernicus would assume that mantle and become the hunter.

And Salvador would become the hunted.

End of Book One

To continue with the story and find out the answer to the following questions, please now download Book Two.

1: Will Salvador succeed in killing Tommy McNunn and how will she achieve it?

2: Will Salvador succeed in killing DCI McKenzie?

3: Will DCI McKenzie ever see his wife again?

4: Will Copernicus succeed in killing Salvador?

5: What is The Gift, and does Salvador succeed in returning it?

To discover what happens next, read Book Two!

If you have any comments, please contact the author at:- iancpirvine@hotmail.co.uk

To connect with Ian C.P. Irvine on Twitter, connect with Ian at @IancpIrvine

To keep up to date with other news, events and ebook releases, please visit the website at: www.iancpirvine.com or http://www.free-ebook.co.uk/

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