

Peace Offering

By John Headford

This novel is a work of fiction. With the exception of Rudolph Hess the names and characters are the products of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright John Headford November 2011

All rights reserved

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Ex-military intelligence officers hope to profit from keeping one of the greatest secrets of WW2. The final piece of information becomes available on the sudden death of a conscientious RAF officer.

The navigator bequeaths a diary to his son. It describes a secret held close to his heart for decades. The mystery of his fathers past is added to when colleagues describe his heroic actions. At the funeral the son meets an attractive family member who urges him to work with her to unravel the riddle.

The secret is out. Carefully laid plans are in jeopardy. Events lead to a battle between wealthy men and the inheritors of the hero's diary. The countryside and waterways of Scotland become the setting for a brutal struggle. It becomes a matter of life or death.

For Janet

Authors note

On the tenth of May 1941, Rudolf Hess, the Deputy Fuhrer of Germany, flew to Britain to negotiate peace. He ran out of fuel over Scotland and crash landed. Several conspiracy theories attempt to explain why the third most powerful man in Germany made the reckless solo journey.

Prologue

9th May 1941

The air turbulence delivered a stomach churning drop as we fell rapidly into a mountainous landscape. We feared the worst. Rain drenched windows and low level cloud hid the terrain below. The intercom remained silent. By dead-reckoning I knew we must be near the landing site, but I couldn't see it.

Exhausted, I could barely complete the simplest of tasks. Mind numbing cold seduced the brain; like flat batteries we slowed down, yearning for sleep. At the limit of our endurance the instinct to avoid certain death pushed us to do more.

A German Officer, known to me only as Kurt, concentrated on holding us steady in the buffeting conditions. His furrowed brow and sunken eyes showed the strain of flying the shaking aircraft; his arms, once relaxed at the controls, now quivered with fatigue. We worked together to survive, but I didn't trust him beyond that. When I had served his purpose he would shoot me. I felt sure of it.

Held in position at the flight desk by a thin steel chain, similar to that used to restrain a savage dog, my prisoner of war status didn't allow for chatter outside of the navigator's role.

The aircraft lurched away from the rising mountains following the valley into deepening mist.

'Niedriger, Niedriger, we must risk going lower', I shouted. We depended on Kurt's command of both languages.

He screamed, 'deine Arbeit erledigen erklaren mir, wie man nicht fliegt.'

'English, you must speak English,' I shouted back, guessing he had told me to get on with the job.

The other crewmember, an Italian conscript, came into the cockpit to share the task of finding the landing site. Giovanni knew me as Charlie. No second names were needed; we would not be together for long. Trusted to move around freely, he supervised the cargo. Giovanni could understand English, but there had been few exchanges during the flight. Together with the pilot, we made a desperate team entrusted with a peace mission that could save thousands of lives.

The modified three engine Junkers Ju52 could take off from land or water. We had flown from the manufacturers in Dessau, mid-Germany as a registered test flight, refuelling at Cologne, before starting the final leg of the journey to Scotland. Only one of the seventeen passenger seats remained. Weighted boxes replaced the others to simulate fully equipped storm troopers. The passenger expected at Cologne had failed to take up his reservation. Looking back I could see a document case on the empty seat, in the aisle, by its side, stood a tall box. Undercover agents would be waiting at the lakeside, ready to off-load the cargo and take it to its final destination.

Kurt knew the importance of the mission and the fine detail of who would meet us. My briefing described the bare outline of where to go and the technical information required to service the plane. No-one seemed surprised when our passenger didn't board at Cologne. We continued without him and I assumed the cargo must be as important as the person, perhaps even more important.

We followed a flight path taken by bombers raiding Glasgow until it no longer suited us. After that I navigated north searching for Loch Awe where we would be landing on water. The landscape began to break up into a criss-cross of lochs and rivers. Recognising the coastal town of Oban, I gave the instruction to turn inland towards our rendezvous. The weather immediately deteriorated.

The ridge of a tree lined mountain suddenly appeared before us. Kurt veered away to the left. More freezing fog faced us as we entered the clouds again. One of the engines coughed as though it wouldn't last much longer. It backfired and stopped, started again with another backfire, and returned to its normal vibrating drone. I didn't need to look at the fuel gauge to know that we had little time left in the air. The flight plan had been to land and take off for the return journey to Germany; this would need to be revised if not abandoned. Fuel lost in a skirmish with two Hurricane fighters on our approach to southern Scotland had cost us a full return flight. We still hoped to make it back to occupied France, but would need to treat the aircraft gently, like a bird with a damaged wing. Luckily the fighters had broken off the attack before inflicting the coup de grace.

A revised plan suited me; it provided more opportunity to escape. I had accepted the navigator's role under duress; threats made to my friends held hostage by the Germans gave me little choice, but to be compliant.

'Attention,' shouted Kurt, as we suddenly skimmed over water.

Could we be over the Loch? I couldn't see a land mark. By my reckoning it could be possible, but I wanted to be sure. We needed to see a familiar building or river. Loch Awe is a large fresh water loch running south-west to north-east. Possible sightings could be the river Awe or Kilchurn Castle by the water side.

'The castle', shouted Giovanni, pointing excitedly down to our right.

Before Kurt or I had the chance to look, the sight flashed under our wing. Turning quickly we skimmed over the trees on the bank side. My heart skipped a beat as the plane flew into a wall of mist. Suddenly in front of us the castle reappeared growing in size as Kurt pulled back to climb over it. The struggling engines faltered and backfired as we gained height and levelled off.

'Turn around,' I appealed to Kurt, 'Go down. Let's take a closer look.'

Fighting the controls, Kurt brought us around on the same heading and once again we descended towards the water. Throttling back, we slowed to a safer speed. The castle appeared on our left and Kurt levelled off into a landing position.

'This is it?' he questioned, as he manoeuvred near to the bank.

I couldn't believe our luck, 'Turn again. Let's take another look at the beginning of the Loch.'

He banked to the left with a more controlled turn and the opposite bank appeared.

'It looks good, but something's wrong.' I studied the ground as we made another turn towards the castle.

I started to query the location again, but fate took control. With a deafening backfire, one of our engines finally stopped. We lost power and plunged towards the darkness of the loch.

'Crash landing,' I screamed.

Kurt levelled off and we bounced on the flat surface like a ball off concrete. Giovanni shot forward, propelled by the breaking force; the back lash reversed his direction, throwing him through the door back into the cargo hold.

The experimental landing floats that served as additional fuel tanks failed to withstand the impact. The aircraft slewed around the remaining revolving propeller and we came to a juddering halt, a hundred metres from the shore.

Kurt slumped forward in his seat, his head at a curious angle to his body. I remained conscious, held in the seat by the safety belt and the chain around my waist. Water began to enter the cabin, low down in the fuselage, through the broken bombing position window. The aircraft filled quickly with water. In less than a minute the build-up soaked my ankles. The pain in my side reminded me of the chain which would become my anchor as the plane sank.

Desperately looking around for something to break the chain, I started to shout at Kurt. 'The key, Kurt, pass the key. Der Schlussel Kurt. Durchlauf der Schlussel.' He didn't move.

The small linked chain would have held a fighting man in check. Having tested its strength, I knew that it could not be removed from either my waist or the aircraft's frame without great force. The lock seemed as strong as the chain. A key would be needed.

The cold water deepened and crept up to my knees. Giovanni staggered in from the cargo bay, wet to his waist, blood streaming from his nose. He took one look at our predicament and climbed forward to the escape hatch, above Kurt. Knocking off the quick release clips, he started to climb out. I grabbed his leg and pulled him back.

'Here,' I pointed to the chains, 'find the key. Look in Kurt's pocket,' I cried in desperation'

'No! No!' he shouted, as he fought to escape my hold on his arm. 'No time,' he grunted, as he scrambled to save his life, 'I must get out.'

'A crow bar, tools, anything?' I pointed to the cargo bay.

In a panic, he wriggled out of my grip and reached again for the escape hatch. Before I could catch him, he climbed onto the pilot's shoulders and vanished through the opening.

'Help me,' I cried out after him, as I desperately looked around for a something to break the chain. He had saved himself, leaving us to drown.

I panicked and fought with the chain, pulling it this way and that, but to no avail. It wouldn't break. Maybe the fire extinguisher could be used as a hammer. At full stretch it remained out of reach. Using the ruler from the flight desk to prod its base, I dislodged it, but it fell away from me. The water continued rising. I could feel the back end of the aircraft sinking fast.

Unexpectedly, Giovanni dropped back through the hatch. 'Last chance; sinking fast,' he shouted.

Laboriously he searched through Kurt's sodden pockets. Finding the keys, he threw them to me. They fell into the water, out of reach. I grabbed his trouser leg.

'Down there,' I pointed. Eyes glaring, he pulled away.

'Let me go!'

If I released him to search for the keys he would escape and I would have little chance of surviving. He stretched over Kurt and pulled a pistol from the holster, strapped to the German's waist. Twisting around, he pointed the gun at me. Fearing for my life I released him. The gun fired with a stunning eruption of noise. Whether by chance or design, the bullet missed me and shattered the anchorage point of the chain. With a strong tug it came away.

Giovanni leapt out of the hatch, as water gushed around my chest. I pulled myself over to Kurt; releasing his safety harness I pushed him towards the escape hatch.

The aircraft sank ejecting our bodies to the surface. We shot upwards from the cold, suffocating water into the darkness of the night. I kicked out and swam away from the gurgling, sloshing noises. The shore looked a long way away and my first attempts at swimming, whilst dragging Kurt, failed to make much impression. Slowly, with an exhausted back stroke, I moved towards the edge of the loch. Kurt made no effort to save himself; I barely managed to hold on to his water logged uniform. Gradually the gap closed until both of our bodies grounded on the stony shoreline.

Exhausted, I struggled to remain conscious. I tried to fight it off, but energy just drained away. My mind drifted back to how we were captured. The torch lit landing site in a field in rural France. The fate of my wife and friends now depended upon the mission to Scotland remaining a secret. Had I failed them?

Recovering, I crawled onto dry ground; coughing and spluttering, I looked about me for the reception committee. Giovanni must have run off. Kurt lay in the water on his back, lifeless. The plane quickly disappeared into the depths, as though it had never existed. A few bits of packaging floated away from me, towards the castle that stood on an island. I turned to look around. In the near distance, close to the water's edge, I could see the lights of a large house, but no-one came rushing to help.

I turned back to Kurt and dragged his body out of the water. He didn't move or utter a sound. Blood streamed from the wound on his forehead, where a flap of skin exposed the bone. I hadn't anything dry. I pushed the scalp back down. I clumsily searched his pockets struggling with the wet material. The identity card finally revealed Kurt's full name. K.H. Mouler based at Augsburg airfield, near Munich flying Messerschmitt prototypes. A photograph showed him with his family.

His questioning eyes stared up at me. He didn't look at peace; he looked lost, vacant, and very dead. I intended to flee the crash site and take my freedom, but what of my friends imprisoned in France and the secrecy surrounding the flight? The plane and its cargo had disappeared. Perhaps no news would be good news. I decided to hide Kurt. The complete loss of an aircraft and its crew would be no surprise in war.

Using a flat stone from the shore, I scraped down into the sand, to form a shallow grave in front of a huge rock. Short of the tree line, its prominent position made it a fitting headstone. Dragging Kurt to the edge, I started to remove anything that identified him. At the time it seemed rational to hide his identity. Looking back it seems to have served no purpose. I stopped, short of stripping him it was an impossible task. I pushed him into the hole. Covering him with sand and grit distressed me. Lifting the largest rocks possible, I finished his internment.

I whispered, 'Here lays the body of Kurt Mouler. God bless him, whatever his faith'.

Turning to look over the water, I couldn't see any wreckage. Perhaps the whole sorry episode could be laid to rest, just as easily as the German pilot.

Chapter One – Present Day

Dressed in dark suits, we waited. The medals on the Air Vice-Marshal's chest clinked, as he moved from one foot to the other. A friend of the family for many years, it seemed appropriate that we would share the funeral limousine. Our breath created steam in the crisp air outside the chapel of rest. We had refused the invitation to go into the empty waiting room preferring to stand in silence quietly shuffling our feet. Two hearses slowly cruised around the side of the building, the coffins covered in flowers. Without a word between us we climbed into the following car. I didn't feel emotional, numb maybe, wanting to do the best possible for them. The tears could flow later.

The procession pulled away from the chapel of rest and speeded up, heading towards the crematorium. We glided past the familiar sights of the town. Two coffins being taken to the same funeral attracted attention and nods of sympathy from shoppers who stopped to stand in silence. Finally the cortège turned into the tree lined drive, leading to the reception area. Mourners stood patiently outside, watching the principal participants being carried into the building. They followed the close family into the peaceful interior. Set on trestles at the front of the aisle, side by side, husband and wife shared the last few minutes as one. The ceremony began.

Half way through, Air Vice-Marshall Farnsworth, retired and in his twilight years, moved to the podium to address those present.

'Dear friends,' he paused and looked around at the small congregation; 'I want to pay tribute to a remarkable couple'. He expected it to be difficult to find the right words for the eulogy; he knew too many secrets from the past. When asked to do it, he had lingered over a reply, but eventually acknowledged his duty.

'Today we celebrate the lives of a loving husband and wife. Tragically, they were taken from us, each at the age of 89, by a bizarre, unexplained fire in their home'. He looked at a man sat towards the back, as though challenging him to argue with his words.

'Forgive me if I talk too much about the years that changed all of our lives. I have known this loving couple for a long time and shared experiences that we seldom talk about. In James Bradbury's case,' he paused for effect, nodding at one or two questioning looks from his audience. 'Let's call him by the name we all know him by, shall we? Charlie never talked of the war years. The medals he earned flying agents into Europe have become discoloured, kept in the back of a cupboard, rarely shown the light of day. He was very modest about his achievements, but I knew him as a courageous pilot, who served with distinction'.

The Air Vice-Marshall stopped speaking and seemed to daydream, as memories from another era came flooding back to him. If only Charlie had been less conscientious. God knows, he had personally tried to persuade him to give up his secrets. Stubborn to the end, he would not disclose the information needed. If he had not wanted to share his knowledge, why didn't he just keep quiet instead of threatening to write everything down?

'From his first involvement in World War Two to his final discharge, this man gave everything for his country. He was 21 when first taken prisoner and after he had escaped from the enemy, he returned to the fight. He had a strong and unshakeable sense of duty. He believed that together we can make a difference to the world we live in. I had the honour to work with Charlie and to know him as a friend. I shall miss him, like so many others. I have become a better person for knowing him.'

His hands shook, as he held the notes prepared the night before. He knew he should never have agreed to the task. Having spent years befriending Charlie, he had failed him in the end. If he had been more vigilant, maybe he could have saved both of them. He peered at his notes through the reading glasses he hated wearing.

'Charlie and Elaine were married on an airfield just before she had to be dropped behind enemy lines. It's typical of their commitment that they never questioned their orders. Elaine was a brave woman, involved with the underground movement in France. She got out just before the allied invasion force entered Paris. At the end of the war the two of them found each other in Switzerland, a country they visited many times and came to adore'.

For a moment nerves had the better of him. Then the congregation saw him lift his shoulders and once again look out with strength of purpose. With a quivering voice, he ended his trial.

'For their many friends, it was a moment of great joy when Charlie returned here with Elaine to rejoin the village; he as Postmaster and she as the language teacher at the school.'

Falteringly he continued, 'I shall miss them both dearly and I know that I speak for all of you here, when I say God Bless Charlie and Elaine.'

With his closing remarks, Colin Farnsworth returned to his seat, allowing the vicar to continue with the next hymn. He regretted what had happened. If he could have changed anything in life, he would have prevented the horrible death of his friends. Life moves on he thought, as he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder.

'Are you OK?'

'Fine,' mumbled Farnsworth

'Well done, well said.' The words were sincere and grateful. The singing started. Charlie and Elaine had replaced Rory's parents after their death in a car accident, when he was five years old. He became the son they had always wanted. With a successful engineering business the future looked bright. He had everything to thank them for. The adopted name of Rory Andrew Bradbury reminded him of his birth parents' surname; Andrews.

The coffins were lifted onto the rollers for the final short journey. The familiar tune of All Things Bright and Beautiful played as the curtains glided around them. Rory stood and for the first time turned to see the saddened faces in the crematorium's small chapel. Some would be distant family, but only he and Colin Farnsworth had occupied the front bench. The hymn came to an end and the final stages of the service began with a short prayer. Rory wished he had asked more questions about the past that now seemed so important to understanding the passing of his closest friends.

The vicar led them to the door and the congregation followed. Standing outside in the sunshine and looking at the gifts of flowers, individuals and couples exchanged pleasantries and reflected on Charlie and Elaine's life. Rory knew many of those present and the occasional stranger came over to have a brief word. The soft chatter was occasionally broken, as people said their goodbyes and gradually the numbers dwindled. Looking up, Rory saw a slim young woman approaching him. Dressed in black, in her late twenties, she walked confidently over to introduce herself.

Taking his hand in a gentle grip, she said, 'Hello, I'm so sorry to be here I know you are going to miss them so much.' She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. 'Believe me, Mr Bradbury, it will take time to adjust, but you will always remember their love and one day you will enjoy life as they would have wished.' The words had a soothing effect and offered hope, they seemed to come from someone who had suffered with a similar experience. So many words had been said, but they had more meaning this time. He was about to mumble a thank you when she carried on.

'My name is Ellise Winters,' she said and hesitatingly asked, 'could we have a few words in private afterwards? It's about....'

Before she could finish, Rory interrupted. 'Please call me Rory. We're gathering at the Farmers Arms, just down the road in the village. I'll be there shortly if you want to have a chat'.

'Well, I did want a word in private, if that's okay?'

'Maybe', he said, 'let's see what happens. It could be that I'm not free until late. Meet me down there and we'll have a drink together'.

She turned away, feeling his pain through the brusqueness of the response.

Rory didn't know the attractive woman, but thought she could be a reporter, sniffing around for a follow up story to the house fire. He'd not seen her around town before. If she was from the press and wanted to ask nosey questions about the so-called accident, he would put her off. The last thing he wanted was to be quoted on his thoughts and feelings. They were far too fragile and perhaps too visible.

Looking at Colin, he marvelled at his fitness. He must be in his eighties. How much longer would he last? Feeling guilty at this thought he shouted, 'Come on. Let's go and toast the Bradbury's and all they accomplished. You have a lot of explaining to do about your war time exploits. When did you first meet Charlie and Elaine?'

The question remained unanswered.

Having found the wake, and not knowing many people there, Ellise sat nervously at a corner table. To her surprise, Colin Farnsworth put her at ease by sitting down and chatting about Rory, suggesting that at age twenty seven and over six foot tall, he would have the bearing and confidence to deal with most situations in life. The surprise deaths of his adopted parents wrecked him emotionally, but he would adjust by focusing on his hobby. Rory excelled at sport, mainly through Charlie's encouragement. At university he had been in the athletics team. His passion had always been long distance running. Together with Elaine they had raised a lot of sponsorship money for charity. After a while the Air Vice-Marshal left Ellise to her own thoughts moving on to chat to others in the lounge bar. He propped up the bar, as though he owned it.

'Hello again,' Rory smiled as he sat down beside her. He looked strained after circulating among friends. The jovial atmosphere in the pub conveyed happiness, with respect for the departed couple. Many stories had been shared. All of the friends and acquaintances remembered the good times, when the couple ran the post office; their relationships with customers, sharing time, having a joke, their fighting spirit, building the business up from a shack to a shop. At last Rory was able to relax a little.

Ellise made space for him on the comfortable bench seat. 'Take a rest. Can I get you a drink?

'No thanks. Colin has just ordered. He's coming over in a minute.'

Whilst they waited, Ellise asked, 'Charlie and Elaine acted as your parents from an early age?'

He hesitated, still not sure how much to disclose to a relative stranger, 'Yes, they were my grandparents and adopted me at the age of five when my mum and dad died. I lived with them from that point on until my business took off and I could afford to rent a place of my own.'

Sensing his reluctance to speak to her, she said, 'I'm sorry for prying, I'm just interested.'

He smiled, 'It's OK I'm fairly well adjusted.' Making a snap judgement, he decided he liked this new found friend. 'So how did you know Charlie and Elaine?'

'Well,' she smiled apologetically, 'I've never actually met them, but there is a personal connection. I have been researching my ancestors for some time and six months ago came across information that connected your family with mine. I had written to Charlie, but he didn't reply'.

Laughing for the first time in weeks, he said, 'It's only his preferred name. His post would have needed to go to Mr James Bradbury. Are you sure you have the correct address? Your letter probably went to Charles, who lives nearby. They were good friends and often had to exchange mail.'

'Look, that's Charles Bradbury over there', Rory pointed to a bearded cheerful man leading the conversation amongst a small group of local farmers. 'They were not related, but with similar names, they have shared a joke now and again.'

Colin came over and sat down with the drinks. 'I brought you the same as last time, Ellise. You're not driving, are you?'

'No' she replied, 'I'm stopping just down the street at the Judges Hotel'.

'Oh, oh,' Rory joked, thinking of the expensive former Court House that provided four star accommodation. 'We're with royalty today. Now Colin's joined us tell us more about the family tree.'

Ellise now had some doubts about what she had to say. Her search had led her to the funeral. Could she have found the wrong Charlie Bradbury? Rapidly recalling the research and the chain of events she was about to describe, her confidence returned. Feeling a fool for panicking, she realised it must be the right couple. The wife's name was Elaine! Elaine was the connection, she told herself. Why had the conversation reverted to talking about Charlie? How English to think of the man first. How traditional. She became angry with herself. Hiding her emotions, she quickly summoned up the courage to carry on.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' the landlord interrupted her thoughts, ringing the bar bell to gain attention. 'A buffet is now being served in the snug; compliments of the Farmers Arms, in memory of two pillars of the community, Charlie and Elaine.' He lifted a glass, as though toasting the pair, and at the same time he pointed to the open doorway, leading to food.

The Farmer's Arms had a reputation for good food and the best beer in the region. The notice by the road side said, probably the best pub before the motorway. Being the only public house in town and on the main road it had plenty of passing trade. Charlie, and sometimes Elaine, had used it as their local, popping in for a swift drink with Colin Farnsworth.

After the announcement of free food, the main bar area almost emptied, leaving Rory, Ellise and the Air Vice-Marshall sitting at their corner table staring in silence at a gin and tonic, a pint of bitter and a glass of sparkling wine. Taking a long drink from her wine, Ellise sighed and started by saying, 'Call me, Ellie, most of my friends do'. She had to choose her next words carefully, but couldn't see how to avoid shocking her audience. Finally she looked at Rory and said, 'we have the same Grandmother.'

Chapter Two

Rory listened, but at the same time looked around the room. It gradually emptied. Did he want food or not? He couldn't make up his mind. Suddenly, Ellie's words registered. Astonished and doubting his understanding he muttered, 'Say that again!'

'We have the same Grandmother.' Ellie looked down, avoiding their eyes, feeling like a child breaking a secret. To make sure they understood, she added. 'Not the same grandparents. We just share Elaine.'

Shocked, Rory gave her his full attention, 'How can we?' he spluttered. 'I've never heard of you!' he protested. 'You must be mistaken. I've lived my life with them and never once heard your name.' He ran out of words, shaking his head in disbelief. 'Is this a joke? If it is, you are making it at the wrong time!'

Ellie looked him calmly in the eyes. 'It's no joke Rory. I know this must be a surprise, but let me explain. Colin,' she appealed to the older man, 'you might be able to help. I'm glad you're here.'

Both of them looked at each other and then at Ellie. Rory's thoughts raced, his tightly clenched lips and wide eyes showed the turmoil in his mind. In the past twenty years there had never been any indication of another side of the family. He could understand Charlie not wanting to dwell on Elaine's war exploits, but not to mention them at all had left him with a colossal gap. Did he know them at all? He was staggered by the disclosures made at the service and by Ellie. Startled, surprised, questioning, but not wanting to hear the answers he was lost for words. Sitting back he looked at Colin, hoping for some explanation.

A close friend of the family, Colin thought perhaps he could help, but he didn't want to raise expectations. He remembered his own agenda. The wartime action remained a secret he wasn't about to go into great detail now. Rory had become a close friend and he had always offered advice when asked, but it was Charlie who once said, 'Wealth is health', and Colin hoped to have both in the near future. He tentatively said, 'If I can help, I will, but I'm not sure how I can contribute.'

'It's a long story, but I will keep it as short as possible'. Ellie took a sip of her wine and sat forward on the edge of the seat. Looking at Colin and then at Rory, she started. 'From the eulogy at the crematorium you remember the Second World War and the part Charlie and Elaine played in it?' It was rhetorical and she carried on. 'When she arrived in France in 1941, Elaine was captured as she stepped down from the plane. Three resistance fighters who had been there to help were shot dead. Charlie's small Lysander aircraft had been prevented from taking off. The two of them were separated and taken to the local Gestapo headquarters for questioning. Elaine saw Charlie for what she thought would be the last time, until at the end of the interrogation, they were both told that if he obeyed orders, she could live. Both of them believed Charlie would have to undertake a suicide mission. Charlie agreed to join the crew of an aircraft that would be used to promote peace. That's all they were told. Throughout the war, Elaine never heard from him again.' She paused, thoughtfully, knowing the story well, but needing to put it in the correct order.

'Shortly after saying goodbye Elaine escaped with the help of the Resistance. She believed Charlie was lost to her, having given his life to enable her to live. She never returned to England during the war and fought on, behind the lines, by helping the French to organise themselves and arranging supply drops. With the loss of Charlie, her attitude to risk changed. Elaine became more daring. Resolute with anger, she built a reputation for revengeful acts against the occupying troops. Towards the end, in 1944, she was taken prisoner and transferred from France to Germany. Conditions were severe where she was held. The next few months would see the collapse of the Nazi regime. Because of Elaine's importance as a leading resistance fighter, she was interrogated by SS Officers who had to have results or they would suffer the consequences'.

Ellie paused for a drink. She could see by the look on their faces that both Rory and Colin were spellbound and yet, surprisingly, they had not asked questions. She had prepared answers for any doubts they might express. They seemed to readily accept the account. She put their lack of comment down to shock. Continuing, she explained that the information had come directly from recently released archives containing the written reports of the interrogators.

Saddened by her next words, she quietly said, 'Elaine was raped by a high-ranking officer and afterwards withdrew into herself, unable to communicate effectively. Mentally ill, she held little of value for the Germans' Again Ellie paused to let them absorb what had been said. 'She was taken to a field hospital for treatment, before further questioning. The allies accidentally saved her with a misjudged bombing raid that destroyed the hospital, but enabled her to escape. With the help of a doctor she survived and together they fled to Switzerland. You can imagine the chaos at the time. On the journey they lost contact with each other. She carried on over the border to Geneva. The Red Cross helped her in the final stages of pregnancy. The newly born daughter was taken from her to be adopted at birth. That daughter was my mother.

Stunned silence followed the disclosure. Rory couldn't believe it. He looked at them and questioned himself, as much as the other two. 'Is it true?'

'Colin,' Ellie looked at the older man, 'could you explain how Charlie found Elaine at the end of the war?'

Colin smiled sympathetically towards Rory. 'I'm sorry you couldn't hear this from your parents. I believe that they wanted to tell you, but the right time never came. I didn't know most of the story, but I can add to the ending. Charlie worked for me as a pilot during the war. I became responsible for transferring agents into Europe by whatever means possible. In this case it was by using light aircraft to land in fields and on country roads. When Charlie was captured and lost Elaine, he escaped to England by reluctantly participating in a secret German mission. It failed. He was very lucky to live. Afterwards he rejoined his unit, determined to carry on with his job. Over the following months, we began to realise that Elaine had survived. Working undercover, she used her call sign to arrange weapon drops. Charlie always insisted on keeping his survival secret. He believed it protected Elaine, gave her added strength. After the war he hoped they would be reunited, but until then he didn't want to add to the pressure she was under. He often said, "Let it rest, until she is no longer in danger." Relieved that she had not died, we watched and waited for the end of hostilities. Then she disappeared from the scene, presumed dead. Until hearing from the Red Cross we had no idea that she was in Switzerland.'

Pausing to collect his thoughts, Colin sipped his gin and tonic. He looked at Rory, to make sure the facts were sinking in. Continuing, he described the desperate rush to Geneva to rescue Elaine and how Charlie had nursed her back to health. Before leaving Switzerland, they had undertaken a frantic search for the baby that had been adopted. The lack of Red Cross records didn't help. Eventually they faced up to the disappointment of failing to find the daughter.

'Are you telling me that my father had a sister he never knew?' asked Rory.

'Yes, it's true. We told no one. I was sworn to secrecy by Elaine. It hurt not to be able to help, but I thought if they could handle the agony of not knowing, then remaining silent was the least I could do. I assumed they didn't want to be constantly reminded.' His voice wavered, as he thought of his failure to be able to do anything.

'Colin, no one has ever mentioned it!'

'That was their decision and I expect, over time, they lost all hope of seeing or hearing any news. Other things happened, the death of your own parents for example. Life wasn't that simple, getting over the war and settling down in the community.'

'We could have tried again', suggested Rory.

'We did try,' Colin replied, exasperated at having to explain how they had failed, hoping Rory could imagine how hopeless the situation had seemed. 'We tried, but without success'.

Rory looked at Ellie and asked, 'Can you prove any of this?'

'Do I need to?' she asked defensively. 'I came to find out if what I knew was true. From what Colin has already said, it all seems to fit'.

'Yes, I agree, but was your mother Elaine's lost daughter?'

'I can prove it by documents recovered from the Red Cross, but I don't see it as being important.'

'You may not, but now that you have declared yourself as family, you may be involved in the reading of the will. That's why we need to be sure.'

'I'm not here for that. I just wanted to pay my condolences.'

Colin apologetically said, 'I'm sorry if this seems to be a bit fussy, but Rory is right.'

He looked around and in doing so, prompted them all to realise that there were people who had not wanted to interrupt a private conversation, who, at the same time, wanted to leave.

Reluctantly, Rory said, 'Let's talk about it later', and stood up to attend to his guests.

Charles Bradbury, his grandfather's namesake, came over to say goodbye, 'When you have time, Rory, I've received some mail for Charlie that needs to be passed on. I've not opened it, but from what I can see, there are no bills that need attention, just the odd letter'.

Detective Sergeant Jones made his way to meet Rory. 'I'm sorry, but we haven't made a lot of progress with the investigation. It was definitely a break in and we suspect the burglar started the fire.'

'Has the fire chief had anything to say about how it started?'

'It's a little too early to say definitely, however ___,' he stopped. 'You know I'm telling you this in confidence?' He looked at Rory for acknowledgement and having received a nod carried on. 'We think it started in the kitchen, below the main bedroom. Someone deliberately tampered with the gas supply to the cooker'

'But why break in to steal and then start a fire?'

'It could be to prevent identification. However, it seems very extreme, especially if you know someone will die'.

'I'm not sure about this, but on that night they could have planned to stay in London to see a show. Charlie mentioned winning a prize,' Rory paused, 'what I'm really surprised at is the burglary. They had very few valuables in the house.

DS Jones felt he had intruded enough, saying, 'I just wanted you to know the latest'. He shook Rory's hand, 'It's a sad day, but you did them proud. You will have a lot to sort out, so we will be in touch later when there's more to report.' He half turned away and then came back, 'Sorry Air Vice-Marshall, splendid speech you made.' Remembering the accusing look he had received during the service, he rebuked the older man, 'By the way, I feel the same as you do. The fire was bizarre. It remains unexplained, but I need evidence to prove it wasn't an accident. Rest assured, we will find out how it happened.' Looking thoughtfully at Ellie, he said, 'I don't think we've met before.'

The remark prompted a response from Rory, 'Sorry DS Jones, this is Ellie Winters. I've just discovered she is a member of the family.'

'Pleased to meet you, Miss Winters,' said the Detective Sergeant.

'It's a pleasure,' she replied. Under pressure from this new situation, she allowed her slight accent to show.

He smiled, 'Now being in the police force I'm equipped with special powers of deduction. You're not from around here. What's the accent? It's European,' he declared with some confidence. 'Is it German or French?'

'It's neither. If you can hear it at all, it is Swiss.'

'Au revoir, mademoiselle.'

'Auf Wiedersehen Detektiv,' she responded, blushing at having declared her regional language.

Chapter Three

Rory and Ellie travelled to the bank, after attending a short session with the solicitor. The legacy contained little money, enough to cover the funeral expenses. A few personal possessions were listed and left to Rory; sadly most of these had been destroyed in the fire. In the final years of their lives, Charlie and Elaine consistently contributed their earnings and pension to the Red Cross. They had remortgaged their home to increase the level of their donations.

Driving slowly, Rory passed the shell of the family home. Seeing the blackened stonework and the empty window-frames, he fought back the tears, knowing he would only return for the sale of the property. Police warning signs and incident tape surrounded the building. It looked like a film set. He felt guilty. Could he have been more alert to their needs? Meeting for a meal once a week seemed right, but now he wished they had shared more time together. They had never gone without; he made sure of that. Now he wondered if he had done all he could. Talking to Colin Farnsworth about the personal items that would have been on the premises, they agreed there could have been little of value. However, both acknowledged that the burglars probably didn't know that.

Memories of the family home formed a well of emotion, deep and personal. Half of it remained standing, the rest declared beyond repair. Rory had previously given little thought to how Charlie and Elaine would die; to shrivel in a furnace like fire filled him with dread. They were healthy, despite their age. He had assumed there would be a warning sign, perhaps a long illness, with enough time to prepare for the final act. Coming to terms with his new circumstances in the days following the funeral, he wanted to finish his duty and mourn their passing. Meeting Ellie for the first time, listening to her story, recognising how it matched Colin's account of the war years, had awakened his need to know the rest of their history. What happened to his adopted parents during and after the war? Ellie seemed such a dependable person. He enjoyed her company. She didn't expect any reward for helping him deal with the mess of paperwork involved with bereavement. They were good companions, comfortable together, sharing ideas without concern for any recriminations. It felt good to be able to say what he thought, knowing he could trust her to understand.

No longer living with his parents, Rory rented a cottage with outbuildings, on the edge of town. He never expected to receive a lot of money from the will, but expressed surprise to hear of the large donations made to charity. The search for a lost daughter must have obsessed them.

Following a number of conversations with solicitors, they agreed that Ellie Winters could be present at the reading of Charlie and Elaine's last will and testament. Some documentation remained outstanding, but the fact that her account matched the Air Vice-Marshall's, and Rory accepted her as a family member, persuaded the legal professionals involved to proceed. She praised Charlie and Elaine for the support given to the Red Cross, an organisation that had helped so many refugees.

The land and the destroyed house would be sold to settle bills. It seemed the bank account remained the only outstanding item on their list. They made arrangements to visit the local branch and settle the affairs of the deceased couple. Ellie suggested that this would be one of her final days in England and that she would soon be making arrangements to fly back to Geneva. Rory tried to persuade her to stay a little longer, but there seemed little point after her declared intention to leave. He believed that if Colin spoke to her, she would be interested in listening to more of Elaine's adventures. On the other hand, the Air Vice-Marshall seemed to think it a good idea that Ellie return to Switzerland without delay.

Ellie felt awkward, wanting to stop, but not wishing to cause a problem. Colin advised her to return home and perhaps come back to see Rory in a few months time, when things had been settled. She understood the logic of this, but would not leave until the full account of Charlie's RAF adventures had been told. After finding Charlie she wanted to know more about his escape from the Germans. She had shared a lot of her information about Elaine and intended to convince Colin that he should divulge more about the war years. Telling Rory that she would be leaving could, have been risky; however, he passed the test by expressing his enthusiasm for her to stay. Ellie avoided showing him how she loved his company. It didn't seem right, especially with him being family. They did get on well together. Given different circumstances, she could have found herself flirting a little.

Rory parked the Range Rover outside the bank and they made their way to see the manager. He knew Roy Blake quite well from his business dealings. He introduced Ellie as a member of the family, who would share any inheritance.

Sitting them down in his modern impersonal office, Blake expressed his sympathy and made them feel welcome by chatting about the last time he and Rory had met. He had been the manager for many years. Charlie had been a good customer and he liked to think that they had formed a working friendship. Briefly referring to the death certificate he thanked them and looked at his computer printout.

'Do you want to close the accounts?' he asked.

'Probably', replied Rory. 'We understand there is little cash or investment'.

'That's correct, but the accounts are in good order and there is no debt. It's all frozen for now. Depending upon your instructions and legal requirements we will settle as soon as possible. How do you want to handle the balance?'

They looked at each other and silently confirmed their previous agreement, 'We understand the solicitor will be in touch shortly to finally settle the affairs. When that's over, the balance is to be paid into Rory's account,' instructed Ellie.

'Had you any thoughts about the security box?

'Sorry?' Rory queried.

'The safety deposit box that your parents used.'

'I've never heard of one. Where is it? What's in it?'

'I don't know what's in it, but it's quite a small one, here at the bank. We have twenty available for selected customers. It belongs to you now'.

'Do we need a key?'

'Normally, yes, but where the home is inaccessible and presumably the key lost, we will make an exception. It's not been used very often in recent years, although when I first new Mr and Mrs....'

Ellie interrupted, 'Perhaps we can have a look inside it now.'

Rory and Ellie were shown into a private room, with a single table and four chairs. Rory paced around, uncomfortable with the role of executor to the will. He had started running again, early in the morning trying to work his frustrations off, needing to do something, anything, to relieve his feeling of helplessness. Ellie sat down at the table and shortly afterwards, one of the staff arrived with the box from the secure lockers.

The small box provided room for full page documents, with sufficient depth for a book. The locks had been released and they were left alone to lift the lid and peer inside. It contained a desk diary and a large brown envelope that had lost some of its colour with age. At the bottom of the box a map, torn from a motoring atlas, acted as a lining.

Lifting the envelope out, Rory wondered if it contained any further surprises. The events of the last two weeks had completely changed his life. Accepting his parents' deaths, the trauma of identification and funerals had been difficult. He would have preferred to learn about his new family members in better circumstances. However, he accepted that Ellie recently tried to get in touch. Now he was opening a box that presumably held more secrets.

He poured the contents onto the table top. First out, the smaller documents looked to be passports and photographs. The larger envelope jammed. He pulled it out, and looking inside, he could see a thin scrap book. Ellie lifted the diary out and placed it by the side of the other items. She waited for Rory to take the lead and decide which of them should be read first.

He picked up the worn British passport for the period 1954 to 1964. Both Charlie and Elaine had information entered on the opening page. The photographs depicted them as young and awkward probably in their early thirties. Rory realised that his own mother would have been age 4 years when first travelling abroad. Her name, Janet, and the date of birth were also on the passport.

Yesterday, he had visited his birth parents' grave in Whitan Cemetery. The two of them were in the same grave, with a headstone referring to their tragic deaths, dated twenty three years ago. On the anniversary of their crash, his adopted parents had always taken him to lay flowers there. Remembering Martin and Janet would always be a loving, attentive part of his life. He made the visit to consider adding Charlie and Elaine's ashes to the grave. He knew of the anger they shared against the person who had caused their deaths. Rory now felt the same emotional strength applied to the persons who had killed them. Yes, he thought, it definitely could not have been an accident; Charlie was too careful a man to burn the house down. The burglars would have to be found and punished. What could he do to help the police? There were no known enemies of the couple; they were well-liked, respected. They owned few valuables and lived a frugal life, taking care of their health. The crime must have been a random burglary gone wrong. If he could find the criminals, he would make sure they regretted it. He didn't hold out much hope of the courts providing justice. He suddenly realised Ellie had asked him a question.

'Where shall we start?' Ellie asked again. Rory, lost in thought, did not respond the first time she asked. During the last few days his attention had drifted occasionally. On more than one occasion, he had snapped at her, his short temper showing the pressure he felt. Ellie suggested a short break would help him to readjust, to get away from it all for a few days to take time to mourn, but he felt he couldn't leave the area before they had found out how the fire had started.

Opening the 1941 diary, they quickly glanced at the single long entry. In very careful script, the story seemed to give a detailed account of a lost aircraft. 'Let's leave this until later; it's going to take a while to read. What's in the envelope?' he asked.

Passing the envelope to Ellie, he watched her shake out the contents. The first pages of the scrap book referred to research undertaken by the Red Cross over several years. Refugee records of a search to identify and locate a missing girl. The last report, dated 1965, indicated no further avenues could be pursued. Without new evidence, the search could not be progressed. Whilst she read the reports Ellie couldn't help noticing Rory reading the diary. He slipped something into his pocket.

Rory's mobile rang. 'Shall I take it?' He said looking at Ellie.

'Of course; if it's going to be a long call say you will ring back.'

Answering Rory replied, 'DS Jones! It's good to hear from you.'

Ellie could only hear one side of the conversation, but she gathered that it was an update about the fire. She looked at the passport, thinking the dates of travel matched the period the Red Cross had searched for the missing daughter. Perhaps Charlie and Elaine had visited Switzerland at the time. It made sense they could not have dealt with officials, without going there to persuade them to keep trying. Maybe they paid for the search. Irritated, she realised she didn't know enough about the process.

Silence from Rory, as he became absorbed in listening to the policeman, and then, 'Perhaps the Air Vice-Marshall could help us with that, but I don't think either of them had any current connections with Europe. They did have fifty or sixty years ago, but more recently, they have not travelled.'

After a short pause, 'OK, we will think about it and ring you back', said Rory looking at Ellie and shrugging his shoulders, signalling he didn't expect much to happen. The policeman's comment about Europe did make him think that maybe the burglary had something to do with the distant past. Surely it couldn't be an act of revenge?

He rang off and once again turned his attention to the papers on the table. Ellie held an identification card in one hand and a small black and white photograph in the other. Holding back the tears, she held the card out for Rory to take. It showed a photograph of a German officer in full dress uniform, about 25 years old, very fit with handsome features. Ellie could not look at him, without thinking of the war years that damaged so many lives. She believed her long search could end with the discovery of the documents in front of her.

Taking the photograph, Rory could see a strong, resolute man pictured standing on an airfield runway in front of a fighter aircraft. He looked at the tearful Ellie, and asked, 'Who is it?'

'It's my grandfather!' she gasped, holding her emotions in check.

Chapter Four

Surrounded by trees over a hundred years old, the manor house at Little Pickering stood in two acres of land. Despite its rather grand title it only had five bedrooms, however, the ground floor extensions made it a much admired house. The long curving drive finished in a circle by the front door. The front of the building could be regarded as weathered and ready for investment, but to the side a library extension opened up to well tended gardens. To the rear a conservatory had been added. To Colin Farnsworth DFC, OBE it was home. His family history oozed out of every nook and cranny. Portraits of successful adventurers lined the walls. The hall and reception rooms contained furniture taken from around the world. The overall effect left visitors with a feeling of history, wealth and aristocracy.

The Air Vice-Marshall sat in the captains' chair at his desk in the library, looking out over the lawn to the tennis court. This happened to be his favourite room; he had turned down lucrative offers for his house to be used as a film set, he could do with the money, but resisted all attempts to intrude into his private world. His eyes wavered between the packet of cigarettes nearby him and the documents recovered from the bank. He could see that Rory and Ellie were dealing with the papers in different ways. Rory with his strong jaw line and steel grey eyes sat opposite him focused on the diary piecing together the facts. Ellie visibly upset concentrated on the photograph of the German officer. She clearly had mixed feelings about discovering her grandfather. Not knowing whether to hate him for what he had done or be glad to know something about him. God, he could do with a cigarette, but had agreed with his doctor to give them up. I should have thrown the packet away, he thought.

He looked sympathetically at Ellie and then addressing both of them said, 'I can tell you one thing straight away. Ellie this is not your grandfather.'

Looking up and straightening her body she quickly responded, 'How do you know?'

'Because I know more than you have been told or read in the scrap book.'

A few of the papers from the scrap book were in front of Colin. The search for Elaine's daughter using refugee records in Switzerland had been thorough at the time, but had come to nothing. He had often discussed how to go about finding the child. 'These Red Cross papers support your story Ellie, but I'm afraid they don't confirm that this is the man that raped Elaine. Charlie and I had been friends from being boys here in the town. We came from different backgrounds, attended two different schools, but we got on together. You see, we shared a love of flying. We first met at the air cadets and later joined the RAF together becoming pilots in 1939.'

'But how do you know about Ellie's grandfather,' asked Rory impatiently.

'I'm coming to that,' replied Colin. 'As I've said we worked together during the war. Sharing experiences and our knowledge of the darkest days; for Charlie the loss of Elaine in France couldn't be forgotten. He felt he had betrayed her and his country in the early days.'

'Why?' asked Ellie. 'To save her he had no alternative, but to do what he did.'

'Charlie's capture, the secret peace mission that went wrong, the danger he knew Elaine faced everything he had done amounted to failure in his mind.'

Rory retorted, 'but from what you've said before, he realised Elaine was free. He got on with the battle.'

'He didn't know she would escape and carried out his side of the bargain.' Ellie said in support.

'For two years he thought she was dead and believed he was responsible. The final years of the war he discovered she was alive, but feared for her safety. Afterwards they searched for their lost daughter, starting in Switzerland. During 1946 they discovered that the German officer who had fathered the daughter had been hanged by the resistance. It was fully documented by British troops. I'm sorry my dear, but his name was Heinrick von Keller in the SS.'

'Then who is this in the photograph and why is it in the box? Are you sure about Keller?' asked Rory.

'I'm sure because if you read the account of the flight in the diary it says who the pilot is. Charlie knew his first name, it matches the identity card.'

Ellie showed her disappointment by placing the card back into the envelope. She didn't question Colin's information, he seemed so sure of the facts and his conclusion about the first name of Kurt had to be correct, it matched the report in the diary. 'Can I keep the photograph for a while longer? I can compare it with my family research.'

'Of course you can Ellie,' said Rory.

'I'm not wrong,' said Colin defensively.

They turned their attention to the diary, reading of the crash landing and the consequences for the pilot. The identification papers and photograph were the only things that Charlie had taken from the body before he buried it. Rory began to understand how his grandfather had felt interring someone and hiding the grave. An honourable man, a decent man, would be troubled by what he had done; perhaps he would seek to rectify it in the future. He would report it.

'Surely Charlie told the authorities about the crash and the body was recovered?'

'You would think so, but throughout the war things that didn't need doing straight away were left until later.'

'OK I can understand that. Why not later then?'

'It was a little more complicated, you see the crash site was never found. The aircraft lost and the body hidden in a location that was not on the original flight plan. Charlie was the navigator, but he would never say exactly where it all happened'. Colin looked at his audience and smiled, 'Personally, at the time, I don't think he wanted to relive the event and held back the information we all needed.'

Feeling Colin had more to reveal Ellie asked, 'Who do you mean?'

Colin didn't answer.

'When you say "the information WE all needed",' she prompted.

Sighing Colin carried on, 'After the war I was part of a team looking into Rudolf Hess, the high ranking Nazi who parachuted into Scotland unannounced. He came alone and with little support. His so called peace mission was a secret that the allies never understood'. Here he opened his desk and took out a framed photograph of a group of German Officers. 'This is Hess he pointed to a tall man in the centre of the front row and here stood by him is Kurt Mouler'.

'Our man in the photograph', said Rory startled that they were the same.

'Hess and Mouler were colleagues for a long time', said Colin. 'When Hess became the Deputy Fuhrer he made sure of his companion's promotion, he made him part of his team. He acted as his personal pilot. They shared the same point of view about German ambitions. Unable to reconcile their beliefs with the war effort they agreed to try to secretly mediate a settlement with the opposing countries, starting with Britain. We know that Hess made plans to fly here early in 1941. He intended to negotiate a halt to hostilities between Germany and Britain. It's generally thought that he made the flight alone. There are all sorts of problems with his story which finished by him bailing out over Scotland when he ran out of fuel. We captured him and eventually he became a prisoner at Spandau Prison.

'The flight Charlie made was a peace mission that's why he agreed to it,' said Rory. 'Is there some connection?'

'There are all sorts of conspiracy theories.' Colin shrugged, and looked at Ellie to make sure she wanted to continue. 'Hess never talked in detail about why he made the journey or who approved it.'

'But he was an intelligent powerful man. He would not have expected to fly until he ran out of fuel and then parachute to capture. Would he? Ellie said thoughtfully. She was beginning to see the link between Charlie's flight and the one Hess made. 'Do the dates tally?'

'Yes they do, the 10th May. One suggestion is that Hess must have refuelled at Cologne. You will remember that Charlie's flight missed picking up a passenger there. Maybe the timing was out and he missed the connection. Both flights could have continued with the intention of meeting at an agreed landing site.'

'I can see your point Colin, but why would they continue with an empty plane?' asked Rory.

Ellie interrupted, 'because the plane wasn't empty. Hess was clever enough to take with him his trusted friend and whatever was in the cargo.'

Seeing they were putting the facts together Colin finished off by saying, 'According to Charlie the cargo included a large box that could have held paintings and a black leather document case.

Ellie suggested, 'The box could have contained artwork; paintings taken from museums, valuable historic pieces stolen during the occupation of Europe. There are lots of treasures still missing to this day. War loot taken and lost, invaluable, never to be replaced, destroyed either by war or hidden in private collections. Perhaps the box contained a gift for someone.'

'The trusted friend Kurt Mouler had to deliver the cargo and be there himself otherwise whatever they had plotted could not be achieved,' Rory reacted to Ellie's idea.

'And whatever they had planned required the documents in the briefcase,' finished Colin. He smiled and then began to laugh, 'We are making things up. Let's get back to what we know for certain.'

Rory looked at his companions. 'To summarise then, Charlie, felt guilty about navigating a German flight to Scotland, it all went wrong and he had to bury the pilot and he kept the location of the crash site a secret because...... Why? It doesn't make sense.'

'Because he thought that keeping it secret would help Elaine who was a prisoner in France. He must have been elated at escaping back to Britain. He didn't care about the crash. He was free, but he did care for Elaine. It's obvious he would do anything to save his captured wife. He kept quiet to save her. That's what I think', said Ellie.

Colin nodded in agreement. 'It all fits together. After the war, when time had passed by, he probably thought it best to forget about the crash all together. The diary became the only record of what happened to him that day.'

Rory picked up the diary and flicked through the pages. 'There is quite a lot of detail ___.' A high pitched alarm started in the passageway outside the library. The deafening sound made it impossible to stay in the room. Taking Ellie by the arm he made for the door. Colin by his side shouted the obvious, 'it's the fire alarm. Make for the front door.

Leaving the library they could see black smoke billowing down the hall from the rear of the house. Turning away from it they shuffled towards the front door, it was already difficult to see and breathe. Rory ran back to the kitchen door and pulled it shut before rejoining them. Colin led the way to the front, when he came level with the hall entrance he opened a cupboard, inside they could see an alarm panel with steady green lights and one flashing red. He reached in and pressed a button. The screaming siren stopped, but the light continued to flash.

The smoke is coming from the back of the house,' Rory gasped the smoke making him short of breath. 'What have you at that end of the building?'

'It's the kitchen and oil store,' replied Colin who despite his age looked in better condition than his young friends. They ran outside onto the drive, leaving the door open.

Colin turned to go back in, 'Better have a quick look to see if we can deal with it.'

Grabbing his arm Rory pulled him back, 'Let me go and take a look first.'

'No,' Colin pulled free, 'I know the layout better.' Seeing the determined look in Rory's eyes he said, 'Come with me then. There's a fire extinguisher in the hall.'

Rory turned to Ellie, 'Please stay here.' He knew she was not the type of person to stand idly by, 'we need someone on the outside in case we are in serious trouble. It is not going to take long; a quick look to see what can be done and then out again. Okay?'

She nodded, 'okay, but don't be long.' Looking at them both she pleaded, 'please be careful, Charlie and Elaine died in a fire.' It seemed a terrible reminder. Both of them set off feeling nervous and determined not to take any risks. 'No heroics,' she shouted.

They entered the smoke filled hall. Rory followed Colin carrying the extinguisher. The smoke seemed to dissipate as they moved towards the kitchen door. Expecting flames at the other side Rory pushed in front, gently placing his hand on the door. It was cool. Without further thought he crashed it open, moving quickly in to the centre of the room. He couldn't see any flames. The smoke came from the grill in the cooker housing. Colin dashed past and opened the back door to clear the room's atmosphere. Still cautious, remembering the fire at his grandparent's house, Rory looked around for flames before taking the time to open the windows. They left via the open back door to stand outside. Coughing and spluttering they looked back into the smoke filled room. Black clouds could still be seen coming from the grill. Rory entered the kitchen again. Using the oven gloves to pick up the grill pan he threw it out through the window into the garden. It clattered to a halt near to Colin's feet.

'Its paper and old rags,' shouted Colin as Ellie came running around the outside of the house. She came to a halt, 'You didn't come out. I thought you would need some help.' Relieved to see they were both safe she looked down at the burnt rags. 'You need to buy a clothes dryer Colin, you can't put washing under the grill,' she joked.

Rory looked at Colin and seeing the smoke covered face and hair laughed with relief.

Colin huffed and puffed for words, the whole experience had been too much for him. 'Now it's clearing we need to go back in to phone the fire service,' he coughed, 'they will be sending an engine in response to the alarm.'

'Too late for that Colin,' said Ellie, showing them her mobile phone. 'I rang them when you went back inside. I think you will find the police, fire and ambulance are coming. I've never dialled 999 before.' They could hear the emergency sirens in the distance. Together they walked to the front of the building to meet the emergency services. Ellie leaned on Rory relieved to have him back safe and sound.

Chapter Five

Blue flashing lights lit up the building and gardens. The driveway looked like a Somme battlefield, churned up by the heavy equipment of emergency vehicles. Colin felt sure that there would be some order to the way they parked, but he couldn't see it. Two of the fire engines pulled onto the lawn leaving furrows in the borders, destroying carefully tended plants. Two pulled up in front of the Manor House. In each of the fire engine cabs, men sat staring out, fully dressed to fight a fire, appearing bored that they were not needed. The Air Vice-Marshall sat in the back of a police car looking out on the chaos of machines, answering questions about the sequence of events. He couldn't provide an explanation for the false alarm other than the obvious one of the smouldering rags. How it had come about could only be described as malicious. With no one injured the ambulance left the scene heading for another 'shout' its sirens sweeping the spectators to one side as it dashed through the gate. One by one the engines turned off their emergency lights allowing the early evening to reappear. The crews didn't move, patiently waiting for the order to leave, they began to relax, hard hats were taken off. The Watch Commander in his white helmet emerged from the house signalling the all clear, declaring it safe for the occupants to re-enter. The first of the fire engines began to draw away its powerful engine pulling it out of the ruts in the lawn. Eventually they all left. Peace and quiet returned.

A little shaken by the excitement Colin led his guests back to the kitchen. The walls and ceiling blackened with smoke smelt of burnt oily rags. The cooker would need replacing, but luckily there was little damage to the rest of the room. He began to think of the inconvenience of insurance assessors, not to mention the reporters who would hound him for a short statement. Putting a cigarette in his mouth he almost lit it before remembering he had stopped smoking. 'I believe a small glass of brandy is in order,' he suggested reaching into a cupboard for the bottle hidden away for when he acted as chef. 'Splendid tradition, cooks nips I've always taken a refresher when in charge of the kitchen. It's the only incentive to cook. Rory, you will find glasses over there.' He pointed to a unit on the other side of the room. 'We can't stay in here can we? Smells like a breakers yard, let's use the dining room table. Opening a door he waited for the others to follow him into the large connecting room.

DS Jones arrived to follow up the incident reports. He chatted about how it had started, the action taken, the timing of it all, what they were doing at the time. His informal style encouraged them to talk it through and reduced the tension in the room. Reflecting on how they coped they believed that the right steps were taken.

Shaken up by events Ellie needed time to settle her nerves, she held tightly to the glass of brandy, not drinking it, staring at the wall, needing reassurance. Rory came over and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight, it felt good. His caring nature gave her strength; she drew spirit from his confidence.

The Detective Sergeant agreed that the smoke had been a deliberate distraction to draw them away from the house. He didn't suspect anyone of trying to set fire to the property. The Air Vice-Marshal had not seen any one hanging around the Manor House nor had any work been undertaken recently.

'Detective Sergeant.' Ellie attracted the policeman's attention, 'Have you a first name and can we use it?'

'I have Ms Winters; generally people call me DS Jones. If that's not too formal I would prefer that.'

'Of course, that's OK. Please make use of our first names; it sounds better than you using our surnames all the time.'

'Thank you,' he said, 'I actually know Rory quite well. Colin, I think we should have a look around the house again. This time to see if anything has been taken; it's the only reason I can give for someone to go to all this trouble. You must have lots of valuables here.' Together they started to walk from room to room. Rory and Ellie made their way to the library. They entered the room; looking at the desk they could see it was clear of any papers, quickly they searched for the envelope from the bank.

'They've gone,' said Ellie.

'Stolen?' queried Rory.

Ellie shouted for the others to join them. They entered the room looking for what had changed.

'The documents from the bank have gone,' said Ellie.

Colin walked over to his chair behind the desk and sat down. 'Someone deliberately started the smoke alarms just to take them?'

'That's the way it looks,' answered Rory.

DS Jones walked around the desk to the French doors hoping to see some clue as to who could have come in. He tested the door and found it open, 'It's not locked.'

'No, replied Colin, 'it is during the night, but earlier we were all in here.'

Looking outside the policeman couldn't see any indication as to who the thief could be. No footprints in the soil on this case he thought to himself, thinking of the TV shows he'd watched. 'I'm going to need forensics to come out to study the area.'

Colin confirmed that everything appeared to be in order other than the missing papers and photographs. He expressed his alarm that someone found it so easy to steal from the house. Distressed that the items stolen could not be replaced he looked at the others apologetically. What could he say?

'At least we had the chance to read most of them', said Ellie. She briefly explained to DS Jones the importance of the missing documents.

Rory sat down heavily and started drumming his fingers on the desk. 'Apart from us, who would want them? Who would know about them?'

'I can't think of anyone', said Colin. 'Maybe the bank staff ____? '

'Someone wants the documents,' suggested DS Jones, 'or they don't want you to read them.' He shook his head; he couldn't see the purpose in stealing the papers. 'Apart from family history did they have any value?' he asked.

'None that I can think of,' Colin replied.

Rory shook his head, 'why keep them at the bank if they had no value?'

'Not the Red Cross records or the identity card?' asked Ellie. 'Thank goodness you said I could keep the photograph. It's here in my bag.' She picked up the casual bag from a chair; normally it would be around her waist. She searched inside and found the photo to show them.

'The diary made reference to Scotland and ____,' without finishing the sentence Rory stood up and dashed into the hall. 'When the alarm sounded I was reading the diary and put it down as we ran out. It's still here,' he gleefully held it in his hands having retrieved it from a chair by the door.

'Perhaps now's the time to read it more carefully,' suggested Colin.

Placing it on the library desk, Rory sat facing it with Ellie at one side of him and Colin at the other. DS Jones hovered behind them reading the neat handwriting over their shoulders with some difficulty. Turning the pages Rory came to a hand drawn map of Scotland with details of Glasgow. The notes indicated a flight path coming west from over the North Sea flying below Edinburgh towards the west coast. He pointed to the carefully plotted dotted line. 'The route takes them below Glasgow before going north towards Oban. It must have been a horrific flight; they flew near to lots of defences, air fields with fighters, flak near the Clyde plus the weather conditions at that time of year.'

Struggling to see the pages DS Jones felt that he couldn't make any further progress at the Manor House. It was interesting to see the diary, but it didn't help with investigating the theft of the other documents. Announcing he would be leaving he pointed out he would be back with the forensic team.

'This is a serious crime,' he stressed, 'no one's been hurt; however, the thief went to a lot of trouble to gain entry and escape without being seen.' Looking at Colin, 'make sure you lock up. They didn't manage to steal the diary, which means they could be back. I'm sorry, but you will all need to remain available for further questioning. Let me know if you find anything of value in the diary. I'm going to make some enquiries at the bank.'

Rory grunted in reply becoming increasingly engrossed in reading his father's diary.

'Look here,' he said to Ellie, and pointed to what appeared to be the final destination. 'Loch Awe seems to be where they expected to land.'

'Could they land on water?' asked Ellie.

'I wouldn't have thought so. We need a better map to find the landing site.'

Colin turned to a bureau and started pulling out his collection of ordinance survey maps. 'This is the one you need,' he said, selecting one for the West Coast of Scotland. 'It's not very detailed.'

They used it to track the route the aircraft had taken. Disappointingly the area around Loch Awe had insufficient detail for further discussion of the landing site.

'Do you have another map? Rory asked.

'Sorry no: I only have that one because each year I take a holiday for the Grouse Shooting in Argyll.'

Reading on they began to understand that the aircraft had crashed into the Loch and that Charlie had been lucky to escape. The notes described how he had buried the pilot beside a large rock approximately two metres high. He had thought it a fitting headstone. When he turned to look out at the lake he could see that the aircraft had sunk in line with his view of the castle on an island. Climbing to the road above him he had walked some distance before being picked up and taken to the local police station. From there he had been returned to duty via RAF Ayr used at the time by a Czech squadron for Spitfire training. Colin told them of Charlie's return; confirming that although some interest had been shown in the crash site and recovering the aircraft the search for it had been abandoned due to priorities.

Referring to the walking map and looking at Loch Awe reminded Rory of the safety deposit box and its travel map lining. Now understanding it had been placed there for reference he realised he had not seen it after leaving the bank. It would be in the box. Ellie volunteered to ring the bank and ask for it to be sent over to the Manor House. Whilst she was out of the room Colin made fresh drinks leaving Rory to continue reading.

When they reassembled Rory said, 'its fascinating reading Charlie's story Colin. Coupling it with your theory of Hess bringing a valued cargo to support him I would have thought you, being the military, would have investigated these reports further.'

'And so we should have,' responded Colin, 'however, Hess maintained his silence about his mission to England; he never gave any sensible explanation right up to his final days in prison. I believe the government preferred to keep this secret a secret.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well if we had formally searched for a second aircraft it would have had to be recorded and eventually would have become public knowledge. Taking no action at all resulted in no one ever having to explain that there may have been another aircraft involved.'

Rory nodded, 'Yes I see, very convenient for all concerned with no problems for anyone trying to cover up the involvement of the British Government. The death of Rudolf Hess in 1987 was the end of the matter.' They remained silent for a while each of them thinking about what had been said.

Rory started again, 'Surely someone would have been interested in researching the events described by Charlie.'

'As I've said before,' replied Colin, 'there was no enthusiasm at the time. Today no one would have an interest in the episode. It's an old story.' Colin hoped this final statement would end Rory's questioning. Privately he knew a lot more, but he would not share the information he had kept to himself for many years. Only one other person had the full facts; together they would one day be rewarded for keeping the lost aircraft secret.

Ellie had been listening and at the same time thinking things through. Rory turned to find her nodding in agreement to what had been said he asked, 'How did you go on with the bank?'

'We closed the account,' she replied as though the statement made everything clear. 'The manager, Mr Blake, was very apologetic, but the box has been cleaned out and is ready for use by another customer. He had a quick look inside for us and confirmed any map that might have been there has gone.'

'Gone where?'

'All non valuable contents left by previous customers are shredded and disposed of. He has asked the staff and whilst they can't recall the map they have confirmed that they followed the bank's procedures.'

'So it's lost to us!'

'It is, but we do know the area and we have another map.'

Rory appeared disconsolate, 'What we don't have are any marks or notes that Charlie had made on it.'

'We have the diary', Ellie looked on encouragingly, 'and the flight plan notes.'

Colin looked at them, thinking how strong willed they were. The last thing he wanted was for Rory and Ellie to pursue Charlie's story. He would much rather they come to terms with their bereavement.

'Does it matter,' he asked. 'I know you're interested in the history of Charlie and Elaine, but that's what it is,' he paused, looked them both in the eyes, 'its history. You don't need the original map you're not going to look for the lost aircraft are you?'

They looked at each other.

Without any hesitation Ellie retorted, 'Of course we are.'

Almost at the same time Rory said, 'Definitely not!'

Chapter Six

The overnight rain had dried; sunshine brightened the day for most early birds, but not for DS Jones. He had indigestion, his stomach felt sore from the acid that swilled around in it. Knowing he needed to eat a proper breakfast didn't help; a cup of strong coffee in the morning didn't provide the quick start his brain demanded. Exercise, he advised himself, that's what you need young man, but he realised it would never happen, he always found something more important to do, taking better care of himself came way down on his list of priorities. Sod it, he thought as another wave of bile caused him to grimace.

Carefully picking his way through the debris of Charlie and Elaine's burnt house DS Jones looked down to see that cleaning his boots the night before had been a waste of time. The cold black embers had mixed with water and formed a clinging mud that he could not avoid. The smell of scorched woodwork lingered over the site; crumbling brickwork remained standing where experts judged it to be safe, the rest had been knocked down. The policeman no longer owned a home, but he appreciated the effort that went into creating one. This was more than a burnt out shell it was the place where dreams had come to an end. Two loving people had died a horrible death. He couldn't imagine a worse way to go; hopefully the smoke had made them lose consciousness before the flames arrived at their bedroom door.

'Don't tell me that the rain will prevent a complete forensic examination,' he snorted at the Fire Investigator.

'When fire engines put out a fire with water measured in tons you don't need the rain.' Sid Baxter chuckled at his own joke and nodded a greeting, 'Not that it's unusual to see you on site Eddie' he paused for effect, 'but what do you want?'

Smiling at the use of his first name DS Jones replied, 'Well I wouldn't mind the pint of beer you owe me, but I'm going to settle for an unofficial report that tells me how this fire started.'

'Sorry can't tell you for certain. Please don't quote me before you see it in writing, but up to now I'm thinking we have a gas explosion started by some sort of timing device.' Standing in what had been the kitchen he looked around him and shrugging his shoulders said, 'I've not found anything yet.'

'What would one look like?'

'I haven't a clue; there's not much left in here, but this is where the fireball started. If we assume that whoever planned it intended to cause a gas leak and then put a light to it he or she must have expected to be down the garden path when the bloody thing exploded.'

'Electric clock, some sort of kitchen device, flaming arrow shot through the window by Robin Hood? What's your gut instinct?'

'Don't have one; it's all down to science these days,' laughed Sid. 'Let's say that I need to do more work before I can come up with a good guess. Give me some time.'

DS Jones looked pensively at his friend. 'I've just seen a pretty good timing device in action. The grill pan at the Manor House was stuffed with paper and oily rags and then the grill was turned on.'

'Yes that would work with an electric grill. Gives whoever started it the time to get clear before the materials ignite; then woof,' Sid suddenly swept up his hands to show how flames reach for the highest point, 'the gas explodes and we have a massive fire.'

'Would that work here?'

'Not a chance, I'm sure it's a gas grill here. Nice theories though, keep trying and you'll be able to help me at the next incident.'

'Like you said Sid,' smiled DS Jones, 'not a chance. Let me know what you find, you know my mobile number.' With a wave of his hand he turned and left through the fallen brickwork that had once been the front door.

The one thing above all else that the detective sergeant liked about his job was the flexibility he had in managing his work load. Driving into the town centre he parked near to his favourite take away. The smell of fish and chips wafted across the street drawing him in, enticing him and playing with his mind. He couldn't eat this early, could he? Twelve o'clock chimed on the town hall clock. Too early for a queue he walked straight up to the counter. Talking to Sandra who had been the fryer for several years always helped him to feel part of the community. The latest gossip about the Lord Mayor's philandering with a certain 'Lady' of the night amused him. One day he hoped to have a valuable piece of information from Sandra who he jokingly called his informant. Did he know that the fire out at Charlie's place had been started by immigrants? He knew it was complete rubbish, but he loved the banter and the speculation. Sandra had it on good authority that foreigners had been involved. He laughed to himself, but kept a straight face, a shop full of customers after closing time could come up with all sorts of conspiracy theories. He thanked her for narrowing it down to a few foreigners, which probably ruled out the population of Britain and ruled in the rest of the world. With immeasurable levels of self discipline he refused to eat anything. Leaving the chippie he felt buoyed up by the good humour and walked down to the bank. It was one of the few banks remaining open. Rumour had it that the post office would be closing soon and that would leave few options available for financial services.

He entered the bank through the old fashioned swing doors. He loved the feeling of tradition, service and reliability the doors gave him. Moving into the more modern interior; he felt deflated, yes he could see this was a successful establishment, modern furniture, high tech security screens, glass and stainless steel everywhere, about as impersonal as the establishment could be. He could almost smell the excess profit. Personally he now made use of the much better levels of service that existed on the internet or he used telephone banking where you could always depend on a friendly voice at the other end of the line. Faced by the bank tellers who looked fresh out of school he turned towards the reception desk and asked to see the manager.

Eddie Jones and Roy Blake had known each other for a long time. Their relationship stretched back over the policeman's acrimonious divorce and bankruptcy. It was a love hate relationship, the bank loved to take his money and Eddie hated to give it. He often compared waiting in the bank with waiting for the dentist. The longer you sat waiting for the dentist the calmer you became. In the bank the longer you sat waiting for the manager the more nervous you became. It wasn't their fault he had personal problems, but he blamed them anyway.

No humour here it was strictly police business. He explained his involvement with the suspected arson case. How it had brought him into contact with Rory Bradbury and how his enquiries included documents stolen from the Manor that had been secure in a safety deposit box until recently.

'Is there any possibility of the lost map being found in your rubbish?' he asked hopefully.

'We've already searched the waste from that morning, but it has been cleared away after shredding,' was the reply. 'The staff who had the job couldn't remember anything left in the box.'

'Can't remember anything being there at all?' Maybe the box had been emptied by Rory.

'DS Jones, we are very busy here, the staff simply can't remember. Given all the fuss that's rightly made about the security of customer data we follow strict guide lines. The box would have been emptied. The staff can be relied on.'

'There is nothing further for me to investigate here then?' he made a move to get out of the chair and then sat back. 'Why did Charlie have a security box? Have you any ideas?'

'None really, customers have all sorts of reasons including the locking up of valuables they don't want at home. They never discuss why, or for that matter what, it's their box, its private, that's the whole point of having one.'

'That maybe, but it's not everybody that has one. You knew Charlie well, can't you speculate?'

'I can only say that he wasn't a rich man, therefore, I wouldn't expect him to keep money or valuables in it. I understand from what you have said it held documents, perhaps they contained sensitive information or maybe something he wanted to make sure didn't fall into the wrong hands.'

'Yes I see what you mean,' said DS Jones. 'From the moment they were removed from the bank they seem to have been in danger of being stolen. I wonder if someone tried to steal them before. The burglars at Charlie's could have been searching for them.'

'That could be true, but I can't really help you any further. Can I?'

'Rory seems to be handling himself well given all the upset. Have you known him long?'

'We've looked after his business account for a few years. I've not met his companion before Ms Winters, Ellise is her first name.'

'Neither has he apparently. Still she must have satisfied all the identification requirements for the Solicitors and all.'

'Must have otherwise she wouldn't be tagging along with him. Looking at the wall clock as though he was due for another meeting Blake looked expectantly at DS Jones, his eyes asked; anything else we can do?

'Time to be off,' said Jones standing up and walking to the door. 'Thanks for your help. I can find my way out.' Leaving the building he gave a huge sigh of relief, he had never liked banks, despite his trusting nature.

He decided to walk through the park. It would be more pleasant than breathing in traffic fumes. A brisk pace would only take ten minutes to make it back to the car and he could think one or two things through on the way. The gateway had the legend peace in our time written in wrought iron letters above the entrance. A dying wish from the benefactor who had donated the land in his will. DS Jones wished he could experience it. He had no illusions about his work; it knew it to be a never ending task, when he finished, hopefully in retirement, someone else would need to pick up the batten. He made his way past the little used band stand. His spirits lifted as he listened to the merry chatter of children in the adventure playground.

Jones couldn't decide how to deal with a request from Rory and Ellie. They wanted to visit Scotland. He could understand their desire to pursue the war time exploits of Charlie and Elaine; however, it could be inconvenient for them to be away from the crime scene. He realised they would not be leaving Britain, but they would be a long distance away if he wanted to question them about any new developments. The decision would be his and the boss would hold him accountable if he made the wrong one. Yes or no? What should he do? He didn't have a good reason for holding them back, but remained reluctant to let them go. The best he could do would be to insist they maintain contact and maybe report to the local police station every other day. Could he do that? They were not on bail. They were the victims. With a sigh of resignation he realised he had no option, but to let them go. They had better stay in touch or he would bring them in.

Walking back to the car he used his mobile to ring the station. 'Put me through to Eric Bradford, it's DS Jones speaking.'

'Yes Sarg,' then silence.

After a short wait, during which he managed to avoid being knocked down as he crossed the road, Constable Bradford came on the line.

'What's going on then? Have you cracked the case and if so which one?'

'Very funny, I'm still working on the fire out at Charlie and Elaine Bradbury's property. Seems to be arson, but there's not a lot of progress as yet. His grandson Rory is dealing with the family affairs. He's got a young woman in tow, new member of the family. I thought it might be worth doing a background check on them both.'

'Can do, but not until tomorrow, the IT system has gone down and I'm due to finish in an hour.'

'You won't need a computer system,' came the angry reply, 'get on the phone to Roy Blake at the bank, find out who the solicitors are that are dealing with the will and what background checks have been carried out on Ellie Winters. That's enough for starters and should only take an hour. Leave a report on my desk. Okay?'

'Do you really need it for tonight? I'm due at the track for team practice.'

Knowing Constable Bradford's ability to dodge deadlines DS Jones quickly replied, 'Look whilst you're sat in that nice comfortable office swilling coffee and having a nice lunch I'm out here trudging the streets and not eating. Now get a move on and you can still make it to the Speedway in time to fall off that bike of yours.'

'Okay, okay, keep your hair on, I'm on to it. See you in the morning,' and with that Eric put the phone down, knowing his final shot would have irritated the slightly balding Detective Sergeant.

Jones thought about his request for information and realised that it was probably needless, however, as he always said, it pays to be thorough. Looking at the gridlocked traffic he didn't fancy any more driving, but he still needed to find out how forensics had progressed at the Manor. Another dead end probably. It seemed to be fairly amateur; however, the grill pan fire had been a good idea for a diversion. Unlocking the car he climbed in and sat staring at the steering wheel. He could do with a coffee. Would they offer him one at the Manor or should he stop at Starbucks just off the high street? Parking remained a problem in that area; however, he could place his police card in the windscreen. Lunch would be within the guidelines of Police making Enquiries.

His mobile rang. Looking at the caller ID he could see it was Eric Bradford's direct line.

'Yes', he barked, not wanting to hear any excuses.

'Hi', was the helpful sounding reply, 'I forgot when you were on before, but we had an interesting call from a Mr Charles Bradbury.'

'Not the dead one I hope? It would be very interesting.'

'His namesake, apparently people often confused them. Anyway I just thought you might want to pursue his complaint.'

'Which is?' asked DS Jones.

'Apparently a few weeks ago he reported a phone call warning him his life was in danger and no one's followed it up.'

'No one followed it up!' Jones responded, exasperated by the continuing failings of the system. 'Find out what it's about and let's hope no one's killed him in the mean time.' He recognised the connection between the complaint and Charlie's death could not be missed. A warning to the wrong man, the namesake dies tragically; his toes curled in his shoes thinking about the repercussions.
Chapter Seven

The Air Vice-Marshall enjoyed wearing soft soled shoes in the Manor House. It avoided the annoying click of his heels as he walked up and down the wooden floors. The echo in the empty rooms and corridors only emphasised how big the house seemed for one person. One day he intended to live in a more relaxing place, somewhere west, perhaps Ireland or even America. He stood in the hall using the black bakelite telephone stationed on the antique table opposite the grandfather clock. Preferring to stand to make awkward phone calls, he paced about like a tiger on a chain, held in check by the chord that ran from the base unit to the handset pushed tightly to his ear. With his frustration bubbling over he picked the bulky telephone base up, carrying it to allow himself more freedom, the cable from the wall jack reined him in.

His good friend Alistair Campbell answered. Known as AC he was eleven years younger than Colin Farnsworth. Scottish through and through, he continually argued for an independent Scotland, but always talked of living somewhere sunny. Following a few pleasantries Colin started on the purpose of the call. In his clipped matter of fact tone he gave a summary of recent events and the planning now needed for accommodation in Scotland. He knew the favour would be granted. Given the possibility of his two young friends, Rory and Ellie, visiting Loch Awe, would AC put them up and provide help if needed? He expected agreement because of their long association, working on various projects; military ones during the late nineteen forties and financial investments afterwards.

In the forces both of them had been in Military Intelligence although at different stages in their career, Alistair mid way through his when Colin came to retirement. They had worked together for a few years, interrogating prisoners, reviewing old strategies, planning for détente. They first met as part of a War Office team analysing the Rudolf Hess mystery. Unusually they did not become formally involved in the interviews to find out how the Deputy Fuehrer came to bail out near Glasgow. Theirs had been a paperwork exercise, giving them access to the facts without the hassle of dealing with the politics.

Meetings and discussions provided many scenarios to explain what Hess had hoped to achieve. None survived scrutiny and the last prisoner at Spandau never fully disclosed how his peace mission could have shortened the war. The suggestion that British Intelligence had somehow been involved in encouraging Hess to come to Britain had not been taken seriously. Colin Farnsworth and Alistair Campbell were relieved at the time, thankful they did not have to undergo the awkward questioning at the official enquiry. The link they had found between Hess and one of Colin's returning aircrew remained their secret. After all, a personal secret became a well guarded secret when protected by the Official Secrets Act.

On retirement AC returned to his native Scotland to become a land owner near Oban and he rented several properties in the area. Occasionally his fit and dapper figure could be seen visiting the properties to ensure the comfort of his guests. At seventy years of age he was still active with his wits about him. He often would be in the winning pub quiz team especially when accompanied by his son. Alan, aged thirty-one, made a good feisty pal, but still lacked the finesse required to manage the family business.

AC suggested a bungalow for Rory and Ellie. 'Perhaps down by the Loch side if we can arrange it. Some where we can keep an eye on them.'

'Okay,' said Farnsworth, 'I'll have them phone you when they've firmed up their plans. Thanks for helping out. I know it's an added chore, but they need taking care of.' He place extra emphasis on his last words.

'It's not a problem for us, by the sound of it they are only just planning to leave. Who knows? They could be delayed. Are the police happy for them to leave the Country?'

'I know it's a shock for you Alistair, but Scotland is still judged to be in the UK. When you finally gain independence, just think; you will all become foreigners,' joked Colin.

'Then you'll be coming abroad for your holidays. We will see you soon no doubt.' AC said thinking of their annual reunion. The phone call ended with pleasant goodbyes all round.

'What are we going to do about them coming on the scene?' asked Alan who had listened to his father's half of the conversation, 'We've enough to organise without acting as nurse-maids.'

'I'll think of something to take care of them,' replied his father.

'You had better. I've got problems with our friend up at the farm.'

The farm, another rented property, had been refurbished for the holiday trade. It boasted three separate flats that could be interconnected if need be. Within a five minute drive from Loch Awe it provided the ideal base for exploring the area. The converted barn provided a secure car parking facility. An outdoor swimming pool had been added to the rear of the building. The business should make a handsome profit from the annual returns.

Alan pushed his hurt feelings to the back of his mind, but they continued erupting in streams of anger. Plans he had made for the summer were on hold. He had become very involved in his father's latest project and although he could see it would make them all wealthy he would have appreciated being told well in advance. Ideally it should have taken months not weeks to organise the resources. Plus he objected to the vast amount of money paid out to settle the gambling debts of their elderly 'friend' in the luxury ground floor flat. His guardian who had the appetite of a horse had taken the next one down the corridor. That left Alan with the smaller one on the first floor; being the boss he didn't like being given the smallest room. He took comfort from the fact that he could occasionally sleep in a local hotel.

When first meeting the guardian, Jock Hamilton, many mistakenly judged him to be clumsy. With bulging muscles and a thick neck he looked a beast of a man with the strength of three. They were mistaken; his physique didn't come from weight training alone, he had the natural grace and movement of a stallion. Strength with beauty and style, however, he lacked the gentleness of good breeding. A mongrel that had become refined he stood six foot two inches tall; an obvious athlete. His attitude demonstrated the frustration of being cooped up in the farm house. He would love to take it out on the house guest, but had been told to treat him gently. Waiting and then waiting that's what the job seemed to entail. If he could have taken a run around the block he could have worked off his pent up energy. The demanding guest had all his meals prepared, a copious supply of alcohol and access to internet gambling. The life of Riley, except the guest had been confined to his en-suite room for the rest of his stay.

Alan Campbell didn't know who the biggest problem was; Jock Hamilton with his need for action or the Italian guest. Giovanni Garcia believed he was a partner in the project and expected to be amply rewarded for his contribution. The rest of the men knew that he was being used and little more than a passenger. They kept him in line by pampering to his vices, but one day in the future he would be in for a big shock. Alan and Jock were both looking forward to giving it to him. Meanwhile he had to be controlled. The episode of the warning letter and phone calls made to Charles Bradbury had created a situation of suspicion and mistrust.

'How's it going?' Alan asked looking at his hard man for reassurance.

'What do you expect,' replied Jock irritably. 'He's as happy as Larry the Lamb as long as we keep him tanked up, but it takes a lot of time and he's losing a fortune on the internet.'

'Keep at it,' was the encouraging response, 'we need him for the time being.'

'How long before we take him down to the Loch?'

'We need to sober him up, let him look at the maps and then he has got to deliver. Let's set the target for tomorrow or if AC has something on, the day after.'

'Will AC agree with that?'

'He will do. He knows we have to get a move on. Other people are becoming interested in the project.'

'What other people?'

'More unwelcome guests wanting to muscle in. It could become a little crowded for us. We might have to help them disappear.'

'You mean as in for forever?'

'Permanently, without a trace: think about how we can achieve that and survive to spend the money?'

'Easy, I'll be glad of the action.'

In his interconnecting suite converted from the stable block Giovanni listened at the door. They thought him to be a drunken fool, but over the years he had developed a gambling code. Never drink alcohol if you want to be a winner. This helped him delay the binge drinking whilst he wasn't betting or until he had lost again. Today he was sober, and feeling nervous. In the middle of a winning streak he hoped that at the end of his next two hour gambling session he would finally become a wealthy man.

The overheard threats added to his stress. For some time he had sensed danger in the relationship with AC. He always recognised his current role would be temporary; however, he expected to break away with a lot of money. It had been promised him! He couldn't see why someone would want to be rid of an old man who only wanted a quiet life. Given the money he intended to retire to far off shores. Perhaps he had misheard the threatening conversation. He would have a chat with AC about it. He acknowledged he'd made a mistake in trying to warn Charlie Bradbury, but it was with the best of intentions.

They had never had his agreement to become involved in criminal activities. He knew the project would involve taking something that didn't belong to them, but if it didn't belong to anyone, it couldn't be stealing. The situation changed when he had heard them talking about burglary he felt he had to do something, hence the phone calls. As a result he no longer had AC's confidence. Being locked away worried him, but they agreed it wouldn't be for long.

He had been grateful for being saved from heavy gambling debts. Who would want to go to prison in Italy? The alternative option of a consultancy job in Scotland seemed attractive. Whilst he enjoyed Alistair Campbell's company he did not get along with his son Alan. Yes, the son was a gambler, but Giovanni could see he was also a cheat. Jock was a hard man who did as he was told, but that didn't mean he enjoyed doing it, he couldn't be trusted. The three of them together made the mafia look normal.

The key unlocking the door startled Giovanni from his thoughts. Jock came in with a trolley laid out with the days buffet lunch. He sang 'Here we are again, happy as can be.' Forgetting the rest of the lyrics he whistled the end of the tune.

Giovanni clapped and shouted, 'encore, encore.'

'Feeling good today are we?' asked Jock.

Giving the impression of a serious hangover Giovanni laughed saying he would be with a restocked bar. Jock started taking empty bottles and filling the top of the side table with full ones.

'Any chance of a walk, I could do with the fresh air and exercise,' asked Giovanni. On his arrival at the farm there had been more trust. He walked around outside without being watched, he'd been allowed to use the swimming pool. He sadly missed his time outdoors.

'Sorry, but I can't authorise that, we will have to ask AC: yes, he's the man for that question.' Finishing his task Jock proposed a toast with an empty glass, 'Here's to a winning day.'

'Salute' the Italian toasted, although neither of them had a drink to make it genuine. Taking a chance that the good humour would carry on he asked 'Can you retrieve my small case from the entrance hall? It has some headache tablets in it.'

'Of course sir, anything I can do to make your stay with us more comfortable' replied Jock. Thinking the joke had gone on long enough he headed back to the door and made sure he locked it before going for the case.

'The little prat,' he whispered under his breath, 'yes sir, yes sir, three bags full sir. He must think he's in a five star hotel.'

Giovanni tested the door; however, he knew it would be locked. No matter, it wasn't part of his escape plan. He couldn't leave until his final bet came up with a survival fund.

Jock returned quickly. He opened the door and slid the case in on the floor. Pulling the door closed he locked it and returned to his weight lifting programme.

Giovanni picked up the case thinking how light it felt, he place it on the bed to open it. He found it empty apart from a packet of Alka Seltzers.

'Bastard,' he shouted at the locked door.

His position had become increasingly serious. Jock now openly showed his insolence. A prisoner in every respect, he knew his life depended upon escape. The suitcase gave him another problem. His passport and papers neatly filed away in the upper lining pocket had been taken by his so called friends.

He banged on the door, shouting for Jock. He screamed out for Jock to come and open it.

Nearby he could here heavy breathing and the creak of an exercise machine. Giovanni kicked the door repeatedly until his foot hurt. Rattling the door handle he tried to force it open. No one came, no one cared. Exhausted he fell onto the floor. Work smarter not harder he thought, wait until the time is right, yes that's what he would do, strike out when he could win.

Jock ignored the commotion. Grunting away at his exercise machine he expended extra effort as he thought about the damage he would do to the irritating, drunken gambler.

Chapter Eight

He registered the red light too late and drove straight through it. 'No harm done,' the thought had barely entered his mind when the police siren shocked him into pulling over to the kerb. Damn, he rarely made such a mistake, he felt nervous about the day, distracted by the planned journey. Now he would be late. Rory watched through the rear view mirror as the policeman walked around to his driving side.

He lowered the window, 'Sorry officer, I misjudged it slightly.'

'Not used to these lights sir? You must be a stranger around here?'

'Well no, I do live here it____.'

'Perhaps you could take a seat in the back of our car sir. It's not going too take long, but we have to complete some paperwork. When did you last have a drink?'

The breathalyser test coupled with the process of receiving a caution made Rory half an hour late arriving at the Judges hotel.

Ellie, who used personal technology like others read newspapers, sat at a table in reception her laptop open and the mobile phone to her ear. Laughing with someone on the line she waved to Rory as he skidded to a halt on the gravel drive. The dismal weather, his brush with the law and his nervousness at having to take Ellie to Scotland all added up to a bad start.

She came down the hotel steps like the early morning sun, smiling a greeting, bristling with pleasure, pleased to see him.

'Sorry I'm late,' she said, had one or two things to sort out with work and family. 'Help me with the bags will you?'

Her good humour was infectious, 'Of course,' he looked into the hotel entrance at a mound of suitcases, 'are these____?'

She started to laugh making him smile; they shared the joke without needing a punch line. Ellie pointed to a single rucksack by the side of a small suitcase. 'I always travel light,' she said. Lifting them into the car he realised it would be good to have a short break with someone as bubbly as Ellie. His nerves settled down. They began to chat about everyday things, music, the weather, holidays, time passed quickly.

The planned route to Scotland involved an overnight stop at Moffat a small spa town just off the M74. Ellie booked a hotel recommended on the Internet. Having discussed their plans with Colin Farnsworth he came up trumps with accommodation at Loch Awe, providing a local contact, Alistair Campbell.

The argument whether to follow up Charlie's story of the lost aircraft had taken time to resolve. Ellie was in favour. She wanted to find the gravestone and to locate the sunken plane. Having extended her holiday she was fully committed to the search, determined to visit the location described in the diary.

Rory didn't support the search. Being pragmatic he thought of the problems that would face them. Finding the grave of the German pilot on the shore line would be difficult. Expecting to identify the exact location of a sunken aircraft would be virtually impossible without good luck or some kind of triangular positioning. The diary provided the basic location; however, he still believed that to be accurate they would need the missing map from the bank.

Thinking back he realised Colin had been set against the idea to begin with. He proposed to use his contact in Oban as it became obvious that the trip could not be stopped. Rory relented to Ellie's wishes, not because he could see the sense in following Charlie's story, but because he didn't want her to go alone. Having planned to take a break following the funeral Scotland suited his needs, although he couldn't forget recent events he hoped the change of scenery would help him grieve. Maybe he would get to know his new found cousin Ellie a little better.

The rain turned to a drizzle as Rory parked his Range Rover in the square at Moffat. The car looked a mess after hard driving on the motorway. At some point he needed to stop renting a home and buy one, but his enthusiasm for cars tended to run away with any spare cash he accumulated. Ellie claimed she could drive, but didn't. Rory cringed as she slammed the back door without any thought for his pride and joy.

'Come on,' she laughed, carrying the small rucksack and laptop case 'we're going to get drenched,' she made a sprint for the hotel entrance.

Following on with his small rucksack Rory picked up the hat she dropped. 'Let's check in, change and we'll meet for Supper,' he suggested.

It took a few minutes to complete the process of signing the register and collecting the keys. They could hear a gentle hum from the clientele talking and eating at the bar tables. The rich smell of food, with the clinking of glasses made the hotel welcoming, cosy. It seemed full for six o'clock in the evening; however, seeing young children reminded Rory of its traveller's inn status. The local drinkers had been joined by families making their way to holiday in Scotland. Pushing through the door separating accommodation from the bar Ellie made for her room on the second floor, Rory waited for the lift to go up to the third and highest floor.

'See you at eight in the bar.'

'Okay, I'll be there.'

Having taken a shower and changed quickly, Ellie booted up her laptop to check for new messages. Family and friends knew that they could always contact her via email. A gentle knock on the door interrupted her work. Opening it she sighed with delight, a tray of coffee stood on the floor with a hotel complements slip. Yes; this really is a nice hotel, she thought.

The room had a familiarity, somehow she felt at home, for the first time in a few weeks she relaxed. Sipping her coffee she returned to the computer. With no mail to attend to she searched the net for aircraft lost during World War Two. A Spitfire from RAF Ayr had crashed and sunk in Loch Doon near Glasgow. Describing the project to find and recover it the web site made it clear the divers had taken years to lift the plane using exceptional expertise. It reinforced Rory's argument that little worthwhile could be achieved with the aircraft in Loch Awe, but her determination didn't waver. The body must be found. It had to be repatriated. The family must close the affair in the most honourable way.

The room phone's loud ring surprised her. Lifting it Ellie could hear the clattering of glasses. Rory's voice came over clearly, 'I know that I'm early, but having changed I've come down to the bar for a drink. When you're ready, there's no rush, but I'm down here.'

'Thanks for telling me I'll be down in twenty minutes. The complementary coffee has been enough drink for me.'

'Yes nice idea, but I didn't bother with it; I wanted a cold drink, preferably alcoholic.'

'Twenty minutes then,' she replied and rang off. He was a nice guy and could be thoughtful. A pity they could not initially agree about coming to Loch Awe and the recovery of the pilot. Still, he had supported her in the end and she loved his company.

In the bar couples eating a late supper replaced the early-bird crowd. Rory found himself to be one of the few lone men. He ordered a drink and made his way to have a chat with another solitary traveller, but as he approached the man stood up and left the table. Sitting down by himself he contemplated what he had read in Charlie's diary. He'd shared most of the information with Ellie and Colin, however, the resulting debate had added little to the task of finding the crash site.

He knew that Charlie had found himself standing by the two metre high stone on the Northern shore of Loch Awe looking out towards a castle. If a straight line could be drawn across these two points then somewhere on it would be the sunken aircraft. Difficult to be accurate, he thought, even if they could find it, what would be the point of recovering the paintings? How could they do it? Wouldn't the canvases have rotted after all this time? It shouldn't take long to confirm that nothing constructive could be achieved.

Thinking he would be able to end the story once and for all and let Charlie and Elaine rest in peace he gradually became more enthusiastic. The break from routine and the past weeks tragedy would do him good. He also enjoyed Ellie's company although she did like to argue her point. Thinking about recent events made him decide to ring DS Jones for an update. Seven thirty at night wouldn't be too late would it? He had a contact number for a mobile. He could always leave a message if no one answered. He made the call.

'Jones,' was the blunt response to the insistent ring.

'DS Jones,' Rory said, 'sorry to call so late, but we've been travelling all day.'

'Well good for you Mr Bradbury. I've just arrived home having started work at seven o'clock this morning. What can I do for you that can't wait until tomorrow?'

The comment made Rory unsure about the call; however, he had no option, but to carry on.

'Have you any news about the house fire?

'To put it in a nutshell, not a lot can be reported. I should have a bit more tomorrow. Look I'm sorry that I was a little short with you. The investigation is progressing and to be honest I'm not sure what should be reported at the moment.'

Sensing there was more to hear Rory prompted Jones to carry on, by remaining silent.

'Are you still there?'

'Could you give me anything? What about the Fire Officers report?'

'Not finished as yet,' replied the Detective Sergeant, 'there seems to be a suggestion that it could be arson. We had discussed that already,' he reaffirmed.

'Not really, I know we thought the burglar may have started a fire accidentally. Is it more than that?'

'We think it may have been someone's deliberate intention to burn the property to the ground,' suggested Jones. Realising he had said too much already without any firm evidence he decided to end the call. 'Let's have this conversation tomorrow or when you return. You will remember to give me your accommodation address?'

'Yes, when we arrive I'll confirm it. We're stopping overnight at Moffat. '

'I take it you are accompanied by Ellie Winters?'

'Yes.'

'If I want a word with either of you I can call this number?'

'Sure, that's fine.'

'Look, I'll call you when there is more to report. Rest assured I'm working on the case.' As a final aside Jones said, 'Allow me to point out that it would be better if you called from somewhere more private next time. It sounds as though you're in a pub.'

Grudgingly Rory agreed to the proposal and rang off.

Ellie came into the room as he gathered his thoughts. He looked up and waved her over. Her hair restored to style, wearing little make up, dressed casually in jeans and a rugby sweat shirt she attracted attention. A number of heads turned to see her from a better angle. She walked confidently to the bar and ordered a drink whilst looking over at Rory to see if he wanted another one. He nodded and held his glass up so the land lord could deduce 'same again'.

'Hi,' Rory welcomed Ellie to the table, standing and pulling a chair out.

'You don't look so happy,' she noted.

'Just heard from DS Jones, he thinks that the fire at Charlie's place could have been deliberate.'

'You mean not a break-in, but deliberate arson,' Ellie said.

'What I can't figure out is why anyone would want to do it.'

'Do you think it was to harm Charlie and Elaine?

'That would be murder; in any case, I'm not sure that they would have been on the premises that night if their show had not been cancelled.'

'If it was just to burn the house down, could it have been vandals or an act of revenge.'

Rory thought about the suggestion, 'I doubt it. I haven't got an answer,' he said bluntly. Thinking aloud he continued, 'could it be linked to the fire at the Manor, when our papers were stolen?'

'I think the two fires are separate. The first is on a completely different scale to a grill pan full of burning paper.' replied Ellie.

They sipped their drinks thinking about the implications.

'Whoever is doing this somehow knows about our movements,' Rory announced emphatically. 'How else could they have known the papers were at the Manor?'

'You mean someone following us?'

'Yes, sounds a bit farfetched I know, but that's what it looks like. Either that or someone's keeping them informed. Maybe it's someone at the bank.'

'I know this will sound disloyal,' Ellie paused, thinking about whether she should carry on, 'do you think the Air Vice-Marshall had anything to do with it? He wasn't all that keen on our trip to Scotland.'

'No, I've known him for years. Let's face it we are scraping the barrel for ideas. We need more information. One thing is for sure we need to follow up the story of the crashed aircraft, because when and where we find it we will probably come across Charlie and Elaine's killers.'

'Shouldn't we leave it to the police?'

'We are already on the way to Scotland so let's carry on. In any case the police will think we are making two and two equal five. No, I didn't want to come on this trip, but now I feel we have to get to the bottom of this. As requested, we will keep DS Jones informed as and when we are sure about what's happening.'

They both made a choice from the menu and Rory made his way to the bar to order the meal. Ellie's mobile peeped to indicate a new text message. Having read it she punched in a short reply.

'Anyone I know?' asked Rory on his return.

'Just the family keeping in touch with me, wondering where I am and who with'

Rory had a picture of Ellie's family in his mind. She had described mum and dad in their fifties, each of them had brothers and sisters who in turn were married with children. Ellie in her late twenties had been married, but like so many others had separated.

'I will have to meet them one day,' he said. 'Hopefully they are happy with you and me travelling together. They do understand that we are related?'

'Of course, but in any case they are not over protective. I've grown up now,' she answered with a laugh.

Both of them ate in relative silence. Deep in thought about what they faced.

Ellie suddenly said, 'Oh, I forgot to tell you. I found a web site that recounted a story about a sunken Spitfire in one of the Lochs. It took years to recover. It looks like we can forget about doing anything with our lost aircraft.'

Rory noticed that Ellie now regarded the crashed plane as a shared problem, 'Maybe, but my interest is to find out who tried to steal the diary and why.'

'And mine is to find the pilot.'

The silence returned until they finished the meal.

Having consumed a bottle of wine between them Ellie seemed a bit wobbly when they decided to go to bed. Rory showed his concern, but she waved his help away. They agreed to make an early start with breakfast at seven thirty.

Jock Hamilton didn't stay the night. His room couldn't be cancelled; however, it had served its purpose. His orders had been followed through. The happy-couple would be delayed at least a day maybe two. He laughed as he drove onto the motorway for the journey to Loch Awe.

Chapter Nine

Janice McPherson had changed beds and prepared rooms in the hotel for seven years; she enjoyed her work, especially the early morning shift. Cleaning rooms after short stays didn't take long normally. This morning, however, had turned into a farce. The hotel owner, being the manager, panicked over a possible case of food poisoning. The doctor had been called to examine a guest with diarrhoea and vomiting. Luckily the bathroom had been the only room affected. The guest remained ill lying on the bed whilst Janice scrubbed the bathroom clean. She couldn't guess when the rest of the hotel would be ready for new occupants. Surely they realised the smooth running of the day's check-ins depended on the cleaning being finished on time.

Following a cursory discussion of the symptoms the doctor provided a prescription drug similar to Imodium. 'Don't worry it's not food poisoning, it will be at its worst for the rest of the day, but two days off the road should see recovery' he commented.

Ellie didn't believe him, she knew she was about to die, 'I can't drink anything without being sick,' she stressed, 'I feel washed out. No energy.'

'Yes that's how it starts; however, the sickness will wear off very quickly. I suspect its some type of bug you've picked up. Take the tablets, drink plenty of water and get some rest, that's my advice.'

He left the room to speak to the manager, 'Ms Winters will recover tomorrow or the following day. She can travel if need be, but I wouldn't recommend it. Keep her as isolated as possible. I expect that depends upon her cooperation. Can't be cheap to stay here,' he said looking around at the furnishings in the hallway. With his final diagnosis he disappeared out of the door to attend his next case.

The manager calmed down, crisis over. Or had it just started, how could he keep a guest in quarantine? The hotel had been fully booked for weeks, he needed the room. Perhaps she could be moved into the staff emergency room, saved for when one of his team stayed over. Feeling harassed, he started to think about the extra staff required to service the rooms by twelve noon, the earliest check in time.

Rory had his best nights sleep for weeks. He waited outside the dining room for Ellie expecting her at seven thirty as agreed. She didn't arrive on time and he was becoming concerned. By eight o'clock he rang her room.

Her voice sounded weak, it gave the impression that any movement caused the earth to spin. 'I'm ill. Couldn't make it down earlier, but will be with you shortly. Had the Doctor during the night, some sort of bug'

Another fifteen minutes passed by during which time he begged a cup of coffee from a passing member of staff and sat in reception reading the hotels advertising blurb. When she appeared he could see there was going to be a hold up. Ellie looked as white as a sheet. She didn't want to talk a lot in case it upset her stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, she described her condition and how sick she had been during the night. With the morning had come cramps and frequent visits to the bathroom. There had been no alternative to calling the doctor. Her telephone call to Rory's room at six thirty had gone unanswered.

'Sorry,' he said, I slept well and then ran up the road and back. I'm trying to start exercising again; it's been difficult during the last few weeks.

Standing outside the hotel in the fresh air with the door to reception nearby them they discussed the options. Being ill with a stomach bug in the hotel, having to pay for extra nights, more or less being confined to one room didn't seem a sensible approach. To delay the journey for a day or two could be a possibility, however, both of them wanted to go on. The local chemist provided the medicine; it seemed to be making a difference, although they both suspected that recovery would take longer than a couple of hours. The best they could hope for would be a late morning start with a fast drive to the rented cottage. Rory left Ellie sitting in reception whilst he packed the bags. He ate a quick breakfast feeling selfish, but thinking there was little point in them both feeling faint. The reception had emptied of other travellers by the time he settled the bill. He looked round for Ellie.

She reappeared, being helped out of the Ladies toilet by one of the hotel staff. 'Let's sit you down here again' said the angel of mercy.

Ellie sat gingerly and looked appealingly at Rory. Her eyes said 'help me', but he suspected she needed rescuing from the exaggerated care of the staff as much as the stomach bug.

'If you feel up to it we'll load you into the back of the car and get going,' he said hopefully.

'The Doctor says she has to drink plenty of water,' said Janice, 'and don't you forget to give her the medicine every two hours.'

'Help me on to the back seat, I should be Okay,' said Ellie trying to convince herself as much as the others.

'Don't worry we'll make lots of stops,' he assured the hotel manager who came out on to the steps to see them off.

Shutting the doors they drove off with Ellie lying down on the back seat.

The hotel became quiet again, everything returning to its normal routine. Janice didn't flap, the extra cleaning staff had arrived, and she would probably receive two hours overtime pay. She thought about her impending holidays and started to hum her favourite song from Oliver.'

Driving quickly, but smoothly Rory made good time to Glasgow. He stopped just before entering the city and planned to rest again at the other side of Clydebank. Thankfully Ellie slept most of the time making up for the lost hours during the night.

His mobile rang, he allowed it to ring on and take a message. He never answered when he had the wheel, he would leave the call until he could pull in. Stopping at the top of a hill with astonishing views he took a deep breath of clean Scottish air. Relax he said to himself standing by the road side enjoying being outdoors in the rugged countryside. Ellie lifted her head, opened her eyes, looked around and went straight back to sleep.

The caller display on his Nokia gave the number of DS Jones. The message said, 'This is DS Jones, when you have a minute and you're somewhere private, give me a call back. Please.' The please seemed to have been added as an afterthought.

'Short and sweet that's our Sergeant,' Rory mumbled to himself remembering their last conversation.

Well he couldn't be more private than this, could he? Miles from anywhere, and no one else in sight! In the right mood; in better circumstances he would have returned the call, however, thinking of Ellie he decided against it. Jones could wait for him to call back. He climbed back behind the wheel and drove off.

After a few miles Rory felt slightly annoyed to see Ellie text a message on her mobile. She appeared to carry everything that she would ever need in a bag fastened around the waist.

Perhaps he should have talked to DS Jones; nothing seemed to stop Ellie communicating with her family.

'Hey, how's the invalid?' he asked.

'Perking up a bit,' was the reply. Any chance of stopping soon for a drink and comfort break?'

'Of course, take a look on the map beside you and choose a spot.'

He drove on and after a while Ellie looked up.

'There are not many stops, but in about eight kilometres there is a place called Tarbet that looks to be a village. It has a church marked on the map. Maybe there are other facilities. Look out for the church.'

They had Loch Lomond on the right of them. Passing through Tarbet they turned away from the water side road and after about two kilometres Rory saw a sign for Church Road. Taking a left he headed towards Arrochar.

The small church easily found at the end of the lane shared a small square with other buildings, some decked out with flowers. He pulled into the car park and could see a café with tables in a small grassed area.

'This should be okay,' Rory announced looking over his shoulder to see Ellie sitting up. She powered down the window letting in fresh air and the afternoon sunshine. Stepping down from the Range Rover she thought how much better she felt. Continuing with the tablets with lots more water would probably see her back to normal in twenty four hours.

'I'm glad we decided to make a start and not wait until later,' she said, looking at Rory who by his appearance was now beginning to feel the effects of driving for a second day.

'Let's have a drink in the café. If we have a stroll around the church yard afterwards it will probably help to clear my head.'

Rory agreed, and they made their way to an outside table. Ellie visited the toilets to freshen up whilst the drinks were ordered and delivered. They both sat basking in the sun. Neither of them spoke, the other tables were empty, they just relaxed, Rory sipping his coffee Ellie staring at the soda water she had ordered wondering if she dare drink it.

'I've got a confession to make,' said Rory.

Looking up Ellie said, 'To me?'

'I think you are the only one affected,' he replied.

'OK, let's hear it,' she said encouragingly.

'You've had the chance to read most of the diary,' he opened his body warmer taking it out from the baggy inside pocket.

Ellie nodded. 'Yes,' she responded, surprised to see him carrying the papers around with him and not sure she was ready for what he had to say.

'Whilst you were looking at the pilots' identification papers I found a personal note in the diary.'

'You mean personal as in addressed to you.'

'Yes, it was just a folded piece of writing paper with my name on it. It was dated two years ago. I didn't know what would be written on it and pushed it in my pocket for later.'

Ellie appeared taken aback although she had not forgotten seeing him hide something at the bank. 'What did it say?'

'It's fairly short. You can read it if you want.'

'If it's personal I'm not sure that I want to. Did it add information that would help us now?'

'Look, I feel a bit foolish over this. It's not that personal. Take a look.' Without any further thought Rory took the note out of another pocket and passed it over.

The neat precise hand writing impressed Ellie, it could have been written by a woman, there were two signatures at the bottom of the page, perhaps Elaine had written it and both of them signed to demonstrate their joint approval.

'Did Elaine write it?'

'Looks like her handwriting,' said Rory.

Dear Rory,

If you are reading this our plan to tell you about a very important period in our life has not come about. Forgive us we would have explained one day.

Elaine and I have devoted a lot of time to trying to put right a few wrongs that happened to us before you were born. After several years searching for a lost daughter we gave up knowing we could do no more. When your parents passed away we had a new 'son' to love and bring up. Rory you have meant the world to us. We are very proud to have shared the beginnings of your life with what remains of ours.

The diary tells of some events that happened in 1941. I have enclosed the identification papers of a German pilot. I had the opportunity to help his family and failed. Every Remembrance Sunday reminds me of him as an 'unknown soldier'. We could never find a way of repatriating this man. We tried, but the MOD had some reason for not letting the secret out. I hope that one day you will be able to pass the papers on to his embassy.

That I hope is the last of our unfinished business from WW2. Look after yourself Rory and thanks for everything. It was great whilst it lasted.

Love from Charlie and Elaine

Stunned Ellie looked across the table at Rory who looked embarrassed, 'You realise this changes so much, don't you? Why did you keep it to yourself for so long?'

'I think because it reinforced your argument to come here.'

'It's so,' and she paused to find the right word, 'beautiful to hear how much they thought of you.'

He nodded, 'You can see that we will have to carry on with what we are doing, to find a way of fulfilling Charlie's wishes. I realise this is what you have wanted all along, I thought now is the time to let you know. To be honest I expected you to be angry.'

He knew that in fulfilling Charlie's wishes he would also satisfy Ellie's need to find the pilot, however, Rory had moved on, he now wanted to find who had been involved in the arson attack in which his adopted parents had died. He believed that somewhere close to Loch Awe they would find the killers. Why else would they have gone to so much trouble to delay them?

Ellie looked crestfallen. She didn't know how to respond, where to start explaining her feelings. Angry that he had allowed the journey to progress this far without telling her about the note, she couldn't find the right words. If only she had known how much he could be depended upon things could have been different. Standing she walked back to the car. Rory followed not sure what to expect. He opened the rear door and always the gentleman he helped her to sit on the seat. Ellie obviously felt ill, finding a bottle of water he placed it by her side. He walked away thinking he would give them both time to figure out what to do next. Ellie rested her head back to think things through.

Chapter Ten

The church had a picturesque Lytch Gate with a large wooden cross at its apex, carved flowers on the vertical posts and a tiled roof. Rory relaxed, becoming lost in his own thoughts as he passed through the open gate to make his way up the sloping stone pathway to the solid medieval door.

There had been no harsh words from Ellie just lots of support.

He could see that the old church had been built in an elevated position to enable it to be protected in its early history.

Perhaps he needed to be a little less defensive.

Surprisingly he found the entrance open to reveal an empty knave.

Open up a little, trust people he thought to himself.

He peered inside to find the sun shining through stained glass windows lighting up the altar in a kaleidoscope of colours. The church had the quiet reserve of a revered building. He decided to walk around the outside to take a look at the Loch from the rear.

Take the time to look for what matters most.

He followed the gravel path through the graveyard thinking of the dedicated work needed to maintain it to such a high standard.

Be prepared to give as much as you take, he advised himself.

To the rear of the building a court yard provided an entrance to a small private chapel. He passed it by, his attention taken by the picturesque view across the Loch.

I have to help Ellie find her pilot.

A phone rang. It startled Ellie who had dosed off. In the front of the car by the driver's seat Rory's mobile continued to ring. Leaning over to retrieve it made her feel ill again, she punched the green answer key, holding it up to listen.

'Mr Bradbury, this is DS Jones, can you interrupt your busy itinerary to speak to me?' came the irritated voice of the police sergeant.'

'I'm sorry DS Jones, but Rory's not here at the minute. This is Ellie Winters can I help or do you want to leave a message?'

'Hello Ms Winters, I did want to ask Rory a question or two perhaps you could ask him to call me as soon as possible.'

'Of course I will,' looking around the car Ellie could see that she was by herself, 'I'm not sure where he is.' She suddenly had a sense of foreboding.

'Whilst you're on Ms Winters perhaps we could have a quick word about your work.' DS Jones carried on thinking he had Ellie's attention, 'we understand you work for a bank in Geneva, is that correct?'

'Yes that's correct,' Ellie was thinking about the confession that Rory had made. She felt relieved that he would now be fully behind repatriating the pilot.

'Could you confirm the name of the bank for us? Would you give me the name of it now? We just need to formally identify you for our records. It seems a quick call to your employer would be the best way of doing that.'

Ellie dropped the phone. Feeling ill she leaned forward to be sick. Recovering she climbed out of the car and looked towards the church.

'Ms Winters? Are you still there? DS Jones could here shuffling noises at the other end of the line.

Rory rounded the corner at the rear of the church. To be astounded by the full glory of the loch. The surrounding countryside, the shore line, sunlight glinting of the water made him stare around him absorbing the view.

'Fantastic isn't it,' commented a voice he did not recognise.

He turned to see who had spoken. There was something familiar about the man by his side. They were of a similar age and physique. The stranger smiled and looked out to the Loch sharing the moment with Rory. Relaxing Rory said, 'It is isn't it? It's unique. It's one of those special places where you feel at one with nature.' He took a deep breath enjoying the freshness of the air.

The man pointed in front of Rory towards a village on the far bank. 'Over there. That's a great place to holiday.' He had moved closer to Rory to show him the landmark.

Stepping back to keep his distance Rory looked in the direction indicated.

The new companion carried on, 'I've made lots of...... The sentence remained unfinished as the arm being used to point suddenly changed direction. With a sudden jerk the stranger elbowed Rory in the chest.

'Hey!' Rory shouted in surprise.

The man pivoted and pushed hard with both hands. Already on his back foot Rory took another pace backwards. His heel caught on the kerb of the path. He lost balance. Falling over he failed to grab the offending arm. With a bone shuddering thud he fell on to the gravel path.

From a distance it appeared that one friend had bent over to help another who had fallen. Close up the stranger leaned over and delivered a short hard punch to the stomach, winding Rory. He ripped at the body warmer zip. Opening it he snatched the diary from the inside pocket.

Struggling to breathe whilst recovering from the shock, Rory wrapped his arm around one of the assailant ankles, stopping him from moving away. The man tried to shake him off then turned and kicked him at the top of the leg. Crying out in pain Rory clung on pulling his opponent down beside him. The diary dropped to the ground. They rolled and Rory found himself on top. He tried a head butt. With a twist of bodies the situation changed. With his back on the gravel path he was again at a disadvantage, looking into the wild eyes of his attacker. The man brought his knee up with a vicious blow to the groin. It missed its target. Rory swung his fist delivering a punch to the jaw. He sensed he had injured his opponent. Pushing upwards he tried to take the initiative.

Ellie heard the cry of pain. Running down the path she turned the corner of the church. In front of her she could see the attacker grappling with Rory on the ground. Releasing the bag from around her waist she literally swung into the fight.

'Rory.....Help, help,' she screamed to gain attention. Her first attempt to intervene failed. Panicking she shouted 'Stop. Stop it.' The attacker turned to look at the new threat to his escape. Rory pushed upwards, lifting his head and shoulders of the path. He wrapped an arm round his opponent's neck, pulling him down, twisting him to face the ground. Swinging the bag back Ellie aimed a blow at the writhing bodies. It connected with a solid thud. Eyes glazing with loss of muscular control Rory fell to the ground. He stayed down, knocked out.

The attacker stared at Ellie, he laughed, grateful for the help. Stooping down he quickly took the diary from under Rory's inert body. Ellie stood still, shocked with the event, then she was forcefully pushed onto her backside. Looking quickly around to make sure the fight had not been seen the man ran off down the path towards the car park. Ellie didn't give chase, she moved over to Rory's side to see what could be done for him.

Grimacing with pain Rory moaned as he came round. He tried to sit up. Ellie gently pushed him back to rest his head on the offending bag she now used as a pillow. Looking up he said, 'how long have I been out?'

'About a minute,' she replied sheepishly. 'I'm sorry. I hit you with my bag,' she talked quickly not giving him the time to interrupt. 'I missed and hit you. It's not heavy. It could have been my mobile that did the damage.'

'Has he gone? He must have been hidden in the chapel when I first came down, started to talk about the view and then just pounced on me!'

'He ran to the car park. Did you recognise him? Do you know who he is?' she asked anxiously.

'Slow down a bit. Can't answer everything at once,' Rory needed more time to recover.

He tried to sit up. Immediately feeling queasy he fought the sickness off, regretting any movement. Rubbing the side of his head above the ear he said, 'must have been a lucky blow.' Realising what he had just said, 'or in my case an unlucky one.'

They heard a motorcycle start up and leave the car park. 'That's our man making his escape.' Feeling in his pockets he shouted out in surprise, 'he took the diary. How did he know we would be here?' Rory asked himself as much as Ellie.

They helped each other to stand. Leaning together for support they walked gingerly back to the car.

The mobile phone dropped by Ellie lay on the pavement beside the partially open door.

'You had a call from DS Jones,' she explained. 'I came to find you.'

Rory didn't question why the phone was on the floor he just assumed that Ellie had come to his aid when she heard him yell out. 'I'll call him back. Shall we report the assault?'

Choosing her words carefully Ellie said, 'I don't see how the police can help us. They might even delay us from carrying on. Let's leave it for now.'

Nodding in agreement he used speed dial to ring the Detective Sergeants mobile.

The ring tone was answered by, 'Jones speaking, I see its Mr Bradbury.'

'We speak so often I must be on you caller display.'

'That's correct sir,' was the formal response.

'Could we get back to first name terms? It would make things easier,' Suggested Rory.

'Could we get back to being cooperative?

'I'm sorry if we've given you the impression of being unhelpful. We've had one or two problems that have made it difficult to call back. Ellie has been taken ill with some sort of stomach bug or food poisoning,' he paused and whispered to Ellie, 'you're sure you don't want to mention the fight?' She expressed 'no' with a strong shake of the head. He carried on, 'and we've been travelling.' It sounded a weak excuse, but it was the best he could think of. 'Have you any news about the fire at Charlie's?'

'That's why I've been trying to contact you. I didn't want you to read about it in the paper or hear it on the news. The case has been escalated from manslaughter to a murder enquiry.'

Taken aback Rory didn't reply.

DS Jones continued, 'I didn't want to tell you this on the phone. It's preferable that we meet as soon as possible. When are you coming back from Scotland?'

'We need a few more days. What's changed? '

'I can't give you the details at this point, but we do have forensic evidence to suggest the fire was started deliberately. There may also have been some threats that we are investigating. You know Mr Charles Bradbury your grandfather's namesake?'

'Yes we've met from time to time. He came to the funeral.'

'He has received official looking letters from the Red Cross trying to gain his help to locate an aircraft lost during World War Two. We traced the address. It was false. He also received a telephone warning telling him to disappear for a few weeks. The last letter said he was in great danger. It's our opinion that these were intended for your grandfather who subsequently died in the fire.'

Rory came to the decision that he must go home to help resolve the mystery. 'It's become more serious than I thought,' he said to Jones, 'I will be coming back as soon as I can, within the next day or two. Are you still in charge of the case?'

'Not really, but I'm still your point of contact for the time being. Let me know your travel plans on this number.'

The call ended abruptly. Both of them concerned about draining the mobile phone batteries.

Ellie had listened in to most of the conversation. Rory briefed her about what had been said by DS Jones. 'I'm sorry, I've got to go back,' he said.

'Why? What can you do? It seems obvious to me that someone is trying to prevent us from following Charlie's story. They are preventing us from finding the crash site at the Loch. There is the arson, the letters and what looks like an attempt to make us ill. We must carry on if we are to find out who it is.'

'I can see your point,' he replied, 'there are also the Manor house theft and the loss of the diary at the church.'

Dismissing the points he made with a shrug of her shoulders Ellie looked into his eyes. 'You said yourself that you are more committed now than when we started. What difference can a few more days make to DS Jones? Let's turn the tables on whoever they are. Let's carry on and find the aircraft. Charlie wanted to repatriate the pilot. It is what he would have pressed us to do.'

Rory listened to Ellie's emotional response, gradually being persuaded to change his point of view. He decided not to back out of the venture straight away. Perhaps if he committed himself for another two days they would make enough progress to return without feeling as though they had failed. His thoughts turned to Ellie and her illness.

'The only thing that you had at the hotel that I didn't would be the coffee.' he suddenly suggested. Finding his receipt for the overnight stay he dialled through to the hotel. After the introductions he reassured the manager that Ellie felt a little better and looked to be making a quick recovery. 'I wonder if you could help us?' he asked. 'We have a query about our bill that you could settle for us.' He went on, 'Do you provide complementary coffee for new guests or should we have paid for some on our first night,' there followed a lull in the conversation. 'He's looking it up,' he whispered to Ellie.

After listening to the answer Rory rang off. 'They don't provide complementary coffee and none was delivered to our rooms. It looks to me as though some body played a trick on us. The drink must have been spiked, as they say in America. I think there must have been something put in it to make both of us ill.'

'I don't know how it was done,' Ellie looked angry, 'but someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure we didn't leave the next day. Luckily you fancied a cold drink in the bar leaving the coffee on the tray.'

'Yes, but it would only have delayed us two maybe three days.'

'Perhaps that's enough for their purpose.'

Still considering his conversation with DS Jones, Rory was thankful he had talked it through with Ellie. Without her inputs he would have dashed back home. He found himself thinking that without her he would be resolving the crazy events of the past few weeks by himself. He would have to give the Air Vice-Marshal another call at some stage, he always gave good advice. Yes, he was grateful for Ellie being with him, but felt concerned for her safety. Whoever had taken a dislike to them didn't play within the rules. How did they know where to wait?

Chapter Eleven

The warmth from the farm house fire created a dreamy comfort. The men attending the project briefing sat around the table relaxed in each other's company. The confined kitchen air smelt of fried bacon with all the trimmings of a large cooked breakfast. The meal over, plates were stacked in the sink ready for washing. Alistair Campbell, his son Alan and Jock Hamilton sat at the table with maps spread before them. A loud speaker phone used for conference calls dominated its centre. Having made sure the Italian, Giovanni, could not hear the discussion, the meeting started.

AC stood six foot three inches tall; muscular but thin he had always had the presence of a natural leader, a good match for Peter O'Toole in the film Laurence of Arabia. He tapped his spoon on the side of his cup to bring them to order. Adopting an assertive manner to his team he normally had their willing support, however, they knew not to step out of line, he could be very aggressive if need be. They stopped talking and looked to him for the first agenda item.

In his quiet Scottish accent AC faced the conference phone and asked for a report on his new tenants. The voice on the phone sounded hollow as its owner described the expected movements of Rory and Ellie. The information confirmed that within the next few hours they would arrive in the area of the Loch. AC had arranged accommodation for them in a remote cottage, four miles away from the crash area, out of sight of the Loch and any activities that would take place to recover the aircraft.

'We need to keep them under control at critical times. How will you keep them away from our work?' asked the voice, known as Tony. Only AC knew the true identity of the caller. He had been given the nickname from earlier calls where they had referred to him as the voice on the phone; a phoney had turned into Tony.

'I have plans for them when the time arrives,' responded Jock.

'I hope they work better than your attempts at Moffat.'

Jock had described how he had ordered coffee delivered to his room; he then laced it with laxative and redelivered it with a hotel complements slip to Rory and Ellie. It seemed a brilliant plan; risky to do it for two rooms, but he thought he had got away with it.

AC interrupted, 'Let Jock get on with it. He knows who they are and where they are. Running interference can't be that difficult. If it is he can call on us for help.' Looking at Jock, 'you're the strong man, make sure you get it right this time. Remember, delay them, mislead them, keep them away from our work site, but don't injure them. For now we don't want any unexplained accidents, they are too close to the police. If you can't do the job, ask for help. If it goes wrong you will lose out and the rest of us will have your earnings to share around.'

Motivated by money, Jock sat forward to challenge the threat, but thought better of it. The chair creaked as he leaned his massive frame backwards away from the table, 'You're the boss.'

'Don't you forget it,' AC menaced.

Jock respected the boss; he recognised AC would be a difficult man to fight, physically and mentally. In any case Alan would always come to his father's help, especially after the death of his mother seven years ago. Yes, he thought, I'm with them, but I'm not one of them. He felt confident there would be no double cross, but when the project ended he would be left to make his own plans. That suited him; no doubt AC would follow his hobby and take to sailing around the world. Jock preferred dry land.

'Alan,' AC addressed his son, 'you're responsible for the work crew. Are we on schedule?'

Alan Campbell, had the looks of a farmer, he dressed like one, had rosy cheeks from being outdoors a lot and his stocky body suggested his strength could be applied to heavy practical tasks. He had served seven years in the Royal Navy before rejoining his father's business, now he acted as the 'foreman' for rental building maintenance.

'Your yacht plus another I've rented will be arriving at Loch Melfort tomorrow. The crew are handpicked from guys I knew in the forces, they know how to handle boats, they are even better at handling awkward people.'

'Let's hope that won't be necessary, Jock here is our enforcer. I assume they can dive and operate the sonar equipment?'

'Two of them are the sonar operators, two are divers. Don't forget I will be leading the dive so there will be plenty of help. When we leave they will take the smaller yacht, we will sail ours carrying the four of us and the recovered cargo. That includes you Tony,' Alan shouted towards the phone. 'The ballast is around 3000 kilos we can ditch some if we need to carry more weight, but for a short journey in calm sea we should be OK.'

'Sounds good; what can you tell us about the dingy for the work on the Lock.'

'It's called a RIB dad, not a dingy, Rigid Inflatable Boat like the ones you see the RNLI using for inshore rescue. Everything is just as we planned; it's on a trailer in the barn ready for use, fairly new, 2004, a good rugged craft bought for twelve grand. All the underwater gear we need is in there, ready for when the guys from the yachts make it over to help us.'

Nodding his approval AC looked at the phone and said, 'any questions?'

Tony replied, 'none from this end. What about the location of the aircraft?'

'Thanks to your recent information we can now plot the line that Charlie made from the shore to the castle. The Italian has to be taken on site to finally agree his positioning. Where the lines cross we will have triangulated the exact position of the sunken aircraft. The aim is to do this quickly with the minimum of fuss. In and out, just like the SAS.'

'When do you plan to start?'

'Tomorrow morning. We've sent out letters notifying the locals that the Environment Agency will be launching a boat to conduct sampling in the work area. The local boat hire companies will have alerted the fishermen on the Loch to stay away for two days. We should be able to operate without problems.'

Tony asked, 'and the depth of Loch Awe? Will that be a problem?

'We're hopeful that we don't have to dive in excess of thirty metres, if we find out its deeper we will have to back off and reschedule.'

A deep dive would make the venture difficult. The Loch had a maximum depth of ninety metres. A secret recovery operation at that depth would be impossible. The Loch being twenty-four miles long, quite narrow with bays of varying depths, they felt confident that the crew would not have to deal with anything below nine metres, however, it could only be confirmed with the final location. Whilst AC knew the approximate position of the aircraft they couldn't afford the time to look for it in a big search area. The coordinates acquired from the diary and Giovanni made the task much simpler.

AC decided to move on to the next subject. His eyes glared at Jock. 'I'm not very happy about this murder enquiry at Charlie and Elaine Bradbury's. Fingers drumming on the table his lips curled. 'Are we going to be able to avoid any complications?'

Alan responded, 'We can't be implicated unless someone establishes a link between you giving the order to burn the house down and our actions.'

AC slammed his fist on the table spilling the coffee out of cups onto the maps spread out before them. 'I didn't give the order to burn the house down. I told you to steal the diary or destroy it.'

Alan shrugged his shoulders taking the blame for not managing the situation better, looking at the phone he asserted. 'They won't find anything at this end. We didn't intend the deaths, it was an accident. Of course the police don't see it that way. Mum's the word, that's my advice.'

Tony sounded doubtful, 'You mean keep quiet about it. The problem will go away?'

'Yes, unless we can blame it onto someone else. I'll think about other options before our next meeting.'

'OK, that's all we've time for now. I'll arrange another get together when needed.' AC waited for anyone to object, and receiving no response he said, 'Bye for now Tony,' and finished the conference call.

'Tony is a great guy,' he smiled, realising they didn't know the man. 'He is the joint sponsor of this project. We've worked together for years. The name thing is a bit over the top, but it's how he wants to play it for the time being. I think you would say he's getting on in age. Then again, so am I. He's as fit as a fiddle, will not need carrying about, he's a good friend, treat him with respect.' They would have in any case, if Alistair Campbell held someone in high regard Alan and Jock knew to show some deference or else there would be trouble.

AC looked at the spilt coffee, 'I think it's time to remind our Italian friend of his obligations.' He looked at Jock, 'ask him if he would like to join us for coffee. Oh, and Jock, make him feel at home, smile a little, this guy is helping us,' he added, 'for the time being that is.' They laughed at the joke releasing some of the tension that had built up during the earlier meeting. 'Alan, make us a fresh pot would you, add something a little stronger, but don't waste the good stuff.'

Giovanni, the 'ace' gambler, looked in a sorry state. Dejected at having lost everything again he now knew he would have to follow through on his promise to AC. Inside he felt all screwed up, tense and trembling with fear. He had the feeling that every step carried him nearer to his death. He entered the room shuffling his feet, head down, knowing this could be his last gamble.

'Sit down my friend,' said AC, smiling, 'you should knock off the booze you look terrible. Coffee?' he looked enquiringly.

'Thank you that would be appreciated.'

Pouring the coffee slowly AC chatted to everyone about how well things were going. The plan seemed to have been successful with the help of Giovanni. He reminded them of the huge gambling debt paid off to rescue him from the mafia. How fortunate AC had recognised his name from the POW records. The reception committee who saved him that night in 1941 had done them all a service. They hoped he would not run away this time. He would shortly be needed in his consultancy role to recover the cargo from the lost aircraft. The good natured banter and coffee laced with whiskey seemed to help the Italian to settle his nerves.

'The time has now come for us to pinpoint where we will be working in the Loch. Come Giovanni, take a look at this map,' AC drew him in to take a close look. 'You see this line, it is the one drawn after speaking to the navigator. You remember him? You called him Charlie.'

He nodded, remembering climbing out through the escape hatch over the dead pilot. He had often regretted leaving the navigator behind, but he had never been a brave man, he knew he would do the same again. Failing to do the right thing and then running away seemed to be at the core of his existence.

'Charlie escaped?'

'From the aircraft, yes, but he knew too much about the location of our little project. Unfortunately he recently died in a fire. Sad isn't it?' he smiled as he looked into the Italians eyes.

Giovanni averted his eyes. The hard emotionless glare of AC threatened the death of anyone that knew too much and didn't cooperate. 'Any more coffee?' he looked longingly at the pot.

'Of Course, any one else?' responded Jock, filling all the cups.

Giovanni gulped the drink down wishing it was neat whiskey. He had a simple task. He had no objection to fulfilling it. When he had first become involved he hoped to receive payment, now he just wanted to get away. Taking a rule with shaking hands he laid it on the map indicating a line from one shore to the other. 'It is approximately here, but I need to be taken to the graveyard to make sure.' This was his last gamble. The chance to escape, it was a slim hope he knew, but it was all he had left.

'We realise that,' said Jock encouraging. 'Shall we take a look tomorrow?' Tidy, things up a little; get it over with, and then you could take a break.'

'Yes, I would like to do that.' He suddenly spurted out, 'any chance of a walk around the farm this afternoon Alistair? I'm going crazy locked away day after day.'

AC looked to be considering the request when Alan suggested, 'It's going to be difficult today Giovanni, we'll see what can be done later on.'

Looking at the map again AC confirmed, 'OK, you've told us the landmark on the other shore, it's the ruined tower.'

'You are correct, I just need to get my bearings on this side,' he answered.

'We could do this without you,' suggested Alan.

'Yes, but the exact location will save you many hours, maybe days of work,' countered Giovanni, as low key as he could. He didn't want to antagonise them.

'You are, as always, quite right,' said AC, 'let us work as a team. Together we can all be rich.' He laughed, slapping Giovanni on the back. 'You get back to your betting on the TV, we meet again in the morning. I promise you; very soon we will be far away from all this, walking in the fresh air, basking in the sunshine.'

The meeting broke up, AC leaving to return to his hotel, Alan to check on the accommodation at the rental cottage. Jock couldn't figure out why Alistair Campbell the great land owner had to stop in a hotel. He chatted away as he escorted Giovanni to his room promptly locking it once he was inside. The Italian didn't believe AC's promise for a minute; the only fresh air planned for him would be below his feet as he dangled from the rafters. The time had arrived for him to run away again. Sitting on the bed he cried for the first time in many years.
Chapter Twelve

Ellie felt elated. Her map reading had been called into question on many occasions, however, this time it had been spot on. She held high hopes that the next turning would be the one to the cottage. There it was. Exactly as expected, looking sideways at Rory she waited for a complement; none came. Deciding to play it cool she glanced ahead saying, 'We're there. Why not stop at the shop and we can buy some supplies.'

He reacted with surprise, 'So soon, are you sure.' He smiled thinking; of course they were there, they had followed all the correct signs for the past fifteen miles.

'I'm sure, pull over.' She knew he was playing with her, but didn't mind. She enjoyed the interaction.

The general store at the crossroads provided all that a small local community could need. Outside the store stood the only red telephone box for miles, alongside a post box and a pull in for cars. Across the way a run down public house provided meals for passing travellers. The small hamlet could be passed by in the blink of an eye

Stocked up with food and drink to last three days they carried on. Following the directions given Rory turned onto a tarmac road. Further along he came to a lane signed, not suitable for motor vehicles.

'I hope this is the way,' he said, as he considered the broken tarmac and shallow pot holes.

'Can't be far now,' Ellie replied, beginning to have some doubts about her directions.

The lane became narrower; rounding a corner they could see the dead end of the lane. Facing them stood a charming cottage with a small car park. The track ended with a farm gate that allowed entrance to grazing land.

'Oh Rory, its lovely,' said Ellie.

'A fantastic view,' he replied, it's certainly worth the journey.' They shared the moment; stopped with the hot engine ticking, car windows down, breathing in the clear air, the journey ended, re orientating themselves, taking time to relax.

Rory soaked up the isolation; ruggedly pretty with views of the mountains in the distance the cottage would be ideal for a getaway holiday. Furnished to a high standard it had been heated and prepared for their arrival. Ellie loved the kitchen with its dining area that looked out over the countryside; she quickly made a snack from the welcome pack found in the fridge. No other property could be seen through the lounge windows. Perfect for a honeymoon couple, she thought, although it had three bedrooms. Having carried everything out of the Range Rover into the hall, the two of them sat on comfy chairs in the lounge and opened a bottle of wine. They chatted about the drive up, unwinding at the end of the emotional events they had shared in the past few weeks. Reaching for the wine bottle their hands touched, she lingered over the excitement she felt. He withdrew saying sorry. Ellie had an urge to kiss him. Could cousins love each other in a non family way? She would have to keep control of her feelings.

'We should go and reconnoitre the Loch before the light goes,' suggested Ellie breaking the mood before she found herself in trouble.

'Good idea, before we drink too much wine to drive we could make our way to Kilchrenan and North Port,' suggested Rory.

'And in the morning make an early start.' He didn't seem to have noticed the spark between them; she was disappointed.

They quickly put coats on and with tyres spinning on the gravel drive, they left. It took little time to reach North Port. They stood on the shore looking across the Loch. Being at one of its narrowest parts the opposite bank could be seen with South Port clearly visible. The unspoilt landscape provided a backdrop to the peace and quiet both of them enjoyed. White buildings could be seen across the Loch, they appeared to be a hotel complex near the water's edge.

To their left in the middle distance there was an island. This would be one of the focal points of their search. Charlie had pinpointed this location in his description of the view as he looked back towards the Loch. With his back to the pilot's grave he could see Fraoch Eilean Castle on an isle near the centre of the Loch. Mountains and high hills surrounded the stretch of water. There seemed little doubt that the navigator of any aircraft would need clear conditions to locate a given point.

Rory thought about the diary in which Charlie had described how a reception committee would be waiting to greet them. The pilot made the mistake of identifying the wrong castle on the correct stretch of water. Further up the Loch Kilchurn Castle was a much more robust structure than Fraoch Eilean. Given good visibility it would be difficult to miss, but the pilot and his crew were exhausted and in a panic; the crash occurred three miles away from the correct landing site. In the poor weather with the low light of early dawn only the aircraft crew knew the final resting place. The men on the shore waiting to unload the cargo would hear the aircraft in trouble before it crashed out of sight further down the Loch.

Ellie looked along the shore line as far as she could. Somewhere along it would be the body of the pilot that she had dedicated herself to repatriating to his homeland. She knew it wasn't in sight and they would have to move up the Loch the following day. Just being near the grave was an emotional moment. Taking a long look at where they had to finish their quest the two of them climbed back into the Range Rover for the journey back to the cottage.

On the return journey to the cottage they stopped at the small village of Kilchrenan. With Ben Cruachan Mountain in the distance it would have been an excellent base to start to explore the Loch. Rory wondered about the advice their friend Colin Farnsworth had given them. Although it had been easy to ask his colleague Alistair Campbell to rent a cottage it now appeared to have been a poor choice. The village pub would have suited them better for meals and accommodation it would also have provided opportunities to chat to the locals.

Having stopped to take in the view Rory started again and drew away from the roadside. Passing the pub, he stopped. Looking back over his shoulder he pointed to a man climbing into a Jeep.

'Over there, I recognise that man.'

Heart pounding Ellie turned to look back. Relieved it wasn't the man who attacked them at the church she said, 'Sorry, never seen him before'

'I can't see him now he's in the Jeep, but I think that he was in the hotel at Moffat.'

Driving past them Jock partially covered his face as though using a mobile phone. Cursing his bad luck at being spotted he increased speed. He looked through the driving mirror checking that he wasn't being followed. To his dismay he saw the Range Rover pull away travelling in the same direction. Rationalising the situation he thought it only natural they were heading the same way. The couple must be going back to the cottage. He would be turning off to the farm soon leaving them to complete their journey.

'What are you doing?' asked Ellie as Rory followed the Jeep.

'One of our theories has always been that we would find whoever was behind our troubles here at Loch Awe. Well there he is.'

'It's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it? In any case he will know you are following him.'

'I know it sounds farfetched, but if we don't take up opportunities like this, how else do you propose to find our trouble makers? We can't just go asking around by the Loch side.'

'Well, I'd not really thought about it.'

'Just for the time being let's see where our man is going. He's heading our way. Why not follow him. I agree he is probably innocent, but why is he speeding away. Trying to lose us?'

'Let him go ahead. We can follow from a distance.'

Jock pulled ahead. He hoped that his increased speed didn't appear obvious. Looking behind he could see the Range Rover falling back. With luck he had got away with it. Making arrangements for two of the yacht crew to stop at the pub seemed a good idea; however, he had not expected to bump into Rory and Ellie. He moved up a gear looking for the next turning expecting to leave them behind.

'I think we are going to lose him. Close up,' said Ellie.

'Make your mind up. You've only just said drop back,' replied Rory tersely. Making his own decisions he began to draw nearer. The Jeep disappeared round a bend and Rory put his foot down to accelerate nearer. There were several bends to manoeuvre before they finally had a straight road before them. The Jeep was nowhere in sight.

'Speed up. We've lost him.'

'Can't see where; he must have flown to be out of sight on this straight.' Rory increased his speed. Suddenly the road dipped to reveal a minor road to their right. They past it before the possibilities registered.

'He must have turned off. Let's go back,' yelled Ellie excited by the hunt.

Using his rear view mirror Jock could see the farm track behind him was clear. Laughing with relief he slowed down. Old man Campbell would have blown a gasket if he had left a trail back to the farm. He had a score to settle with the happy-couple. They continued to cause him problems. Soon, he thought to himself, soon, I will be getting even. The track went over the final hill to reveal the farm nestling in the valley. Out of site from all the roads in the region it was the perfect prison for the Italian.

Rory couldn't perform a three point turn and looked ahead for a pull-in to reverse direction to the turn off they had passed. Seeing a dirt road entrance in front he slowed. Slowing with the intention of turning around he had to bring the four by four to an abrupt halt when Ellie grabbed his arm shouting, 'Stop, stop. Look at that.'

At the entrance to the track where they were about to turn was a sign that read 'Valley Farm'. The gate held back, wide open. There were now two possibilities where the Jeep could have disappeared. Realising they had to follow both of them Rory suggested, 'Shall we take a look up here? It's probably not far and then we can turn back to the other lane.'

Ellie thought about it and commented that if they followed the farm track surely they must be seen. Agreeing to be careful Rory edged his way up the track. As they came to the top of a hill he stopped, climbed down and walked to the crown. Peering over he could see the farm with the Jeep parked in the yard by the side of a smaller car.

Jock entered the farm house kitchen to be greeted by Alan Campbell, 'where the hell have you been? I've got better things to do than nursemaid Giovanni for hours. Have you got the pub sorted then?'

'Calm down, calm down,' replied Jock. 'It's all under control. When they need rooms they are booked. The lads from the yacht will be handy there.'

'They've been told not to drink?'

'They won't drink heavily. These guys are pros.'

'Right, I'm off then. He's had his meal.' Alan pointed casually at Giovanni's door. 'I've topped his tray up with drinks. You don't need to bother with him for a while.'

'OK. Sling your hook. I'll carry on for now.'

'Make sure you batten down the hatches,' laughed Alan.

'Don't worry there will be no trouble from the cooler'

'Maybe we can make him walk the plank after tomorrow'

'Hang him from the yard arm maybe'

Both of them found it amusing to carry on with the sailing terms. Alan picked up his keys to leave. 'See you at eight bells tomorrow morning,' he shouted as he left.

Jock continued smiling for a while thinking how well they could get on together. Although he did think it better not to mention the little incident of being followed from the pub.

Ellie felt alarmed to see Rory running back to the car. He leapt in, started the engine and reversed quickly back down the track. Out of breath he explained, 'someone coming, not our man, but we don't want to be seen.' There were few places to change direction, but he couldn't reverse all the way to the gate. He suddenly backed up onto the grass bank in a three point turn. Driving down the track as fast as he safely could, he considered which direction to turn to avoid the car that would follow them.

'Left or Right?' he questioned Ellie

'Left, he will probably go back the way we came.'

Arriving at the gate he made up his mind to go right. 'Sorry, but we don't know what lies in that direction,' he explained.

Alan Campbell drove slowly. He didn't have a lot to do, but he certainly wasn't going to tell Jock that. Keep them busy, that was his philosophy, when they're not busy, keep them confused, ask questions, shout orders, demand to know why instructions had not been carried out to the letter. His man management style, based on bullying tactics practiced over many years always gave him the upper hand. Jock and the crew had better leap when he said jump or they would be out of a job. He reached the gate and turned right onto the lane. Picking up speed he thought about having a few drinks over the yard arm, he smiled, this yachting lark was easy if you knew the lingo.

Rory and Ellie had reached the dip in the road and turned up the lane they had intended to search later. Pulling up they both looked over their shoulder just in time to see the small car drive past. She grabbed him, holding him close, burying her head in his shoulders, she dared not lift it. Her feelings rushed onwards, she eased herself back, pushing his strong muscular body away, 'good job we ducked down!' she laughed.

Chapter Thirteen

Having returned to the cottage, the happy-couple disagreed about how to proceed.

'The farm's not far away if we wanted to find out a few answers,' said Rory.

'I realise that, but are we wasting our time? It would be nice to get even; however, it's not what we came for.'

'It is part of what we had in mind. To find out who killed Charlie and Elaine.'

'To repatriate the pilot,' retorted Ellie.

'We do want to know why they've gone to all this trouble to stop us.'

'Yes, but we still don't know if it's the people at the farm!'

'Look, it's not taking much of our time; it just might be the lead we are searching for, I will feel happy that we can forget about the man from Moffat, you will feel safer having found them to have nothing to do with us.'

'It could be dangerous if they are our trouble makers.'

'I'm not expecting to break in and have a fight. All I'm suggesting is that they live practically next door, let's take another look at what goes on after dark.'

Ellie didn't fancy walking around the country side at night in the dark. Who in their right mind would risk being discovered out in the wild without a plausible excuse?

'What can we say if someone sees us? Not that we are lost, or stargazing,' she suggested.

'No one's going to catch us,' he laughed understandingly. 'We will have our faces blacked,' he joked.

'But if they did?'

'How about watching wildlife, badgers, owls, foxes? Look if they are the bad guys we don't want to be caught, and if we are, no excuse will be good enough. If they are everyday holiday makers or locals they will just think we are crazy. It's a risk, but we will not find out much sat here watching the telly.'

Still not convinced Ellie could see she could not change his mind. She didn't want him to go alone. 'Okay, I guess you win, but we are not to get involved in any strong arm stuff,' said Ellie.

Rory laughed, 'Are you joking. Look at us! We are hardly a gang of desperadoes. Take my word for it, any problems and we run.'

Later in the evening they intended to park the car off the road near to the farm entrance. To walk up the track, look over the ridge to the farm below and if it looked safe they would try and get closer. Dressed in dark clothing they would be difficult to see. It had been agreed that they would only look and listen, avoiding all contact with anyone at the farm. The whole visit would not last more than ninety minutes. They had no plans to sit on the hillside and watch the farm all night.

At the farm, locked in his room, Giovanni felt sober and very nervous. He could do with a strong drink. Bottles lined up on the table tempted him, but he knew that if he had one he would have several. His plans for the night required a clear head with lots of courage. Normally he didn't have either. Thinking that if he stayed to help AC, tomorrow could be his last day alive, he planned to run away. He wished he had an escape plan. The best he could come up with, was break out and run. Alan had served dinner providing a knife and fork. The knife had taken him by surprise because Jock never provided one. Thinking of how to make best use of it had taken all afternoon; however, Giovanni had finally recognised how it could be used.

The ground floor rooms had double glazed windows each individually locked. He would have to find a weak point to break out. After stalking around looking at the internal walls it registered that he had a bay window. The ceiling of the bay looked to be made of plaster board. It had a damp patch in one corner he presumed the roof leaked. With the curtains pulled across the bay it would be possible to stand behind them, out of sight of anyone in the room.

Standing on a chair behind the pulled curtains Giovanni used the knife to dig into the soft ceiling. The knife slipped in his sweating hands. Where the board was soft he found it easy to work. Cutting into the roof space by removing the corner he pushed his hand through. Feeling around inside he found the roof supports to be quite close to each other. If he continued removing the ceiling boards he would be faced by a matrix of wooden supports with tiles on the top. He needed a rest. Stretching above his head had taken more out of him than expected. Stepping down off the chair Giovanni looked at the drinks tray. Perhaps if he had a small one it wouldn't do any harm, might even help him he thought.

The evening country side had turned cold with a blustery wind. The cloudy sky provided the darkness Rory had hoped for. He found it difficult to see the ruts in the farm track. Stumbling occasionally, not wishing to make a noise they made slow progress. Dressed in the darkest clothes they had available he felt sure they couldn't easily be seen. He began to enjoy it, at first he had almost suggested going back, now it reminded him of orienteering during the Duke of Edinburgh Award Scheme. Overnight hikes, navigating with only a map and compass, great days, great fun. Breathing steadily he looked back, 'Nearly there,' he said to the dark figure behind him.

Ellie walked at the rear, thinking it must be some type of waking nightmare. Why had she agreed to it? They should have brought a torch, which would have made it easier. She could have shielded it with her hand, pointing it down on to the broken ground. She tripped again whilst thinking of it. If a car came they would have to leave the track, dive into the countryside, long grass, nettles, rocks, thistles, large pats of cow dung for all she knew. She was going off Rory by the minute. Ellie struggled on. Cursing under her breath in a very un-lady like manner.

Suddenly, with a crash of sliding stones Rory disappeared from view. Stepping on his leg Ellie fell over, landing on top of Rory who had tripped, falling spread eagle on the ground. They just lay there facing upwards, side by side. Ellie's rasping breath the only sound to be heard. 'Whoops,' said Rory, he had an uncontrollable urge to giggle.

'Are you okay?'

'Fine night, but could have done with a full moon,' he joked.

'I'm okay, thanks for asking,' she said.

I know you're okay you landed on top of me. Cheer up it's not often you share an experience like this. Look that's the North Star.' He pointed upwards at the only star they could see.

'You're right this is a once in life time experience; and I mean once,' she punched him in the ribs. 'Come on let's move on before we take root.' The chatter had improved her humour.

They approached the crown of the hill, carefully looking over to see the farm below them.

'Not a lot to see, other than a well lit building. No one moving around, only one car in the yard, I think that's smoke coming from the chimney. It's more or less as you would expect. Isn't it?' whispered Ellie.

'It certainly isn't a working farm. No farm vehicles or animals. This must be a holiday let similar to ours, but for families.'

'I can't quite make it out. Isn't that a swimming pool at the back? Over there with lights around the edge', Ellie pointed.

'Yes, you are probably right. It must have one of those thermal blankets over it. Pity we didn't bring binoculars. Why are we whispering?'

'Binoculars,' Ellie nearly choked, 'why not the full peeping-tom kit?' Calming down she said, 'there's not a sound from down there, not much wild life either.'

'We are not near enough to hear anything. Eleven o'clock. It must be their bedtime.'

'Same goes for us?' Ellie suggested, thinking they should be leaving.

'In a minute, we've only just got here,' responded Rory as he sat down on a convenient rock.

Turning to join him Ellie felt her ankle give way, letting out a stifled yell she fell down beside him and griped his arm. 'My ankle, I've twisted it.'

He couldn't see her very well, but tried to escape her bruising clinch. He helped her down onto the bracken. In the darkness, her heavy breathing expressing the pain she felt. Concerned Rory asked, 'How does it feel? Which leg is it?'

Furious with herself for once more looking like a burden, she replied, 'left leg and it feels as though it's broken'

'Can you press it against the ground?'

'Enough to walk back to the car.'

'Its just twisted, wait for the pain to go off, if it swells up we'll soak it in cold water when we get back to the cottage. Look the lights are going off.'

Tired of whispering Ellie sat back, resigned to her role of night stalker. Normally a very independent person she felt an idiot. She was seething. What would he think? He would have categorised her with all the other women who wanted the door opening for them. Well she would show him her stronger side from now on. No more playful punches she would take a swing next time.

Giovanni had helped himself to three or maybe four whiskeys. He now felt a little more courageous. He was covered in plaster dust from the ceiling. Having hacked away at the weak points he had created a hole big enough to climb through. He had rigged the small reading light to work behind the curtain. Lifting it up above him he could see the wooden spas holding the roofing felt in place. He assumed there would be roof tiles or slates on the top. Now he could finally see the task before him. To go further seemed impossible. The knife was of little value against the wooden beams. He had also come to realise that his arms would lack the strength to pull him through the gap.

Suddenly Jock started banging on the wall. He was walking down the corridor shouting, 'lights out, lights out, it's time to hit the sack. Some of us have a long day tomorrow.' With a final bang on the Italian's door he marched off.

Giovanni turned the room light off and stayed behind the curtain in the weaker glow of the table lamp. He had to think. What could he do? Tiring with the exertion of his work on the ceiling he slumped to the floor. Looking at the knife that he had hoped would be his salvation he thought of the options. Perhaps he could shout loud enough to make Jock come running into the room. When he did Giovanni would use the knife to overpower him. Then he thought of the odds against success. An old man overcoming a thirty year old weight lifter! Desperate he looked around him. Taking the knife he started to prise the window moulding away from the frame.

Still suffering from the ankle, Ellie patiently waited for Rory to give up the night time vigil, but he seemed to be enthralled at watching nothing happen.

'We should give it up now,' she said.

'OK there's nothing going on. How's the ankle?'

'I can make it back to the car without much of a problem.'

'Why don't you go on ahead? Take your time. I can watch our retreat.'

'I'll make a start, but hurry up I want to get back to that nice warm cottage.' Determined to show she didn't need nursing Ellie agreed to make her way back to the car. Actually her ankle did feel better and she knew he was just making excuses to watch for another few minutes. Boys playing soldiers she thought. She left him sat there looking at nothing but the dark farm house.

The window beading had been glued in and the knife had been of little use again. Giovanni gave up, accepting there would be no escape through the bay window. Parting the curtains he made his way into the room. Dejected he headed for the room light switch by the door. Placing his hand on the door handle, it moved. Realising it wasn't locked Giovanni stood back. His heart skipped a beat. He didn't open the door. Rooted to the spot he tried to think back to when this had ever happened before. It never had. In his haste to leave Alan must have left the door unlocked. Either that or Jock was playing some hideous joke and would pounce on him as soon as he made an exit. He remembered the only door Houdini had failed to open had never been locked.

Not making a conscious decision, he found himself creeping down the corridor towards the back door. Every step he made took courage. He subconsciously held his breath, finally gasping in new air before beginning to pant with fear. Afraid of discovery he rushed forward to reach the door handle. The key had been left in the lock. Calming himself he slowly turned it; the tumblers seemed to thunder as they fell into place, click-click-click. Giovanni waited, listening he held his breath again. Heart pounding, he slowly breathed out. It would be okay, he was sure of it. Pulling the door open his breathing stopped as the hinges squeaked. He took the first step and the lights suddenly came on. Looking around he could see Jock running down the corridor, a frightening sight fully dressed, stark naked he was terrifying. Without a sound Giovanni turned and ran.

Ellie had been gone ten minutes; Rory couldn't delay any longer, he stood up and stretched his legs. Looking down on the farm he suddenly saw all the lights come on. Inside and out the whole place was suddenly lit up like an airport. A white ghostly figure burst out of the back door. Running and weaving, the whirling dervish headed for the fields at the back, away from the lights, towards darkness.

Behind the first man ran another, Rory looked closer, he hadn't been mistaken, the man was in the buff. Agile as a cheater, a sportsman; he would catch up, no doubt about it. Making a full stretch dive the second man appeared to try a rugby tackle. He was yards short. He rolled and fell onto the pool blanket. It sank with his weight. The first man continued running as though his life depended on it. He never looked back, he could have slowed down. Instead he ran like a scared rabbit. He didn't know the chase had ended; he had won the race for freedom, for now.
Chapter Fourteen

Giovanni couldn't control his harsh breathing, gasping as he ran through the gate he looked up and shuddered at the long inclined farm track facing him. A quick glance behind confirmed that Jock had stopped; for a few minutes he held the advantage. His legs aching with the effort of running, arms shuddering with nervous energy and spittle flying from his mouth he came to a halt. Bending forward hands on knees he took in great gulps of air. He coughed and retched then pulled himself upright to start again.

Rory watched the escapee run from the house towards the track. He slowed down as he left the farm perimeter, where the incline began the man struggled to continue. He could be heard gasping for breath as he forced himself forwards to the summit. Dressed in black Rory couldn't be seen. As the running man came level he pushed out his leg to trip him. Crying out the runaway fell to the floor with a tremendous thud sending loose stones flying down the hill.

Using his superior strength Rory pounced upon his victim dragging him down. He rolled him into the low ditch that ran alongside the track. Immobilising the exhausted bundle by a knee in the chest, Rory whispered urgently, 'keep low, they will be here any minute.' Using as much force as he could whilst keeping his body low he dragged his weak opponent further into the bracken. Out of sight of anyone on the track he turned to assess the condition of his captive. Surprised to see a much older man Rory understood why it had been easy to bring him down.

With a horrible gurgling whisper the man asked, 'who are you?'

'For the time being a friend. Look down there.'

In the farm yard the Jeep started. With all its lights blazing it turned swiftly. Coming up the track it roared past them in seconds. The face behind the wheel glared out, hands pounding the wheel for more power, Jock looked angry enough to kill.

'It would have beaten you to the top,' explained Rory. 'You could not escape trying to outrun the Jeep up the hill. Better to lie down, go off road and crawl through the scrub.'

'Mama Mia,' sighed the Italian, 'can you help me to get away?'

'If you explain what is going on, yes.'

'Later, yes, later, I will explain. Now can we go?'

The man was clearly terrified of recapture. Calming his nerves Rory started to lead the way up the hillside in the cover of the bracken. The low bushes scratched their faces as they crept to the top. Below them they could see the end of the track. The Jeep had turned around. Facing back up the track with its headlights on full beam the white lights made it impossible to approach the gate without being seen.

A long moving shadow led to Jocks feet, he was pacing up and down in front of the Jeep. Eyes hurriedly scanning the country side before him. What to do for the best? He couldn't think clearly. 'How did the bastard escape?' He was working himself up into a horrific rage. If he stood at the gate he could be there for hours. He would have to phone for help. 'Blast,' his phone was back at the farm. Wet through from his fall in the pool he had pulled on his dungarees, Wellingtons and a heavy coat from the hall before giving chase in the Jeep. He looked a mess, but he wasn't worried about his fashion.

'What's your name?' Rory said in a low voice.

The man didn't answer. He looked dishevelled, without hope, trapped.

'What's your name?' Rory prompted more urgently.

'Giovanni,' he answered.

'OK, listen up Gio; this is what we have to do.'

The older man listened as Rory explained that he had a car parked some distance away. To get to it they would have to walk or crawl across the scrub land keeping away from the track. It would be difficult in daylight, at night he expected to find it hard going.

'You follow me Gio,' he ordered, 'keep up close, if you fall behind don't make a fuss I will either notice and slow down or come back for you. Okay?'

With limited options Giovanni nodded his head. Luckily his clothing was fairly dark. Where it wasn't they daubed earth on it to make it less visible. Rory could smell fear; his companion trembled, at the sight of the big man waiting below.

Giovanni knew they were dicing with death. Did his saviour? Jock wouldn't hesitate to make further escape impossible. 'What shall I call you?' he asked.

'Rory, Rory Bradbury. Nice to meet you,' he held out his hand. The Italian shook it. He knew about the younger man from the meetings with AC. How had he come to be on the hillside over the farm? He didn't know, but he was thankful for any help even if it came from someone in as much trouble as himself.

'Let's go,' Rory whispered as he started down the bracken covered bank, heading at an angle away from the Jeep.

Searching the cavernous glove box of the four-by-four Jock found what he knew to be a flare gun. He had seen it before and knew it came from the yacht AC owned. They had to have annual safety checks. It would be useful if he could find a flare cartridge. Looking up from his search he couldn't see any movement on the hill side. Giovanni must be coming his way. He certainly wouldn't head back to the farm.

'Found one,' Jock triumphantly declared to himself, with one flare cartridge he just might find the runaway, 'and another,' his chances were improving. He continued to search for something useful, looking up now and again to make sure he didn't miss the Italian. The only other weapon found was a short trench spade behind the passenger seat. Suitably armed Jock got out of the vehicle and started to scan the bracken. He would be better off with a mobile phone, but he thought he would be able to catch the old man without any help. Looking out on the track he shouted at the top of his voice, 'come on, come on old man, we are going to have a few words you and me.'

In the stillness of the night the engine was tirelessly ticking over, waiting to roar into action. Jock didn't need to be behind the wheel, its rhythm created a frightening expectation of power that could be unleashed at his will. Giovanni heard the shouted threat; he knew that any contact with Jock would be extremely unpleasant. Where were the others? AC and Alan could have been here by now. Three of them would have spread out wider making it more difficult to escape. Jock by himself unnerved him with the support of the others he would be unbeatable.

Rory couldn't take his eyes off the Jeep and its owner. Had he a weapon? It didn't matter he looked a formidable foe. Creeping slowly forward he welcomed the engine noise; he felt sure that without it Jock could have heard their every move. They had a slim chance of passing him by without a fight, but for the first time in the night he doubted they could make it. Looking back he could barely make out Giovanni, a small figure half the size of their adversary.

He didn't feel very well. He knew he couldn't be sick he had to control his fear. Keeping up with Rory had not been easy. His nervousness transferred to every fibre in his body. Shaking his head he thought of how AC would treat him if caught. It was a warm night. Sweat dripped into his eyes, from his nose, down his spine. Crawling like a man scared of heights climbs a ladder each move forward seemed to take an age.

They were within fifty metres of Jock heading to a trench that appeared to lead to a stone wall at the road side. Once there Rory hoped to make better progress. Carefully avoiding damaging his knees on the uneven surface he slowly led the way downwards. The guy by the side of the Jeep was the man from the hotel in Moffat. Any future meeting didn't look as though it would be pleasant. The advantage in their favour was the searcher believed he was looking for one man. If they remained undiscovered the surprise card would not need to be played. He could sense Gio close behind. He could also here him breaking wind.

The flare burst above their heads catching them completely off guard. Rory dived over the edge of the trench escaping being seen. His eyes retained the red glare of the exploding light. Giovanni crouched down, motionless, his silhouette clearly visible in the bright light, caught in the open, looking up as though watching a firework display. The surprise on his face matched the pleasure on Jocks. Emergency flares don't hang in the air for a long time. The darkness returned, but the silence had gone. Jock's boots could be heard thudding towards them.

Running through the bracken Jock was sure he would catch Giovanni. A short glimpse of the small man had been enough. Running to his left he loaded the last flare into the gun. He stopped to look again for his escaped prisoner. No sight of him. No sound of him. He had gone to ground. Not far away. Listening carefully he thought he heard a noise, but couldn't make out what it was. Moving nearer to the faint sound he thought it must be his prey. He stalked Giovanni as though he was after a wild animal; a helpless wild animal. There, quite near he heard a stone rattle. He changed direction moving swiftly towards the noise.

It was the oldest trick in the book, however, Rory couldn't think of anything else to save them from discovery. He threw a rock up the slope. Moving the hunter's attention fifteen metres further away from them. Holding Gio's arm he gently guided him further down the trench. They were both wet from a small stream running in the bottom. He slipped, pulling Gio down. There was a grunt as his knee collided with a large stone. Holding his breath he carried on moving down.

Jock turned towards the sound. His attention drawn in a new direction; he sensed movement not far in front of him. He raised the flare gun, pulling the trigger. Nothing happened. He pulled the trigger again with the same result. A dud he realised. It must have been a used cartridge. Throwing the flare gun to one side he crashed onwards through the bracken. Suddenly he saw a figure in front of him. He grabbed for clothing and his momentum pushed the Italian forward. They fell to the ground. Wrapping his arms round his captive he began to squeeze. Intent on crushing the smaller man he didn't see Rory rise up out of the undergrowth. Something hit him at the side of the head, something very hard. He held on to Giovanni. Using a stone Rory delivered another strike to the head. Jock felt himself fading. Instinct took over. Curling up to avoid the next blow he rolled away. A kick to the stomach finished his resistance he didn't move, realising he had been badly injured, hoping to avoid another blow.

Rory didn't want to do any further damage, but he had to disable the giant. He gave a final kick to the head. It glanced off without doing a lot of harm. Grabbing Gio by the arm he ran towards the Jeep. Caught in the head lights their long shadows blacked out Jock's body as he tried to rise and give chase. By the door of the Jeep Rory stopped to reach in. He turned the engine off. Taking the keys out of the ignition he threw them into the darkness. Without the headlights the country side blacked out. They ran towards the gate. The older man limping, making slow progress, clearly in trouble, needing the supportive arm that Rory gave him. Looking back Rory sensed rather than saw the other man struggle to his feet. They would be lucky to escape. 'Run,' he shouted, 'run!'

With a tremendous bellow of rage Jock stood up. Gathering the strength from his deepest reserves he began to follow the two men. Reaching the Jeep he gathered up the short spade. Holding it by his side he gave chase. No one, he thought; 'no one' he screamed, 'gets the better of me.' He could see them now. Much nearer, 'push yourself, come on man, push yourself,' he shouted to himself. The years of excruciating physical exercises helped him to manage his condition. He blocked out the unrelenting pain. He was gaining, he was sure he was gaining.

Giovanni almost fell through the opening in the wall onto the road. Slamming the gate behind him, Rory helped the Italian up. Giving each other support they started running up the lane. They were all in, needing help. Without warning; out of the blackness the Range Rover roared towards them. With no lights on it screeched to a halt.

'Get in,' screamed Ellie, revving the engine for a quick getaway.

Opening the rear door Rory threw the smaller man on to the back seat. He dived in beside him as the vehicle shot forward. Wheels spinning on the uneven road surface they came level with the gate just as Jock ran out on to the lane. Completely out of character Ellie aimed the car at him. There was a bump and then another before they past him. Looking back Ellie could see a body on the road. She started to shake at the sudden action. From the back an exhausted Rory said, 'thank god you came. Pull over, I can drive from here.'

'I saw the flare,' she gasped, 'knew there must be something wrong.'

They changed seats. Ellie now in the front passenger seat opened the window the midnight air helping her regain her composure. 'I hit him with the front wing. He could be badly injured.'

'He would have killed us. A crazy man; you should have seen him chase Gio from the farm.'

He turned the headlights on. They were around the corner, out of sight of the Jeep before he worried about Giovanni. 'Take a look at our passenger. Make sure he's OK. I hope he's going to explain what that was all about.'

Chapter Fifteen

Bellowing with rage that masked his pain Jock chased the Range Rover down the lane. Realising the vehicle wouldn't slow down he gave up and stood in the darkness glowering at the disappearing blacked out rear end. The pain began to overcome his anger. He began to limp, his hip and leg bruised from the fall. Covering his grazed shoulder he wondered how quickly he could recover his full fitness. He roared into the night sky like a howling wolf, its prey lost, and hunger unabated. There would be a day of reckoning; he would make sure of that.

The car had knocked him to the ground. Appearing out of the dark, he had little chance of avoiding it. The driver must have deliberately aimed to run him down. One of the stones he had thrown dented the rear door as it shattered. He smiled knowing that he would be able to identify the vehicle again. Not that he had any doubts. On the contrary, he was certain it belonged to the happy couple. When he caught up with them they wouldn't be able to deny being at the farm. He now had the problem of finding the keys to move the Jeep. Jock didn't frighten easily, he claimed to be fearless, but he began to shake at the thought of reporting Giovanni's escape to AC.

Ellie looked anxiously into the back of the Range Rover. The old man had streaks of mud all over them. He huddled into a corner like a beaten animal. Eyes wide open; Giovanni stared out at the dark country side racing past them, a blur of trees and stone walls. The four by four suddenly lurched to one side as another set of high beam headlights came rushing around the corner. The two vehicles narrowly missed each other. Reaching over, Ellie placed a hand on Rory's arm, 'slow down, there's no one following us.'

Easing off the accelerator Rory refocused on driving. He still felt in flight mode. Running on adrenalin his body tightly strung, his mind racing with the escape. The shock of meeting another high speed car on the dark road had brought him to his senses. He told himself to ease off, to relax. Shrugging his shoulders he eased the tension, slackening the manic grip on the steering wheel. Trousers wet from the stream, covered in mud, he felt a mess. Taking his time he headed back to the cottage looking forward to drying off and warming himself up.

Giovanni had never met his saviours before, but he knew who they were from listening to discussions at the farm. Exhausted and free, thoughts of the future were limited to a warm shower whilst drinking a large whiskey. He hoped Jock was dead. Given the chance Jock would have killed him. Shaking from head to foot with the fear of the chase he curled up to keep warm. When the car stopped he waited for the door to be opened. Thankful for his rescue he needed more help if he was going to survive. AC wouldn't give up easily. This was just the start.

Entering the cottage they collapsed into the easy chairs in the lounge. 'I think a small drink is in order,' suggested Ellie. To the disappointment of Giovanni she produced a bottle of red wine out of a grocery box.

'Have you anything a little stronger?' Giovanni asked.

'We have a half bottle of Grand Marnier.'

'That's more like it,' Rory rubbed his hands together in anticipation. 'Let's get out of these wet clothes first.' Jumping up he dragged Giovanni to his feet leading the way to the bedrooms. 'You're going to have to make do with some of my clothes for the time being.'

Ten minutes later dried off and comfortable with the wood fire burning Ellie poured drinks. The hall clock struck twelve thirty. Rory sat by the side of Ellie on the settee, putting his arms around her shoulder he hugged her, 'well done tonight, without you being there for us we would have been finished.' The two of them made eye contact silently questioning whether to press for answers straight away or wait until morning. Giovanni sitting in a high back chair seemed happy to carry on drinking what was left of their meagre stock of alcohol.

'Why not?' said Rory.

'Why not what?' asked Ellie.

'Gio why not tell us about the farm. What is going on there? Who are you running away from?'

'My name is Giovanni, 'he responded, 'Please do not shorten it'. Looking up as though for inspiration he went on, 'It's a long story,' he looked down at his glass, 'maybe if I had a little more Grand Marnier it would help.'

'Giovanni there is little left; perhaps you could give us the shortened version for now. We can talk some more tomorrow.' Rory said this as he emptied the last of the drink into the glass eagerly held out for another measure. Just like Oliver Twist he thought, the old guy is nervous, hesitates to ask, but can't resist, it will take him all night to recover from the chase. Better not give him too much.

With sad eyes Giovanni explained, 'I'm a gambler.' He paused as though it explained everything.

They both looked at him expectantly.

'I'm a gambler who owed a lot of money to the wrong type of people. A story appeared in the news paper about my problems. A man called Alistair Campbell recognised my photograph and offered to clear my debt. In return I had to work for him for three months.'

'Alistair Campbell! We are renting this cottage from him.' Ellie said in surprise.

'The same man,' Giovanni nodded. You see I have been here before, many years ago. Here at Loch Awe,' he emphasised, stabbing his fingers towards the ground.

'A long time ago, during the war, the Second World War?' Rory surmised.

'I participated in a flying mission that came to this region. The aircraft crashed in the loch, luckily I escaped and a reception committee found me. He looked ashamed of himself, 'it was a German mission. It all went wrong.' Giovanni paused to gather his memories. 'The reception committee were collaborators, expecting to welcome a high ranking German officer; they had to settle for me, I was the only survivor. The cargo on the aircraft appeared vital to the leader. He became very agitated at its loss, they searched desperately to find the crash site and they found me a long way from where we should have landed. Exhausted after swimming ashore I became disorientated as I walked away, but I did take a bearing, trying to remember a line between two landmarks. On the bearing line I could see wreckage. The collaborators tried to make sense of my ramblings, but decided to leave the area and return later. There was no later, by chance an army patrol on manoeuvres stopped us. The leader claimed to be taking me to the police station and that's where I finished up. From there I became a POW. Alistair Campbell served in Military Intelligence and during some research discovered my name from the police interview records. He must have talked to the collaborators to find out what happened on that night.'

Finishing his drink Giovanni looked at his new found friends. They didn't look as though they knew anything about his story. His mind drifted thinking about the intervening years; his return to Italy, the post war years, gambling, the mafia, fearing for his life, the despair of coming under the influence of Alistair Campbell. AC as he now knew him had seemed genuinely interested in helping him. Without the gambling debt being paid off he would have been severely beaten, however, if he had known the risk when agreeing to work for AC he would have thought twice about accepting his generosity. Now, after escaping, he still doubted they could survive AC's revenge.

'How did you travel back to Scotland?' asked Ellie.

'Having flown to Ireland I boarded a yacht that came into a sea loch quite close to here. AC has a team of people that work for him including Jock and his son Alan. They want to know the bearing that I took so that they can locate the aircraft.' It was almost as though he was telling the story to himself. 'I wouldn't tell them everything,' he proudly stated. 'I think it's the reason I am still here. We were due to go to the church yard tomorrow morning to plot the final map bearing.' Gathering the oversized clothes around him he carried on, 'I've been a prisoner for the last few days. They didn't trust me to join their team.' He had a desperate look on his face, 'I had to escape tonight or suffer the consequences tomorrow.' He looked up at them. 'You don't know any of this do you?'

Rory glanced at Ellie, 'We know some of it. We know the navigator.

'I tried to help him,' interrupted Giovanni, 'what happened to him?'

'He escaped and swam to shore. He left us a diary describing what happened. It told us approximately where to look.'

'No! What happened to him recently? I have written to him and phoned him, telling him of the dangers.'

'Charlie, died in a fire a few weeks ago,' Rory said, the question reminding him of how much had happened since. 'Do you know for certain that Alistair and Alan Campbell were involved?'

'I am very sorry. I knew you were coming. It was talked about at one of their team meetings. They planned to delay you somehow.'

'I can't get over it being the same man. Alistair Campbell is a friend of a friend who arranged for us to use this cottage.'

'They already have your map references from a man called Tony. They talk to him on the phone all the time.'

'We had a map, but it appeared lost at the bank. Then the diary was stolen. It explains why.'

'I'm not sure about that,' said Ellie, 'how else could this Tony have found out?'

Leaving her question unanswered Rory asked, 'Giovanni. Why do they want to find the aircraft? Whatever was on board must have rotted by now.'

'I don't know. They talk of a fortune to be made. They have gone to great lengths, planning to recover something from the Loch. What happened to the pilot, he was a good man, although a German.'

Ellie looked sad as she described the fate of Kurt Mouler. She explained that they hoped to repatriate the body. Rory was again sympathetic to the cause, but surprised how personal she appeared to be taking it. He was more interested in finding out who had tried to delay them and what it had to do with the death of his grandparents in a burning house. The past was beginning to unravel, the identity of some of the players becoming clearer, but their purpose remained hidden.

'When did you join the aircraft? Did you know its mission?'

'It came to Italy straight from the factory in Germany to load a large crate before heading to Cologne to pick up a passenger. I joined it in Italy, Milan, to help look after the cargo. The crate looked as though it would have been used to pack art work. On the final leg of the flight there was only me and the crate in cargo.'

'How big a plane was it? Did you not have any luggage?'

'Junkers passenger plane adapted to land on water. The pilot had his flight bag, a type of briefcase, there were no other bags. It had the capability of carrying twenty men, but all the seats had been taken out and replaced by dummy weights to represent men.'

'I can't make any sense of it,' said Ellie, 'the Air Vice-Marshall suggested the pilot was a close friend of Rudolph Hess. He believed the plan involved picking Hess up at Cologne and flying him to Scotland. There must have been some sort of friendship payment on board to be handed over to the authorities.'

'Yes, I agree,' said Rory. Hess was a clever man. He missed his connection and carried on by himself hoping to meet the others at the landing point. He wouldn't have intended to negotiate peace without a good will gesture.'

'That must have been on board the Junkers in the crate,' replied Ellie, 'that's what they hope to recover.'

'It would have rotted away by now. Wouldn't it?'

'Depends what it is. Lots of treasures went missing during the Second World War. Much of it never recovered. Could it be the pilot's flight bag?'

'Paper would definitely not survive, I don't think leather would have either, presumably it's all a slimy, frayed mess or has just washed away.

Tired from all the exertion of the chase and the debate Giovanni had fallen asleep.

'Shall we let him be?' asked Ellie

'Sure; we should turn in. Tomorrows another day; I hope it's not like this one.'

Rory and Ellie took to their separate bedrooms leaving Giovanni on the couch.

Ellie couldn't sleep. Rory had been right to stake out the farm. More by good luck than judgement she thought. It had turned out to be a very high risk plan, if she had not twisted her ankle and returned to the Range Rover they would all have been out there above the farm fighting the crazy Scot. She sat on the bed holding her legs to her chest, trembling from the excitement of the night, fearful of what tomorrow would bring. Now more than at any other time she could remember she needed someone to hold her tight. The loneliness pressed her to think of Rory, he seemed oblivious of her growing affection for him. When it was all over perhaps there would be better times.

Laid awake Rory began to think about Ellie's earlier question. How could Alistair Campbell know about the diary? Where did he get his information? Who could the mysterious Tony be? There could be no doubt that the Campbells were always one step ahead of them, until tonight. Rescuing Giovanni had been risky, however, by good fortune they had found out who they were up against. Ellie had shown her metal in the end, she had a lot of spirit and would do well in a tight corner. Would AC be breaking the law if he recovered the cargo? Rory doubted it. Who would claim ownership? With questions spinning in his mind Rory finally fell asleep.

Chapter Sixteen

Knees aching from the previous night's exertion Rory stumbled out of bed. Feeling older than his thirty years he looked at his image in the mirror assessing an unshaved, muscular young man with short black hair that needed trimming, dressed in shorts and tea shirt with the words Glastonbury 1979 splashed across his chest. I'm definitely going to have to start running again, he resolved. Given the current state of my legs and knees maybe I should start tomorrow. He looked at his hands to see them scratched from crawling though the bushes. A shower seemed out of the question before coffee and some sort of painkillers. Had they any Paracetamol? He doubted it, maybe Ellie would have some. The sun streamed through the thin curtains making him squint. He could hear murmuring, a quiet voice speaking urgently, not loud enough to disturb him, but having been alerted to the sound it pushed him into making a move to find breakfast. Opening the door to his room his mind subconsciously registered that the voice belonged to Ellie, he couldn't avoid overhearing. Could he?

'I think you should come in.' There was a pause as she listened. 'Yes, it will be difficult, but now is the time. If you leave it any longer we will be seen as the outsiders who didn't make the effort to help.' Again silence as the other person talked. 'I agree there is some advantage in that.....' Ellie was interrupted. 'But......' The conversation appeared to be leading to disagreement. 'Can I at least tell them about what has happened so far? We could keep you........' Something must have alerted Ellie to Rory listening. She closed her bedroom door. The rest of the call was muffled. It finished quickly.

Having heard little of the conversation, Rory gave it no more attention and made his way to the kitchen. Passing the lounge he noticed the empty couch. Making a pot of coffee he sat down at the table. Ellie walked in.

'I'm going to have to recharge my mobile,' she announced. 'It's amazing; work seems to follow me around.'

'Got problems there have they?'

'Yes, but none that they shouldn't be able to deal with.' Startled to see the Italian missing she changed the subject, 'Where's our new found friend?'

As though in answer to her question the toilet near the back door flushed. Out came Giovanni looking much the worse for wear with his shirt half tucked into the outsize trousers Rory had loaned to him. A white pasty face stared at them it could just crease into a smile. He nodded to them both.

'Buon giorno,' the words grated, Giovanni didn't want to talk, however, he felt obliged to try.

'Good morning,' they replied in unison.

'Coffee?' asked Rory.

The older man shuddered, 'perhaps a little toast.' The thought of instant coffee turned his stomach. How could the British drink the disgusting mixture? A real Italian cappuccino would have helped, but in its absence perhaps he could try tea with a little brandy.

'Ellie, how about you? Are you feeling better? Would you like a cup?'

'I'm much better thanks, but you two look as though you need a holiday.'

They busied themselves with breakfast. Adopting the motto 'quick and easy' they rummaged through the boxes of food bought at the corner store. Within a few minutes they sat down to eat from their limited supplies. Each of them lost in thoughts of the day ahead.

A bacon sandwich from the local deli sat uneaten on DS Jones' desk. He enjoyed coming in to work early, before everyone else. A bite to eat, coffee from the machine and the calm that could only be found in an empty squad room normally gave him a good start to the day. This morning it had all gone wrong. His superior, Detective Inspector James Clacton, asked him to step into his office finishing with the words, 'leave that bacon sarnie outside, I don't want to smell burnt pig all day.'

The conversation wasn't going to his advantage. He needed to arrange interviews. The DI didn't want to see his point of view.

'They are expected back in a few days; aren't they?' Clacton queried.

'I can't rely on that. We have a murder enquiry here. We either bring the two of them back or interview them in Scotland.'

'Do you think I can spare you to go? I'm not convinced talking to them would be of any value at this stage. In any case what about a telephone interview? Or asking them to come back voluntarily?'

Being of the old school DS Jones believed in face to face interviews. He wanted to talk to Ellie about her background. There was something not quite correct there. Then there was the warning letter sent to Mr Charles Bradbury before the fire, Rory could know something about it.

'Most pressing of all the reasons for talking to them is the fire inspectors report from Mr and Mrs Bradbury's house, where the deaths occurred.' He paused to phrase his remarks, 'the method of igniting the gas was unusual. It had to be pre planned. The weapon had to be carried there for that purpose. We need to know who might have known where it could have come from.'

'Any reason to assume that Rory or Ellie can answer that question?' asked the Inspector.

'They are the closest relatives. Rory has treated them as mother and father. He may know something. All I want to do is ask him about it.'

'I agree it needs to be done, it's just a matter of deciding when and where. This is what I suggest. Every contact with them indicates they are reasonable individuals who would want to help. Call them; ask them to come back now. Say it's urgent.'

'And if they don't agree?'

'Put some pressure on. Send over the local boys to persuade them to return within the next two days. If that's not enough, you can go up there and interview them at the nearest nick.'

'Thanks for that,' he said tongue in cheek. 'I've got the message. Don't go unless it's unavoidable.'

'If you have to go, take the speedway king with you, he could do with the experience.'

DS Jones grimaced at the parting comment. The last thing he wanted was to be slowed down by Constable Bradford. He would rather work a man short than take the motorcycle ace; somehow he would find him something for him to do outside of the main investigation.

He took his leave hoping that no one had eaten the bacon sarnie left on his desk. It would be cold by now, but it could always be dunked in his mid morning cup of tea.

Rory and Giovanni had the Loch Awe map spread out on the table. Ellie looked on as they plotted the coordinates they could remember from Charlie's story and added the ones taken after the Italians escape from the sinking aircraft. The information available should give them a search area in the loch.

Ideally Rory needed the stolen diary and map to accurately compute Giovanni's contribution. 'It's not enough; we need to find the pilot's grave to fix one coordinate and Giovanni you have to be more precise than just naming the graveyard.'

The graveyard had been found on the map. It was clear that looking out from it, across the loch; you would be able to see the ruined tower. However, the search area would still be too big to find the crashed aircraft quickly.

'I have a way of being more precise,' said Giovanni, 'but I need to be taken to the graveyard. From what the Campbells have said they must already have found the grave of Kurt Mouler by the loch side, that coordinate must be drawn on their map. They stressed to me that all they needed to begin the search would be my information. Alan Campbell even threatened to do without it until I suggested it would save them time.'

'They are far in front of us with plotting the coordinates, but we could catch up fairly quickly, said Rory, 'Our first step has to be to take you, Giovanni, to the graveyard to pinpoint your coordinate then we must go to the shoreline to find the pilots grave. Without interference we could do all of that in two days.'

Ellie interrupted, 'This might seem a bit silly, but I can't see why you want to know. Even if we knew exactly where the aircraft had sunk we are not equipped to dive. If we could dive we don't know what we are looking for.'

'That's true,' Rory rubbed his head thinking he was doing much more than he had intended.

'We could report where the aircraft is to the authorities,' suggested Ellie

'We would have to prove that the Campbells and Jock are involved. They can deny everything.'

'Not if Giovanni accuses them of unlawful detention.'

'He came here voluntarily. They provided him with work. Surely they will claim it has been a mistake on his part. Last night you ran over one of them. You can see how they will squirm out of our accusations. We will be made to look like the bad guys. In six months time when it's all blown over they will return to the loch.'

'Scusi, I think Rory is right,' said Giovanni, 'until we can show where the aircraft is, and know what is inside it we cannot accuse the Campbells of much wrong doing.'

'Ellie you are also right,' approved Rory, 'when we know where to look we are not equipped to dive. Let's take it a step at a time. Find out where to search in the lock, identify the pilot's grave and keep an eye out for the Campbells.'

The three of them returned to looking at the map. They agreed that later in the morning they would go to the graveyard.

Alistair Campbell finished raging. The red face gradually came back to normal. His pulse seemed steady once again. The tension of holding back from attacking Jock had started to ease. Taking a drink of water he sat down in the farm house kitchen. He had been there from three o'clock in the morning. Jock and Alan faced him across the table. At dawn the three of them searched for the flare gun, but it remained lost.

'Does it matter that the gun is missing. We can replace it.' said Jock.

Alan answered, 'it is replaceable, but that model has been ordered especially for AC.

'It should never have been taken,' retorted AC. 'I blame both of you for its loss. Alan you find another and make sure it's in working order.'

'The gun is lost,' said Jock, 'but the Italian isn't, we know where to find him.'

'We don't want to find him. We want him back.' Alan smashed his fist into the palm of his hand. It had gone against the grain for him to admit that he had not locked the door. Now he wanted his revenge.

AC tried to be rational, 'It's a new problem for us. Separately we could have dealt with the three of them. Together we can't take action to get rid of them. Any accident would be too suspicious. Giovanni could have been made to disappear before. Nobody knew he was here, but not now.'

'What do we really want of him?' asked Alan. Do we need him with us or do we just need the information that he has? The other guys can't be as well equipped as we are, even if they know where to look. Our problem is to get the information. We don't really care about him.'

'Good thinking, but how can we have one without the other?'

'They haven't reported last night's escapade to the police. If we find out what they want maybe we can trade. Tony the phoney seems to know a lot about them. Why not ask him for a lead.'

Using the conference phone AC called his colleague. It rang for a while before being answered with a simple 'Hello.'

'Tony this is AC, we are on the speaker phone and I've got Alan and Jock with me.'

'OK, what's the problem?'

Quickly AC brought Tony up to date with events. He described what they had in mind and asked about Rory and Ellie's aims. Tony thought about it and answered.

'Up to now their main purpose has been to recover the German pilot's body. I don't think Rory had much heart for travelling to Scotland. It could be the fight last night has changed his mind, if not, you could trade information. The Italians coordinate in the graveyard in exchange for the location of the pilot's grave. Of course that will mean that they know where the plane is. I don't think they know what we have in mind so that may not be a problem.'

'Do you think that they would exchange information and then accept a truce? Would they leave us to get on with our business whilst they made arrangements to repatriate the body to Germany?'

'Sorry AC, I don't know the answer to that. Recent events may have changed their objectives. If you can find a safe way of asking them I suggest that you get on with it. I have no plans to contact them today.'

The call ended with Tony expressing his strong opinions about the mistakes made by Jock and Alan.

Jock had remained silent throughout the call. He was simmering with anger, there was no way he would be prepared to let Giovanni off the hook. Still nursing the bruises from the previous night he vowed to make the happy couple pay. Not showing any of this to AC he tried to calmly refill the coffee cups. No one seemed to notice his shaking hand.

'Where are they now?' asked AC

Looking at Jock for confirmation, Alan said, 'probably at the cottage. We could have a peak through the binoculars from the road above them.'

'Forget the cloak and dagger stuff, they know who we are, why not just phone them and agree a meeting place,' suggested Jock. 'AC you can act as the gentleman, they will not treat you as a threat. We will stay out of sight in the background.'

AC thought about the proposal. Maybe Jock had been right, the other side had not met him and his dealings with Giovanni had been reasonably civil, perhaps he could broker a deal. They had no idea why the search for the aircraft had such significance. Would they give away the information he needed in exchange for peace and quiet and the opportunity to fulfil their aim of repatriating the pilot? He made his mind up to try and negotiate with Rory.

'Here's the plan. I will make a deal to exchange the information. Not at the cottage, somewhere neutral where none of them will want to make a scene. The pub or a café would be handy. My concern is that we are wasting a lot of time on this issue. Alan you look after business at Loch Awe and get it back on schedule. We,' he pointed at Jock, 'will look after the others.'

The guardian felt a wonderful glow of anticipation, the chance to finally sort Giovanni out. He knew that AC would go soft on the Italian, but there was no way Jock Hamilton would be made a fool of. He held his feelings in check, no need to let AC know he intended to take his revenge. With a curt nod of his head he indicated that he understood his supporting role.

Chapter Seventeen

On one of the busiest days of the year, with the morning rush over, staff began to unwind, relaxing before the next deluge of passengers. Glasgow International seemed comparatively quiet now with the remaining few flights planned for the afternoon. Rows of check in desks were unmanned, computers on parade with nothing to do. The one exception being the Alitalia flight to Milan, it would be leaving at 16.30, check in had just started at 14.00. A few passengers milled around discussing where to go, the size of their bags, the new security restrictions. Some used the escalators to pass through to flight side services; others strolled outside for a last cigarette.

After receiving a surprise call from Alistair Campbell, Rory had devised a plan that involved a deal for Giovanni. He proposed to exchange the information each party held at the airport. It had been agreed that after the exchange was completed to the satisfaction of each other a ticket for Milan would be passed to the Italian. He would board the flight with the gift of one thousand Euros to forget about his imprisonment. Each party would then go about their business uninterrupted by the other. When working in close proximity they would ignore each other.

'It's not perfect, but it is a workable solution,' he suggested to Ellie.

'I'm worried,' said Ellie, 'these men are not to be trusted. Giovanni likens them to the mafia and our own experience at the farm shows how desperate they are.'

'Giovanni,' Rory needed to make sure the Italian knew to act with urgency, 'you must keep as far apart from them as possible. Accept the ticket and leave straight away, through security. There will be lots of people around; I don't expect them to try anything, just don't delay.'

'Grazie molte my friends, don't worry there will be no delay on my part, this is the end of a nightmare, I will be very careful.'

The drive to the airport from Loch Awe had been inconvenient, however, AC thought it worthwhile if it drew a line under the insufferable meddling of Rory Bradbury and Ellie Winters. He thought about his last conversation with his son.

'You can't be serious,' Alan objected to the proposal. 'It will take you the best part of a day to drive to Glasgow and back. Why not just exchange the info as you suggested at the pub?'

'They are trying to ensure Giovanni's return home. Basically they don't trust us not to interfere after we swop the data.'

'It's going to delay us.'

'If both parties keep to the agreement we will have the coordinates that save us days of work and our project will not be interrupted.' AC patiently explained.

'You keep a close eye on Jock; he's been acting oddly, much too easy going for my liking. He's up to something.'

'He will do as he's told or suffer the consequences! I've given him an easy job. How can it go wrong?'

Finding a seat in the concourse area AC waited for Rory. He had written the required information onto a postcard. It gave the precise details of where the pilot's grave could be found. He had personally checked that the card described the location of the only two metre high stone on Loch Awe's shore near to the castle. Whilst it could not be guaranteed without digging he was as sure as he could be that it would be found to be correct. He used his mobile, 'Jock? Are you in position?'

On the first floor near the top of the escalator Jock sat at a table in the coffee bar. He had with him an envelope that contained the flight ticket to Milan, Giovanni's passport and the promised money. He would pass them over after receiving a call from AC on receipt of the information from Rory. 'I'm in position and watching the stairs for our friend,' he responded. He had plans for Giovanni that he could not share with his boss. Yes, he had been told to behave, and yes he had agreed to act as the good guy, but hey, you couldn't keep every promise you made.

Rory had the Italian's information in an envelope; the details were written down and accompanied by a sketch. They had drawn it following a visit to the graveyard overlooking the Loch. On the morning of Giovanni's escape from the sinking aircraft he had mentally drawn a line identifying where he could see wreckage floating in the Loch. With his back to a head stone he could see the broken cargo box on the water in line with a ruined tower on the opposite bank. The head stone carried the legend Lorna McTavish 1889 to 1936. Rory had confirmed it was still there. Together he and Ellie walked into the airport departure area.

X marks the spot, Ellie thought. Shortly all of the information required to locate the sunken aircraft would be available. It held little value to them. They had no way of raising anything from the depths of the Loch. The most important aim for her remained the location of the German pilot's grave. It didn't matter if the Campbells found what they were looking for. She would be in a position to fulfil Charlie's last wishes in the very near future. She remained concerned expecting some sort of double cross.

'Take care,' she held Rory's arm tightly, 'I don't want to lose you now.'

Rory looked at her wondering about the way she expressed her feelings. He could feel her becoming increasingly attached to him, but couldn't work out how he should respond. Perhaps families in Switzerland had more affection for each other than he had experienced. He gave her a hug, 'it can't go wrong, stop worrying, if no exchange takes place we just have to work out another deal. We need Giovanni's passport at the very least; otherwise he can't leave the country.'

Ellie wanted to say how much she cared for him, however, feeling his confusion she let the moment pass, they had serious work to attend to.

Giovanni entered the airport building via the Departures door. He made his way to the escalator ready for Rory's call to tell him to proceed. At times he knew he had been scared for no reason; however, on this occasion he knew he had good cause. The handover plan seemed faultless. He hoped to be checked-in within the hour. As soon as he had passed air side through security he would be downing his first drink of the day. All he had to do was accept the ticket that would be handed over. He would be delighted to forget all the problems at the farm. To disappear back to Italy; leaving the others to sort things out. The quicker he could leave the better. Meeting Jock again, however fleetingly, made him nervous.

Ellie stayed by the entrance of the departures hall keeping an eye on Giovanni. She could see Rory making his way over to the meeting point. He stood under the sign for a short time and then looked around him for the man who had described himself as old enough to be his father with a pork pie hat. He was right there were not that many holiday makers wearing a pork pie hat. He stood still and waited for AC to approach him. He suddenly appeared by his side.

'I believe this is what you wanted,' said AC handing over the postcard. He took Rory by surprise; he had expected to talk before the exchange. The card dropped to the floor. Picking it up Rory looked at the information, 'how do I know it's correct?'

'That's all I have. We have worked from the information available. It has to be correct, but I can't prove it. It's the best that I can do. Take it or leave it.'

Handing over the envelope with the agreed details Rory realised he was in the same position. 'As far as we know this is accurate. I have checked it personally with Giovanni. It's the best that I can do.' The two of them stared at each other wondering whether they could rely on the information being exchanged.

Alistair Campbell prided himself on being a good judge of character. He thought he could accept the information given in good faith. 'You can tell Giovanni to make his way up the escalator.' Rory had no choice, but to believe he had the location he wanted. Using his mobile he told the Italian to carry on up to the first level.

Ellie watched Giovanni answer the phone and make his way up the moving staircase. Arriving at the top he seemed to hesitate before moving forward into the café. There seemed to be a brief meeting with someone just out of sight behind a pillar. Then he appeared at the balcony overlooking the departure hall, waving an envelope. Ellie made her way to Rory who had seen the signal. They moved away from AC towards the exit. AC would depart via the arrivals door as agreed. The whole exchange had taken less than ten minutes.

Giovanni relaxed; he had the envelope, Jock had deftly handed it over and then turned away. Looking inside he could see his passport. He read the ticket, recognising he had to check in; he looked over the balcony to wave good bye to his friends who were passing through the automatic doors on their way to the car park.

Jock handed over the package; making his way to the down escalator he swiftly left Giovanni in the café. Arriving at the bottom in the arrival hall he waved to AC who was by the door. Walking across the concourse Jock found the other ascending escalator to the first floor. He almost ran up it to arrive at the top behind Giovanni.

He looked around him. A few people were in the café, others buying papers at the kiosk, every one lost in their own thoughts. Quickly walking up behind Giovanni who faced away from him looking out over the concourse he knelt down as though to tie his shoe lace. Wrapping his arms tight around the Italians legs he lifted him clear of the ground and flipped him over the top of the hand rail. Turning and walking away Jock hardly had time to hear the cry of surprise before he was making his way down the emergency staircase that finished near the exit.

Giovanni tumbled through the air. Arms flailing he crashed onto the concrete tiled floor from a height of four metres. His shoulder hit first followed by his head and then the rest of his body. He lay there unconscious, his documents spread around him. Chaos erupted. Some passengers ran away from his body fearing some sort of terrorist action. Others stood and stared in astonishment. Airport staff reacted quickly running to his aid. Armed police moved to take up station at the exit doors. During the first few minutes every one looked to the professionals for guidance. Eventually the space around the crumpled mass cleared of well wishers. The Paramedics arrived from air-side of the terminal. An ambulance could be heard approaching. The injuries sustained were extensive. The first Doctor on the scene supervised treatment, fitting a head restraint and strapping Giovanni to a board. The Paramedics carefully lifted the body onto a stretcher. Fifteen minutes later the air ambulance lifted Giovanni off on his journey to Glasgow Accident and Emergency.

Having waved goodbye to Giovanni before the attack, Rory and Ellie left the departure hall. Returning to their parked car they realised some sort of emergency was taking place, but didn't connect this to their own activities. On the whole they thought the exchange had gone to plan. They were especially pleased to see Giovanni taking the opportunity to return to Italy. They now had business to attend to back at Loch Awe. The journey back to the cottage would take a minimum of three hours.

AC had delayed walking out of the concourse and waited for Jock by the exit door. He saw the whole incident from the ground floor. Although it was difficult to see the attacker from the concourse he had no doubt who had thrown Giovanni over the rail. He quickly made his way to the short term car park. He was unfamiliar with the controls of the large car Jock had hired. Finally he started it, and drove slowly around the traffic island towards the pickup point. Jock came through the doors at a fast walk. Crossing the approach road he stood on the kerb looking unconcerned by the emergency taking place across from him. He could see AC slowly making his way to pick him up. The emergency helicopters arrival distracted him. Looking up at the bright yellow single prop machine he missed the sudden increase in the speed of the hire car.

AC pushed down on the accelerator. The heavy car jumped forward, he kept it in third gear, the rev's picked up to a crescendo; the engine roared as it reached sixty miles an hour in seven seconds. The car rocketed towards Jock who reacted to the noise at the last moment. Arriving passengers screamed a warning. The huge bulk of the vehicle leapt over the edging stones, engine screaming it hurtled towards him. Too late he tried to dive out of the way. At high speed the impact crushed his body; bending it at the waste before pulling it down under the wheels to be churned out at the side of the vehicle like a rag doll.

AC felt Jock pass underneath; lurching from one side to the other the car jolted over him and carried onwards back to the road surface. Stunned travellers stared at the broken body before reacting. Some turned away to be sick, one brave man ran to help, but could see that he needed a cover to hide the hideously torn flesh. This event would be classified as a hit and run incident that would baffle the police. The victim had been run down by his own hire car. Later it would be found burnt out near a motorway service station.

An exceptionally busy day at Glasgow International eventually came to an end. The police investigation into the two incidents made little progress. The appeal for witnesses received few responses from the general public. The people present had already moved on either to their home or to a holiday hot spot. Steps were taken to retrieve the video surveillance tapes for further investigation. The initial news bulletin described both incidents as unrelated, paying more attention to the hit and run than the sad accident in the concourse. All concerned with the airport were happy to see no breach of security; no flight delays and a rapid return to normal.
Chapter Eighteen

Alan Campbell stretched his body and yawned. He had made an early start to the day, now the team, or crew as he liked to call them, sat around him finalising the plans for the search. His experience in the navy enabled him to command the respect of the four men. Selected because of their specialist training in underwater recovery they could also be relied upon to be discrete. He enjoyed the environment and the task, finding that he could easily adopt the leadership role. The pleasure came from working with skilled individuals who all understood what had to be done. They were focused, had loyalty towards each other, decisions were made on project need not personal demands. Yes, this had to be one of his greatest achievements, and he alone could have accomplished it. He relaxed content to let the day progress to his plan.

They would be using a high resolution sonar scanner hired in America via a company in Ireland. Designed using the latest technology it would scan the Loch's floor. In shallow water it could provide a visualisation of the lost aircraft, showing its position, the depth and general condition. The weight of the scanner limited what could be carried onboard the Rigid Inflatable Boat. Despite the RIB being designed to hold six people during the early scans it could only hold the acoustics team of two and the bulky equipment. Results from the scan would be delivered electronically to a computer set up in the back of the Land Rover Defender stationed on the shore nearby. GPS positioning enabled the operator to log the position of all that was found.

AC had phoned Alan after leaving the airport providing the information required to fix the last of the coordinates at Loch Awe. The crew had reacted quickly and now under the guise of environmental protection the search for the sunken aircraft had started. In the search area the Loch side tapered down to the water's edge; it could be approached by a muddy track, half a kilometre long leading from a gate near the main road. Alan's crew had inhibited onlookers by placing notices at the gate, Environmental Research Taking Place, Please keep away from the Loch in this area. The RIB, its trailer, two Land Rovers and a tent could be seen near the shore line arranged in a compound, the limits of which had been marked out by yellow and black incident tape.

Alan suddenly realised that his father hadn't said when Jock would return. He hoped he could be kept away from the dive area; he had become fed up with his constant bickering. Now the final phase of the project had started they needed brains not brawn. Given good fortune he hoped to be living in luxury within the next month, all of this left behind, maybe Jock could run the rental business for them. He wished AC would take him into his confidence, not knowing the entire plan stopped him from making arrangements for his future. For the time being he would have to be satisfied with expecting to be very wealthy.

The recovery plan involved locating the aircraft, marking its position by an underwater buoy, diving to recover the cargo and taking it by road to a yacht anchored close by in the Melfort sea loch. From there it would be taken to Ireland to be sold on.

Identifying the position of the aircraft would be helped by the coordinates the crew now held; however, they didn't expect to find it exactly where x marked the spot. The point at which the two lines crossed had become the centre of the search. Using it as a starting point on the map the crew created a search grid that could be followed accurately using GPS positioning. The technology used allowed them to slowly move the RIB following an accurate search pattern. The search had started in good weather with calm water and the outlook suggested they would have the same conditions for the next three days.

The one problem Alan anticipated came from the motorcycle enthusiasts who used a lay-by near the gate to regroup before touring the Lock side roads. He deterred them by breaking a number of beer bottles on the roadside. The broken glass didn't stop them coming, however, the large groups of riders dispersed quickly, not wanting to damage their tyres. Yes, he had it all under control, he thought to himself. With a bit of luck the recovery would be well underway by the time AC returned.

Rory and Ellie's search would have to wait until the next day. Driving from Glasgow to the cottage at Loch Awe would take them the best part of the afternoon; they expected to arrive back at around five o'clock.

Taking a quick glance away from the road Rory thought out loud, 'the problem that we now have is when and how to repatriate the body. We think we know where it can be found, but we can't just go along and dig it up. Can we?' Before Ellie had time to speak he answered the question himself, 'of course we can't. The authorities are going to have to know how it came to be there.'

Ellie added, 'They are going to have to know about the plane crash. We have no option, but to tell them, goodness knows how many forms will need filling in.'

'That's a big issue. If we report the find, the work the Campbells are taking on in the Lock will come under scrutiny. It's got to be so. It's the same aircraft. We didn't really think this through.'

'We could go back on our word,' suggested Ellie. Let the police know what is going on and report the body. One of the things I have never liked about this deal is that we don't know if we are now mixed up in some type of criminal activity. Are we endorsing what is going on by keeping silent?'

'Yes, we could go back on our agreement; especially now Giovanni has flown back to Italy.' He accelerated to overtake, 'The Campbells have only asked for two weeks silence. Are we in such a rush? The body has been there since 1941. Why not wait until they have finished? I'm not that happy about reneging on what we said within twenty four hours of exchanging the coordinates.'

They both lapsed into silence. Deep in thought about how to remain innocent of what could turn out to be illegal activity.

'We can use the coordinates to identify Kurt Mouler's grave and begin to make enquiries how to register his death. Presumably we will have to contact the local police, perhaps we need a solicitor.'

Back home in Yorkshire, Detective Sergeant Jones had his mind on criminal activity as he read the report from Sid Baxter the Fire Investigator. The conclusions drawn definitely gave arson as the cause of the fire. The enquiry had stalled; he needed to somehow find out who would have wanted to kill Charlie and Elaine. Perhaps another talk to Air Vice-Marshall Farnsworth could provide a different perspective. He was about to call to make an appointment when Constable Bradford placed a fax in front of him. He skipped reading the headings and moved on to the main text of the message.

Incident at Glasgow International Airport

A man fell from the first floor departure area into the concourse this afternoon. His passport named him as Giovanni Garcia (Details attached); he had a substantial amount of money with him. His ticket for Milan in Italy would have given him access to the departure lounge and his flight at 16.30. He had not checked in. This is not judged to be a terrorist incident; however, foul play is a possibility.

Glasgow police are looking for two individuals who were named by the man. He is in hospital severely injured. Prior to becoming unconscious at the scene he named Rory Bradbury and Ellie Winters as his companions. All passenger lists have been checked and the two are still believed to be in the UK.

Information that further identifies the victim's recent whereabouts or his companions should be immediately forwarded to DI McIntyre, Glasgow CID at the contact numbers over the page.

'Sounds like our man,' said the PC.

'There can't be two of them in Scotland,' replied Jones. 'Go ahead and make plans for a trip to Glasgow. Contact the DI there. Tell him we have information that we would like to share with him; perhaps, he could invite us to his manor. Or is it called a fiefdom up there?'

Picking up the desk phone DS Jones rang the number he had for the Air Vice-Marshall.

'Farnsworth!'

'Air Vice-Marshall, good to catch you in, its DS Jones here, I've got a little query you can help me with.'

'Go ahead; always glad to lend a hand.'

'You arranged accommodation for Rory Bradbury and Ellie Winters in Scotland. I might want someone to pay them a call. Can you give me the address?'

'Actually, I can't; you see I asked them to contact an old friend of mine who has various properties for rent. Why not give their mobile a ring and ask them?'

'I'd rather not at the moment. Please ask your friend to give us the information either direct or via your good self. One of our guys will call you later on today. Is that OK?'

'It's a bit inconvenient. What if he's not in?'

'No rush, today or tomorrow will do. By the way I wanted to ask you a few more questions regarding your connections to Charlie and Elaine Bradbury. You obviously knew them well, being invited to say a few words at the funeral. When did you first meet?'

'It was at the beginning of the war we both shared a passion for flying. It's a long story, not one for the telephone. Can you be more specific? What's your interest?'

'I need to know who their enemies would have been at the time. There's been some suggestion that their activity in Europe may have led to a revenge killing.'

The Air Vice-Marshall could be heard laughing, 'Activities in Europe, that's a good one.' He chortled again, 'we were at war,' he couldn't stop laughing, 'made one or two enemies,' it turned to a cough, 'need a drink of water,' the conversation halted. 'How did you come up with that theory?' he asked.

DS Jones shared in the humour, smiling he answered, 'Italians and the Swiss would be involved no doubt. There may be a German connection. It's a long time ago, but they all fit into the evolving picture. I'm not going to be around for a few days, but on my return we will talk about the possibilities again.'

'Fine, just give me a call.'

'Don't forget we will be in touch re Rory and Ellie's whereabouts. Thanks for your help Air Vice-Marshall.' DS Jones rang off. He had a feeling that he was being misled with the "old friend who has a rental business" routine, but couldn't explain his intuition. Was it all a bit too convenient, Rory wants to go to Scotland; Farnsworth finds him somewhere to stay? His stomach reminded him it was tea time. Better mull over the idea he told himself as he headed for the canteen.

Alistair Campbell held the mobile phone in his hand considering whether to use it. Many years ago they had contracted only to phone each other at scheduled times unless an emergency occurred. The time had come for AC to acknowledge he had to make an unplanned call. Sat in his car parked in a lay-by on the way back to Lock Awe he dialled the number. The first time he called it was engaged. He retried, 'Farnsworth,' came the abrupt answer he expected.

'Tony, we need to speak.'

'Are you by yourself?'

'Yes.'

'Then you can drop the Tony nickname. Alistair we have a problem, I was just about to ring you. I've just had an alarming conversation with the police. They are not on to us; however, they are asking awkward questions about that bit of arson you arranged.'

'I didn't arrange it.' AC prickled at the thought he could be held responsible for the blunder, 'I've explained before, Jock was over enthusiastic about his remit.'

'No matter, it's down to you, sort Jock out and make sure he knows the score.'

'That's the reason I'm calling. Our plan to allow the Italian to return home failed. Jock decided to teach him a lesson. Pushed him over a hand rail at the airport, he fell about four metres, must be dead or seriously injured.' AC felt embarrassed by the rush of words explaining what had happened. 'I couldn't let Jock get away with it again. The first time with the fire I thought I could have made a mistake, but not this time.'

'What happened to Jock?'

'Apparently he was involved in a hit and run accident. A fatality I believe.'

A brief silence followed whilst the implications were considered, 'are you expecting any follow up?'

'No, but it means we are one man short. I have someone in mind as a replacement, if we need an enforcer.'

Farnsworth didn't like this over reliance on muscle, 'OK, but leave it for now, we don't need anyone else on the team when the job will be finished in a few days. It seems we have two problems, the fire investigation and the escape of the Italian. Each of them revolves around our problem duo. I assume that Rory and Ellie still create trouble?'

'They know too much' it was a statement of fact. AC tentatively proposed, 'we are going to have to go back on our word?'

'We certainly are. As much as I dislike it I think that somehow they are going to have to disappear.' he paused, 'Provided it's done with some style their absence will hold up the police investigation without causing a panic. With no one to interview the trail will go cold. How about them taking a mystery trip to get away from it all, allow them some time to get to know each other, they could leave a note saying back in a few days.'

'I understand Colin; give me some time to make the arrangements.'

'Time is something you haven't got,' said Colin Farnsworth in a curt rebuff of AC. 'whatever you plan, make it fast. The police are taking too much interest. I might have to come up there and sort things out for myself if you don't get a grip.' He rang off, furious that the problems had escalated.

Chapter Nineteen

The high visibility markings seemed to blaze in the last of the day's sun. Like a light house at sea the police car warned of trouble ahead. Rory pulled up beside it on the cottage drive. A police officer stood at the front door. He waited patiently for Rory and Ellie to approach him.

'Can I help?' Rory asked.

'Good afternoon sir, we're looking for a Mr Bradbury and Ms Winters. I assume that you are the two?'

'Yes, what's going on?'

'There's been an incident at Glasgow Airport and your names have come up during enquiries. Do either of you know Jock Hamilton?'

'We know of him. I believe he is an employee of our rental agent.'

'That fits with how we found you. Your name's on a rental agreement. I'm afraid we have sad news.' The officer looked at them trying to gauge the effect his announcement would have on them, 'Jock Hamilton died at the scene of a hit and run accident this afternoon.' He paused to allow the words to register, before asking, 'Can you tell us where you've been in the last few hours?'

'We've been to the airport to see a friend off to Italy. This is quite a shock. We didn't know Jock. We only knew of him. Have you checked with his employer?'

'It's in hand sir. Would your friend be Giovanni Garcia?'

'Yes,' Rory waited expecting some sort of explanation

'I'm sorry,' the officer said without conviction, 'I know you have had a long journey, but I must ask you to come to the station to see the DI in charge.'

AC had driven home at high speed after the delay of dumping the hire car he didn't want to miss the first days search results from the Loch. Arriving back at 17.00 he found his son on the shore line supervising the preparations for the search.

'How did it go?' asked Alan.

'Not so good. We've got a bit of a problem.'

He went on to describe the events at the airport and his need for a credible alibi.

'I've no doubt the police will trace Jock back to here. I can't deny having been at the airport because of the meeting with Rory Bradbury.' He looked straight into the eyes of his son, 'You will remember that Jock and I travelled separately and you noted how early I returned to meet you here.'

Alan laughed, 'Of course I can. You must have driven like the wind to arrive back here at 16.00.' Thinking about it he carried on, 'you didn't stop for petrol or break any speed restrictions, did you? I wouldn't want the police to find your picture on a surveillance camera.'

'Don't be too clever about this Alan, its important. Thank god I met Jock at the service station and held onto the keys for the hire car. I'm not sure this story will stand up to a full investigation. They are going to ask why I was there.'

'Let's work out a few answers together. Be prepared. You might not escape suspicion, but they will not be able to prove anything.'

'Right we'll do that in a while. Now, did you start the search?'

Alan gave a run down on the work so far. His father noted the pride taken in describing how he had taken charge. Perhaps he should give the lad his head, trust him a little more. The work at the Loch side seemed to be in good order.

'What about this crew as you call them? Can they be trusted?'

'I've known the leader, Matt Young for a few years, met him during my time in the Navy. We are agreed the others will do the job no questions asked. You can forget about them dad, all four will do the work, be discrete and leave without causing trouble, that's how they get referrals for more work. You'll not know they've been here after a few days.'

All the day motorcyclists zoomed in and out of the lay-by near the search site. The high powered engines could be heard in advance of their arrival. Most of the time Alan and the crew ignored them. Work carried on without interference. The shattered glass bottles deterred the majority of bikers who quickly turned away. One or two tried to clear the glass away. As soon as they left Alan spread the glass out again.

A lone police car came along and parked off the road. The officer read the signs and waved to them avoiding walking down the muddy track. Alan stayed out of sight avoiding recognition; Matt Young acted as the site manager. Approaching the police man he chatted away about the weather and the work of the environment agency. He had an easy going manner that required little effort for new acquaintances to quickly relax and enjoy the conversation. Offering any help he could Matt mentioned the bikers saying how they had been no bother, he offered to clear the glass off the road.

The police car drew away, the young officer feeling refreshed after his short break. Matt made a mental note to sweep the glass away when they had finished for the day; he would save it in a box and spread it out again on the crew's return the next morning. Live and let live he thought.

Occasionally a lone motorcyclist appeared and worked his way around the glass obstacles to look at the work in progress whilst he waited for the rest of the riders to catch up. Then with a roar of high torque, fuel injected machinery they departed to once again race around the side roads. After a while no one noticed them coming and going. Everyone on the site became engrossed with the search. At seven o'clock light began to fade and they made everything secure before returning to the pub for a late meal. One unlucky crew man had to stay on guard, staying awake, using the tent as a base to make sure no one interfered with the equipment. He would be there overnight before having the next day off. They all agreed to work to the rota, taking it in turns for the night shift.

By the time Rory and Ellie returned to the cottage night had drawn in. Having given individual statements they now had to await interview. Thankfully the Detective in charge would not be at the police station until the next day. They expected to receive a phone call informing them when to attend. Both had been asked to take along identification and vehicle documents for the next session.

'It's a good job we had to drive down in the Range Rover,' said Ellie. 'At least we had the chance to get our story straight before being questioned. I've never been in that situation before, or in a police station for that matter. My statement just described what occurred. I didn't see anything other than your meeting with AC and Giovanni leaving to catch his flight. We must have left by the time both accidents happened.'

'We've nothing to be concerned about.' Rory paused; he was still shocked at the news that Giovanni had been injured. His mind was sorting out the problem of paying a visit to Glasgow Royal. The police had given sketchy details of how the accident occurred. Giovanni remained unconscious; unable to answer questions. 'The hit and run involving Jock is either a genuine accident or some sort of payback. We don't know enough about AC and his affairs to make a judgement. I'm alarmed that all this happened when we thought a deal had been agreed with Giovanni on his way back to Italy. What do you think about ringing Alistair Campbell to find out what's going on?'

'I don't think it's a good idea,' said Ellie. 'We are in enough hot water with the Campbells without being seen to collaborate with them.'

'I understand that, but what are they going to say about the incidents? We are going to be asked why we met them at the airport.'

'We were saying goodbye to our friend who had been staying locally. Alistair Campbell also knew Giovanni and was there for the same reason.'

'Sounds too good to be true, but it will have to do for now. I'm going to give Campbell a ring and tell him that's our story.'

Later after a brief phone conversation with AC, Rory decided to do a little checking up on him, he called the family friend Air Vice-Marshall Farnsworth.

'Colin, how are you?'

'Rory, good to hear from you: how is the holiday going?' Farnsworth deliberately answered the question with a question.

Not wishing to describe everything that had happened Rory said, 'Fine, one or two problems, but we found the cottage and have been to the Loch to take a look around. Its beautiful countryside and the views are incredible. I need a favour Colin.' He waited for a response; none came, so he assumed it had been granted, 'Can you tell me about Alistair Campbell your friend? How long have you known him?'

'Why, is he giving you some problems?'

'We've met him. I just wanted to know more about him, he seems such an interesting character.'

'He's definitely that. We met in the military just after the war, he had land in Scotland and offered holiday accommodation to one or two of his friends in the fifties. It became an annual reunion until old age got the better of us. He used to be in some sort of strategy group.'

'Not active service then.'

'Doubt it. In those times you didn't discuss work unless you had a common role.'

'He's a good man then?'

'As far as I know; don't let him worry you, leave him to his business, you get on with your holiday. Why not visit the Isle of Skye, great views up there.'

'Where does he live Alistair Campbell?'

There was silence at the other end.

'Colin, are you still there.'

'I'm sorry Rory I've got to ring off. Someone coming to see me, he's at the door now. By the way I will be taking a short break myself if you want to contact me in the next few days use the mobile. Goodbye Rory, best wishes to Ellie, enjoy the break.' The phone went dead.

Rory sat back. Ellie came in from the kitchen. He described the conversation with the Air Vice-Marshall. Thinking how hard it had been to tease out any useful information about Alistair Campbell he said as much to Ellie.

'It seems late for him to be receiving visitors,' suggested Ellie, 'I hope everything is alright.'

Colin Farnsworth climbed the stairs towards his dressing room. He'd put Rory off asking too many questions. Wearily he began to pack a bag. The last thing he wanted to do was visit Scotland, but it looked increasingly as though his young friends would need to be dealt with. He thought of AC and their dealings over the years, they had met shortly after the war. At that time Alistair had been a planner working with Military Intelligence. He became involved in analysing a plot to encourage one of Germany's leaders to come to Britain to talk about peace. It appeared that Rudolf Hess had responded. The well known account of his capture led to a lot of speculation as to why he had bailed out near Glasgow in 1941; the plane out of fuel and his mission never adequately explained.

On the dates involved Colin Farnsworth had recovered Charlie from a bungled German secret mission that ended in Loch Awe. When Colin and Alistair got together for a cabinet briefing they discussed the similarity of the dates and origin of the crashed aircraft. A reception committee had been there on the lock side waiting for the delivery of a peace offering. Something of value for the Prime Minister to do with as he thought fit. From talking to the leader of the reception committee Alistair discovered the contents of the cargo. Colin remembered the way that the two of them had eliminated anyone that knew of its value. All of the three man reception committee died prematurely, records were changed, meeting minutes lost.

From that time the two of them had kept the aircraft secret hoping that one day they could recover the cargo. Hess stuck to his version of events and never mentioned the other aircraft. The government never fully divulged how Hess had been persuaded to come over. Colin had encouraged Charlie to give them the location of the sunken aircraft, but he had always denied he knew its final resting place. It had taken years for them to piece together enough information for the recovery project. At last the peace offering would be released from its watery tomb to make his twilight years more comfortable. He felt alive again; involved in the action, plotting against authority, AC needed his input. He loved being under pressure, he knew he could win. This time the prize would be great wealth not the medals gathering dust in his drawer.

With enough clothes for two nights, he carried his bag into the library. Sitting down he looked at the cigarettes, picking the packet up he resisted the temptation to smoke one, and placed them in his jacket pocket. No time for that he admonished himself. Opening the lower drawer of his desk he collected his service issue .455 Webley revolver, he'd carried it throughout the war years, maintained it ever since and recently used it to shoot at rabbits in the field, just holding it brought back memories of the power he had held over others. He'd forgotten how much it weighed; wrapping it in the cleaning cloth he placed it in his bag along with twelve rounds of ammunition.

Colin and AC had been good friends for a long time. They had thought the day would never come when their plans could be fulfilled. The chance recognition of the Italian reawakened their dream. Charlie's diary had been a threat to their secret. Colin had tried on numerous occasions to find it; finally they had resorted to a burglary. In the event it all went terribly wrong with a house fire killing the occupants. Now all the careful planning looked to be going astray. The mess needed sorting out. He would wait until he was definitely needed, then fly up to Glasgow finishing the journey in a hire car.
Chapter Twenty

Rory didn't like it. All this subterfuge, it wasn't necessary. He had been talking most of the night with Ellie about the options open to them. He knew he had been foolish, that the police might be slow to understand. He felt a fool for letting things go on as far as they had. Could he be on the wrong side of the law? He agreed with Ellie that they had not done anything criminal in helping Giovanni. Their search for the Loch side grave surely would be within the law. Why did they have to cover up recent events? Not to protect Alistair Campbell and his son! They finally agreed that the best course of action would be to tell the truth, even though it would sound unbelievable.

Arriving at the police station at the appointed hour they waited to be interviewed. Rory admitted to Ellie that he had a childhood fear of authority, visiting the police reawakened the little boy within him. He lost his self esteem, felt nervous and regarded every officer with suspicion and fear. Ellie on the other hand looked impervious to it all. Smiled at every odd amusing thing that happened, grew in confidence with every passing minute. They were led into a small interview room.

'See,' Ellie smiled as she said, 'no torture chamber, no iron maiden, just a table and chairs.'

They sat in silence for what seemed like minutes. Finally Rory said, 'I thought they would split us up.'

'Divide and conquer,' she said, 'hard cop, soft cop. Break us down; persuade us the other one has talked, feed us disinformation, offer a cup of coffee and cigarette.'

'You seem to know all the angles.'

'Don't you watch TV?'

The door was flung open, smashing against the wall before quickly swinging back. Rory leapt to his feet, the chair fell over backwards on to the floor.

'Bloody hell, sorry about that,' came a familiar voice.

They were facing DS Jones with a cup of coffee in each hand. Looking as startled as they were.

'One thing you can say about a well run nick is that the doors are well oiled.' He laughed apologetically. Looking at them, he held out the Styrofoam cups, 'any one for coffee?'

Without waiting for an answer he put the cups down on the table, picked Rory's chair up and sat down at the opposite side of the table.

'I hope you like sugar because they both have one heaped spoonful.'

They were stunned for a few seconds, 'What are you doing here?' asked Ellie.

'Now don't tell me you're not glad to see me,' he sipped coffee out of one of the cups, 'I've come a long way to ask you a few questions.'

Feeling attack was the best form of defence Rory said, 'Any news on the fire at my grandparent's house?'

'Well there is, and I'm prepared to keep you informed, in return, I want you to tell me what's happening here. The DI in charge won't arrive for another hour. As a favour to me I've been allowed to question you about the goings on in England. Savvy?'

Having already agreed to tell all Rory and Ellie nodded their agreement.

During the next few minutes DS Jones brought them up to date with the Fire Investigators conclusions. 'One of the odd theories that he's come up with is the method of creating a gas explosion. He looked at Rory with sympathy, 'I don't know if you want to discuss the gory details, stop me if it's too much.'

Emotional, but feeling calm Rory nodded to suggest the Detective Sergeant carry on with the analysis.

Reading from a report Jones carried on. 'An explosion occurred in the property caused by a room full of gas (the kitchen). The gas had been deliberately allowed to fill the room. All the gas taps on the stove were fully open. It is believed the method used for ignition was a flare, typically as used in emergencies at sea.'

Rory and Ellie remained silent; the implications hit them immediately. Controlling his feeling Rory asked, 'It's just a theory?'

'Well it is, however, we have sufficient evidence to back it up. Apparently the flare was either shot from a gun or thrown from a distance. That's how the arsonist wasn't caught up in the explosion.'

Overcome by emotion Rory said, 'I'm sorry, but I need a few minutes to myself. This is all such a shock.' He looked at DS Jones, 'can we have a break for a couple of minutes?'

'Sure, of course we can. I'll fetch more coffee.' Standing up he asked, 'same again?' He left the room without an answer.

Rory looked at Ellie. His eyes burned with passion. 'Forget what we agreed before. You realise this means we know who killed my grandparents?'

Ellie knew he meant AC and added, 'Or someone employed by him.'

'He must have been involved. Don't say anything to them about events so far. Keep quiet. I want to think this through. Our fall back story will have to do. Remember we went to the airport to say goodbye to our friend. We know nothing else.' He glared at Ellie.

'If you say so Rory,' she thought she could understand his feelings; he needed to know the truth about the arsonist.

Ellie was wrong. Revenge was the only thought dominating Rory's mind. He couldn't trust the police to find the evidence to convict. He knew Alistair Campbell would get away with it if he didn't take action. Murderous thoughts went through his mind. How, where, when, he didn't know, but he knew why. Charlie and Elaine had been his substitute parents, he was the love of their life and they his. He would make the killers pay even if he spent a life time in hell. Trembling he looked across the table, 'I need your help Ellie. Please help me,' he pleaded.

DI McIntyre looked into the interview room through the one way mirror. He turned to DS Jones.

'Something you said touched a nerve. I don't know what we've started, but I hope we can control it. He looks like thunder and I don't want to be around when the lightning strikes.' Shortly afterwards DS Jones introduced McIntyre to the couple. Questioning started to probe the happenings at the airport, but Rory supported by Ellie, presented a convincing argument that nothing untoward had happened whilst they were at the airport.

They had been there to say goodbye to a friend, making their way home immediately afterwards.

'How did you meet your friend, Giovanni?'

Out walking in the countryside,' replied Rory not wanting to elaborate.

'Friendly chap was he?' asked McIntyre.

'Yes, I would say that he wanted company when I first met him.'

'You must have shared an interest for him to want to spend a few days with you.'

'Well actually, we had the impression that he didn't like Jock Hamilton. I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but you must be trying to find out why he followed us to the airport,' said Ellie.

'Oh, yes miss you can rest assured we shall be talking to his employer. You think he followed you to Glasgow International? I'd not realised, I expect it's obvious, you didn't meet Giovanni there; you took him. Is that correct?'

Yes, in fact he stopped with us for two days. Having met him on a walk I introduced him to Ellie, he seemed concerned about his travel arrangements not knowing how to get to Glasgow International.'

Did you have any contact with Jock Hamilton?

'Only briefly, he introduced himself when we were driving past the farm one day.'

'What did you think of him?'

'Seemed a bit of a bully, Detective Inspector, I think we left the lasting impression that we wouldn't be keeping in touch. Why do you keep on about Hamilton? We know nothing about his death. You must have looked at our Range Rover. Did you see any evidence of a hit and run?'

Oh we have the offending car sir; I'm just trying to establish why he was at the airport. He'd not threatened you had he?'

'No, we had no contact with him. What about Giovanni, how did he have his accident?'

Not answering DI McIntyre changed tack, 'I can't help noticing Mr Bradbury; your hands are bruised and scratched. How did that happen?'

'I fell down a bank side, out walking.'

'If I were you I'd seriously think about giving up this walking hobby. Everything seems to happen when you are out in the countryside.' McIntyre smiled at his little joke. 'I'm sorry about your friend, Giovanni, it seems he's not out of trouble yet, he's not regained consciousness so we can't ask him to corroborate what you've told us. No doubt he will in a couple of day's time. What did you pass to Alistair Campbell at the airport?'

'I'm not sure that I did,' Rory said defensively.

'Come now, you would expect us to look at the CCTV tapes from the concourse. Of course you passed him something.'

'No, I'm fairly sure I didn't, Oh just a minute, he dropped something, an envelope, I picked it up for him.'

The written statements had to be signed and then the DI suggested a break and left the interview room.

'We're not making much progress; Alistair Campbell is due here any minute I suggest we make a start on him. Find out his version of events.'

DS Jones agreed, 'I feel that we should split Rory and Ellie up, interview them separately. There are a few questions I want to ask Ellie about her background.'

'OK,' said McIntyre, 'you take Ellie Winters, I will interview Alistair Campbell and we'll let the other one stew for a while, I'm sure he's hiding something from us.'

The two police men worked well together. DS Jones liked McIntyre; he had a strong professional approach, listened to ideas and would allow subordinates to take the lead. He hoped the feeling was mutual because the two of them should be able to quickly resolve the case; then again, he had never met Alistair Campbell.

'DI McIntyre, do I need a solicitor?' the question came from a man not used to being messed around, confident in any situation, someone that would stay in control of events.

'Not that I'm aware off Mr Campbell. Thank you for taking the trouble to come here, as I said, we were prepared to come out to your place. Let me say straight away how sorry we are about the death of your employee Jock Hamilton. We haven't been able to contact any next of kin, will you be doing that?'

'I'll take care of all that, now how can I help you?'

'You were at the airport shortly before the hit and run. Why were you there?'

'I had taken a personal interest in one of my tenants. I rent holiday property', he explained. 'Giovanni Garcia had rented a suite in a farm house near Loch Awe. He left in unusual circumstances and I was concerned, especially since his holiday had almost finished.'

'What happened?'

'Unusually Giovanni had struck a friendship with a couple stopping nearby in another one of my properties. I didn't know much about it until Jock gave me the details. Apparently in his last week with us he decided to change accommodation. To move in with the couple'

'That seems fairly reasonable; why the concern?'

'He left in the evening at about eleven o'clock. In my experience tenants normally leave early in the morning. He hardly took any clothing; we had to take it over later, along with his passport. You can see it all looked a bit odd. Jock tried to help, but the couple took exception to him, said he was interfering. Nearly came to blows apparently.'

'Giovanni had quite a large amount of money on him,' McIntyre waited for an explanation.

'Well he was a gambler, perhaps he had a win, maybe that's what he had in common with the couple. He enjoyed a drink too, one too many at times. To cut a long story short, I wanted to make sure he finished his holiday with our blessing. Jock and I travelled down separately, I met the couple Giovanni had stayed with, they seemed OK, I waved him off to the departure lounge, Jock waved goodbye and I left. The next thing I know is your boys are knocking on the door.'

'Must have been a shock for you,' commented the DI, 'what time did you arrive back?'

'I had to dash back for a meeting with Alan my son: only just made it for four thirty that afternoon.'

Mr Campbell I'm not sure that I've fully grasped why Jock Hamilton had to be at the airport. Why did he travel separately? Surely it would have been more economical to use one car.'

'Jock asked for a few days off and intended to spend some time in Edinburgh. He hired a car himself, I was surprised to see him at the airport and thought he must have wanted to say goodbye to Giovanni, they spent the best part of two months together on holiday at Valley Farm. I don't think he trusted the couple to look after his friend.'

The conversation carried on for some time, repeatedly covering the facts and delving in to the relationship between Jock and 'the couple' as Alistair Campbell called Rory and Ellie. Finally, having given a statement, AC was allowed to leave. He delivered a parting shot; 'That couple seem to have been involved in it all. They had a grudge against Jock, maybe you should be asking them the time they arrived back.'

'The cameras in the airport confirm that they all met. They all appear to be smiling, nothing unusual until Giovanni flew over the balcony. The airport approach camera at the pickup point shows the hit and run, it's a very poor image, the driver is unidentifiable. A dead loss on this occasion,' reported McIntyre at the afternoon briefing. 'Any luck with Ellie Winters,' he looked at DS Jones.

'She just repeats what they have already said in their statements. I want to check up on her identity she could be involved in the arson incident back home. Ellie was unknown until shortly after the fatal fire, she introduced herself to Rory at the funeral. Probably nothing,' he said doubtfully, 'it's a bit of a feeling I have, that all is not as it should be.'

McIntyre felt unsettled with the morning's results, 'I don't think that they have fully explained themselves. This grudge against Jock Hamilton could have escalated. This hit and run was more than an accident! We need to get to the bottom of it.'

'Do we want to hold them?'

'Let Rory go,' said the DI, 'ask Ellie to wait for another hour, make sure she's happy; food, coffee etcetera. We will take her back or pay for a taxi; her choice.' He turned to one of his subordinates, 'find out what Alistair Campbells son does for work, he's supposed to be providing an alibi. Check it out,' he barked. Turning to the constable taking notes he said, 'find out what kind of car Alistair Campbell drives. What time did he arrive at the airport? When did he leave? Ask for the parking ticket, check the surveillance cameras on the approach, it's all a bit too pat for my liking.'

Chapter Twenty-One

The scanner showed a positive find on the bed of the Loch. Not exactly where the coordinates had crossed, however, Alan came to the conclusion that the damaged aircraft drifted as it sank. Nine metres underwater, about eighty metres from the shore the fuselage remained intact apart from the tail fin that had broken off. The crew were jubilant; the search had taken less than half the time expected. A marker buoy had been placed in position just under the surface, hidden from prying eyes on the shore, but visible from a boat when it needed to be found.

In the afternoon, work started on repacking the scanner to dispatch back to the hire company. The RIB now had room for the underwater equipment and recovery baskets brought from storage at the farm. Tomorrow would see the first dive with the depth easily within the team's capability. The main concern for the dive team became the poor visibility in the aircraft where mud would swirl around, kicked up from the diver's fins. With some structural damage to the airframe they anticipated entry to the hold would be dangerous. Alan, who had trained for salvage diving, would make the first dive to assess the problems on site.

Progress at last, Alan glowed with self satisfaction. He wouldn't tell AC just yet, let the team celebrate, he would ring when he needed the final instructions. Perhaps he would have a look around underwater first, to see if anything could be recovered from inside the fuselage. It was Alan's turn to stay overnight at the site. He intended to sleep in the tent, happy that he could not be questioned by the police. They might complain that he had not made himself available, but that would be preferable to him not being with the crew for the first dive. If the police looked for him at the farm it would be locked up.

Rory spent the afternoon worrying about Ellie. The desk sergeant had explained that Ellie would follow him later in the day. He had immediately asked to speak to DS Jones, who when available had pointed out that not all the interviews could finish at the same time and that Ellie would be well looked after. Given the uncertainty as to when she would be returning to the cottage Rory decided not to wait.

Taking the scenic route back he travelled by the side of the Loch. In places the road narrowed to one cars width. His thoughts wandered, how could they extract themselves from the questioning? A motorcycle shot past him from behind, leaning over to take the corner the rider had to take the centre line of the road. Rory didn't have time to curse; two more passed him at high speed, chasing each other for the racing line around the bend. His shocked nerves jolted his mind back to the present he recognised that without really planning to do so he had made his way to the location where the German pilot's grave would be found. He swerved around glass on the road glimpsing a camp site in his peripheral vision. Work on the loch side had churned up the track. Parking near the shore line a kilometre up the Loch he walked to the water's edge and looked out across to the opposite bank. Standing by himself, surrounded by the peace and quiet, listening to the gentle lapping of the water as it brushed the shore, he yearned for the simple life he had lived up to a few weeks ago. His anger returned as he recalled that AC had been responsible for the death of his parents. The same unremitting thoughts of taking an eye for an eye made it impossible to relax. He realised that the hate would destroy him, but the feeling couldn't be put down, it had suddenly become the centre of his being.

'Fantastic view isn't it,' someone said from behind him.

Recognising the voice Rory spun around ready for a fight. 'You again,' he said.

'Sorry to startle you, I've hidden over there, behind the bushes, in a small cove.' He pointed up the Loch in the opposite direction to the Environment Agency camp.

This time instead of stepping back, Rory moved forward under the extended arm, slamming his elbow into the other mans chest. He followed it up with a blow to the chin. The man fell over and stayed down. Standing back he calmly said, 'the last time we met you stole my diary. Where is it?'

'I can explain,' the man said looking up at him.

'It had better be a good story because you are about to get a good beating.' Rory couldn't control his anger. 'You've found me at a bad time for your health.' He aimed a kick to the head.

'I'm Ellie's brother,' shouted the man, without making an effort to get up from the ground. He pleaded, 'I'm Ellie's brother Rory, let me talk to you.'

Stunned Rory stopped his attack. He did look a bit like Ellie, thought Rory, a bit younger perhaps. 'Why should I trust you?'

'Because I can help: I can help you to find out what is happening in the Loch.'

'And what will Ellie say? Will she vouch for you?'

'She has been in touch all the time. I know all about the poison at Moffat, the way you helped Giovanni, the search for your parent's killer.'

'What about the Manor House fire and the theft of the diary at the church?' Another blow to the head looked imminent.

'Yes, yes, it was me at the Manor, but nothing else. I'm sorry, let me up.'

Rory kicked the man at the top of his leg, 'That's for the kick you gave me.'

'Okay_____, yes, we are even.' Now stop fighting and listen. He sat up, but didn't stand his leg had gone numb.

'My name is Peter; Peter Winters.'

Rory waited until the man could stand before leading him back to sit in the Range Rover.

'Your car,' Peter hesitated, 'it is very distinctive, can I suggest you move it around the bend, into the cove, out of sight of the camp over there.'

'Why there's no one there?'

'There is always a man on watch. Security exists for the equipment and the boat, throughout the night.'

Rory moved the car following the directions given.

'Now let's get down to business. I need to know it all,' he stared threateningly at Ellie's brother; again he was struck by the similarity in their appearance.

Peter started at the beginning. He knew his story would be a shock for Rory who had taken Ellie into his family.

'I came over here from Switzerland shortly after you met Ellie. We intended that we would all get together as soon as possible, but you had a meeting at the bank that made us more cautious.'

Rory remained silent, thinking of the early days when he first met Ellie.

'You never realised that Ellie knew about the German pilot, Kurt Mouler, before the diary was discovered; before you read about the crashed plane.' he paused, thinking how best to make his next point, nervously he carried on, 'we knew the story because Kurt Mouler was our grandfather.' There; it was done; he had broken the line of deceit.

'But Ellie has proved that Elaine was her grandmother.'

'A subterfuge Rory, one that we have regretted carrying on, but never the less, one we thought essential. We are both Swiss of German origin; our family lost a son during the war. Our parents tried to find out where he had died and when. The only information found told of a peace mission, the details were only released a short time ago.'

Still struggling to take it all in Rory said, 'Ellie's been acting all this time?'

'Not acting, she has genuinely tried to help. She has not enjoyed the lies, but didn't know how to get out of the role she had taken on. We want to find Kurt Mouler's body and return it to his home. It turned out that your aim was the same; to fulfil Charlie's wishes. We didn't know that would be the case before hand.'

'How did you find us, and what about the story of Elaine's adopted baby?'

'Charlie piloted a small plane during the war. On his capture, bringing agents into France he came to the attention of German high command. Before agreeing to navigate the flight to Scotland, he received the same treatment as a normal prisoner of war, as you would expect he only gave his name, rank and number. The records still exist; we used the information available on a UK Gov internet site to trace his background.'

'Elaine's adopted baby?'

'I'm sorry, but there was never an adoption. Charlie and Elaine didn't give up searching until they found out the truth. The baby died at birth, Elaine wasn't told the truth at the time, we presume because she couldn't have dealt with it. There never was an adoption. The records in 1944 were poorly kept and it took years for them to find out what had really happened. We discovered this from the Red Cross when researching Charlie's past. We made the rest up; luckily the papers at the bank appeared to confirm our story. You believed that Ellie was part of your family.

'Why didn't you just ask for help? I would have listened. It would have seemed a reasonable request.' Rory couldn't see why Ellie had been so devious.

'We have tried asking for help before with no result. Letters to Charlie went unanswered, military historians seemed to know nothing about the flight, we believed the only way to find out Kurt Mouler's resting place would be to discover it ourselves. At the bank Ellie saw you conceal something from within the diary; she thought it must be the location of the aircraft. We didn't trust you.'

'It was a personal note to me,' Rory said indignantly.

'Yes, we know that now. Prior to you revealing that, I had agreed to steal the diary from your car. Ellie told me where you would stop on the way to Scotland. Watching you from the church I changed tactics when I saw you pull it from your pocket. When you walked away from Ellie into the grave yard I thought it would be easy to knock you over and take it. Ellie didn't know about my revised plan. She was livid when I talked to her later.'

Rory had listened carefully, he realised there must have been quite a lot of contact between the two of them, 'I guess that it was you she was sending texts to, not her business contacts.'

'We thought once we had the diary and the map from the bank we would have all the information we needed.'

'You stole the map from the bank?'

'Ellie took it whilst you answered a call. We knew we had probably gone too far in misleading you and at one point I nearly came to explain it all. Throw ourselves at your feet, beg for forgiveness, but then things began to hot up with Giovanni. Ellie asked me to come to you earlier than this; I thought it would be more useful to have someone on the outside who the Campbells didn't know about.'

'The solicitor checked Ellie out. They confirmed her identity.'

'Of course: we are who we say we are. Ellie and Peter Winters from Switzerland. Ellie works in the bank there, I'm a freelance journalist. Everything is in order; the only misleading statement given is the one that links Ellie to you; and war records are reputably poor. Everything is documented, apart from the family connection, but what doesn't exist can't be disproved, that's how we got away with it. The records had been destroyed.'

'You make me feel like a fool,' said Rory. 'I trusted Ellie' He thought of how he had laughed with her, enjoyed her company, wanted to know her better. To be betrayed after sharing so much made him feel sad. He hadn't the heart to condemn her outright. He desperately needed to hear an explanation from her. He had felt their relationship growing in strength. Had he lost a friend?

'It's not a case of trust, but one of need. Ellie has been an asset to you hasn't she? I know she feels very close to you, I can hear it in the way she speaks about what you are going through. No great harm has been done. We have helped you to come this far. We didn't break the law, no money has exchanged hands; there was no intent to defraud you. Our only aim has been to find and repatriate Kurt Mouler. I'm sorry for attacking you, it was my mistake. I hope to make amends by working with you now.' He genuinely looked sorry, he nervously held out his hand for Rory to shake.

Rory looked at the hand offered in friendship, but didn't take it. He shook his head, 'you will have to prove yourself before I forgive what you have done. Its true there is not a lot of damage, however, I feel deeply offended. To mislead me at a time when I needed a true friend is unforgivable. I'll give you your chance to make it up, but you'll have to work with me.'

'I will help as much as possible. Ellie will agree. I know she feels upset about the way it has all worked out.'

'I need to speak to Ellie about all of this. Meet me back at the cottage. Where's your transport.'

'Over there behind the bush, a motorcycle. Meet you there then,' he said and climbed down from the Range Rover.

Rory moved off, driving slowly to begin with, thinking about what had been said. He had mixed emotions about being deceived, however, he realised that for Alistair Campbell to receive his just reward he would have to concentrate on ways of wreaking revenge. Maybe Peter Winters could help, but would he be prepared to break the law?

Standing on the police station steps Ellie gave a huge sigh of relief. DS Jones had tirelessly questioned her background. Finally cautioning her to stay in the area, he had retained her passport. She looked for the taxi as she walked away from the front door towards a nearby pull-in. A car drew up beside her and the electric window powered down.

'Ellie,' someone shouted, 'Ellie Winters.'

She bent down to look in and found herself facing the smiling face of Air Vice-Marshall Farnsworth.

'Jump in then.' He laughed at the astonished look on her face, 'come on, Rory sent me to pick you up, he's moving from the cottage, he needs your help at the Marina.'

Pleased to see a familiar face Ellie opened the door and jumped in, 'what's he up to now?' she asked laughing at the thought of them all getting together.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Alan gradually sank through the water, allowing his body weights to do the work. Knowing the less effort he made with the fins the easier it would be to see. Poor visibility gave him a working distance of two metres; the aircraft lay below him, soon it would come into view.

'There;' bubbles escaped from around his mouthpiece as he gurgled in delight. The broken rear end of the fuselage appeared. Alan approached it carefully, pulling the safety line to give him a little slack. The hole created by the loss of the rudder provided insufficient room to swim through. His high powered torch couldn't penetrate the gloom within the body of the plane.

Above him in the RIB Matt Young paid out the safety line longing for his turn to dive. The danger would give him the thrill he yearned for. He anticipated that Alan would be enjoying himself; the years of training delivering a few hours of excitement. He patiently allowed the line to slip through his hands, keeping an eye on the length used, understanding that they would have to relocate the RIB over the sunken aircraft before lifting the cargo. He waved to the other guys in the crew, reassuring them all was okay. His thoughts drifted, Alan gave little information about the project apart from it would involve lifting cargo boxes. Should he care? The job was legal, highly paid, and when finished they could forget about it. He could get rich without the hassle of stealing and having to fence the goods. C'est la vie as the French said. He hoped to have a property in France one day, when he retired maybe.

Moving carefully to avoid disturbing the mud Alan swam along the outside towards the front. The corrugated metal skin looked in good shape; he had thought of pushing his way through before the dive, now he decided it would be impossible. The steady rasp of expended air from the demand valve reassured him. He loved this environment, water cool to his body, floating along with little effort, the sense of adventure swimming at the side of a wreck. Passing over the engine housing he could see one of the propeller blades buckled, but still attached. The windows were barely discernable; a layer of mud had settled everywhere.

Arriving at the front, above the aircrew's cabin he could see where the escape hatch left a man-sized hole. It gave access to the airframe, but with his breathing gear and tanks he wouldn't easily fit through the gap. The glass in the windows remained intact; he pressed the framework around them thinking he could make the hole wider. It all seemed surprisingly strong. Taking a short harness from his belt he tied it through the handle of his torch and lowered it down into the aircrew's seating area below him. The torch swung lazily around, its beam lighting the empty chairs, the sludge covered instrument panel, flight desk and the open doorway into the cargo hold. He couldn't see beyond the doorway. He pulled up the torch; taking out his knife he tried to saw the frame. He needed bolt cutters or a better saw. The dive watch read thirty five minutes, long enough for his first sortie. He tied a marker buoy to the aircraft and watched it float upwards; he would shorten the rope to keep it below the surface on his way up. With a last look around he followed the rising buoy to the surface.

Shortly afterwards Alistair Campbell made a rare visit to the campsite in response to a mobile call from his son. At the gate he noticed the Environment Agency logo on the side of the vans. Before going into the tent to see Alan he agreed with one of the crew to remove the markings.

'I think passers by know who we are supposed to be by now. We don't want the real Agency calling in for a dram. He opened the flap and stepped through into the warmth of the tent, 'Alan,' he smiled, 'how are we doing? You must have found something to call me.'

'We've found it, I'm about to force an entry,' Alan said excitedly.

'And you now need to know what it is that we are going to recover.' One of his son's frustrations remained not knowing what they would find. The Air Vice-Marshall had agreed with AC that the fewer people knew about the cargo the less chance of a double cross. Sixty years is a long time to keep a secret. Shared between the two of them it had been difficult, only made possible by the removal of official documents and misleading anyone who had made an enquiry about the lost aircraft. It helped that successive governments had not released any information about why Rudolf Hess had come to the UK or even considered he would have had a support plane following.

Alan looked expectantly at his father, 'We've spent a lot of time and effort to get to this point. I hope you know what we're looking for because I can't see very much below.'

'In the cargo hold will be the remains of a packing box with what would have been some great artistic works, but the canvasses will have rotted by now. There will also be a pilot's flight bag, a sort of briefcase, with documents to construct a peace agreement. I'm not sure whether that will have survived not knowing the material it was made from, but again, it will probably have rotted.'

'That's great, but you're telling me what will have disappeared; now tell me what will have survived.'

'You have heard the expression, "worth his weight in gold"?'

'Yes,' bemused he couldn't think of anything to add

'This aircraft would have carried fourteen storm troopers. The seats were taken out. Each storm trooper would have weighed approximately two hundred pounds or one hundred kilos.'

'Are you telling me each seat was replaced with the equivalent weight of a man in gold?'

'Not each seat, a few of them. At today's value one hundred kilos of gold would be worth a million pounds.'

'Where did it come from?'

'Who cares? It is Nazi war loot, probably stolen from Poland or even France. Hess needed a peace offering, something to ease the pain of looking away whilst Germany invaded Russia. How it would have been used we don't really know other than it was a gift to the UK. Luckily the whole strategy failed.'

'Do you know which seats it replaced?'

'Of course; the first five seats at the front of the passenger bay. The sixth seat will be in place, but don't expect to find a body, the passenger never boarded.'

Alarmed by AC, Alan said, 'I'm not expecting to find any bodies. I understood the aircraft would be empty.'

Laughing AC looked at his son, 'OK, it is empty, no ghosts either, we know where all the crew ended up. Don't we?'

Irritated Alan replied, 'To make sure we don't waste time, draw me a sketch of the inside and the seats we are looking for. Five seats at two million pound per seat, I'm impressed.'

'I can only follow the normal layout of a fifteen seat aircraft; I'm not an expert on Junkers. We have to use a little common sense.'

'What does the gold look like?'

'Lead weights held together in steel boxes, and that's what you will appear to be recovering. Instruct the crew to deliver them to Melfort sea loch by Land Rover. You arranged two yachts, one for the crew and another for us and the gold. They are bright sparks so they will want to know what we are carrying to Ireland. You tell them not to be nosey or some similar message. It's best for them, they don't need to know, and they are being well paid for a few weeks work.

'When we arrive in Ireland?'

'Tony has organized the conversion of gold to cash. We will stay for a while and then holiday in Europe until the bank accounts are set up. Then it's up to you. Go where you want, travel or stay with me for a while. You will have a new identity; trust me it will be the good life from now on.'

'Who is Tony? You must know who he is?'

'Of course I do and you will meet him soon. He's a long standing friend and colleague; he will come through for all of us.'

The two of them went on to discuss the rest of the recovery, identifying the location of each 'gold' seat, the methods to be used to move the cargo and the loading of the yacht.

Air Vice-Marshal Farnsworth had already arrived at Loch Melfort with his guest Ellie. She had not wanted to board the yacht, suspecting something was wrong, but had been persuaded that all was in order and Rory would be along shortly. The yacht named 'Golden Dawn' had been anchored 150 metres off shore with several other holiday craft, another yacht 'Earth Mover' lay fifty metres away.

'Why the yacht?' asked Ellie

'Rory is thinking of keeping away from the police for a while, this seemed a good location.'

'I thought he would have been here by now,' she said peering out of the porthole.

Yes, so did I, let's have a coffee whilst we wait,' Colin boiled the kettle whilst they sat in the saloon.

'Now you must tell me all about what's been happening. Lucky I could pick you up when Rory told me where you were.' He lied; it had been AC that informed him where to meet her and suggested the yacht as somewhere safe to keep Ellie.

'Just a minute, before you start, the coffees ready. Would you like a drop of brandy in it?'

'Not for me thanks.'

'I tend to make coffee rather strong, I hope you don't mind.'

Ellie sipped at the mug of black sludge. 'Maybe I will have a small drop of brandy.'

They sat down on the bench seat and drank in silence for a few minutes, each lost in thought. 'How come you decided to join us in Scotland?' Ellie asked.

'Now that's a bit of a long story,' replied Colin, 'let me start by saying that I had a surprise visit from the police and it concerned me.'

Ellie laid her head back on the cushion, this sounded as though she would be bored to death. She hoped Rory wouldn't be long.

Colin looked anxiously at Ellie as the gentle rocking of the boat and his deep droning voice lulled her to sleep. Relieved he emptied the drugged coffee away. He half carried, half dragged her into the front cabin. Laid on the bed she was out to the world. He planned to keep her sedated until the impending voyage came to an end, after this trip there would be no more sailing for her.

Unaware that he would soon be invited to join Ellie, Rory had become concerned that he had not heard any news from the police.

'She should be out of the interview by now,' he said to Peter. 'I'm going to give them a call to find out where she is.'

When his mobile rang he sighed with relief thinking it must be Ellie or a message from her. He answered straight away, 'Hello____.'

'Rory, this is DS Jones, have you a couple of minutes to spare?'

Having spent all afternoon in an interview room Rory thought the policeman asked for something he could demand whenever he wanted. 'Just a couple of minutes, I'm in the middle of something.'

DS Jones wanted to sow a little bit of doubt regarding Ellie's background. Perhaps enough to make the couple be uncomfortable with each other, maybe for Rory to ask more probing questions about Ellie's past. 'Rory, we have researched Ellie's past. Can you tell me how you first came to know her?'

'We've covered all this today in the interviews. I'm sorry, but for the life of me I can't see why you are concentrating on the accidents at Glasgow airport. From what you have said previously you have a murder enquiry to deal with at my parent's home. How near are you to finding the arsonist?' he felt angry, it was obvious that the police were pursuing them for the hit and run. Knowing about Ellie's background after Peter's confession he wondered how much to tell the Detective Sergeant. He could brief him, allowing the force to concentrate on the Campbells; however, he doubted they would deliver any worthwhile results. He decided to keep quiet and do something about it himself.

'Could we meet and have an informal chat; based on the way we have cooperated together in the past?' asked DC Jones.

'Not until I've had a talk with Ellie. How is she by the way? Can we expect her back soon?'

'She left here about an hour ago. The taxi should have dropped her off by now; it's only a forty five minute trip from here. She's not arrived?'

'Not yet, I expect there may have been heavy traffic. Look let me talk to her and I'll get back to you.' He was anxious to finish the conversation. Jones would want to place the full rigor of the law behind convicting the arsonists. Rory wanted revenge. He didn't feel proud of it, but he considered it his duty to pay the Campbells back for the death of Charlie and Elaine.

DS Jones elected to end the call, 'I'll call you tomorrow; we have to make arrangements for further interviews.'

'Thanks, but I'm not looking forward to another day with you. Try to work out who else would have a purpose in running down Jock. We didn't know him that well or have any dealings with him that would lead us to killing him. I know you are on the wrong track. If you insist on wasting your time I'm bound to ask for legal representation.'

'That's your prerogative. I will call again tomorrow.'

The dial tone indicated the call had ended.

Peter knew his sister would have called if she had taken a diversion on the way back to the cottage. He rang her mobile phone. The lack of response made him nervous.

'Rory, something must have happened. She is over thirty minutes late and not answering her phone.'

Just as anxious Rory suggested waiting another thirty minutes before raising the alarm. After fifteen nervous minutes they could wait no longer, he rang DS Jones' mobile number.Without introducing himself he blurted out, 'Ellie's not arrived back! When did she leave?'

Chapter Twenty-Three

McIntyre became more and more agitated; he had to deal with a serious assault at the airport, a hit and run incident on the same day in the same place and the final straw the disappearance of a key suspect. In addition to his own work he appeared to have adopted the complications of an arson attack in England. The squad assembled ready for his briefing; DS Jones, the Sassenach who he had hoped would help him quickly solve the mess, sat at the back of the room. He constrained his frustrations as he addressed the police officers in the room.

'Yesterday evening after being held here for questioning nearly all day Ellie Winters disappeared. That is; she is no longer available to answer questions and her friends are asking where she is. We retained her passport therefore we believe she is still in the UK.' He looked at one of his subordinates and received a nod of the head for confirmation. 'It's our opinion that she had no reason to run away and hide. If that is the case we have to believe something unanticipated has happened. We ordered a taxi to take her back to her rental cottage, she left the building turned to the corner, a car stopped and she got in.' He frowned trying to find words that avoided expressing his contempt, 'The marvellous CCTV system we have sited on the entrance to the station,' he paused to look out of the window in exasperation, 'you know, the one we use for our security,' he gave them his full attention again, 'is unable to pan as far as the street corner therefore we have no pictures of the car or taxi she entered. Ms Winters was reported missing by her travel companion two hours after she left here. The information was taken by our friend at the back DS Jones. Any questions so far?'

He dealt with the obvious and then went on to describe the action he expected. A full scale search had to be made in the area of the cottage; given permission from the current residents the cottage itself would be included. The team assigned would eliminate the possibility that the young lady was in hiding. Rory Bradbury would have to be interviewed again; this would be left to DS Jones who held a special relationship with him. He looked at Jones, 'I want some answers this time, never mind the arson attack at your end concentrate on finding out what's happening here. We need to know how they have clashed with the Campbells. They are all too involved with the airport incidents for it to be a coincidence. Who did I ask to find out about Alan Campbell?'

A constable raised his hand, 'Sir, I made a number of enquiries; basically Alan helps his dad run the holiday rental business. He's not been seen for the last few days. Apparently he is the maintenance man and could be working on one of the properties several of which are isolated.'

'I want to speak to him in the next twenty four hours. Find him and bring him to the station. Get a list of all their properties; let's find out what they own.'

DS Jones interrupted, 'What about Alistair Campbell? Do we need to speak to him again?'

'I will take that on board.' DI McIntyre looked around the room at his squad, 'meet me back here at zero-eight hundred tomorrow morning, don't be late, and let's see some results. Several conversations started at once as the meeting broke up.

McIntyre turned to the young constable taking notes, 'Well, what kind of car does Campbell drive?'

'He has three sir; a Jeep Cherokee and two Land Rover Defenders, uses them for his business, it's rarely known who is driving them from day to day. He was last seen in the Jeep a few days ago near the Valley Farm.'

'Good work. Right lets go and ask him about them, I could do with a trip in the country.'

DS Jones left the briefing room thinking about why he had come to Scotland. He knew about the diary and how Rory and Ellie had wanted to find the location of a German pilot's grave. Due to his discussions with them and Air Vice-Marshall Farnsworth and the disappearance of the map from the bank he knew roughly where they would have been looking. Using his mobile he contacted Constable Eric Bradford who had not been involved with McIntyre and the case so far, but should be in the region of the holiday cottage rented by Rory and Ellie. He'd not actively involved Eric in the case, holding him in reserve, he'd explained, whilst secretly stopping him from blundering around.

'Eric here, how ya doin mate,' a motorcycle revved up almost overcoming the breezy reply, before fading away into the distance.

'As usual I'm not doing too well; mate,' DS Jones laid great emphasis on the endearing phrase. 'I know you've got to stay in character, mate, I just wondered if you could put the acting to good use for the next day or so.'

'You mean you've found me a part?'

'Yes, but not a spare part for the bike. I want you to see if you can find out the location of either Rory or Ellie. We talked about where they would be, snoop around a little. Find out if there has been any unusual activity by the loch side.'

'What sort of unusual activity?'

'If I knew that I wouldn't have you out there taking in the sights. Ask around, visit one or two pubs.'

'Sounds expensive that does.'

'Use method acting, drink shandy instead of the real thing. I need to know where they are urgently. Okay?'

'Right you are, fast as I can. Got to go, see ya mate.' Eric rang off as one of his new found biker friends came over to admire his Yamaha YZF R6. There followed a highly technical discussion comparing Honda with Suzuki and then Yamaha.

Eric Bradford had been having a good time up to now, but he sensed things were about to change. He had never worked undercover before, he smiled as he thought of the phrase, on arrival he had been told to hire a motorcycle and tour around the Loch, become familiar with the area and get to know the locals. He loved it; an experienced biker, the locals he had come to know zoomed around the roads testing their skills to the limit. Strictly within the law he chuckled as he wrote his reports. He could claim to know the region well; the boss's instructions would be easy to follow. Search for unusual activity near the shore line. Time to have a few drinks with the fishermen in the local pubs; he would start with the Kilchrenan Arms, he had fancied stopping there, but it was outside his expenses budget. Eric started to hum to himself, and then burst out in song. 'Lucky is my baby tonight, da da da da da da da,' yes he had certainly hit the jackpot on this assignment.

Avoiding the distraction of being requested to attend a police interview Rory turned his mobile off. He and Peter had spent the previous night racking their brains where Ellie could have got to. The only logical conclusion had to be she had somehow been lured away by the Campbells. After all, they knew that Giovanni had been held against his will why not Ellie? Frantic with worry they decided to approach Alistair Campbell direct. Rory would make a visit to the farm where Giovanni had been held. Peter would remain in the back ground ready to help if needed. They anticipated that Rory could himself become a target and gathered all of his and Ellie's personal belongings from the cottage moving them to a rented room that Peter used. A bed-sit in nearby Craignui it would be too small for them all to live in, but could act as an emergency base.

Rory approached the farm at ten o'clock on the morning after Ellie's disappearance. Valley Farm look idyllic in the morning sunshine, the swimming pool could easily be seen in daylight. A working farm at some stage the buildings and the surrounding area had been converted for tourism some years ago. Nothing remained of its agricultural past, not even an old tractor for children to play on. Rory thought back to the last time he had been here. In the darkness with Ellie, rescuing Giovanni and escaping from Jock. The memory made him nervous about knocking on the door of his enemy; however, it had to be done. He parked in the yard, turning the Range Rover to face the exit in case he had to make a quick getaway.

The knock on the door sounded hollow. No one came to answer its authoritative summons. Rory peered through the window into the kitchen. The table looked to be in use with crockery stacked at one end, condiments and sauce bottles at the other. Everything looked tidy, ready for the next meal, ready for another day. He couldn't see anyone. The other doors in the room were closed. Stepping back he looked around the yard registering for the first time there were no other vehicles, the place looked deserted. Having worked himself up for a confrontation with AC he felt disappointed. He walked to the side of the building to look at the barn. The doors were ajar with a small gap wide enough for a cat to squeeze through. As he walked over Rory continued to look around him, reaching the doors he peered in. The barn was empty. The door opened easily for its size, sunshine through the roof vents provided enough light to see about him. Tyre tread marks showed where vehicles had stood. In one corner he found ropes similar to those used in climbing, in another, fuel cans, some empty, others with petrol in them. At the back of the barn near the rear door lay a collection of jumble swept aside to make way for whatever had been stored in the barn, cardboard packaging from bulk food purchases, old worn out camping equipment, gas cylinders, all pushed out of the way. Empty, the barn seemed cavernous; he turned to leave; the silence beginning to unnerve him. Stepping outside he found the door wouldn't close, pushing harder it jammed on gravel trapped under the edge, he pulled it back and eased it shut kicking the offending gravel aside. Partially hidden by the gravel he spotted a piece of paper trapped under the door. Pulling it free he read the torn portion of an invoice, headed, Melfort Pier and Har... The last letters of the title were missing. He pushed it in his pocket, closed the door and left.

'Climbing rope and fuel, lots of vehicle tracks and loads of rubbish,' Rory reported, as he described what he had found to Peter.

They were sat in the Range Rover looking out over Loch Awe at North Port.

'I've been watching the activities at the Environment Agency camp for some time. The ropes could be to do with sailing; they've got a RIB on the site. The invoice you found seems to suggest that, don't you think?' Peter asked.

'The boat must have an outboard motor. I assume?'

'They've taken it off; it's too powerful for their purpose. Parked it on the trailer, the oars are OK for the work they have underway. Bear in mind I've not been down there for a couple of days. It could be where Alistair Campbell has gone.'

'Well he's not on the farm. I think we should take a look at the water's edge, out of sight from where you have watched before. Before we do I'm going to give Colin Farnsworth a ring. He will know where AC actually lives; maybe we can visit him at home.' Rory started to turn on his mobile and then stopped, 'can I use yours?'

'Of course, I can see that it's a disadvantage to turn yours on. It's better if the police can't contact you, but what if Ellie rings?'

'If she can ring me, she can ring you, we've left a message on her mobile to contact us we can't do better than that currently.'

He took Peter's phone and from memory selected the area code then stopped. 'Last time I talked to him he asked me to call on his mobile, I don't know the number!'

'Shall we see if we can trace AC via the camp at the Loch? It seems the best option,' Peter suggested, 'I'll look after the phones for now.'

At the dive site Alan and his team had become involved in an unanticipated problem. Entry to the air crew's cabin had been achieved by shearing away the window frame. Once inside they discovered that the entry to the cargo hold was similarly restrictive and that a diver with air tanks on his back couldn't pass through. The first solution they thought of worked. Pass the air tanks through and then follow them. This involved two divers one in the cabin and one in the cargo hold.

Inside it was murky, the poor visibility created by disturbed mud combined with low levels of natural light. Finding the first seat stacked with four steel cases held in position by rusty metal bands; Alan used the shears to cut them free. The bands sliced through easily leaving him free to move the top box. It would contain eight gold ingots weighing fifty pounds in weight. Half a million pounds in value, he thought to himself. He found it difficult to move, he couldn't lift it. It couldn't be easily manoeuvred by one diver. His position in the narrow isle was precarious, with his tanks placed on the seat behind he floated like a baby in the womb connected to them by the breathing tube. Without the weight of his equipment he became buoyant; suspended above the seating area. To lift the boxes he had to find purchase near the floor. The more he moved the more visibility declined. They would have to find a solution to the problem; the boxes could not be manhandled out of the door, his thoughts revolved around making a lift straight through the roof using air bags or a rope from the RIB. The team would have to cut a hole in the aircraft's roof.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The late afternoon sun highlighted the scenery around Loch Awe producing a picture that an artist could only dream of creating. Rory and Peter admired it from their hiding place behind the low bushes near to the shore line. If the purpose had not been so serious it would have made a good TV sketch. Laid on cushions taken from the rear of the Range Rover they peered through the bushes at the activities taking place on the campsite next to them. Rory hoped no one caught them spying on their neighbours, his prepared excuse of watching wild life seemed a bit thin. They had been there for two hours and Peter already hankered after coffee and commented on the futility of their observations.

'We could be here for days. Our man is obviously not there.'

'Not for days, maybe hours, we are here to find AC, hopefully when Alan and the others leave tonight they will lead us to him.'

The men at the site didn't seem to be taking precautions against unwanted visitors they were busy servicing the divers. The RIB floated one hundred metres out from the shore with one man handling a safety line. Bubbles breaking the surface gave away the location of the sunken aircraft. Two other men in the camp seemed to be making ready to leave, packing equipment, sacking rubbish, generally cleaning up the site. A Ford people-carrier and a Land Rover stood with rear doors facing the lock. By the side of the six man tent sat the RIB trailer ready to be loaded.

They watched the divers break surface, passing shears and other equipment into the boat. The air tanks were shrugged off and lifted into the stern. A diver swam to each side grabbed the looped ropes that ran around the inflated edges and pulled the RIB into shore. When the water was shallow both divers removed their fins before walking out of the water and into the tent. The rest of the crew pulled the boat ashore and stored away the oars. Shortly afterwards with the camp locked down for the night and one man on guard duty they were ready to leave.

Rory pointed Alan Campbell out. It had been agreed that Peter would follow him as he left the camp. Rory would follow the other three men who were leaving in the people-carrier. They agreed to meet up again back at their observation post near the camp site at ten o'clock that night.

Rory feared his Range Rover would be recognised and he stayed well back behind the people-carrier. He realised where they were headed, eventually it pulled into the car park at the Kilchrenan Arms where two of the men climbed down. Rory had to choose either follow the vehicle or the men that were now entering the public house. He opted to stay with the men at the pub. Parking at the rear of the building, as far back as possible, he collected his jacket from the back seat and made his way to the bar. He felt confident the men would not know him. Having ordered a pint of beer he sat in a corner of the deserted room. Six o'clock in the evening appeared early, even for the residents.

Around seven o'clock customers drifted in as though called by a siren only they could hear. Local business men, the self employed plumber types, came in to talk to their mates; older men escaping from the matrimonial home smiled in relief as the drink started to flow, a married couple ordered a meal and a few bikers dressed in their leathers sat down and confiscated a corner of the room opposite to Rory. Residents came down ordering bar meals before chatting to each other. The men Rory had followed entered the room; showered and wearing casual clothes they looked ready for a long evening and appeared to know the bar tender. They must have been here a few nights, Rory thought. He listened as they chatted.

The landlord came in, seeing them he went straight over and joked about their abstinence. 'What about a drink on the house? This is the first night you haven't dented our supplies. I must admit we are going to be sorry to see you two go.'

The drinks were declined, the explanation being the need for a clear head in the morning. When could they settle the bill? Their colleague who had lodged in Oban would pick them up at seven in the morning. Would it be OK to leave their bags until later in the day? The meal they ordered was demolished and coffee served. Rory surmised from all of this that the work at the Loch could be almost finished. No sign of AC here or any indication of where Ellie could be. He wished he had followed the other guy to Oban, by the look of it all three were just employees; he suspected they wouldn't knowingly be mixed up in any criminal activity.

Constable Eric Bradshaw had been in the pub since seven thirty. Dressed in his leathers he easily mixed with the bikers. He stepped outside for a smoke; he'd just lit up when his mobile rang. He could see who it was with the caller display.

'Yeah, whose this,' he answered in an off-handed way, not wanting to break his cover.

'It's your worst nightmare mate, someone who is going to spoil your holiday if you haven't got any results.'

'I recognise the threats, but not the voice,' smiled Eric, adding a bit of menace to his own reply.

'What's happening then, any info?' asked DS Jones. 'Don't give me any more hassle I've had a trying day. We've only bloody well gone and lost the other key suspect. Rory Bradbury has gone incommunicado.'

'Oh___, sounds very painful that. Is it Japanese?' Constable Bradshaw knew not to wait for an answer; he carried quickly on, 'I could possibly do you a big favour.'

'Go on then.'

'I've just been sat opposite your man. He's made a pint last about an hour and a half, and he looks miserable.' There was no response, 'Here at the Kilchrenan Arms,' he added.

'OK, keep him there, I'm coming over. Don't make yourself known unless you have to.'

Rory had been there long enough to learn about the two men from the camp, he stood up, making his way to the door. Walking past the bar one of the bikers stepped backwards hitting his elbow on Rory's arm. The drink he was carrying sloshed onto the floor.

'What the hell?' the biker faced him, 'watch where you're going mate.'

Not wanting to make a scene, Rory apologised and offered to buy another drink.

'What is it? A pint?' he looked at the bartender who came over to the near side of the bar.

'It's not the beer mate, it's me leathers. Look they're covered in it.'

Rory stared at the leathers; he could only see a small splash on the front. 'Let me wipe it off,' he suggested.

'Do you know how much these cost? Nobody touches me leathers, get your hands off!'

The situation was becoming awkward. Rory didn't want to become the centre of attention. 'Look let me buy you and your mates a drink. That should see us even. He turned to the other bikers who all had pints of beer in front of them. Is that all right with you lads?'

They all looked at Eric Bradford with the respect reserved for the chief negotiator at Honda. He looked at them enquiringly, 'its hell of a mess you know,' he pointed at his spilt beer.

Rory waited, and then pulled out twenty pounds from his wallet. 'Drinks are on me, OK?'

Reluctantly the reply was, 'OK.' Eric watched Rory walk out of the back door almost into the arms of DS Jones.

DS Jones placed his arms around Rory, 'Time we had a little chat, I think. What do you say? Here or down at the nick?'

Looking back in the pub at the bikers and the two men he had followed he suggested, 'Why not; in my car or yours?'

'I fancy my car will do. It's over there blocking you in,' he pointed to a small saloon, 'lucky I didn't come in a patrol car, it looks as though you're a bit sensitive.' He led the way over.

Rory sat in the back, the Detective Sergeant in the driving seat. Looking over his shoulder Jones said, 'Let me know when you want to get out, the child locks are operating on the rear doors, they need to be opened from the outside. I've been trying to reach you all day. What's wrong with your mobile?'

Feigning surprise Rory took the offending phone out to his pocket, 'Sorry I didn't know it wasn't working.' He pressed buttons, and the Nokia piped as the small screen came to light. 'Well it's not the battery, must have knocked itself off at some point.'

Jones looked at Rory, thinking, pull-the-other-one. 'Never mind; look I'm disappointed; we are supposed to be helping each other. I'm on your side trying to resolve your family's murder and you disappear when the local police are searching the countryside for Ellie. How do you think that looks?'

'Not very good, but you do appear to be treating us as suspects in the Jock Hamilton hit and run.'

'Not me, but questions need answering, procedures have to be followed. Hamilton was more than likely run down deliberately. You are involved like it or not. Now let's have some answers. What are you doing here?'

'I'm trying to find Alistair Campbell.' Rory being a reasonable person could see the DS Jones point of view. Feeling guilty he tried to decide how much to tell the police man. He definitely could not mention his intention to gain some sort of revenge for his parents murder or his doubts that the police could make any charges against AC. Eventually he decided to tell Giovanni's story of being held at the farm and of his rescue. He left out the use of a flare gun and why the Italian had been there. He explained that they had been at the airport to see him safely off. He finished by emphasising how worried he was about Ellie. 'She wouldn't go missing like this, there has to be enough suspicion for you to question Alistair Campbell further.'

'Why would he take her? You haven't given me a good reason for her,' he struggled for the right word, 'let's say kidnap.'

To get his way Rory didn't want to explain how he and Ellie could link AC with the flare gun used in his parent's murder and Giovanni's escape, 'I can't explain it, maybe he can.'

'Do you know where Alistair Campbell is?' asked DS Jones, 'or his son,' he quickly added.

'No, but I may be able to find out.'

'Can you tell me now or before eight o'clock tomorrow morning?'

'Maybe,' answered Rory wondering what the morning deadline could be.

'I need to report to the DI responsible for the case by that time. If I have nothing else you will have to come in.'

'Can we make a deal? I will give you the information you need, but I stay out of your clutches for the next forty eight hours. I'm trying to find Ellie by visiting the Campbell properties. I've already been to the farm and found it empty.'

'Only if you remain in touch by mobile phone at all times,' said the DS. At the same time he was thinking that he must be out of his mind. 'Why do you need forty eight hours? We have much more manpower than you. Help us to find Ellie.'

'I will if I can. I think that the Campbells will listen to me; maybe free Ellie before any harm is done.'

'Now I know you are crazy. Listen; I will go along with it on the provision that when I say come in to the station, you do so, straight away, even if its within the next two days. Is that clear?'

'It's crystal clear.' Rory turned and used his mobile to ring Peter. He was conscious that DS Jones didn't know about Ellie's brother therefore he was careful about the words he used.

Knowing his motorcycle could be seen in Alan Campbell's rear view mirror Peter stayed well back. The narrow lanes didn't give much opportunity for cover and with very little traffic Peter hung back on every straight speeding up at every corner to make sure the Range Rover Defender didn't take a side road. In surprisingly little time they arrived at what he assumed to be the final destination. They had followed a single track road for the last three miles and there before them stood an imposing country house. Almost on the water's edge of Loch Awe, the Ardan Hotel looked out to a small island. The mountain slopes on the opposite bank came down to the shore line. Stopping at the edge of the wooded gardens Peter looked on knowing that he could not approach the hotel dressed in motorcycle leathers. He would stand out like a sore thumb. Alan had parked the Defender on the drive opposite the main doors.

Alistair Campbell came down the steps to welcome his son at the entrance. His manner and bearing gave the impression he owned the place. The two of them embraced and laughed in celebration. Weighing up his options Peter realised that to enter the hotel he would have to return to his flat for a jacket or wait until dark before taking a closer inspection from the outside. Seven thirty, he thought, it could be dark within half an hour; he decided to wait rather than risk losing AC and Alan. One thing for sure, Ellie could not possibly be held against her will at this establishment, she had to be somewhere else.

He became more visible as the darkness drew in and the low level security lights lit the drive around the house. The high visibility strips on his black leathers reflected the dim glow. Withdrawing behind a tree he started to move to the side of the house where there were fewer lights when his mobile rang. 'Hell's bells,' he mumbled cursing himself for not switching it off. He answered the call as fast as he could retrieve the mobile from the folds of his leather jacket.

Chapter Twenty-Five

'Is everyone here?' McIntyre scowled as he strode into the room. He looked around the assembled squad daring anyone to say otherwise. He'd been at work since six thirty reading the various reports from the previous day.

'Let's start with the Campbells, where are we with Alan?'

The reply came from the investigating officer, 'Previously known to look after maintenance in his father's business, but recently has been seen just hanging around. We are checking the Job Centre records and such. Whereabouts unknown at the moment, we have a list of properties and we're working our way through them, should have a result by the end of the day.'

'Missing then, shall we say?' asked McIntyre. Not waiting for an answer he decided to report his findings. 'Regarding Alistair Campbell,' he paused to make sure he had everyone's attention, 'He sold his house three months ago at the same time his property business was taken over by a venture company. He no longer has a business and he's become a very rich man. I haven't been able to contact him because his last address was Valley Farm and according to DS Jones that's now deserted. He hasn't answered his mobile phone since we last had him in here for questioning.' His temper was getting the better of him; although he had managed to suppress it he could feel the pressure increasing. He took a deep breath, 'I'd just like to remind everyone that we are investigating some very serious crimes here. A death by hit and run, and the disappearance of Ellie Winters appears to be connected. The Italian Giovanni Garcia remains in a coma; the doctors don't hold out much hope for him, we could be looking at murder. DS Jones,' he looked to the back of the room for a response, 'I believe you have some answers for us?'

Jones looked around the room, 'I've provided the DI with a briefing note that basically outlines how Giovanni was held against his will by the Campbells and escaped with the help of Rory and Ellie. I'm hoping that we can bring Alistair in for further questioning.' He looked at McIntyre, 'I know where Alistair Campbell was last night and his son was with him. It was at the Ardan Hotel by the side of Loch Awe, I can't say they are still there, but Alistair seemed to be a resident. I want to bring him in this morning. Can I get on with it?'

'Not by yourself you can't, 'He looked at his area Detective Sergeant. 'Give him a hand Jim. Now then Jones what has happened to Rory Bradbury, and will you be bringing him in this morning?'

'I'd like to wait until tomorrow sir,' everyone noticed the use of sir, as though Jones was asking a favour, 'he is cooperative, willing to come in, I think it would be better to let him sweat a little, before we put the screws on him.'

McIntyre appeared to think about the proposal and then agreed, 'OK we will leave it to your judgement, but the same applies to you, these are very serious crimes and you have the murder by arson to add to the list. Any questions or can we wrap the session up?'

'What's to stop them all leaving the country?' asked a voice from the squad.

'Nothing up to now,' his anger surfaced, 'for all we've come up with they may have already left.' McIntyre turned and marched out of the room.

They had found the location of the pilot's body. Rory and Peter pieced together the information from the diary and data passed on by AC. Barely a hundred and fifty metres down the loch from where they had observed the campsite the two metre high rock that acted as a headstone sixty years ago had been virtually hidden by bushes and surrounding vegetation.

'Can we be sure it's the right stone?' asked Rory.

'It could be the right height if you cleared everything from around it,' replied Peter, doubtfully.

'The only way to be certain is to dig down and see what we find.'

'We can't do that. It would be desecrating a grave.'

'Someone will have to do it if the body is to be repatriated,' pronounced Rory.

'That somebody must have the right authority and take religion and family into account.'

'Perhaps if we investigated by digging until we find proof that it's the right place and then stop.'

'I know you have good intentions Rory, but it's not possible to go ahead the way you describe. We are amateurs, what if we dig up the skull; I find the whole idea repulsive. We need professional help.'

'OK, I know both you and Ellie will be pleased your search has come to an end. We can't be certain this is the right spot, but all the indications are that it is, we will have to report the find to the police.'

'But not until we find Ellie and you have a final word with Alistair Campbell.' Peter understood Rory's need to find out why his parents had died. 'I think, after sixty years we can leave him here for a while longer. Ellie must be our priority.'

'Let's move over to our observation post. If we're correct and they are finishing the dive today, they could be packing up.'

Together they relocated nearer to the camp and remained well hidden whilst watching the operations take place.

The men struggled with heavy boxes; not very big, similar to ammunition boxes, they appeared rusty. The divers had bound them together with netting before sending each one to the surface. One by one they were dragged out of the water using nylon ropes. With water still sluicing out of the metal work they lifted them into the RIB. The boat made several trips back and forward from the shore to the diving buoy. It looked as though two boxes exceeded the weight that could be safely carried. When they reached the shore the boxes were loaded into the rear of the Land Rover Defender. As the morning progressed the back end of the vehicle gradually sagged under their combined weight. Cursing one of the men dropped a box which burst open to show dull metal bars.

Rory pointed to the fallen contents, 'heavy metal bars. What does that suggest to you?'

'Looks dull like lead, I think silver would look like that if left in the water, surmised Peter.

'Or it could be gold?'

'Well whatever it is it's got to be valuable. Otherwise why go to all this trouble and expense.'

'Where it goes we follow. Do you agree?'

'Wherever it is, that's where we will find AC. Yes, let's keep with it.'

Down below the divers had developed a system that helped to despatch the steel cases to the surface. With a hole cut in the roof, a rope was passed through and a diver attached a lifting basket inside the fuselage. The diver outside guided the basket in and out, ready with any assistance needed. They had to take turns to go inside, poor visibility made the work tiring and dangerous.

Taking his turn inside Alan found himself shaking with the strain of releasing each box from the metal straps used to secure it to the seat brackets. The boxes were rusty and needed care when being lifted. Each of them had to be wrapped in a net to stop the contents from spilling out. The second one had broken open. It had taken extra effort and time to recover the individual pieces. The task became more dangerous when he moved away from the hole above. The gloom seemed to close in on him the longer he worked in the narrow passenger cabin and the darkness made him feel claustrophobic. The escaping air bubbles from his demand valve disappeared out of the hole above. Occasionally, when he moved further down the cabin, they hit the roof and gurgled around him reducing visibility. The experience felt like being in a fish tank with the limited light of the night. Just like a bloody goldfish, he thought. He checked his watch frequently, wishing his thirty minute duty would end. Finally he signalled to his dive buddy that they should take a break.

Surfacing they clung onto the side of the RIB. Pushing up their face masks, the divers gratefully breathed in the fresh air. They checked each other's equipment, preparing for the next dive.

The safety man leaned over the side of the boat, 'Well done, we're making good progress.'

'Hard work in there,' gasped Alan looking at the other diver, 'be careful not to snag your tubes, you can't get out very quickly.'

'We can do another thirty minutes before we need a break on shore.'

Nodding to each other and communicating by sign language they slowly sank down to continue with the job.

At the lunch time break Alan had started to worry less and enjoy the task. He felt both exhausted from the dive and elated with the work accomplished. At the start of the day he had concerns about how long the recovery would take; now he planned to finish by the evening. Given a reasonable break to recoup their strength he knew they could keep diving. Gathering the crew around him in the tent he confirmed his view that the work would end that day. They agreed that whatever possessions they had at the hotel could be left behind allowing them to give the impression that they would be around another day at least.

The telephone call to AC would be a joy to make. Standing on the shore looking out at the loch he rang his dad's mobile number.

'Hello, this is Alistair Campbell; I'm not available to talk this minute. If you leave a message I'll call you back.'

Disappointed, Alan cancelled the call. If he had to leave a message it would take time to compose it. He thought about the wording and rang back.

'Hello, this is Alistair Campbell, I'm not available ______.'

He didn't bother listening, waiting for the stilted reply to end. In an equally unnatural voice he replied.

'AC,' he never said dad when they discussed business, 'we have started to move the,' he paused thinking of the appropriate word, 'shipment, out to Melfort. All is going to plan. See you there _____.'

He was about to finish when one of the crew pointed to the roadside gate. A police patrol car had pulled up near to the lay-by.

'Got to go, something's cropped up.' He hurriedly finished the call and turned to the tent. He couldn't see to the problem wearing a diving suit; thankfully Matt Young had been working on shore, dressed as normal in jeans and a fleece, he could go and chat to the boys in blue again.

Walking up the track with a brush and shovel Matt, whistled as though he didn't have a care in the world. It looked like the same officer that had come by a couple of days ago, this time he had a Sergeant with him.

'Hi there, how's your day going?' Matt asked smiling as he approached the officers.

'We've had a pretty good morning up to now,' replied the younger police man. 'The bikers are still throwing bottles down then?' He pointed at the broken glass in the lay by.

'I'm not sure we can blame the bikers. We clean it up at night and the next morning we have some more, could be youths in cars.' He began to sweep the glass into a pile.

'Doubt it;' said the Sergeant, an older man, who looked as though he had seen it all, 'we don't have that type of trouble around the loch side. What's going on here then?'

'Environment Agency, checking for water pollution and investigating the structure of the foreshore, some type of Government research.'

'Really?' the Sergeant looked sceptical.

'I'm just one of the drivers, do the odd jobs,' Matt waved the brush and shovel explaining his role in life.

'We'd need to speak to the man in charge, would we? To find out what it's all about.'

'Well, yes, but he's a bit busy.'

Looking down the track at the camp the Sergeant could see Alan boarding the RIB with the other diver. 'Aye, we can see that, maybe we'll pop back later. What time do you finish?'

'In about four hours. What about calling in for a cuppa tomorrow morning? I'll make sure the boss is around for you. Say ten thirty?'

'Sounds grand, ask him to show us his authority to dive. Well we'll be on our way. Turning to the other police officer who had deferred the questions to his senior, 'come on young man, time to catch a criminal.'

They drove away slowly. Matt Young knew they would not easily be put off next time. If there was a next time, if all went to plan they wouldn't be here tomorrow.

The Sergeant turned to his colleague, 'how long have they been there?'

'About a week Sergeant, they had notices up when they started.'

'Didn't know Alan Campbell worked for the Environment Agency, looks like we've struck gold here lad, let's call this in. I know a certain DI McIntyre is going to be very happy we've found his man. Don't you ever read the wanted notices?'

The latest news on the whereabouts of Alan Campbell had improved McIntyre's day. Maybe father and son were in it together. It all seemed to be going his way at last. He relished the thought of interviewing Alistair Campbell again, this time with his son who had so conveniently provided an alibi. Campbell had tried to slip through the net hiding away in a luxury hotel. Why had he sold his business interests? Did he plan to leave? DS Jones had told him of the activities at the farm. He couldn't figure out how Jones kept one step in front of everyone else involved in the investigation. In addition to the incident at Glasgow Airport AC now had to explain the detention of the Italian. Yes he had enough to make a case against him for the hit and run and maybe more. He would interview AC today and his son tomorrow at ten thirty.

With half the steel boxes lifted Alan decided he had the manpower to send the recovered cargo on to the next staging point. The Land Rover would return for the rest in the afternoon. At the end of the day when they withdrew he planned to leave the camp site set up as it had been for the last few days. He believed that even unoccupied it would give the resemblance of work in progress and the strategy saved him taking everything back to the farm, a place he still avoided, knowing the police wanted to question him.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rory had never ridden a motorcycle before. Precariously sitting on the pillion seat behind Peter; he tried to sit up straight every time they turned a corner. Peter had to stop and explain that if Rory relaxed and leaned into the bend with his body he would find it a better ride. After the short instructions they began to lean together and Rory started to enjoy the experience allowing Peter to increase his speed. The Land Rover they followed from the campsite didn't exceed any speed limits and Peter soon caught it up heading towards Oban. They almost lost it when it turned at the sign for Melfort. Up to the turnoff the other bikers using the road made it easy to stay close behind, now they had to drop back. Shortly afterwards the Land Rover pulled into a gravel car parking area, opposite a safe haven for boats.

Seven yachts and two power cruisers were moored near to the shore. Some with the owners visible, either working on rigging or relaxing in the wheelhouse. Several small dingys were drawn up onto the shore line, Rory presumed one for each yacht. Peter drew up in the entrance to a woodland walk, blocking the pathway, but out of sight.

'Looks like we've found the end of the rainbow, I wonder if AC is on board.' Peter said the words muffled by his crash helmet.

'Let's watch,' Rory dismounted, taking his helmet off, he walked to the edge of the wood.

They stood silently watching.

One of the men launched a dingy into the water and drew it into the bank side. The Land Rover rear door opened and the other man climbed out over the recovered steel boxes. They loaded two into the dingy and one of them steadily rowed over to a yacht called Golden Dawn moored to a buoy a hundred metres out. When he arrived at the rear steps he lifted the boxes on to the low transom ready for taking up inside via the wheelhouse. After several repeat journeys both men rowed to the yacht and carried the 'booty' below.

On board Air Vice-Marshall Farnsworth stowed the gold in the centre of the galley, distributing the weight as evenly as he could. The Moody 40, a six berth yacht, could easily carry the weight. Relieved to be receiving the cargo Colin smiled to himself, at last the final stages of the plan had come together. The only complication remained Ellie and Rory who must be silenced if Alistair and he were to escape to a new life. Keeping Ellie drugged proved too difficult with his meagre supplies of sedative; he had resorted to tying her up and laid her on the front bunk bed. The gag stopped her from screaming out although every now and again he had to check on her to make sure she didn't choke. Where was AC? He should have arrived by now he thought.

Alistair Campbell was simmering with anger. Having been delayed by the police for further questioning he now found he needed a solicitor and had to wait for her arrival. He answered the questions carefully, convinced that he had done nothing unlawful apart from the hit and run which could not be directly attributed to him. Eventually he was released without charge, but had to agree to return by the end of the week. He didn't worry about the bail condition, in the next few days he hoped to have changed his identity in Ireland and be well on his way to America. The transfer of his business funds to untraceable Swiss bank accounts finished a week ago. The gold would be smelted down and fenced in Germany. Ironic he thought that the bullion would be going home. All he had to do was to be at Melfort before the yachts sailed that night. He turned on his mobile phone to find a message waiting. Listening to Alan's progress report he gained the impression that his son had grown up to be the leader he had always wanted him to be. All's well that ends well he thought, allowing himself a satisfied grin.

Peter returned to the campsite at a much faster pace, with no one to follow he opened up the throttle forgetting his passenger. Rory stared over Peter's shoulder as the road twisted and turned. At each bend he leaned over, it became natural, allowing the bike to dictate his angle to the road. Not familiar with taking risks at high speed Rory had to put his trust in the skill of Peter. They came up behind another group of riders and tagged on. A car came into view and one by one they zoomed past. Time seemed to flash by as quickly as the countryside, before he realised it the journey ended and they slowed to drive into their observation post by the side of Loch Awe. Finally coasting quietly to a stop, they dismounted.

'Seemed a nice day for a ride,' said Peter.

'I left my fear of flying about ten miles back. OK, you've proved you have nerve, no need to scare me again.'

'I thought you would enjoy it. Let's see if the Land Rover made it back.' He eagerly made his way to the ridge where they could look at the campsite.

The diving looked to be finished. Alan Campbell and his buddy were already out of their wet suits, changed into casual clothes, polishing their appearance. The other men on the site tidied away the underwater equipment, storing the air cylinders in a locked cage. The RIB had been pulled onto the shore and placed by the side of its trailer, oars stored ready for the next day's work.

Alan looked around. All seemed to be in order. The last of the gold storage boxes were in the rear of the Land Rover ready for the journey to Melfort.

'You had no trouble on the last run?' he asked the driver.

'None at all, the old guy helped us with the boxes when we lifted them on board.'

'Good, I've not met him personally, but he's supposed to be fit.'

'Looked as calm as a cucumber. Everything is under control, don't worry.'

'We'll load the last of the boxes when we arrive and then leave the rest to you. Shall we?'

'OK, thanks for the good work here. Bon voyage and forget you've ever seen this place.'

Alan smiled as he looked around. The site looked ready for the next day, but this time they wouldn't be coming back. He wondered how long the police would wait for the crew to arrive for the ten thirty appointment, it gradually dawning on them that no one would come.

They all left together, the people-carrier with four men in it and Alan following in the Land Rover, taking the road to Melfort. The site suddenly seemed deserted. The tent still up, the RIB pulled ashore, but no one to be seen. Quietness settled on the camp with the calm that follows a hard day's work. No one there to witness it, but Rory and Peter, who didn't need to follow the crew, they knew where they were headed.

Police Constable Eric Bradford sat on his motorcycle looking over Loch Awe. For the past few days he had joined other bikers who met at the lay-by near the loch. He had decided to return to take another look at the unusual activity. Not often you see divers in a Loch, he had thought to himself.

Surprised to see Rory's Range Rover parked in a nearby cove he looked around to discover what he could only describe as a nature hide. Somewhere to keep out of sight whilst watching wild life, he realised on this occasion the wildlife lived in a tent and used a boat. He hastily left the observation post to find a place to watch. Spying on the spies, spying on the camp site? He loved this undercover lark.

Admiring the Yamaha roadster that glided to a stop at the side of the Range Rover he watched the pillion rider dismount. No leathers he noticed, nasty if you fall off he was thinking when the rider took of his crash helmet.

'Blow me down with a feather,' he whispered to himself.

Rory's features were unmistakable, but he couldn't recognise the other man, even without the helmet, although the bike had been around these last few days, he felt sure of it. Not one of the normal gang of riders, he thought. He looked on as the pair of them moved over to the hide.

'Interesting, Watson, this gets more and more interesting,' he said in a voice he believed sounded like Sherlock Holmes. He realised he had started to talk to himself and resolved to stop. 'First signs of going mad,' he said. 'There I've done it again!'

On the camp site the vehicles prepared to leave in convoy, he half expected Rory and friend to follow, but when they didn't he stayed back intrigued to see what they were up to.

Out of sight he watched the two men cautiously approach the tent. They tried to unzip the flap, but it must have been locked, moving on they became deeply involved in a discussion about the RIB. They walked around it, looked at the trailer and then the two of them tugged it free and moved it forward. Turning to the RIB they lifted it as though testing its weight. Then with quick movements it had been pulled and shoved onto the trailer.

Nice of them observed Eric, helping to clean up the site, we don't want things left where they can just float off.

Rory left his friend returning in the direction they had come from. A few minutes later he came down the main road in his Range Rover, opening the gate he manoeuvred down the track and reversed up to the trailer. PC Bradford knew he was about to witness a crime. Should he stop it? No chance to intervene would be a good excuse, in any case who wants to spoil the fun; this looked like the beginning of a party not the end of one. He pulled out his mobile and rang his boss.

'You'll never guess who I'm watching steal a boat,' he announced.

'Go on: beyond Sinbad the sailor I haven't a clue,' replied DS Jones.

'Rory Bradbury,' was the triumphant reply.

'What's he want a boat for? Where are you down by Loch Awe?'

'Yes, but he's taking it away from there on a trailer. Looks to be a fast inshore rescue type boat, you've seen them being used on the telly'.'

'I'm getting a little fed up with his antics. Follow him, find out what he's up to and give me a call, we may need to pull him in.'

'Fine by me, by the way, he's not alone, there's another young guy with him. He rides a motor bike. Makes keeping up with Rory a bit more difficult, I'll let you know how I go on.' The call ended.

He continued to watch the theft until Rory left the site in the four by four pulling the trailer with the RIB secured onto it. Eric waited. A few minutes later the Yamaha, unencumbered by a passenger, dashed down the lane in hot pursuit.

The Range Rover handled differently with a trailer. Driving slowly to begin with, Rory looked out for Peter following on. They both knew the road to Loch Melfort and didn't need to travel in convoy; they had agreed to meet near the turn off. Thinking ahead Rory realised that in a sea going boat the loch gave access from the shore line of Scotland to the Irish Sea and Northern Ireland. He had suddenly had the crazy idea of using the RIB to find out what was happening on the yacht. He agreed with Peter wherever the valuable cargo would be they would find AC and he hoped Ellie, who he had become desperate to find. Her life would be at risk if the yacht set sail, he had no doubts that Alistair Campbell could and would kill.

As he approached the Melfort turn off he realised how conspicuous the car and trailer looked. It was bound to raise a few eye brows and maybe awkward questions about launching boats into the sea loch. He pulled over into a lay-by, to pass time until Peter arrived. With daylight fading; he decided to wait until dark to draw nearer the bay where the yachts were moored.

Seconds later Peter screeched to a stop by his side. Leaving the bike propped on its stand he climbed in and sat by Rory. In the high seats of the Range Rover they could see the choppy waters of the loch over the low hedge; a fresh breeze came through the lowered window.

'Perfect weather for sailing,' he said. 'Do they____?'

Interrupting, Peter said, 'I thought we were being followed by another biker,' he waited for a reaction, none came, 'any way he turned off. Why have you stopped?'

'I didn't want to be seen at the water side it seemed better to wait until dark. We need to know what Alan Campbell is up to and where the other men have gone. The bikes not as noticeable as this lot,' he pointed to the trailer behind him, 'I suggest that you go on alone. You could take a look at the yachts and find a place for us to launch the RIB.'

'I can, but what have you in mind for the RIB?'

'I think Ellie must be on the yacht. She's not at the farm or anywhere the police have visited. I haven't got a plan, but we have got a boat. We might as well row up to the yacht and listen in to what's being said.'

'Do you know much about sailing?'

'Nothing at all, but I can manage to row.'

'We won't be using the outboard motor then?'

'I don't know, but when we launch, provided it's easy to fit, we might as well have it on. 'What about you? Do you know anything about boats?

'You're lucky; I did a bit of water skiing a few years ago, there's not much to managing this boat, providing we can start the engine.'

'You go on ahead, whilst I'm parked up here. I'll take a look and see if it can be fitted whilst on the trailer. I'll check the fuel at the same time. Do we need an ignition key?'

'If it's not in the ignition search around the boat, it's bound to be somewhere handy, they wouldn't want it to be in some bodies pocket when they needed it. Keep your mobile on and I can phone you to come forward,' Peter said and left to ride on to Melfort harbour.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It seemed idyllic, the sun slowly sinking, a pink sky with wisps of high cloud, wonderful scenery, the end to a perfect day for many holiday makers. In the peaceful waters of Melfort Loch the yachts looked elegant, resting in the safety of protected waters. The gentle rocking of the boats started the empty rigging to jingle like a wind chime.

Ellie couldn't think of anything worse, she had been allowed out of the guest forward cabin to attend to her needs in the boat's toilet. Immediately afterwards she had been tied up and laid on the bed again. The door was locked. She no longer had a gag; however, it had been made clear to her that if she shouted for help it would be put on again. She didn't know the time, but could see evening drawing in. Her only hope was that Rory and Peter had joined forces and would somehow come to her aid. Colin Farnsworth had made it clear she would not be going home to Switzerland. Uncharacteristically she had cried; being a hard nut to crack had been one of her strengths, however, all seemed to be lost.

'I've got to win,' she whispered to herself, 'I'm going to win,' she affirmed over and over again. She aroused anger in herself and focused it on trying to resolve her predicament.

The ropes bound her tight around the wrist and ankles. Joining the two together ran another rope pulled tight enough to make her bend backwards it restricted movement by pulling her lower legs up towards her shoulder blades. It made movement from one side of her body to the other painful. Ellie shuffled over to the porthole blinds and through a crack could see the shore; it was more than she could see through the hatch above her which appeared to be covered on the outside. Everything in the cabin was smooth, no handles to snag the rope on, nothing to give any hope of working the ropes loose. The light switch by the door could just be reached using her head, but to do so she had to hang over the edge of the bed putting her in danger of falling off. She felt the soft bump of a boat coming along side. Could she scream for help? She thought about it, but needed to know who had come on board.

Whoever it was they were not bothering with pleasantries. The yacht swayed from side to side as feet crossed the deck, she could hear men entering and leaving the saloon by the staircase from the wheel house.

'We need to spread the load,' Colin directed the crew to store the boxes down the centre of the isle. 'At one point we were thinking about removing ballast to take this weight on board.'

'Don't worry dad, we can handle it,' one of the younger men replied.

Knowing how AC respected the Air Vice-Marshal Alan interrupted, 'let's just finish the work and be on our way.'

'Can't disagree with that, but you're not coming Alan, you will be stopping here with all these lead weights,' the crewman laughed. 'We will be off on our mini cruise, not contactable, celebrating a good job well done.'

'Well that's true and this is the last box. Is everything ship-shape and to your liking Colin?'

'Looks trim and balanced. No problems, yes that's fine. Thanks lads.'

'OK Admiral, take care,' shouted the last one off the yacht. 'It's been great; don't phone us, we'll phone you.'

'Sorry about that Colin,' said Alan, they are a bit high spirited having finished the job. If you don't mind I'm going to get some shut eye in one of the cabins.'

'Use the rear one we have a guest in the front.'

'Aye, aye, Captain: AC told me you've been entertaining a lady,' Alan sniggered as he made his way down the staircase.

Colin held his comments in check. At least he had been given a rank; they could have all called him sailor. 'Terms of endearment, young man, be grateful for them,' he said to himself.

Ellie could hear some of the chit chat, but it faded in and out, as the speakers moved up and down the saloon staircase. The occasional clang of metal on metal prompted her to think of cargo being loaded. There seemed to be lots of it, perhaps they were preparing for a long voyage. She gave up trying to guess what it could be. Looking out through her crack in the blind she couldn't see anything, but the darkening shore line.

From behind a tree Peter watched the metal boxes being loaded onto Golden Dawn. Small, but heavy they gradually had an effect on the yacht's buoyancy; it slowly settled deeper into the water. When the loading had finished and everyone said their goodbyes he noticed Alan Campbell stay on board. Overloaded, the deck of the yacht lifted slightly as the cargo handlers climbed off to cross over to a yacht moored nearby. The men looked tired, but still strong, as they rowed to the yacht called Earth Mover. Peter had no doubts they must be skilled sailors. The way they moved on deck, the ease with which they manoeuvred the dinghies suggested they were happier at sea than on shore.

He walked back to his motorbike, pushed it down the road away from the yachts before starting the engine. Before it became fully dark he had to find a launch point for the RIB, he'd not seen one up to now. Searching further down the loch towards the lights of the holiday cottages he discovered a pier with an incline leading down to the water. Coming to a stop he turned the engine off and looked around. Well away from the cottages, nice and quiet, he thought, they should be able to back the trailer down to the water to unload the RIB straight into the loch.

'Hello,' a women's voice from the darkness surprised him, 'not often we see bikers down here. Are you lost?'

Quickly gathering himself together he said, 'no, I've just been visiting friends further up the loch. I came down for a last look at the harbour.'

The middle aged women had a small dog on a lead. She looked suspiciously at Peter, apparently unconcerned to find a stranger riding about in the dark.

'It's quiet down here. Not much happens without it being noticed. Sorry if I startled you.'

'No problem,' he replied. 'What's her name?' he looked down at the white poodle.

'How clever of you to recognise her sex, the name is Tina, she's my best friend.'

Thanking his lucky stars that his guess had been right and the four legged companion had been a bitch, he broke the conversation off, 'Must go now, I've a long way to travel. Nice meeting you.' He gently accelerated back towards the road not wanting to disturb the holiday makers.

The dog walker thought about her friend. Good looking, polite, obviously cared about people, he didn't roar off like the other bikers normally did. Pity he'd not stopped to talk a little more. Out of the blue the term Neighbour Hood Watch came to mind, now didn't they have to do something when strangers came around, she'd look it up in the manual.

'Come on Tina, let's get a move on, we've lots to do tonight.'

PC Bradford arrived by the side of the yachts shortly after Peter had moved on. Not realising that he had missed the unloading of the cargo he stopped to watch the four men from the camp site board a yacht moored eighty metres out from the shore. He couldn't make out the name from where he was sitting astride his motorcycle. The lights came on in the cabin partially lighting the name Earth Mo___, he couldn't read the rest. The four men didn't take time to settle. Shortly after boarding they were on deck checking the rigging. Making sail looked imminent although surely they would be just moving the yacht to a new birth. 'They can't sail in the dark. Can they?' he asked himself. One or two other yachts had lights on, several others floated in darkness. He could hear Rory coming down the road before seeing him. The trailer rattled and bounced as the Range Rover made its way past him, travelling slowly with no lights. The sign at the entrance to the Loch road had shown that it was a dead end, taking that into account he thought it better to stay with the yacht to see what happened. Best let Jones know what's going on, he thought, pulling out his mobile phone. He was about to make the call when another car came along, it stopped abruptly and parked nearby. An older man hurried out carrying a small haversack. He quickly made his way to the line of yacht dinghies on the shore. Busier than our local on a Saturday night PC Bradbury thought trying to make out who it was.

'Sarg'? Is that you?' he whispered.

'I'm the only one that uses this number regularly,' replied DS Jones.

'OK cut the sarcasm, I haven't got long. Alan and his cronies are on board a yacht. What shall I do?'

'Hang on for me. I'll be with you as soon as I can. Don't do anything that makes them sail. Do they sail at night?'

'Don't know, but there's plenty of activity. Can't see much now, it's getting darker by the minute.'

'I think you'll find it does that every night. Tell me where you are and wait until I arrive.'

Alistair Campbell didn't like to be late, but the day had got out of control; he would correct that in the next few hours. He climbed into the dingy and rowed quickly across the open water to Golden Dawn thankful for the single light that had been left on for him. His yacht, his beautiful yacht was moored on the outside of the others, nearest to open water. Over the years he had become a proficient sailor, even in old age he made the tasks on board look easy to accomplish. He nudged the stern as he climbed on board; tying the dingy fast. The cabin door opened and Colin Farnsworth came out to greet his old friend. Light streamed out on to the wheel house as they shook hands and clapped shoulders.

'We did it,' said Alistair.

'Just about to our timetable, I take it the police don't know where you are!'

'No, not a chance, thank goodness. It's time for us to disappear into the night never to be seen again,' he laughed.

'Can I get you a drink? Is it gin and tonic or a dram of the Oban?' he led the way to the hatch door, 'Alan's down here in the back bunk trying to get some shut eye before we sail.'

'A drop of Oban would be nice. Where have you put Ellie?'

'Tied up in the front cabin, she's awake, but keeping quiet. What about Rory?'

'He's not around and now that we are finished and in the clear he needn't be our problem. Let him be, we are about to disappear for good. Turn Ellie free in the dingy as we set sail.'

'Sorry, but I can't do that,' answered Colin Farnsworth, 'she has seen me and she knows too much about us. We may be able to leave Rory behind and I would like to do so, but it's a loose end that might catch up with us one day.'

With her ear to the door, Ellie listened intently to the conversation; she could hear most of what was said, but occasionally missed a whole sentence. There it was again, confirmation that she would be making her final trip in the very near future. Becoming increasingly desperate she found a new position to rest her shoulder enabling her to reach the light switch without falling. She switched the light on and off, on and off, on and off. I can't keep this up for long she thought, looking out of the porthole at complete darkness. No point in struggling until I know there is someone out there she reasoned and resolved to look out frequently. Her thoughts drifted to Rory and how well they had got on together. He was such a great all round guy; considerate, helpful and yet nobody's fool. She had no doubt that he would be successful in business and go on to have a life of leisure, whatever suited his needs. If circumstances had been different she would have loved to get to know him better, however, masquerading as his relation had prevented that. She couldn't flirt with a family member even in fun. The lies she had told would be between them forever. She was sad, however, they had found grandfather's grave and he would be repatriated to a resting place in his homeland, where he belonged, not at the side of a lake hundreds of miles away. Peter would understand that they had done what they thought right without any major harm to others. If only she could have helped Rory to find peace about his parents killers, she knew he would not rest until they were behind bars. He would be amazed to find out the lies Colin Farnsworth had told over the years.

The phone call from Bradford to tip him off about the goings on at Melfort Loch had given DS Jones a headache. His problem was how to tell McIntyre without giving away that he had kept a man undercover for his own investigation. Even more damaging would be his collusion with Rory to give him an extra forty eight hours before bringing him in. He anticipated something going horribly wrong at Melfort. Potentially he could be facing charges himself. He thought about telling the truth and decided a half truth would do. Maybe, AC had property in the area, yes, he would try that. Walking down the corridor to McIntyre's office he developed his story. Knocking on the door he walked in, feeling a bit nervous, but confident that he could pull it off.

'Jones, just the man,' he was greeted with enthusiasm, 'I've a contact down at Melfort Loch who says there is some weird goings on. Apparently some ones started to launch a boat from the slip way; at this time of night that's fairly peculiar, strange even. Did you know that AC once had a few cottages by the side of the Loch? He looked at the wall clock, the time was nine o'clock. He thought he would keep Jones working for a few hours, help him to understand who had authority in this case. The man was always coming up with one theory or another, let's see him do some work. 'Why not go down there and interview the site manager for the holiday rentals?'

'Shall I go by myself sir, or take some of the squad?'

'No go by yourself. I've asked the manager to wait for you.' He looked at the Sassenach, 'don't forget the eight o'clock briefing tomorrow.'

DS Jones had a warm feeling of relief as he walked out of the office. Who said that god didn't look after agnostics?

Two minutes later he was on the phone to Eric Bradford, 'I'm on my way. Meet me at the slip way, it's my unmarked car so don't expect me in the next half an hour.'

The answer he received sounded like a comedy sketch, ' O_, wil_ see you th___. Batter___ lo_.' The crackle and pop of airwave static interrupted the message. 'Bring .'
Chapter Twenty-Eight

In the fading light Rory and Peter pushed the RIB away from its trailer into the calm waters surrounding the pier and slipway. Wet up to his knees, Peter held on to the bow line pulling the boat to allow the trailer to be withdrawn. Rory quickly pulled it back up the steep ramp, fearing the rattle of the empty wheels and framework would be noticed. He stored it beside the Range Rover hidden by trees in the harbour car park. No one had questioned their arrival. Staring into the darkness he tried to gauge if they had aroused anyone; silence reigned. The buildings around the pier were occupied and lights shone out into the gloom. The holiday cottages would be full of happy families settling down for a peaceful night. Relaxing in luxury; surrounded by magnificent countryside with panoramic views of the lake that had now taken the appearance of a photographic negative, with varying shades of grey. Three swans swam along the water's edge slowly searching for a resting place. Rory's eyes gradually adjusted to the gloom; being a nervous sailor he hoped the moon would shine. Peter was surprised how calm the shielded waters of the harbour and safe-haven looked; further out on open water the wind would quickly fill sails.

The two of them used the oars to stay near the bank. Rowing up the Loch they remained conscious that they would be visible to the cottages. As darkness surrounded them their confidence increased, only the noise of their oars in the water made them wary of speeding up. The powerful outboard motor had proved easy to fit, but too noisy to use, it sat on the stern rail waiting to burst into life, but relegated to a dead weight. The two of them sat side by side pulling slowly and steadily, they could see the mooring lights of the yachts about a kilometre away. The oars dipped in and out of the water in a silent rhythm.

Rory's thoughts drifted to what he had to do. He still didn't have an end plan; he knew what he wanted to do, but not how to achieve it. He was emotionally wound up with the thoughts of revenge. He had a gentle upbringing; most of his learning achieved with a genuine respect for fellow man. Integrity, caring for others as much as for winning, giving as well as receiving, all of these had been the values taught to him by his parents. He now had to disregard them, to achieve his goal. His anger was deep seated, he couldn't talk his feelings through, and they simmered and blotted out all other ambitions. He knew it was irrational, but rowing on he contemplated murder. He had never before seriously considered killing someone, but now he knew he would do.

His rational self reined his plans back, if the outcome would be life imprisonment would the deed be worth it? Common sense said to him that he could not follow through his intention to murder his parent's killers. Against the logic that coursed through his mind he argued that he could and would have his revenge. It wasn't enough for the law to give out punishment; on this occasion he would. How to do it? Find out who had been involved first he thought. Definitely the Campbells, maybe Jock, he needed more information. On countless occasions he had heard individuals say 'I'll kill him if I can get hold of him', everyone knew these were empty threats, made in the heat of the moment. He didn't feel that his were hollow promises; calmly, quietly, in a controlled way he was dedicating himself to the task. He would follow it through, he knew he would. Could he handle killing up close and personal? He didn't know, but would soon find out.

Peter broke into his thoughts, 'Rory slow down we are making too much noise,' he whispered. To stop the RIB going around in circles Peter had to match each of Rory's strokes with one of his own. Peter had started to think that for some reason, unknown to him, time had become crucial. He believed that the risky plan they had agreed required secrecy. There could be no excuse if discovered rowing up the loch in the dead of night. Lights would come on, yachtsmen would start shouting, before they could escape the whole place would be a brightly lit theatre with them centre stage. His imagination ran riot. Keep your nerve he told himself as he gently gained the attention of his fellow oarsman.

Rory realised that his anger had been transferred to his rowing arms. Recognising that loss of control and not thinking about rescuing Ellie could lead to disaster at this stage he whispered back, 'Sorry, my mistake'. He slowed down. A few more minutes would bring them level with the yachts, they would need to stop and discuss tactics. They could either pull into the shore or just float on the water. Finding Ellie had to take priority; she had been missing far too long. He knew if she had boarded the yacht and it set sail they might never meet again. The prospect of losing her on top of all the other problems saddened him. He checked his thoughts, get mad not sad, you are here to make a difference, he reminded himself. If she wasn't on Golden Dawn he didn't know where else to search. A conversation with DS Jones would be needed. Not wanting a phone call whilst silently rowing down Melfort Loch, he checked his mobile was turned off and gave it to Peter for safe keeping.

On the shore PC Bradford made himself comfortable with his back to a rock and his legs stretched out before him. The motorcycle leathers protected him from the cold of his earthen bed. He was looking out towards the yachts watching the glittering lights of the one he was interested in, Earth Mood. He couldn't see the real name so he had given it a new one, as near to the original as he could. Yes, he sighed, this is a great assignment. A warm balmy night, stars out, shining bright, the jingle of yacht rigging, all he needed was a bottle of wine and the company of the girl he had befriended at the last speedway meeting. Silent as the grave he thought, occasionally he heard wild life on the Loch; he'd seen swans before daylight finally vanished. There: he listened carefully, turning his head, knowing he wouldn't see anything, but he was sure he had heard a splash. Rory had not reappeared since driving down the road, he assumed that he had stayed or called at one of the cottages. He could just make out the lights in the distance. DS Jones must be driving a tank, he imagined, low speed, difficult to steer, limited visibility, lots of noise, better than a squad car though. Give me a bike any day, he smiled. It's a bit boring though, been here at least an hour now he guessed, slowly, without a fight he drifted; drifted into a warm comfortable snooze.

A light flashing, yes there it was again. Peter nudged Rory and pointed out into the loch. They sat in silence, looking, waiting; it flashed again, three times then stopped. They waited again, but to no avail. Floating near to the bank they had stopped to gain their bearings and to plan the next step.

'That must be a signal for us,' said Rory, willing it to be true, but doubting every word.

'Worth checking it out,' Peter replied, and together they pulled towards where the light had been. They knew roughly where the Golden Dawn was moored; they rowed slowly and quietly in that direction, intending to listen to any noise or conversation on board. As they approached they could just make out the low murmur of voices from the centre of the yacht, probably the saloon. They headed for the bows; earlier, pulled into the shore, they had agreed a careful plan. Approach quietly, listen to any conversation, take note of preparation to sail and back off for another planning session. At their approach the cabin light began to flash again. They stopped rowing and gently rocked from side to side trying to establish where they were in relation to the other yachts especially the 'Earth Mover'. No one seemed to be aware of their position, carefully they moved nearer to Golden Dawn's bows. Without any word or notice Rory moved forward on the RIB and gently stepped on board the yacht. Peter was astounded; it wasn't what they had agreed. The yacht hardly dipped as Rory moved onto its deck. Peter waited; however, thinking the two boats could bump together he decided to back away. Rory seemed to have taken things into his own hands. Using an oar like a paddle he slowly moved back out into the loch to await events.

It was a split second decision, the yacht and the RIB didn't make contact. Rory saw his chance and took it. The yacht dipped at the same time as the RIB lifted upwards, for a fraction of a second the deck became level with the top of the float. He just stepped aboard, striding over the low rail. He sat on his haunches on the bow decking not daring to move, holding his breath, waiting for a shout that indicated they knew he was on board. In the quietness that seemed to surround him he began to hear the gentle lapping of water on the hull, a breeze in the rigging, boards creaking. Nothing happened, no shout or alarm, Peter had described how he had seen AC and Alan row out and board the yacht. He wondered where they would be.

Moving to the forward hatch he unlatched it. Taking the strain he was about to lift it when the voices they had listened to earlier became louder. They could now be over heard in the wheel house.

'Leave the lights out we don't want everybody to know we're taking a breath of fresh air,' Alistair Campbell said. 'You know we could start the engine and begin to move out of here before dawn. There really is no need to wait.'

'I know that,' came a familiar voice, 'but if we wait another hour we'll catch the tide as we come into Ireland.'

Rory held his breath. He knew that although he was at least four metres away from them any movement would be noticed. Out of nowhere there was suddenly a loud continuous knocking sound. It came from under his feet. He kept his head down not wanting the whiteness of his face to be seen, he listened trying to judge the reaction of the two men at the stern.

'That's out guest in the front cabin. I'll deal with it, you enjoy the rest of your drink,' said AC and swiftly entered the saloon by the wheel house hatch.

A few moments later Rory could hear him in the cabin below. His heart jumped a beat when Ellie begged to be allowed to go to the toilet.

'I can't help it! I can't wait any longer,' she cried.

'Quiet, we agreed no noise from you or it would be the gag again.'

The door opened allowing both of them to exit. Ellie still tied at the wrist, but free to walk. The pain in her lower calves had become unbearable. She struggled into the small room and used the heavy weather handles to help her sit down. She moaned, not from relief at being able to complete her bodily functions, but from the pain of being tied up for several hours. Exiting through the narrow door, she deliberately turned towards the saloon, only to find her way blocked.

'Back you go my dear, not much longer to wait,' said AC.

Neither of them realised that Rory had entered the empty cabin via the forward hatch. Climbing down he devised a plan to rescue Ellie. He waited behind the door. In the small cramped space it would be difficult to take anyone by surprise, but he didn't have time to become uncomfortable.

Ellie literally flew through the door; her knees caught on the bed rail and tipped her on to the mattress. A huge push ensured she would go where she was ordered. AC came close behind with the rope ready to tie her legs.

Rory stepped in behind AC and hit him with all his might in the kidneys. He didn't have any experience in hand to hand fighting, but having read a few fiction books thought it would be a debilitating blow. Alistair Campbell moved forward with the punch taking the strength out of it. He turned and grabbed Rory's hand in a wrist lock, twisting it down and sideways. Rory found himself spun around; he couldn't do anything about it. He lunged backwards with his head hoping to butt AC on the nose. He missed and found himself being propelled forward into the cabin wall. His nose connected with a terrible crunching noise; tears came to his eyes, blood spurted everywhere. Unexpectedly the grip on his wrist eased and he could turn around. Ellie held AC around the neck with her wrist bonds. Pulling back against her knee she was squeezing the life out of him. Breaking free Rory hit him in the stomach as hard as he could. Air rushed out, spittle flew as AC tried to grab the ropes around his neck. He gradually went limp. His tongue came out as he gasped for air. Rory wrapped his arms around the flailing legs to stop them banging and raising the alarm. Unconscious AC slumped to the bed. Rory pulled Ellie off he didn't want her to be responsible for murder.

The triumphant look between them signified the bond forged over the last few weeks and the relief in believing escape would be possible. Rory quickly untied Ellie's wrists. The door had closed to the corridor and saloon; they pushed AC down behind it effectively blocking it. They stood listening knowing someone would come to find out what the commotion had been about. Quietly they lifted the forward hatch to climb through it. To begin with the small crack showed the stars, opening it further Rory looked up directly into the face of Alan Campbell and the two enormous round holes of a twelve bore shot gun.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

He laughed with glee, 'Got ya,' Alan had not sprung such a surprise since being a teenager at Halloween. This time he really was the villain, he could feel the power of the evil spirit inside him. Pointing the shotgun down the hatch he could pull the trigger and both of his enemies would be wiped out. The menace in his wide eyed glare shouted, go back or suffer the consequences. Rory quickly pulled the hatch closed, he couldn't climb out, but Alan couldn't see or shoot them. They could hear the locks being closed above them. AC remained out of the fight, still gasping for air, unable to interfere.

Riding the waves near by the yacht Peter watched a man move forward from the cockpit, fastening the hatch that Rory had entered. What could he do? He guided the RIB nearer. Two gun shots rang out, the light from the blast visible at the same time as the discharge. Peter quickly pulled away to protect the boat's hull. To return to shore and involve the police seemed the best thing to do, but Rory would be relying on him to stay near to the yacht

Ellie grabbed the initiative, 'we are going to have to go through the saloon and out of the wheel house.'

They pulled AC to one side. Before she opened the door Rory whispered, 'Peter is nearby in a small boat if you get a chance take it; dive over the side, we can't stand there looking at each other, don't wait for me, just do it.'

Ellie opened the door ready to run down the short corridor past the head, through the galley into the saloon and out of the hull by the stairway at the end. They both came to an abrupt halt in the saloon. Colin Farnsworth stood facing them holding an ancient revolver.

'Colin!' shouted Rory in surprise; it was the first time he had seen the Air Vice-Marshall after their meeting at the Manor House, 'What are you doing here?'

Ellie answered the question, 'He tricked me into coming with him to see you. Ever since our arrival he has held me in the front cabin, Alistair Campbell came a short while ago.'

Colin waved them to the couch where they sat down one at each end. Rory tried to sit as far away from Ellie as possible making Colin choose who to target.

'Together please,' the pistol waved them to sit side by side. Laid out along the middle of the room and under the table rested the flat bullion cases. Colin remained standing in the classic two handed shooting stance although it soon became obvious the two hands were needed to cope with the weight of the gun.

Alan came crashing down the stair way holding the shotgun ready for use. Rory hoped the safety catch was on otherwise they could all be sprayed with lead as the weapon discharged. 'There's another one out there in a boat,' he shouted, exhilarated with the power of shooting the gun.

'Alan, make your way forward and see to your dad. Careful when you walk in front of me we don't want to have to shoot unnecessarily.' He waited whilst Alan passed by, 'When you have finished, take that shotgun up top and let's get underway using the engine for the first few kilometres.' The Air Vice-Marshall looked in his element when in charge. 'We can rig the sales when we reduce our manning levels.'

He glanced down at the floor, Rory and Ellie looked at the boxes, 'this is a six berth yacht, it can cope with more people, however, I think ten is two too many. He explained; 'the sum total of all these boxes is the equivalent of five burly storm troopers fully laden, add, Alan, Alistair and myself makes eight, add you two makes two too many,' he laughed, 'simple maths. We've got quite a party going on. It's only natural that swimming will be on the games list. Two youngsters like you will obviously need to be handicapped,' he gave the impression of thinking how, 'perhaps by having to carry lead weights. Yes, that's it, oh don't worry, very small lead weights.' He waited to deliver the punch line, 'about the size of a bullet.'

'Why the gun Colin, what's happening? We've been friends for years, haven't we?'

Alan pushed past, 'Dad's OK, but needs a bit of time to recover; I'll get us moving.' He glared at the two of them as he said, 'it won't be long now folks.'

Colin sat down on the opposite side of the saloon, crossing his legs and resting his gun hand on top.

'Yes our paths have crossed over the years and I've enjoyed the company of Charlie, Elaine and you. But we're not family, or if we are, it's been an arrangement of convenience on my part. Alistair and I have plotted for a long time to recover this cargo. Your father could have made the task easier by disclosing the whereabouts of the sunken aircraft in Loch Awe, but he didn't. He was stubborn to the end. Why? We don't really know other than he wanted the German pilot's body to be returned. He certainly didn't know about these,' he kicked the boxes at his feet.

'What's in them?' asked Ellie.

'Of course you don't know. Lots of gold bars are in them, lots and lots of them.' Smiling he waved his free arm down the length of the saloon. Estimated value is ten million pounds,' he smiled thinking of the pleasure the money would bring. 'Alistair found out about a plot to capture Rudolf Hess, the German Officer that arranged for these, 'he kicked the boxes again, 'to be flown over here. Charlie the navigator of that flight worked for me. He wouldn't have become involved in the 'peace flight' without him believing he was doing something for the greater good of us all. We didn't know the exact location of where the gold could be found until recently, via your Italian friend, just as we were about to collect it we believe Charlie received warning letters from Giovanni. There was no way we could let the information go public, not after all these years of keeping it quiet. It's been easy to keep the secret because the Government and British Intelligence also wanted to keep the venture out of the public domain. We were the only two who knew what the 'peace offering' consisted of; everyone else believed it would have rotted away.

'What proof could dad have held?' asked Rory. 'You could have continued to deny it all, just as you always have.'

'I knew of the diary. He'd not mentioned it for years, but I knew that it gave the location of the German pilot and contained his identification papers. We had to have the diary to prevent the story breaking with credible documentation. If only he had given us the diary we would have left him alone. No one would have listened to his ramblings.'

Staring in disbelief Rory said, 'you had them killed? You burnt the house down?'

'No, it was an accident. Sort of an accident anyway; we just wanted the diary.'

'How did it happen?'

'I arranged for them to receive a prize in the post, two tickets for a show in London. They shouldn't have been on the premises.' He adjusted the position of the gun, it seemed heavier somehow. 'Alan and Jock had instructions to burgle the house and steal the diary,' he took a deep breath, 'to destroy it if they could. They couldn't find it in the house, between them they thought that both aims could be achieved if the house was set on fire. The diary would be both found and burnt in one action. I didn't know they would do it. I regret it.'

The small yacht engine started, they could feel that they were underway.

'You regret it?' Rory whispered, 'it was murder. You're sorry? It was at your bidding!' He felt betrayed, his family life destroyed, the pain of his loss momentarily showed on his face. He understood from DS Jones that the warning letter had not even been given to Charlie. Their deaths had been for nothing, the diary had been locked away at the bank. At their age having given so much for the good of others, to die in such circumstances was an insult. His anger simmered just below the surface.

'After the funeral with the reading of the will I needed to persuade you not to come to Scotland. I failed because of Ellie's intervention. She wanted to find the truth. I had to pass you on to Alistair. We intended to keep you out of it. We tried to delay you, to mislead you, but damn you we could not stop both of you from interfering.

Ellie could see Colin having trouble with the gun; his hand was shaking with the effort of holding it on them. With the hammer cocked ready to fire she feared that the very minimum of effort on the trigger would be needed. In crossing her legs and with various other shuffles to get comfortable she had increased the distance between herself and Rory. The effect made Colin choose one or the other of them as the main target. The barrel of the gun wavered between them.

'I never wanted to hurt either of you; you have left us no options. We can't simply disappear without a trace as planned; you are too involved with the police and,' he hesitated, 'too unforgiving. You have both become loose ends that need to be eliminated.'

Ellie desperately looked at Rory, 'But we can be trusted, we wouldn't talk to the police, especially with a share of the gold,' she lied.

'I'm sorry, I don't believe that,' replied Colin.

The yacht had definitely picked up speed. They could feel it moving, leaning over; sail power had been added to the energy of the motor. The noise from the sea buffeting the sides increased.

'Wonderful these modern yachts,' said Colin, 'one man could sail this around the world.'

As long as he's talking he's not shooting thought Rory, 'Yes it's true, all we wanted was the gold.' He could see Ellie had moved away making it more difficult to cover them both. He expected to die in the next few minutes; he thought he might as well die fighting.

Colin seemed to think about them sharing the gold; he looked down at the boxes at his feet. 'No it's too late for that, we don't need new partners,' he smiled ruefully; the regret showed in his eyes, 'I'm afraid you have reached the end.' With the gun pointing at Rory he pulled the trigger.

Seeing the slight movement in Colin's shoulder and the revolver barrel moving in his direction, Rory instinctively dived forward to grab it. Too late the gun went off. The noise was ear splitting in the confined space of the yacht cabin. Rory managed to reach Colin's arm and knock it upwards, but the bullet entered his left shoulder. The pain was immediate and intense it took his breath away, but the weight of his dive carried both Colin and himself over onto the floor.

Stunned by the noise of the shot Ellie leapt forward wrenching the gun from the hand that held it. Grasping it by the barrel she used it as a club hitting Colin on the side of the head. He went down; she hit him again and again. He didn't move. Rory rolled over and stood up. 'Got the right guy this time,' he said, grimacing with pain. Give me the gun,' he demanded, but Ellie could see he was in no fit state to use it.

'I'll take the lead, you follow,' she ordered, and moved to the wheelhouse staircase.

As she approached it Alan came to the entrance, his legs showing before his body bent to come down. He pointed the shot gun down towards them, but couldn't see what had happened without coming further down. Without thinking about it Ellie raised the pistol, pulled the trigger and shot him in the thigh. Unable to hold his weight on his legs Alan fell down the stairs. The shotgun fired; two blasts ripped through the room over her shoulders, missing everyone. Like a starting pistol the noise urged Ellie to sprint faster. She jumped over Alan pulling Rory behind her. He cried out with pain. The shattered shoulder hindered him. One hand on the rail he stepped onto the back of Alan boasting himself upwards. Struggling she dragged him up the staircase. As they both reached the top she lost her grip on his wrist, but sensed him close by. The open cockpit was in darkness, she could see the water; looking sideways at Rory preparing to leap, she jumped without hesitation.

Underwater the weight of her clothes dragged her further into the cold depths. Disorientated, she began to panic. The body's survival mechanisms worked, she kicked upwards. Lungs bursting, her adrenalin fuelled body delivered the energy for a final thrust. Ellie breathed in just before bursting out on to the surface. Coughing the water out of her lungs, a wave delivered another mouthful, she began to sink again. Kicking harder, finally finding a stroke, she began to swim. Under control she looked back to see the tail end of the yacht moving smoothly away from her, the engine noise gradually reducing as the navigation lights faded into the night. From a distance all seemed to be in order. Looking around for Rory she couldn't see him. Ellie shouted his name. There was no reply. She swam around trying to see where he might have sunk below the water. Her screams filled the air, 'Rory, where are you?'

She waved as the RIB came towards her out of the darkness; the force of its outboard motor creating a white pressure surge at its bows. The noise died down along with the wave that preceded it. She was dragged from the water. Peter almost toppled into the sea with the effort of lifting her into the boat. Ellie was hysterical, shouting for Rory. He slapped her across the face and clamped her in his arms, 'Tell me! Is he here in the water with you?'

'He's shot in the shoulder. Jumped at the same time,' she gasped, eyes frantically scanning the water. She burst out into tears and grabbed his arm, 'Peter, help me find him, I know he's here.' Hanging over the side she shouted, 'Rory,' into the surrounding darkness, 'Roreee!'

Chapter Thirty

It turned cooler as the evening progressed. PC Bradford lifted his head from his unplanned nap. Must have been dreaming he thought, sounded like a backfire. He looked out to the yachts, nothing moved, nothing had changed. Or had it? Further out there now seemed to be a hole in their formation, he couldn't swear to it, but something was missing. Surely it couldn't be as big as a yacht? It must be a trick of the light.

His mobile rang, looking at the low battery signal; he didn't waste any time in answering it.

'Eric Bradford,' he said in a low voice, conscious of the quietness surrounding him.

'Where are you?' asked DS Jones.

'You'll find me opposite the yachts at the top end of Melfort Lock, sat by the shore hidden in some bushes. Not long after you turn off the main road. Where are you?'

'Just arriving, look out for me.'

Shortly afterwards he waved a car down, as it slowed he directed his boss into a pull in.

He quickly briefed him about Rory and the trailer and pointed out the 'Earth Mood' as he called it. The yacht still had lights on and the two men on deck looked to be preparing to leave the moorings. Eric looked at his watch, surprised to see he had lost about forty five minutes of time he said, 'It's been like that about an hour, maybe a bit longer.'

'Well if it sails we are going to need some help,' said Jones.

'Did you bring a radio? My mobile battery is just about dry.'

'Yes, let's stop whispering and listen for a while. I don't want to send for back up without good cause.'

Silence, not a sound, peace and quiet, pity it's not a full moon thought DS Jones. The men on the yacht could be heard preparing to leave. The sound of lockers opening and closing, rigging being tested with a pull from strong arms, soft footsteps on the wooden deck. Attempts to keep the noise down failed as it easily carried over the water. Jones took note; they must be able to hear us just as easily he thought.

They heard two bangs similar to a firework going off. Not near, out on the Loch, out of sight.

'Gunsho.,' PC Bradford was about to suggest.

'Couldn't say,' said Jones, 'anyway why would someone be shooting out at sea, more likely to be farmers after vermin on the bank side.'

They continued listening. A motor started up on the yacht. It idled, ticking over, pumping out water before the journey. More lights came on in the cabin briefly illuminating the wheel house before a door closed. The men on deck assembled at the stern of the yacht making final plans to depart.

'Right, I'm going to phone this in. You're sure these are the men that Rory followed from Loch Awe?'

'Without a doubt, I couldn't be more positive.'

'And Alan Campbell is on board?'

'Well, I didn't actually see him board, but they were together and I've not seen him since.'

'OK, let's see how efficient the locals are at this time of night,' he moved to his car to use the police net radio.

'Patch me through to DI McIntyre, please.'

'He's not in the station sir, do you want to be put through to his mobile phone.'

Patience, patience, he thought, 'Yes please, I need to contact him urgently.'

'It's ringing.'

He listened. The call remained unanswered.

'Sorry sir there's no reply. Shall we try his home phone?'

'It's an emergency; try everything you've got. Are there any patrol cars in the area of his home? Find him, I can't wait.' His exasperation with the Detective Inspector rasped in his voice. He needed support and he needed it now. Where could he be anyway at eleven o'clock at night?

Sipping a glass of wine at the Rotary Club Dinner, DI McIntyre knew not to overdo it, he was still on call. He looked at his mobile placed on the table, turned off for the speeches; it had been a ten minutes respite from all the crap in the world. Looking around him at the well off business men he knew that somewhere he had gone wrong in life. If only he had his chances again. His thoughts were broken into by a disturbance at the entrance to the celebration hall. Two policemen in high visibility jackets stood arguing with the doorman, who left them and made his way over.

'Detective Inspector McIntyre?' he queried.

'Yes,' he thought, full marks for deduction, seeing as I'm wearing my full dress uniform.

'I believe your car awaits sir.'

What bloody car? Passed through his mind and various other curses were mumbled as he made his way to the exit. This had better be good, he resolved, his temper flaring. 'One night, one bloody night I have out and they send a squad car!'

Within minutes he had exchanged the warmth of the hall for the rear seat of a police car. The radio squawked into life.

'Jones, where in hell are you and what's the emergency?'

Noting the sour tone in the voice of the DI he retaliated. 'We've been trying to contact you for some time.' He could hear an emergency siren in the background.

'Yes, I know that; now what so important? I'm on my way to the station in a high speed patrol car with a driver that knows no fear. Get on with it man. Tell me why!'

DS Jones quickly gave his report, 'I'm out at Melfort Lock as instructed, with a witness who has seen Alan Campbell and the men from the Loch Awe campsite board a yacht. It has just set sail. I know that you intend to visit the campsite tomorrow. I need help to bring the yacht back.'

'Right,' came the thoughtful reply, 'We're nearly back at the station, I'll see what has to be done. What else have you discovered? This can't be the boat reported as launched from the harbour.'

Jones realised that he should have followed the report up. 'I'm on my way to that incident. Apparently Rory Bradbury and another man were seen going in that direction with a boat taken from Loch Awe.'

McIntyre commented, 'I don't know where you get your information, but if it's correct we need to know what they are up to.' He settled his emotions down, needing to be professional to achieve the right results. 'Make your way down there. Ask for the Harbour Master. I'm sending some back up. I'll let you know what's being done about the yacht. What do they call it?'

'Earth Mood,' replied DS Jones looking at PC Bradford his star witness.

DI McIntyre needed help. Referring to Standard Operating Procedures he understood that he had to contact the Maritime Rescue Centre for emergencies at sea, but didn't know if this included calling a yacht back to interview the crew. He decided against declaring an emergency, but needed to ask for advice.

'We can probably trace its next port of call at first light,' responded the experienced voice. 'What's its name? Where did it sail from? Give me the details.'

After consulting the watch commander he decided to allow the yacht to continue its journey and ask the local police to conduct interviews where ever it landed. That's the best that can be done at this time of night, he thought to himself. Going over this in preparation for declaring a maritime incident the following morning he recalled Jones reference to a stolen boat.

Ringing DS Jones on his mobile he shouted, 'Jones, this is McIntyre, any news?'

The Detective Sergeant had just finished talking to the chairwoman of the neighbourhood watch. He hadn't needed to find her she had come out to him as soon as he pulled up. Someone should have a word he thought, she didn't know we were police, just thought she would be nosey. At nearly midnight she must be crazy.

'Yes a boat has been launched. Looks like the RIB from Loch Awe, with an outboard. We've found Rory's Range Rover with a trailer. I can't see them now. They must be out on the water.'

'A stolen boat then?' he pronounced. We should report that to Strathclyde. I'll do that now. Keep a look out by the loch.'

It had been pointed out that Strathclyde police had a Marine Policing Unit; he needed to know if they could help. They also had an Air Support team helicopter that could be in the area in thirty minutes. Could they help at night, out at sea?

His desk phone rang. The Rescue Coordination Centre, 'Further to our recent conversation. We have a ship to shore radio contact with a yacht called Earth Mover, sailed out of Melfort this evening. Could it be your yacht?'

'Yes, it must be the one we have described,' his heart skipped a beat.

'Any message to be relayed to it?' queried the calm voice of someone familiar with emergencies.

It took a few seconds for the question to sink in to his spinning brain. They were still in touch. His problem had been solved. 'Would you please ask it to return to Melfort Harbour where it will be met by police officers? Nothing to worry about, a few routine questions, but they must be asked tonight.' He thought they will probably not respond if Alan Campbell is on board. 'Why did they call in?'

'To report gunshots out on the water, I believe they are already thinking of turning around. It sounds as though they are concerned for their safety.'

PC Bradford stood by the side of DS Jones on the harbour jetty looking out to what he thought would be the sea. Finally the moon had broken through; they had a clear view of about two miles. They watched the approaching blue flashing lights travel down the loch side.

'Two cars by the look of it,' said Eric.

DS Jones was about to reply when his mobile rang.

A panic stricken voice cried out, 'DS Jones, we need help.'

The caller display identified Rory Bradbury's phone and he recognised the voice immediately, 'OK, OK, calm down Ellie. Where are you?'

'We're at sea in a small boat following a yacht called Golden Dawn. The Campbells are on board. Rory's fallen in the water we can't find him.' The tearful, distraught voice, shouted, 'Colin shot him in the shoulder.'

'Where are you? How long have you been at sea?' He could hear the outboard revving as it forced its way through the sea.

'About an hour; I can't see where we are. Wait: we can see a light house.' The boat pounded as it bounced from wave top to wave top.

'Who are you with Ellie?'

Peter, my brother; hurry we are searching for Rory, but he's disappeared. He may have drowned.'

'I'm ringing off Ellie; I've got to call this in. Keep looking.'

He turned to see Eric Bradford who had listened to his conversation. 'Earth Mood is the wrong yacht. The Campbells are on one called Golden Dawn.' He looked at Eric in dismay, 'we've lost them, and they're going to get away with it.'

'I knew there was something wrong. Just couldn't put my finger on it.' Eric said this to himself thinking of the lost minutes when he had been dreaming.'

'Emergency services, quick which one for lost at sea.'

'Coastguard,' the Police Constable replied, '999 is probably faster than going through the incident room. Are they in the RIB?'

'Yes, Rory's in the sea.'

On the RIB desperation had set in. It had been too long. If he was in the water Rory must have perished. Peter brought the boat to a slower speed.

'Did you actually see him jump in the water?'

'Yes we jumped together.'

They peered outwards for ever looking for something; anything that indicated Rory had made it. Making his mind up Peter accelerated and turned in the same direction as the Golden Dawn.

'What are you doing,' shouted Ellie, her words lost to the wind

'I'm going after them. We can't find Rory, but we can finish his work. He wanted revenge, and now I do,' he screamed into the spray now coming over the bows. The conditions were changing as they moved out from the shelter of Lock Melfort into the Sound of Jura. The visibility reduced and with the tide running faster he felt a terrible dread. How long could they follow? Could they catch up?

Seventy miles away; rotor blades started to turn, slowly they increased in speed. The helicopter remained on the ground whist one of the crew men walked around it making the pre flight inspection. Satisfied he opened the door and climbed in. Noise levels raised as the engine speed picked up. Still the machine waited to raise, the pilot making final checks. The down draft pushed launch pad debris far away to the sides of the tarmac.

With increasing noise the Sea King lifted off the pad. At twenty feet the pilot spun it around as though on a pin head and sloping his rotors took off to attend the call.

Alerted by the 999 call, rescue helicopter R177 had scrambled from the Royal Naval Air Station at Prestwick.
Chapter Thirty-One

The noise of the gunshots in the confined space of the saloon seemed to ring on and on. Alan Campbell lay on the saloon floor, his thigh bone shattered from the bullet fired by Ellie. He could feel the blood pumping out with every beat of his racing heart. His father ran out of the front cabin, stopped to take in the scene and then continued to the stairwell. Seeing the light fleetingly blocked by an exiting body AC started upwards. Climbing quickly he reach the deck level and could see Rory and Ellie about to jump overboard. He lunged forward and caught an ankle with his outstretched hand. Rory, caught in mid stride, about to take off, was yanked backwards, his body twisted, he fell headlong hitting his head on the stern upper edging, dropping back onto the wheelhouse deck. He slumped down; unconscious. AC climbed out onto the deck and dragged the motionless body back beside the wheel, resting it at the top of the stairs.

'Don't you dare move from there until I've finished,' he shouted, the threat fell on deaf ears. Looking down at the blood stained shattered shoulder he could see that Rory would not be fighting back. AC searched for something to hit him with, finally in frustration he leaned over and struck Rory on the jaw with his fist. Exhausted and reeling from the sudden action he left him there and slid down the staircase hand rails in true sailor fashion. Entering the saloon he stopped short to take in the chaotic scene facing him.

Alan had managed to crawl away from the foot of the stairwell. After a gigantic effort he now sprawled on one of the saloon bench seats. His good leg hanging over the edge the other was stretched out in front. With both hands he pressed on a pressure pad fashioned from old newspapers, applying it to the wound at the top of his leg. Blood oozed from around the edges, soaking the surrounding seating to saturation point. He looked white in the face, ready to pass out. Shock from the injury had set in, feeling cold his body began to shake; his mind numbed by events only registered the insufferable pain.

His head and face red from the pistol lashing Ellie had given him, Colin, AC's old friend, used a towel to stem the blood from a head wound. Sitting on the bench seat opposite Alan he looked in a daze, like a boxer coming around after a knockout blow. The cushions held him upright. Awake with limited movement, stunned by Ellie's ferocious attack, he wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve, blood mixed with nasal mucus trailed across his face. An eye already swelling from the battering stared out unseeingly, tears dripped from the other.

Worst of all, the damage caused by the shot gun blast had been substantial. AC cursed his son for bringing it on board. The two discharges had been fired into the galley. Luckily the cooking hob and pans had stopped a lot of the leaded shot from one cartridge. The other had blown a perfectly formed elliptical hole straight through the hull. AC could see out through the frayed edges of fibre glass. The spread of the shot at such a short distance covered an area the size of a pillow. Just above the water line it gave access to the sea. Water poured in over its lip every time the yacht dipped in the swell. The forward motion of the yacht, carrying the excess weight, aggravated the problem. In the open waters of the Irish Sea it would sink them. Sea water sloshed around Alistair Campbell's feet. Could the hole be blocked, by a temporary repair? He didn't know how effective it would be, but he bundled waterproof coats together, stuffed them into the gap and shored them up with the wooden cover taken off the chart table. It held the bulk of the water back although it still seeped in.

A smell of gas came from the galley, he'd not smelt it before, now the breeze through the gaping hole had dropped it became more nauseous. Scrambling on his knees he found the gas tap and twisted it to off. The pipe work had been fractured; he couldn't judge the amount that had escaped, but lower to the floor the air reeked of gas. He knew he had to stop the engine. The combination of a gas leak and a running engine could be disastrous. Moving over to the inside cockpit he pressed the emergency stop button. Forward movement continued until gradually the yacht began to slow down. AC realised the yacht had sails out, but could feel the boat easily handling the wind. With the engine at rest the pumps stopped, fortunately the lights transferred to emergency power. The repair held for the moment, but he could see it weakening.

AC looked over at Alan to find that he had passed out. Without pressure on the wound blood flowed freely. Opening the medical cabinet he tore open a big pad and applied it to the entry wound. As he did so his hand found the exit hole. Shocked at its size he quickly formed a pad of news paper and with electrical tape found in the chart table drawer bound the whole injury together. The top and bottom of the thigh bone were out of alignment indicating a broken femur. Alan needed emergency medical attention, the faster the better.

He looked at the ship to shore radio thinking that he had to make the call although at night the yacht would be difficult to find. With no alternative he turned the equipment on. He tuned it to the emergency frequency VHF Channel 16.

'Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,' he paused.

'This is yacht Golden Dawn, call-sign Mike-Mike-Victor-Romeo, sailing from Melfort Lock, approaching Shuna, I am five kilometres North West of Arduaine' he waited.

'Received: Romeo-Romeo-Romeo; this is the Maritime Rescue Coordination Centre at Greenock. Please give nature of your distress; over.'

AC didn't expect such an early response. He jumped at the reply. Steady now, keep calm, he told himself.

'Crewman in need of urgent medical attention: damage to hull: in need of immediate assistance, unable to sail or steer. Over'

'Golden Dawn: we are attending another call in your area. Please put up distress flares. Acknowledge please.'

'Acknowledged,' said AC.

Why hadn't he thought of that? He turned and climbed the few stairs to the wheel house. Opening the emergency locker he found it empty. The flare gun was missing from the brackets that normally secured it ready for use. Must be the wrong locker, he thought. Closing the door he could see the legend 'Distress Flares' written on it. He opened the door again, this time in a panic. He had personally insisted on a flare gun, where could it be? Like a jolt of electricity he realised who had removed it. Alan must have used it in his arson attack and Jock had then lost it at the farm when Giovanni escaped. He turned and seeing Rory begin to move kicked him in the stomach and ribs, 'Stay there,' he vented his anger in his shout at the once again motionless body.

He knelt down over the still form, lifting Rory's head from the deck. The closed eyes flickered, AC shouted, 'stay there help is on the way,' he laughed, 'but not for you old son.' He banged the head down hard.

He could hear a helicopter. The unmistakeable drone of its rotor blades, some distance away. It seemed to approach and then the noise gradually receded in the direction of Melfort. When Alistair climbed down to the saloon he knew they had lost the game. The yacht badly damaged, Alan seriously injured, Colin in no fit state to go on, he could only hope to be rescued and then arrested for the hit and run attack on Jock and maybe the deaths of Charlie and Elaine. The death of Rory and the kidnap of Ellie would also lead to several years in jail. The gamble had nearly come off, but like Giovanni he had lost it all. Resigned to having to wait for daylight, another six hours, he thought Alan would not last that long, even if they didn't sink. He'd contemplated death before, but not at sea surrounded by gold. He sat by the side of his son, cradling his head, whispering, 'we're going to make it, it will be alright.' Knowing he could only offer comfort in the next few hours, he lied, death seemed inevitable.

Alan didn't respond to any stimulation he had faded into unconsciousness. AC cried for his son, tears splashed down his face. He thought about the good times they had shared, the unfulfilled dreams, despite all his faults as a father he had always believed in Alan. Fearful for what was about to become of them he looked over at Colin who was awake, but not moving. Together they had made ambitious plans over the years, living for the moment the gold would be theirs. Happiness had always been a few steps away and never in their grasp. He remembered the prose poem that described how you could never catch the elusive butterfly of contentment, but if you stopped chasing it and used the time to enjoy a moment of happiness one would eventually land on your shoulder. Perhaps the time for taking that moment had now come. Looking over at the Chart Table he saw the packet of cigarettes that Colin had left there. Reaching over he took one out and put it in Colin's mouth

'Time for a smoke old chum,' he said.

They smiled at each other. AC whispered with emotion, 'we're not going to win this time around. Perhaps my friend we should leave it for another life.' He could faintly smell gas and knew that being heavier than air it would have settled in the bottom of the boat. Laughing he said, 'I think I'll join you, it's a long time since I had a cigarette. They do say it's bad for your health.'

He placed one in his mouth. Sat together without a future, he thought the cigarette made a better peace offering than the gold; a small token of their lifelong friendship, something to share, to make peace with their maker. He closed his hand over Colin's, gave it a gentle squeeze and flicked the lighter.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The yacht exploded into flames blowing the saloon roof off. Fire erupted where gas accumulated, it raged from the bow cabin through the galley and upwards out of the wheel house door. In a single incendiary moment the occupants of the saloon were obliterated by expanding gas burning with oxygen. The accelerating temperature disintegrated the centre of the yacht in one high energy burst. Human flesh and bone dissolved at a speed that prevented the individual feeling of pain. Death was instantaneous.

Ellie and Peter sat astride the RIB a hundred metres from the yacht. Hoping they could find out if Rory was still on board they had started to approach the stern. The explosion lit up the sky, startling them. After the initial flash the fire settled quickly across Golden Dawn. The orange and yellow flames fanned out over the sea, seeming to grow in size with their reflection from the water. The whole event took on the appearance of a magician's trick; the yacht barely visible in the darkness and then it suddenly appeared in a flash of flames. They approached it at speed, but had to back off because of the heat.

The stern remained free from flames, the rest of the hull, fully ablaze, produced sufficient heat to create steam from the sea around it. Golden Dawn sank quickly, the weight of the gold pulling it down bow first. The fire at the front briefly carried on burning before being snuffed out as it submerged. Peter drew the RIB nearer as the heat reduced, but as the flames disappeared so did the light. The nearer they could approach the darker it became. Finally the whole yacht submerged. Making a final statement the fuel tank exploded as it sank under the water.

Stunned into silence Ellie and Peter circled the point where the yacht had sunk. Searching for survivors, expecting to see some evidence of lifejackets, everything seemed to have gone under. With a gurgle of air a yellow wall fender burst to the surface. Ellie didn't know the depth of the channel, but the water had completely swallowed the yacht and all on board. Nothing showed. Pointing Peter in one direction and then another Ellie sat in the bows looking for Rory. She prayed he had survived. Trying to find him on the Golden Dawn had been her last hope; she had convinced herself that he hadn't jumped with her. It remained the only logical explanation for him not being found earlier. Now having witnessed the yacht exploded in front of them she doubted he would ever be found.

She cried as she searched. They could do little in the darkness. They heard the drone of the helicopter and then the clatter of its engine as the down draft pushed them to one side. A white search light shone down on the surface picking out small pieces of wreckage that started to surface.

The stern of the yacht sank rapidly; the suction dragging Rory's body down with it. He remained unconscious his arms and legs flexed in any direction the force of the water pressed, twisting, spinning, deeper and deeper. Too late his body's survival mechanism kicked in, his brain stirred, senses created panic, adrenalin pumped to his heart. He felt himself going down into the depths, taking a mouthful of water he breathed in, his chest baulked, the air in his lungs expelled, he immediately gasped for the air that didn't exist in his watery grave, choking, his last momentary thoughts were of Ellie, the pain in his chest faded as did consciousness. At a depth of ten metres the still burning engine compartment exploded; pushing him back, it ejected him with a pressure sufficient to bend him double, forcing him upwards to the surface. The bubble of energy that encapsulated his body dissipated before he reached the waves. His body eventually broke out and floated in the darkness away from the centre of the search.

Ellie scanned the surface where the yacht had sunk. The down draft from the helicopter blew the debris away from the centre of its light. Slowly the pilot increased his height realising the problem caused by the forced air from his rotors blowing on the surface. Climbing higher the down draft reduced. The spot light lost some of its illuminating power, but its spread over the water increased to cover a larger area.

'There,' shouted Ellie, 'over there,' she pointed to the very edge of the lights circle. She gasped with fear, her heart seemed to break. Could it be him?

The helicopter pilot changed direction; his Winch man directed him to a steady hover over the floating object.

Peter turned the boat and increased speed moving in the direction Ellie indicated. He could see a dark mass in the water; the nearer he moved towards it the more positive he became that it would be a body.

It was Rory; his clothes identified him. Face down in the water he looked to be dead.

Peter could see Ellie screaming, but the clatter of the helicopter made it impossible to hear. She moved to jump over the side to help, but Peter grabbed her arm, pulling her back. He manoeuvred the RIB alongside and the two of them reached over to pull at the water logged body. Heavy and lifeless the weight proved difficult to lift. Straining Ellie pulled at a leg Peter grappled with the arm. The bulk of sodden material slowly came over the side into the bottom of the boat.

The face that stared up at them looked ghostly pale, bruised, but not burnt. Peter rolled him onto his side allowing the water to drain from his mouth and nose. The RIB didn't have enough room to allow first aid, but Peter dragged Rory's head onto the side of the boat and started to give mouth to mouth resuscitation. Ellie looked up at the helicopter to see it hovering to one side of them, a crew man clipped to a wire rope fed from a winch began the hazardous decent. He pushed outwards from the side door and slowly came down towards them. The pilot manoeuvred to place the crewman over the RIB, the final descent allowed him to settle on the boat. There was little to be said, they all understood what had to be done. He quickly wrapped a sling around Rory's waist and leaned him backwards to place another around his legs. Hand signals made it clear when to lift and the two of them swung outwards and upwards back towards the helicopter. It hovered over them for a minute; another crewman leaned out and held up his thumb asking if they would be okay. Without thinking of their own safety they waved back indicating they would be heading for the nearest shore. The aircraft turned around and headed inland.

Silence replaced the clatter of the helicopter as it flew towards the coast. The outboard motor ticked over as Peter decided which direction to take. He could see land and hoped he had enough fuel to make it to the shore. Turning the RIB he revved the engine intending to follow the coast line as far as he could back to Loch Melfort.

Ellie sank down to the bottom of the craft. Shock setting in, she felt tired, oh so tired. Rory had looked dead. She knew she could be wrong, but given mouth to mouth he had not stirred. He looked a mess, his nose damaged in the cabin fight, the shoulder wound from Colin's pistol, the explosion on board Golden Dawn and being pulled under by the yacht. How could he survive? She started to cry again, wishing she could stop, knowing her emotions were out of control.

Peter felt sad. He could see the effect of events on Ellie, but he had been glad that the Campbells had gone down with the boat. His only concern now had to be Ellie and then Rory. He needed to help them recover from the ordeal they had shared. Any problems with the police came way down his list of priorities.

They could see lights and headed towards them. The final outcome of their adventure in Scotland had been disastrous. Together with Peter, Ellie could now repatriate the body of Kurt Mouler her grandfather, but to see the deaths of so many had been traumatic. She held on to her sanity by making a determined effort to finish what she had started with Rory. He would want to know that Charlie's last wishes had been carried out.

She imagined a reunion with Rory. They were both happy to see each other again. Meeting in a garden made more beautiful by spring they held each other tight, not saying a word, savouring the joys of togetherness.

'Where have you been, what have you been doing,' he asked.

She looked into his brown eyes, ran her hand down his strong jaw line, thought about his stubbly short hair. No he'd not changed, he looked as handsome as ever. 'I've been waiting, she said. It's been a long time.'

She sensed the intensity of his feelings. At last he loved her as she loved him. They could express their emotions.

Rory said, 'I never told you, but from the very first time we met I couldn't stop thinking about you. You remember at Charlie's funeral you suddenly announced you were my relation.' They laughed, knowing how they had both wished otherwise. 'I can remember on one occasion we touched hands, it was electric and I loved you from that point on.' He stroked her hair, gently, lovingly.

'How come you never said? I adored you, but could never speak out.'

'With love comes respect, I would never have embarrassed you.'

They stopped talking. Standing together they moved closer. He kissed her, at first gently and then when she responded more urgently.

'Promise me one thing,' she whispered in his ear.

'What's that?'

'Take me back to Scotland.'

Ellie fell asleep, happy at last, the RIB outboard droning as it made good time back to Melfort. Peter looked on concerned for her state of mind.

Chapter Thirty-Three

BBC News Report:

After a mayday call during the hours of darkness in Melfort Loch last night three lives were lost from the yacht 'Golden Dawn'. The Oban lifeboat attended the incident and searched for survivors. Two people on the scene in a rigid inflatable boat offered assistance; they are now receiving precautionary medical checks.

A Sea King helicopter from search and rescue based at HMS Gannet, Prestwick found the yacht ablaze and transferred a badly injured crewmember to Glasgow Royal Hospital. There are no other survivors of the explosion on board.

A sister yacht 'Earth Mover' sailing close by became part of the investigation conducted by Strathclyde Police. It returned to harbour and after questioning the crew were allowed to continue on their journey.

A spokesmen for the rescue services said this was a tragic loss of life that could have been avoided if the yacht had been properly equipped with emergency equipment.

***

Several days later, in what felt like another world, the sun streamed in through stained glass windows. Surrounded by, and humbled by history, the internment service had finally come to an end.

Ellie heard some of the words; others passed her by as she thought of the events that had brought her to the ceremony.

'___a young man laid to rest with his family______gave his life for what he believed was right_________fought to correct what he believed was a terrible wrong______died in a tragic accident.'

Peter stood behind her; head bowed. With a few other mourners he attended out of respect for the family name and their belief in another life. He no longer had that faith. The service came to an end. The world had become an unjust place he thought having learnt from experience, but sometimes, the good guys win. He looked upwards at the figure on the cross and although a non believer surprised himself and others when he said out loud, 'thanks-be to the Lord.'

A lonely figure confined to a wheel chair at the back of the church responded, 'Amen'.

Rory had a sense of satisfaction seeing Kurt Mouler interned in his own country after so many years. He believed that the man had tried his best to bring peace to a world of war. Charlie and Elaine: would have been satisfied that at last their wishes had been carried out. Nothing can right a wrong, he thought, but forgiveness and the love of life.

***

News Report: Police Gazette -Promotion for man on the spot

Eddie Jones has achieved the rank of Detective Inspector following several years at Whitan, in Yorkshire. He remains stationed there for the time being supported by newly promoted DS Eric Bradford. Both officers have recently been involved in solving a serious case of arson, where a flare gun resulted in the death of two highly respected members of the local community.

***

Returning home from Germany via the airport in Cologne, Rory met Ellie. Rory doubted whether their paths would cross again. The journey had taken too much out of both of them. Physically he used the wheel chair when he had to, but he could walk short distances. Mentally he needed a similar support; the recent past tortured him, the deaths of his family and others scarred his mind, he occasionally felt normal, but then relapsed into a sense of being alone in the world.

He respected Ellie and would have loved her from first sight, but she was family, or so he thought at the time. They had shared so much hardship. He would find it hard to say goodbye

Ellie said, 'you know we never really had chance to get to know each other.'

'Not this time around.' He said with regret in his voice.

Hesitantly she suggested, 'Maybe if we had a short break together, we could make a fresh start.'

He laughed, 'they say Scotland is magnificent in the spring.'

She looked lovingly into his eyes, and said, 'Why not?'

'Why not?' he responded, taking her hand and holding it to his cheek.

'This time we will make sure we are not interrupted.'

***

DI McIntyre wrestled with his conscience; the death of the Campbells had not been linked to the unsolved crimes in his area: should he let things be? Pressure from on high had ensured his participation in a cover up. He had come to understand that MI5 and the Government could always hide the secrets of the past. In the depths of Loch Awe the wreckage of a German aircraft would soon be forgotten. There had once been a valuable cargo on board; a peace offering. It was now lost forever.

John Headford, November 2011

