Brutal Revenge (6 page)

She stirred suddenly beside him and her
eyes flickered open. She must have sensed that he was awake.

“Are you no asleep, Andy?” she whispered.

“I'm thinking, love.”

She looked up at him, her liquid green
eyes searching his face.

“Is it about this thing you’re going to
do?” she asked.

“No. About us. You and me.”

Her eyes opened wider. She pushed herself
up on one elbow. Her voice was pleading. “Promise me we'll be together
afterwards, Andy. Promise me. Please.”

Without hesitation he smiled, nodding. “I
promise, love. Don't you worry. I’ll never leave you again.”

“You’d better not,” she said. “I won’t
ever be able to come back.”

“You won’t have to,” he said reassuringly.
“From now on your life is with me. We’ll go far away from here. We’ll get
married and have kids. And we’ll make up for all those lost years.”

Bella snuggled up to him, her flesh soft
and warm and he suddenly realized that he was already rich even before he got
his hands on his share of the loot.

EIGHT

For once the weather forecasters had been
right with their prediction and the evening of the sixteenth was fine. The sky
was spotless and the sun strong enough even to penetrate the cold winter
atmosphere. Its glow was reflected in a placid sea that looked warm enough to
swim in but wasn't. It was a day to delight the sailor. There was a nippy
breeze and a gentle swell.

As they cleared Oban harbour, the
twin-diesels thudding powerfully beneath them, Stewart was overcome by a
feeling of exhilaration. It was a long time since he'd been at the helm of such
a fine and expensive craft and he was determined to enjoy the experience even
though the object of their mission weighed heavily on his mind.

He was always nervous just before a blag,
but he knew that was a good thing. Only fools went into these things with their
heads in the clouds.

He reminded himself again of the prize. According to
Maclean the treasure was worth millions. So he was banking on his share being
more than enough to retire on.

He’d buy that gleaming Princess he had
always dreamed of owning someday. Then maybe he’d fuck off to the Med and start
a charter business. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d just sit by the pool all day
knocking back fancy cocktails.

“Enjoying yourself?” Parker's voice startled him. He'd been
miles away.

“She's a dilly,” he said, with a boyish grin. “Always
wanted one like her myself.”

“But could never afford her,” Parker said. “I know. I've
heard it all before.”

Stewart took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and
offered one to Parker. They had difficulty lighting them, but managed finally
to succeed by cupping their hands around the lighter's flame.

At that moment a gull fluttered down and perched
expectantly on the bow. When it realized nothing was being offered, it flew off
again, squawking angrily.

“When you reckon we'll get there?” Parker asked.

Stewart drew deeply on his cigarette. The smoke that rose
from his lungs was dispersed in a flash by the wind.

“Mac wants us in after dark, so there's no
hurry,” he said. “We should be there in another hour or so. Just after seven
probably.”

They had already decided this would be the
best time to go in as it would be high tide and they could get close to the
jetty provided it wasn't too rough. If it did knock up a bit they'd have to
anchor offshore and approach the jetty in the dinghy.

Parker said, “Foresee any problems with
this one, Bob?”

Stewart pondered the question. “Not unless
The Cowboy gets trigger happy,” he said.

Parker frowned. “You think he might?”

“It's happened before,” Stewart said. “I
thought Mac might have had more sense than to bring him in on this one.”

“Why did he?”

“Well, apart from the fact that they've
done some jobs together, I suppose he figures Hodge to be a good man.” He
glanced at the cabin door to make sure it wasn't open so Hodge could hear him. “Don't
get me wrong, though. I'm not saying he's some kind of prize prick. It's just
that it doesn't take much to make him out someone. Not that I don't hold with
killing when it's necessary, you understand. But you know what I mean. He's
liable to noise things up by shooting at anything that moves.”

It hadn't occurred to Parker that Stewart
might also be a bit wary of Hodge, but he was glad in a way. At least it meant
that Stewart would also be making sure that the man they called The Cowboy
didn't try to live up to his reputation.

“Have you worked with him before?” Parker
asked.

Stewart shook his head. “No, but I tend to
work north of the border whereas he prefers south. Richer pickings, he says.”

Parker nodded. “I gather you’ve worked
with Andy, though?”

“Dozens of times. Good man to have around
on a tough'en. He tells me you and him did a few jobs together some years back?”

“That's right.”

“Mostly security vans, I gather?”

Parker laughed. “When I think now of the
diabolical risks we used to take it's a wonder any of us are still around.” He
paused, then added, “I suppose that's why I'm so taken by this job. It should
be a doddle. I mean, there's hardly any risk attached to it at all.”

Stewart grinned. “Watch what you're
saying, old mate. You must know yourself it's usually on the simple jobs you
come a cropper.”

*

Precisely ten minutes after seven they
arrived at the island.

Thanks to Maclean, who was there swinging
a torch to and fro, they were able to pin-point the exact position of the jetty
from offshore. Left to their own devices, they would never have found it in the
pitch dark.

There were no lights on this side of the
island. Most of the crofts and houses were concentrated around the pier and on
the west side. According to the map, this side of the island was given over
mainly to open moorland with a scattering of those ubiquitous derelict 'black
houses' that were once occupied by large crofting families and were now grim
reminders of a dying age.

Their arrival was without incident.
Stewart maneuvered the boat deftly into a small cove and between a group of
half submerged rocks.

Then they were up against the weed-covered
timbers of the tumbledown jetty. The water was rougher here, waves running
about three feet from crest to trough, and there were some hairy moments as
they tried to get the mooring line across to Maclean.

The boat heaved and dived, heaved and
dived, and without adequate fenders the hull scraped dangerously against the
pilings. But eventually Maclean had the lines secured and the slack was taken
in so the boat had less of a tendency to pitch.

When the engine was turned off all that
could be heard, aside from the howling wind, was the tide gurgling over the
rocks and the soft kissing sound of water being sucked into little clefts and
gullies.

The rocks stretched away into the night on
either side of them and Parker wondered what had ever possessed the islanders
to place the jetty in such an awkward and dangerous position. It was no wonder
they no longer used it, he thought.

“Everything okay?” Maclean called out.

“Right as rain,” Stewart replied. “You?”

“Raring to go.”

“Any hitches?”

“Not so far.”

Stewart and Parker lowered themselves on
to the jetty and Parker spoke to Maclean. “So where is the treasure?”

“Still at Mor's house. I've borrowed a
van. It’s plenty big enough to carry the treasure. It's up the hill on the
road.”

“What about the fishing boats?”

“All three have gone to bed in the
harbour,” Maclean said.

Hodge jumped down on to the jetty and
handed round the shotguns. Parker took a ball of four nylon stockings from his
pocket and handed those out, too.

Hodge pulled a face. “Are these really
necessary?”

“It's best to be on the safe side,”
Maclean told him. “You probably won't even have to wear it as I doubt you'll
see anyone.”

Hodge accepted his stocking with a measure
of reluctance and stuffed it into the side pocket of his anorak.

A moment later all four were standing in a
huddled group on the jetty. Around them the wind was brewing, moaning
plaintively in the darkness like a dog lamenting the death of its beloved
owner.

The night was no longer such an
impenetrable shroud. Their eyes had grown accustomed to it and vague black
outlines were beginning to take on a distinctive form. A hill rising like a
pyramid into the clouds, the chimney of a derelict 'black house', and what
looked like steps hewn out of bare rock climbing upwards from the jetty,
over-grown with weeds and heather.

“I ask you,” Hodge whispered. “Who in his
right mind would want to live up here?”

Stewart felt uneasy, too. “Well, come on,”
he said. “Let's get on with it. Nothing's going to get done if we stand around
here scratching ourselves.”

“Right,” Maclean said. “But let's run
quickly through the plan. First we go to the harbour where you, Bob, disable
the fishing boats. And don't hang about. Just wrench out a few necessary parts.
We then drive up to the telephone exchange where you two” — he gestured towards
Stewart and Hodge — “mess up the equipment. It's not manned so you shouldn't
have any trouble there. Meanwhile, Parker and I will go on to Mor's house and
load the treasure into the van. We’ll pick you up on the way back. I drop you
off back here and while you load the treasure I go and pick up Bella from her
house. In all it should only take an hour and a half from start to finish. Then
it's back here and we're on our way.”

Maclean looked at each of them.

“Any questions?” he said. There were none.
“Then let's go.”

They trundled up the steps and found a large
Bedford van parked on the narrow road at the top of the hill. Its tyres were
caked in dry mud and there was writing on the side that was indecipherable
under the grime. Here the wind was stronger and Stewart began to have some
misgivings about the weather.

Looking up at the sky, he said, “If this
gets any worse it could make things bloody difficult on the way back.”

“A storm wasn't forecast,” Maclean pointed
out.

“You don't have to tell me that,” Stewart
said, his Scottish accent more pronounced than usual. “But that doesn't mean we
won't have one. Look at that sky. Not a frigging break in the cloud. And this
wind. I tell you I don't like it.”

“Quit worrying,” Maclean told him. “It's
too late to turn back now anyway. Let's worry about how to get back once we
have the treasure.”

Stewart shrugged his shoulders and
followed the others into the van. Maclean and Parker shared the front seat and
Hodge and Stewart crouched in the back on the dust-covered floor.

When the headlamps were switched on they
poured light over a shabby road of weathered bitumen that was fringed by
desolate moorland. It was an inhospitable sight. Stark and lonely.

“Are we likely to bump into anyone?”
Parker asked, thinking it distinctly unlikely.

“Not at this time of the evening,” Maclean
assured him. “Mid-week, people usually go to bed double early. And believe me,
they need to after the kind of work these people put into the average day.”

The engine spluttered into life and the
van jogged off along the road. Suddenly, the moon appeared through a gap in the
cloud cover, spilling a pale wintry glow over the stark, undulating wilderness.
At the roadside were a couple of abandoned crofts and ruined byres — silent
witness to a vanished population. Beyond them, rising into the night, heather-covered
hills around which were spread bleak shaggy moors. Occasionally a light would
show, a mere pin prick in the darkness, and it would serve as a chilling
reminder of their isolation.

The road was rutted and sinuous and only a
short step up from being a cart track.

It took them all of ten minutes to get to
the island's capital, which was nothing more than a cluster of small two-storey
grey houses strung out along either side of the poorly surfaced road. This one
street alone, according to Maclean, constituted the entire village. There was a
grocer's, a post-office, a church. Out of about twenty houses only eight were
showing light.

The street was completely deserted, and
the silence, when they stopped briefly to look around, was almost palpable. An
air of peace and permanence hung over the place like a heavy blanket. All the
houses were matchbox size, rather quaint, and there was no escaping the fact
that the place possessed a charm all its own.

The van crept slowly along the road and
turned left on its squeaky axle on to a narrow earth road between two houses.
This took them down to the harbour where three small fishing vessels bounced at
their moorings and a few rowing boats were drawn up on a small shingle beach.