Powerstone (17 page)

One of the English members gave an
ironical cheer.

Andrew Drummond opened his mouth
to speak, but when his father shook his head he relapsed into silence. Doctor Wallace
covered her yawn with a slim hand.

‘Only last century, when Hitler’s
War broke out, the Honours were again in danger. Hitler wanted
Edinburgh
Castle
as his summer residence, so he did not bomb it in the
early years. In 1941, however, he knew that he could not invade the country, so
the Castle, and the Honours, were endangered.’

Doctor Wallace looked up. ‘By
what?’

‘Aerial bombardment.’ Meigle said.
‘What Hitler could not get he tended to destroy, and the Castle was a target.
The Society met and the Honours were buried for safety.’

Doctor Wallace shook her head.
‘Are you saying that the Society was more concerned with pieces of jewellery
rather than the well being of women and children? It was all right for Hitler
to bomb the houses but not the Castle?’

‘Not quite,’ Meigle was slightly
surprised at the venom of the attack. ‘The Society’s function is to protect and
preserve the Clach-bhuai. That is what we do. Individual members were, of
course, serving in the forces.’

‘In that case, Mr Meigle, your
terminology is incorrect,’ Doctor Wallace said. ‘Even if you persist in using
Gaelic, the crown jewels are not the Clach-bhuai.’

‘Indeed not.’ Meigle agreed. ‘The
term relates to one stone.’ He flashed an image of the sceptre onto the screen.
‘This is the sceptre, and this,’ he pressed again for a close up of the
polished crystal that sat on top, ‘is what we are dedicated to protect. This is
the Clach-bhuai. The Stone of Power, the Powerstone.’

As he had expected, every member
leaned forward intently. Even Doctor Wallace paused to inspect the shining
globe that he presented.

The Clach-bhuai would have fitted
comfortably inside the fist of anybody that was present. Except for the
setting, it did not look different from the ball of any fairground fortuneteller.

‘That’s only crystal,’ Doctor
Wallace pointed out.

‘Yes.’ Meigle agreed, ‘but crystal
with a history of much greater significance than you would suspect.’

‘God!’ Doctor Wallace stood up. ‘You
mean you’ve called me here to look at pictures of a crystal ball? Don’t you
realise that some of us have a life?’ Pushing back her chair, she stepped
toward the door. Drummond stepped aside. ‘I should have known that I was
wasting my time when I saw all you old men in tweed jackets!’ Pulling open the
door, she spoke over her shoulder. ‘This is straight from the pages of Harry
Potter and I have real work to do. Just wait until the media hear about this!’
She slammed the door shut so the draught rocked the chandeliers.

Meigle held up his hand for
silence. ‘Does anybody else feel like that? If you do, I apologise for wasting
your time and invite you to leave now. Naturally your transport costs and all
expenses will be reimbursed.’ He waited for a few minutes. ‘Good. Then I think
we should have a break. We will reconvene tomorrow morning. In the meantime,
please feel free to enjoy the facilities of Drummond House. There is a putting
course and a swimming pool, as well as a tennis court, and, of course, the beautiful
garden to walk around.’

There was a murmur of appreciation
and a slow movement toward the door. Meigle nodded to Drummond, who had taken
position beside the window. ‘James, I think that we have work to do.’

Drummond nodded. ‘Unfortunately,’
he sighed. ‘This is not how I had hoped the day would turn out.’

‘We are here to ensure the
security of the Clach-bhuai.’ Meigle reminded. ‘It is our responsibility.’ He
smiled as Andrew walked up, his face concerned. ‘Andrew, my boy!’ They shook
hands, until Meigle winced under the pressure of the younger man.

‘What was all that about,
Sandy
?’

‘A small local difficulty, shall
we say,’ Meigle nodded to Drummond, who slipped quietly into a corner of the
room and dialled a number on his mobile phone. ‘You take a stroll around the
grounds, Andrew, or perhaps try the putting.’ Glancing around the room, he
indicated a smallish, plump-faced man in a dark suit. ‘That’s Iain Stewart from
Peebles. He’s a scratch player.’ Iain raised a single finger in acknowledgement.

Andrew nodded to Iain, ‘sounds
about right. And when he’s hammering me all over the course, what will you be
doing?’

‘Your father and I have things we
must do.’

Andrew opened his mouth to speak,
but Meigle had a lifetime of experience in dealing with people. He gestured to
the door and Andrew left without a word.

Perthshire, May

‘Well James?’

Drummond nodded. ‘She got into a
bronze Nissan 350Z,’ he quoted the registration number, ‘and she was in a right
tizzy. She stormed right down the drive like a maniac.’

‘Nissan 350Z? That’s a powerful
vehicle. Expensive too.’ They left the ballroom together, running to the car
park.

‘Dr Wallace must be in love with
herself to drive such a fancy vehicle on her salary.’ Drummond slid into the
driving seat of his Landrover and waited for Meigle to join him. ‘Young woman,
good job, big ego. That one’s got too high an opinion of herself. Perhaps we
should vet our members more thoroughly. People are not as dependable as they
once were.’ He started the engine and pulled smoothly down the drive.

‘We’ll never catch her in this.’ Meigle
said. The Landrover Defender was as reliable and robust as its driver, but
lacked the Nissan’s speed. ‘We should have taken my car.’

‘This one is better for what I
have in mind,’ Drummond told him. ‘Where do you think she is going?’

‘In that mood? Back to
Aberdeen
to continue with her
very
important job. And then to the press. We cannot allow that.’

Drummond nodded. He worked on the
sat-nav system that was on his dashboard and studied the results. ‘She has four
options then. One, she can take the A9 to
Perth
, change to the A90 to
Dundee
and head northward to Stonehaven and
Aberdeen
. Two, she can take the A9 to Dunkeld, then cut across
Perthshire on the A923 to Blairgowrie, then the A926, joining the A90 near
Forfar. Three, she can… wait!’

Leaving the sat-nav, Drummond
answered his hands-free mobile phone. ‘Drummond.’

‘MacFarlane, sir. There’s a bronze
Nissan 350Z heading northwest along the A924. Just passing Kinnaird and
motoring. Man, is it motoring.’

‘North?’ Drummond eased the Landrover
into Pitlochry. ‘Damned woman’s going toward Strathardle. She’s taking the hill
road.’

Meigle nodded. ‘Good man, James. Helicopter?’

‘Of course. I phoned MacFarlane.
He was on stand-by in case of emergency.’ Drummond slammed the Defender into
fifth gear and overtook a tour bus as he turned from
Atholl Road
. He ignored the sudden fear in
the faces of the occupants and acknowledged the justified anger of the driver
with a raised hand.

‘Do you have a contingency plan?’
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Meigle felt the adrenalin begin to
work through him. He had experienced the same feelings when about to announce a
take-over bid, or launch a new financial package with his company.

‘That’s a narrow road that she’s
chosen.’ Drummond said. ‘There are plenty of positions for a successful
ambush.’ Glancing ahead, he negotiated the climb out of Pitlochry, squeezed
past a lumbering tractor and powered ahead. To their left, rolling mist had
completely obscured Ben Vrackie.

‘I did not expect this,’ Meigle
did not conceal his concern.

‘Not quite like your usual
decisions,
Sandy
?’ Drummond took a hairpin bend so
wide that he forced an approaching car to brake. He said nothing as the driver
swore loudly through his open window.

The Defender pulled up a steep
hill, with the surroundings becoming wilder by the mile as they entered the
range of mountains that acted as a protective barrier for Pitlochry. Sheep scattered
as Drummond sounded his horn.

‘Somebody should teach these
damned creatures the highway code.’ He raised his voice, speaking toward the
hands-free. ‘MacFarlane! Where is she?’

‘Just approaching Straloch, and
she’s still travelling. You’ll no’ catch her in the Drover.’ The sound of
rotors made MacFarlane’s voice even more disembodied.

‘Pick me up,’ Drummond ordered.
‘There’s a level piece of ground a mile ahead.’ He looked at Meigle. ‘I want
you to keep driving and do exactly as I say.’ When his eyes met Meigle’s they
were as devoid of expression as Perthshire granite. ‘All right?’

‘All right.’

Drummond nodded and looked ahead.
The helicopter was already coming in to land. ‘Have you driven a Drover
before?’

Meigle shook his head.

‘She’s wide at the corners. Keep
the hands-free alive and follow my instructions.’ Meigle slowed and halted,
leaving the vehicle on his last word. He walked quickly to the helicopter that
sat, rotors turning, ten yards from the road. The noise of the blades reminded Meigle
of old films about the Vietnam War.

Meigle slid into the Defender’s
driving seat, checking the controls and involuntarily ducking as the helicopter
lifted. Sheep scattered, bleating to their lambs when the machine chopped
overhead. Meigle gunned the motor and drove on, struggling with the steering
wheel that seemed very stiff after the luxury of his BMW. Trust Jamie to buy a
state-of-the-art helicopter for his estate, but drive in a ten-year-old basic Landrover
without even power steering.

‘She’s taking the B950, after Kirkmichael,’
the voice seemed to echo in the cab of the Defender. ‘Don’t follow her. Keep to
the road that you are on, but put your foot down. You’re driving like an old
woman!’

Meigle had driven this road
before, and remembered the turn-off that cut across some rough country to Glenshee.
By taking that route, Eileen was committing herself to the hill road by the Cairnwell
and Braemar to
Aberdeen
. She had a long, lonely drive in
front of her. He pressed his foot onto the accelerator, feeling the surge of
power from the engine as the Defender responded. He took the next corner too
wide, adjusted his steering and nearly clipped a dry stane dyke, straightened
up and pushed down harder.

‘
Sandy
!’ Drummond’s voice was calm as ever. ‘When you reach
Bridge
of
Cally
, turn left on the A93, and then
take the first left after
Milton
.
That way you will be heading toward her, on the same road.’

Meigle grunted. ‘Her route is far
shorter than mine and she has the faster vehicle. By the time I reach the road
end she’ll be long gone.’

‘She won’t.’ There was something
so final about those two words that Meigle sat back and said nothing. He pushed
the accelerator as far as he could and concentrated entirely on the driving,
hurtling through a small village without reducing speed, so that an elderly
woman hardly had time to stare as he passed.

‘There’s a tractor in front of
her,’ Drummond spoke over the sound of rotor blades. ‘That’s slowing her down
nicely,’ he chuckled. ‘She should have stuck to the main roads.’

There was a Range Rover pulling
away from the small shop at
Bridge
of
Cally
, but Meigle ignored the driver’s
protests as he hit the junction at fifty, veered across the road, straightened
up and pressed on, heading north toward the end of the road that Doctor Wallace
was travelling. He had left the hands-free on and could hear Drummond’s voice,
distorted by static, giving sharp orders to MacFarlane.

‘Those sheep there. Drive them,
shift them onto the road. She’ll have to slow down again.’ There was the sound
of Drummond’s short barking laugh.

Meigle visualised the scene.
Drummond was using the noise of the helicopter to drive sheep from the
surrounding land onto the road. ‘How are we doing?’

‘Fine. There are about a hundred
sheep milling about in front of her, running every which way.’ Drummond sounded
satisfied. ‘She’s pulled in to the side until they clear.’

‘How far over the road is she?’

‘About half way. At the quarries
of Bleaton; it’s the only unfenced part of the road.’ Drummond’s laughter was
more sinister than reassuring. ‘She’s left the car now and she’s trying to
chase the sheep away.’

Meigle passed the monotonous
conifers of a forestry plantation and turned sharp left onto the B950. He was
only a couple of miles from Doctor Wallace, and driving toward her. High up, he
could see the helicopter hovering ahead, and was not surprised when the machine
came closer. ‘Stop just there,’ Drummond ordered. ‘And move into the passenger
seat. I’m coming back.’