Powerstone (34 page)

Both men walked along the fairway
in silence. Not until Drummond had found his ball and prepared for his second
shot did Meigle speak again. ‘It’s a pity that Andrew declined to join us. A
man like him would have been a major asset.’

‘Indeed.’ Drummond selected a four
iron and addressed the ball.

‘I’m not sure what to do about
him.’

‘I think it will be all right.’
Drummond hit the ball neatly so it rose high and dropped onto the green, but
rather than stop, it continued to roll, finding sanctuary in an ugly sand
bunker.

‘I hope so. Oh, bad luck with that
lie. I meant to warn you about the camber of this green.’ Meigle strolled
casually to his own ball. Kneeling beside it, he measured the distance to the
hole. ‘How was he when he told you?’

‘Busy with his new girlfriend.
Irene Armstrong, her name.’ Drummond said.

Meigle stood up and gripped his
putter. ‘Armstrong, eh? Is that
the
Irene Armstrong?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘That’s interesting.’ Meigle swung
smoothly and the ball eased across the smooth grass, to stop at the very lip of
the hole.

They walked to the bunker and
contemplated Drummond’s ball, which was wedged under the near lip.

‘Awkward shot,’ Meigle said. ‘You
could take it out and drop a stroke.’

‘Rather not.’ Drummond
contemplated his ball, stepped into the bunker to the bunker and selected a
sand wedge. ‘I’ll try my best.’ He met Meigle’s eye. ‘They have the sceptre
there.’

‘Good show.’ Meigle watched as
Drummond hacked at the ball. It flew straight up into the air, hovered for a
second and returned, further back in the bunker. ‘Pity. It was a nice try.’
Walking forward, he removed the pin, stood over his ball and tapped it into the
hole. ‘Are you sure about the sceptre?’ He looked up suddenly. ‘Is the Powerstone
safe?’

‘I saw the sceptre myself, but I
didn’t see the stone. They tried to hide the thing behind the television. Shall
I get it back?’ Drummond’s next shot chipped the ball out of the bunker. It
hovered in the air for a second and fell right beside the hole. ‘Your decision,
but I don’t want Andrew hurt.’

Meigle nodded. ‘Afraid we can’t
guarantee that,’ he said. ‘What with the situation being what it is.’

‘I understand.’ Drummond prepared
to lift the ball. ‘Will you take it that I can’t miss from here?’

‘Take your shot,’ Meigle insisted.
‘Try your best.’

Drummond straddled the ball and
pushed it into the hole. ‘I won’t help you with Andrew, you know.’

‘Didn’t think that you would,’ Meigle
said, replacing the pin. ‘I quite understand, of course.’

‘I’d prefer to keep the Clach-bhuai
under observation. Make sure it’s safe, and see where it’s headed.’

‘That might be possible,’ Meigle
agreed.

They walked to the edge of the
second fairway and dropped their balls. Meigle smiled as Drummond tested the
wind. The graceful cone of Berwick Law rose behind them. Two people stood at
the summit, gazing at the view. ‘I could send somebody to follow them.’

‘You’ll need a good man.’ Drummond
teed up and cracked a shot that slewed into the worst of the rough.

Meigle shook his head in sympathy.
‘Two good men. Iain Hardy and young Kenny Mossman.’ He drove his shot a
straight two hundred yards down the fairway. ‘You know, ten years ago I could
beat three hundred yards. Now I’m pleased if I top two-fifty.’

‘That’s just old age,
Sandy
,’ Drummond said, ‘Iain Hardy I
can understand; handy enough, but only a foot soldier. I’m not sure that I
would send Mossman. Is he not a bit valuable to lose? Andrew was a guardsman,
remember.’

‘Mossman’s not irreplaceable.’ Meigle
said.

Drummond nodded. ‘Nobody is.’

Meigle began the long walk up the
fairway. Suddenly he felt very old. ‘I wouldn’t like us to fall out over this,
Jamie. Not after so long.’

Drummond nodded. ‘No. We shouldn’t
fall out.’

‘No. So we’ll just watch and
follow. But if the Clach-bhuai is in danger, then I’m afraid it could get
nasty.’

‘I appreciate that,
Sandy
.’ He scanned the rough for his
ball. ‘Next time that I’m on this blasted course I will hire a caddy.’

‘Maybe you should; the wind is a
bit tricky, coming straight off the sea here.’ Meigle waited until Drummond
located his ball. ‘Bad lie, I’m afraid.’

‘Bad lie altogether,
Sandy
. I won’t be pleased if Andrew
gets hurt.’ Drummond lined up his shot and chipped onto the fairway.

‘The Society is more important
than any of us.’ Meigle said. ‘You know how it is.’

Drummond nodded, watching as Meigle
knocked his ball into the centre of the green. ‘We could be opposed then.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Drummond hit the ball too hard, so
it overshot the green by ten yards, bounced and rolled off to the side. ‘Damn. Can’t
get the feel of this course at all.’

‘You have to watch for the wind,
Jamie.’ Meigle shook his head. ‘You can’t go against it, you see.’

‘Maybe I have to.’ Drummond waited
until Meigle removed the pin and holed his shot. ‘Two up already, eh? Good
playing; it’s awkward when family and duty clash.’

‘We might still get Andrew back.’ Meigle
glanced over to Drummond and smiled. ‘That American woman’s not that damned
attractive.’

When Drummond looked up there was
no humour at all in his face. ‘I don’t think he’s only involved for tits and
bits,
Sandy
. Young Andrew’s smitten this
time.’

‘Ah,’ Meigle measured the length
of the next fairway before dropping his ball. ‘I’d better warn Kenny and Iain
then. Maybe they’d better leave Andrew and get rid of the girl.’

Drummond teed up and addressed the
ball. ‘That might be best.’ He hit his drive straight onto the green.

Sutherland, August

Irene did not immediately feel
secure among the granite hills and sudden sea lochs of Sutherland. Even at the
height of summer, with scores of visitors thronging even the smallest of the
villages, she was aware of an atmosphere of watchfulness, as if these dark
mountains were suspicious of her presence.

‘Where are we?’ They had been
driving for hours across the body of
Scotland
. At first Irene had enjoyed the novelty of changing scenery, but now
the procession of rugged hills, lonely lochs and one-horse villages wearied
her.

‘Coigach,’ Drew said. The name
sounded like an ancient curse. He pulled the Audi into one of the passing
places in the single-track road and opened the window. Only the distant bleat
of a sheep and the hush of breaking waves shivered the silence. To their right,
gaunt mountains rose like the bones of a prehistoric giant. Wild, untamed,
unreachable, they looked older than anything Irene could have imagined.

‘How much further?’ She felt like
a child again, completely under the control of somebody. Then it had been her
parents, now it was Drew. He seemed different since he had told her something
of himself, much more serious.

‘Not far, my little rogue.’ He
allowed the silence to seep into the car. ‘But I want to stop for a few
minutes.’

‘Why?’ Irene heard the faint
piping of a curlew. It sounded eerie, perfect for this place of rock and water
and pre-history. Something flew past, its beak down-curving ahead of scimitar
wings.

‘There’s been a car behind us
since we left
Inverness
. Not many people use this road,
so I’ll let it overtake.’ Drew glanced in his mirror. ‘It might be an idea if
you ducked down for a minute. Hide your face.’

‘What?’ Irene looked at him in
some alarm. ‘Nobody knows my face.’

‘Let’s keep it that way, shall
we?’

Irene slid down the leather seat.
She heard the hum of an approaching vehicle, felt the passage of wind as it
passed, and bobbed back up. Drew had his mobile phone in his hand.

‘I got his photograph,’ he said
calmly, and showed the slightly blurred image. ‘Do you know him?’

Irene shook her head.

‘I do. He is an associate of my
father. ’

‘So why is he here?’ Irene felt
panic claw at her stomach as her voice raised an octave.

‘Could be perfectly innocent business.
He is some sort of lawyer, I believe. On the other hand my father could have
sent him, which is bad news.’

‘Bad news? Why?’

Drew shrugged. He waited until the
road was empty in both directions before pulling out. ‘My father belongs to
some ancient society dedicated to protecting that sceptre of yours. Or at least
that wee crystal ball on top. It seems to be a sort of powerstone.’

‘What? What are you saying? Secret
society? What sort of secret society? ’ The panic was greater now as Irene
realised that she was in one of the most deserted parts of Europe in the
company of a man she hardly knew. ‘Let me out. Stop the car and let me out.’
She heard the pitch of her voice rising.

Drew pulled to a halt beside a
group of sheep. Beyond a slender verge of grass, the sea shushed onto a beach
of rounded stones. There were small islands offshore, and a scattering of
seabirds floating on the swell. ‘You’re not a prisoner,’ he told her. ‘You are
free to go any time you like, but I have told you before that you’re in no
danger from me.’ When he killed the engine the silence pressed upon them.

‘Your say that your father is in
some society to protect the sceptre?’ Irene found it difficult to control her
voice.

‘That’s right.’ Drew’s sudden grin
took her by surprise. ‘Ironic isn’t it? That’s why he came down the other day.
He wanted me to join. It seems that it’s been a family tradition for hundreds
of years.’

Irene opened the door. One of the
sheep bleated noisily. ‘Sweet Lord, what have I got myself into?’

‘The presence of terrorists and
murderers, thieves and vagabonds,’ Drew told her cheerfully. ‘But what did you
expect, mixing with royalty? They were the biggest cut-throats going. The man
with the longest sword was king; the woman who could manipulate best was queen.
Welcome to
Scotland
.’

Swinging her legs outside the car,
Irene sat on the seat and remembered the tale of Johnnie Armstrong. ‘This is
not what I expected.’

‘Life never is,’ Drew’s voice
hardened.

‘It all seemed so easy once.’
Irene sighed. ‘What did I do wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ Drew sounded more
sympathetic. ‘We’re all the same, Irene. We are all trying to live the best way
we can. It’s just that the dice of life are loaded in favour of the wrong
people; don’t ask me why. If you want to succeed, you have to get your hands on
the right dice.’

‘How do I do that?’ She looked
around.

‘I think that’s what you’re trying
to do now. Come back inside. I’ve got to see a man about a boat.’ When Drew’s
phone rang he lifted it, but killed the signal. ‘That’s my father phoning now.
Talk of the devil eh?’ He waited for a few minutes and punched in a text
message, but waited until Irene had returned to her position before restarting
the car. ‘Aye, they don’t make rogues like they used to.’ He glanced across to her.
‘Or perhaps they do. Who says that your namesake Johnnie Armstrong was always
brave? I’ll bet he found life a complete bugger from time to time.’

‘Johnnie Armstrong?’ Irene forced
a smile. ‘My father used to tell me about him.’

Irene relapsed into silence for a
few minutes as she watched the vista of mountains and water slide past. ‘If
it’s a family tradition to join this society, Drew, why are you helping me?’

He glanced at her and shrugged.
‘I’ve already told you one reason. I quite like you. But after serving in
Iraq
and
Afghanistan
, I also dislike societies that
protect their secrets by casual murder.’ He waited until she reacted before
continuing. ‘The Society had a meeting not long back; the same day I met our
friend out there,’ he nodded in the direction of the road in front, ‘and one of
the new members refused to co-operate. My father and another equally charming
old buffer left the meeting early, and next day I heard that the new member had
died in a car crash.’

‘Shit!’ Irene stared at him. ‘They
murdered him?’

‘Her,’ Drew corrected. ‘They
murdered her.’

Irene looked out to sea. Three
thousand miles of
Atlantic
stretched between here and home.
‘And now this society is after us?’

‘So it seems.’ Drew’s grin
reappeared. ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’

‘Are you not afraid?’ Irene asked,
still curious despite the now familiar sick slide of fear.

Drew shrugged. ‘Probably.’ He
faced her, driving one-handed on the twisting road. ‘If you want to end this, I
can contact the old man. The second we hand back the trinket, the Society will
lose interest, although they might want to know for whom it’s destined.’