The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx (55 page)

Peregrine, having no military background and little more formal esoteric experience, mainly stayed in the background at first, listening and watching, mostly feeling like a fifth wheel. Excusing himself at the first opportunity, he ensconced himself in one of the guest rooms and finally set himself to drawing what he had sensed at the site under the bridge, producing what McLeod assured him the next morning was a near-photographic likeness of Francis Raeburn—or Tudor-Jones-presiding over the grisly execution of Napier.

The stark horror of what he had drawn underlined, in a way mere words could not, what Adam had been trying to tell them about the callous brutality of their enemy. It set the mood for even more discussion as the day progressed. By mid-morning, Peregrine was beginning to feel himself a part of the operation at last, though he hardly knew whether to be more surprised at the situation, which was fast looking like it might require an actual military operation, or at himself for accepting it so readily.

“I sort of understand the esoteric aspect of all this,” he told Adam after the morning briefing, as they drew mugs of tea from an urn set up at the far end of the hall. “At least I understand what has to be done—I think. But you’re also talking about a physical assault on that castle. These men aren’t qualified to do that. The ones that know enough are too old, and the ones young enough don’t know enough. That’s obvious, even to me.”

Adam set down his tea mug beside a telephone and pulled out a chair to sit down.

“I’ve been considering that,” he said with a thin smile, “and I think I know just the man who can give us a hand.”

As Peregrine looked on in question, Adam picked up the phone and dialled. General Sir Gordon Scott-Brown was agreeably surprised to hear from him.

“Adam!” he exclaimed, “this is an unexpected pleasure. I was just getting ready to leave for church, but I’ve a few minutes to spare yet. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to request a private meeting with you,” Adam said.
“On the square.”

A slight pause on the other end of the line suggested that the Masonic key phrase had registered.

“I see,” Sir Gordon said in an altered tone of voice. “Yes, I believe that can be arranged. When did you have in mind?”

“As soon as possible,” Adam said. “I realize it’s short notice, but it’s important—for the sake of the Widow’s Son.”

“Yes, I understand that. It’s clear that you’re speaking on the level. How about one o’clock at the castle?”

“I can’t thank you enough, Gordon.”

“My pleasure. Actually, it might expedite matters if I send a car to collect you,” Sir Gordon went on. “Say, about noon?”

“Ah—I’m not at home, Gordon,” Adam said, suddenly recalling that he still had no idea where he was—not that it had mattered for the last twelve hours.

“Well, tell me where you are and I’ll send him
there,”
Sir Gordon said.

Feeling just a bit foolish, Adam covered the receiver and craned his neck in the direction of the owner of the house, who was exuding clouds of pipe smoke as he bent over one of the maps.

“Sir Neville, where are we? I’ve gotten an appointment with Gordon Scott-Brown, and he wants to send a car for me.”

“Gordon?” The old man grinned and came over to take the phone from Adam, continuing to puff on his pipe.

“Hello, Gordon. Neville Stephenson here. Yes, Sinclair’s at my place. He’ll tell you all about it when he sees you. Yes. Yes, he is.”

He paused and nodded, continuing to puff away, grunting occasionally, then nodded again.

“Well, I can send him with a driver, Gordon, but if you’d rather . . . Hmmm, yes. Security. I understand. Yes. Well, if you want him at one, you’d better have your man leave right away. Yes. Yes, I’ll tell him.”

He handed back the receiver to Adam, but the line was already dead.

“Well, you heard that,” Stephenson said. “I expect his driver will be here shortly before noon. Ask Cromarty to find you some clean clothes and a razor. You’re a mite scruffy for calling on generals, especially on a Sunday.”

Restraining his impatience, Adam set the phone back on its cradle.

“I’ll do that,” he said evenly, though he had no such intention. “You haven’t answered my question, though.”

“Hmmm?”

“Am I allowed to know where this place is, or do I wear a blindfold to and from the castle?”

Stephenson blinked at him, puffed a few times, then broke into a wide grin around his pipestem.

“Good heavens, didn’t anyone tell you yet?”

“No. And frankly, I’ve been too busy to ask.”

“Well, it’s certainly no secret, now that you’re one of us.”

As Stephenson went on to detail their location, Adam had to smile. They were not that far from Strathmourne, if farther west. When he could extricate himself from the loquacious Stephenson, he did see about a razor and a shower, but when the general’s own staff car whisked him away a little while later, he was still wearing his quasi-military attire of the day before, to underline the nature of his visit. Bracing a note pad against the back of the critical map, he scribbled additional notes as his military driver sped them southward in light traffic. It was starting to snow, with the promise of worse to come.

Just before one, they were slipping and sliding up the cobblestones of the Royal Mile and across the ice-slick esplanade of Edinburgh Castle, rumbling across the drawbridge past guards smartly turned out in trews of green Hunting Stewart tartan, who snapped to attention and gave salute as the car passed. An adjutant was waiting to escort him to Sir Gordon’s regimental office. When they were alone, the general came forward to offer Adam a cordial handshake in the Masonic style, smiling broadly when Adam returned the grip.

“This is a most interesting development,” Sir Gordon said, eyeing the younger man up and down. “Permit me to offer you my warmest congratulations. I’d ask for details on your decision to enter the Craft, but I gather from your rather uncharacteristic attire, as well as what you said on the phone, that other priorities are in order.”

“The two are related,” Adam replied, as they sat to either side of a table at one end of Sir Gordon’s office. “That’s precisely why I’m here.”

He went on to explain the situation, spreading out his map, omitting nothing of what he had already related to the Grand Master and his council. Sir Gordon listened in grave silence as Adam outlined his most pressing needs. At the end of his recital, the general’s sharp eyes were twinkling in martial appreciation for what the younger man proposed.

“Let’s start with the aerial reconnaissance—which sounds like your most pressing need at the moment,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We’ll be out of daylight in another couple of hours—and it will take a little while to organize this, anyway—but barring drastic deterioration in the weather, I can have a couple of helicopters in the air at first light tomorrow. Between mountain rescue and military maneuvers, we have aircraft in that general area pretty much year-round.” He cocked his head at Adam and grinned. “Some of those RAF chaps get rather spectacular aerial recon footage of the local wildlife. Might even spot a lynx or two.”

Adam gave him an appreciative smile.

“Thanks, Gordon. I knew I could count on you.”

“All part of the service. Now, about these other items on your list. It’s true that I can’t give you the army,” he said with a tight smile. “Not officially, at any rate. Unofficially, though . . .”

He glanced aside, fiddling with a pen, then nodded.

“Yes, I have just the man for you. You won’t have to worry about anyone asking awkward questions afterward. Just tell me when and where you want your support to show up.”

“That’s something else I wanted to ask you about,” Adam said.

“We’ll need a staging area up in the Cairngorms, for my civilian contingent. Any suggestions?”

“I’m already one step ahead of you,” Sir Gordon said. “I happen to have access to a shooting lodge up near Drumguish, perhaps twenty miles from the area you’re talking about. It even has a helipad. Would that suit you?”

“Ideal,” Adam said. “You’re sure it won’t cause you problems, though? Given the nature of the operation, it’s essential that no word of this gets out.”

“That goes for my chaps as well,” Sir Gordon assured him with an arch grin. “It’s secure, though. Consider it my personal contribution to this whole enterprise. Now, when do you want them?”

“Would noon tomorrow be too soon?” Adam asked. “The moon’s full tomorrow night—which is helpful on several levels.”

“Understood,” the general said. “It’s cutting things a bit fine, but we’ll contrive.” He jotted a note on a pad and went on.

“All right. We’ll cover tomorrow’s recon as a mountain rescue exercise, and for the rest—well, with any luck, they’ll be in and out before anyone’s the wiser. Besides that, we’ve already got military exercises scheduled up in that general area starting next weekend—which will explain the requisition orders I’ll have to slip in to cover this.” He paused to flash Adam a sly grin.

“You know, with a full moon and it being New Year’s Eve tomorrow night, that should also cover any fireworks you might stir up when you go into action. Noel will like that, since he’s the one who’ll probably end up trying to explain to the press, if anything does leak out.”

Adam smiled. “I treasure your optimism, Gordon—and your help. If we manage to pull this off, you’ll have earned a large share of the credit.”

“Not at all, my boy,” said Sir Gordon. “I only wish I could be there in person to help out. As it is, my wife and I are locked into attending a black-tie Hogmanay party tomorrow night—you know what people expect of generals. I’ll be with you in spirit, though, never fear.”

* * *

Adam made several telephone calls before leaving the general’s office, also requesting Sir Gordon to make another call for him, after he had gone.

“Her name is Dr. Ximena Lockhart,” he told him, handing over a slip of paper with the pertinent information. “I don’t have telephone numbers to hand, but you’ll be able to reach her either at the Royal Infirmary or this address. You needn’t identify yourself; just say that I asked you to call, that I’m all right, and that I’ll call her as soon as I can—hopefully to wish her a Happy New Year.”

He had his driver swing through Kinross to collect Christopher then, also pausing at Strathmourne to pick up the items he had asked Philippa to have ready for him.

“I’ll be relying on you to keep things tight on the astral,” he told her, with a kiss before getting back into the car.

“You can count on me, dear. I’ve even managed to get through to Lindsay. Good hunting!”

“God bless,” Adam murmured, as he settled in next to Christopher and the general’s car headed back down the drive.

That night, with all preparations made for an early departure for Sir Gordon’s shooting lodge the next morning, Adam assembled his Masonic team in the great hall and introduced Christopher, who would be directing their visualization from the staging area the following night.

“The very best image I can give you,” Adam told them, “is that of a canopy or umbrella of brilliant white light surrounding and protecting the planet. That’s what your work in Lodge supports, whether or not you’ve ever been aware of it, and that’s especially what I want you to concentrate on projecting tomorrow night, when we make our assault on the opposition. Simultaneously, as you know, your Brethren all over Scotland will be working to reinforce that image in less specific terms, offering up peace and good will as the new year turns. Their work will help bolster what we’ll be trying to do, but they, alone, can’t do what needs to be done—so it’s up to us.”

* * *

They moved out next morning as planned, in an assortment of Land Rovers, jeeps, and other four-wheel-drive vehicles—nine in all, carrying nearly forty men. They tried to avoid the appearance of a convoy as they headed north by back roads to link up with the A9. They reached the lodge by Drumguish shortly before eleven and settled in to wait, munching sandwiches provided by Sir Neville’s household staff and drinking tea from thermos flasks. Even at midday, the temperature was dropping and there was a bitter chill in the wind. As Adam paced on the lodge’s front porch, he tried not to think about more snow, but he could not help wondering whether the opposition had the power to influence the weather.

Just after noon, two yellow Wessex helicopters with Air-Sea Rescue markings came chuffing down out of a pewter-colored sky. The lanky SAS major who jumped out of the second one and ducked under its slowing blades to jog toward them had a large manila envelope under one arm, and seemed to have been well-briefed.

“I’m to ask for Sir Adam Sinclair,” he said, eyeing Adam in tentative recognition.

“I’m Sinclair.”

The major grinned and stuck out a hand that also conveyed a Masonic grip with his handshake.

“General’s compliments, Sir Adam. Ian Duart. I believe you requested some recon photos—and some work to be done. If you’ll tell me where you want us to set up, I’ll get my men unloading our equipment.”

“Thank you, Major. Mr. Crawford and Mr. Lovat will direct your men,” Adam said, taking the envelope the man offered. “Meanwhile, perhaps you and your Second would care to join me inside, and we’ll have a look at these and brief one another.”

At Duart’s signal, the helicopters disgorged another dozen SAS men, in addition to the pilots. As they set about unloading gear and a light snow began to fall, Duart and a captain named Kinsey spread out their maps and photos in the dining room for the perusal of Adam and McLeod. Their Masonic allies stuck to the drawing room or clustered outside to watch the SAS men’s preparations.

“I was told to expect that the photo’s would blur, so I did some overlays last night from older aerial surveys,” Duart said, smoothing a sheet of acetate over one of the maps. “This one was taken about a year ago. Whatever fogged today’s photos wasn’t there then. But you can see how the approach to the castle is protected by these cliffs.” He traced the line with his finger. “If whoever’s in charge of the place has got any sense, they’ll have men posted all along that cliff line with as much conventional firepower as they can muster.”