The Tightrope Men / The Enemy (49 page)

‘She was being emotional about it. And Cregar was pushing Carter hard. He wants results.’

‘Who is Carter?’

‘The Chief Scientific Officer.’

I pointed to the telephone. ‘I’ll lay you a hundred pounds to a bent farthing that you won’t be able to talk to her.’

He hesitated for a long time before he picked up the telephone and began to dial. Although he was being niggly on secrecy, on security he was lousy. As he dialled I watched his finger and memorized the number. ‘Professor Lumsden here. I’d like to speak to Dr Ashton. Yes, I’ll hang on.’

He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘They’ve gone to call her. They think she’s in her room.’

‘Don’t bet on it.’

Lumsden hung on to the telephone for a long time, then suddenly said, ‘Yes?…I see…the mainland. Well, ask her to ring me as soon as she comes back. I’ll be in my office.’ He put down the telephone and said dully, ‘They say she’s gone to the mainland.’

‘So it’s on an island.’

‘Yes.’ He looked up and his eyes were haunted. ‘They could be right, you know.’

‘Not a chance,’ I said. ‘Something has happened up there. You referred to your conscience; I’ll leave you with it. Good day, Professor Lumsden.’

I strode into Ogilvie’s outer office, said to his secretary, ‘Is the boss in?’ and breezed on through without waiting for an answer. There were going to be no more closed doors as far as I was concerned.

Ogilvie was just as annoyed as Lumsden at having his office invaded. ‘I didn’t send for you,’ he said coldly.

‘I’ve cracked Benson,’ I said. ‘He was Cregar’s man.’

Ogilvie’s eyes opened wide. ‘I don’t believe it.’

I tossed the letter before him. ‘Signed, sealed and delivered. That was written on the fourth of January, 1947, the day Benson was discharged from the army, and signed by the Honourable James Pallson who is now Lord Cregar. Christ, the man has no honour in him. Do you realize, that when Ashton and Benson skipped to Sweden and Cregar was doing his holier-than-thou bit, he knew where they were all the time. The bastard has been laughing at us.’

Ogilvie shook his head. ‘No, it’s too incredible.’

‘What’s so incredible about it? That letter says Benson has been Cregar’s man for the past thirty years. I’d say
Cregar made a deal with Ashton. Ashton was free to do as he wanted - to sink or swim in the capitalist sea - but only on condition he had a watchdog attached: Benson. And when the reorganization came and Cregar lost responsibility for Ashton he conveniently forgot to tell you about Benson. It also explains why Benson was lost from the computer files.’

Ogilvie drew in his breath. ‘It fits,’ he admitted. ‘But it leaves a lot still to be explained.’

‘You’ll get your explanation from Cregar,’ I said savagely. ‘Just before I skin him and nail his hide to the barn door.’

‘You’ll stay away from Cregar,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll handle him.’

‘That be damned for a tale. You don’t understand. Penny Ashton has gone missing and Cregar has something to do with it. It will take more than you to keep me off Cregar’s back.’

‘What’s all this?’ He was bewildered.

I told him, then said, ‘Do you know where this laboratory is?’

‘No.’

I took a card from my wallet and dropped it on the desk. ‘A telephone number. The post office won’t tell me anything about it because it’s unlisted. Do something.’

He glanced at the card but didn’t pick it up. He said slowly, ‘I don’t know…’

I cut in. ‘I know something. That letter is enough to ruin Cregar, but I can’t wait. Don’t stop me. Just give me what I need and I’ll give you more than that letter - I’ll give you Cregar’s head on a platter. But I’m not going to wait too long.’

He looked at me thoughtfully, then picked up the card and the telephone simultaneously. Five minutes later he said two words. ‘Cladach Duillich.’

Cladach Duillich was a hard place to get to. It was one of the Summer Isles, a scattering of rocks in an indentation of the North Minch into Ross and Cromarty. The area is a popular haunt of biological dicers with death. Six miles to the south of Cladach Duillich lies Gruinard Island, uninhabited and uninhabitable. In 1942 the biological warfare boys made a trifling mistake and Gruinard was soaked with anthrax - a hundred years’ danger. No wonder the Scots want devolution with that sort of foolishness emanating from the south.

I flew to Dalcross, the airport for Inverness, and there hired a car in which I drove the width of Scotland to Ullapool at the head of Loch Broom. It was a fine day; the sun was shining; the birds singing and the scenery magnificent - all of which left me cold because I was trying to make good speed on a road which is called in Scotland, ‘Narrow, Class 1 (with passing places)’. I felt with a depressing certainty that time was a commodity which was running out fast.

It was latish in the day when I arrived in Ullapool. Cladach Duillich lay twelve miles further, out in the bay; say a four hour round trip for a local fishing boat. I dickered with a couple of fishermen but none was willing to take me out at that time. The sun was an hour from setting, clouds were building up in the west, and a raw wind blew down
the narrow loch, ruffling water which had turned iron grey. I made a tentative deal with a man called Robbie Ferguson to take me out to the island at eight the next morning, weather permitting.

It was not yet the tourist season so I found a room in a pub quite easily. That evening I sat in the bar listening to the local gossip and putting in a word or two myself, not often but often enough to stake a conversational claim when I decided to do a small quiz on Cladach Duillich.

It was evident that the rising tide of Scottish nationalism was in full rip in the West Highlands. There was talk of English absentee landlords and of ‘Scottish’ oil and of the ambivalent attitude of the Scottish Labour Party, all uttered in tones of amused and rather tired cynicism as though these people had lost faith in the promises of politicians. There was not much of it, just enough to spice the talk of fishing and the weather, but if I had been a bland habitué of the Westminster corridors of power it would have been enough to scare the hell out of me. Ullapool, it seemed, was further removed from London than Kalgoorlie, Australia.

I finished my half-pint of beer and switched to scotch, asking the barman which he recommended. The man next to me turned. ‘The Talisker’s not so bad,’ he offered. He was a tall, lean man in his mid-fifties with a craggy face and the soft-set mouth found in Highlanders. He spoke in that soft West Highland accent which is about as far from Harry Lauder as you can get.

‘Then that’s what I’ll have. Will you join me?’

He gave me a speculative look, then smiled. ‘I don’t see why not. You’ll be from the south, I take it. It’s early for folk like you.’

I ordered two large Taliskers. ‘What sort am I, then?’

‘A tourist, maybe?’

‘Not a tourist - a journalist.’

‘Is it so? Which paper?’

‘Any that’ll publish me. I’m a freelance. Can you tell me anything about Gruinard Island?’

He chuckled, and shook his head. ‘Och, not again? Every year we get someone asking about Gruinard; the Island of Death they used to call it. It’s all been written, man; written into the ground. There’s nothing new in that.’

I shrugged. ‘A good story is still a good story to anyone who hasn’t heard it. There’s a rising generation which thinks of 1942 as being in the Dark Ages. I’ve met kids who think Hitler was a British general. But perhaps you’re right. Anything else of interest around here?’

‘What would interest an English newspaper in Ullapool? There’s no oil here; that’s on the east coast.’ He looked into his whisky glass thoughtfully. ‘There’s the helicopter which comes and goes and no one knowing why. Would that interest you?’

‘It might,’ I said. ‘An oil company chopper?’

‘Could be, could be. But it lands on one of the islands. I’ve seen it myself.’

‘Which island?’

‘Out in the bay - Cladach Duillich. It’s just a wee rock with nothing much on it. I doubt if the oil is there. They put up a few buildings but no drilling rig.’

‘Who put up the buildings?’

‘They say the government rented the island from an English lord. Wattie Stevenson went over in his boat once, just to pass the time of day, you know, and to say that when the trouble came there’d always be someone in Ullapool to help. But they wouldn’t as much as let him set foot on the rock. Not friendly neighbours at all.’

‘What sort of trouble was your friend expecting?’

‘The weather, you understand. The winter storms are very bad. It’s said the waves pass right over Cladach Duillich. That’s how it got its name.’

I frowned. ‘I don’t understand that.’

‘Ah, you haven’t the Gaelic. Well, long ago there was a fisherman out of Coigach and his boat sank in a storm on the other side of the island out there. So he swam and he swam and he finally got ashore and thought he was safe. But he was drowned all the same, poor man, because the shore was Cladach Duillich. The water came right over. Cladach Duillich in the English would be the Sad Shore.’

If what I thought was correct it was well named. ‘Do the people on Cladach Duillich ever come ashore here?’

‘Not at all. I haven’t seen a one of them. They fly south in the helicopter and no one knows where it goes or where it comes from. Not a penny piece do they spend in Ullapool. Very secret folk they are. There’s just one landing place on Cladach Duillich and they’ve put up a big notice about trespassers and what will be done to them.’

I noticed that his glass was empty and wondered when he’d sunk the whisky. He must have done it when I blinked. I said, ‘Have another, Mr…er…’

‘You’ll have one with me.’ He signalled to the barman, then said, ‘My name is Archie Ferguson and it’s my brother who’ll be taking you out to Cladach Duillich tomorrow morn.’ He smiled sardonically at my evident discomfiture, and added, ‘But I doubt if you’ll set foot there.’

‘I’m Malcolm Jaggard,’ I said. ‘And I think I will.’

‘Malcolm’s a good Scots name,’ said Ferguson. ‘I’ll drink to your success, anyway; whatever it may be.’

‘There’s certainly something odd about the place,’ I said, ‘Do you think it’s another Gruinard?’

Ferguson’s face altered and for a moment he looked like the wrath of Almighty God. ‘It had better not be so,’ he said sternly. ‘If we thought it was we would take the fire to it.’

I chewed that over together with my dinner, then made a telephone call - to Cladach Duillich. A voice said, ‘How can I help you?’

‘I’d like to speak to Dr Ashton. My name is Malcolm Jaggard.’

‘Just a moment. I’ll see if she’s available.’

There was a four minute silence, then another voice said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Jaggard, but I’m told Dr Ashton went to the mainland and is not yet back.’

‘Where on the mainland?’

There was a pause. ‘Where are you speaking from, Mr Jaggard?’

‘From London. Why?’

He didn’t answer the question. ‘She went to Ullapool - that’s our local metropolis. She said she’d like to stretch her legs; there’s not much scope for walking where we are. And she wanted to shop for a few things. May I ask how you got our number?’

‘Dr Ashton gave it to me. When do you expect her back?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The weather has closed in, so I don’t think shell be back until tomorrow morning. You could speak to her then.’

‘Where would she stay in Ullapool? I don’t know the place.’

‘I really couldn’t say, Mr Jaggard. But she’ll be back tomorrow with the boat.’

‘I see. May I ask who I’m speaking to?’

‘I’m Dr Carter.’

‘Thank you, Dr Carter. I’ll ring tomorrow.’

As I put down the telephone I reflected that someone was lying - other than myself - and I didn’t think it was Archie Ferguson. But to make sure I went into the bar and found him talking to Robbie, his brother. I joined them. ‘Excuse me for butting in.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Ferguson. ‘I was just talking over with Robbie your chances of getting out to Cladach Duillich the morrow’s morn.’

I looked at Robbie. ‘Is there any doubt of it?’

‘I think there’ll be a wee blow,’ he said. ‘The glass is dropping as the weather forecast said. Have you a strong stomach, Mr Jaggard?’

‘Strong enough.’

Archie Ferguson laughed. ‘You’ll need one of cast iron.’

I said, ‘The people on Cladach Duillich also said the weather is closing in.’

Archie raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ve been talking to them! How?’

‘By telephone - how else?’

‘Aye,’ said Robbie. ‘They had the cable laid.’ He shook his head. ‘Awful expensive.’

‘A man there told me a woman came ashore today from Cladach Duillich - here in Ullapool. She’s about five feet eight inches, dark hair, age twent…’

Robbie interrupted. ‘How did she come?’

‘By boat.’

‘Then she didn’t come,’ he said positively. ‘All the comings and goings are by that bluidy helicopter. There’s no boat on Cladach Duillich.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘O’ course I’m sure. I pass the place twice a day, most days. You can take my word - there’s no boat.’

I had to make sure of it. ‘Well, supposing she came anyway. Where would she stay in Ullapool?’

‘Ullapool’s not all that big,’ said Archie. ‘If she’s here at all we can put our hands on her - in a manner o’ speaking, that is. What would be the lassie’s name?’

‘Ashton - Penelope Ashton.’

‘Rest easy, Mr Jaggard. You’ll know within the hour.’ He smiled genially at his brother. ‘Do you not smell something awful romantic, Robbie?’

The wind whistled about my ears as I stood on the pier at eight next morning. The sky was slate-grey and so was the loch, stippled with whitecaps whipped up by the wind. Below me Robbie Ferguson’s boat pitched violently, the rubber tyre fenders squealing as they were compressed and rubbed on the stone wall. It looked much too fragile to be taken out on such a day, but Robbie seemed unconcerned, He had taken the cover off the engine and was swinging on a crank.

Beside me, Archie Ferguson said, ‘So you think the young lady is still on Cladach Duillich?’

‘I do.’

He pulled his coat closer about him. ‘Maybe we’re wrong about the government,’ he said. ‘Could this be one of those queer religious groups we’re importing from America these days? Moonies or some such? I’ve heard some remarkably funny things about them.’

‘No, it’s not that.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Mr Ferguson, could you do me a favour?’

‘If I can.’

I estimated times. ‘If I’m not back in eight hours - that’s by four this afternoon - I want you to get the police and come looking for me.’

He thought about it for a moment. ‘No harm in that. What if Robbie comes back and you don’t?’

‘Same thing applies. They might spin Robbie a yarn, tell him I’ve decided to stay. They’ll be lying, but he’s to accept the lie, come back here, and raise the alarm.’

Below, the diesel engine spluttered into life and settled down into a slow and steady thumping. Archie said, ‘You know, Malcolm Jaggard, I don’t believe you’re a journalist at all.’

I took a card from my wallet and gave it to him. ‘If I don’t come back ring that number. Get hold of a man called Ogilvie and tell him about it.’

He studied the card. ‘McCulloch and Ross - and Ogilvie. It seems we Scots have taken over the City of London.’ He looked up. ‘But you look less like a financier than you do a journalist. What’s really going on out there on Cladach Duillich?’

‘We spoke about it last night,’ I said. ‘And you talked of fire.’

A bleakness came over him. ‘The government would do that again?’

‘Governments are made of men. Some men would do that.’

‘Aye, and some men can pay for it.’ He looked at me closely. ‘Malcolm Jaggard, when you come back you and I are going to have a bit of a talk. And you can tell yon laddies on Cladach Duillich that if you don’t come back we’ll be bringing the fire to them. A great cleanser is fire.’

‘Stay out of it,’ I said. ‘It’s a job for the police.’

‘Don’t be daft, man. Would the police go against the government? You leave this to me.’ He looked down into the boat. ‘Away with you; Robbie is waiting. And I’ll away and have a talk with a few of my friends.’

I didn’t argue with him. I climbed down the iron ladder which was slippery with water and seaweed and tried to time my drop into the boat to coincide with its erratic
pitching. I fumbled it but was saved from sprawling full length by Robbie’s strong arm.

He looked me up and down, then shook his head. ‘You’ll freeze, Mr Jaggard.’ He turned and rummaged in a locker and brought out a seaman’s guernsey. ‘This’ll keep you warm, and this -’ he gave me a pair of trousers and an anorak, both waterproof - ‘this’ll keep you dry.’

When I had put them on he said, ‘Now sit you down and be easy.’ He went forward, walking as easily in that tossing boat as another man would walk a city pavement. He cast off the forward line, then walked back, seemingly unconcerned that the bow was swinging in a great arc. As he passed the engine he pushed over a lever with his boot, then dexterously cast off the stern line. The throbbing note of the engine deepened and we began to move away from the pier wall. Robbie was standing with the tiller between his knees, looking forward and steering by swaying motions of his body while he coiled the stern line into a neat skein.

The wind strengthened as we got out into the loch and the waves were bigger. The wind was from the north-west and we plunged into the teeth of it. As the bow dipped downwards sheets of spray were blown aft and I appreciated the waterproofing. As it was, I knew I’d be thoroughly drenched by the time we got to Cladach Duillich.

Presently Robbie sat down, controlling the tiller with one booted foot. He pointed, and said, ‘The Coigach shore.’

I ducked a lump of spray. ‘What sort of man is your brother?’

‘Archie?’ Robbie thought a bit and then shrugged. ‘He’s my brother.’

‘Would you call him a hot-headed man?’

‘Archie hot-headed!’ Robbie laughed ‘Why, the man’s as cold as an iceberg. I’m the laddie in the family to take the chances. Archie weighs everything in a balance before he does anything. Why do you ask?’

‘He was talking about what he’d do if I didn’t come back from Cladach Duillich.’

‘There’s one thing certain about my brother - he does what he says he’ll do. He’s as reliable as death and taxes.’

That was comforting to know. I didn’t know what lay ahead on Cladach Duillich, but I knew I wasn’t going to get an easy answer. The knowledge that I had a reliable backstop gave me a warm feeling.

I said, ‘If I go missing on that bloody bit of rock you’ll take no for an answer. You’ll swallow what they tell you, then go back and see your brother.’

He looked at me curiously. ‘Are you expecting to disappear?’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

He wiped the spray from his face. ‘I don’t ken what this is about, but Archie seems to like you, and that’s enough for me. He’s a thinker.’

It was a long haul across Annat Bay towards the Summer Isles. The waves were short and deep, and the pitching was combined with rolling, giving a corkscrew motion which was nauseating. Robbie looked at me and grinned. ‘We’d better talk; it’ll take your mind off your belly. Look, there’s Cam nan Sgeir, with Eilean Dubh beyond. That’s Black Island in the English.’

‘Where’s Cladach Duillich?’

‘Away the other side of Eilean Dubh. We’ve a way to go yet.’

‘Why don’t they keep a boat there? If I lived on an island it’s the first thing I’d think of.’

Robbie chuckled. ‘You’ll see when we get there - but I’ll tell you anyway, just for the talking. There’s but one place to land and a chancy place it is. There’s no protection for boat or man. You can’t just tie up as you can at Ullapool Pier. There’d be no boat when you got back if there was anything of a blow. It would be
crushed on the rocks. I won’t be waiting there for you, you know.’

‘Oh? Where will you be?’

‘Lying off somewhere within easy reach. There are more boats wrecked on land than at sea. It’s the land that kills boats. I’ll be doing a wee bit of fishing.’

I looked at the jumbled sea. ‘In this!’

‘Och, I’m used to it. You give me a time and I’ll be there.’

‘I’ll tell you now. I want exactly two hours ashore.’

‘Two hours you’ll get,’ he said. ‘About the boat they haven’t got on Cladach Duillich. When those folk first came they had a boat but it got smashed, so they got another and that was smashed. After they lost the third they began to get the idea. Then they thought that if they could take the boat ashore it would be all right, but it’s an awful weary job pulling a boat ashore on Cladach Duillich because there’s no beach. So they rigged davits just like on a ship and they could take the boat straight up a cliff and out of the water. Then a wave came one night and took the boat and the davits and they were never seen again. After that they gave up.’

‘It sounds a grim place.’

‘It is - in bad weather. It won’t be too bad today.’ I looked at the reefing seas and wondered what Robbie called bad weather. He pointed. ‘There it is - Cladach Duillich.’

It was just as Archie Ferguson had described it - a wee bit of rock. There were cliffs all around, not high but precipitous, and the sea boiled white underneath them. Off the island was a scattering of rocks like black fangs and I thought the people on Cladach Duillich had been right when they decided this was no place for a boat.

As we drew nearer Robbie said, ‘See that ravine? The landing place is at the bottom.’

There was a narrow crack in the cliff face at the bottom of which the sea seemed to be calmer - relatively speaking.
Robbie swung the tiller over sharply to avoid a rock which slid astern three feet off the port quarter, then he swung hard the other way to avoid another. He grinned. ‘This is when you hope the engine doesn’t pack in. You’d better get right forrard - you’ll have to jump for it, and I won’t be able to hold her there long.’

I scrambled forward and stood right in the bows as he brought the boat in. Now I saw that the crack in the rock was wider than at first glance and there was a concrete platform built at the bottom. The engine note changed as Robbie throttled back for the final approach. It was an amazing feat, but in that swirling sea with its cross-currents he brought her in so the bow kissed the concrete with a touch as light as a feather. At his shout I jumped and went sprawling as my feet skidded from under me on the weed-covered surface. When I picked myself up the boat was thirty yards off-shore and moving away fast. Robbie waved and I waved back, and then he applied himself to the task of avoiding rocks.

I looked at my surroundings. The first thing I saw was the notice board Archie Ferguson had mentioned. It was weather beaten and the paint was peeling and faded but it was still readable.

GOVERNMENT ESTABLISHMENT
Landing is Absolutely Prohibited By Order

It did not say who had issued the order.

A path led from the concrete platform up the ravine, so I followed it. It climbed steeply and led to a plateau, sparsely grassed, in the centre of which was a group of buildings. They were low concrete structures which had the appearance of military blockhouses, probably because they were windowless. From what had been said about Cladach
Duillich they were the only type of building which could survive there.

I had no more time to study the place because a man was approaching at a run. He slowed as he came closer, and said abruptly, ‘Can’t you read?’

‘I can read.’

‘Then clear off.’

‘The age of miracles is past, friend. Walking on the water has gone out of fashion. The boat’s gone.’

‘Well, you can’t stay here. What do you want?’

‘I want to talk to Dr Carter.’

He seemed slightly taken aback, and I studied him as he thought about it. He was big and he had hard eyes and a stubborn jaw. He said, ‘What do you want to talk to Dr Carter about?’

‘If Dr Carter wants you to know he’ll tell you,’ I said pleasantly.

He didn’t like that but there wasn’t much he could do about it. ‘Who are you?’

‘Same thing applies. You’re out of your depth, friend. Let’s go and see Carter.’

‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘You stay here.’

I looked at him coldly. ‘Not a chance. I’m wet through and I want to dry out.’ I nodded to the buildings. ‘Those look as bloody inhospitable as you behave, but I’m willing to bet they’re warm and dry inside. Take me to Carter.’

His problem was that he didn’t know me or my authority, but I was behaving as though I had a right to be there and making demands. He did as I thought he would and passed the buck. ‘All right, follow me. You see Carter and you go nowhere else.’