Preparing for it. Planning for it.
And looking forward to it.
He needed to speak to Fiona.
Campbell was getting worried about her. She hadn't even tried to contact him. At all.
She was taking it all far worse than he'd ever thought she would.
On Saturday afternoon he locked himself away in his bedroom in Brian's house and called her mobile number.
The phone rang, numerous times.
But it was not picked up.
He tried the house number. The number of his home.
Their home.
No reply.
He tried an hour later.
Nothing.
Then again later.
Where was she?
Eventually he left a message.
"Fiona, hi, it's me. Campbell." Pause. "I miss you Fiona. I love you. Please believe me when I say that. And also, please understand, I never intended this to happen. Any of it. We need to talk about it. Please." Pause. "And I have to tell you something. Important." Pause. "I have to go away for a while. Quite a long while. With work. I had hoped to see you before I go? I really would like to... Please call me? By the way, I'm leaving tomorrow. I love you. If you need to get hold of me, Brian knows where I'll be. And I am so, so, sorry..."
When he hung up, he felt emotionally drained.
He stared at his phone, hoping that she would get the message and call him straight back. But, an hour later, she hadn't called.
When Brian called Campbell down for dinner that evening, Campbell was looking as white as a sheet. Completely emotionally drained.
"I totally screwed up. I fucked up her life. And mine, and now she hates me so much, she won't even talk to me."
"Do you want me to go and see her for you?" Brian offered.
Campbell's eyes lit up.
"Please, yes. Yes, that would be great," he exclaimed. "... But not until Monday. Not until I've gone. And you mustn't tell her where I've gone. Only you can know that. I don't want any chance of her coming to visit me and putting herself in danger too. I've already ruined her life. I don't want her getting tangled up in this and getting killed as well."
"What should I tell her?"
"Just that I'm the biggest idiot in the world, and that you can vouch for that because you've had to put up with me for so many years, and that I think of her every moment of the day. I love her. Tell her I love her," his voice began to tremble.
"And what do I say about you going into hiding?"
"Nothing. Just that I had to go to Europe to visit Europol or Brussels or something. Just make something up, but make it credible."
"And when will you be back?"
Campbell stared at him, his eyes blank.
"I don't know. When the job's finished?"
Brian was silent, then nodded.
"Okay, Anne's put the dinner on the table. Let's eat up, then head out. I feel the need for beer."
--------------------
The Grange
Edinburgh
9.30 p.m.
Fiona's eyes were closed when she heard the phone ring again and the messaging machine kick in.
As she listened to Campbell leave his message, the sound of his voice did curious things to her body. It evoked a myriad of different feelings within her.
Almost every instinct within her screamed at her to lift the receiver and shout down the phone that she was there.
To tell him to come home.
Immediately.
That she needed him.
Loved him.
Missed him.
Was DYING without him.
Then she thought of the baby, and the sobbing began.
The sobbing overcame her, demolished her, and it was through a wall of tears and anguish that she heard Campbell say that he was leaving.
Walking away.
Running away.
Going off on holiday somewhere.
Bloody escaping, and leaving her behind.
She swore then. Screamed at the top of her voice.
She hated him.
What a bastard.
"What a fucking bastard!" she shouted at the top of her voice.
When his voice stopped on the answering machine, the house echoed with his words.
And her tears.
She cried and cried, and then through more tears, listened to his message again.
And again.
But each time it was the same.
He was leaving. He didn't care.
And she was going to die alone.
She and her baby, her baby, not Campbell's anymore, were going to die.
As far as she was now concerned, Campbell was already dead.
Chapter 22
The Fiddler's Arms
Edinburgh
Saturday
10.05 p.m.
Alessandra had arrived at the Fiddler's Arms about five minutes before ten. She'd walked in and was immediately surprised to find out how busy it was. The street outside was quiet and surprisingly empty for a Saturday night, but inside the small bar was packed.
The pub itself was about five metres wide, and long, probably about forty metres. The bar took up half the area, with a row of seats and tables taking up most of the space in front of the bar.
The lucky ones got to sit against the wall. The others had to continually readjust their seat positions to allow people to squeeze past on their way to the musicians or the toilets which were at the other end of the pub. The bar itself took up half the length of the pub, giving the Ceilidh band at the back much more space, and even afforded some room for drinkers who wanted to stand or sit beside them and listen to the music.
Standing at the bar, she ordered herself a fresh orange and lemonade, semi-cursing Scotland's zero tolerance for drinking and driving: she would have loved a small glass of wine. While she waited, her eyes scanned the front of the pub, looking for McKenzie. She had studied his photographs so much, she could probably sketch him with her eyes closed.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Paying and taking her drink, she squeezed her way to the back of the pub, trying, as usual, not to draw any attention to herself, and acutely aware of the syringe in her pocket.
Her eyes constantly danced from one person to another, and wherever accidental eye contact was made, she half smiled, and casually turned away.
As she neared the back of the pub, two people got up to leave, and incredibly Alessandra was able to sit down beside the musicians, leaving enough room for people to squeeze past behind her on the way to the toilets.
Establishing that McKenzie was not among any of this evening's patrons, she allowed herself to relax slightly, but maintained a constant vigil for any sight of him.
The band consisted of a violinist, someone playing a penny whistle, an Irish drum which the person held in their hand and skimmed with a stick... beating it harder with every second or third beat, and also a guitar.
From the pictures that surrounded them on the wall, she guessed that the violinist was a house-regular and the others probably just dropped in and joined in when they fancied.
The Celtic music they played, fast but soothing, began to weave an intricate pattern in the air around her, and Alessandra couldn't help but find herself tapping her feet and beginning to really enjoy it.
It took a real effort to focus back on the here and now and the real reason she was there.
She looked at her watch. It was ten twenty. Still early for many people. Perhaps it was not too late for McKenzie to make an appearance, although if he did, she would be very lucky indeed.
The chance of her finding him on her first night in the city was tiny, although not impossible, given the research she had already done.
Annoyingly her fingers were beginning to tingle.
At first the significance of it didn't dawn on her, but as soon as she recognised the feeling, a shot of adrenaline pulsed through her body.
Her heart began to beat faster, and she found
herself beginning to focus on her own internal feelings, forgetting about the music in the background which continued to wash over her without her noticing.
Why now? What was happening?
Was the tingling anything to do with what happened in Loch Ness, or was it something else? Would it pass?
She looked around her, at the people near her. Could they notice anything different about her?
She felt hot.
Standing up, she removed her jacket and took several deep breaths.
Looking around the pub quickly, she sat down again and took a large sip of her drink.
She breathed deeply several times and forced herself to relax.
Slowly she managed to calm down.
Her fingers were still tingling, but apart from that, nothing else had changed.
Looking around the pub again, there was still no sight of McKenzie. Which was good. The way she was feeling just now, she was not ready for him.
--------------------
Fifteen minutes earlier Brian and Campbell had come into the pub and found an opening at the bar. While Campbell ordered the drinks, Brian snuck round to the back of the bar to see if there were spaces to sit or stand by the band, but finding none, he returned to Campbell.
"Best hang out here for the first pint. It's choc-a-bloc back there."
Campbell handed over a pint of eighty shillings to Brian and then picked up his own glass and clinked it against Brian's".
"Cheers. Thanks for everything. And thanks to Anne for doing this disguise," he said, feeling the false moustache and beard that Anne had rigged up and fitted on him. "I almost don't recognise myself." Campbell said, turning to a mirror on the wall, and admiring himself.
"She has her uses. But you’d better not lose those. She needs them for the Gilbert and Sullivan opera she's helping out at next week. Amateur dramatics isn't my thing, but she loves it."
"Do you think I'm overdoing this? The disguise, the hiding in Arrochar?"
Brian shrugged.
"Probably. But better safe than sorry. If your boss is willing to offer to provide you with some police protection if you request it, I think it’s pretty serious. I'd just say this, there isn't any shame in asking for it if you think it might make you feel safer. In your position, I can't say I wouldn't."
Campbell nodded, thinking.
"I might. I don't know."
"Don't forget, I'm giving you my laptop to take with you. And so long as you don't forget the passwords I gave you, you must use my ID to go on the internet, not yours. Going off the grid means just that. You disappear."
"Will you come to Arrochar and do some hillwalking with me?"
"Next Saturday. And I'll bring some supplies. Use your new phone and SIM cards. And if I was you, I'd throw away a SIM card after every couple of days and start using a new one. Just in case."
"Good suggestion."
"Did they say how long you're out for?" Brian asked. "How long should you consider the threat to be serious?"
Campbell shook his head. "A month was mentioned, but I think it might be pushed out. If I come back too early they will have to provide police protection and that costs and takes other men off the street. I think they'd much rather keep paying me so long as I don't show my face for a while."
Brian nodded.
It wasn't the first time he'd advised someone who had to go into hiding. Normally, though, the person needing to disappear was an informant, not a best friend.
The truth was, Brian was worried. A lot. But he didn't want to show it or scare Campbell.
Campbell was a big boy now. He'd have been able to figure the truth of that out for himself.
--------------------
At the other end of the bar, Alessandra was growing distinctly uncomfortable. The tingling in her fingers was becoming very unpleasant and distracting. What was she meant to do about it?
How long would it last?
She was trying her best to relax and listen to the music, - who knows when the next time would be that she would get to sit down peacefully and get a moment to herself? -but finding it increasingly more difficult. People were pushing past the back of her, apologising and trying to get to the toilets in the corner at the back of the pub, and each time someone passed she felt compelled to try to get a look at them to see if it could possibly be McKenzie.
She was tempted to get up and go and get another drink from the bar but she was scared of losing her seat, and she felt nervous about leaving her jacket on the chair, considering that it had a syringe containing deadly poison in one of the pockets.
Rubbing her fingers, she tried to concentrate on the reel that the violinist was playing. She was watching his face, drawn to it by the various expressions he was making as he expressed himself in the music, when the expression seemed to drain away and his eyes glazed over, the irises and pupils becoming dull and lifeless. His playing came to an abrupt halt, the arm that held the bow sinking slowly down by his side, the tip of the bow pointing at the floor. The other musicians initially kept playing, but gradually they stopped, and their attention turned to the violinist. The violinist's head had now begun to bow forward, one side of his face beginning to droop, his mouth turned down at the corner, and his eyebrow lowered.
He began to slump forward in his chair, and it looked as if he was going to fall over onto the table before him.
With a sickening realisation of what was happening to him, Alessandra sprung forward towards the man, steadying him and catching him before he fell. She'd seen this before; several years before. Someone she once knew in Canada had had a stroke and she'd been by her side as it happened. Sadly the woman had later died, and there was nothing that Alessandra or any of the woman's relatives were able to do about it.
"What's the matter?" the young man with the penny whistle was asking, concerned. The others were now standing up in a small circle around the violinist, mostly blocking the view from the rest of the pub-goers who carried on their conversations oblivious to the drama unfolding in the corner.
"Make some space, I want to lie him down on the floor. Can I have your jackets please? I need to prop up his head." Alessandra requested.
The young man and the woman who had been playing the guitar immediately moved the table back and ushered a few of the nearest people away. They gathered some of their jackets up and folded them, handing them over to Alessandra.
Alessandra knelt on the floor beside the man, the tension and the tingling in her fingers now having built to an almost unbearable level.
Shouting over her shoulder, she instructed the penny whistle player, the nearest person to her, to go and call an ambulance. Quickly.
With no one looking over her shoulder now, - the others standing back at a respectable distance, Alessandra turned her back on everyone and hunched over the man.
No one saw her place her left hand around the back of the man's head. Nobody saw her place the palm of her right hand over the forehead and temple of the man, and no one noticed when Alessandra closed her eyes.
Concentrating.
Focussing.
"Bless you, for you are now blessed." She heard the words repeated in her mind.
She felt the warmth then, flowing down through her arms, spreading out across her hands, and diffusing from her into him.
She felt it leave her, whatever 'it' was: an energy, a something, a force...whatever that thing was, it passed from her to the man.
And then it was gone.
The tingling abated. As before.
Alessandra opened her eyes and looked down onto the man's face.
Already he looked so peaceful. Rested.
She saw his eyelids flicker, then slowly open.
There was a sparkle in the eyes. Energy. Life.
He smiled at her and she smiled back.
Alessandra stroked the man's face and then gently lifted him up into a sitting position.
"What happened?" he asked.
"You fainted and fell off your chair," she rep
lied. "But don't worry. You’re going to be absolutely fine."
--------------------
At the front of the pub, Campbell excused himself and instructed Brian to get another round in while he went to the toilet. The music had stopped and the musicians were probably taking a break. Sometimes that meant that people left and seats freed up. Maybe he could grab a couple on the way back.
"If I'm not back in five minutes, come to the back of the pub. I might be able to get us a couple of seats."
As he pushed his way through the people and came towards the back, he saw that the fiddler who he was on first name terms with was sitting on the floor, a woman with her arm around his shoulder. The other musicians and a few of the listeners were standing around them. Although Tam, the fiddle player was smiling, Campbell could immediately sense that something had just happened.
At the same time as he moved towards Tam to ask him if he was okay, the woman guitar player also stepped forward, and Campbell hesitated, letting her go to the man's side, towards his right.
At that moment, the woman on the left of Tam, the one with the arm around his shoulder, turned and looked at both him and the guitarist.
Her eyes quickly returned to Campbell.
For a second her eyes moved around his face, then focused on his eyes. For the shortest instant, their eyes met and locked.
Then the woman blinked and turned her head back to Tam. Reaching behind Tam, she lifted a jacket off the floor and stood up, shaking open her jacket and putting it on.
Without turning, she backed away from Tam towards Campbell, her hand reaching into her pocket.
Campbell stepped backwards, bumping into the person behind him.
As he turned to apologise, the woman before him brushed against him.
He felt a slight pressure against his arm as she nudged past, but then she was gone.
Campbell stepped forward, bending down slightly and going towards Tam, but before he made it, he heard the voice of the first of two paramedics over his shoulder, urging him to step aside.
"If you could all please give us some space, we'll take it from here." The paramedic announced."
The Assassin's Gift Page 21