In her rucksack she had several syringes and an assortment of vials containing different poisons or drugs.
She had a choice. She could administer a sleeping drug to knock him out even further, and to ensure he didn't wake up in the next thirty minutes, or she could restrain him with plastic zip ties around his wrists and ankles.
If he was very drunk and she gave him too much of the sleeping drug, it could kill him, or put him to sleep for hours. Which she didn't want. She needed to speak with him urgently.
Just somewhere else.
The plastic ties could work, but if he woke up and was fuelled with the energy from the alcohol, he could probably break free from them if he wished. She was sure the police had been trained in how to break zip ties around wrists and escape from them: there was a simple trick to get out of them that a lot of people now knew, especially the police.
In the end, she opted for a little of the sleeping drug. A third of the normal dose.
It should keep him under for the next thirty minutes, and that was all she needed.
It took her only seconds to load the syringe and insert it into Campbell's neck. Within seconds the snoring subsided and McKenzie slipped into a deeper sleep.
Alessandra was a strong woman. She worked out regularly, maintained peak fitness and was trained in how best to lift people.
Nevertheless, as she manoeuvred McKenzie to the side of the bed and hoisted him up, she was surprised to find out how heavy he was.
Once up, it wasn't so hard, and she had him outside and beside the car within seconds.
The next question was, the back seat or the trunk of the car?
She went for the trunk, - or as she had heard a Scottish person say, the 'boot' - because if she was stopped by anyone, she didn't want anyone seeing McKenzie in the back seat.
Sitting him on the edge of the 'boot', she tipped him slowly backwards, and was just about to close the lid, when she decided that just to be safe, a plastic zip tie may be sensible after all.
Hurrying back into the house, she got the rest of her stuff, closed the door, and applied the zip tie to McKenzie's wrists. McKenzie looked terrible. She recognised him now, but barely. Physically he seemed to be in poor condition, and she was surprised by how much the man had obviously let himself go.
Thoughts whizzed through Alessandra's mind. Everyone reacts in different ways to the knowledge that they are being hunted down to be killed. McKenzie had gone to ground, but also gone to pieces.
Thinking back to the conversations with Amelia...Fiona, her name was Fiona, she realised that there was perhaps more than just that going on.
Fiona had mentioned that her husband was away. That she had not told him about one of the most important issues in her life. That he didn't know she was pregnant or ill.
And here was the man now, a mess, hiding in a cottage on the other side of the country. Had McKenzie told Fiona that he was hiding in fear of his life, or was that another secret they were withholding from each other?
It occurred to Alessandra that there must be something more going on in their relationship than Fiona had admitted. From Alessandra's perspective, it didn't seem they had much of a relationship at all. They simply weren't communicating. Or even talking. But Fiona clearly loved him.
Closing the boot to the car, Alessandra jumped into the front seat, started the engine and eased the car out of the driveway without the lights on.
Turning left on the main road towards Arrochar, she drove a few hundred yards, before putting on the lights as she came into the village.
Adhering to all the traffic laws ever written for Scotland, she followed the road up and over the pass to Tarbet and Loch Lomond, then turned left again along the road which ran north along the length of Loch Lomond.
At that time of the morning, she only encountered one or two other cars.
Vigilant as ever, and wired, Alessandra continuously checked her surroundings and the road in front and behind her.
As far as she could tell, no one was following her, no one was watching her, and no one knew that she had just kidnapped Campbell McKenzie.
In his state, even Campbell McKenzie didn't know he'd been kidnapped.
Twenty minutes later, Alessandra turned off the main road and drove slowly up to her rental cottage. She parked the car around the back of the house, underneath some tree cover, and then hurried to get McKenzie into the house.
It was a bit of a struggle, but she managed it.
Fifteen minutes later McKenzie was securely tied up, lying flat across the tabletop in the large dining room, ropes around his chest, thighs and lower legs ensuring he was going nowhere.
So far, everything had gone well.
The only question now was what on earth was Alessandra going to do with him?
Was she going to kill him or let him live?
Alessandra didn't know.
-------------------
Near Crianlarich
Tuesday
03.55 a.m.
Outside it had decided to rain again. She could hear the raindrops landing heavily on the pebbles in the driveway.
Alessandra sat on a chair, a few metres away from McKenzie, who was lying prone on the table, bound and still sleeping.
She was waiting for him to wake up but savouring the opportunity to sit still and think. To figure this one out.
What to do?
To kill the man, complete the mission, and earn a small fortune?
Or to save him and set him free?
Alessandra had never necessarily believed in fate before: she had always insisted that a person made their own destiny. She had fashioned her own life out of what the world had thrown at her and made her own opportunities.
But this?
And the bloody Gift?
She had also never before believed in God, but someone, somewhere was surely having a laugh at her expense.
Yet, the joy she had given, or "God" had given to Fiona through her hands, was also unforgettable.
That truly was a Gift.
It was NOT a gift from Alessandra. She was just a vessel. A thing through which the energy flowed.
Sadly, she still had no control over it.
Whether one day, she would, she did not know.
She stared at her hands.
Could she summon the power now, if she wanted?
The meaning of life and death had suddenly become very strange.
It had all started with her sighting of the Loch Ness Monster but even that was not real, or was it? Just a large wave, and the shadow it caused, or a log floating on the water?
Or was it that simple?
Was Alessandra trying her hardest to talk herself out of something that was actually real? Was natural. Just super-natural. Beyond 'normal' natural?
Why was she so determined to have a logical explanation for everything? Could she not accept that life had its mysteries?
She thought of her mother.
Her father.
And then her mother again.
When she thought of her mother, she stopped thinking. A heavy feeling descended upon her. A blanket. Her throat tightened.
She longed to hear her mother call her by her name again. For her mother to look into her eyes, and to once more stroke her cheek, like she did when she was a child.
McKenzie coughed loudly, tried to turn over, and grunted.
All of Alessandra's attention was immediately back on him.
Thankfully, he settled down again.
For the first time in her career, she was considering letting her target live.
This was exactly why she never got involved with their stories. Their lives.
It was all too personal.
Take the money. Kill them. Move on.
Everyone had to die at some time. It was always just a matter of when.
Perhaps however, McKenzie had already died inside. His problem was that he was still alive.
Yet Fiona wanted him back. She wanted a fresh start.
Alessandra shook her head.
A tremendous weight was building upon her shoulder.
It was undeniable that she had the Gift.
And she knew, whether she was prepared to accept it or not, that the Gift made her special.
Very special.
How many other human beings alive, were like her?
Yet, the absurdity of a trained killer like her being 'blessed' with the Gift was ludicrous.
The gifts of life and death. She could administer both.
But for how long?
They were diametrically opposed to each other.
'A man cannot serve two masters', she remembered a quotation from somewhere.
Or could she?
Alessandra was her own master. She chose to kill, and if she could master the Gift, perhaps she could also choose who to cure and let live?
Then a thought, one which once she had thought it, rocked her world.
Should she stop killing people?
The moment she thought it, she knew it had been brewing for a while.
It didn't surprise her.
But it did anger her. It filled her with anger. It made her furious.
Killing was her life's work. She was good at it. Why should she stop?
Standing up, she stormed through to the kitchen and fetched a glass of cold water. She drank it quickly, then stuck her head under the tap in the sink and splashed cold water on her face and neck.
"What the fuck...?" she heard McKenzie swear from the dining room.
When she walked back in, he was trying to sit up, and blinking hard.
He caught sight of her and froze, then sank back down onto the table top.
"So, you are he, then, except you are a she. You are the Grim Reaper. Come to collect me?" he asked, groggily, but rapidly sobering up as the adrenaline hit his bloodstream.
Alessandra walked closer and stood in front of him.
"That's not yet decided."
"What do you mean?" he asked, then started to cough. "A drink? Can I have a drink? Please?"
"You've had enough. If you hadn't drunk so much, then perhaps you wouldn't be here now."
"Water. Please. And actually, I haven't drunk that much tonight. I ran out."
"Are you trying to do my job for me? Kill yourself before I do?"
"Fuck off. I'm just trying to make living bearable."
"Bearable? You're healthy, fit, and full of life. There are people all over the world who would give anything to be like you, and you abuse it. You insult the gift you have!"
The last words she said were out before she thought about them. She realised there was perhaps, maybe, a certain hypocrisy in them.
"Sometimes living is not as simple as it seems."
"What are you talking about?"
"We make mistakes. We never get the chance to go back. The place we end up in is not always worth living in. Alone."
The word 'alone' resonated with Alessandra. It made her feel uncomfortable. She walked out of the room and brought back two glasses of water.
The first she threw across his face.
McKenzie erupted.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Waking you up. You and I need to talk. And you'd better be sober for it."
Then she leant forward and carefully lifted his head up and raised the other glass of water to his lips.
"Sip it carefully. Don't choke to death."
He looked at her, then drank, his eyes questioning what on earth was happening.
"So, you miss your wife? What happened between you both? Is this why you're hiding out in a cottage in the middle of nowhere?"
"Who the hell are you? My counsellor or my executioner?"
"Perhaps both. Answer the question."
"I don't need a counsellor if you're going to kill me. Just get on with it."
"Answer the question. What are you hiding from?"
McKenzie finished drinking and stared at her.
"Set me free."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I might be going to kill you."
"You're crazy!"
"Perhaps. I'm beginning to think that myself. But right now, I want you to think about what you're really hiding from, and why?"
He was quiet for a second.
"Okay, I'm hiding from you. But also myself, my wife and what I've done. And from the future. There! Satisfied? Now will you let me free?"
"No."
"What happened between you and Fiona?"
"How do you know her name?"
"I know almost everything about you."
McKenzie paused, assimilating what the woman had just said.
"Okay, I slept with someone else. Someone I worked with. Then someone killed the other woman before I got a chance to figure out why I did what I did or if I regretted it. I told Fiona. The truth. She deserved that much. And I haven't really spoken to her since. She chucked me out."
Alessandra took the glasses, went back to the kitchen and filled them both up. Returning to the table, she threw the contents of both over McKenzie's face.
"That's for Fiona."
McKenzie swore again. "You're completely mad!"
"And you're not? Drinking yourself to death, while the woman you hurt is alone and wondering why on earth she deserved it all? What you're doing now, ignoring her, is almost as bad as sleeping with the other woman in the first place! You need to speak to her."
"How can I if you kill me?"
"Good point."
Alessandra turned to her chair and pulled it a little closer.
"So who killed the woman?"
"A Scottish crime lord called Tommy McNunn. She was his lover..."
Chapter 42
On the road to Crianlarich
Tuesday
04.15 a.m.
Copernicus was furious with himself. He'd fallen asleep on the job, and in those few moments - probably only a few hours - Salvador had taken McKenzie.
SHIT!
From his rented boat on the far right side of the loch, using his high-powered field-scope he had a good view of the driveway leading up to McKenzie's cottage. The thermal cameras he'd positioned on the side of the hill and the boat with the direct line of sight to the driveway had been the best he could come up with, without being too obvious and risk being seen.
Whilst reconnoitring the area, he'd spotted the army team staking out the front and back of the property, and quickly realised that the best solution was to install several Russian thermal imaging cameras on the mountainside, pointed at the army field team, and the house.
He'd installed the cameras that day, quickly, during a pseudo walk up the mountain, ensuring that he didn't attract much attention, knowing full well that the army team was there during the day and the night.
Once he'd checked it was operational, he watched the screens for several hours, registering only the two white images of the army team lying on the hill and in the field below, and several deer and foxes.
It had been a long day, and eventually, in spite of the carbonated drinks, he'd fallen asleep.
It was the alarm connected to the tracker on the car which had woken him. The bad news was that it had been going off for a while, and he'd somehow managed to sleep through most of it.
When its annoying beeping had finally woken him, he checked the app on his laptop and found that McKenzie's car had gone, and had been driven to a place near Crianlarich.
He'd managed to fit the tracker to McKenzie's car one day when he'd driven to Arrochar and left his car on the street whilst he popped into a local shop for food and supplies.
It gave him an almost exact location of where the car was, minute by minute.
However good it was though, it didn't tell him who was in the car, why it had left so early in the morning, and why it was now in Crianlarich.
Immediately winding back the footage recorded by the thermal cameras during the period he had slept, he discovered a thermal image of a person
running across the open terrain, first to the soldier on the hill, and then to the soldier lying in the field.
They were both unresponsive, indicating they had been incapacitated.
Copernicus had watched as the running man had then hurried on towards the back of McKenzie's house. About twenty metres from the house, he lost sight of the person, whoever it was. The next event was about twenty minutes later when the car had started moving.
With a sickening feeling of failure, Copernicus began to dread the obvious.
He'd fallen asleep on the job. Salvador had killed the security team, entered the cottage, killed McKenzie, stolen the car, and gone.
The good news was that Copernicus knew exactly where the car was, and with any luck, if he got there soon, exactly where Salvador was.
Grabbing his kit, and another bottle of coke, he was off the boat and in his car within minutes.
Furious with himself and fearing failure, he went after Salvador.
Having completed the job, Copernicus knew Salvador would be in a hurry to get away. Copernicus didn't have much time.
Either way, this would all be over in the next twenty-five minutes.
Either Salvador would die at his hands, or Copernicus's career was over.
-------------------
Crianlarich
Tuesday
04.15 a.m.
"Tommy McNunn?"
"Yes. Why? Do you know him?"
"Not particularly..." she replied, trying to digest the information she'd just been given.
Alessandra took a moment to think. Once again, none of this could be mere coincidence.
Someone, something, or God, was playing them like chess pieces on a board.
Everything was getting too confusing...
"Cards on the table?" she asked McKenzie.
"No. It's me on the table. All of me." He replied.
"Sorry about that. But until I decide whether to let you live or die, you have to stay restrained."
"What's your problem? What do you mean cards on the table?"
"I want to talk. With you. And Frankly."
"Why me?"
"Because you're here right now. And I need to talk. And ultimately it mainly concerns you and your future, and your ability to breathe or not."
"Obviously I'm slightly biased. Do you want me to agree with everything you say, or argue with you? What do you want?"
The Assassin's Gift Page 40