Ben said nothing. He was acutely aware that his subterfuge was running out of road here. All he could do was keep the lie going for as long as he could ride it, and hope that either he found a new way to use it, or something better came to him – fast.
Stuart was all lit up, possessed with a kind of electric frenzy that made him pace the floor in agitation as the words tumbled out of him. ‘It’s unbelievable. I’ve had experts hunting for it for years. We scoured every likely location for miles around. Spent months on end searching for Cluny’s cave, where the Prince is said to have hidden from the English after his defeat at Culloden. I thought he might have stashed the treasure there, but we never found any such cave. I wasn’t about to let that defeat me, however. Next I had historians analyse the letter that was found in a secondhand shop in Winchester in 2003, purporting to detail the deathbed confession of Neill Iain Ruari, who claimed to have witnessed the Jacobite clansmen burying the gold. Nothing came of that either. So I dug into the Clan Cameron archives, which tell of the efforts of one of the Prince’s loyal followers on a covert mission to Scotland in 1753 to recover the lost treasure and plot the assassination of George II and the royal family. Zilch. Every historical text has been thoroughly examined. No stone left unturned. And yet this numbskull Ross Campbell, some local pipsqueak surveyor, somehow manages to stumble across what people have been dedicated to finding for centuries.’
‘Just pure chance,’ Ben said. ‘The find of a lifetime. Not that he lived very long to enjoy it.’
‘That’s right, he didn’t. You know how the saying goes, Mr Hope. To the victor belong the spoils. That would be me. And here’s the part I like the most. I have no intention of paying for it. Nada. Not one penny. Am I clear? There will be no cash settlement involved in this trade.’
‘I’d have thought a few million was peanuts to a man of your wealth.’
‘And you’d be right,’ Stuart said. ‘But you won’t be getting any of it. How’s that make you feel? Knowing that you’re the loser, and I’m the winner? My kind will always be. Genetics. Try not to feel too bad about it.’
The guy was so conceited that Ben almost wanted to tell him that there was no gold, just to see the expression on his face.
‘Your illustrious ancestor,’ Ben said, jerking his thumb back at the painting over the fireplace. ‘I suppose that’d be him up there, would it?’
He hadn’t given the painting any real notice before, but now he turned to give it a better look. He was no art connoisseur but it seemed to him the typical eighteenth-century portrait, a highly posed hero shot of a nobleman wearing one of the powdered wigs that had been all the rage back then, and shiny body armour draped across one shoulder with a splendid red cape. The intended effect had no doubt been to depict the subject as gallant and virile, a righteous and chivalrous warrior, but to Ben’s eye it came across as somewhat camp and affected.
But there was something else about the picture that made Ben look twice. As he studied the face of the man in the portrait he realised that, although a good few years younger, it was the face of the real-life Charles Stuart standing with him in the room. This maniac had had an artist knock up a reproduction of an old painting in his own likeness.
Stuart gazed at the portrait with the look of a man who had seen God. He slowly nodded. ‘Indeed, it’s my honour to belong to his royal bloodline.’
‘That’s quite an impressive pedigree, isn’t it?’ Ben said. ‘To be able to trace your heritage straight back to a real Scottish hero.’
Stuart gave a haughty smirk and was about to reply when Ben went on, ‘A real Scottish hero who in fact was an Italian coward, who dressed up as a woman to escape the enemy while his loyal followers who stood their ground on the battlefield were slaughtered and persecuted. So much for genetic superiority. I wouldn’t be too proud to belong to that line.’
Stuart’s smirk died away and became a hard glare.
‘Still, with all that gold up for grabs,’ Ben said, ‘I’d have been surprised if other real Scottish patriots like yourself didn’t try to stake their ancestral claim. I hope you’ve got ironclad proof of yours.’
‘Don’t you worry about what I can prove or not. The gold’s mine, and I’ll have it.’
‘Only on my terms,’ Ben said. ‘You’ll get it once I get what you have to trade me in return.’
‘I have a reputation as something of a tough deal-maker,’ Stuart said, getting angry now. ‘Don’t push your luck, because I don’t tolerate it when people try to stand in my way.’
‘Looks to me like I’m in your way,’ Ben replied. ‘Whether you tolerate it or not.’
Stuart stabbed a furious finger at Ben. ‘Here’s how it’s going to be. I don’t do deals with people like you, so stick your terms up your arse. But make no mistake, you will talk to me.’
‘You’d have to say “Please”,’ Ben said. ‘Or try very hard to make me.’
‘Let’s see about that.’ Stuart snapped his fingers. Hacker and his associate stepped forward from their places either side of the doorway, ready for action.
‘Bring Miss Kirk in here,’ Stuart ordered them. ‘Let’s see how cocky he is while he’s forced to watch his girlfriend having her throat slit open.’
‘It’s a nice rug, boss,’ Hacker said, pointing. ‘You sure you want it all bloodied up?’
‘Then you can put her eyes out with a hot poker,’ Stuart said, motioning towards the fireplace. ‘Then strangle the bitch right there on the hearth.’
Ben shook his head. ‘No. You’re not going to do that.’
Chapter 52
In reply to their stunned silence Ben said, ‘I’ll tell you why. Because Grace Kirk knows everything I know. That makes her your best insurance policy, if I decide not to talk. And cutting out your insurance policy isn’t a smart play. That’s why you smart guys aren’t going to hurt a hair on her head.’
Hacker and his crony exchanged glances. Stuart’s eyes stayed on Ben, narrowing to slits. ‘Bullshit. Another lie. You told me you were the only other person apart from Ross Campbell who knew everything.’
‘That’s what I told you this morning. And it was true then. But this morning was hours ago. I had plenty of time to fill her in on all the details while we were on our way back here.’
‘So where the fuck exactly were you?’ Hacker asked.
‘I was on a fact-finding mission. Learning about a gang of degenerate dirtbags called the Dishonourables. In case you were wondering, I’m not the only one who knows all about you. So do the authorities. The walls are closing in, boys. Not just on you, but your new employer, too.’
Ben knew that the mention of the authorities wouldn’t scare men like Hacker and his friend. But Stuart was made of softer material. His cheeks flushed and he chewed his lip and Ben could tell he was succeeding in getting the man flustered. Flustered wasn’t the same thing as hopelessly defeated and begging for mercy, but it was a start.
Stuart hesitated a moment longer and then snapped, ‘All right, then. So what? You don’t think I can make her talk?’
Ben said, ‘Doesn’t always work that way with torture. Sometimes they just go into shock and close down on you. Other times, they’ll tell you all kinds of nonsense, just to make it stop. It’s not exactly a fine art, never was.’
Stuart sneered, ‘You’d know all about torture, would you?’
‘We were taught how, in the SAS. When it comes to hurting people, I’m a master. As you’ll find out the hard way, Stuart. It’s just a question of time as to how, and when.’ The first part was a lie. The second was not.
‘Oh, I will, will I?’ Stuart was breathing hard with anger but a deepening shadow of doubt had crept into his eyes. ‘Fine. Let’s play it your way for now. In the meantime, let’s try something else. Hacker, go and fetch that old fart McCulloch from the dungeon. Seeing as the stupid bugger apparently doesn’t know anything after all, that makes him expendable.’
Hacker smiled. ‘Now you’re talking. That’ll be my pl
easure.’ He said to his crony, ‘Banks, you stay here and make sure the major doesn’t do anything stupid. We wouldn’t want to have to educate him in the art of fucking people up.’
The one called Banks looked happy to oblige. Ben stared at him and said, ‘Banks is pretty good at that, all right. Especially when he’s sent to butcher some poor unarmed victim on their own and he can run away afterwards. Maybe he could have dressed as a woman, too.’
Banks didn’t look so happy now. Hacker turned towards the doorway and was halfway there when Stuart seemed to remember his expensive hand-woven Celtic carpet and said, ‘Wait. No. On second thoughts, take Hope down with you to the dungeon. That way you can bloody the place up as much as you like. Let’s see if it doesn’t loosen Mr Hope’s tongue to see his old comrade getting sliced like a kebab.’
‘Works for me,’ Hacker said. ‘You coming, too, boss?’
Stuart peeled back the sleeve of his tweed suit jacket to consult the gold ingot on his wrist. ‘I think not. It’s time for my lunch.’
‘Enjoy it, boss. What’s on the menu?’
‘Poached salmon,’ Stuart replied, and they laughed.
Hacker pointed his pistol at Ben. Not getting too close, not making the fatal error of allowing his weapon to get within intercept distance of the enemy, lest it suddenly be snatched from his hands and turned on him with savage efficiency by someone who’d been expertly trained for the job. The Pathfinders weren’t the SAS, but near enough for Hacker to know the ropes. He said, ‘C’mon, fucker, let’s get moving.’
‘I’ll see you later, Stuart,’ Ben said.
Hacker and Banks escorted him out of the room. The third Dishonourable was still waiting outside the door. Hacker said, ‘Come with us, Carter.’
‘Where’re we going?’
‘Downstairs. To have some fun.’
The art of marching a dangerous prisoner any distance was a tricky business fraught with potential pitfalls, even for trained men. The gang grouped around Ben as cautiously as game wardens relocating a captured tiger. Each man perfectly aware of how fast things could go south for them, if he let his guard down for an instant. Banks and Carter were focused so hard they were sweating. Only Hacker was able to maintain his cool, at least outwardly. Ben could have played it awkward by refusing to move and there wouldn’t have been much they could have done to force him. But he was as deeply anxious to see Boonzie again as he was worried about Grace. He let himself be walked through the castle’s winding corridors and hallways, thinking and waiting and watching.
Hacker said, ‘You know something, Hope? I’m as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. Because I can’t wait for you to be dead. And I won’t have to wait too long to watch it happen. With any luck, the boss will let me do it myself.’
‘You’re being a bit over-optimistic. There are only four of you.’
‘Four plus the others who’re on their way here as we speak,’ Hacker said with a grin. ‘Oh, yeah. That’s right. I got the call this morning from my old mate Mikey Creece. He and nine more guys flew up from London an hour ago. Should be arriving any moment now. They’re looking forward to meeting you, Major.’
Ben looked at Hacker and wondered whether he was telling the truth or not. He could see no lie in the man’s eyes.
‘Two things we hate,’ Hacker said. ‘One is stuck-up SAS scum like you. Think you’re so high and mighty and better than everyone else. But what we hate even worse is anyone who hurts one of our gang.’
‘Then you’re going to hate me a lot more pretty soon,’ Ben said. ‘Because splatting a piece of shit like your friend Kev O’Donnell made me feel so warm and fuzzy inside, it gave me an appetite for more. Now I’m wondering if fourteen dead Dishonourables is going to be enough to satisfy me.’
Hacker shook his head. ‘Unbelievable. Will you listen to this guy?’
‘I’m wondering how it is that you came to fall this low,’ Ben said. ‘From Pathfinder staff sergeant and twice winner of the AOSC, to joining these vermin and ending up as some gun for hire working for a lunatic. How did that happen? Was it just bad luck, or do you have a few loose screws of your own?’
‘I should have shot you while I had the chance,’ Hacker said. ‘Down by the loch.’
‘Except you didn’t,’ Ben said. ‘Because you missed. Just like your whole life is one big miss. How does it feel to know that?’
Hacker replied, ‘The more you talk, Hope, the more fun this is going to be.’
They marched Ben deep into the castle’s maze of stone passageways to a studded oak door, from where a flight of steps led down to a basement floor with numerous other doors running off it. From there, a narrower and dingier stairway led further downwards into growing darkness and an intensifying smell of damp. A pair of electric lanterns hung from a recharging station on the sub-basement wall. Hacker and Banks grabbed one each, turned them on and the shadows were chased away by strong bright light. Ben saw a steel door ahead, thick and heavy like something that would protect a bank vault. Carter and Banks backed him against the wall with their fingers on their triggers while Hacker produced a key and used it to open four large, sturdy padlocks holding the door. Stuart wasn’t leaving much to chance, when it came to prisoner security.
Hacker heaved the vault door open, then signalled to Banks and Carter to move Ben along. Hacker went through the door first, backwards with his gun trained on Ben’s chest. Carter and Banks brought up the rear, pointing their weapons at Ben’s back. ‘Nearly there,’ Hacker chuckled to Ben. ‘Bet you must be so happy to see your old mate again.’
They moved on through a stone-block tunnel whose craggy walls were streaked with mould and mildew. A few dozen metres further, a third flight of steps took them still deeper below the castle. Ben guessed they must be right down in the foundations by now.
The Dishonourables were still being extremely careful not to get too close to Ben. He could sense their growing anxiety. They kept moving. Next they reached a steel cage door held fast with more padlocks, which opened into an arched stone tunnel more cramped than the one before it. The swaying lanterns made eerie shadows on the walls. The dank airlessness down here was oppressive. It was like walking back into the darkest, ugliest parts of history. Nothing else about Stuart’s castle felt authentic, but this did. It was easy to imagine the horrors experienced by prisoners of bygone centuries, left to rot and starve in black holes where rats scuttled and feasted on the remains of the dead. Ben thought of Boonzie McCulloch being kept in such a place. The anger only made his resolve stronger.
Then Hacker said, ‘Here we are, boys. End of the line.’
The tunnel was blocked off ahead. Ben had expected something like a barred prison door inset into the end wall, but saw nothing until he looked down at Hacker’s feet and realised that the entrance to the dungeon was an iron grid trapdoor with massive hinges cemented into the floor, and secured by a long bolt. A collapsible aluminium ladder lay beside the opening.
Hacker slid back the bolt with his foot. Then he had to set down his lantern in order to use both hands to heave up the heavy trapdoor. Ben tried to peer in through the hole, but saw nothing but blackness. It was impossible to tell how deep it went down. The smell of human confinement wafted upwards. Inside the hole, it must be unbearable.
‘Jesus, what a stinker,’ Carter muttered. ‘The old ratbag must’ve just pinched one off.’
With the lid raised, Hacker grabbed the ladder and lowered it into the hole, releasing the catches to allow it to extend full-length. Its aluminium feet hit the bottom with an echoey clang. Hacker yelled, ‘Hey, McCulloch, wakey wakey! You’ve got company.’
Chapter 53
Stuart’s dungeon was literally a hole in the ground, a bottle-shaped chamber whose design would have made it impossible for anyone trapped inside to get out. Ben had seen some fairly inescapable prisons in his life. Sometimes from the outside, and occasionally from the inside, though he’d never met one that could hold him long. This was the worst.
> Hacker yelled again, ‘Hear me, McCulloch? Get ready, ’cause it’s party time!’
There was no reply from the darkness. Banks said, ‘Maybe the old fucker’s finally snuffed it. That’ll be a shame.’
Hacker shook his head. ‘Nah, he’s always quiet. Likes us to think he’s sleeping, but he watches everything without saying a word. That’ll soon change when we get to work, though. Hope your knives are nice and sharp, boys.’
‘Too fuckin’ right,’ Carter replied with a leer.
As he said it, Carter allowed his guard to drop for just a moment and Ben saw a window of chance flash open. He took a half step closer to Carter. His muscles tensed like springs, and in his mind he was already launching into the attack that would leave the man disarmed and permanently crippled. But Hacker saw his intention and snapped the pistol towards Ben’s face. ‘Uh-uh. Not so fast, my son. Any tricks, I’ve got seventeen Hydra-Shok hollowpoints in here with your name on them.’
‘Shooting me won’t go down well with your boss,’ Ben said. ‘He wants his gold, remember.’
‘Gold,’ Hacker spat. ‘That prick might be too blind to see it, but I’m not an idiot. You’re just telling him what he wants to hear. You don’t have any more gold than I have.’
‘And yet you’d gladly torture a man to death, just to make me tell where it is.’
‘No, I’d do it just for kicks. And to give you a taste of what’s in store for you.’ Hacker cocked his head towards his men. ‘Watch this bastard, boys, he’s awful tricky. Banks, you’re first in the hole. Move it.’
Banks reluctantly stepped to the edge of the hole and started clambering down the ladder, his footsteps resonating inside the hollow chamber. His lantern light darted around as he descended, and Ben was able to catch sight of parts of the curved inner walls, the stone blockwork wet and glistening with damp and condensation. Then Banks reached the bottom and shone his lantern upwards.
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